It didn’t take much of a leap to figure the name of Marta’s shop.
Half-Wit’s End
“Fuck.” I dragged a hand through my hair and went on a hunt for the spreadsheet files from Luis and the restaurant. Was Asa’s Playground among the companies listed? Wouldn’t I have noticed that before? But that day I’d been distracted. Darryl and his wandering fucking hand.
“Bad news so soon? Things change on a dime around here.”
“You’re telling me,” I muttered. “Two weeks ago I was straight.” And at the height of my career. I put the spreadsheets side by side and began comparing the data.
“Is that when you decorated the house?”
My head rose and then turned to the agent. He was smiling but pretending to read. “It would be unprofessional and inappropriate to say ‘fuck you’,” I deadpanned.
“Not to mention sexually harassing.”
Since he didn’t look up, my stare went unnoticed. “Everyone’s a fucking wit lately.” I turned my attention back to the files.
Nothing on Asa’s Playground mentioned. Was I reaching? I scrolled down the list again, slower this time.
“You’re missing some numbers there,” Cordova said, peering over at my screen.
“What?”
“Scroll up a few lines. Stop.” He pointed at my screen.
I hadn’t been checking the spreadsheet line numbers, just the names. I worked backward, up the list stopping at line one thirty-nine. The next number up was one twenty-seven. “Shit.” Were those missing when I first saw the file? I gave myself a mental pat on the back for printing out the original files. Setting the laptop aside, I lifted the tarp and began searching for the papers. They weren’t there.
Maybe Cai had moved them? Or Rosa. I scoured the living room for them. Checked my office. Nothing.
Maybe Dave had taken them home to review.
And not told you about it yesterday when you mentioned them?
Oh, Yay. Peter Pissed at Someone Else For a Change
I grabbed my coffee cup and went to think in the kitchen. What was I going to do? What could I do? What should I do? Confront him? Give him time to hide the evidence? This is Dave, you’re talking about.
What did I know, anyway? Nothing for certain. Barn lager wasn’t even a common saying in Swedish. Otherwise there would have been references of the phrase all over the web. Marta would not use incorrect Swedish for her company. Would she?
Anyone could have moved the papers.
So what if Dave knew Alvarado. I knew him, too. And I wasn’t involved with his laundering.
And yesterday? He had just been nervous. Dave had been nervous about standing next to the homo who slept with a witness and whose career was only missing the final knock of the gavel before it ended.
Normally I wouldn’t question my instincts. I was good at what I did: piecing information together and seeing the error in an equation.
You’re just wrong this time.
The address was downtown—the 16th street mall, just where Peter and Darryl remembered.
Barnlager.com.
The missing pages. Dave had them in his hands. You left him here alone.
Dave has your laptop password from the fantasy football league.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
No fucking way was I turning him in. It was a selfish thought, but I couldn’t get past the fact that Dave was my last ally. My only remaining friend. The one person I could call family.
I was pacing a stripe into the kitchen floor when Darryl walked in.
“Oh, God. Please tell me you two aren’t still fighting,” he moaned. His eyes were half-masted and crusty with sleep. That didn’t stop his mocking voice. “I love you. No you don’t. I don’t love you. Yes you do. Wah wah wah. Some of us wanted to sleep!”
I wasn’t rising to the bait. Instead, I changed the subject. “You slept with Rosafa in tighty-whities and a tank top?”
“I think her virtue is safe with me.” He lifted his pink blindfold off his neck and used it as a headband. “Thank fuck there’s coffee. Who’s the stud on the sofa? I vaguely recall him as I stumbled to bed last night.”
“FBI. Rosa’s personal guard,” I said distractedly. Why hadn’t I picked up the phone already?
If Dave admitted to laundering? Trafficking? Murder? What then?
“What are you worked up about?” I followed Darryl’s sneer to my fingers drumming on the countertop.
“Nothing.”
“Why does Rosa have a security detail?” Darryl asked. I watched as he poured the last of the brown liquid into his cup. My own mug sat half-empty and mourning. “I thought she wasn’t in witness protection anymore.”
