The voice on the other end was too faint to hear. I pressed my ear tightly against the receiver and said hello again. Steve was calling from a hospital bed, lying in traction with several broken bones and a broken nose and jaw.

“I still love you,” the barely audible voice said. “I understand why you did what you did. It’s okay. I still love you—I’ll always love you. . . .” Dial tone.

My stomach turned as I observed the dark brown spots on my carpet and tried to think of a solution to my problem. What was the answer? Steve’s obsession was going to be the death of someone, and by the looks of it, that someone was going to be me. My prior attempts for protection by the police had not worked. Seems that I would have to be pretty close to dead, or actually dead, before they could do anything.

Joe had allowed me to do it my way. The repercussion of this episode backfiring was my problem now. Any future involvement on Joe’s part would only bring me back to another situation that was just as intolerable. If I had done things his way to begin with, I wouldn’t be facing this dilemma now. Joe was playing the good guy, hoping this approach would work to his benefit. It was best to leave him out of it at this point.

I had no choice. I started to carry a gun, and, this time, I had no hesitations about using it.

“Of course I can fly out there, baby. I’ll catch the red-eye tonight.”

“How long can you stay, Frankie?”

“As long as you need me.”

I picked him up at the airport the next morning and filled him in.

“Why didn’t Joe just kill the motherfucker? You’ve got a bunch of fuckin’ lightweights around you, baby. You should’ve just called me in the first place.”

“I wouldn’t let him, Frankie.”

He rested his hands on my shoulders, and all my worries seemed to fall away. “Georgie Girl, you gotta wake up. You have to harden your heart, baby,” he said softly.

“Frankie, I’m so glad you’re here. I feel so much safer now. This has been a nightmare.”

“First thing we gotta do is find you another place to live.”

“I found a place just around the corner from the school, but they want first, last, and security. I don’t have it right now.”

“Baby, I’ll pay for it; don’t worry about that. You gotta stop being so damn proud, too. You know anything I got is yours. All you have to do is ask.”

I laughed. “Sure, that’s easy to say when you haven’t got anything.”

“You haven’t lost your sense of humor, I see,” he replied with a wide smile.

“Is that a gray hair?” I asked, running my hand over his head, inspecting more closely.

“Yeah, baby. There’s a lot of ’em. So we’re goin’ for the new place, right?”

“I suppose it’s the wise thing to do. Thanks, Frankie. I’ll pay you back.”

“You even try an’ I’ll break your skinny legs. How’s Toni Lee dealin’ with all this?”

“She’s in Rochester right now, but she’s amazingly resilient. This is nothing new to her, Frankie. She hasn’t had a very happy childhood. One day I’ll make it up to her.”

“Funny how life is,” he said. “I let you go to protect you from the kind of life you wound up having anyway. I should’ve married you, baby. I’ve kicked myself more than once for being such a fool. There’s never been anyone else like you. I keep searching for even a glimpse of you in other women, but it’s never there. You’re a cut above the rest, Georgie Girl. You deserve a lot more from life than what you’ve gotten so far. You’re a winner, baby—and don’t you ever forget that.”

“Thank you for saying that, Frankie. I don’t know if I believe it, but it’s really nice to hear.”

“You don’t know if you believe it? You don’t know? My God, Georgie Girl, what has that man done to you over the years?” he said with genuine sadness as he held me close, stroking my hair.

“I don’t know which one I’d like to blow away more,” he said almost to himself. We stood that way for several minutes without saying another word.

Frankie and I became lovers again while he was in L.A., but I would not allow myself to think about a future with him. I was trying to get away from that old life. Too much time had passed. Too much of my innocence had been lost. Nevertheless, the comfort of our friendship would be there forever.

I liked having Frankie around. It had been long time since I had acted silly. Life had become so damned serious in recent years. The little girl inside me had not come out to play in a long time, and she was taking full advantage of it.

Even while we laughed and did crazy things, Frankie never lost sight of why he was there. He spotted Steve following us a few times during our outings, but he kept it to himself, careful not to alarm me. Steve was quietly moving into position, and Frankie was ready for him.

Finally, the silence was broken. Ring, ring, ring, ring. That old familiar sound.

“George, don’t hang up! Listen, I’m leaving; I’m getting out of your life for good. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Why are you calling me, Steve? What part don’t you understand?”

“George, I’m getting out. I can’t take any more. You made your point. I’m not mad at you. I’ve destroyed a lot of your things, and I feel bad about it. I know you don’t have the money to replace them. I want to pay you for what I’ve destroyed. That’s the only way I can leave without feeling like a total jerk.”

“Okay, Steve. Bring the money over. Just put it by the door and leave.”

“Oh, no, I’m not falling for that again. Meet me at the bank. There’s people all around. I can’t hurt you there—I don’t want to hurt you. Bring your friend with you for protection if you don’t believe me.”

“What friend?”

“The guy who’s staying with you.”

“How do you know anyone’s staying with me?” I asked, peeking out the window, feeling his eyes out there somewhere in the dark, haunting me. It gave him some kind of a perverse thrill to know he could follow my every move without my knowledge of it.

“I know everything you do, George, but I don’t want to know anymore. I’m getting out of here—for good. Take the money. Let’s part friends. What do you say?”

“Okay, Steve, I’ll meet you at the bank at one o’clock tomorrow, but if you pull anything—consider yourself a dead man.” I hung up at the same time Frankie hung up the extension.

“Georgie Girl, are you nuts? I can’t pop him at a bank—in broad daylight!”

“Frankie, I don’t expect you to. If he’s serious about leaving and this will satisfy him, I’d much rather see it end this way.”

“This stinks, baby. I don’t have a good feelin’ about this.”

“What can happen with all these people around, Frankie? You’re here, and besides, I have the gun if I need it. Don’t worry—I’ll be all right.”

“Somethin’ ain’t right,” he said, scanning the bank with a trained eye.

Steve walked toward us with a cocky swagger, looking confident under the fading bruises. He was dressed in a dark blue suit, similar to the one that had been drenched with blood. He smiled as he extended his hand to Frankie and introduced himself. He acted as though he were giving a party and greeting his guests.

