by K. L. Hiers
After dinner, Cold brought Jimmy into his private office. They didn’t spend much time here, probably because the only horizontal surface was the desk, and Cold was very particular about keeping it neat.
There were no electronics here, no computer or fax; that was Cold’s way. Pen and paper only, like his ledgers where he kept track of his criminal empire.
The office had certainly been ransacked during the search, but Cold had meticulously put everything back in order. He gestured for Jimmy to sit down at the chair in front of the desk and took his place in the mammoth armchair behind it.
“We’re going to call Miss Beccali so she can help prepare you for your statement tomorrow,” Cold explained, setting his phone on the desk between them.
“Why? I mean, I know what I saw.”
“Ah, but it’s what you will say that I’m concerned with.”
“I’m not going to lie, Rod.”
“Nor am I asking you to.”
“But you’d have me withhold information?”
“No.”
“You’re so freakin’ confusing. Fine, go ahead and call her. Let’s just get this over with.”
Cold pushed a button on his phone, the line ringing twice before Christine picked up.
“Christine Beccali here.”
“Good evening, Christine,” Cold said politely. “Are we ready?”
“Absolutely. Mr. Poe? Are you ready to tell me what happened today?”
“Sure,” Jimmy said, scrubbing his palm against his forehead. “We were on the way to Rod’s arraignment, and I wanted to get him some flowers. There was this vase that got broken during the search, and I know how much he likes calla lilies. I wanted to surprise him.
“I walked into the store. Rang the bell. I told the clerk, Mr. Waugh, that I needed flowers.” Jimmy closed his eyes as he accessed the memory again. “He started yelling that it wasn’t his fault, that they made him do it. He grabbed a gun, pointed it at me.”
“Who was with you?” Christine interjected.
“Charlie,” Jimmy replied. “He walked into the store with me. He, he was right behind me. He tried to talk to Mr. Waugh, but I don’t... I don’t remember exactly what he said. I think it was something about getting the flowers and just leaving, that we didn’t want any trouble.”
“Then what happened?”
“Mr. Waugh said that he was gonna kill him and that’s why we were there. He said he couldn’t live like this and...”
Yelling. Gunshot. Red.
“Then he shot himself.”
“Who did Mr. Waugh say was going to kill him?” Christine asked firmly.
“He didn’t say, not exactly. He just said ‘he.’”
“Who do you think it was?”
“How am I supposed to answer that?” Jimmy scoffed angrily.
“Honestly.”
“I’m not going to say anything that would point a finger at Rod, and I’m not going to lie. Mr. Waugh might have been talking about Rod or the police or maybe damn aliens from outer space for all I freakin’ know!”
“Okay,” Christine said, aiming for calm now. “Let’s go through it again. You stopped to get flowers, rang the bell, and Mr. Waugh started yelling, threatened you with the gun—”
“I mean, he pointed it at me. And Charlie, too.”
“Right. Threatened both of you with the gun while claiming that ‘they’ made him do it. Yes?”
“Yes.”
“He believed you were there to kill him?”
“I guess?” Jimmy frowned. “I’ve been buying flowers there for almost a year! Paul, Mr. Waugh, he knows who I am! He never charges me anything, and he’s always so nice to me. It’s not like I walked in there with someone scary like Tamerlane or Jules! It just, it just doesn’t make any sense.”
“He was one of the prosecution’s witnesses who was going to testify against Cold regarding his relationship with Marco Luchesi. Did you know that prior to visiting the store?”
“No!” Jimmy exclaimed. “I had no idea! I wouldn’t have gone there if I had known that! Look, this was an accident. It’s a really, really sad and terrible accident. I’ll give them my statement and it’ll be done, all right?”
He must have not realized how loud he was getting because Cold reached over to gently take his hand.
“Right,” Christine said curtly. There was a lengthy pause, and she said, “Okay.”
“Got what you need, Christine?” Cold asked casually.
“Yes.” Christine sounded like she was smiling. “You gentlemen have a good night. I’ll see you in the morning, Mr. Poe.”
