Russell Andrews - Icarus

He finally understood. She was overpowering. Five-foot-six, five-seven, tops. Her chest moving up and down just a little too rapidly, the only sign that she was anything but in absolute control. Her lips thin and a deep, mysterious red, her dark hair thick and tumbling down to her shoulders. Jack forced himself to look away, just for a moment, just to break the spell.

"Turn around again," he said to the hood who was still on his knees.

The guy swiveled around to face Jack, who lit one more match, touched it to the corner of the matchbook, and set the entire small packet on fire.

"Tell me something I'd like to hear," he said to Eva Migliarini, aka the Mortician. "And quickly."

She waited, just long enough so Jack thought, She wouldn't mind if I burned him. She might even like it. Then she smiled thinly and said, "May I buy you lunch, Mr. Keller?"

Jack nodded, looked at the cowering man on the floor, and blew out the small burst of flame that had just begun to warm the tips of his fingers.

"My pleasure," he said to the woman in the black dress.

– "-"-"THEY WENT TO Jo Jo's, a French bistro not too far away, but she had her driver take them. In the backseat of the limo, Eva Migliarini made no attempt at conversation. She sat – lounged, really – and looked out the window. Occasionally she would cross her legs, her dress shifting up past perfectly tanned midthigh. Once she leaned down to languorously scratch her ankle. As she did, the car hit a small bump and, off balance, she leaned against his shoulder for support. She did not look at him as their bodies touched and Jack felt suddenly claustrophobic. As if he were in too-close confines with a black widow spider, exquisitely beautiful but equally poisonous.

At the restaurant, the maitre d' was extremely solicitous. He knew Jack – the restaurant community is a small one and everyone in it knew Jack – but he also knew Eva and he treated her with great deference. Jack thought he treated her as if he knew who her husband was.

She waited until they were seated – she asked for upstairs, in a corner – and the waiter had come to take their order before she looked directly into Jack's eyes and said, "Before we discuss what it is you know, Mr. Keller, or what it is you think you know, may I ask you something on a more intimate level?" He nodded and she said, "May I call you Jack?"

He nodded again, thinking her voice was just as enticing as her appearance. And how she could indeed make such an innocent question uncomfortably intimate. "And do I call you Eva?"

"Eve. That's what my husband calls me. It's what Kid called me. He liked the sound of it. He thought it made me sound… tempting."

Sitting at the table with her, so close he could smell her – not just the faint trace of her not-too-sweet perfume but the odor of sexuality she exuded – Jack was even more aware of the extraordinary ferocity of this woman. There was something almost feral about her. Even sitting still she was like a wildcat, not quite caged but not quite free in the jungle either, and certainly always aware that people were watching her – and thinking about trying to capture her.

"So," she said. "Are you asking or telling?"

"Both, I think."

"Which comes first?"

"Telling."

She shifted slightly in her seat and her leg brushed up against Jack's. He did not think it was accidental. And he found the touch thrilling. It sent an electrical charge up and down his spine. This is insane, he thought. I've been around beautiful women before. Women who were more beautiful than this woman. Caroline was more beautiful than this woman…

But there's something about her. Something I've not ever seen before.

Eve is a fitting name. She seems more than capable of bringing the Garden of Eden down around her in ruins.

"You're Joe Migliarini's wife," he began. He wanted to talk so he could stop thinking about the way she was making him feel.

"'Joe,' is it?" Her lips had a slight smirk, although her voice was even. "Do you know him?"

"You can't run a restaurant in New York without knowing him," he said. "I wouldn't say we're close social acquaintances, but we've met."

"I'll send him your regards at dinner tonight."

"I didn't realize you were so involved in his businesses."

"Am I?" she said.

"Apparently. Not in the trucking or cement contracting, at least not that I could find. But you've got a hand in the linen supplies and you seem to run the mortuaries all by yourself. He turned them over to you about five years ago."

"Yes. They're quite profitable." Her lips moved just slightly now. The white of her teeth gleamed against the textured red. "I enjoy business. I'm good at it."

"I'd say very good. You're probably the most powerful woman in the history of organized crime."

"Oh, please," she said, but the protest, even the tone of annoyance, was by rote, there was no conviction behind it. "We're one hundred percent legitimate. I guarantee you my workday is a lot more boring than almost anyone's you know."

"Excuse me, I didn't mean to insult you. Those co-workers of yours I met today, what area are they in? Personnel? PR?"

Her legs moved again under the table. Again, they brushed against his and he had to catch his breath. "That was an aberration and I apologize for it. They tend to be a bit overprotective. But here's what I'll grant you, Jack, since you did get an unfortunate peek behind the scenes: I make a lot of money for my husband, and in areas that were previously overlooked. My business has an extraordinary cash flow, which is important for us. And with that kind of cash, I'm a bit more trustworthy than a lot of people my husband could have hired."

"Congratulations. You're the Martha Stewart of the burial biz."

"I do have to admit, there was also something about that particular business that appealed to me."

"Nice name. Grave Enterprises."

"Thank you. Most of the people in my husband's business don't have much of a sense of humor. I thought it was appropriate for the holding company."

"When Kid talked about you-"

"Kid told me he didn't talk about me."

"Not by name, exactly. He had a kind of code name. He referred to you as the Mortician."

"How charming." No surprise in those eyes. No emotion at all. "Are you here to tell me my own background, Jack, or is there something else?"

"There are a few other things. That I don't think your husband or anyone else would particularly appreciate hearing."

She said nothing, and the waiter returned then, put their food down in front of them. She had the good grace to take a bite and nod her approval before Jack continued.

"I know that you took Kid away on weekends. Palm Beach, Bermuda, a couple of times to St. Bart's. I'll bet if I look a little closer, I'll find out you have houses there. Or you own a hotel."

"We have a house in Palm Beach," she said. "It's hardly a secret. And we own a share of a golf club in Bermuda. Both Joe and I play. Are you a golfer?"

"No," Jack said.

"It's an excellent game. Unlike anything else because to be good you have to remove all tension. You can't allow any outside interference while you're on the course. It's best if you don't even let yourself think. It's wonderful discipline for off the course. Joe says it's very Zen-like. You should try it." She looked down at her plate as if she were going to take another bite, then changed her mind. "St. Bart's was just fun," she said. "A lark. He'd never been there. Joe was away. We went for two days and drank a lot of rum and got away from the miserable cold. I could sunbathe nude because the cottage I rented had a little private beach. You know what I remember most about those two days? The way Kid rubbed suntan lotion over my entire body. He was very gentle and methodical. It was incredibly sensual. What else do you have?"