Джанет Иванович - Fortune and Glory

“I can’t eat at a food court because of my allergies,” Potts said. “There’s all kinds of cross-contamination. I break out in hives and I get diarrhea if I walk through a food court. Did I tell you I’m extremely sensitive to gluten? And they let anyone work at those places. I know for a fact because I got a job at a chicken place in a mall once. Anyway, I only worked there for a couple days because of the diarrhea from the gluten spewing out of the fry station. And that was when I moved back to my parents’ house.”

“I know someone who would shoot him,” the receptionist said.

“I’ll get back to you,” I said to the receptionist.

I walked Potts out of the salon and through the mall to the Macy’s exit.

“I don’t see the Buick,” Potts said.

“I have a different car. It’s a loaner from a friend.”

“Is it the guy you sleep with? The good-looking one with muscles?”

“Yes.”

I unlocked the Honda.

“This is it? A Honda?” Potts asked. “It’s nice but I expected you to perform at Porsche level. Maybe Mercedes. Boy, this is an eye opener. Where are we going for lunch?”

“Giovichinni’s Grocery. You can get something from the deli, and we can eat at the office. I want to check in with Connie.”

I got Potts settled onto the faux leather couch with his chicken wrap and Pepsi, and I took the chair in front of Connie’s desk. I unwrapped my ham and cheese panini and opened a small tub of coleslaw.

“I like the hair,” Connie said.

I nodded. “Thanks. I’m getting used to it.”

“Lula called and told me she was back at the dentist.”

“Her temporary popped off.” I reached into my messenger bag, pulled out the body receipt for Trotter, and handed it to Connie.

“Vinnie’s going to love this,” Connie said. “This was a high bond.”

“I’m going to love it, too,” I said. “I need the money.”

Connie wrote a check and slid it across her desk to me. “What are you buying with this?”

“Food. Clothes. Maybe a manicure. My rent is due. Any more information from your mom?”

“The latest gossip is that the La-Z-Boys are having problems. Lou Salgusta has gone from a successful sadistic killer to flat-out crazy, and Charlie Shine has decided he’s Al Capone.”

“What about Benny?”

“Benny is never seen. He’s in his house, eating cheese ravioli and watching television with his cat. My mom said his wife was moved into a hospice facility yesterday. She’s been sick for a long time.”

“That’s sad,” I said. “I didn’t know her, but everyone seemed to like her.”

“My mom will miss her,” Connie said. “They were friends for a lot of years.”

I finished my lunch and Grandma called. “I need a ride,” she said. “And I could use some help picking an outfit. Your mother is babysitting for your sister and can’t take me. I’d go myself but they hid the keys to the Buick.”

“What kind of an outfit?” I asked.

“Carla Skootch went into hospice yesterday, and she’s not expected to last the night, so I need something to wear to the viewing. I want to look respectful for her. She’s a nice lady and she put up with a lot over the years.”

“Sure,” I said. “I need to get some new clothes, too. When would you like to go?”

“Now would be good,” Grandma said. “Your father is eating at the lodge tonight, and your mother won’t be home from Valerie’s house until late. Valerie and Albert had to go to some lawyer shindig.”

“I’m taking Grandma shopping,” I said to Potts. “Can I possibly do this without you tagging along?”

“No,” Potts said. “I’m following you to the end of the earth.”

“I won’t be going that far,” I said.

Grandma was waiting at the curb. And she was carrying her big black patent purse. This meant she was packing her .45 long barrel. It was frightening to think that she had the gun, but it was good to know she recognized the danger level.

She slid onto the passenger-side seat and buckled up. “I almost didn’t recognize you,” she said. “You have a new car and a new hairdo.”

“The car is a loaner from Ranger. The hair is job related. An FTA threw some gunk at me and it got stuck in my hair.”

“I like the new cut and color,” Grandma said. “It’s flirty.” Grandma turned and looked at Potts in the backseat. “What do you think?”

“I’d like to touch it,” Potts said, “but she won’t let me.”

Grandma leaned close to me. “He’s kind of a creeper,” she whispered.

“It’s that he has no filters,” I said.

“I heard that,” Potts said. “That’s insightful. There was a time when people thought you were forthright if you said what was on your mind. It was a sign of good character.”

“When was that time?” Grandma asked.

“Olden times,” Potts said.

“Like in the good old days,” Grandma said.

“Exactly,” Potts said.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I parked by the Macy’s entrance for the second time today and everyone followed me into the store.

“I don’t want to spend a lot of money, but I want something that looks expensive,” Grandma said. “And I’m not family so I don’t have to wear black.”

Death was almost as important as food in the Burg, and life was often lived in such a way to ensure a good showing at the final event. If you joined a lodge or the mob, you got a crowd at your viewing. If you worked your way up to Grand Poobah of the lodge, you got a premier room at the funeral home. The church service was a comfort, but everyone knew it was the casket selection that really counted. Seven o’clock viewings relieved the tedium of after-dinner television. Morning funerals meant whiskey straight up was flowing immediately following the burial. It was all good.

Grandma found her way to the dresses and sorted through them. “I don’t have a problem like some of the ladies my age,” she said. “I don’t have to worry about hiding a fat roll. I’ve always had good metabolism.”

Grandma didn’t have a fat problem, but she was a victim of gravity. She could walk forever, and she could lug the long-barrel around in the crook of her arm like the queen of England, but beyond that she had the muscle development of a soup chicken.

“This one is nice,” she said, pulling out a cranberry A-line dress with a little jacket. “I like the color, and the skirt looks like the right length. I like when it hits just below my knee.”

She found three other dresses and took them into the dressing room to try them on.

“She’s a good shopper,” Potts said. “She found what she wanted right away. What are you going to buy? Do you need a dress, too?”

I prowled through the racks. “No, I think I’m all set for viewings and funerals.”

“Then you need better everyday clothes.”

“The thing is, I’m comfortable in my jeans and T-shirts,” I said. “They work for my job.”

“Then just get nicer, newer jeans and T-shirts. In the magazines I read at the salon they dressed jeans and T-shirts up with jackets and cool boots.” He searched around and found a black jacket that was a take on a motorcycle jacket. “This is good. It looks like something Indy would wear if he was a girl. According to the tag it’s also abrasion-proof, rip-resistant, breathable, and has waterproof seams.” He gave me the jacket and moved to a table with T-shirts. “Try the jacket with one of these shirts. The material is soft, and I like the plain round neck. It’s supposed to be odor-shirking and fast drying. Try it in white.”

I grabbed a pair of dark denim jeans and went to the dressing room. I had the jeans and white shirt on, and Potts came back with more jeans and jackets and sweaters and shirts. I worked my way through the stash and liked everything.