It was a valid question, but other things were on my mind. “How the fuck should I know? Ask her.”
“All right, dickwad. I will.”
The doorbell rang. Agent Cordova stood and peeked in through the archway to the kitchen. “That’s probably my partner Agent McCleary. Would you mind if I answered your door?”
“Go for it.” I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t care who came and went in the house.
Darryl runway-walked back to the bedroom without spilling a drop of his coffee, all while somehow managing to ogle Cordova’s butt. Waterboarding wouldn’t have made me admit I was watching Darryl’s ass as he left.
It wasn’t even that great of an ass.
“Detective Glass, this is Special Agent Dan McCleary. He’ll be on day shift in the house.” Rather than come to me, Dan McCleary held out his hand and kept it there until I had to exit the kitchen to shake it. Speaking of great asses, Dan McCleary clearly was one.
Let the dick contests begin.
McCleary was an unpolished, semi-attractive man in his late thirties or early forties. His hair was grey. His suit was cheap. His cologne was cheaper, and his attitude was a hundred percent asshole.
He gave me an instant boner.
One day I was going to have to analyze why whores and assmunchers gave me wood, while nice guys like Riley left me feeling blasé.
Maybe I just wasn’t responding because I knew Cai had a crush on him.
Yeah that was it.
Before I could lie to myself some more, Darryl’s voice bellowed from the bedroom. “Over my dead perfectly-posed body!”
The guest room door banged open. Darryl strode past me in a blur of blond hair, his skinny legs disappearing upstairs.
“I take it he just found out what Rosa being in WitSec means?” I proffered, raising my eyes to the ceiling. Upstairs the pounding on my bedroom door gave way to muffled yelling.
Rapid Shift in Parenting
In the search for distraction from thoughts of my best friend’s possible criminal activity, my mind began meandering after Darryl’s question: “Why does Rosa have a security detail?”
Answer: Because her life is in danger.
Question: Why is her life in danger? To answer that question, I had to think laterally.
Whom does the FBI guard?
Answer: Important people.
Who are the important people to the FBI?
Answer: Celebrities, statesmen, politicians and witnesses. Rosafa Strakosha is not a politician, statesmen or celebrity. Therefore, she is a witness.
Why does Rosa, a plain old witness, get to pick her security detail?
Answer: She’s important enough that they bow to her requests.
The subject of my thoughts emerged from the bedroom, wrapping a leopard print hijab over her head. “You have to wear that?” I asked.
“You think I wear this in summer because it is so comfortable?” She brushed a hand over her ankle length black skirt.
“I think if God wanted you to wear that, He wouldn’t have invented heatstroke.”
What kind of info would Rosa have for the FBI? Albanian syndicate crime was a growing issue, I knew that much. I also knew that there were a recent slew of arrests across the nation. All of them were part of an Albanian organized crime family. What had
the DA said in court? Something about Rosafa having relatives tied to the Albanian mafia.
There wasn’t time for more thought on the subject. Peter came charging down the stairs, hair still damp and unbuttoned shirt billowing behind him. “The fuck you are, Rosa. The fuck you’re taking Cai.”
“He is my son,” she said calmly.
“Settle down, boy.” Agent McCleary stepped in front of Rosa, hand reaching inside his jacket. Cordova moved closer to Peter. So did I.
Cai came dashing out of the hall, clothes stuck to his body and hair dripping wet. “Um. We can go now. My anklet blinked. That means we can go.” He pulled at Peter’s arm desperately. His giant feet sloshed in a pair of checkered Keds. He looked like he’d pulled his clothes on while he showered.
“He’s not going with you. You don’t even know him. He doesn’t need more shit in his life.”
“He is my son, Petya.”
Darryl’s eyes brimmed with angry tears. “He’s ours now.”
“Peter,” I tried to reason. “This isn’t the time. Things can be discussed when we—”
“You see? Peter. Not Petya. Not Pyotr. I’m not Petya, he’s not Danny and that’s not Nikë. I’m Peter, that’s Darryl and he’s Cai. That’s who he is now. He’s not your Nikë. You don’t even know how to take care of him.”
“Rabbit, please,” Cai begged. “Let’s go.”
