by Laura Acton
Nick agreed and smiled back. “We were due at least a bit of luck.”
Several minutes later, Loki almost pranced, his step light as he moved the adolescent wearing gray to Boss and carried an envelope in his hand. “Keith here wants to tell you an interesting story.”
Nick’s brow rose as Gould interrupted, “You can’t believe anything this delinquent says.”
Keith laughed. “Old man, I might be many things, but I’m not a liar, that’s your department.” He turned to the one in charge and confessed, “He paid us to trash a truck, and he wanted us to do it to another one too but didn’t give us the location yet. Said the guys deserved this as payback.”
He inclined his head toward the money envelope. “That is the second half of the payment. Said if we didn’t do it, he would make sure our next charges sent us away until we were adults.”
Gould struggled against Hardy’s grip as he growled, “The punk’s lying.”
“We’ll let IA and the inspector sort this out,” Nick responded. “For now, Jon, read him his rights.”
As patrol cars arrived, one officer exited, and his jaw dropped. Fouquet gazed at Gould in handcuffs. He also noted the tall, bald TRF officer he had held at gunpoint back in December. Fouquet ducked his head, making himself scarce, wanting nothing to do with whatever trouble Gould managed to bring down on himself. He had enough problems of his own, particularly after the traffic stop gone wrong. Fouquet learned the hard way you didn’t mess with TRF. They protect their own.
Woodbine Beach – 2:00 p.m.
Not dressed for the occasion, having been playing basketball with buddies when he received the summons, Detective Sanchez of Guns and Gangs approached Inspector Pope. The snow worked into his sneakers, soaking and freezing his feet with each step.
Ducking under the police tape, he sloughed the remaining twenty feet to the frozen edge of Lake Ontario before halting. He jammed his ungloved hands into his hoodie pockets as a shiver coursed through him. His breath came out in white wisps, “Why did you call me out here?”
Pope finished giving his men direction, before turning to Sanchez. “Several teenagers came out to do a polar bear dip on a dare. They found more than icy water.” He bent down and lifted a tarp displaying several severed body parts. “Needed your input on the tattoo.”
Sanchez peered at a partial hand, missing the fingertips on all but the pinky. Then he squatted to do a closer examination of the severed appendage. “Four red teardrops between the thumb and index finger.”
He stood and stomped a few times, needing to keep his body moving for fear of turning into a popsicle in the bracing weather. “That matches the tat worn by the perp Constable Broderick described. Each teardrop represents a kill. Might be our guy, but then again, he might not, the Blooddrop Crew is a bloodthirsty gang. You locate anything else which will help identify this poor bastard?”
Pope rubbed his hands together after dropping the plastic. The frigid conditions made him miserable as he fought a seasonal cold. He coughed and blew his nose, wishing he could transfer this investigation to another inspector and be in a toasty warm office.
Believing TRF always swooped in to claim glory after investigators like him did all the hard work, Pope didn’t much care for them, but he hated cop killers, so he braved the nasty elements to gather evidence. Besides, solving this case would be a feather in his cap and move him up the promotion line.
After another cough, Pope said, “Called in the cold-water rescue team from the coast guard to search the area for more parts. So far, we’ve only found these pieces. We’ll run the fingerprint from the pinky. Though, it is unlikely we’ll match anything since neither constable identified any of the gang members you showed them.”
“We might get lucky. I would like this to be the man who attacked Baldovino, but if it is, it raises more questions,” Sanchez said.
Pope nodded. “Like who and why did they kill him? I would hate to end up with another gang war like we did with the Crimson Eagles and the Jackals last summer. Keep me apprised if G and G discovers any information regarding a missing gang member and the reason.”
“Will do.” Once he was beyond Pope’s hearing range, Sanchez pulled out his phone and dialed. “You’re getting sloppy. Parts of Rat were found. Damned lucky I received the call. I’ll make sure he isn’t identified.”
Fifty-first Division – Gun Range – 6:30 p.m.
