Pretty Lies, page 19
A win-win, he thought.
As it was, his time was better spent outside where he could keep an eye on the streets. The wet smog lifting in the city was something he could do without, but it also couldn’t be helped this time of year when the cold mornings met the warmer afternoons. The constant whipping of the wind had Cory leaving his leather jacket at home, so he could wear something with a bit more thickness.
Besides, he highly doubted anyone would be causing a problem for the Costello family while they went through the motions of preparing their son for burial. There was a certain level of disrespect for that sort of thing, and even those with the worst of intentions tended to show some courtesy for a family in mourning. Especially for a mother.
Except the streets had been very quiet. That usually only meant one thing.
Speaking of mothers, though …
Cory pulled the last drag from his cigarette and tossed it to the ground as he pressed the home button on his phone to bring it to life. There, his mother’s last text waited for a reply. Exhaling the gray smoke to the sign overhead that spelled out the funeral home’s name in gold lettering on a black background, he replied to his ma’s question about the date for J’s funeral. If they’ve decided yet—don’t rush them or ask for me, Cory. I just want to put it on the calendar, she’d messaged.
Another day, and he might have chuckled. His mother, forever making sure she wasn’t an inconvenience to anyone else. Always supportive when she could be.
Looking like next Wednesday—eleven.
No wake, then, came her next reply.
“No wake,” he typed back. “Call you later.”
Her I love you response popped up soon after in a green chat bubble, and Cory shut down the screen before shoving the phone back into the pocket of his coat.
“Are you just … always around now?”
The random question had Cory lifting his head to find where it came from. Ten feet away, in leather knee-high boots and a jacket she cinched tight at the waist, Jennika watched Cory. Where had she even come from?
“Decided to come around, did you?” he asked.
She lifted one shoulder. Her appearance wasn’t missed. Still, he showed no concern that the woman’s pupils were pin-small, her hair was piled messy and high on the top of her head, and whatever remained of her makeup from the day—or night?—before was still smudged in one too many places. Calling her a mess might be too nice, but Cory opted not to say anything about it at all.
Better to let an issue fix itself, if it could.
His bead on Jennika came through when she went MIA. What else was he supposed to do? He did what he told Della he would—made sure the chick was okay, had someone get her home, and that was that. Anything after wasn’t his concern, and as far as he knew, Della needed to decide what she was going to do to handle her wayward friend.
The rest wasn’t up to him.
His hands were tied.
Jennika’s stare cut to him, and then the waiting doors behind him. “Well, she mentioned this morning when she texted where they were going to be. Figured, why not come around and see if anybody needs something, right? Like they did for me.”
Her sarcasm made sure that comment didn’t quite fly over Cory’s head. He knew for a fact Della had been concerned about her friend and tried to help as much as she could. Hence why he put a bead on her through his brother.
Nonetheless, if Jennika was in a mood, he wouldn’t entertain it. Cory wasn’t that kind of fool when it came to women, and he didn’t care much for this particular one in the first place.
“I’ll just … go in,” Jennika said, passing Cory without as much as a look over her shoulder.
He really wasn’t fucking offended.
She was a pretty thing.
But damaged.
A minute after she headed inside the place, someone else came out.
“God grant me the strength,” came a grunt to Cory’s left.
He found Della’s father stepping out from the white doors leading inside the funeral home. It welcomed people into a modernly—but comforting—decorated reception area. To the right were the offices. Off to the left, people had to walk through another set of doors—this time, black—to enter the chapel where a majority of the wakes took place when families didn’t want them at the church or at home. To the rear of the business was where people were directed for planning, to view samples, or for other needs.
For most of the morning, Frankie stayed with his wife and daughter. Cory wasn’t exactly surprised to see the man outside, though. Everybody needed a break occasionally when it came to this sort of thing.
“Smoke?” Cory asked.
Della’s father looked like he could use something. Since Cory didn’t have any liquor—or a better kind of smoke—on him at the moment, he figured a cigarette would be just as good. Frankie must have agreed considering he took a smoke from the pack Cory offered and then his silver Zippo to light it with.
“Grazie,” Frankie muttered, pulling hard from the cigarette. “Casket is next—should be the last thing before we can call it a day.”
“Long process,” Cory noted.
“Hard on the heart, mostly.”
Yeah, he bet.
Although Frankie did well to hide it, Cory knew this entire thing had to be particularly hard on the man. Not only had he lost the son he raised, but the subsequent breakdown his wife suffered certainly didn’t help when piled on top of the fact the Outfit’s boss was now demanding the man restructure his entire business to make things streamlined and easier for everyone involved. It was a lot to handle all at once.
Cory’s main job was Della. He also didn’t mind helping elsewhere. When he could, of course.
“You need something?” he asked the Capo.
Frankie shook his head at first. “Nah, I think I’m okay, kid.”