“I will learn.”
“Oh, you’ll learn? You’ll learn in the few weeks before he has the stress of starting college? Did you even know he was going to college? No? Do you recognize when he’s sick, Rosa? Not once since you arrived have you noticed he’s hypomanic. Do you even know what hypomanic means? Didn’t you ask why he’s not more upset after being raped? Didn’t it occur to you that his behavior wasn’t normal for someone about to be tried for murder? But you’re going to learn? Right.”
Cai crushed his hand against his eye.
Cordova stepped between Rosa and Peter. “I think you should leave, Mr. Dyachenko.”
“Knock it off, Peter,” I said. “This can wait.”
Rosa looked unsure, her eyes darting down. “He wants come with me.”
“Bullshit!” But Cai’s fingers dropped from Peter, and he blushed guiltily, tears wiped away before they fell. Peter looked at his arm where Cai’s hand had rested and then turned in slow motion to face his brother. “Cai?”
“We have to go,” the boy whispered and looked at me with despair.
I didn’t know which of them sounded more in pain. But I knew Cai was the one going to jail if he missed his psychiatrist appointment.
“Let me get my shirt on and some shoes, and I’ll take you. Come upstairs and wait.” I smiled in what I hoped was reassurance and followed him up. Peter and his chewed lip would have to wait. Darryl and his tears would have to wait. Rosa and her bodyguards, my breakfast, my career, the case—all of it would have to wait.
Chapter Twenty
How to Adopt a Teenager Without Your Consent
Cai sat on the bed while I finished getting dressed. When I turned around, he was tearing off the end of his fingernail, a line of red surfacing where the nail had been decimated. He stared at the blood for a second, then went to work on the next finger.
I knew he needed to talk, but we needed to go. If he was late, or didn’t show up, he would violate the terms of his home monitoring. Time was ticking away while I stood across from him, sneakers and socks dangling at my thigh. I struggled with how to handle him.
The problem was that I didn’t know where to start. Why was he crying? Was it his disorder? Was he having a depressive episode? That could only be solved with medication. Which just made me antsier to get him to the doctor’s office.
Or was he embarrassed about downstairs? Was he upset about Peter? The trial? The rape?
Christ. When I listed it like that, I was surprised the kid wasn’t a basket case. What was I supposed to say here anyway? It’ll be okay?
What a crock of shit. Nothing for this kid was going to be okay.
Suck it up?
I think Peter might actually shoot you if you say that to his brother.
A nervous laugh erupted from me and brought Cai’s eyes to mine. He fought a flow of tears, blinking and squeezing his lids tight. Only a few escaped and slid down his cheeks.
Shit. If this kid stuck around long enough, I was going to teach him how to be a real man. You know, by bottling up his feelings and letting them fester until an ulcer formed. A man wasn’t a man until the denial of feelings made him physically sick.
“What’s the address of the doctor?” Changing the subject. Genius!
“Dunno.” He sniffed and brutally wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. There were still droplets of water cascading from his wet hair over his cheeks. But fewer tears.
“Do you know the way there?” My genius tactic was working; the tears had almost stopped.
He shook his head and began to shiver violently. “N-never b-been there.” I needed to reset my air conditioning. On the other hand, he should have dried off before getting dressed and not have expected me to look out for him. I wasn’t his fucking father.
“Never been there?” I said more tersely than I meant to.
“N-new doctor. Miss J-Jackson set it up.”
“New doc— Was her name Kate?” He nodded. I wasn’t surprised. Over the years I had sent Angelica many juveniles to defend. More often than not, she put them in therapy with Kate Sherman. I took a seat beside Cai, making sure to give him space while I hurriedly stuffed my feet into my shoes. “We’ll talk in the car. Okay?”
“I’m f-fine.” The boy took a breath, steeling himself, rubbing hard at his face. He plastered on a smile so genuine that I was stunned. After one more shaky breath, the only way anyone could tell he’d been crying was the slight redness around his eyes. He even attempted to control his shivers.