This infuriated Frankie. Veins bulged under his skin, throbbing as he spoke. “Give the girl her money, you fuckin’ puke, and get the fuck out of this state if you know what’s good for you.”

At that moment I understood why Frankie never talked about the secret part of his life. He was two different people, and I did not want to acquaint myself with this Frankie. Steve didn’t either. He quickly turned and walked toward the banker sitting behind the desk. We proceeded into the vault. Frankie waited outside, watching for anyone who looked the least bit suspicious.

The banker carried the box into a private room and left us alone. I suddenly didn’t feel safe.

Steve proudly opened the box and displayed the stacks of cash, all $100 bills. “There’s $250,000 here, George.”

“Great, Steve, count out $3,000 and we’re even.”

“It’s all yours. Come to Europe with me. We can be happy there.”

“Steve, I want the $3,000 you owe me, and I want you to keep your promise about leaving,” I said with the dreaded feeling that this was not going to end well.

“I know we can be happy,” he said with desperation.

“Let me just take you there until the money’s gone. I’ll show you the time of your life. Then if you’re still not happy, you can come back. At least I’ll be able to say I had the chance to try.”

“Steve, look at me. Listen to what I’m telling you! If you persist with this fucking fantasy of yours, you are not going to live to see your next birthday. Do you understand what I’m telling you? You are not messing around with amateurs. Do not call me anymore, don’t try to see me, just get on a plane and get the hell out of here. If you don’t . . . Well, just take my advice, Steve.”

“Will you just—”

I left him standing there and walked out of the bank, no richer than when I had walked in. No safer, either.

“Did you get the money?” Frankie asked when we got in the car.

“No.”

“No! What happened?”

“He tried to bribe me with $250,000 if I’d go to Europe with him.”

“And you said no?”

“Of course I said no! Are you nuts?” I answered, irritated that he might be serious.

“Hey, two hundred and fifty grand is a lot of dough.”

“Knowing Steve, he either lied about the amount or it was counterfeit money. Frankie, he’s not going anywhere. I should’ve known that by now.”

“The fuckin’ guy’s got a death wish. We can make it come true,” Frankie stated matter-of-factly.

“Let’s stop by that apartment and see if I can get in there a little sooner. Maybe if we give the landlord some money he’ll hurry it up.”

I felt as if I were in a never-ending nightmare. I was so tired of moving and running and hiding. Frankie hired a moving company, and I was out of my apartment by that weekend. The new place was just around the block, but he made the trucker drive in circles for three hours to be sure we weren’t being followed. He paid him well for his time and gas.

“I gotta teach you about living on the lam, baby,” Frankie said, out of breath, as he helped carry a heavy ceramic pot up to the second floor. “Having all this stuff is cumbersome when you gotta move fast.”

“I know, Frankie, but feeling like I have a home gives me an anchor. I need that.” He cocked an eyebrow and gave me a patronizing smile as he continued up the steps.

“FBI, Miss Durante,” they said, displaying their identification.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions. Would you mind coming with us?”

The thought never occurred to me that I could have declined.

“Yeah, sure . . . but could I use the ladies’ room first?”

“Sure, go ahead,” said the tall one as he turned to lead the way.

Suspicious stares from the bank employees followed us as we walked toward the bathroom. Please, let it be empty, I prayed. It was. I buried the gun in the bottom of the wastepaper basket, took some deep breaths, and walked back out.

“I’m ready.” Flanked by an agent on each side, I walked outside to a waiting car. “What’s this all about?” I asked, feeling my composure slowly returning as the car pulled away.

“I think you know what this is all about, Miss Durante. Do you prefer Miss Durante or Mrs. Lamendola?” the agent asked, carefully monitoring my reaction.

“Neither,” I answered stone-faced. “You can call me Georgia. Where are we going?”

“To the Bonaventure Hotel, downtown. It’s safe there. No one will see you with us. Your safety is our first concern, Georgia. We’re on your side.”

As the elevator rose to the eleventh floor, I shifted nervously and stared blankly at the walls. Two more agents waited inside the suite. They stood as we entered, introduced themselves, and offered me a cup of coffee. What I needed was a drink.

We all sat down except the one named Nelson. He walked slowly to the window with both hands in his pockets, then turned toward me.

“We are prepared to protect you, Georgia,” he said. “We can change your identity and relocate you in Europe, if that’s your preference. Even give you enough money to start a new life for yourself. You’ll be safe. But we need some answers—and we know you have them.” He was cold and dispassionate; a touch of humanity might make him more convincing.

“Gee, I really need the money, and I’d love to live in Europe, but I’m afraid I don’t know whatever it is that you think I know. Do you mind if I smoke?”

Nelson put up a hand to show he didn’t mind.

“What do you know about the hit on Bompen siero?”

“Nothing,” I answered, blowing out a puff of smoke.

“What about Joe Bello?”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Come on, are you saying you don’t know Joe Bello?” Nelson thundered.

“Well . . . yes, I know him, but I don’t know about him.”

He swung a steely glare at me. “You have a selective memory. Is it your habit to be vague?” I shrugged and looked blankly out the window. “You were at a party in Bello’s home on February twenty-second, 1976, which you attended with your husband, am I correct?”

“If you say I was, then I guess I was,” I answered, giving him a brittle smile.

The agent with the pointed features and a slick of smooth brown hair that I could tell was a rug sat silently studying my body language. He was getting on my nerves.

“Several reputed Mafia members attended that party. Did you overhear any conversations between any of these men that may be of interest to us?” Nelson continued.

“No.”

“Why was Salvatore Reale there?”

My heart rate picked up. “I don’t know the man.”

They threw a picture on the coffee table of Sal and me at a restaurant called Separate Tables in New York. I glanced at the picture without expression.

“Anyone else you want to claim not to know?” Nelson asked as he threw out more pictures. There was Paul Castalano, head of the Gambino family; Tony Lee, captain in the Gambino family; Sammy G and Joe Colombo at an Italian-American civil-rights dinner. “Nice guys you’re friendly with,” he said with a cutting sharpness.