Cory chuffed, but he wasn’t offended. “You sure? Starbucks right down the road. All that pumpkin spice shit Della goes stupid over was on the menu. I could grab something until we have lunch.”
“They would like that, wouldn’t they?”
“And you know, there’s nothing like black coffee to remember what’s really important.”
Frankie let out a laugh. “You make a good point. You don’t mind?”
“Things are quiet. It’s not going to hurt if I run down the block for ten minutes.”
Depending on what the drive-thru looked like now.
Frankie glanced over his shoulder; the cigarette burning between his fingertips now had a lump of long, red coal at the tip and was a quarter of the way gone. He didn’t waste any time, and already, the guy looked like he wanted to get back to his wife. Just beyond the glass, Cory found the woman in question sitting in one chair of many lined up against the wall with a pack of what appeared to be bookmarks in her lap.
“Never understood the point of those damn death memorials—I don’t want to remember this,” Frankie said under his breath. “Worst days of my fucking life.”
Cory didn’t think the man meant for him to reply, and so he didn’t. He kept his attention on the window of the door, and the people he could see behind it from his position. Back near the hallway leading to the back, Della stood with her friend.
He couldn’t see Jennika.
Or the conversation, really.
Just his girl’s black dress.
Black until we bury him, she told him that morning when she picked out the outfit. Nothing else will do.
“Yeah,” Frankie said with a wave of his hand, gaining Cory’s attention again. “Go grab something for us all. I gotta get back in there.”
Cory nodded, already turning to head for his waiting Mustang. “Will do.”
•••
Ten minutes had been a conservative estimate. It took Cory nearly twenty minutes to get through the café’s drive-thru when it was nearing noon, and Chicago was a fucking city, after all. Apparently, the Starbucks was a particular favorite of nearly everyone who worked within a three-block radius of the joint.
God.
Cory was starting to miss his regular stomping grounds. He didn’t wait for shit when he walked into a place that recognized his face. Still, he put on a smile for the girl at the drive-thru window while he paid for the coffee, lattes, and bag of sweets. He didn’t bother to make small talk when the chick tried, though.
Better things on my mind.
Or rather, a better woman.
Cory was just pulling out of the drive-thru and taking a sip from his coffee when a call rang through the Bluetooth speaker in his ear.
“Call from Joe,” the robotic female voice said in his ear.
Cory set the coffee down and hit the button as he waited to pull out onto the street. Cars kept going, one after another, with no break in sight for him to possibly slip his Mustang in between. He didn’t take chances with his car—but especially not when his newest pearl black paint job was less than a year old.
“Yeah, what’s up, bro?” Cory asked.
“Frankie’s got a real fucking problem, that’s what.”
It took Cory a second to reply. If only because he wanted to be sure he heard his brother right, and he understood what it might mean. Just to be sure, he asked, “The bead on the connections came through?”
“Took a second. Too fucking long.”
Cory sighed. “Yeah, but do we know who was feeding Luis and his crew the info on the warehouse and Costello’s business? Or what?”
Because that’s what mattered.
It’s what everybody in the Outfit had been waiting for.
“Yeah, I just got confirmation,” Joe said. “Called you first—I’ll make the call to Dad after, so he can let the boss know, and whoever else.”
“Joe—spit it out. How close was the issue?”
“Really close, man,” Joe said. “She’s been there the whole time. Shit, I could have taken care of her days ago when my guy first found her after she popped back up. But no worries because now that we know who was feeding Luis info, it’ll be handled before the sun sets.”
Wait, what?
Cory’s mind went quiet.
Joe, on the other hand, did not. “I think this Luis shit went deeper than we realized. The guy had a woman he was fucking on every corner, Cory. Every one of them had a connection to someone or something bigger than him. None of them were really connected to each other. I don’t think Della and Jennika were different … except for the fact that they knew each other. And as for Tommas wanting to get his hands on the drugs stolen from the warehouse—or Luis—well, that’s probably not going to happen. Every lead came back the same. That shit is long gone, and so is your old friend. Neither him, nor those drugs, are in the states right now.”
He still couldn’t get his car out onto the road. More cars were coming.
Time ticked by.
Cory’s heart raged.
His panic swelled.
“You mean, Jennika was the connection to Luis?” he asked quietly.
Joe cleared his throat, and a paper shuffled on the other end. “Yeah, it took some digging, but I found the connection. His name on a place she rented just outside of the city. I had like fifteen people to go through. Why would I look at her first?”
Right.
Because none of them did.
None of them looked at Jennika first.
Pretty things always told lies.
Never fucking failed.
“I gotta go,” Cory said.
“What, why—”
Because that bitch was with Della.
At that very moment.
With her.
Cory wasn’t—he was in his car a whole block away. Not with her. Not doing his job. Why did it feel like it might already be too late?
His brother didn’t finish his sentence before Cory hung up the phone. He also didn’t wait for an opening on the road before he just pulled the hell out. Horns blazed. Someone nearly clipped the side of his Mustang.
