Shattered Glass

by Dani Alexander

  “You are your own worst enemy, Austin. What about Luis? Can he get me in?”

  “He’s working another angle of the case. They’d have his badge if he started consorting with the defense attorney.”

  “Okay. Then I have to go if I want to have any time to talk to Cai before the bond hearing.”

  “Angel?”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I smiled into the phone after she hung up.

  Awkward. Life is Awkward.

  Monty Python could have made a full-length movie on the amount of awkward that was Luis and Peter in my living room. When I reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs, they both turned to me in hopeful relief; Peter from the wall dividing the kitchen from the main room, and Luis six feet from him on the sofa.

  “I see you two have made progress since I’ve been gone.” I went with sarcasm to break the quiet. Grabbing the bottle of Jaeger I’d rejected earlier, I took a seat next to Luis. “Angelica is on her way to Cai. Your part of the bargain is waiting.” I nodded Peter toward the laptop on the coffee table in front of Luis.

  “A boca de borracho, oídos de cantinero,” Luis replied.

  “English. I speak English, Luis.”

  Peter failed to hide a small smile. “It’s a Mexican proverb. It means don’t listen to the drunk guy, all you’ll hear is the bar.”

  Before I could do my Bogart-Casablanca impression, Peter seized my Jaeger. I was going to get really tired of his parenting. As soon as he didn’t smell like cinnamon, and his thigh didn’t press quite so closely to mine. Why did he have to sit directly next to me? Wait, I knew that answer—Manipulation 101.

  Fucker.

  “That one,” Peter leaned over my lap, finger almost reaching the computer screen, “is one of our food suppliers. And that one, laundry services. Payroll company. Garbage pickup.” Luis scrolled down, and Peter quickly pointed again to another row in the spreadsheet. “That one is the company that leases the diner.”

  Peter’s arm nestling against my stomach could be explained by the way he had to lean across me in order to point. I maybe could reason the hand on my thigh was bracing him. I possibly could rationalize that the gentle squeeze of his fingers was supposed to be reassuring. But when his hand moved up the inside of my thigh, then quickly back to my knee, I ran out of excuses. “That’s his auto body shop and this one here, that’s Leila’s sister’s hair salon.”

  “What are you doing, Peter?” I asked agitatedly. Or thought I had asked. When no one responded to my question, I realized the lack of air in my lungs made speech impossible.

  I found my voice when Peter removed his hand and sat back against the opposite arm of the sofa. Pointing to the spreadsheet, I cleared my throat and asked, “How are you recognizing these abbreviations?” Did I sound as hoarse to Luis as I did to my own ears? His furrowed brows could be interpreted as deep thought, or a result of the hitch in my breathing.

  “Cai worked at the auto body last summer and Darryl gets his hair done at the hair salon. As for the others, I tried to take over the accounting when Joe died because I didn’t want Iss around. I couldn’t make the figures work, so I had to call him anyway.”

  Looking over the list of abbreviated names, I thought of something else. That was a lot of businesses for someone like Alvarado. “Did Iss own all those businesses or have a piece in them?”

  Peter shook his head and shrugged. “No way he owned anything of Leila’s. But she owned some of his. Once Leila got her Green card, it was just business between them. And most of the vendors on that list are owned by cops.”

  Luis’s jerked his head up from studying the laptop and turned to Peter. “Cops? How do you know that?”

  “Joe told me. I don’t know which cops, but he always said he kept the business in the blue. ‘Cops is always better than regular peeps, Pete’. Think I heard that about a hundred times.”

  My eyes met Luis’s and both of us understood the implications of that. We knew there was a cop involved, but cops? Plural? Were they all laundering money? It seemed likely since there was no way a simple cleaning service charged a small diner five grand a month. But according to the books, the cleaning service which contracted with the diner got paid that much the previous month. And I’d seen Colorado’s Finest Diner, what the fuck could they have been cleaning? Certainly not tablecloths.

