Frankly, My Detective

by Mary Keeley

  “Better now, Mrs. Salerno? Comfortable?”

  “Oh, yes, thank you, much better. Now if you’ll just take me home ...”

  Cosmo’s smile was more of a sneer. He turned to Lizette, whose small frame was nearly swallowed up by the red leather sofa. She sat wide-eyed, also bound, repeatedly rubbing her wrists and began trembling as Cosmo spoke to her, his voice harsh with sarcasm.

  “Well, my dear niece, why don’t you tell your little keeper here why we can’t take her home, huh? You got her into this mess, you little bitch, now the only way out of it is to make you both disappear. So go ahead, explain away. Me, I’m gonna go get another drink, ’cause I don’t want to be in the same room with you three right now.” He drained his glass and shot a fierce look at the other terrified person on the sofa. He left them with Luca on guard, sitting in the chair across from them, his beefy hand making the semiautomatic he held across his lap look like a toy. The tense tabloid remained frozen until an approaching voice made the three prisoners look up.

  “Hey, Luca, m’ bro, you keeping everybody all snug and tight in here?”

  The young man with the carefully highlighted blonde hair leapt to his feet when the owner of the voice appeared from the hallway.

  “You bastard! You set me up!” Jeremy shouted, as he propelled himself towards the other man, shaking his tightly bound fists. His trajectory was halted suddenly by the black muzzle of Luca’s gun shoved sharply into his chest.

  “Don’t even think about it, baby fag,” Luca snarled.

  Lizette let out a little yelp and pulled her feet up and buried her face in her knees. Rosa leaned forward, fascinated by the action, her hands gripping her rosary beads.

  Jeremy scowled and lowered his balled-up fists as he backed away from Luca. Harsh, high-pitched laughter came from the newest member of the group.

  “Ha! Sit yourself back down, you little fool. You know it’s a wise man who knows when he’s outnumbered and outsmarted, but then again, you’re not known for your wisdom are you, Sugar?” With that, Detective Toby Monroe walked up to Yano’s boyfriend, Jeremy Blake, punched him hard in the stomach, and watched with delight, as the younger man folded in on himself with a grunt, and fell to the floor.

  Rosa shoved the ottoman to the side with strength and agility belying her age and size. She pushed herself out of the deep chair, shouting at Monroe, “That was a rotten thing to do! Animale!”

  Taken by surprise at how quickly she came towards him, Monroe let out a shriek of pain as Rosa reached both hands up and whipped him across the face with her rosary beads.

  In the parking lot of the Lake Cuyamaca store, Deputy Sergeant Travis Wayne Rinder greeted Scarlett warmly despite the crisp chill in the air. “Long time no see, no fun, Ms. Scarlett!”

  Rinder, who seldom went by his given name, had been with the San Diego County Sheriff’s office since he graduated college in his early 20’s. Having worked his way up by diligence and with strong penchant for studying the criminal mind, he rose quickly in the ranks of the department. In this way, he and Dawson were similar, in other ways, not so much. Not a nerdy bookworm by any means, Rinder was a man who, as he often said, “liked to work hard and liked to play harder.” And therein laid the major difference between him and the SDPD detective: Dawson really didn’t know how to play, hard or otherwise. Dawson fit more of the soft-bodied, nose-to-thegrindstone profile than Rinder did.

  An athlete in high school, Rinder worked out these days at his local crossit gym, having always found the challenge of competing with himself more fun than competing with others. His family always had dogs, big dogs. Consequently, he grew up also loving to train and enjoy the companionship of animals he often thought were better company than humans. Being the deputy in charge of the canine unit was a dream job for him, and he relished the cooperative mix of men and their beloved and trusted four-footed partners. Indeed, when one of his dogs was up for ‘retirement’, it was not unusual for the animal to spend his last days as a family pet for Rinder, his extremely patient wife and their sons, who delighted in loving every dog, as they all grew up and older together. Dawson’s family lived in apartments throughout his childhood; no pets allowed. His residence now was of the same ilk. His most consistent form of exercise was of the ‘bend the elbow while sitting on a lumpy couch watching other athletes’ type.

  Consequently, now in the semi-darkness near the lake, Dawson took a large step back as the huge dog with a black and silver lion’s mane stood up next to Rinder. A low growl sounding like a small engine rumbled out of the beast’s thick chest.

