The Heavenly Fugitive by Gilbert Morris Page A

man was wearing a brown woolen overcoat, open at the neck, with a thick furry collar. A derby was perched on his head, and his shoes were so highly polished they gleamed in the noon sunlight. He stopped in front of her, his wide lips turning up in a smile. His battered face bore many scars, but his light gray eyes were friendly. “What are you doing in this part of town?”
    “Nothing much. What about you, Dom? Do you have to break somebody’s knees because they didn’t pay off a loan?”
    Costello’s eyes almost disappeared in the folds of his face as he smiled. His one gold tooth glistened as he grinned at her. “I’m past all that. I’ll admit I started out as a knee breaker, but I’m more refined now.” Costello’s eyes searched her face with interest. He had been taken with her audacity the night she’d pulled the pistol on him. He enjoyed telling the story now. He took in her smooth skin and the elegant clothes but could see in her eyes that Amelia Winslow was not the happiest woman in the world. Impulsively he offered, “Let’s you and me go get a bite to eat. It’s about lunchtime.”
    Amelia could not help laughing at him—a most attractive laugh, he thought—and shaking her head in disbelief. “You’vegot some nerve, Dom. You almost kill my brother and then want me to eat with you?”
    Dom Costello was not a man of many sentiments, but now he assumed an almost meek stance, his hat off before her, and said, “You know, Miss Winslow, I’m a pretty tough nut. Not much of a conscience in me, I don’t guess, but I’ve been thinkin’ about your brother ever since the day I put him down. I don’t know why.” He laughed shortly. “Maybe I’m afraid you’ll change your mind and come at me with that rod you’re packin’ in your purse. C’mon,” he said. “There’s Louie’s place across the street. It’s a nice café. I can tell you how I turned to a life of crime while you eat.”
    “All right, Dom,” Amelia said, still shaking her head, this time in disbelief that she was actually going with the man.
    She accompanied him into Louie’s, where he greeted the owner like an old friend. “Hey, Louie, give us the best you got. This is Miss Winslow. She’s a right one.”
    Louie, a heavyset Italian with a broad smile, bobbed up and down. “I got justa the thing. Right this way, Mr. Costello.”
    Amelia took her seat at the table, which was covered with a red-and-white-checkered cloth, and looked around. The place was very clean, and the aroma of Italian cooking touched off acute hunger pangs. “Order something good, big guy.”
    Dom took over capably, and soon Louie left with the order. He returned with two cups of coffee, and as soon as Dom had dumped in four heaping spoonfuls of sugar and stirred it, he tested it and smiled. “I like a little coffee with my sugar.”
    Amelia, who took hers black, smiled but said nothing. The warmth of the café was almost intoxicating, and she found her stomach rumbling at the enticing smells of garlic and oregano.
    “So how’s the kid doin’?”
    “He’s doing fine, Dom. He’s so smart! I can’t believe we’re related to each other.” Amelia loved to talk about her brother, and she elaborated on Phil’s accomplishments and how he’d never made anything but top grades all the waythrough school. “Now at that college,” she said, “they’re testing him like he’s a freak or something. They throw the hardest things they’ve got at him, and he still comes out with the top grades every time. He’s going to finish in two years instead of four. I’m so proud of him.”
    Dom encouraged her to talk, and finally, when a heaping plateful of spaghetti was set before each of them and a basket of wonderful-smelling garlic bread was set in the middle of the table, he said, “I guess we’d better dig in. Looks great, Louie.”
    “The very best in the house, Mr. Costello. I’ll bring you a bottle of our best wine to go with it.”
    As Louie