Judge & Jury - James Patterson [94]
“It all depends,” Andie called, backing down the street. She could see the gleam in his eye. She had him hooked.
“On what?” Cavello followed her a few steps.
“On what you did to get yourself in the Witness Protection Program, Mr. Celletini. I only go out with a certain kind of man.”
“Oh, that.” Cavello grinned, taking one more step after her. “Mafia boss. Does that qualify?”
Chapter 117
SATURDAY CAME.
Andie was already sitting in the café when Cavello arrived. The two black Range Rovers pulled up down the square, and the door to the lead one opened. Cavello got out looking full of himself as always.
This was no game, no role, she knew. This man would gladly kill her given the chance. But she had to do this, she told herself. She had to stay calm. She had to act!
Cavello looked pleased and maybe even a little surprised as he stepped up to her table. He was wearing the same black leather topcoat and dark sunglasses, the tweed cap. “I’m very happy to see you, Alicia. I see my past occupation didn’t scare you off.”
“Gee, and I thought we were only playing with each other.” Andie looked at him over her own sunglasses. “Should I be scared?”
She had let down her hair this time, and was wearing an orange T-shirt that read BALL BUSTER in small type under her waist-length denim jacket. Cavello read the lettering on her shirt. “Maybe it’s me who ought to be scared, Alicia. May I sit down?”
“Sure. Unless you like to eat standing up.”
He sat down and took off his hat. Cavello’s hair was slightly grayer. His face had barely changed from the one she had stared at with hatred in the courtroom, the day of the new trial.
“You don’t seem too sinister to me,” she said. “Anyway, how could anyone who farms sheep be so bad?”
Cavello laughed, and she knew that he could be charming when he wanted to. “You know, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell the Justice Department for years.”
Andie laughed. They both did.
A waiter came up. He seemed to recognize Cavello.
“The empanadas are like rocks here. But the margaritas are the best north of Antarctica,” said Cavello.
“Margarita,” Andie said, not even opening the menu. Cavello asked for an Absolut on the rocks.
“So why are you here?” She tilted her chair. “They have sheep all over, don’t they? You don’t seem like much of a farmer, Frank.”
“The weather.” Cavello smiled, then went on. “Let’s just say it suits me here. Desolate. Lonely. Isolated. And those are the good points.”
“You know, I’m actually starting to believe that Witness Protection thing.” She eyed him with a coy smile.
The waiter brought their drinks. Andie lifted her margarita. Cavello, his vodka.
“To the end of the world,” he said, “and whatever hopes and expectations go along with it.”
Andie met his eyes. They clinked glasses. “Sounds like a plan.”
She took a sip and looked past him into the square. Somewhere out there Nick was watching. That gave her strength, and God she needed it right now.
“So, what sort of hopes and expectations do you have, Frank?” she asked, peering over her sunglasses.
“Actually, I was thinking of you.”
“Me?” Andie, nervous again, put down her glass. “What do you know about me?”
“I know people don’t come this far because they’re happy. I know you’re very attractive, and apparently open to new things. I know you’re here.”
“You’re quite the psychologist.”
“I guess I just like people. How their minds work.”
He asked about her, and Andie went through the story that she and Nick had fabricated. About how her first marriage had crashed, and how some Boston restaurant where she was a sous-chef had failed, how it was time for a change in her life—new adventures. So here she was.
A couple of times she touched his arm. Cavello responded by leaning closer. She knew how the game was played. Andie just prayed he hadn’t already seen through her act.
Finally Cavello locked his hands in front of his face. “You know, Alicia, I’m not the kind of person who beats around the bush.”
“No, Frank.” She took