Mr Destiny (5 page)

Millennium, Mama
, Tony thought, but he knew better than to correct her. Besides, everything his mother said was true.

Theresa had married her romantic French-Canadian philosophy professor. Maria was married to a somewhat reserved Brit in the
import/export business. Angelina's husband was an entrepreneuring Cuban-American, determined to make a success of his trucking
business. Elaina had married a slightly overbearing German who was a big-deal architectural consultant. The baby of the family,
Carlina, had somehow run across a Cajun straight from the swamps of Louisiana—the kid was currently working for the Sanitation
Department and seemed to be taking big-city life in stride.

When he thought about it, they could hold a damn United Nations meeting sitting right there at the family table. That thought
gave Tony one more glimmer of hope.

“I doubt this woman is Catholic, either, Mama,” he threw out, clearly grasping at straws now.

Again, his mother waved away his comment. “I decided long ago I was leaving religion to God to worry about. All I can do is
pray for all of you.”

“Mama, please,” Tony said, trying to keep his temper in check. “Do you really expect me to go find a woman who has already
told me to buzz off? And then demand she postpone her wedding because
I'm
the man she's supposed to marry?”

“Why, yes,” she said, as if she couldn't believe her son was asking such a stupid question. “What other choice do you have?”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!

Tony looked at his father for help, but his mother reached out and took her husband's hand. “Tell him, Mario. Tell your son
how important it is to follow his destiny, just as you and his uncles before him have done.”

“Mama,” Tony pleaded. “I already know all the stories. I've heard them all my life. But this is one time Nonna was
wrong.
“

Damn. Did I really say
wrong
?

Judging from the gasps at the table that sucked most of the air out of the room, he had.

His mother even paled to the point that his father reached out and placed an arm around her shoulder to steady her.

“
Wrong
wasn't a good choice of words,” Tony said, backtracking as fast as possible. “I meant Nonna's prediction for me is obviously
different
from the others. Maybe we should let Nonna read my tea leaves again,” he added, hoping to appease the angry looks coming
from Mama and his frowning sisters. “Like you said, Mama, times change. People change.”

“No,” she said flatly. “You have accused your grandmother of being wrong. The only way to prove it is for you to bring the
blonde here, to the restaurant. We won't tell Nonna you've already met her in the park standing beside the Blessed Virgin.
If she is the one you're supposed to marry, Nonna will know it the minute she takes the blonde's hand.”

“I'm done here,” Tony said, throwing his napkin down on the table. “And I am
not
going to go find the blonde.”

Forget keeping his temper in check.

There was no reasoning with these people.

He pushed his chair back.

When he stood up to leave, his mother pointed a finger at him the way she used to do when he was a kid. The stern expression
on her face froze Tony right where he stood.

“Then you leave
me
no choice,” she said, standing up from the table herself. “I will go pray now.”

Everyone sent Tony you're-in-deep-shit-now looks.

“Mama, please don't do this.”

She ignored him and pointed to the ceiling. “To the Saints in Heaven above I will pray. Day and night I will pray. Until you
bring the blonde to meet Nonna.” She said this, being dramatic as only his mother could be. “But you have my word, Anthony.”
She pointed her finger at him again. “If Nonna doesn't sense that the blonde is the woman you're supposed to marry, I'll accept
it. You have my word about that.”

Before Tony could argue, his mother left the table.

His poor father hurried after her, a terrified look on his ashen face. “Gina, my little dove, be reasonable,” he called out.

As soon as his father was out of sight, everyone at the table burst out laughing.

Except Tony.

“I guess you'd better go find that blonde,” Angelina said between giggles.

“Arrest her if you have to, Tony,” Maria teased. “You know how stubborn Mama gets when she's praying.”

Everyone laughed again.

“This
isn't
funny,” Tony said. “Maybe if you girls had lived with one of Nonna's marriage predictions, you might have a little more sympathy
for me.”