These people had a better record of my life than I did.

“They’re just old acquaintances—”

Nelson bent forward, placing both his hands on the coffee table. His eyes bore into mine. “Level with us, Georgia. We can help you.”

Returning his intensity, I answered in an even tone, “I don’t know anything.”

Nelson moved in front of me, a commanding figure in a gray suit, burgundy tie, and striped shirt. “I’m tired of sparring with you, Georgia!” he declared. “Now, we said we’d protect you, but if you don’t cooperate with us, I’m afraid we’re going to have to leak your name out to the other side.”

“We can’t be responsible for what might happen to you,” the tall one added in a surprisingly flat monotone.

“I’m confused,” I said sarcastically. “Who’s supposed to be the bad guys?”

They didn’t answer. Instead they took out a picture of Al.

“Do you know this guy?”

I hesitated, but not long enough for them to notice. Inside, my anxiety ran wild. “No,” I answered.

“Hmm. He’s not a very nice man. In fact, he is what you would call a ‘bad guy.’ But I think you already know that, don’t you?” He paused. “What do you suppose he would do if he knew you were talking to us?”

I lit a cigarette and glanced at my watch. “Do you mind if I use your restroom?”

“Go ahead,” Nelson gestured, directing his arm toward the bathroom. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Upon closing the door, I rummaged through my purse in desperate search of a Valium.

Finding the Valium, I washed it down and took a few minutes to regain my composure. I checked my makeup, hoping it would buy me some mercy.

“Listen, you guys,” I said when I returned, “I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know anything. I really don’t.”

“That’s not what Steve’s been telling us,” Nelson said.

“He says you know a lot,” added the agent with the cheap rug.

“We can understand your fears, Georgia, but like we’ve been saying, we are prepared to relocate you and Steve and—”

“Steve told us about the beating and the threats on your lives. If you two want any kind of life for yourselves, you’re gonna have to be straight with us.”

I laughed so hard it was almost impossible to speak. “I don’t believe this! You guys must have an IQ three points below plant life! Let me get this straight: You think I’m in love with Steve, but Joe is putting a kink in it?”

“Well . . . yes. Isn’t that the way it is?” Nelson asked.

“God, he’s good. He’s really good. Either that, or somebody messed up pretty bad when they let you guys into this agency,” I said, enjoying the confusion in their faces. They didn’t answer me. They just sat there passing silent glances at each other. “This guy Steve is a nutcase! I’d rather face a fate with the Mob any day than with him. If you don’t believe me, just call the Beverly Hills Police Department. I’ve filed several complaints against him. The man is obsessed with me! I can’t believe you actually fell for that crap. Now, if you’re really concerned about my life, you’ll help me get rid of him. The so-called police can’t seem to do anything about it. Why do you think I had to do what I did? There was nowhere else to turn.”

Nelson’s face was one big question mark. The seated agents’ faces were tight and red. They all stared at me in awestruck silence. It was the most I had spoken in hours. Finally they believed me. It was apparent, however, that they had opened a door they could not easily close. The FBI had unwittingly played into Steve’s hand. His strategy was brilliant.

It just so happened that Joe was the number-one suspect in a case on which they had been working for over a year. For them, this was perfect timing. What a break for the good guys. But Steve had no idea what he was stumbling into. Fortunately for Al, they wanted the bigger fish.

Nelson propped his glasses on the top of his forehead, leaned back in his chair, and rubbed his eyes in a circular motion. “Well, it looks like we’ve spent a lot of time here getting nowhere,” he said, placing his glasses back on his nose.

The interrogation broke up shortly after, and they drove me back to the bank. As I got out of their car, Nelson had some words of advice: “We don’t advise you to contact Joe about our little meeting, for your own safety.”

“I won’t,” I answered, questioning his sincerity.

“Okay. Be careful.”

I got in my car and watched as they turned right on Wilshire Boulevard. I went left. I drove around on side streets for about a half an hour until I felt sure I wasn’t being followed. I remembered something Salvatore Reale had told me once: Always make four right-hand turns to be sure no one is tailing you. I did that, then stopped at a phone booth—and called Joe.

“Hello?” he said in a foggy voice. I almost hung up, but somehow I got the courage to speak.

“Joe, you’re not gonna like this,” I said, and then started to blurt it all out.

“Georgia! What the fuck, haven’t you learned anything by now? Don’t talk on the damn phone! Were you at least smart enough to see if you were being followed?”

“Yes.”

“Get in your car and get your ass down to San Diego right now. Don’t stop at home.”

“I can’t. I—”

“Now!” He hung up.

I called Frankie and told him what happened.

“You gotta go to San Diego, baby. You gotta let Joe in on what’s happening here.”

Frankie hated Joe, but he felt a kinship in this situation. A code which Italians on the dark side live by was taking charge.

“If the FBI’s been following you,” he said, “they probably got a make on me by now. This is gonna bring down some heat on our friends in the East, and they’re not gonna be happy about it. I gotta get back to New York and smooth this thing out before tempers start flaring, y’know what I mean?”

“A sit-down? But—”

“I didn’t get permission, Georgie Girl. I can’t explain it on the phone. You may have to come to New York for a few days. I’ll send you a ticket if it comes to that.”

“I’m afraid to go to San Diego, Frankie.”

“Baby, you gotta go. You can’t leave him in the dark.”

“I know I have to. . . .”

“I won’t be here when you get back, baby. You got a place you can stay?”

“No,” I said. Fear surged through me. I felt so alone.

“I’ll leave you some money. Get a hotel for a while until I can figure this out.”

“I’ll miss you, Frankie.”

“Yeah, me too, baby. I don’t like leaving you like this, but I have no choice.”

“I know. See ya when I see ya, Frankie.”

“Georgie Girl? . . . I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, Frankie,” I uttered, but he didn’t hear me. The connection had already been broken.

I was positive I wasn’t being followed. I took a few more turns just to be sure and then I headed back to the bank to retrieve my gun. Thankfully, it was still where I’d left it.

My nerves played havoc with me all the way to San Diego.