“Good night, Miss Beccali,” Jimmy said, reaching over to hang up the phone. He glared at Cold. “What was that about?”
“What?”
“It was like she was preparing me for court. This is just a written statement.”
“Miss Beccali likes to be thorough,” Cold replied simply.
“Whatever,” Jimmy sighed, standing up abruptly. His head hurt, and he was exhausted. “I’m going to bed.”
“I’ll join you momentarily,” Cold said, drumming his long fingers on the edge of the desk. He looked troubled, staring absently off into space.
“Are you all right?” Jimmy asked, trying to convey his concern.
“Thinking.”
“You really didn’t know Mr. Waugh was going to kill himself, did you?”
“No,” Cold said, his eyes flicking over to meet Jimmy’s. “I did not.”
“Does this, uh, affect your plans?”
“No.” Cold smiled. “One must always expect the unexpected. Go on. I promise I’ll be in bed soon.”
Jimmy shuffled away to brush his teeth and throw on some pajamas. He was asleep by the time Cold slipped in beside him, and Jimmy groggily rolled over to seek out his strong arms to snuggle.
His dreams were troubled, filled with blood and gunshots, and there was cold flesh smothering him until he couldn’t breathe. He woke up suddenly with a loud gasp, the sound of his mother’s screams still ringing in his ears.
Jimmy reached over to touch Cold, finding him sound asleep. He took a deep breath and wished he could scrub the horrible images out of his mind. There was no way he’d be able to fall back asleep now.
He carefully crept out of bed, hoping not to wake Cold as he stepped quietly into the lounge to put on some music to ease his troubled thoughts.
Jimmy kept the volume low, selecting Roberta Flack’s Killing Me Softly. As the title track began to play, he slowly started moving his hips to the beat. He focused on her voice and the words as he tried to drive away the awful memories.
Even now that his father had been freed and justice had been served, the nightmares of his mother’s death remained. He was still troubled by the mafia murders he’d witnessed last year and now further compounded by Mr. Waugh’s death, Jimmy wondered if he would ever be able to sleep again.
Cold didn’t seem surprised to see Jimmy awake when he came to find him, asking softly, “Bad dreams?”
“Yes.” Jimmy hated how broken and desperate for comfort he sounded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up. After watching Mr. Waugh today... all that blood, it made me think of my mom, and now I can’t stop seeing it. I’m a little kid all over again, watching her die, and fuck, I’m sorry, I’m such a mess.”
“There’s no need to be sorry.” Cold pulled Jimmy against his chest and wound his arms around his waist. “I’m here.”
Jimmy curled into Cold’s embrace, clutching the fabric of his shirt and gasping for air he didn’t realize he suddenly needed. He wasn’t sure when he had started crying but he couldn’t stop, struggling to keep himself from hyperventilating.
Cold didn’t let go. He held Jimmy tightly, wordlessly pressing soft kisses into his hair and rubbing his back. He let Jimmy cry all he wanted to, unaffected by the tears and snot.
Jimmy became self-conscious before too long, whimpering as he turned his head away to try to wipe off his face. “Fuck,” he gasped
. “This is so stupid! I just can’t, I can’t stop fucking crying.”
“You miss her,” Cold said knowingly. “The pain of her loss is still with you. It’s a good thing.”
“How the hell is it a good thing?” Jimmy demanded indignantly.
“Shows how much you loved her that it still affects you so,” Cold said gently, kissing Jimmy’s cheek. “Love and grief are often inseparable.”
“I don’t want it to hurt anymore,” Jimmy sighed sadly, wiping at his face again. “I just... I just miss her so much, and I’m so freakin’ tired of crying.”
“It will always hurt because you will always love her,” Cold soothed.
“Do you ever miss your mom?” Jimmy sniffled softly.
“In a sense, yes,” Cold replied hesitantly, his eyes briefly darting to the ceiling. “I mourn the relationship we never got to have. Be thankful for the time you did get to spend with your mother. Treasure the memories you have with her. Some of us were not lucky enough to receive such a gift.”
“I’m sorry,” Jimmy said earnestly. “Now I just sound like a freakin’ brat or something, don’t I?”
