Page 94 of The Picasso Heist
Lugieri can’t even look at her. “Enjoy this while you can,” he says.
“Oh, I plan to.”
“Once again, you’ll never get a conviction.”
“Something tells me this time will be a little different,” says Joyce. “You know what that something is? You, Dominick. Because this time you’ve done all the heavy lifting for me.”
“We’ll see about that.” But the words don’t pack a punch, and he knows it. He’s going over all the things that Malcolm knows about him, including what he witnessed with his own eyes. For instance,when Lugieri killed a member of his crew right in front of him at Osteria Contorni.
“You know what the most amusing part is, Dominick?” Joyce motions at the cops. “We didn’t need to bring more. Do you know what I mean by that?”
Lugieri looks at her for the first time. “Fuck you,” he says.
“Careful there, Dom. You’ve already been read your rights. But we both know what I’m talking about. We didn’t need an army because you left yours behind—you didn’t want any of them to know that your decision to do business with a sloppy, loose-lipped, and debt-ridden character like Enzio Bergamo had put your entire operation and every man working for it in jeopardy. That’s right, you left them all behind… in every sense of the word.”
Elise Joyce is smiling a little too widely. So are a couple of the cops. Even before I look over at my brother, I know what he’s doing: rolling his eyes. There’s only one reason he’s sheep-dipping from army intelligence and it’s not to stand around and listen to grandstanding like this.
sheep-dipping
verb
Taking a temporary leave from the military to pull a covert job as a civilian.
I clear my throat, and the sudden sound of it serves its purpose. Joyce turns to me and sees my look, the message in my stare.
We’ve still got places to go, people to see.
CHAPTER80
SKIP AND Ihead for the back seat of an official vehicle of the US attorney’s office. You’d think the car would be something plain-Jane like a Ford or Honda. Think again. Elise Joyce and her top staffers get to roll through the Eastern District of New York in Tesla Model 3s when they’re on official business. Drivers included.
The more I rub the back of my head, the more Skip ignores me.
“Okay,” he says finally. “You can stop now. I get it. Very funny.”
“You didn’t need to press that hard,” I say.
“Actually, I did.”
“Well, then, you didn’t need to enjoy it so much.”
“Who said I enjoyed it? I never said that.”
“Putting a gun to your little sister’s head? It goes without saying.”
Skip and I both catch the eyes of the driver looking at us in the rearview mirror.What’d she just say? A gun to her head?He quickly looks back at the road.
“She’s kidding. It wasn’t a real gun,” Skip assures him.
“Yes, it was,” I say.
“I mean, it wasn’t loaded.”
“Yes, it was.”
The driver’s not sure what the hell to think. He looks at us again with a nervous smile. “I’ve also got a little sister,” he says.
Skip laughs. “Is she also annoying?”
