Wiseguys In Love by C. Clark Criscuolo Page B

Foster Morgan trying to open his bottle of aspirin with no thumbs came into her head.
    He’d probably just hire someone to do whatever it was that he did with his thumbs. Or, more likely, it would end up as part of her job description.
    No, she had to do something. She was a competent person; she could think her way out of this.
    She found herself pacing, hunched over in the office.
    Well, she’d called the police, and that got her a big nothing, and she certainly didn’t want to run into those two guys again. So what could she do?
    She stood straight up.
    She could warn him.
    That’s what she could do. Warn Henry Foster Morgan not to go out, not to leave his building. Just stay inside. Hide there until they got tired of waiting and gave up. Then he could take a long vacation. He wouldn’t mind that.
    She was jolted back into the room as she gazed at the torn masking tape on her wrists.
    She quickly peeled it off, cringing as she pulled. It felt like a hundred Band-Aids, and it made her angry. She rubbed the skin and picked up all the tape and threw it in the basket.
    She left Henry’s office. She’d get a cab and get over there as fast as possible. She stopped short at the elevator.
    What was she doing?
    She should get her car and get the hell away from here is what she should do. God, she’d probably missed the barbecue, she thought, looking at her watch.
    She paced in a circle.
    Should she do the right thing and warn him? Or the safe thing and go to Connecticut?
    She stopped still for a moment.
    What a dummy! She could call him. Then she wouldn’t have to go all the way downtown, and she wouldn’t have to run into those guys, and she could get her car out of Harlem and go to Connecticut!
    When the phone rang in the living room, Henry was in the process of getting himself a Bloody Mary to get him to the cocktail party. He was just about to take his first sip. He hated telephones when he had to answer them. He loved them when someone else had to answer them. He stalked into the living room and grabbed the phone.
    â€œWhat!” he yelled.
    Lisa sat on the other end, frozen. It was that tone of voice humiliating her, just like he did every morning. Well, he was still alive. She guessed there was some good in that. Maybe she should go to Connecticut. Leave him to that Tony guy.
    â€œAnswer, goddamn it!” his voice snarled.
    â€œMr. Foster Morgan?” she said, dropping her voice to try to disguise it.
    â€œWho is this?”
    She took a breath.
    â€œNever mind. You’re in danger. Don’t go out tonight. There are men trying to kill you.”
    There was a long pause, and she heard him exhale, and this odd gulping noise.
    â€œOkay, who is this? Is this Mindy?”
    â€œI’m telling you for your safety. Do not leave your apartment, or you’ll be killed. Wait until tomorrow morning and then get out of town as fast as you can.”
    There was a pause and an odd slurping noise.
    â€œHow did you get this number? Who the hell do you think you are, calling me like this? I mean, what the fuck do you think I am? Stupid?”
    â€œNo, I— I—”
    â€œListen, you dumb bitch, you ever call this number again and I’ll have you arrested.” Click.
    Zero for two. Lisa went numb. Now what was she going to do?
    *   *   *
    Michael got on line at the deli behind a woman who seemed to be ordering enough food for forty. What luck. This always happened to him. At bank machines for instance, he always got stuck behind the whack who had seventy transactions and couldn’t figure out how to use a bank card.
    He needed to get away from Tony for a moment. Part of the problem with his stomach was Tony. Michael knew that Tony hadn’t liked his solution about Michigan. He’d wanted to ice her. Make it clean and neat. But he’d gone along with Michael’s reasoning. Aw God, he felt awful. They’d kill this guy, then