“Not at all,” Cold insisted. “My mother died bringing me into this world. Your mother was taken from you, quite horrifically. What you saw today was terrible, too. That trauma will always be with you. I’m merely trying to help you find a more positive perspective about your mother’s passing.”
“And the dreams?” Jimmy asked wearily.
“The dreams never go away,” Cold said, a slight edge to his voice. “You learn to live with them.”
Jimmy curled his arms around Cold’s neck to comfort him. He knew his gorgeous gangster had his own very traumatic past and was speaking from decades of experience. He was surprised to find Cold’s hips slowly rocking in time with his, and Jimmy laughed in spite of his tears, asking incredulously, “You dance?”
“Yes,” Cold said, clearly amused that Jimmy seemed so surprised. “I have many talents you’ve yet to discover.”
Jimmy giggled as Cold turned him around, grabbing his hand as they spun before pulling him back into his arms. He squeezed Cold’s fingers, resting his arm across his shoulders. “Mmm, I guess you were planning to surprise me at our wedding?”
“I’d thought about it, yes.” Cold led him across the floor, their fingers laced tightly together and his other hand at the small of Jimmy’s back, guiding him to the steady beat.
That firm pressure at his spine took Jimmy’s breath away, and he was surprised by how intoxicating it was for Cold to hold him this way. His feet were clumsy, but it was easy to follow Cold’s strong lead as they moved together. He let Cold take charge, and he wasn’t able to take his eyes away from his beautiful face for a second.
He had forgotten about his nightmare and the pain of his mother’s loss. He was totally swept up in Cold’s embrace, not able to remember the last time he had danced like this with anyone. He leaned his head against Cold’s chest, hugging him tight.
Cold kept them on beat, turning them in slow circles, his hands now fanning out across Jimmy’s back. The song rolled on into the next, and still Cold continued to dance with him. He didn’t try any more slick moves, content to hold Jimmy and rock him gently as Roberta Flack sang on.
By the time ‘I’m the Girl’ was starting, Jimmy’s eyes were feeling heavy again. There was something so warm and comforting in being held this way, and all of his troubles slowly oozed out of his body through his feet as Cold danced with him.
Every step made his soul lighter, and he smiled softly as he leaned up for a sweet kiss. The last of his misery was sucked away with a brief lick of Cold’s tongue against the inside of his cheek. He moaned softly. His body longed for sleep, but there were a few sensual sparks firing off deep in his gray matter.
“Rod,” he murmured, fussing softly as he struggled to make a decision for his next course of action. He craved sleep now, but he couldn’t imagine denying Cold.
Cold’s icy eyes searched Jimmy’s face thoughtfully, considering something for a long moment. “Let’s go to bed,” he said at last, kissing Jimmy’s hair and hugging him tight.
“Like, go to bed? Or go to bed?” Jimmy mused with a quirk of his brows.
“For sleep,” Cold scolded fondly. He turned the record player off and herded Jimmy back into the bedroom.
Jimmy snuggled in bed next to his lover, throwing his legs over Cold’s and burrowing his head against his shoulder. He pulled the blankets up around them with a content sigh.
Cold curled around him and kissed his hair. “Good night, Jimmy.”
“Night, Rod,” Jimmy replied, his eyes sliding shut, “and thank you.”
“Mmm?” Cold grunted curiously.
“For being here for me,” Jimmy sighed as he drifted off back to sleep. “For loving me so much.”
“Always,” Cold promised. There was a short pause and Cold whispered, “I really do want to marry you, Jimmy.”
“Mmm, that’s so sweet... Still nope.”
“You’ll say yes.”
Jimmy hated how confident Cold sounded and he wanted to argue, but the next thing he knew he was waking up the next morning.
He had managed to get a few peaceful hours of rest before breakfast, but he was still dragging his feet as Jerry and Jules escorted him out to the limo. Cold waved farewell with a confident smile, although Jimmy was certain he was favoring the leg without the ankle monitor.
Perhaps he could get Cold some big fuzzy socks that would stretch comfortably over the device.
