Sal Gabrini: Burning Love

by Mallory Monroe

  “And?” Gemma asked.

  “And nothing,” Sal said as he continued to drive. “Everything checked out. The Nigerian didn’t have any evidence on me like the press was claiming. He thought he was coming to a meeting that would supposedly give him evidence that I killed his parents in cold blood. He was given the key and told to go on in. We even confirmed with the front gate Security that Tito’s cousin was the one who gave him clearance just like he told us.”

  “I’m surprised Detective Morales hasn’t been on your case about the cousin’s death,” Gemma said.

  “They don’t know he’s dead,” Sal said. “And he won’t find out either, if you base it on where we buried that body.”

  Gemma hated to hear such things, but they bought the fight to them. What else were they going to do?

  She looked at Sal. “What about Teresa Kerner?” she asked.

  Sal glanced at her. “Sweets? What about her? I’m not thinking about that bitch.”

  “I know that, Sal. I don’t mean it like that. I mean, have you checked out her story?”

  “What story?”

  “Her backstory,” Gemma said. “How did you meet her, for instance? Who introduced you to her all those years ago? Maybe that has something to do with it. Maybe it goes back that far.”

  Sal shook his head. “Trust me,” he said, “Sweets is now and will only ever be a piece on the side for whichever man pays for it. We passed her around like she was a trophy we all won.”

  Gemma looked at him. “She’s a hooker? I mean, I knew she was a whore. That, I hate to say, went without saying. But you’re saying she’s a hooker?”

  “Hell yeah, I’m saying it,” Sal said. “She didn’t come free. Cheap either. You pay for her services.”

  Gemma had no idea. She just thought Sweets was one of Sal’s former girlfriends. “Then why would you pawn her off as a socialite so that she could become a member at Granville and own a lodge there?”

  Sal was confused. He looked at Gemma. “What are you talking about? I didn’t pawn her off as anything. And she doesn’t own shit. The man she put it out for was a member at Granville. He owned that lodge. She just worked out of it.”

  Now Gemma was puzzled. “Then why would she make it her business to make me think you were the man who bought her a membership?”

  “How should I know? Maybe she just wanted to make you jealous.”

  “But she’s a prostitute. Why would she care if I was jealous or not? She wanted me to think you and she were lovers, even after you married me, but why did she want me to believe that?”

  Sal could tell Gemma’s brain was working overtime. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “I’m thinking whoever owns that lodge Sweets live in, could possibly be our mystery man.”

  When she said it, Sal realized it too. And slammed on brakes. Fortunately, nobody was behind him. He quickly drove to the side of the road and stopped. He looked at Gemma.

  “Why else would Sweets be involved?” Gemma asked. “She said Tito was the guy who paid her to come on to you, but we have no prove that’s true.”

  Sal nodded. “True.” And he continued to listen intensely.

  “Maybe the mystery man made Tito involve his cousin, and I get that part,” Gemma said. “But they needed the cousin to falsify the records and get that Nigerian into your lodge. Having Sweets there wasn’t necessary. You would have shot that guy whether she was there or not.”

  Sal knew that was true too. “That’s right,” he said.

  “The unknown guy is the one with some grudge against you,” Gemma said. “He’s the one, not Tito and Mouse. And if Sweets isn’t associated with Tito or Mouse, and they were the only other players as far as we know, then the only suspect left is that mystery man. If we don’t buy her story that she was on Tito’s payroll, then she has to be tied up with whomever that mastermind turns out to be.”

  “And she was claiming Tito put her up to that bedroom stunt when she knew it wasn’t Tito at all,” Sal said.

  Gemma nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking, yeah.”

  And Sal knew what they had to do. He looked in his rearview, realized there was no traffic coming, and quickly got back onto the road and hooked a U-turn. And headed for Granville

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Their first stop was at the lodge where Sweets took up residence. Sal parked at his lodge, where Gemma remained in the car. He walked around back and made his way a few doors down, to Sweets’ place.

  Gemma sat in the car and waited. She wanted to go too. To hear for herself what that chick was really up to. But Sal would have none of it.

