“Nice grip,” I say, then wrap him in my arms for a big hug.
Lily has June, who’s less than two months old, tucked under her shirt. I swear, every time I see that kid she’s eating. I don’t know how Lily keeps up. I wait patiently until that cute little baby face emerges from her mother’s shirt, and I ask Lily if I can hold her. Lily hands her over gratefully.
I hold June to my chest. She’s like a perfect small, cuddly package. She lets out a little yawn, then lays her head on my shoulder. In this dirty business, it’s nice to know that babies exist, all purity and innocence.
I watch my brothers talk to their wives, and think that one day I’d like to have that, a wife and kids. But that’s not my top priority right now. My duty starts today, even though it’s the day of my father’s funeral.
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After the service, I stand with my brothers at the gravesite while an endless stream of people come up to shake our hands and offer condolences. All the big families are represented, and if the boss himself isn’t here, the boss’ number two is in his place. I’m a generation younger than nearly all of them. The big guys shake my hand politely and speak a few kind words about my father, but there’s a wariness in their eyes. I can’t blame them. My brothers’ and I have annihilated two major families, the Nabatovs and the Salvatores, within just a few years. No one’s seen a power struggle like that for at least a generation.
It’s good they know someone’s watching, I think.
We’d taken the other families down for good reason. They were doing things to hurt the community. Since the cops around here do fuck all, it’s up to us to keep these streets clean sometimes.
Larry Donovan walks up to me. I thrust my hand out to shake his, just like I have with the past dozen people. Larry shakes it, patting me on the back with the other hand. He sticks out in the sea of black clad mourners in his sand colored suit. He’s the head of the Donovan family. They used to be small time before my brothers took out those two families, creating a power vacuum. Larry and his clan quickly rose up in the ranks.
Larry shakes my hand a little too long, and there’s something in his smile I don’t trust. Not that I trusted any of the other ones, but something’s different about him. Maybe it’s because his number two, Peter Connell, is with him. I always thought Peter was creepy as fuck with his slicked back hair that looks like a black helmet.
“I’m so sorry about your father,” Larry says. “I hope you’re holding up okay.”
“Thank you, and I’m doing just fine. Pop was sick for a long time. It wasn’t unexpected.”
It’s an answer I’ve recited over and over again. Larry’s still gripping my hand. I wait for him to move on, so I can get to the next person and get this shit over with, but Larry keeps hanging on.
“And congratulations on the promotion,” Larry says.
“What?” I say, completely taken off guard.
Larry shoves his arm around my shoulder. He’s lucky it’s my father’s funeral, and it wouldn’t be right for me to knock someone unconscious. I straighten my back, loosening his grip, and step away from him. Larry is unfazed.
“I’ve been around for a long time,” Larry says. “I’d like to offer my mentoring services. My door is open to you anytime.”
Behind him, Creepy Peter’s lips smile, but his eyes don’t. Pop always taught me to doubt anyone with good intentions. I nod noncommittally to Larry and Peter, and turn to the next person in line. I get back into the rhythm of handshake, nod, accept condolences. The guests see a mourning son, but in my head, I’m at work. I remind myself not to take an eye off of Larry Donovan. He’s new in town, and I don’t know much about him. But something seems off.
I’m tempted to dive right in, to start asking around to see what the Donovans are up to. But it’s too soon. The best thing I can do right now is lay low. It’s better not to make any waves after a fresh transfer of power. Pop always pointed out to me the guys at the top, made me observe them. I’ve seen new bosses burn out quick, and others have a lifetime of success. I was always analyzing the differences between the two.
I shake my head to myself. My plan hasn’t changed, no matter how much the Donovans rub me the wrong way. Even if they’re up to something, now’s not the time to sort it out. I know how this all will play out. For a few months, I’ll lay low. I’ll work on building powerful alliances, and keeping my enemies friendly. After a few years is when I’ll start making moves. And even then, any strike will have to be carefully calculated.
That means keeping my brothers in the dark from time to time. They’re mostly ‘act first, think later’ kind of guys. But they don’t have the training Pop gave me.
Finally, I look up from shaking someone’s hand, and see there’s no one behind them. It’s over. I realize I don’t have any recollection of the last few people I spoke to as I lead the family to their cars. Leo and Mateo drive away with their wives and kids, going home to their lives. I drive straight to the pool hall where the last of the tequila is waiting to keep me company.
Chapter Three
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Harley
It’s the weirdest thing ever. Anyone I try to speak to about Unit A blows me off completely. Even the junior detective with the curly brown hair, who I know for a fact has a crushed on me, avoided my questions and then didn’t speak to me for three days.
Even Patty is vague. She keeps telling me to let it go, just do my job, and that some things are above my pay grade. I wish I could take my partner’s advice, but I can’t stop thinking about that girl. When I’m alone in my apartment, comfortable on my couch, I can’t help wondering what she’s doing, if she’s in any pain at right that very moment. As a result, I stay away from home as much as possible these days.
And Honor is her name, not Honey. They took a beautiful, meaningful name away from her, and call her ‘Honey,’ obviously some kind of stripper, sex kitten name.
