Page 73 of Burn this City

“Oh, there you are,” he said louder than strictly necessary.

Spadaro cast him a glance, then gave a big smile. “Oh, hiDaddy.”

What the everloving …?

Jack glanced at the two young men. “There a problem here?”

They muttered something, didn’t meet his gaze, and slunk off into the nearest bar.

Jack offered his arm to Spadaro, opened the door, and helped her into the car, though Spadaro’s balance was perfect and she only took Jack’s arm for appearance’s sake.

Jack closed the door after her and returned to the driver’s seat. “What was that?”

“Harmless fun and a way to get into the role.” Spadaro pulled out a small mirror to check her make-up. A whiff of a perfume hit Jack. It wasn’t unpleasant so much as unbelievably sweet, reminding him of bubblegum and spun sugar.

“‘Daddy?’” Jack asked.

“Guys your age are Daddies. It’s a term of appreciation.”

“Appreciation?” This was getting weirder by the second.

Spadaro rolled her eyes. “They probably thought you’re my pimp. That’s a story we can go with. Except I don’t think we could sell Andrea on you being suddenly in the sex trade.”

Jack started the car again and joined the light stream of traffic. “He knows I’m not.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Spadaro clicked the mirror shut and dropped it into the clutch. “Park near the emergency exit. Where do you think Andrea will take a girl or two?” The tone told Jack that Spadaro had no doubt about how things would go down. Of all things, he envied the killer that confidence.

“There are private booths.”

“Cameras?”

“No, Andrea sometimes does business there. There are cameras near the entrance and in the back alley. He relies on club security.” Jack stopped at a red light and tapped his fingers against the wheel. “And rolling into the club with a couple submachine guns would kill so many civilians and bring so much heat that nobody even did anything like that even during the War.”

“Yeah, not how I’d do it.”

“What’s your plan?”

“I’ll separate him from the herd and take him out. How and when depends on how stupid he is.”

“Don’t underestimate him.” Jack set the car back in motion.

“I’m not. That’s why I’m using all these distractions.” Spadaro crossed her legs and angled them just so in a movement that struck Jack as one of the most feminine things he’d seen in his life. “Best outcome—totally silent takedown, nobody sees a thing.”

“The best outcome will be if he tells me first who killed Sal’s wife.” That was still a risk, but hopefully alcohol and girls would loosen Andrea’s tongue.

“The very best outcome would be he tells you what you need to know, nobody hears him die, and I’m sending Sal Rausa a photo of Andrea Lo Cascio’s naked ass with a pink dildo rammed in all the way.” Spadaro smiled sweetly while Jack almost choked on a breath.

“Or …” Spadaro regarded his fake pink fingernails, “We shouldn’t give away to the straights how good that feels, which is why I’ll kill him first.”

“Jesus. You’re not taking any prisoners, are you?”

Spadaro gave him one of those dark glances. “Never do.”

Jack focused on the road, glad that the pure mechanics of driving a car through semi-busy late evening traffic gave him an excuse to dodge what Spadaro apparently considered small talk. Still, the “we” in that sentence disturbed him—but then, the moment Spadaro had reappeared as one of the most believable crossdressers he’d seen in his life, the whole concept of the Barracuda being nothing but a roving killer had disintegrated.

They arrived at the club. Andrea had apparently taken his screaming red Lamborghini out for a spin this evening; it stood in the row marked “VIP parking”, where security could keep an eye on it.

He helped Spadaro out of the car, and noticed Spadaro’s warm, dry fingers. No hint of nerves.

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