  “That explains the cash at Alvarado’s house. Dench died and Alvarado didn’t have access to the diner to launder it,” I said and immediately shook my head. He should not have had that much cash in his house. There was no way I could make that work in my head. Alvarado was a piece of shit, but he wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t keep evidence around. “But if he was taking care of the diner accounts again, why didn’t he funnel that money in? And those passports? Why did he keep all of that shit at his house?”

  “He didn’t.” We both turned to Peter as he continued, “I…put those in his house.”

  That statement effectively slapped me back to my senses. “You set him up?” The guy didn’t even seem guilt-ridden as he shrugged nonchalantly.

  “I thought they were Iss’s. I found them in a safety deposit box that Joe got for me. I think I signed for it about three years ago. Joe had fixed up an identity for me. He was doing the same for Cai and Darryl. I figured that was what was going to be in the box. Instead, I found that stuff.”

  “Could be bullshit. Alvarado said this kid intro’d him to a cop on the take,” Luis interjected.

  “He lied,” Peter said, standing up. “I’ve been out of that life since Joe took us in. Iss was just pissed because he figured out I put that shit in his house.”

  “Quiet. Both of you. I need to think.” A bevy of thoughts chugged through my head. All that money, all the passports, left in a box only Peter had access to. “Ron said Dench would do anything for his boys.” I examined the computer, then turned to Peter. “I need Joe’s records for the diner.”

  “What are you thinking?” Luis asked.

  “I think the passports and I.D.s were evidence to start an investigation. But an investigation wouldn’t be able to do much with cash. The money could only be for one thing: Peter and the boys. I think Dench was hiding those passports and that money because he was about to turn himself or Alvarado in. Did you put everything from that box in Iss’s house?” Peter nodded slowly, a frown of denial pulling at his brows. “And you’re sure Joe put them in the box.”

  Another nod. “No one else had access.”

  Luis caught on. “Dench was going to turn on everyone? Or he could have been planning to run, leaving the kid here with the evidence to turn in. What will the diner records tell you?”

  “Dench, Alvarado and who? If I can separate the legitimate businesses from the ones here on Alvarado’s spreadsheet, I can track the other partners.” I shook my head again. “No, I’m wrong somewhere. Missing something or someone. This much money? Monthly? How many people would he have had to smuggle?”

  Peter shook his head vehemently. “Joe was not involved like that! Iss did all of Joe’s accounting. All of it. It was Iss’s idea to buy the diner in the first place. Joe couldn’t say no to him really. But Joe would never—”

  “Never say never, kid.” Luis alt-tabbed on the computer and pulled up a list. “These are the disappearances or people who ‘moved away’ which match with Alvarado’s travel. I included unsolveds.”

  Luis’s most valuable skills were his ability to find people, to acquire snitches and to recognize patterns in suspects. He could look at a case and figure out which scumbag was our most likely doer. I thought he had some geographical sixth sense—or instinct. Sort of how serial killer programs could pinpoint the radius of where a suspect lived. For this case, it helped that he was from Mexico City, too.

  “There are two hundred and thirty names here,” I breathed.

  “Two hundred and thirty-nine.” Luis added, “You’re right. Not enough to account for all that money.”

  “How long ago did you go back?�
�

  “Not how long. How far.”

  “Huh?”

  “This only covers the towns and cities I could cross check with Alvarado’s recent travel. Some of these towns have little-to-no telephone access and the local police weren’t helpful in a lot of cases. I couldn’t delve any further. There was a full-scale war between two cartels near where Alvarado was last seen. Some missing niece or daughter of the Jiménez cartel lord. I don’t see us getting more information from down there. But that’s not the important information. What is important is that even if there were five hundred, it still wouldn’t match up with the amount of cash rolling through Alvarado’s accounts every month.”

  I scanned the amounts on the list again and concentrated on the sums less than two grand. “These small amounts here, here and here. Who do they belong to? There has to be two different sources for the cash. Five and nearly ten grand to these businesses,” I pointed, “Only one and two to the others.” I looked at Luis. “How long till forensics is done with the accounting from each business?”