The thought made him smile even as his feet anxiously fidgeted on the drive to the police station. He knew he didn’t have anything to be nervous about, but he was grateful when he saw Christine waiting right out front for him.
“Good morning, Mr. Poe,” she greeted curtly, her eyes narrowing as she sized up Jules and Jerry. “You two, wait here.”
“I got orders to watch Twig,” Jules growled in reply.
“I can’t take Mr. Poe into a police station with an entourage of thugs. Stay put.”
“Thugs?” Jerry spat indignantly, clutching his chest. “Quelle chienne!”
“What he said!” Jules grunted angrily.
Christine ignored them, leaving them both behind as she led Jimmy inside the precinct. It was modern and clean, smelled like bleach, and every single person in uniform turned to stare at Jimmy as he walked in.
He wanted to shrink back and hide, but he held his head high. He was here with the most powerful lawyer in the city and married to its most powerful criminal. He didn’t want to get too cocky, but there was nothing anyone here could do to him. He’d done absolutely nothing wrong.
He could do this.
Confident now, he squashed his jitters down as he followed Christine into one of the interrogation rooms. There were two men waiting for them: Special Agent Richard Champignon, and another detective he hadn’t met before.
He introduced himself as Detective Davis, gesturing for Jimmy and Christine to have a seat.
“Fairly simple deal here, Mr. Poe,” Davis said, tapping at a stack of paperwork in front of Jimmy. “You confirm the statement submitted on your behalf by your lawyer and sign.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. By signing it, you’re confirming that everything there is correct and true. If something’s hinky, even the tiniest thing, let us know so we can correct it.”
Jimmy began to scan the document, reading over every word carefully.
“Shame about Mr. Waugh,” Champignon said casually. “He was just trying to do the right thing, you know?”
“Your commentary is not necessary,” Jimmy grumbled, losing his place in the statement. He kept his eyes trained on the paper before him and tried to pick up where he left off.
“That’s the second time you’ve seen someone die in front of you, isn’t it?” Champignon went on. “First, your mother and now Mr. Waugh. Oh, wait. Wasn’t there a third?”
“Don’t answer that,” C
hristine cut in quickly.
Jimmy couldn’t concentrate, looking up to glare at Champignon.
“Wasn’t there an incident down at your husband’s club last year where a man was killed? A man who shot you and who was it, a Mr. Dario Romero, I believe?” Champignon smiled. “Strange how all these innocent people seem to die around you.”
“Keep it up and I’ll have a civil suit for harassment in front of Judge Del Rio before you take your lunch break,” Christine warned, her icy gaze stabbing into Champignon. “Mr. Poe is here to sign this statement, nothing more.”
“Just making friendly conversation.” Champignon held up his hands defensively. “Seeing as how Mr. Poe is already here, why don’t we have a little chat? Hmm?”
“I have nothing to say to you,” Jimmy said firmly.
“I’m really curious about something in your statement,” Champignon went on. “You claim that Mr. Waugh said, and I quote, ‘I can’t do this. He’s gonna kill me.’ Huh, now who do you think he was talking about?”
“I don’t know,” Jimmy said through gritted teeth.
“This is not an interrogation,” Christine warned again.
“Was it your husband?” Champignon pressed. “Maybe he thought it was the police?” He suddenly had a knowing smile. “Or perhaps it was aliens from outer space?”
“What?” Jimmy stared stupidly. Aliens from outer space; that was what he had said to Christine last night on the phone. That had to be a coincidence, but the smug way Champignon was staring at him led him to believe otherwise.
Could Cold’s phone have been tapped? Had someone been listening in on their conversation?
No one else had been in the house. Well, except for Jerry. Jules and some of the guards might have been hanging around somewhere and...
Charlie.
“We’re done here,” Christine said sweetly. “Jimmy? Sign and let’s go.”
Jimmy hastily scribbled his name and pushed the papers back toward Davis.
“If you ever want to talk, you know where to find me, Mr. Poe,” Champignon said cheerfully. “I’m sure we would have loads to talk about.”