Dan removed his hearing protection letting the vented headband rest on his neck and the cushioned ear cups settle under his jaw. He pulled off the amber-tinted safety eyewear and tossed them to the desk. As he sat, Dan lifted the coffee Dayton delivered before his shift ended and he left for the day. Setting down his drink, he began to make notes on the group who just finished.
Constable Kinsey Peltora strolled to Broderick wearing her usual severe countenance. She never let her guard down in this male-dominated world. Stopping in front of his desk, she put her hands on her hips. “How’d I do?”
Without glancing up, Dan replied, “Excellent. You ever consider trying out for TRF?”
Shifting her stance, and taking a step back, shocked by his question, her eyes narrowed, trying to discern his motive for asking. She retorted bluntly, “Every damned day, but it’s a boys’ club. Women aren’t given a fair shot.”
Lifting his head, Dan studied the five-foot-nine, ebony-skinned female constable. Her demeanor showed confidence, but she carried a chip on her shoulder based on her remark. “Lexa and Justine would disagree with you.”
Crossing her arms, Kinsey shook her head. “Everyone knows they only got in to avoid discrimination claims. Now the good ol’ boys can parade their pretty ponies around and claim they are progressive.”
Dan’s brows lifted as he set down his pen, ready to set Peltora straight, both women earned their TRF spots. He never got a word out.
“So, I’m a pony show?” Lexa snapped, having listened since Dan inquired if the policewoman considered TRF.
Kinsey whipped around and stared at Constable McKenna. She stammered for words and came out with, “That is what everyone here says. I transferred from Vancouver last month hoping to try out here since Vancouver still doesn’t allow women on SWAT. But all the guys here … well, they said I don’t have a chance since TRF’s quota of estrogen is filled.”
Dan leaned back, waiting to discover how Lexa would handle this. He noted Trevor behind her and lifted his chin acknowledging Bram’s fill-in.
“And you believed their crap?” Lexa arched a brow as she tilted her head.
“No different from where I came from.” Kinsey shrugged eyeing the petite woman. Her size and fragile appearance justified Wogan’s claims. Hell, even a light breeze could take her down.
Lexa hated she must continually battle to be recognized for her abilities, but she never backed down or gave an inch. “Who is the most vocal critic?”
“That would be me.” Wogan eyed the girlish figure and snorted. “Only takes one glance to realize the brass only let you in TRF to satisfy the whining of feminists.” Using a higher, nasally pitch, rudely mimicking a female voice he said, “Women can do everything a man can and better.”
Returning to his natural tone, Wogan scoffed, “Like hell. If I were a subject, I’d have you on your ass in no time flat. Women don’t belong in the TRF. You put the guys at risk because they need to cover your shapely ass.”
Dan held back the chuckle noting the fire flare in Lexa’s eyes. This is Wogan’s lucky day … his ass will be handed to him by Lexa.
“Care to put your words to the test?” Lexa challenged.
Kinsey’s brown eyes widened. Wogan will wipe the floor with her.
Snickering was heard from the policemen who remained from the previous group and from the next ones who entered in time to overhear the dialog.
“Well?” Lexa prompted.
“Wouldn’t want to hurt you. Might make your teammates angry I hit their little woman.” Wogan laughed.
Lexa sighed. “P
ut up or shut up.”
“All right, you asked for it though. Wanna to go here or upstairs on the soft padded gym floor?”
“Here’s fine if you don’t mind the bruising you’ll receive.” Lexa moved to a ready stance as the others formed a circle around her and Wogan.
Dan remained kicked back, not worried in the least for Lexa. The same couldn’t be said for Trevor, his eyes lit with concern as the much larger officer, with a physique of a boxer, prepared to go after Lexa.
Lunging for McKenna, believing he won before he started, Wogan’s breath left his body in a rush as his back slammed on the concrete. Within a blink of an eye, Mckenna flipped him to his stomach and yanked his hands behind him, cuffing them. Rolling over once air reentered his lungs, Wogan stared dumbfounded at the auburn-haired woman wearing a self-satisfied smirk. Point made abundantly and embarrassingly clear.
His rounded eyes were not the only ones in the room as the men of the Fifty-first gaped at the defeated Wogan. Lone clapping broke the moment and eyes shifted to the blond officer.