  “It’s basically a whore house,” he said. “Okay? My wife isn’t going anywhere near it.”

  So Gemma stayed put. And waited. But it wasn’t as long as she had anticipated. Within minutes, Sal returned and got back in behind the wheel.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “She’s cleared out,” Sal said, cranking back up.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She split. Gone. Took every stitch of clothing she had and left the place in shambles.”

  “You don’t think somebody killed her. Do you?”

  Sal shook his head. “No. She took all her clothes. Her ass was afraid for her life. Which is all the more reason for us to believe Tito had nothing to do with her coming on to me. But whoever did put her up to it, she’s terrified of him.” Sal backed up and headed out. “Her ass probably isn’t even in the country anymore.”

  “So what do we do next?” Gemma asked.

  “We’re heading to the office. I want to find out who owns that property. If Sweets didn’t hang around to tell us, we’ll have to let the paper trail tell us.”

  “If the paper trail hasn’t been falsified too.”

  “We’ll find out,” Sal said as he drove, not through the exit gate, but around the front of the estate, to the club office.

  The president of the club, Malcolm Summersville, was practicing his golf swing when they walked in.

  He smiled. “Salvatore,” he said jovially. “How good to see you again!” He removed his golf glove and headed toward them, his hand already extended.

  Sal shook his hand. “Good to see you, too, Malcolm.”

  Gemma was surprised that such a hoity-toity sort of person would be so friendly with a guy like Sal. But she also knew that rich people responded to wealth. Sal was super-wealthy. That was all they needed, or cared, to know.

  “And this must be Mrs. Gabrini,” Malcolm said, extending his hand to Gemma. “How are you, ma’am?”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” she said.

  Then he looked at Sal. “I want to extent my greatest apologies for that scam that was pulled in your name. We had no clue that Lester Ambridge fellow was that sort of chap. He came with pristine credentials. And that awful mix up with the African fellow? Just bad luck all around. I apologize.”

  “The prosecution won’t be pressing charges,” Sal said, “so it worked out.”

  “Perfection,” Malcolm said. Then he rested his hands on his golf club. He was a busy man, his pose seemed to say. Time to get down to business. “What can I do for you?”

  “I need information on one of the lodges,” Sal said.

  “I’m an open book. Fire away.”

  Gemma was surprised at how easily Malcolm was willing to give out information. But he was willing.

  “You know that lodge Sweets stayed in?” Sal asked.

  “I do.”

  Gemma, again, was surprised he would know Teresa Kerner’s nickname, but he did. She suspected that maybe Malcolm passed her around like a trophy too.

  “Who owns it?” Sal asked.

  “Well, now, that’s a bit complicated.”

  Sal and Gemma were intrigued. “How so?” Gemma asked.

  “A fellow by the name of Skip Durango owned it for many years. I’m talking twenty-five, thirty years. When he hooked up with Sweets, he’d been an owner for a good long time. Sweets was a
kid then. And Old Skip was in love with her.”

  “In love with her? Get the fuck out of here,” Sal said.

  “I kid you not,” Malcolm said. “She was very young and very beautiful. The only way he was going to keep her was to let her do her craft, right under his nose, and keep his mouth shut. And he did. For years.”

  “So where is he now?” Sal asked.

  “That’s the complicated part. He suddenly sold his membership to another fellow. And then, like a day later, our Mr. Durango was dead.”

  Gemma looked at Sal, amazed.

  But Sal was still staring at Malcolm. “What happened to him?” he asked.

  “Sweets said he had a heart attack while visiting his family in Wyoming. But I don’t know. It all sounded fishy to me. Especially when she continued to stay at the lodge, even with this new guy as club member and the owner of the lodge. And she continued to practice her craft.”

  “So ownership was transferable?” Gemma asked.

  “If you can qualify for membership on your own terms,” Malcolm said, “then yes.”

  “Who’s the new owner?” Sal asked.

  “Fellow by the name of Leftwich. Herbert Leftwich.”

