Romano and Albright 01 - Catch Me If You Can (MM) by L.B. Gregg

looks good, Caesar, but when’s he going to turn into an honest man?”
    “I’m not holding my breath. Don’t start with me. I’m not getting involved.”
    “From your mouth to God’s ears.”
    I gritted my teeth and said slowly, “Let’s just have our dinner.”
    “Fine.”
    I nodded. “Did you really TiVo that show? You never said.”
    “Yes I did, puss. I thought we could make popcorn and throw it at the television.”
    Paulie stopped by with a glass of Chianti for me and an antipasto for Nana and I to share. I snapped at him, flinging my hands wildly. “Why’d you let them in here?”
    “Whoooo hoooo. Like I can do anythin’ about it? I can’t not let him in the door.” He tossed a white towel over his shoulder and leaned a hand on the back of the booth. The vinyl creaked.
    “You could have been full. No reservation. Anything.” It would have worked. It was Saturday night and Rocco’s was packed, every booth and table filled.
    “Nah. They had reservations under another name. I had no idea he was gonna be here. Besides, Pop loves when celebrities come in.”
    That threw me. I was just going to have to adapt to Sheppard “Easy Mac” McNamara’s fame. And this behavior was true of my pop, and admittedly good for business. I sighed. “Fine. But next time, warn me. You knew I was coming in.”
    Paulie nodded. “Okay, okay. Don’t have a stroke. Hey, he’s gonna have a picture made of them two—Shep said he’d sign it so as we can hang it at the register, next to the Al Pacino and the Patti LuPone.”
    “Great.” We watched as Estelle, Shep and the Evil One finished their coffee. Shep sent me one last long look as he went to the door. He mouthed call me .
    “What’s he want? You’re not going to call, are you?” Nana’s fork stopped mid bite, a slice of prosciutto dangling from the tines. “What a wimp.”
    “I should have Joey run him out of town.” It slipped from my lips before I could stop myself.
    “He’d do it, no question. Look out, paesan. Here comes Ma.” Paulie scampered away as my blonde and dainty mother slid into the booth clutching a half-full martini glass. She kissed my cheek, and I smiled at the scent of Oil of Olay and oregano.
    “What’s that actor doing back here? Rocco likes the publicity, but me? Not so much.”
    “I know. I’m sorry. I have no control over these things.”
    My mother sniffed. “He’s a nice boy, I guess, but did you see that television show? Horrible. He plays a missionary in Appalachia.”
    “You’ve got to be kidding. Why do they need missionaries there?”
    “Apparently they require a man in tight pants to deliver awkward messages. I’m not sure. I fell asleep.”
    Nana drank her Cosmo. “You mark my words: that Chip man is out of his mind.”
    “Chad.”
    “Same difference.”
    An hour later, my belly full of veal scallopini and my head stuffed with gossip, I crossed the narrow street to Poppy’s pink van. I would have missed the man entirely if he hadn’t met my eye. I wasn’t pleased. It was Detective Dan, my own personal stalker, with a smoldering cigarette between his fingertips. He had on a soft leather jacket and a Yankee’s cap low on his head, his black hair almost hidden. He blended into his surroundings seamlessly. He’d done that three times in the last twenty-four hours, and now I knew what was going on with the chameleon-like detective, and it wasn’t a sudden interest in hooking up with yours truly. “You’re following me?”
    “Maybe.” He took a drag of his cigarette. He’d gone from frumpy and unassuming last night, to powerful and clean-cut this morning, to dangerous and a little unnerving.
    No ring again. “What the hell is going on?”
    “We need to talk.”
    “Here?” The night was cool and the sidewalk dark on this side of the street. All along the block people were busy, returning from dinner or the movies, or heading out for the night. I gave him an exasperated sigh. “Look. I need to go