  “Careful, Cliffie, Bear here will take you out and bury you like a big bone ” Scarlett said softly.

  “Nah, he only does that with the bad guys,” Rinder said as he pulled Bear’s lead back. “Settle down, you big thug, and say hello to Ms. Scarlett.” The beautiful beast became a tail-wagging, fairly slobbering puppy before Dawson’s shocked eyes as Scarlett knelt briefly, petting and greeting him like an old friend. Turning to Dawson, Rinder’s white teeth gleamed in the light of the dim security lamp above the lot. Somehow the deputy’s easy manner and broad smile did not make the situation any more comfortable for Dawson.

  “Hey, are we gonna be able to feed anybody to our pups tonight or what? We made sure they came hungry.”

  Dawson shivered, not from the cold, but because of the eerie, downright maniacal laughter of the deputy and his men. They all wore Kevlar protective vests, ready for action and seemed strangely delighted at the prospect of potential danger. Scarlett rose, stood next to Dawson again, and in a few short minutes, she and Dawson briefed Rinder and the squad on the situation at Fortress Fagoli. When they’d finished, Rinder blew out his breath in a frosty cloud.

  “The other hostage situation makes it dicey, Scarlett. And dogs versus dogs is never the best plan.” He glanced over his shoulder at a young deputy who was crouched down speaking softly into his dog’s large, pointed ear. “Hey, Brewskie, whaddya think? Got your ‘heat’ with ya?”

  The young man named Hugo Brewster was called Brewskie by all his colleagues, not only because he brewed his own special beer in his garage, but because he hated the name Hugo so much; the men used it at their own peril. K-9 Deputy Brewskie looked up at his commander and grinned.

  “You bet, sir. I’ll go fetch it right now, come on, Foster.” He’d named his huge German Shepherd after his favorite Australian beer. He and the big animal went off on a quick trot over to one of the sheriff’s vans. Dawson could have sworn both of them ran with their tongues hanging out. He frowned as the rest of the squad chuckled and fist-bumped each other, all saying something about “heat”.

  “What’s that about, Rinder?” Dawson asked, “And what other hostage situation?” He glared at Scarlett.

  Rinder held up his hand. “Hold on, detective. You’ll find out in a minute. Scar, figure it’s time to let our friend here in on what ol’ Cosmo’s about?”

  Scarlett nodded, “I gave him a little history on the way up.”

  Rinder took a deep breath, turned to Dawson and began: “INS, Border Patrol, CHP, and us, we’ve all been working on this case, undercover as much as possible. Cosmo’s been suspected…” He snorted and shook his head in disgust. “Hell, it’s no longer just suspicion, we KNOW he’s running a human trafficking game. And we figure he holds victims at the Fortress captive until he ships ’em out to whatever godforsaken subhuman creep who’s paid for the poor souls. We’ve been at this for a couple of years, and we’re close to nailing his ass, but not close enough. This business with Scarlett’s mom and Yano’s wife being kidnapped and held may be the doorway to get this fat bastard once and for all. Also, we can finally search the place, and maybe be able to save some others, too. So we gotta use whatever we can that gives us the advantage, and right now, Brewskie’s heat may just be what we need.” Dawson took all this in, opened his mouth to ask again about the ‘heat’ but was cut off by Rinder’s explanation.

  “It’s a secret weapon we’ve use
d in some bad situations; not often approved of, but what the hell, whatever works.”

  Brewskie and Foster returned, accompanied by low wolf howls and laughs from the deputies and a lot of nervous action from the tightly held dogs. Rinder clapped the young deputy on the shoulder as he set the large canister affixed with a hose and pump on the ground. “Good boys, both of ya! Now we are in business!”

  Brewskie returned to his comrades, his grin matching theirs. Rinder looked at the canister with what seemed like an expression of both love and reverence before he turned to Dawson.

  “This, my friend, is ‘heat’. It is the scent of a female dog in season condensed in a marvelous liquid which we will spray around the Fortress and make the dogs there very, very uncontrollable and their handlers confused and vulnerable. It was brewed to perfection by our own Deputy Brewskie here. God! I love science!”

  “Outstanding, Rinder! Now can we roll on this, please?” Scarlett spat out.

  Dawson uneasily nodded his agreement and felt the cold from the damp asphalt creeping into his shoes.