  “I take it he’s never here,” Sal said.

  “Never,” Malcolm said.

  “Have you ever seen him?” Gemma asked.

  “Never,” Malcolm responded.

  “Didn’t that make you all the more suspicious?” Gemma asked.

  “Of course. But you have to understand something, Mrs. Gabrini. If I only allowed people in this club that I was not suspicious of, there would be no club to run. It would be empty, I’m afraid.”

  Sal chuckled. He had that right. “Give me everything you have on that Leftwich guy,” Sal said. “I’ll have my people investigate.”

  And, to Gemma’s shock, Malcolm did exactly as he was asked. Gemma looked at Sal. “Member’s privilege?” she whispered.

  “And money talks,” Sal whispered back to her. He knows who butters his bread.”

  Later that night, Sal and Gemma were at home, sitting against the headboard in their bed. Gemma was working on a case file, and Sal was reviewing the paperwork he had on Leftwich. Lucky was in the room too, asleep in his crib.

  And then, suddenly, after seeing that name repeatedly, it hit Sal. “I’ll be damned,” he said.

  Gemma looked at him. “What is it?”

  Sal jumped out of bed and hurried out of the bedroom.

  Gemma jumped up too, looked to make sure the baby was still asleep, and then hurried after Sal.

  Sal ran down the stairs and into his home office. Gemma was right on his heels. “What is it?” she asked him.

  “That name,” Sal said. He sat behind his desk.

  “What name?” Gemma asked, tying her bathrobe.

  Sal opened his bottom desk drawer and pulled out a small booklet.

  “What name, Sal?” Gemma asked again.

  “Leftwich,” Sal said. “I know that name.”

  Gemma’s heart began to pound. “How do you know him?”

  “From my past,” Sal said, as he opened the booklet. A lot of newspaper clippings were inside. “If I’m right, I know that name from my past.”

  Sal searched and searched throughout the numerous clippings. Gemma knelt down beside him at his desk, and watched him work.

  And then he found it. “I’ll be damned,” he said again, pulling it out of the booklet.

  Gemma looked at the clipping. “Young Boy Dies in House Fire, was the headline.

  Gemma grabbed the clipping and stood up. She only had to read the first paragraph:

  Young Barry Leftwich was killed, along with five other people, when a house police officers said was a drug house, burned down. Arson, after a drug deal gone bad, has initially been blamed for the blast. Barry Leftwich was only five years old.

  Gemma looked at Sal. He was leaned back in his chair now. And he looked ghostly. “What is it, Sal? You had something to do with this fire?”

  Regret filled Sal’s eyes. The memories were still raw. “I set it off,” he said.

  Gemma was floored. She knelt back down. “You set it off?” she asked. “But how? Why?”

  Sal leaned his head back and slouched in his chair. He didn’t want to remember that shit. Not ever. But he looked at Gemma. He knew he had to. “I was a cop then. Back in Seattle. Me and my crew had broken up this drug ring and had acquired ourselves a very big stash. Maybe our biggest. But these other drug dealers, some punks nobody knew a thing about, came and stole our stash. Tommy was angry. My old man was angry. They wanted our hide. We had to get those drugs back.”

  Gemma stared at him.

  “We went there,” he said, “and confronted them. They made a run for it. They ran into this old, dilapidated house they were using as their storage shed I guess.”

  Sal paused.

  “Go on,” Gemma said.

  “I knew they weren’t getting out of there alive. I knew we couldn’t let them get out of there alive. I ordered my men to smoke’em out. To burn it down.”

  “But Sal,” Gemma said with a look of terror on her face, “a child was in there.”

  “I know that,” Sal said with equal distress. “But I didn’t know it at the time, Gemma. I had no idea. What genius would have a kid in a place like that? I didn’t realize a kid was in that motherfucker until after the house was up in flames, and I saw him at the window. I swear.”

  Gemma covered her mouth in horror. “You saw him?”

  Tears were trying to appear in Sal’s eyes. But Sal beat them back. “I saw him,” he said, “and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. I wanted to. I tried to. Frankie, Dukes, and Carve, my guys, had to hold me back. It took all three, because I wanted to go in.”