The whole thing reeked of sex trafficking. Any idiot could see that, gut instinct or not. And it’s happening in our jurisdiction, to the people we’re sworn to protect.
It’s so frustrating to me that at the end of everyday, I want to rip my hair out. None of it makes any sense. I check the record for Peter Connell. He’s completely clean, which I know has to be bullshit. That guy looks like someone who’s committed plenty of crimes. There’s just something about him.
One day, Patty doesn’t want to drive. She says her four kids were screaming all morning and she’s on the verge of a migraine. I’m happy to take over for the day.
“You rest your head and close your eyes,” I say, mockingly. “Poor thing.” I reach out to stroke her hair, but Patty slaps my hand away.
Patty slouches in the front seat, rubbing her temples. She’s not paid attention to where we’ve been going until now. She looks up when we park in front of the warehouse, glances around frantically, then punches me hard in the arm.
“Ow,” I scream, not expecting that at all. Her knuckles are pointy and sharp, and my arm throbs.
“What the hell are you doing?” she says. “I thought I told you to forget about that.”
I’ve never seen Patty so serious before. Her face is bright red, and she has real fear in her eyes. I look down at her lap and see her knees trembling.
“Listen to me, Harley, I have kids. I can’t be out here. I never would’ve taken that call in the first place if I knew what it was.”
I turn towards her, and lay my hand on her shoulder. “What are you talking about, Patty? What is this place? Why won’t anyone talk about it?”
“Trust me. The less you know, the better.”
I shake my head deliberately from side to side. “That’s not good enough for me.”
I throw open the door and get out of the car. Patty gets out too and calls after me.
“Come back, Redding. You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
I don’t look back. I walk right up to the fence and find the pl
ace where we’d slid underneath. Behind me, I hear Patty start up the car and drive away. Shit. I left the keys in the ignition. Never mind that. I have to keep going. I’m here now.
Patty’s terrified warnings are still ringing in my ear. I decide not to walk up and knock on the door like I’d planned. Instead, I sneak around outside. There aren’t many windows, and when I find one, it’s set high up in the walls, so I can only peek in through the very bottom. The glass is lightly frosted, and I can barely see through them. All I can see are dark shapes moving around. And I can’t hear anything. It’s like the walls are soundproofed. The secretiveness of it chills me to the bone.
I walk around the back, my head hung low. It doesn’t look like I’ll get any information doing this. I’m considering knocking on the front door, and saying I’m doing some follow up for the call, when I hear one of the windows open.
I put my hand on my gun and whirl around. There’s a girl leaning out of the window. I notice her long dark hair before I realize it’s her.
“Honor,” I say.
Her brows furrow. “How do you know my name?”
I notice the bruising around her eye. It’s shades of yellow and purple, in the stage of healing. She must’ve gotten that shiner a few days ago.
“Are you in danger?” I ask.
Honor just blinks, and her face practically melts. “Please, don’t come in here. Go away.”
She slams the window shut.
For a few moments, I can barely breathe. When I became a cop, I thought I’d stop at nothing to help people in danger. But this is more complicated than that. Did Jean hit Honor after I came by a few days ago? Was Honor the one who called the police?
I desperately want to go in and drag Honor away from there. But I don’t have a warrant. No one had called. I have no reasonable evidence to defend barging into a private residence and essentially kidnapping a minor.
I need evidence. I need help. And I don’t need to get Honor into anymore trouble. I slip away from the building, careful not to be seen.
I have to walk all the way back to the station. It’s not far, but it’s hot and humid out. My hair is drenched, and my mascara is running by the time I get there. People look up from their desks as I tear around the office, looking for Patty. I want to give her a good cursing out for leaving me alone in the trenches.
When I can’t find her, I finally ask Ray, the secretary.
“You don’t know?” he asks with a blank look.
“No, I don’t know, Ray. What are you talking about?”
“Patty came in half an hour ago, threw her badge on the ground, and says she quits.”
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I’m on my last pint of ice cream. I dip my spoon into the vanilla and caramel swirl and bring it to my lips. The sugar and fat makes me happy for a split second before the crushing sadness comes back. It’s a vicious cycle. Ice cream is the only thing that makes me feel better, but when I indulge, it makes me feel guilty. I’m in my pajamas, in my secure apartment, gorging on sweets while Honor and countless others are suffering.
There’s a reason no one’s responding to my inquiry into Unit A. I’m not stupid enough to think they’ll ever take it seriously, or anything will be done about it. This makes me question my choice of becoming a cop. I got into this game to help people, but it’s more than that.
When I was a kid, my dad was the mayor of White Oak, a small town up north. Before that, he was county commissioner, and before that, a district attorney. I grew up going to campaign rallies, knocking on doors, and posing for photos.
I wasn’t just his daughter, but an enthusiastic supporter. My dad campaigned on working for the people, and he meant every word of it. People loved him, and still do. There are countless parks, benches, trees, and bricks either named after him or dedicated to him in my hometown.
For as long as I could remember, I wanted to be like him when I grew up. Unfortunately, Dad wasn’t supportive of my ambitions. He’s a good man, I know that for a fact, but he holds strong views on traditional gender roles. He encouraged my brothers to be public servants, and me to marry, have kids, and be a good wife.