“Don't blame us,” Maria said, “we didn't make the rule that Nonna's predictions were restricted for her precious sons and
her only grandson.”

“I wasn't
blaming
you,” Tony began, “I just meant…”

Carlina interrupted him. “Remember the last time Mama locked herself in her bedroom to pray?” She looked around the table
for an answer.

“Two years ago,” Elaina said. “When Papa refused to fire that hot little waitress whose skirts were so short you could see
her kooch every time she bent over to place a plate on the table.”

Everybody laughed.

“Mama's no fool,” Theresa said. “She caught Papa looking at that hot little kooch one time too many.”

“Poor Papa,” Maria said. “He only held out two days.”

“Yes, but he moped around the restaurant for a solid month after he fired that girl,” Angelina said, and everyone laughed
again.

“Well, in case none of you have noticed,” Tony told his snickering siblings and their spouses, ”
I'm
not Papa. This time, Mama has met her match.”

“I'll bet five hundred dollars on Mama Gina right now,” Horst, Elaina's big blond German husband announced.

Tony flipped him the finger.

Everyone howled even louder.

“Go ahead. Knock yourselves out laughing,” Tony said. “Just don't expect me to stand here and take it.”

He turned and headed for the door.

“I hope you were smart enough to get the blonde's name,” Theresa called out after him. “Because you will have to find her,
Tony. Mama will see to it.”

They were all still laughing when Tony walked out of the restaurant.

Crazy idiots.

But he really couldn't blame his family for having their fun at his expense. Had the shoe been on someone else's foot, he
would have been laughing just as loudly and instigating mischief exactly the way everyone else was doing with him.

Pray to the Saints in Heaven above.

Well, he had news for Mama.

Her prayer threat wasn't going to work with him.

The only reason his mother always won her blackmailing prayer scam anyway was because his father couldn't hold up under the
pressure. Well,
he
wasn't Papa, just like he'd told the laughing hyenas back at the table.

Laughing hyenas.

Maybe hyenas laugh because they know what's coming next.

Tony pushed that thought aside and kept on walking.

He headed down Thirtieth Avenue, both hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans. Weather permitting, he always walked the five
blocks from his apartment building to the restaurant on Friday night. It gave him a chance to scope out the neighborhood,
keep his thumb on the pulse of what was really happening on the streets of Astoria.

Old habits die hard.

Serving at least five years on a regular beat was one of the requirements a candidate had to meet before applying for a position
as a mounted patrol officer. He'd paid his dues. He'd maintained an exemplary record as a patrol officer. He'd finally reached
his goal and been accepted by a mounted patrol unit. But he never intended to lose his streetwise edge.

Was I smart enough to get the blonde's name?

Who was Theresa kidding?

He'd gotten her name and more.

Anderson Gallery of Fine Arts.

Yeah, she'd be easy enough to track down.

Not that he was even considering tracking her down.

Hell no!

He was a cop, dammit. He was trained to listen and remember even the smallest of details. If he had to, he could close his
eyes and give a sketch artist a perfect description of Kate Anderson in two seconds flat. Right down to the sexy Cindy Crawford
type beauty mark on her left cheek.

Forgetaboutit already!

The woman was history.

Keep it that way.

When his apartment building came into view, Tony let out a frustrated sigh and looked down at his watch. It was only nine-thirty.
He was restless, to say the least. Just not restless enough to head off to one of his regular haunts and look up some of his
buddies for a few games of pool and a couple of beers.

No, maybe he would head over to the Red Bull for a few beers, Tony decided. It would sure beat going home to an empty apartment,
where he had nothing else to think about but pretty
engaged
green-eyed blondes.

He briefly even thought about turning around and heading back to the restaurant to talk some sense into his mother, but the
sound of squealing tires turning the corner slowed his pace. When he saw the yellow chopped low-ride cruiser slow to a stop
in front of his building, the muscle in his jaw twitched instinctively.

Tony knew the car.

