by Macy Largo
That finished her. She broke down sobbing. “Please don’t make me go into protective custody! You guys are all I’ve got and I’m so scared!” She hated she couldn’t control herself, that she’d let her emotions bubble over like that.
He guided her over to the couch where he sat, pulled her into his lap, and rocked her. “You’re not going anywhere,” he quietly assured her. “I told them I’m taking care of you and I meant it. I won’t make you go, I promise.”
“I’m so sorry…”
“Shh.” He did make her feel safe. The fact that he wasn’t being protective just to try to get into her pants at the same time only intensified to her emotions. “You’ll be okay.”
* * * *
Jerald sat there and held her. He felt horrible for her. No, he wouldn’t make her go into protective custody even though every instinct in his body told him that was exactly where she should be. He didn’t have to be a mind reader to feel her crushing loneliness, compounded by fear. He remembered being alone. He remembered mind-numbing fear. Having lived through it as a kid, it wasn’t something easily forgotten.
He closed his eyes as he held her, her face tucked against his shoulder. Alan had done the thing no one else in his life had ever managed, to help him quiet the memories, the voices, the sounds of gunfire in the night and his mother screaming his father’s name before another shot rang out and she went silent forever. Drug dealers going after the wrong house. Later, the cops discovered the assholes had transposed the numbers in the address of their intended victims. He’d been six and hid under his bed until the cops responding to the neighbor’s 911 call found him, crying, twenty minutes later.
Alan had let him be who he was without trying to pry or pick him apart from the inside out to find out what made him tick. Alan accepted him at face value.
Alan settled him, calmed him.
In many ways, Daphne had a similar effect on him, now that he was getting to know her better. If he’d met someone like her after he’d divorced Kate, he never would have gotten together with Alan.
He rested his chin on the top of her head, gently rubbing it back and forth in her soft hair. “You can talk to me, you know. Don’t let stuff build up inside you. I promise I don’t wear my cop hat all the time. I’ll take it off anytime you need me to. Just ask.”
At that she let out a snurfly-sounding laugh and sat up. She wiped her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, her quiet voice back.
He touched her chin. “Daph, I’ve been through a lot myself. I’m not some heartless hard-ass. I don’t want you going through your life always looking over your shoulder.”
She leaned in and hugged him one last time. “Alan’s a lucky guy to have you.”
“I’m the lucky one, sweetie. Believe me.”
* * * *
The lawyer looked up as guards led Paulie into the interview room. He wore an orange prisoner jumpsuit, wrist and ankle shackles, and an angry expression the lawyer didn’t have to be psychic to interpret.
Once the guards got him seated at the table and securely locked to it, they left the room.
Paulie leaned in close and dropped his voice. “What the fuck, Tom? What the hell am I doing in here?”
“Daphne Peres. She ring a bell?”
He frowned. “Yeah, but…” He sat back. “Yeah, why?”
“The body they fished out of the Gulf on Saturday, Torvetti? She saw you kill him.”
“That’s fucking impossible! Besides, she’s dead.”
“I didn’t hear you say that.”
“You fucking well did. She disappeared off my boat.”
“She didn’t disappear of the face of the planet, apparently. The Feds have a sworn affidavit testifying to what she saw.”
Paulie’s jaw dropped. “She’s alive?”
“Oh, yes. And singing her sweet lungs out. She didn’t fortuitously fall off your boat, asshole. She jumped and swam to shore.”
“Son of a bitch. Where the fuck is she?”
“In hiding. More telling will be why you didn’t report her missing if you had nothing to hide.”
Paulie hesitated. He’d never dreamed she would have made it to shore alive. “We stopped at a dock for fuel, didn’t know she wasn’t on the boat when we left the dock. She’d been asleep in the cabin I thought. We thought she must have gotten off while we were there. My guys’ll vouch for me.”
“And you never went back to look for her? Never called the cops or the Coast Guard to report her missing?”
