Bad Business by Anthony Bruno

executor?”
    Lorraine shrugged. “Because he liked you better, I guess.” She sipped her coffee through a Mona Lisa grin.
    â€œNo, no, no. It was because my father was his godson. That must be why he picked me.”
    â€œSo why didn’t he name your father executor?”
    â€œBecause he hated my mother. He never trusted her.”
    â€œOh, Michael, will you please stop with that?”
    â€œIt’s true. He didn’t trust her because she’s not Italian. That’s probably why he didn’t like me. I was a half-breed.”
    â€œSo why did he pick you, then?”
    â€œRevenge.”
    Tozzi picked out another butter cookie, a bell with red sprinkles on it. He tossed it in his mouth and chewed without thinking, then realized he was eating only out of aggravation because he never ate anything artificial that was red. Red dye number whatever. Gives you cancer. Shit .
    Lorraine picked around in the cookie tin until she found a plain one with nothing on it. “You shouldn’t get yourself all worked up over this, Michael. Being executor isn’t that big a deal.”
    â€œYou don’t think so? I’d rather be Secretary General of the United Nations. You watch. This is gonna be nothing but trouble. You’re gonna find out you’ve got cousins you never knew you had. They’re gonna smell Uncle Pete’s will and they’re gonna come out of the woodwork. You watch. And they’re all gonna swear that they were so close to Uncle Pete. And who’re they gonna scream at when they don’t get what they want? Who’re they gonna sue? Huh? The executor. Me.” Tozzi picked out a plain cookie with a walnut stuck in the center. “Besides, I don’t have time for this right now. I’m stuck on this trial thing, the Figaro Connection.” He bit into the cookie and it crumbled in his hand. “Shit.”
    â€œDon’t get all bent out of shape. The university’s on winterbreak until the end of January. I’m only teaching one course next semester, and I have all my notes from last year, so I don’t have that much to prepare. I can do a lot of the running around for you.”
    â€œReally? I thought you were painting Gibbons’s apartment, making the place livable now that you’re living there.”
    Lorraine stared at him dead-on. She wasn’t smiling. “I’ve been fighting with Gibbons over colors for the past two weeks. He doesn’t like anything I suggest. He says my tastes are too ‘teacups and doilies.’”
    â€œYou can’t compromise?”
    Lorraine sighed. “Do you know what his idea of a compromise is? Pepto-Bismol pink. Do you know why he likes that color? He says it’s the color they paint police interrogating rooms. It supposedly has a very soothing effect on agitated suspects. That’s what he told me. This is what I’m married to.” She took another cookie. A bell with the red carcinogen sprinkles.
    â€œDon’t they make a pink that you both like?”
    â€œI hate pink. And do you know that ugly blue plaid carpeting he has in the hallway? He says he likes it. He doesn’t want me to replace it.”
    Tozzi frowned and shrugged. “It’s not so bad.” He remembered that blue plaid. It was just like the pleated, blue plaid skirts Lesley Halloran used to wear to school with the navy blazer, her school uniform. He also remembered that blue-jean miniskirt she wore with the lacy white blouse at the Halloween dance sophomore year. The night he almost asked her to dance.
    â€œMichael? Are you listening to me?”
    â€œHmmm?”
    Lorraine shook her head, disgusted. “You’re as bad as Gibbons. All you think about is the FBI.”
    â€œCome on, Lorraine. You know that’s not true.”
    â€œWell, maybe it’s me, then. I used to be able to overlookGibbons’s eccentricities, but now that we’re married, they