Page 9 of Grease Monkey

Fuck me. If he’d traced the Mercedes, that meant…

“Give me your phone,” I barked at my new wife. She gave me a startled glance before pulling it out of her purse and handing it over.

She had twenty missed calls from “Daddy” and another fifteen from “Thomas Kale III.” I popped the battery on her phone and pulled her SIM card. It wouldn’t surprise me if they had already traced her to Las Vegas, but I wasn’t going to make it easy for them to find her. The hotel wasn’t registered to her name, but they could easily go from hotel to hotel flashing her picture until they located her. Fuck! Why couldn’t anything ever be easy?

“What’s wrong?” Gwennie asked.

“Your dad showed up at the shop. If he traced your car, then I’m sure he’s traced your phone too.”

She paled.

“Jim, if they come nosing around again, tell them you don’t remember her. As of now, she’s family. We just got married and that’s her asshole father. Keep them off our trail as long as you can.”

“You got it, boss,” Jim said before hanging up.

“Come on, princess. We have a marriage to celebrate. If your father is on his way here, I want to enjoy as much of our honeymoon as we can.”

She looked worried, but nodded her agreement. I never had asked for Gwennie’s last name. Well, her former last name. But if Daddy lived up on the hill, then he was someone important, as far as our tiny town was concerned. In the big scheme of things though, he could very well be a small fish in a big pond. Just because he had money, didn’t mean he had true power.

The Vipers ran our town, even though the rich people on the hill liked to think they did. I wasn’t too concerned. Legally, Gwennie was old enough to make her own decisions, and now that she was my wife, her place was by my side. Even the police chief couldn’t say otherwise. I just wished there was a way to make everything go away quietly. I didn’t want to physically hurt Gwennie’s dad, but if I could find something to hold over him, then maybe I could make him leave us alone.

“What’s Daddy Dearest’s name, princess?”

“Gregory Montcliff.”

I froze in the middle of the damn sidewalk. “You’re a Montcliff?”

This is when it would have been awesome if our quick Vegas wedding officiant had said our last names during the ceremony, or if I’d paid attention when we’d gotten our license. I’d been going out of my mind for no fucking reason. Not if Montcliff was her dad.

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“No, princess, that means everything is actually pretty damn perfect right now. How much do you know about your daddy’s finances?”

She shrugged and gave me a blank look.

“Your daddy’s hands are about as dirty as they get. Remember the Scarlioni family I mentioned? The ones who own the jet we’re using? The Vipers aren’t the only ones in business with them. Your Daddy Dearest is too.”

She snorted. “Yeah, right. My dad is in bed with the mob. Have you ever met my father?”

“Don’t need to, princess. His name speaks for itself.”

She looked doubtful, but she didn’t realize this was good news. Montcliff might be in bed with the Scarlionis, but the Vipers did most of the family’s dirty work, which made them even more valuable. So if the Vipers asked the Scarlionis to get Montcliff to back the fuck off, then they’d do it. Or they would make an example of him. Wouldn’t really hurt my feelings if someone beat the fuck out of him and cut off a finger or two, but I didn’t want to upset my wife either. She might not like her father too much, but I doubted she wanted to see him maimed either.

“When we get to our suite, I want you to soak in a nice, hot bath while I make a phone call.” I kissed her cheek. “And then we’ll celebrate our marriage and put everything else out of our minds until the time comes that we have to deal with it. Sound good?”

She nodded, but I could tell she wanted to ask some questions about her dad.

The suite was everything I’d hoped it would be, and they’d even provided an edible arrangement. All of our bags from our shopping expedition were stacked along the living room wall. I grabbed Gwennie by the hand and led her into the bedroom and attached bath. There were jars of bath salts, some bath oils, and even some bubble bath on the counter. I started the water in the tub and added a little of the oil and a little of the bubbles. After giving her a kiss that I hoped curled her toes, I left her to her bath and went to make my call.

Usually, I only spoke to the Scarlionis through the Vipers, but I did have the contact number for one of the sons. Salvatore Scarlioni. I only hesitated a moment before pushing the call button.

“Who is this?” the Italian barked into the phone.

“Lance Gilbert. We met at a party the Vipers were throwing about a year ago.”

“The mechanic.”

“Yes.” At least he remembered me. That might make things easier.

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