“Fastest time yet. Think you’re ready for steer wrestling at the Calgary Stampede,” Dan said as he rose. Lexa executed the move he taught her perfectly, one he learned from Ripsaw.
Lexa laughed as she reached for her handcuff keys to release Wogan.
Dan turned his gaze to Peltora. “So, are you interested in TRF?”
Still stunned, Kinsey nodded before finding her voice. “Yeah, why?”
“I’ll add your name to the list of officers who will be considered for a potential training program. It isn’t a sure thing. Commander Gambrill is waiting to find out if we receive the funding.”
A bright smile, the first one Kinsey displayed in years, covered her face. Today is my luckiest day ever. “Thanks.”
Shifting back to Lexa, Dan gave her a lopsided grin as a disgruntled Wogan quickly left the room. “What brings you here?”
“Boss wanted us to stop by and offer you a ride back to HQ since your truck is out of commission. We’ll wait until you’re done unless we get a call.”
“Great. They’re the last group. Should be about fifteen minutes to run them through and another ten to wrap up the paperwork to give the captain.”
As Dan moved off to start the evaluations, Kinsey reappeared and handed the two TRF officers ear muffs. “Sorry for the attitude.”
“I understand where you’re coming from, been there myself.” Lexa accepted the protective gear. “Additional estrogen would be welcomed at TRF if you possess the right abilities and mindset. If Dan added you to the list, you demonstrated the necessary marksmanship skills. Continue to hone them, do your homework on the other criteria, and you will receive a fair assessment.”
“Thanks. I will.” Peltora pivoted and trotted out of the room to return to her patrol shift. My dream might become a reality.
Leaning against the desk, Trevor queried, “Where in the world did you learn that takedown?”
Lexa grinned. “Dan.”
Late Night Discoveries
22
January 20
Northern, Italy – Town Bar – 7:10 p.m.
Wearing clothing which blended in with the residents of this tiny, rural farming community, Dom sauntered into the bar. Although he appeared similar, the locals eyed him warily, recognizing him as an outsider. He noted several tables with men, women, and children congregated around them, playing cards, eating, or merely chatting while consuming beverages of all sorts. As in most Italian towns, the local bar tended to be the center of social life, not a place to drink copious amounts of alcohol.
Dom went to the counter, ordered a glass of wine, and found a rare empty table where he could enjoy his drink, and people watch. His time in the Palermo region on the island of Sicily had been enlightening and brought him here. He discovered information on Priamo Lazzari, Narciso Ricigliano, Leonardo Baldovino, and the crime family headed by Giulio Cignotti.
The Cignotti’s reach extended well beyond Italy. Seeking to expand his empire, Giulio sent four of his seven sons to other parts of the world to establish footholds. The head of the family, Giulio, appeared to be an intelligent and ruthless man. He ruled with an iron fist, typically using intimidation and blackmail to maintain his power base but was not above murdering those who resisted his other methods.
When his sons immigrated to other countries, they modified their names to conceal their ties to organized crime. Santo Cignotti became Santos Cisne when he relocated to Brazil. Mauro changed his name to Maurice Swan after moving to the United States. Renzo altered his to Renard Cygnet upon transplanting himself in Australia. Raffaello, the seventh and youngest son, converted to Ralph Bewick when settling in Canada. Going up against this crime syndicate would be a daunting task for even the bravest souls.
Sipping his wine, he waited, hoping to spy Lazzari who now went by the name Rocco Mariotti as part of his witness protection plan. Finding him had not been easy, but not impossible with his connections. After explaining his need and promising not to expose Priamo, his contact provided him with the man’s location.
Twenty minutes later, his quarry entered and joined a group of older men. The barkeep brought him an Italian hot chocolate, a delicious thick and creamy drink, close to being a chocolate custard. The light banter and laughter among the men indicated to Dom that Priamo, Rocco to those here, appeared to be a sociable man with a penchant for jocularity.