He also knew the driver and his cronies.

A bad bunch of punks in anybody's book. If any of them lived to see their twenty-first birthdays, Tony suspected they'd probably
do their celebrating somewhere behind bars.

He picked up his pace again.

He swore when he saw Joey Caborelli open the front door of the building and head down the steps.

Joey was a good kid, barely sixteen. The son of one of his tenants, Rose Caborelli, a struggling single mom nurse who worked
the night shift. Joey was good kid headed for a bad ending if those punks were reeling him in.

Without a second thought, Tony put his fingers to his lips. His loud whistle jerked Joey's head in his direction. When the
kid saw Tony walking toward him, he quickly waved the car away.

The driver peeled rubber, then slowed down defiantly. Tony stared the jeering faces down as the car eased past him. One of
the punks in the backseat spat out the window and called him a foul name. They all laughed before the driver peeled rubber
again, then roared off into the night.

Tony glanced back toward the building.

Joey was still standing on the sidewalk.

He was dressed like the young punks who had just driven away—sleeveless tank top, baggy jeans worn low on his hips, a do-rag
tied around his head to hold down a matted mess of dreadlocks. Despite the surly smirk on his lips, Tony suspected Joey's
desire to become a gang member was nothing more than a need to belong.

The kid's staying behind had been his first clue.

His actions told Tony that the last thing the boy wanted was the resident cop mentioning something about his choice of friends
to his mother later on.

“Friends of yours?” Tony asked, when he walked up and stopped beside the kid.

“Nah,” Joey said, avoiding his gaze. “Never saw them before.”

“They're a bad bunch, Joey,” Tony said.

Joey still wouldn't look at him. He kicked at the concrete with the toe of his unlaced tennis shoe, instead.

I'm wasting my breath.

Tony had one of two choices, and he knew it.

He could continue to give Joey a long lecture that would go straight in one ear and right out the other. Or, he could go one
step further and make an impact on the kid that would hopefully last him a lifetime.

Tony reached out and put his arm around the kid's shoulder, then began dragging Joey with him off the curb and across the
street. He was pleased when he felt Joey tremble slightly.

Fear was an excellent motivator.

Before the night was over, Tony intended to scare the living crap out of Joey Caborelli.

They stopped in front of the shiny new black GTO coupe that Tony hadn't been able to resist ordering the minute he saw the
car featured in
Road & Track
magazine.

“Sweet ride,” Joey said, trying to wiggle out of his grasp.

“The most powerful GTO ever made,” Tony said, still holding on to his squirming captive. “Zero to sixty in 5.3 seconds flat.
Since you seem to be in the mood for cruising tonight, why don't you and I go take it for a spin?”

Joey sent him a nervous look when Tony finally let go of him. “Hey, I told you, I don't know those guys. I'd better get back
inside,” he said, his voice cracking now. “Ma don't like me going out without asking.”

Tony took his car keys from his jeans pocket. The door locks clicked, and the lights flashed when he hit the button. He wasted
no time opening the passenger-side door.

“Buckle up,” he told Joey as he pushed him down onto the passenger seat. “I'll make things right with your mom.”

Tony headed for the driver's side, thinking how hard Rose struggled just to make ends meet. He knew Joey's deadbeat dad never
contributed financial or emotional support for the kid. He'd seen too many good kids from broken homes slip through the cracks
while society turned its head.

Joey wasn't going be one of them.

Not if he could help it.

His unwilling passenger didn't know it yet, but he was getting ready to go on a tour straight through the bowels of hell.
The same tour of the city morgue Tony's retired police captain Uncle Vinny had given him when he'd been a brainless sixteen-year-old
kid headed in the wrong direction.

Tony slid behind the wheel, turned on the ignition, and revved up the GTO's engine.

“Where are we going?” Joey was brave enough to ask.

Tony's reply was simple. “We're going where you'll end up, Joey. If you keep hanging out with those punks you say you've never
seen before.”