Walking up the path that led to the beautiful condominium on the cliff’s edge, I stopped. The smell of fresh sea air and the sound of crashing waves against the rocks below gave me a surreal sensation. This had to be a bad dream. Would my life ever be as natural as the smells and sounds that filled my senses? Such calmness. However, when that door opened, it would be anything but calm.

My hand shook as I rang the bell. I braced for a predictable punch to my head. He opened the door and stepped back to let me in.

“I’m sorry Joe. It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry. I had no idea—”

“Do you think you were followed?” he asked, dismissing my frantic attempts at explaining.

“No, I don’t think so,” I said, shaking as if from the cold.

Amazingly, he seemed composed. He poured us both a drink without saying a word. Thrown by his calm reaction, I struggled with my reluctance to relax. He handed me my drink and put both his arms around me, holding me tightly.

“Okay, sit down, and tell me everything from the beginning.”

When I finished, Joe swallowed hard and ran his hands over his head. “Okay, this is what we’re gonna do. . . .”

It was four o’clock in the morning before we stopped talking. We were both pretty weary. As I knew he would, Joe tried to convince me once again how much he loved me. Suppressing feelings of love that I still harbored, I chose to view only the face of a batterer, an abuser, and a controller.

“Let’s go to bed,” he said, as if it were the natural thing to do.

“Joe, I don’t think—”

“I just want to hold you, honey; we won’t do anything, okay? Besides, you can’t leave until you talk to Al. He’s gonna need convincing that you know how to keep your mouth shut.”

“They didn’t seem to be concerned about Al, or the beating.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s small potatoes compared to where they’re going with this, but they’re gonna try an’ squeeze him anyway,” he said as we walked down the hall toward the bedroom.

“Do you have a T-shirt?” I asked.

“You don’t need one.”

“Joe.”

“Don’t worry,” he assured me.

Sitting on the edge of the bed with my back toward him, I felt his eyes burning into my flesh as I unbuttoned my blouse. I quickly removed my clothes, leaving on my bra and panties, and got under the covers.

“It’s nice to see you lying there again,” he said, standing at the foot of the bed as he undressed. His desire mounted with each article of clothing that hit the floor. I closed my eyes, having only myself to blame.

I turned to my side with my back toward him as he slid his body next to mine. His smell was fresh and clean, with an undertone of cologne.

“Oh, my sweet baby, you feel so good next to me. I’ve missed you so much.” His hardness pressed against me.

I stiffened. “Joe, you promised.”

“I know, I know. I love you, Georgia.” I uttered no response. “Good night, my baby,” he whispered tenderly.

“Good night, Joe.”

The sun was pouring in through the large picture window when I opened my eyes. The condo was a far cry from the dungeon we had lived in above the club back in Rochester. In the morning stillness, the birds sang out in harmony. A calmness existed, as if life itself had been suspended.

Joe waltzed in with a tray of coffee and toast.

We sat on the bed, Indian style, sipping our coffee as he mapped out my strategy for the day.

“Let’s finish our coffee on the patio,” he suggested.

Rising, I jumped into the shower. The welcoming hot water beat heavily on my body, releasing the previous day’s tensions. My robe still hung in the closet, awaiting my return. Slipping it on, I walked out to the patio and joined Joe.

With his long, slender fingers wrapped around a coffee mug, he stared out at the sea. Breathing deeply, I took in the morning. Everything was so peaceful. Then my attention fell upon a woman sitting alone on the cliff, her quiet sobs lost in the wind . . . and I remembered.

So many days I’d spent sitting on that cliff, watching the endless rhythm of the ocean. It had been my salvation during the vividly painful times.

Joe sipped his coffee, put it down, and peered through his lightly tinted sunglasses. His eyes became fluid as he spoke. “I love you, Georgia. I’m such a fool. You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?”

I didn’t answer. It was hard for me; I loved this Joe, but I had made it too far to turn around now.

I drove to Al’s house and knocked on the door. He looked shocked to see me. That was understandable, since he had no warning as to what he was about to hear. He displayed no signs of being agitated. His only remark, emitted with cold emotion, was: “I knew I should’ve killed the fucker.” I shuddered.

He paced around the room as we discussed the course of action we would take, depending on the scenario. When he was satisfied, I left. Phew, that was over.

“Shit.” Just what I need, another ticket.

Two men in plain clothes exited the unmarked car and approached. Putting a hand to my mouth, I gave them a guilty schoolgirl grin. It was a wasted effort.

With a stern demeanor, one of them asked, “Where are you going in such a big hurry?”

“Home.”

“Where’s home?”

“Los Angeles.”

“Can I see your driver’s license and registration, please?”

I handed him both and he walked back to his car, leaving me to speak with the other man.

“We clocked you at a hundred and two near La Jolla. Took us this long just to catch up to you.”

I had no comment. What could I possibly say to justify that?

“So, you’re from L.A., huh?”

“That’s right.”

“What are you doing in San Diego?”

“I had a doctor’s appointment.”

“All the way from L.A.?”

“Well, I used to live here. I haven’t found a doctor I like in Los Angeles yet.”

He watched me in polite wonder. “Hmm. All the way from L.A.”

The second man returned and handed me back my license, his eyes constantly searching.

“Now, you have a nice day, and don’t have such a heavy foot if you want to stay alive.”

They turned and walked back to their car. Something was wrong. Why didn’t they give me a ticket? They had me—no doubt about it. I didn’t even try to talk myself out of it. I was baffled. I could understand if I were doing seventy miles per hour, but a hundred and two?

They followed me for a few miles and exited. When I was sure they were gone, I jammed on the accelerator and got lost in my thoughts on the two-hour journey back to L.A.

I arrived home at three o’clock, checking the neighborhood for signs of Steve before going in. The light on my answering machine was flashing. I pressed the rewind button and opened the refrigerator door. A horrified scream escaped from my throat. A dead rat lay next to a loaf of bread.

“STEVE!”

The tape playing in the background consisted of one hang-up after another, and then: “Hi, Georgia. This is your buddy Nelson from the FBI. Now, that wasn’t real smart of you. I thought we could trust you. Maybe you’re right about us. Maybe we do have an IQ three points below plant life. Anyway, we’re still looking out for you. It would be a real waste if anything happened to you. Be careful. We’ll be seeing you. . . .” Dial tone.

