twisted around and stared at a second man, standing in the darkened living room. He was smaller than the big man. He was normal-sized.
She turned back to Mrs. Morelli and cleared her throat.
âIâm responsible for this, I know,â Lisa began, feeling stupid. âIf only Iâd have gone in there. If only I wasnât so scared of him. I hate myself for what happened.â
âWhoâd have known the bastard wouldâ¦â Mrs. Morelliâs voice trailed off.
âYou want me to get you something to eat, Aunt Rosa?â Tony asked, leaning down over her.
He almost made her seem pale and delicate.
âNo, Tony. I donât want nothing. I ainât hungry. I ainât hungry. I ainât ever gonna be hungry again!â she said, her voice rising as she got up. âHe sentenced me to a life of poverty! My last years, my golden years, spent in shame, trying to feed myself. I wanna die! I wanna die! He stole my moneyâthat SONOFABEECH.â
It was the damnedest thing: Lisaâs fillings hurt.
Guilt overwhelmed her. Even if she offended Mrs. Morelli, she had to try to offer her some money.
âItâs all my fault. Oh God. Listen, whatever I can do, just tell me. I could help you do your resume or help out around the house.â She swallowed. âLook, I donât want to offend you, but do you need money?â
Mrs. Morelli looked at her oddly. âWhatta you talking about?â
Lisa brightened a bit.
âWell, I was thinking, you probably need some money to tide you over, and I have five hundred dollars in my savings account.â She watched Mrs. Morelliâs eyes dart to her nephew. She said something in Italian to him, and the other man came up behind her.
âI donât want your money! I want the bastard dead!â she snapped.
âBelieve me, I know. People like that donât deserve to live. If you knew how many times I wished heâd ⦠heâd get run over or something, just die, so I donât have to listen to him.⦠I mean, why does he have the right to do things like this, huh? Why? Because heâs wealthy? Iâll tell you something, if he was dying on a street corner, I donât think Iâd bend over to help him. Iâd let him just bleed to death in the gutter. Some days, I think ⦠I think about sending him a really nasty letter.⦠Iââ Lisa stopped as she caught sight of the smaller man trying desperately to stifle a smirk. âWhatâs so funny?â she demanded.
âNothing,â Michael said quietly.
His accent was softer than the othersâ.
âWell, Iâm angry,â she snapped.
âI know you are.â
Lisa turned back to Mrs. Morelli, embarrassed. Sheâd flown off the handle. The tension of the last couple of days seemed to well up inside her and burst. She exhaled and sat down.
âAnything I can do to help, please, please, tell me.â
Mrs. Morelli shot a glance up at Tony.
âAnything? Youâd do anything to help me?â
âJust name it. Just you name it,â she said, leaning forward in her chair.
âYou know where heâll be tonight?â
âWell ⦠not offhand.â
âCould you find out for me?â
Lisa stared at her. âAre you going to go talk to him?â
âMy godson Tony and his cousin Michael gonna talk to him,â she said calmly. âNow, you tell us where heâll be at.â
âWell, Iâd have to look in his appointment book. What are you going to say to him?â she asked, looking at Tony.
âIâm gonna tell him to give my Aunt Rosa back her full pension,â Tony said, blinking down at her.
There was an odd look to his eyes. They almost looked crossed, or as if they didnât really focus on anything.
âYou donât know Henry Foster Morgan. Heâs a pretty nasty man. What if, you know,â she said, lowering her voice, âhe