Both of my brothers are aspiring filmmakers, while I’m the one trying to help people. I thought Dad would eventually come around, but he hasn’t so far. He doesn’t approve of any of his children’s choices, so I’m not the only one. Still, I wonder if this quest for justice I’ve been on all my life is just a desperate attempt to get his approval, and that my ambitions are misplaced.
I shake the doubts away. People are in trouble. No one’s willing to help them but me.
I tap the ice cream container with my spoon. What would Dad do in my position? He routinely stood up to the elite class while he was mayor, and he wouldn’t stand by and let what’s happening to girls like Honor go on in his town. Maybe he’s right. I’m not cut out for this life.
My phone makes a noise. I don’t know what it is at first. My phone usually stays quiet. I don’t get many calls or texts, because I don’t have a social life to speak of. There’s a text from an unfamiliar number. When I click on it, it brings up a map. It shows a satellite image of the deli down the block.
I toss the empty ice cream container to the side and sit straight up. This could have been sent to me mistakenly, or it could be something. I don’t spend any time dwelling on it. I have to follow this lead. I jump into action, changing out of my sweatpants, and running out the door.
It’s a normal night at the deli. There are a few people dining at the small amount of tables. Jerry, the owner, takes orders. Two guys behind a glass pane throw together sandwiches with lightening speed and incredible precision. Everything is business as usual.
I hang out by the entrance, visually inspecting every person in there. No one seems out of place, but they’re starting to give me funny looks.
Was I supposed to come here or what? I wonder. Why can’t creepy, anonymous text-ers be more specific?
I’m about to leave when my phone goes off again. It says, simply, tuna melt on wheat, no onions.
I smile at the screen. I’d know that lunch order from anywhere.
After grabbing, and, I might add, paying for the sandwiches, I find Patty sitting on a bench in a nearby park. She stares straight ahead when I walk up. She’s wearing a scarf over her hair and sunglasses.
“What’s with the spy routine?” I ask, handing her the sandwich.
Patty snatches it from me in a huff. “Don’t be so conspicuous. Obviously, I’m trying to be incognito.” She gestures to her getup, then opens the sandwich. “What’s this? White bread?”
“Sorry, that’s mine,” I say, switching with her. So much for incognito.
I eat my sandwich quietly. I have so many questions, I don’t know here to start. Patty breathes heavy, huffing and shaking her head, as if she’s having a conversation with herself. I finally lose patience.
“What, Patty?” I say with annoyance.
She turns to me, pointing a finger at my chest. “You better not get me killed.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
She purses her lips, then whispers, “The mob.”
I stare at her for a second, then laugh. The mob? Those are characters in movies.
“Are you serious?” I ask. “Let me guess, mobsters and unicorns in cahoots.”
Patty pulls back, studying my face. “You really have no idea, do you? I know you’re not from around here, but Jesus.”
A cold chill goes through my body. Patty’s lived here all her life, so surely I could trust her. In a dark, numb second, it makes sense to me. The fucking mob. It has to be.
Patty grabs my arm and pulls me close. “Have you ever heard of the Romano brothers?” she says, quietly. I shake my head. “Give me your phone.”
“Why my phone?”
“I don’t want anyone tracking me here. I have kids, remember?”
Patty takes it upon herself to snatch the phone from my pocket. She does an image
search, then hands it back to me.
It’s picture after picture of the same three men, brothers, obviously. I don’t know what I’m looking at at first. They look more like male models than criminals. They’re the kind guys that exist only in movies, and in my dreams. They’re all dark hair and shadowed features, muscles, tattoos, and devastating, brooding stares.
“That’s them,” Patty says, tapping the screen. “Leo and Mateo. That’s Vince, the oldest. He’s in charge now. Will you stop ogling and pay attention?”
I snap my mouth closed, and realize I’d been gawking at them. I shake the lustful thoughts from my head and get back to business.
“These guys are running the sex trafficking ring?” I say with bitter disappointment. What a waste of good looks on sleaze balls like them.
Patty shakes her head, which gives me an unexpected burst of relief.
“These are the only people that can help you,” she says. “The Romanos have taken down two of the most powerful, and nastiest families around. These were families the cops couldn’t, and wouldn’t touch, and they were doing some bad shit.”
“I don’t get it,” I say, exhaling forcefully. “It’s our job to stop criminals. Why aren’t we doing our job?”
“Because of a web so tangled, you couldn’t begin to unravel it,” Patty says. “This has been going on for generations, probably since the town was first founded. The cops, the mobsters, they all grew up together. So there’s bribes, old loyalties, scratching each other’s back. Even the elected officials are corrupt. Usually, there’s a tenuous balance. These guys police each other. And families like the Romanos keep the worse ones in line. They have their own moral code.”
“So who’s behind Unit A?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t know,” Patty says with a shrug. “It’s dangerous for people like you and me to even ask that question.”
She pauses, staring at me with her eyes heavy with emotion. I can tell what she’s thinking. She wants to beg me to drop this, but she knows there’s no point.
Accomplice: A Dark Mafia Romance (Romano Brothers Book 3) Page 2