“She took her wallet. And a grand, cash, of my fucking money. Goddamned cunt.” He had happily overlooked that little fact when he thought she was dead. It had been worth it to him to have her out of the way and not be the one to pop her.
“It doesn’t matter what fucking excuse you use. By the way, come up with something a hell of a lot better than that. She’s alive and well and going to be the government’s star witness against you for this case. Now that Torvetti’s been identified, the FBI is crawling all over his home and offices like a swarm of fire ants on a candy bar. Your father, needless to say, is beside himself at this point.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. He goes down because of this, you’ll wish you’d been the one to jump off that boat and swim to shore and disappear.”
Paulie winced. He’d really liked Daphne. He’d never thought he’d have to get rid of her like that, but when his father ruled, that was final.
“Can I talk to any of my guys?”
“I can pass a message for you. But any visitors you get that aren’t doctors, clergy or attorneys, will be video recorded and possibly used as evidence against you. So outside of this fucking room, you keep your mouth shut. Understand?”
“Yeah. I understand. Tell Tony to send Ira Weinstein to see me.”
“He a doctor?”
“Not a medical one.”
“He a rabbi?”
“No, but consider him a spiritual advisor.”
“Since when are you Jewish?”
“I had a sudden conversion.”
* * * *
The next day, Paulie was seated in the interview room again, this time with Dr. Ira Weinstein, an old friend and business associate of his father. Paying for Ira’s Costa Rican psychology degree three decades ago had cost Paulie’s father some bucks, but the wily old man had said it was money well-spent for use in emergencies like this.
“Well, Paulie, you’ve got your dick in a pickle this time, haven’t you? What can I do for you?”
“Ira, you old shylock, I’m calling one in.”
He nodded. “Go ahead.”
“You got any paper on you?”
The man handed him a business card and a pen. Paulie scribbled something on it, then handed it back to Ira. “Give that to Tony for me.”
Ira didn’t even glance at it as he tucked it into his wallet. “That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
Ira leaned in and dropped his voice. “Your father called me in yesterday.”
“He’s pissed?”
“You should be so lucky. He wants this dealt with expediently and as neatly as possible. No collateral damage whatsoever to raise more questions.”
“Just get Tony that card and it will be.”
“You realize we never should have left New York. I told your old man it was silly to set up shop in the south. New people, new ways, whole new network and infrastructure. Between the Trafficantes and Gambinos, they brought too much attention to everything when they got popped in Tampa a few years back. This state’s full of Columbians now anyway, drugs, coyotes, and the gambling’s controlled by the Indians. It’s not a stable business environment for what’s safer and traditionally profitable. Too many gangs moving in for a cut. Then those 9/11 fucktards trained in Venice, it got Homeland Security involved and now they have a huge presence here. Trying to move shit in and out of this state is more trouble than it’s worth. They don’t have trade unions down here like they do up north. What, we’re supposed to make a
living on teachers unions? Firemen? Wait staff? Migrant workers? Those poor bastards can barely support themselves as it is. There’s nothing down here anymore to really make money, unless you open a goddamned theme park and stick a rodent on the sign. Can’t even make money on real estate in this market.”
“No arguments from me.”
“We get you guys out of this mess, then we all go back north. We’ve got too many lucrative legal and grey-area enterprises we can focus on. We don’t need this shit. Me and your old man, we’re not young any more. Agreed?”
“Agreed. Thanks for coming.”
“What? You think I’m going to not come when you ask? I was at your christening, Paulie. Your father is one of my oldest and dearest friends. You’re like a son to me. We’ve all managed to stay out of jail this long, somehow, and I don’t plan on tarnishing that record at my age.”
When Ira left, the guards returned Paulie to his cell. He was in solitary confinement for his “protection,” according to prosecutors. Fuck that, they wanted to try to control who he contacted and knew in the general population he would be able to get messages out to his crew.