  “Sure thing, Missy.” Rinder slapped his leather gloved fists together. “Now here’s how we’re doing this: we’ll be on low-volume chatter on our hand-helds. Our dogs have special muzzles also created by our buddy Brewskie here so they can’t get the ‘heat’ scent. Brewskie and Foster will spray in the east area of the compound. Our guys will secure both the dogs and their handlers.” He held up his palm towards Dawson as the detective opened his mouth. “Don’t worry about how. Like I said, we’ve had eyes and ears on the Fortress and perimeter for a good while now. When all is secure in that area, we will signal, locked and loaded, and proceed into the Fortress itself. My guys know the layout well, since we have had, shall we say, reason to have quiet chats with Mr. Di Stefano’s staff on occasion. Amazing information a couple of good drinks and a promise of immunity will buy. God! We need to get this guy! I’m sure you know how much, detective.”

  Dawson nodded. “Yeah, we’ve had to deal with other cases of this nasty ‘import business’ for some time. Let’s do it!”

  Rinder nodded, gave his squad a “thumbs up” and suddenly all was in motion. Scarlett and Dawson ran to his car, the now-muzzled dogs were loaded with the deputies in the van and SUV’s. Rinder and Brewskie secured their dogs in the back of Rinder’s SUV and took the lead.

  Scarlett turned to Dawson, her breath fogged the windshield slightly. “So Uncle Cosmo’s reputation has interested the SDPD as well?” Dawson quickly rolled down his window. They shivered as the crisp night air blew in. Dawson hunched up his shoulders and glanced quickly at her before he answered, his voice low and tight.

  “For some time, we’ve known Cosmo’s been into some kinda drug importing and dealing shit. Gotta be linked in with the Mexican cartel and we’re really close on that. Mexican authorities are cooperating more these days and that’s good. But that’s only one thing. This other thing, this ‘slavery’…” He swore and pounded his fist one time on the dashboard. Scarlett gasped. “God! Everything Lizzie told me was true. When I first approached Rinder with this, he just looked at me, said nothing, so I knew. Oh, hell! Now I know more details than even I suspected. The looks on the faces of the women in the video I got… We really gotta make this stick! Jesus, now I’m more scared than ever about Mom and Lizzie. He is the animal I thought he was.”

  Dawson saw she was trembling, and reached over to turn on the heater. He took a noisy deep breath. “I’ve never wanted to send anyone to hell before, but this time, I could cheerfully do it, I could, Scarlett.” She looked at him for what seemed like a long time, then looked down at the gun in her hands. When she spoke, there was a slight tremble in her voice but her words were clear. “I get it, but if he lays a hand on my mom, I just might have to call ‘dibs’ on this one, Cliffie.”

  This time when he reached out his hand, he did lay it on her knee and to his surprise, she briefly covered it with her own.

  “Here’s one for ya, Cliffie: ‘Sure, forgive your enemies, but first, get even.’ Gotta love Cagney.” She looked out the window as they approached Fortress Fagoli, the interior lights of the big house shining softly against the shadowy hillside.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  All motion in the huge living room had stopped. In fact, the very air seemed still for several long seconds after Rosa’s attack on Monroe. Her sharp, crystal rosary beads left a string of crimson bumps on his fair cheek. His hand flew to his face. When he pulled it away he was shocked and angered to see the blood. The silver crucifix had cut him below the eye. With a guttural roar he lunged towards the still-scowling Rosa.

  “You old bitch! Who do you think …” But he never finished his sentence. As Rosa took a defensive step back, Lizette screamed and launched herself off the sofa and threw herself at him.

  “Don’t you touch her, you piece of shit!” She tackled him, her torso flung against his upper body, legs wrapped around him as she used her only weapons, her long acrylic nails and the sharp edge of the plasti-cuffs. She clawed at his already-damaged face, and screamed obscenities.

  Taken off balance, Lizette and Monroe toppled to the floor; she straddled him and continued to beat him and scratch him. He struggled to push her off, while trying to protect his face at the same time.