I felt guilty for blaming him for crying. “You don’t need to hold it together, Cai. No one is going to mock you for feeling. If anyone has a right to cry, it’s you.” What happened to making him a man? Damn kid is getting to you.
He pulled out a packet of candy and emptied a handful of orange and brown pieces into his mouth. “I’m fine.” I was blasted by the scent of peanut butter.
“We will talk in the car.” After lacing my shoes, I yanked the bag of candy away. “And stop trying to get high off sugar. Fuckssake. Next bill I get for you is probably going to be the dentist bankrupting me.” I crushed the packet and tossed it in the trash on my way out.
Halting in the doorway, I twisted to view Cai behind me. He blinked and rubbed his arms, brows rising in question. If I still had the candy, I would have grabbed his hand and jammed the package back in it.
When did I start sounding like a parent?
Arturo Sees More Action Than Reality TV
Peter was waiting on the bottom step. Darryl was leaning on the bannister, looking up at us. I wasn’t surprised. I had figured Cai and I wouldn’t be going alone to the shrink’s office.
The moment the kid appeared behind me, they both started talking at once. I cut them off.
“Let’s go.” I turned to Rosa who was clanking about in the kitchen, loudly passive-aggressive in every slam of the pot. “They can stay,” I told her, “if you want to ride along.”
“The fuck we can,” Peter said. Darryl snarled at the same time, “No we fucking can’t!”
Rosa came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. It didn’t do any good. She took her son’s cheeks in her palms, leaving flour along his temple and near his ear. “You call when finished so I have lunch ready, yes?”
“Sure, mamma.” He smiled and kissed her cheek. She waited for the others to follow suit. Darryl gave her a reluctant peck, but Peter stormed out of the house, the door making a splintering sound as it bent on the hinges from the force of his anger. I cringed. Cai flinched. Darryl followed him out. And I’d swear my door whimpered.
“Why must he abuse my
door? It’s the only fucking piece that isn’t suicidal cream or bowel-movement brown.”
“He’s so mad,” Cai said.
“At me, Nikë, not you. He loves you. Go now.” Rosa brushed his face free of flour and flitted us out the door.
In the parking lot Darryl stood at the passenger side, waiting with the door open and the seat tilted. Peter was in the back with Cai. I carefully slid into the driver’s seat and joined everyone in silence.
Ten minutes into the drive, I started tapping on the steering wheel and shifting off my ass cheek. Darryl flipped through radio stations. Peter stared at Cai. Cai drew breath pictures on the window.
No one would ever mistake this for a joyride. “No, this isn’t awkward at all,” I mumbled.
The tension shattered with thunder from Darryl. “You can’t leave, you ungrateful little dipshit!” He turned partway in his seat.
Cai sighed and continued his mist sketching. My eyes drifted to Peter. I finally got a glimpse of why Cai had nicknamed him Rabbit. He ripped pieces of his bottom lip with his front teeth and stared at my seat. His nose continuously twitched, eyes blinking rapidly. I hadn’t seen the manifestation of his Tourette’s until now. It was painful to watch him come apart and know there was nothing I could do about it. Legally, Rosa was Cai’s mother. If she wanted him with her….
“We’ll never see you again, Cai. That’s what they do. They take you away and cut off contact with everyone else,” Peter murmured.
“It’s only for a couple of years, Rabbit. Until I’m eighteen.”
“Just…I know things have been…bad the last few months.”
“We’ll do better, kiddo,” Darryl promised vehemently.
Cai said nothing the rest of the drive.
Kate’s building took up the entire block at the top of the 16th Street Mall, intersecting with the busiest street in Denver. Businesspeople trickled out the revolving doors, onto the plaza or took seats on the marble single-seat benches near the walkway.
Pulling in front, I turned the car off and watched Peter in the rearview mirror. His hands rubbed up and down his thighs, nose twitching even while he pulled his top lip into his mouth. I rubbed the ache in my chest and checked the time, disappointed that there wasn’t enough of it to climb back there to console him. “His appointment is in ten minutes. Let’s talk about this when he’s done. 18th floor, that building there.” I pointed and waited for a nod from the kid that he heard me. I would have missed it if I hadn’t been staring intently at him.
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