For the next three weeks they followed me everywhere. They weren’t even trying to be discreet. If they were, they weren’t doing a very good job of it. I was sure my telephone was tapped. Secretly I felt safe, knowing Steve was still out there waiting for his chance to take me out, and knowing that Joe couldn’t revert to violence with the FBI watching. Nevertheless, the surveillance played heavily on my nerves, forcing me to recall all the illegal activities I could be linked to. I even began to feel paranoid not making a full stop at an intersection. I had dealt with rogue cops before—justice is what they decide it is. If they wanted to get me, they would not be above fabricating evidence.

What the FBI knew for sure was that I was telling the truth about Steve. They knew they had to work quickly. The time and money put into this case could all be lost. They took a chance by exposing me to the knowledge that they were onto Joe and his friends. It backfired, leaving them with no alternative but to move fast, before they had all the pieces to the puzzle. Now they were hell-bent on getting the person whose name did not end in a vowel.

The phone rang. “Hi, Georgia. Nelson here. We think we can help you get rid of your little problem with Steve. Let’s talk.”

“Before we get into this, gentlemen,” I said, “I want to make sure we are all clear on one thing. I’m here to help you get Steve. Don’t ask me anything about Joe or I’m out of here.”

They glanced at one another briefly, then all nodded in agreement. They were sly, though, having some hidden agenda, but I played the game. It was my only alternative. As Al had said, Either you get him, or eventually he’ll get you. My instincts told me not to trust them, but they were serving a purpose for the time being.

The mind games were boggling. Who was screwing with whose head? I was going to have to mess with Steve’s, and that was not exactly a smart thing to do with a person as off-the-wall as he was. Were they messing with mine? No trust was present with anyone involved in this intricate plot . . . a plot to get whom?

“Do you know where he’s staying?” one of the agents asked.

“No, but he calls twenty times a day. You have my phone tapped—can’t you find out?”

No reply.

“The next time he calls, tell him you’ll meet with him. Make sure it’s a place that is heavily populated. You don’t want to be alone with him,” Nelson warned.

“I think I’m more aware of that than you are,” I replied.

“A suggestion. Nate and Al’s on Beverly Drive would be a good spot. You may not have the choice, so use your head. Tell him you’re afraid. Let him think we’ve leaked to the other side that you’re cooperating with us.”

“How do I know you haven’t? As I remember, you said that was an alternative if I didn’t collaborate.”

“You’re just going to have to trust us, Georgia. As we see it, you don’t have a choice. Everything you told us about this fanatic is true. He is a danger to society, but the immediate danger is to you. We have our own reasons for wanting him—that’s true. He cost us a few hundred thousand when he blew our entire investigation. In addition, of course, he made us look like fools in the process. But our first concern here is your safety.”

“My safety, Nelson? Is that your first concern? You were ready to throw me to the wolves when I wouldn’t answer your questions. Now you want to save my life. Why do I find that so hard to believe?”

“Look, we’re doing each other a favor. You don’t have a choice, lady, unless, of course, you want to give Al a call—and spend the rest of your life behind bars. That is, if you live that long.”

He was right; I didn’t have a choice. If I did not cooperate, I would die by the hand of Steve Zamett. At this point, they were my only saviors. As long as the price tag did not include my cooperation in other matters, I had nothing to lose.

“Okay, so what’s the plan?” I asked, placing my destiny in their hands.

“Convince him there’s a contract out on both of you. Let him think you’re in this together.”

“This had better work, Nelson. I’m putting myself in a very vulnerable position with this maniac.”

“We know that, Georgia. We won’t let you down. We will keep you within our sight at all times. Just meet with him in places where people always surround you and you will not be in any jeopardy. We will do everything in our power to protect you. You have a gun—always carry it with you.”

“How do you know I have a gun?”

“Because my IQ is only two points below plant life, not three. Do you know how to use it?” asked Nelson.

“Yeah, point and pull the trigger.”

“Don’t think we’re giving you a license to kill. We want the pleasure of that ourselves,” he said, half kidding. “But if you should find yourself in a life-threatening situation, you’ll have some protection.”

I was getting more nervous by the second. “Do you think it may come to that?” I asked.

“We’ll be there for you, Georgia. It’s just a precaution.”

“I hope your presence won’t be as obvious to Steve as it was to me.”

“I think you have a little more experience in these things than Mr. Zamett.”

“No, I think you guys are just masters of the mind.”

“Be careful,” Nelson warned. “That statement puts us well above plant level.”

“I take it back,” I joked.

“Too late, it’s already on the record. But I’ll tell you one thing,” Nelson said. He paused, putting his hands in his pockets and looking toward the ceiling, searching for the least embarrassing way to phrase his next words. “I’ve been in the FBI for more years than I care to count, and this jerk . . . Christ, I still can’t believe it. This jerk even conned me. We actually put him up in the Bonaventure Hotel, paid all his expenses, including a $600 telephone bill. He had us going—but he won’t get away with it.”

“Was he in the Bonaventure when you took me there?” I asked.

“Yes, he was in the room next to us. Here’s something else.” Nelson paused, and then continued. “Remember when he asked you to meet him at the bank?”

“Yeah.”

“Remember the banker?”

“Yeah?”

“He was one of us. Where did you think Steve got the money he showed you in the vault that day?”

“I didn’t know, and I cared even less.”

“We gave him that money. We were convinced that once you saw the money and realized there was a way out for you, that you two could escape to Europe, you would talk to us. That money was yours—still is, if you talk to us.”

I knew there had to be a catch. I stood up and walked to the door.

“Wait a minute,” Nelson said, blocking the door. “Okay, I promised. I won’t bring that subject up again.” I hesitated, throwing him a distrusting look, and then sat back down. “Anyway,” he continued, “we drove over to where Steve was hiding out. It was somewhere off Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood. He pulled a gun on us. We should have taken the sucker out then, now that I think of it. I still don’t know if he was really afraid for his life or if it was just another con game. He was pretty badly bruised, just got out of the hospital. At the time, I believed he was terrified of being taken out by some of your friends,” he said, looking at me with an arched eyebrow.