  Jeremy was on his feet and moved quickly towards Luca, only to be stopped again by the large gun pointing in his direction. Luca stood, stunned, alternately pointing his weapon at the wrestling duo on the floor and the furious Jeremy, not knowing whether to hit either one. Rosa took advantage of his brief confusion and picked up a piece of the Murano glass fruit from the bowl on the coffee table and threw it as hard as she could at his head. Unfortunately, even without the handicap of being cuffed, Rosa was not blessed with a good throwing arm, so the beautiful glass pear slammed Luca on his chest, bounced off and shattered into a million shining pieces. Luca flinched, whirled on her and shouted. “What the hell? Sit down, you little strega or I’ll… .”

  “You’ll what? Shoot an old lady? Oh that’s big and brave isn’t it? Who brought you up anyway, huh, bruto!”

  Cosmo and Bruno ran into the room, shouting in unison, “What the hell is going on?”

  Monroe had managed to push Lizette off, grab her by her scraped wrists and pin her to the floor. His curly blonde hair fell in front of his eyes and he flicked his head back.

  “Godammit, Cosmo, this little whore jumped me and the old lady hit me, too! What good are your goons anyway?”

  “Better’n you, Marilyn, since you’re the one bleeding and on the floor. Get up, you sorry bastard.” Cosmo signaled Bruno and Luca to take charge and walked over to Rosa. Bruno, who was the size of a small room himself, hauled Lizette up off the floor and dumped her, like a rag doll, on the sofa, gun held in one beefy hand, pointing at her enhanced bosom. Jeremy moved towards the big man, bound fists clenched and held high, and clubbed the back of Bruno’s thick neck. With speed belying his size, Bruno whirled and fiercely backhanded Jeremy across the jaw. The younger man dropped hard onto his knees. Bruno grabbed the front of Jeremy’s shirt and hauled him up onto the sofa with no effort on his part. Jeremy, stunned and in pain, his lip bleeding, wisely held up his hands, palms out as best he could, and sat back, muttering something about big guns meaning small dicks. Bruno’s growl silenced him.

  Luca pointed his own gun at Rosa advancing on her until she plopped heavily into her chair. She glared at him and made an Italian gesture he knew too well. He glared back: a Sicilian standoff.

  “Go clean yourself up, pretty boy.” Cosmo addressed Monroe with obvious disdain.

  “Talk nice, Uncle C., you still need me.” Monroe hissed at him. Before he left, he bent and grabbed Jeremy by the shirt and pulled him close to his face. Jeremy stared back angrily. “That’s right, just sit there, you little prick. I’ll take care of you later.”

  Jeremy snarled through clenched teeth. “You promised I’d be okay. You promised me I’d get the car and the condo and now you’re just
fucking me over. Who’s the prick here, huh?”

  Monroe’s high-pitched bitter laugh made Jeremy sneer back at him. “Little ass! You were just the bait; just somebody to use to get what we wanted. Now you’re nothing. Less than nothing. We can throw you to the cops or the wolves, whatever we want. And that goes for you bitches, too.” He shoved Jeremy away from him, walked toward the doorway and turned to Cosmo once more. He licked the side of his mouth where Lizette had scratched it, tasting blood. When he spoke his voice was dripping honey.

  “Well, Uncle C., all you gotta do now is clean up this mess, I’ll take my cut and we’re even. I got you what you wanted, so if you’ll get my stash ready, I’ll be on my way, back to being one of San Diego’s finest. Protect and serve, that’s me.” He waved his hand in a flourish, bowed deeply and sauntered down the hallway.

  “Humph!” Rosa said. “That young man is certainly no credit to the

  FRANKLY, MY DETECTIVE

  police force; that’s all I have to say!” Cosmo looked at her, shook his head in frustration and said, “For the last time, lady, silenzio, or else!”

  Rosa gave him her sternest look, then awkwardly reached into her pocket, pulled out a tissue and began to wipe the blood off her rosary.

  Outside, the dark caravan stopped just on the other side of the fire station, which was about a half mile to the east of the Fortress and nearer the road. Moments later, the men assembled and walked silently through the chaparral towards the big house. Rinder and Brewskie were already at work. Rinder was on the lookout, holding Bear and Foster, both tightly muzzled, their breath snorting through their muzzles making small clouds in the cold dark air. Brewskie sprayed ‘heat’ on the east perimeter of the compound. Two of the other deputies strung a black trip rope low to the ground in front of the east gate. They’d quickly cut the wires to the electrically charged and controlled gate, disabling it and thereby foiling any attempt of escape by car from the house.