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Carmine and the Buffalo side of the family.
    I just couldn’t mess this up. And Bertoni and the gang knowing I couldn’t manage a simple switch? I’d never live it down. Some things were more important than money.
    I had to get this right.
    * * *
    That thought followed me all the way home. It haunted me well into the night.
    When I woke up the next morning, Pete was sleeping beside me. He’d come in way later than me last night. It was Saturday morning, so he didn’t have to work.
    But I did, so I rose quietly from the bed and dressed. In black, of course.
    The phone rang. It was Nico.
    â€œGina, can you come over here? I sort of need your help.” His voice was shaky, and there was a terrible racket in the background.
    Pete was awake now, waiting for me to explain the call.
    â€œIt’s Nico,” I said to Pete. “I have to run over to his place for a bit. See you after work.”
    I didn’t wait for the response. Instead, I grabbed my purse and hoofed it out the door.
    Nico lives in a cute little condo on Caroline. It’s close to my jewelry shop in Hess Village. It’s a trendy area of The Hammer, full of lawyers’ offices, advertising firms and good restaurants.
    The second I left the elevator, the problem made itself clear.
    â€œHoser, hoser, hoser. SQUAWK!”
    Nico swung open the door before I could knock on it. He looked…frazzled.
    â€œI don’t think I can take much more, Gina. This parrot really is insane.”
    I nodded. “Poor thing.”
    The big bird was sitting on a perch in a large steel cage. You know how some parrots are pretty? This one looked like a punk parrot. Wild green feathers stuck out everywhere, and the eyes were crazy big.
    I cooed to the thing. It gawked at me and then turned around on its perch.
    â€œParrots live for fifty, sixty years,” I said. “They get really attached to their masters. Thing is, Seb went inside for three to five back in the late ’90s. Pauly, the poor bird, was in grief. Probably thought Seb had died.”
    â€œGina, that bird is mooning you.”
    Darned if it wasn’t. How do you train a bird to do that? “That’s amazing.”
    Nico groaned. “This isn’t as much fun as I thought it would be. I can’t get it to stop talking.”
    â€œPauly did stop talking when Seb went inside,” I explained. “I can’t remember who looked after him. And then, when Seb got out and collected him, the bird went nuts.”
    â€œProbably thought it was seeing a ghost.”
    â€œIt’s a known fact, Nico. Parrots go insane if they’re left by themselves. Just like people. I think the poor thing was neglected when Seb was in jail.”
    â€œSo now…”
    â€œ Hey, baby, take it off. SQUAWK! ”
    â€œShut up!” Nico yelled at Pauly.
    â€œHoser, hoser, hoser. ”
    â€œIt’s simple, Nico,” I said. “He won’t talk if you put the cover on his cage.” I demonstrated.
    It was suddenly quiet. Eerily quiet.
    Nico sagged in relief. “Thank God. I always thought I was an animal lover, Gina. But this…”
    â€œThat’s not an animal. That’s a demon bird from hell,” I said. I flopped down on the black leather sofa.
    â€œWant an espresso?” Nico offered.
    I shook my head. “We need to talk about the painting. I was thinking about cleaning companies.”
    Nico smiled. An odd reaction, but then he said, “I already checked. We don’t have the contract.”
    â€œDrat.” Maids-a-Go-Go was one of the family businesses. If only they had the cleaning contract for the art gallery. Nico and I had similar minds.
    Oh well. Moving on…
    â€œWhat about the security guards?” Nico piped up.
    I snapped my fingers. “What’s Stoner’s number?”
    Stoner was a mutual friend of ours. His black standard poodle, Toke (short for Toker), was the talk of the town,