For the next two hours, he observed, gathering information, but chose to leave before Rocco. As he strolled out into the chilly night, Dom lifted the collar of his overcoat, before tucking his hands into pockets. Leisurely, he made his way to the modest cottage on the outskirts of the village. Rocco would have another conversation when he arrived home … this one though would not be humorous.
Northern, Italy – Priamo’s Place – 11:40 p.m.
In a fantastic mood, Priamo unlocked his front door and entered his humble home. The past five years had been difficult, but he was beginning to relax and not check over his shoulder every few minutes. He shut and locked the door before switching on the single light in the tiny multipurpose room. Priamo turned and froze in the process of shrugging out of his jacket as fear ripped through him. They found me.
Dom stood across the room, casually leaning against the wall as he stared at the frightened man. Speaking Italian, Dom said, “Priamo Lazzari we are going to have a talk, and you are going to tell me what I want to know, or I inform Giulio Cignotti of your new name and location. If you are forthcoming, your identity will remain intact.”
Priamo scrutinized the man. “You’re not with the Cignotti’s?”
Motioning to one of two chairs at a little square table, Dom replied, “No.”
A slight measure of relief trickled through Priamo as he finished removing his outerwear and moved to where the man pointed. “What do you think I can tell you?”
Dom sat in the remaining chair. “Nearly thirty years ago, you investigated a two-vehicle accident in Palermo on Via Bonanno Pietto involving three men. Two died, and one survived. You will tell me the truth regarding the death of Leonardo Baldovino and what if any role Narciso Ricigliano played in his friend’s demise.”
Priamo’s eyes widened as memories of his misery’s origination flooded in.
Toronto – Lexa’s Home – 10:25 p.m.
Music blared through her speakers as Lexa happily painted, her strokes matching the upbeat tempo. Not a huge fan of home improvements, but willing to help when Lexa suggested he come over tonight, Dan halted to simply gaze at her. Their dates consisted of time spent at each other’s places or an occasional dinner at Jarmal’s. Going out remained too risky.
Thoughts of earlier resurged in Dan’s mind. Painting would never hold the same inference for him again. Both now only in their undergarments, after their hot, fast coupling on the heavy-duty canvas drop cloth covering her flooring, his hunger renewed as her yellow dotted body swayed to the beat.
His eyes on Lexa’s bikini-clad rear,
he conceded Wogan had been right about only one thing, Lexa possessed a shapely ass. It bothered him the man ogled her, but he could not respond in a jealous or possessive way four days ago because not only were other officers around, Trevor was there, and Lexa also would’ve undoubtedly punched him if he did.
As the tune faded, Lexa turned to reload and noted Dan remained stationary by the paper-covered window. Covering the opening served two purposes. It kept splatter off the glass and provided them privacy from curious passers-by and the watchful eyes of Winds and or Blaze. She never glimpsed either, but according to Dan, they were around … always.
She realized Dan stared at her with unadulterated lust again. If they stopped every time he fixated on her that way, she would never finish redecorating this room. “Hey, back to work,” she ordered with a smile.
Forgetting he held a loaded brush, Dan brought his hand up to salute her and ended up with a forehead of pale yellow paint.
Viewing Dan’s shocked expression as he whacked himself, Lexa erupted in a fit of giggles, laughing so hard her sides hurt, she doubled her over. Still chortling, a cold line snaked across her lower torso. She whipped stunned eyes to her boyfriend. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, Broderick.”
Backing up a few steps, as Lexa reached around to touch the line of yellow he tracked down her back, Dan snickered. “What ya gonna do?”
In a flash, Lexa moved her long roller, getting Dan in the chest as he tried to dodge her payback. She chased him around the room as he heckled her, but she maneuvered him into the corner. “Got you now.”
Paint dripping down his cheek, Dan gave her a boyish grin. “So, your revenge is to paint me into a corner?”
“Nah, something better.” Lexa dropped the extended brush.
Dan’s eyes widened, and his pulse quickened when Lexa removed her bra and underwear. “I’m down with that.”
“Whoa … not so fast, soldier. No touching, only looking as we work.”
“Aw, not fair.” His eyes pleaded with smokiness. “You’re gonna kill me.”
