Sam tried to make sense out of what she was hearing. Pappy came down off the mountain. What did it mean? How did he know the senator? She felt like standing up and pitching the wine carafe directly at him, but her legs were too wobbly. She was a disgrace to every nun in the world. And if those nuns of the world knew she was wearing thong underwear under this scratchy outfit, they’d drum her off the face of the earth. She’d have to do penance for the rest of her life. She should have worn cotton briefs. Her ass was going to itch for a week. It was itching at that very moment. She said so. The others just looked at her. Zoe moved the wine carafe out of her reach.

Their food arrived just as Joey was about to speak. Since it was Thursday night, only two dinner specials were on the menu; chicken piccata and the lobster ravioli. Joey had taken the liberty of ordering half and half when he made the reservation. So far their salads of fresh greens were untouched. More garlic bread arrived. The carafes were refilled.

“Eat!” Joey ordered. “I’ll think while you do. Make sure you clean your plates, or the Panellas will be insulted.”

Sam tried to spear one of her raviolis but she missed the little square and it sailed across the table to land on wife number 9’s plate. Pappy is here. Just a few feet away. She tried to spear another ravioli with the same result. She laid down her fork and reached for the wine carafe.

“Easy on the wine, Sam. It’s a home brew and pretty potent,” Slick said. She lowered her voice, and whispered in Sam’s ear, “What the hell is he doing here? Do you have any ideas?” Sam shook her head.

As Joey shoveled food into his mouth, he mumbled his plan to get them out of there.

Hawkins leaned across the table. “What kind of diversion can you possibly create with the senator’s protection detail out there?”

“I’ll think of something,” Joey said as he dabbed his lips with his napkin. “I won’t be long, so finish your dinners.” He was as good as his word and was back in five minutes.

“Well?” Hawkins said.

Joey smiled. He held up his glass of wine. “To a diversion”—he looked at his watch—“in eighteen minutes.”

Chapter Eighteen