  Another pause. “But I couldn’t.”

  Gemma looked at Sal. Sometimes she couldn’t believe the awful things he did. She couldn’t reconcile the man she now knew with the horrible, deeply flawed man he used to be.

  “I still see that kid,” Sal said. “I still have nightmares.”

  Gemma continued to stare at him. She could only imagine the guilt he still carried deep within. It grieved him to this day. And she leaned over, and pulled him into her arms. Sal leaned into her embrace, as he badly needed it, and closed his eyes tightly. They stayed that way for several minutes.

  But he knew he had work to do. His people already had Herbert Leftwich’s name. After he and Gemma left Granville with the name, he told them that Leftwich may be their mystery man.

  But after this new discovery, Sal called them again. To tell them that there was no maybe in it. Herbert Leftwich was indeed their mystery man, and they should expand their search to include Seattle. He also gave them the names of the cops that were on his detail that night. Sal didn’t know if they could add anything at all. But he was leaving no stones unturned.

  But Sal also knew Herbert Leftwich had been on none of their radar screens. It could take weeks or even months to smoke him out of whatever hole he was holed up in. “But we’re find him,” he promised Gemma. “He’s fucking with me and my family. When it comes to protecting my family, he can’t hide forever from me, I don’t care what hole he’s hiding in. When it comes to protecting my family, there’s no hole too deep I won’t crawl into.”

  Gemma believed it too. She believed it with all of her heart. And she pulled her flawed heart, her Sal, back into her loving arms.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  By the weekend, the phone call they had been waiting for ever since they discovered his name, finally came. Sal, Gemma, and Lucky were in Indiana, visiting Gemma’s parents. They arrived in town late Friday night and now, Saturday evening, were helping the Joneses prepare for a dinner party. All of Gemma’s friends were coming, which was more Sal’s crowd even though he was older than all of them, but Rodney wanted him to meet some of their friends too. Security was tight. Sal saw to that. But he was also determined to make sure Gemma relaxed and had some fun.

/>   Sal certainly was enjoying himself, Gemma noticed, as he and her father sat at one of the Bridge tables drinking beer and bragging about their respective teams.

  “I don’t have anything against UNLV, per se,” Rodney said, “but come on, Sal. Indiana is basketball country. We’re Larry Bird. We’re Reggie Miller. We’re Bobby Knight for crying out loud. What you talking about? We’ve won more championships than Vegas has won games. I’m exaggerating,” he added with a chuckle, “but you get my point.”

  “I don’t get shit,” Sal said and they both laughed. “Vegas is coming back, don’t count us out. Those boys can shoot this season. It’s not all about defense anymore. They’re some scoring motherfuckers this season.”

  “Sal!” Gemma admonished. “My parents don’t use that kind of language and you know it.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m sorry.” He looked at Rodney. “Forgive my fucking French.”

  “Sal!”

  But Sal and Rodney were clicking their bottles and laughing their hearts out.

  “What you two should be doing is helping us get everything ready for the party,” Cassie said, “rather than drinking up all the liquor.”

  “Yeah, I got your help right here, Cass,” Rodney said with a Brooklyn accent, imitating Sal, and both men roared in laughter again. “I got your liquor right here!”

  Gemma and her mother looked at each other and smiled. “They’re lost in their childhoods this weekend,” she said.

  Gemma agreed. “Just as long as they don’t wake up the baby,” she said, as Lucky had only minutes before been put to bed, “I’m good. They can be lost in whatever.”

  Cassie stared at her daughter. “You guys needed this break,” she said. “Didn’t you?”

  Gemma pushed a chair under one of the many tables they had throughout the living room, and nodded. “We did, yeah. It’s been rough. So let him laugh,” she added as Sal and Rodney began laughing about something else. “He deserves it.”

  “So do you,” Cassie said. “When your friends get here tonight, I want you to have fun, Gem. They miss you. They’re looking forward to this get together.”