  “A week?” Luis answered. “Probably two.”

  “They’re probably spending most of their time on the big money. Which is probably drug money. I think the smaller amounts are the trafficking funds. I can work on that end. Meanwhile, we need Peter to study the inventory of evidence from Alvarado’s arrest to see if anything is missing. With cops involved, we can’t be sure we have everything.” Peter was texting when I turned to him. “I need the balance sheets from the diner.”

  “Already ahead of you, Detective. Darryl’s emailing them,” he said, holding up his phone to show the text. “Will all this help Cai?”

  “Depends. If Cai didn’t kill him, then the partners probably did. Let me ask you something. How did you know Iss was dead?”

  Peter’s darted a glance to Luis and shook his head at me.

  “I’ve got to get back to the station.” Luis stood after reading Peter’s silent message: Not while he’s here. “Bring him by tomorrow,” he nodded in Peter’s direction, “We’ll see if he notices anything missing. I’ll leave the laptop here.”

  I walked Luis to the door. My partner stopped with the door half open, his voice low. “You should have contacted your union rep to fight the suspension.”

  I shrugged. “It’s a week. I deserved it. And besides, by the time they reinstated me, I’d be back on the job.”

  “It’s on your permanent record,” Luis pointed out. “The FBI will take it into consideration.”

  “I’ll introduce them to Del. They’ll be more impressed I didn’t shove my foot up his ass.”

  He chuckled, then got serious. “Don’t trust him.”

  “Too late,” I replied with a weak smile of my own.

  “My neck is on the line with this. He helped today, but the setup of Alvarado is enough to arrest him.”

  “I know.”

  “He lies one more time…”

  I nodded at the unspoken threat and shut the door behind him. The knife was no longer stuck in it. Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned against the wood just inches from where Peter’d stabbed the blade through the mahogany. My brows raised expectantly.

  “I went over there to kill him,” Peter said with an amount of stoicism that would make Zeno proud.

  Maybe I’m Dating the Sociopath?

  “Pardon?” My eyes blinked so many times it could have been considered a tick.

  “Darryl and I got back from our gig, to find Cai hysterical in the bedroom. He’s crying like I’ve only heard him do when the depressive cycle hits. One time when he got like that—I went out to make macaroni and cheese. It took like ten minutes. Fucking microwave,” he set his jaw. “Ten minutes because he has to have the cheese sticking and burnt to the macaroni. I came back in the room, and he’d used a bottle of turpentine and had my lighter—Cai tried to set himself on fire.”

  My brows shot past my hairline and probably landed somewhere in the back of my neck. But I didn’t say anything, so Peter continued. “So okay, Friday we get home late. Darryl and I hear this sobbing, and we’re frantic.” Peter rubbed the tattoo on his hand. “Cai was holding his hands in his lap, rocking back and forth.” He begged me to understand with his glance into my eyes. “Iss had branded him. Tried to rape him, then fucking branded him as a message to me.”

  Jesus, this case was complicated. This whole fucking boy’s life was complicated. I rubbed my temples. “But Cai wasn’t raped?”

  Peter shook his head. “He wasn’t even upset about that,” he laughed tiredly, rubbing the meaty part of his palm between his eyes. “His fucking hand. He’s hysterical because Iss destroyed his canvas.”

  “Huh?” That was becoming a recurring response of mine.

  “Cai’s skin. When he was younger, he got into a manic phase and carved it up—we covered the damage with tattoos, and since then he’s had this thing about his skin being a canvas for artwork.”

  “And you think Cai didn’t kill him?” And Peter thought I was the naïve one.

  “I know he didn’t, because two other people were there when Iss tattooed him. Cai’s best friend Rachel, and some kid that held him down. Cai said Rachel got him out of there.”

  “How do you know he didn’t go back and kill him? You were willing to do it,” I pointed out.

  “Because he didn’t try and stop me. We all wanted him dead for it. And they both were creating alibis to cover for me.”

  As a cop that admission was a twist to the gut, but as a human being? Maybe part of me wanted the man dead, too.