The engine roared louder.
Even that wasn’t a comfort.
Nothing would be.
Not until this was over.
EIGHTEEN
JENNIKA’S ever-present sense of entitlement hadn’t been something that really bothered Della before. Then, her friend had to stomp her way into a funeral home and demand to speak with her about that fucking text you sent me this morning.
There was no respect in it.
No decorum.
Della’s mother grieved across the room, and Jennika didn’t give a shit. Chloe was the same woman who had let Jennika sleep in their home every single night that she couldn’t get into her own. Her mom had fed her friend when she needed it; anything Chloe could do to help Jennika, she did it without question.
Jennika didn’t seem to remember those things which should have been the first clue to Della that something was seriously wrong.
She ignored it.
“Why would you do this today of all days?” Della demanded, tempering her tone but still shooting a look at her mother who was now speaking to Mr. Horenstein. While the undertaker had her mother’s attention handled for a second, she put hers back on Jennika. “You really thought right now was the best time for us to have this chat?”
Haggard would be a good description for her friend in that moment. She preferred to call it as it was—Jennika looked a damn mess.
“I’m not ignoring you,” Jennika said. “I just—listen, that message you sent me this morning made me realize we needed to talk.”
Della rolled her eyes, and stepped closer to the black double doors. Outside, her father chatted with Cory. Downstairs, beyond the rows of caskets they still had to pick from for J, was a room where they were currently keeping her brother’s body. Her mother was still trying to decide which picture of her son she wanted to put on keepsake bookmarks that would tell guests at the funeral of J’s life.
And here Jennika was.
Pissed off because of a text.
It couldn’t be more stupid.
That was her friend, though. Before, it used to be something Della liked about Jennika. Something in the girl that reminded her of herself. That selfishness. She once thought selfishness wasn’t really all that different than ambition. Except it was because one was a confidence that was earned, and the other came with pettiness that looked well on no one. Especially not on a woman like her.
What had been a thing that they bonded over had now become something Della hated in her friend. Something she hoped didn’t reflect in her own actions and behavior. She didn’t want to be that woman now.
“You know the world doesn’t revolve around you, right?” Della asked sharply.
Maybe a little too loudly considering her mother and the undertaker looked Della and Jennika’s way. All she needed to see was that line of wetness in Chloe’s eyes. Her stomach twisted into guilty knots because … Jesus.
“Everything okay?” the undertaker asked, his soft voice belying his rather large size. He towered high at over six and a half feet tall, at least. His shoulders were as wide as the doorways. The last thing she wanted was a problem with a man who also dealt with death on a regular basis. In more ways than one, according to her father.
And her mom didn’t need this shit.
At all.
“Yeah,” Della said, plastering a smile on her face. Not that it stopped her mother’s gaze from traveling between the two girls. Chloe wasn’t buying her bullshit, and she didn’t look pleased. Why would she? She was trying to plan her son’s funeral. Fine. They would just take it elsewhere. “We’re going to head downstairs and look at the caskets. You wanted black, right, Ma?”
“Why not?” Jennika asked, clicking her tongue and giving Della a smile. “Let’s find something black to shove in the ground, Dell.”
Jennika used the nickname Luis gave Della—that she hated so very much—far too easily. Her hand twitched to slap Jennika. She’d deserve it. Clearly, her friend was having a moment, and it was something that needed to be dealt with, but she only wanted to make it clear to Jennika that she wasn’t welcome here right now.
Della controlled herself for the whole slapping bit, but just barely.
For now.
“Della,” Chloe called as she and Jennika turned for the hallway, “why not outside instead?”
She didn’t answer her mother.
What did it matter?
“This isn’t the right time,” she told Jennika.
“You texted me to say that if I couldn’t even call you back, to call someone else when I need work,” Jennika said, each word coming out slow and measured. Like she had read that text message Della sent that morning after yet another day of no response or even a smoke signal from her friend.
J just died; Jennika almost died. Luis was MIA. The Outfit was out a lot of money because of the warehouse, and people were probably going to look at her father to replace the cost of what was lost. A whole new world of business was dropped into Della’s lap, and she was expected to learn it before she even understood what it meant to be in her hands.
But where had her friend been?
Getting drunk.
Probably popping something.
“I sent you that message this morning because I can’t keep cleaning up after you. Especially not right now. I needed you to understand. I can’t do it anymore,” Della said when they entered the stairwell at the end of the hallway leading to a lower floor. “I told you what I was doing today because I hoped you would get the point—I can’t worry about you right now when I have to deal with everything else. You’re a big girl, I’m not going to chase you for weeks while you go on one of your benders. I have shit to do, Jenn, God. Did you see my ma upstairs? She didn’t need this today.”
She could feel the difference in temperature from upstairs to down below. While the walls were finished, she had no doubt if someone peeled back the paint and plaster, one would find nothing but the cement of a basement.