Paulie settled onto his crappy bunk and stared at the ceiling. Tony would arrange things. He was trustworthy, capable.
Sorry, Daph. Nothing personal, it’s just business. If you’d kept your mouth shut, I never would have known you were still alive and even if I had, I would have let you go.
Chapter Ten
Daphne helped Alan prepare dinner. He’d just gotten off the phone with Jerald, who was now on his way home from the marina. In the three weeks she’d lived with the men, the three of them had quickly settled into a comfortable routine. Daphne was more than happy to take over the bulk of the household chores, as well as help Alan with his paperwork, in exchange for her room and board.
She refused to leave the house alone. She’d noticed that when Jerald went somewhere with her, he always carried a concealed handgun.
She felt safe. So much so that she sometimes went a day at a time without thinking about Paulie Scorsini.
It wasn’t unusual for the three of them to cuddle up together on the couch to watch movies or TV in the evening. She figured they simply viewed her as a younger sister, but she soaked up what affection they offered. They would never be hers, but in her mind, alone in bed, she could pretend.
Several times she awoke screaming from nightmares. One such dream caused Jerald to burst into her room, naked and with his gun drawn, with Alan, also naked, on his heels.
Once Jerald ascertained she wasn’t being attacked, he’d invited her back to their bed. She’d accepted, only because she’d been too terrified to sleep and knew the men would worry about her.
Unfortunately, they donned shorts before climbing into bed with her, but not before she’d managed to notice they were both well-hung.
Le sigh. Fucking dumb luck anyway.
“Why do you call him that,” she asked Alan after he’d hung up the phone.
“Hmm? What?”
“Tough guy. Why is that your nickname for him?”
Alan smiled. “You’ve see him. He’s not a total hard ass when it’s just the two of us alone. I’m special. I get to see the softer side of Major Carter.” He sighed. “He’s a tough nut. I let him be who he is. He shows me he loves me in the ways that count. I don’t have to worry about him playing games or running around on me. If he says he’s working late, that’s where he is. If he says he’s going to be somewhere, that’s where he is.”
“He showed me his Hemingway collection. I wouldn’t have taken him for a classic literature kind of guy.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty neat. Not my style, but hey, it’s just all part of the ‘Jerald Carter mystique.’” He teasingly used finger quotes around the phrase. “I gave up trying to get mushy sentiment out of him a long time ago. It doesn’t matter. What I really need is a stable, dependable partner who loves me, and that’s what I’ve got. I won’t force him to change who he is. I accept him the way he is, the same way he accepts me.”
“Unlike some men in the world.” She ran a hand through her hair. She definitely preferred it shorter. The men seemed to think it looked good on her.
Alan didn’t miss the gesture. “Any man stupid enough to think you look better as a blonde doesn’t deserve to have you on his arm in the first place, sugar. Why screw with perfection?”
Alan left to answer his cell phone. She already noticed a difference in her relationship with the men. Alan had no problem discussing intimate matters with or around her in a matter-of-fact way. She understood all too clearly why Jerald referred to him as a “WYSIWYG” kind of guy: What You See Is What You Get. She even had a running joke now between her and Alan, where he’d ask her for a judge’s score of the men’s night before, based on the noises she’d heard from their bedroom.
They never did that in front of Jerald, knowing it would make him uncomfortable. Daphne didn’t mind because it was part of Alan’s playful, fun-loving nature. And as much as Jerald sometimes felt a need to play down their relationship in public, Alan had an even greater need to have a person he could talk to and be totally open about it.
Jerald acted more reserved when it came to his emotions, but as he’d relaxed around her, she saw the deeper side to him. She could discuss books and music with Jerald in a way that bored poor Alan to tears. Despite his tough exterior, Jerald Carter definitely was a Renaissance Man.
* * * *
Two nights later, Alan was home alone with Daphne. Jerald had to lend a hand on a poaching stake-out over in Brooksville and wouldn’t be home until late the next morning. Alan sat cuddled on the couch with Daphne while they watched a TV special on Yellowstone National Park. He loved cuddling with her and felt glad Jerald also enjoyed her company. No jealousy to worry about.