“Nelson, what choice did I have?” I said, trying to conjure up an expression of innocence. It worked.

“As a matter of fact,” he continued, “he was so shaken he asked our man to drive his car. We followed behind in our vehicle. Later we found out our FBI man was driving a stolen car. Jesus, this guy has balls,” Nelson exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief.

I started to laugh. The FBI was now pulled into the same tragicomedy of errors I had dealt with, except that they had the power to act on their frustrations when this jerk went too far.

“I’m glad you shared that with me, Nelson. If the FBI can be deceived on the scale that you were, then I guess I’m not as gullible as I was beginning to think.”

“That’s precisely why I’m telling you this little story. He got us pretty good. We want him as badly as you do.”

“How did he contact you in the first place?” I asked.

“Oh, that’s another story. He didn’t actually come to us directly. He contacted the IRS. Said he knew about all this Mob money from New York going into MB Financial which, as you know, is Joe Bello’s company. He wanted to make the ten percent of whatever they came up with based on his information. Just so happened the IRS agent was one of the guys we had working with us on our investigation. The agent called us. Wanted to know if we would like to talk to Joe Lamendola’s wife. We couldn’t believe the break! Out of nowhere!

“As I said, Steve had us believing you were terrified for your life. He said you would talk if you could be convinced that you and he could get safely out of the country. This was just what we needed to fit in the final pieces. Basically, if he could make it work, he’d get ten percent of God knows how many hundreds of thousands—plus the nice little pot we were prepared to part with, and you, all to himself. What more could a guy ask for?”

“You’d be surprised,” I said, still trying to absorb it all.

“We were so close. . . .” Nelson said, his gaze drifting out the window and his voice trailing off. “Then of course, the rest is history.”

“I told you he was good. You wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Okay, you don’t need to rub it in. Let’s concentrate on how we’re going to handle this. This isn’t a game we’re playing.”

“No shit. Am I going to be wired?”

“No. We’ve learned not to underestimate this guy. He’s too shrewd. He will be skeptical of your sudden change of heart, but more than anything he wants you. He’ll want to believe you. We trust that you can handle that, or we wouldn’t put you in this position. You’re a survivor; we know that about you. You have been around some pretty tough characters in some interesting situations, some we know about, some we don’t—and you’re still around. You can do this. By the time this is over, you will have earned your code name. And, Georgia, it will be over; you can bet on it.

“You have to trust us, so I’ll be straight with you. Yes, we want you to talk to us about other matters, but that is not a condition for helping you rid yourself of Mr. Zamett. We want him too. Our reasons are as personal as your own. I think you understand that now. So let’s start with a clean slate and get this guy, okay?”

“Don’t hang up! Please, just let me talk to you.”

“Okay, Steve, talk.”

Shocked that he had my attention, he was almost at a loss for words. “Uh . . . I’m sorry I talked to the FBI. I was angry and hurt. I love you, George.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough, you asshole. Don’t you see what you’ve done?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve stepped in shit you know nothing about, and because of it, we’re both going to die.”

“What are you talking about?” he shouted in a panic.

“Steve, you messed with the big boys. They know I was picked up for questioning. I wouldn’t talk, but those FBI bastards put the word out on the street that I cooperated with them. They know you were the one who brought the FBI down on them in the first place. You’re an expert at digging your own grave, but now you’ve dug mine, too. There’s a contract out on both of us. You should be happy—we can be together for eternity now. It’s out of Joe’s hands; he’s powerless to help me. All he could do is warn me to get the hell out of town. I should’ve let Al kill you, you worthless piece of shit!” I slammed the phone down.

The telephone rang immediately. I picked it up and placed it back on the receiver without bothering to say hello. That charade went on for the next ten minutes. After about the eighth or ninth time, I finally spoke.

“What?!” I screamed.

His breathing was fast; he swallowed with a gulp. “George, Christ, talk to me. What do you mean, there’s a contract on us?”

“Is it that hard to understand, Steve? Bang, bang, we’re dead—asshole!”

Click.

Ring, ring, ring, ring. I didn’t answer. I had him now. This man was just as stupid as he was smart. I knew his mind was running wild with thoughts of how he would meet his death. I avoided answering the telephone for two days. He didn’t trust me enough to venture to my door. I reveled in his terror.

“Good job, Georgia,” Nelson said over his car phone. “Guess you know how to push this character’s buttons.”

“Yeah, I have a way with mentally deranged people.”

“I tend to agree with you. What is it with you anyway? How do you attract these nuts?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I’m too softhearted, but that’s changing.”

“I think it’s time to take his next call,” Nelson said.

“Do you know where he is yet?” I asked.

“No, you don’t stay on the line long enough. And I want to speak to you about your language, young lady. Where did you learn some of those words that came out of your mouth? If I were Steve, I’d never call you again.”

“Well, you’re not Steve.”

“You certainly have an Italian temper. I wouldn’t want to be married to you,” he kidded.

“Fuck you, Nelson.”

He cracked up. “That’s what I like about you, your gentle reserve.”

When the phone rang, I was sure Steve’s voice would greet me.

“Hi, sweetie,” said my agent, Janette. “Can you make an audition today? I know it’s short notice, but they asked to see you specifically.”

“Really? Sure, Janette. Where is it?”

“The Holiday Inn at Sunset and the 405 freeway. You know, the circular-shaped building right at the Sunset Boulevard exit.”

“Yeah, I know the place. What time?”

“Six o’clock. It’s five now. You’d better get out the door soon if you’re going to make it in time with traffic.”

“Okay, Janette. What’s the look?”

“Hmm . . . They didn’t say. Just go casual.”

“All right, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Oh, and sweetie, they said you should park in the back.”

“Okay, Janette, I’d better run if I’m going to make it.”

“This one’s got your name on it, sweetie. Good luck!”