  “They told the cops this?”

  He nodded. “I think Cai did, not about me going there—but about Rachel taking him home. Rachel is MIA, though. She disappears for long periods. Usually after she scores.”

  Oh, good. An addict for an alibi.

  I flopped down on the couch. The middle cushion was the only thing separating me from Peter while I attempted to pull all this information in. It was too tiring. My eyes were trying to close. “You should have told me all of this from the beginning.”

  “I didn’t know you. You didn’t know me. I just wanted Iss out of our lives. I’d have even given up the restaurant, but the day I was supposed to meet you…that Saturday you came to the diner and saw me that first time—”

  “You were the no-show informant I waited two hours for?”

  “Yeah. I planned on giving you everything. The passports, the money, the accounts. Then Cai’s tuition came up, and just like that we were broke. The mortgage was next and the restaurant was the only income we had.”

  “Not the only income,” I pointed out without mentioning the money from his and Darryl’s “gig”.

  “So I called Darryl, and we used this snitch everyone knows to pass you the info about Iss. Then I went to his house, hid the stash, and that was supposed to be that. Iss in jail, restaurant safe and those people being looked for. But then you were always hanging around, pushing your way into my life. No matter what I did to send you away.” He bit his lip around a half-smile and fisted one of my pillows to his chest. I let my eyes fall shut.

  “You still should have told me,” I scolded, before settling my head onto the armrest, bare feet propping my knees up in the middle of the sofa. “Have you been baking?”

  “Cai’s other favorite, cinnamon rolls,” he whispered. My eyes flew open. He hovered over me, bracing himself on either side of my head.

  “What are you doing?” My voice cracked on an unsteady breath.

  “You’re hard.”

  “Yeah well, I keep trying to explain to my dick that you’re a lying, manipulative whore, but it has selective hearing and chooses to focus on that last part.” I immediately regretted saying it. Hurt flashed in his eyes. But Peter never gave me any emotion for long.

  His hips pressed against mine. He was hard, too. My brain fogged and my hands moved of their own accord to his hips, pulling him closer.

  “Try to think of me as a person, Austin. I know that’s a novel idea fo
r you, but I’m not just a whore.”

  I wasn’t sure why he felt it necessary to say that while rocking his hips into mine. “Peter…?”

  “Hm?”

  “Shut up.” My fingers closed around the back of his neck and I pulled him into a kiss.

  Frotting Should Replace Baseball as the National Pastime

  Our lips clashed together, teeth clacking, making me wince and him grin. I’d had better delivered kisses, but the Fourth of July had fewer fireworks than this one. Just one more incongruous Peter-phenomenon in a list long enough to satisfy Santa’s naughty roll.

  The slight rock of his hips opened my lips for an intake of breath. His tongue swept in to steal it away. I delved fingers in his hair, gripping it in a fist and pulling him tighter to me. He responded by nipping my bottom lip and rubbing his cock harder into mine.

  “Wrap your legs around me,” Peter ordered bending his elbows to cradle around my head. He scooted us both down the couch.

  “I’m older. I should be on top,” I said stupidly.

  He laughed gently, skimming a hand down my side, his lips trailing heat across my jaw. He paused, his breath damp and hot along the curve of my ear as he whispered my name. Then he pushed hard with his hips, my zipper and his pressing together almost painfully. My brain skittered to a halt.

  “Yeah. I know. I’m shutting up.” Okay. I could handle being a homo. Clothes on and rubbing against each other like teenagers was the best pre-sex experience I’d ever had. Sadly.

  “I’m going to make you come without even touching your cock,” he promised.

  “Oh, God. You’re a control freak,” I groaned, pulling harder at his hair. He nipped at the skin on my neck. Every touch of his lips was like kindling. I slipped my hand from his hips and down the back of his pants, more heat from his skin to my palm.

  “You’re seriously…making…me consider…a gag.” He rolled his hips, making my back arch with the zing of heat that shot from my groin up my spine. He thrust again, and my other hand clenched into a fist.