“I’ve always wanted to go to Yellowstone,” Alan said. “I’ve heard a lot about it, but I’ve never been.”
“I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”
“You know what’s stupid? I’ve been to Georgia and the Carolinas, but that’s as far as I’ve ever been. I’ve never been out west before. Spent all my life living and working here in this state. I’d love to go fly fishing out there, exploring.”
“Has Jerald been there?”
“Yeah, a few times. Years ago.”
“You two should go.”
He hugged her. “You could come too, you know.”
“No, that would be private vacation time for you two. I’d stay here and hold down the couch. Make sure no one steals the newspapers out of the front yard.”
He laughed and kissed the top of her head. “You’re so cute, you know that?” The problem was he did think she was cute. Cuter every day. More than once he’d caught himself thinking about her in ways that made him hard. Not to mention she’d crossed his mind more than once while he made love with Jerald.
Having her in their bed would be no sacrifice.
Except no way she’d ever go for it. Jerald probably wouldn’t either.
He nuzzled his chin against the top of her head. “I wouldn’t feel right leaving you alone like that.”
“Three’s a crowd, Alan.”
“No babe, I believe three’s a ménage.”
She snorted, laughing as she tipped her face up to his. “You’re looking for trouble, teasing a poor single girl, aren’t you?”
He smiled. “Trouble is my middle name.” And you’re a handful of trouble I wouldn’t mind having in the middle of my bed, he wistfully thought.
* * * *
Alan had taken a charter deep sea fishing for grouper on his larger boat that day, thirty miles offshore and not due to return home until late that evening. They needed groceries, and Jerald asked Daphne go to with him. After a little gentle prodding, he finally got her to agree.
“I want to make a quick side trip before we hit the store,” Jerald said after they climbed in the truck.
“What?”
“I want your opinion.” They drove a few m
inutes north, turning down a dirt road that ran through a thicket of scrub oak and cabbage palms. The rutted shell track opened into a large, empty plot of land. “Besides my clothes and books and stuff, this is the only thing I kept from my divorce,” he said as he turned the truck around so the front pointed back down the road. He opened his door and climbed out. Daphne followed.
He dropped the tailgate and sat, watching the western sky. Past the expanse of sawgrass flats, the Gulf darkly glistened as the sun began its evening descent.
Daphne sat next to him in the truck bed. She loved time alone with Jerald as much as she did with Alan. Now that she’d gotten to know him better, it was nice having his steady presence around. Not as talkative as Alan, he provided a different kind of comfort.
The property was a little over an acre. She barely spotted a light in the distance, to the north, through the trees. Otherwise, there were no signs of nearby neighbors and it sounded totally quiet except for the breeze rustling palm fronds, and crickets and frogs sounding off.
“I’ve owned this for years. My uncle left it to me. My bitch ex almost made me sell it, but I’m glad I didn’t.” He stared at the Gulf. “I’ve always wanted to build a house here, but she didn’t want to live here. She wanted to live away from the water, scared of storms and shit. Said it was too buggy, too hot, too whatever.” He looked at her. “I thought I’d ask Alan if he’d want to go halves with me on it, build a house. For us. I pay the taxes on it every year and almost sold it after the divorce, could have made a fortune on it. But something told me to hold on to it.”
She smiled. Like this, with his defenses and stern, professional façade down, Jerald was so cute, so sweet. “Good thing you did.”
“So what do you think? Will he like it?” Jerald sounded nervous, uncertain. A tone of voice she definitely wasn’t used to hearing from him.
She leaned against him, hoping he wouldn’t move away. Alan would immediately cuddle with her, sling an arm around her shoulders and pull her closer. Sometimes Jerald acted more reserved. “This is a beautiful spot, Jer. I think he’s going to love it.”