I dashed out the door after quickly checking the mirror and grabbing what had been salvaged from my portfolio. I raced through the heavy traffic, my thoughts on landing the job. I really needed a break soon. My credit cards were maxed out and the rent was due again.

I pulled into the parking lot with ten minutes to spare. I had one leg out the door when suddenly my passenger door flew open and Steve was inside the car. He yanked me back inside with one hand and held a gun to my head with the other.

I struggled, knocking the gun from his hand. Still clutching my arm, he bent to pick it up. His grip on me loosened and I was able to break free. I bolted from the car and ran across the nearly deserted parking lot to the hotel lobby. Finding a pay phone, I punched in the emergency number for the FBI. With my foot tapping impatiently and my eyes glued to the entry, I waited. What is taking so long?

An eternity passed before it was answered, or it seemed. “Put Nelson on the phone immediately!”

“Who’s calling?”

“The Black Widow. Hurry! Please . . .”

“Nelson here.”

“Nelson, where the hell are your men? Steve just put a gun to my head!”

“Calm down, where are you?”

“I’m at the Holiday Inn at the 405 and Sunset. He got in my car in the parking—Oh my God. He’s in the hotel now!”

“Get safe. My men will be there in—”

The phone swung back and forth from the end of the cord. I bolted behind the desk and ducked safely out of sight. The young man working there would be a dead giveaway if he did not get that bewildered look off his puss.

“Please, just pretend I’m not here. Don’t look down at me,” I pleaded. “See that guy over there?”

“Yes, I see him,” he said, looking straight ahead.

“He has a gun. Call the police . . . discreetly.”

He did, but he never would have won an Academy Award for his performance.

“You can come out now,” the young man said, his voice cracking from fear. “He just left.”

“I’m not moving until the FBI gets here.”

“The FBI? What’s going on?”

“Is there a safer place I can wait, an office or something?”

“Sure, follow me.”

I crawled to the office, too terrified to stand up in plain view. I was afraid that Steve was lurking around the corner, waiting for me to make a move.

I glared at the agents when they were led through the office door. “Where were you?”

“We’re sorry, Georgia. You were driving so fast, weaving in and out of traffic. . . . We lost you,” they answered, looking like scolded children.

“That’s obvious.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“Where’s all this sophisticated equipment you guys are supposed to have? Jesus Christ, if I can slip through, there must be a lot of murderers out there on the loose.”

They stood there red-faced with their heads hanging. I continued being cool and hostile as they escorted me home. No one could help me. I was pretty much on my own. My only ally was Georgia Black. She had done a good job—so far.

I lay in my bed and waited for the tension to dissipate. Toni’s face smiled at me from the photographs on the wall. I felt a sharp need for the sound of her voice.

“Yes, who’s this?”

“You don’t know me. My name is Shawnna. I was hoping you could help me. I found your number in Steve Zamett’s personal phone book. He told me all about you. I hope you don’t mind me calling, but I have to know the truth.”

“I don’t know what Steve has told you, but I’m sure whatever it is, it’s not the truth. Where is Steve?” I asked, not sure if he had put this girl up to calling me. It had been three weeks since the Holiday Inn incident and I hadn’t heard a peep from him.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” she said timidly.

Her voice dripped with disappointment. Should I give credence to whatever she was about to say?

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” she said. “He said your husband has a contract out on him. Is that true?”

“Who are you, Shawnna? What’s your connection to this sick person?”

“I’m sorry. I guess I should explain. I met him at the bank. He started a conversation with me and I gave him my number. He said he could help me with some problems I was having regarding my house. Before I knew it, he moved in. I was a little uncomfortable with it, but he told me the story about your husband and said he needed a place to hide out for a while, so I let him stay. In the meantime, my house sold. He helped me to move into an apartment.”

“Sounds familiar so far,” I said with a tone of amusement.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, go ahead.”

“Well, I have multiple sclerosis. It won’t be too long now before I’m in a wheelchair. I desperately need the money from the sale of my house to survive on. Steve said he could invest it for me and triple the investment in a year. I gave him the money, and I haven’t seen him or my Mercedes since. I have the sickening feeling I’ve been had. I was praying you would know something that may be helpful in getting my money back.”

“Welcome to the long list of people who have been taken in by Steve. I am sorry this has happened to you, Shawnna, but all may not be lost. I think I can help. Can we meet?”

I met with the FBI in San Diego and we drove to the address Shawnna had given me. She told her story again, in greater detail this time, and the FBI was livid. They continued to be amazed by this guy’s MO. They thought they had encountered every imaginable character in the book, but Steve broke all molds. He was in a class of his own, but they hadn’t given it a name yet.

The plan was for her to call the FBI when Steve contacted her, even entice him with more money to invest, but mainly to pin him down to a place he might be found. All we could do now was wait.

The call finally came about four days after we had our meeting. Steve told Shawnna that he had taken his kids out of the country for a while. He was on his way to drop them off and he would call her later. Shawnna played the sweet, innocent role, and Steve didn’t suspect a thing. She called the FBI immediately, and Nelson called me.

“Well, how’s the Black Widow today?” Nelson asked. “I got some good news for you,” he added nonchalantly.

“You got him?”

“We sure did,” he answered triumphantly.

“Oh, Nelson, what a relief! That is such good news. Now I can bring my daughter back. How did you do it? Don’t leave anything out.”

“We got a call from Shawnna. He told her he was on his way to drop off his kids. We didn’t expect he would really do what he said he was going to, but he told the truth—for once. We had the place surrounded. When he pulled up, two of our agents jumped out of the bushes, aiming their guns at him. He was surprised, to say the least.

“You did an excellent job planting the seed. He pulled a gun on the FBI. Poor guy was confused. Thought it was the other guys,” he explained with a chuckle. “It’s just a good thing for him his kids were there. We didn’t have the heart to shoot him in front of them. Now you’ve got the messy job of coming down here to San Diego to testify.”

“Gladly, Nelson.” I let out a sigh of relief.

“Just one more aggravating thing to add to this saga and it’ll be over. I doubt the man will see the light of day for a long time—not if we have any say—and we will have our say, no doubt about that.”

