Free Vineyard Shadows by Philip R. Craig Page B

happier than I had ever made her, because I felt sorry for her and her addicted husband and wanted to save them from his sickness?
    I said, “I'm doing it because my family and I are involved and I want to get us uninvolved, and the only way I know how to do that is to get you and Tom uninvolved, too.”
    â€œOh, if only we can do that! This has been a nightmare. You can't imagine. We're schoolteachers, not gangsters. I'm not made for this kind of life.”
    True, no doubt. She'd not been made for the stresses of being a cop's wife, either. And now she was married to a guy hooked to the mob.
    â€œYour husband has a problem. Problems have solutions.”
    â€œNot all of them.”
    â€œThis one does.”
    Her arm tightened on mine. “What is it?”
    I shook my head. “I don't know yet. But there is one. The thing we have to do is keep Tom out of sight until I've figured it out.”
    â€œWhat will happen to him if they find him?”
    I'd given that some thought. “It depends on who does the finding. If it's Sonny, and he thinks Tom will keep his mouth shut and keep bringing in some worthwhilemoney, Sonny's boys will probably slap him around a little and let him keep slaving for them. If Sonny thinks he'll turn to the cops and talk, they'll do worse. Graham, of course, wants Tom to do just what Sonny doesn't want him to do: be a mole and tell the cops all, then testify in court. If Tom doesn't play ball, Graham will probably arrest him on gambling charges and anything else he thinks might stick. Even if nothing much does, Tom will still be through as a schoolteacher and even more broke than he is now. It's a nice pair of pincers he's caught in.”
    â€œIt's hopeless,” she said.
    I thought she might be right. “No, it isn't,” I said, “but it's best that you know the realities. Now, we should find ourselves a mall or someplace where you can buy a couple of cell phones.”
    We turned and walked back. The blue sedan was still there. “I see your neighbor owns a Lincoln,” I said. “You live in a classy section of town. We didn't have any Lincolns in our part of Somerville when you and I were young.”
    She glanced at the car, then shook her head. “ Somebody's just visiting.” Then she smiled. “We had that old Chevy that burned almost as much oil as gas. Remember?”
    â€œI remember.” It had been my first car. Twelve years old when I bought it, full of dents and rattles and other needed work that I was too poor to have done. I kept it running by buying motor oil by the case and the cheapest retread tires I could find. Come to think of it, the rusty Toyota Land Cruiser I drove now was even older than the Chevy had been. I hadn't made much progress as far as cars were concerned.
    â€œGo inside and get your purse and your money, and we'll go shopping,” I said. “I'll wait for you here.”
    She squeezed my arm, frowned slightly, and went upthe walk and into the house. When the door closed behind her, I went up the street and tapped on the window of the sedan. The man inside showed me an expressionless face. I tapped again and smiled at him. He pushed a button and the window went down. There was another man beyond him, in the passenger seat.
    â€œWhatta you want, buddy?” asked the driver.
    â€œHello, Pete,” I said. “We saw each other in the Green Harp, but we haven't been introduced. I'm J. W. Jackson. Maybe I can simplify your life for you. As soon as Mrs. Rimini collects her purse, she and I are going to the nearest mall or some such place to do some shopping. I'll drive slow enough for you to keep up with us without any problem, but if you get lost, just come back here and wait. We should be home in less than an hour.”
    â€œFuck you,” said Pete McBride.
    â€œIn case you're wondering what I'm doing here, Mrs. Rimini used to be Mrs. Jackson, as you may know, and even though we've been