Bad Apple by Anthony Bruno Page A

see what she was doing and was startled to see that she was standing right over him. She kicked off her shoes and sat on his toes on the otherend of the couch. The smell of the brewing coffee drifted in from the kitchenette. She shaded her eyes from the sun and looked into his.
    â€œSo what do you think?” she said.
    He smiled. “I dunno.”
    She tucked her feet up and turned sideways to face him, leaning back against the arm of the couch. Her toes burrowed under his butt. “My feet are cold,” she said.
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œAny ideas?”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œGetting them warm.”
    Tozzi grinned. “I may have a few.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œOkay, what?”
    â€œGet them warm.”
    â€œOh. Okay.” He reached between his legs, pulled out one of her feet, and rubbed her toes between his hands. “How’s that?”
    â€œGood. Do the other one.”
    He took the other foot and rubbed that one. “Better?”
    Her eyes were closed, head tilted back. “Yeah . . . that’s nice.” When he stopped, she opened her eyes. “I’m still cold, though.” She was smiling.
    â€œOh. What parts are cold?”
    â€œAll of me.”
    â€œWell, where would you like me to start?”
    She grabbed his forearms and pulled herself up until she was on top of him, nose to nose. “How about right here?” she said, and kissed him. And kissed him. And kissed him some more. And then he kissed her. A lot. And then they started exploring with their tongues and toes and fingers. And Tozzi started to get light-headed it was so nice, with Gina on top of him, and the sunall over the room, and her skin so white and soft, and her silky hair between his fingers, and her lips and her shoulders and her ears and her nipples and . . .
    And they never got around to having that coffee.
    Gina banged a can of plum tomatoes on the countertop, yanking Tozzi out of his sweet memories. He stared at her, remembering what Buddha Stanzione had said to Bells about her last night. Tozzi considered the possibility again, but the two of them seemed like such a mismatch. Except Buddha’s comment wasn’t the only evidence he had. There was the message he had heard on her answering machine that day while they were lying on the couch.
    They’d been dozing in twilight bliss, her head nestled on his shoulder, when the phone suddenly rang. Neither of them moved to get it. Four rings, then Tozzi heard her voice on the recording telling whoever it was to leave a message after the beep. “Gina, it’s me,” the caller said. “Gimme a call.” Tozzi had recognized the voice right away. It was Bells.
    He watched her putting vegetables away in the refrigerator now. He didn’t like being ignored, so he decided to risk a question. “You bring any milk?”
    She looked at him as if he were a worm. “What’s the matter? You can’t say hello?”
    â€œHello. Did you bring any milk?”
    â€œHello. No.” She went back to unpacking the groceries, reaching into a bag and pulling out a big turkey. She opened the refrigerator again and put it on the bottom shelf.
    â€œYou didn’t have to buy that,” he said, nodding at the bird. “Your brother says he’s got a whole bunch of turkeys.”
    She glared at him. “Did they fall off the truck?”
    Tozzi shrugged and didn’t pursue it. She was in a mood. Gina was supposedly the straight arrow of the family. She had a realjob as a children’s clothing buyer at Macy’s in Manhattan. A couple of her relatives—an uncle and two cousins—had done time for auto theft, and her father always seemed to have something hot for sale in the trunk of his car. None of them were big-time hoods, except for her brother Freshy, who had been trying his best to work his way into the Mafia when the FBI presented him with a alternative career path. But like a