“Nelson, thank you,” I said, feeling genuinely appreciative.

“The pleasure was mine. Maybe after your day in court you’ll allow me to buy you dinner in celebration of our victory.”

“I’ll look forward to it, but I’m not waiting that long to celebrate.”

We arrived at Pips around nine o’clock, and the party was in full swing. We stood in the crowded disco, looking for an open couch to sit on, when someone asked Susan to dance. They disappeared on the dance floor and I stood alone.

“Would you like to dance?” a man asked from behind me.

“Oh, no, thank you,” I answered, turning to face him.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked.

“No, thank you. I think I’ve had my limit for tonight. I haven’t had anything to eat. One more drink and I’ll probably fall on my face.”

“You haven’t eaten? Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m here with a friend. . . . Here she is.”

“Hi, I’m Susan; who are you?” she asked jauntily, her long, tightly curled dark hair bouncing as she spoke.

“My name is Richard Adray. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, I’m starved!” Susan answered without hesitation.

“Good, it’s settled then. I’ll get us a table.”

I started to object but the music began again and my words were lost. I glared at Susan after he walked away. “What did you do that for?” I asked angrily.

“Lighten up, Georgia; he’s just going to feed us, not rape us!” she answered, pushing a mass of hair off her freckled face.

“Our table is ready,” Richard said upon returning. He escorted us through the crowded disco into the dining room.

I had no idea who he was, but he had some kind of influence, judging by the way the establishment catered to him. We had a lavish dinner in the elegant dining room filled with movie stars and wannabes.

Across from our table, Warren Beatty sat with three spectacular women, yet his eyes explored the room, resting occasionally in my direction. Frank Sinatra stood at the bar with Jilly, a character I had briefly associated with in New York City. Lucille Ball was absorbed in a backgammon game in the adjacent room with Jim Rose, a director who lived in the building next to mine. Jim and I had met at a commercial casting and had become instant friends. I had taken refuge at his place a few times when I’d had a Steve sighting.

Richard’s eyes darted around the room. I sensed he was in search of some recognition from his peers for the status we brought to him. He was nice enough, but a little too sure of himself when he lacked the goods to back it up. He was short, with salt-and-pepper curly hair and a round face. Not my idea of good-looking. At thirty-five, he looked to be more in his late forties.

The dinner was interesting, but that was all I found interesting. We danced off the dinner in the disco and Susan and I headed home.

“I gave Richard your number,” Susan confessed.

“Why did you do that, Susan?” I asked.

“I thought he was nice. You have got to start living, Georgia. It’ll do you good to get out and have some fun for a change.”

“He’s not my type, Susan.” I answered. I had an uninterested attitude about everything—except survival.

This episode of my life was now winding down, and I was weary. However, I was also struck with the bad choices I had made in my personal life. Though I had done some extensive living by this time, I really had no experience with a healthy man to distinguish the difference between what was normal and what was not.

Joe never let me out in the world to learn anything about life. I had to live it through his eyes. Now I was experiencing all the things he had warned me about. Not trusting my own choices, I was reluctant to accept any dates. I needed to get a sense of myself and my worth before venturing into that unknown territory.

Shawnna was the first to take the stand, then me, and finally the FBI. Steve didn’t have a chance. When it was over he was led out of the courtroom. His eyes never broke connection with mine: How could you do this to me, Georgia? I love you!

Early that evening, Nelson and I had a celebration dinner at a patio table on the water’s edge. Maybe it was just the light, but his eyes seemed as clear and blue as the sky behind him. FBI agents always look like G-men, for some reason, and Nelson fit the mold to a T. Nevertheless, this night he would shed his business face. He was a different person altogether. He left his professional mannerisms in the courtroom.

“Well, one down,” he said, as we clicked our wine-glasses together. One down? “You look exhausted. Can I get you anything?” Nelson asked with concern.

I laughed dryly. “How about a new life?” I answered, taking a sip of wine.

“I already offered you that once. Are you reconsidering?” he inquired with renewed hope.

“No, Nelson, I’m not,” I retorted tartly.

“What are you going to do with your life now, Black Widow?”

“Live it,” I answered, “without fear, thanks to you.”

“Do you think that’s possible?”

“Anything’s possible, Nelson.”

“You’re certainly proof of that,” he replied, lifting his glass to me.

Nelson looked troubled. He spoke in layered words, but I could see where he was heading and chose to ignore it. He shifted in his seat as he contemplated moving the conversation into an area I was not willing to talk about. All I wanted to do was drink wine in the balmy air and enjoy the exhilaration of the victory. We ordered another bottle and I began to relax.

“You’re really a beautiful woman, Georgia. I can almost understand Steve’s obsession with you.”

I sensed an intimacy he had not meant—or rather one he yearned for but hadn’t meant to convey.

“Thank you for the compliment, Nelson, but if you can understand that kind of obsession, I think we can reserve a cell for you right next to Steve’s. Remember, you’re the one who gave me my code name. If you want me to live up to it, keep it up,” I said with a sly smile.

“What are you going to do about your other problem?” Nelson asked, slipping back into his business face.

“What other problem?”

“Joe.”

“Oh, I think time is taking care of that. We’ve been talking. He seems to be accepting the fact that I’m not coming back.”

“Come on, Georgia, I know you’re not stupid. He’s been lying low because of us. Now that we’ll be out of the picture, I can guarantee you he’ll change his colors.”

“You may be right—”

“Georgia . . .” He hesitated. “We have reason to believe you’re still not safe.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wish you’d trust us. We’ve done everything we said we would do, haven’t we?”

“Nelson, we had a deal. You lived up to your end and I lived up to mine. This is where it ends.”

“Georgia, there are things going on that I don’t have the authority to talk about. All I can say is, you’re not as safe as you might think you are, lady.”

“Well, Nelson, if that’s true, then my life won’t be much different than it has been, will it?” I stated sternly.

“Will you do something for me?” he asked.

“Probably not.”

“Promise to call me if you need me. Even if you just need to talk. I’d like you to think of me as a friend. Forget about my job—I’ve grown to really like you over the past few months. My protective instincts for you go beyond my job.”