by Ethan Egorov
For now, though, it was time to go visit an old friend at the local deli to see if maybe he could figure out what her endgame was, who her mysterious new employer was too, and maybe, just maybe, if it was connected to the stabbing of Lady Pennini. He had to focus if he wanted to get to the bottom of the attack on Mrs. Pennini.
He exited his apartment and walked a few blocks to the deli, where he had some connections that went way back to when he was a young boy. He opened the door, and the bells jangled on the door of Flannigan’s Deli. He never knew why the old man insisted that ‘Deli’ be on the door— everyone knew it was a deli if they lived in the city for more than ten minutes. It was, simply put, legendary.
Trent was welcomed by a young man who stood at the counter in front of the cash register. He wore an apron and had a pencil stuck behind his ear. He was slack-jawed and seemed overwhelmingly disinterested in his work. He didn’t even say hello before Trent stepped up to the counter.
“What can I get for you today?” the man said, bored.
“Is Pete in?” Trent said, getting right to the point.
“Pete Flannigan? Yeah, he’s in the back. Hang on. Hey Pete! You got one out here.”
An older man approached the counter with a dishtowel slung over his shoulder. Pete wore an apron that had various stains splattered across it. His brown hair was still thick and full. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and, despite being around food all day long, had a thin frame. His eyes were bright and happy as he broke into a full grin at seeing Trent. The sight of old family friends had a way of making everyone a little happier.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Pete said, chuckling. “Trent Salvatore! How the hell have you been? It’s been a minute, huh? Your dad and grandfather still doing okay?”
“Yep, yep, everyone’s doing really good,” Trent said, impatient and wanting to get to the point. “I just wanted to make an appearance and ask a couple things if you got a minute.”
“Yeah, let me just get this jackass over here to work,” Pete said, barking out orders to his employee to make them a couple of sandwiches.
Trent liked Pete. He didn’t beat around the bush nor did he pretend to be surprised by the appearance of a Salvatore. Some people pretended to make a big deal about the “family” making a stop, and Trent hated those people. The less of a fuck they gave about the name Salvatore, the more Trent liked them.
“So, what’s up, Trenton? You look a bit grave. I was hoping for a more fun-filled reunion.”
“There was an attack last night, Flannigan,” Trent said. “You know Saul Pannini, right?”
“Of course. Everyone loves Saul. I catered his son’s friend’s birthday party a few weeks back. It was a load of fun.”
Pete had only meant to say it off the cuff, but to Trent, it seemed like a clue of some sort.
“You didn’t hear anything going on at that party I should know about, did you?”
“Nah. It was just typical business, and really there wasn’t even any hard stuff there. It was kids’ stuff mostly. A few beers here or there, nothing major.”
Trent felt some relief, but also some strange disappointment he hadn’t gotten any closer to solving anything.
Maybe because I’m still not fully a part of this all. Or maybe I’m just happy that Pannini isn’t involved in this shit anymore than I had first feared.
“Good. Saul though . . . well, there’s been an attack on his family. Someone stabbed his wife. They felt the need to deliver a message to Pop, something about Merry Christmas.”
“Oh shit,” Pete said, visibly recoiling. “Is she okay? I mean, will she recover?”
“They got a really good cardiac specialist working on her, so, yeah, they expect her to recover, but it will take months.”
The relief on Flannigan’s face was immediate and palpable. It even made Trent relax a bit. He did wonder, though, if the information he had provided was accurate. It was a nasty stab wound, and he had no idea if Lucille was still okay. But if the doctor said she would be fine . . .
“I’ll have to send a card . . . no, no, I’ll pay him a visit later. Jesus. What kind of world is it becoming?”
“I honestly don’t know, Flannigan. We don’t know what that message means, but it was a very personal attack. I’m going to get to the bottom of it and make sure the bastard pays, but I don’t have enough intel about who did the deed. For now, though, we need to focus.”
“I understand. I’ll keep an ear out.”
Trent certainly knew what the message meant after his father’s story, but he was not about to reveal anything that didn’t belong outside the confines of the immediate family.
The sandwiches came out. Trent picked his up and took a hearty bite.
“Fuck, I’ve missed these. There’s just something about these sandwiches that nothing else can come close to.”
“Yep,” Pete said with a hint of pride. “That’s what tradition tastes like, Trent.”
Trent just sighed upon hearing that. He didn’t think a line about sandwiches would somehow get to him, but one never quite knew what words or phrases could trigger certain moods. And in Trent’s case, right now, with all the conflicted feelings about his family and Kristina going on, it wasn’t hard for something to trigger a reaction one way or the other.
“It’s sad. I really wish we had better family traditions,” Trent said. “Ours are just signature knife wounds or using a certain caliber weapon.”
Trent was a bit surprised at the brashness of his own words, but he hadn’t said anything inaccurate.
“Well, your legacy, you can either embrace it or rebel against it, but it’s in your blood, so,” Pete said awfully casually. “There’s really no point in running from it.”
“I guess that’s true,” Trent said, though he didn’t really believe it. “I just feel so bad for Saul. I feel like we’re responsible for this attack.”
“What you have to realize, Trent,” Flannigan said. “All of these events were set in motion long ago. Your grandfather and father made it known long ago that we were all to look after you. The Mikkelsons have been after you for years.”
“Yeah, but this is my family,” Trent said.
He wasn’t sure if Flannigan knew he was adopted or not, and he wasn’t about to spill the beans on such a secret here. Like many things in the family business, it was on a need-to-know basis. If Flannigan didn’t need to know it, then he wouldn’t know it.
“After all, Pop took care of my brother and me,” he continued. “I’m not like the Mikkelsons. I would never stab an innocent man’s wife. Not out of revenge for something that happened decades ago.”
Trent started to take a bite, but then Pete stopped him dead in his tracks.
“You sure about that, Trent?”
Trent cocked an eyebrow, unsure exactly what he meant, and a little hesitant to find out.
“I recall that time when a man came in here and tried to rob the place. God, you were what, twenty-something? You were a young pup. He pulled his gun out, and you stood up and grabbed his arm, slamming it on the counter and breaking it in three places. Then you knocked him out with a bottle of our homemade peppers. You sat back down like it was nothing and finished your dinner before the cops showed up.”
Trent most certainly remembered that. It was on pure instinct, pure self-defense, not something that indicated he wanted to go further into the family business. And in any case, the whole sitting down and acting like it was nothing was meant to be showmanship in its own right, not an indicator that he was cold-blooded or anything.
Or, conversely, maybe Pete is right, and I’m just trying to pretend like I don’t secretly enjoy this. Maybe I stay away from it because I’m afraid I actually do like it.
“I guess he learned a hard lesson that day,” Pete said after Trent didn’t respond to the story. “Anyway, what else is new? Any fine women?”
Oh, heavens, here we go a-fucking-gain.
Just once, Trent wanted to go somewhere without being remind
ed in some fashion about Kristina or Rachelle or any of the other women from his past.
“What happened to that hot, young waitress you were after? What was her name?”
“Rachelle?” Trent said as dryly and as bored as he could. “Nah. Ancient history now.”
“Damn,” Pete said, genuinely sounding disappointed, which was downright hilarious to Trent. “I thought you two kids were really going to make a go of it. What happened?”
Trent could only hope that someday, everyone he ran into would stop asking about all of the women in his life— or out of his life. Perhaps that day would come when he really found someone that he loved and was happy with.
Or maybe he’d just leave everyone here and avoid all of it.
You’re just being dramatic right now. You’re hungover, tired, and just saw Kristina. Give it a rest and relax, Trent.
“I guess she got bored,” Trent said with a half-shrug.
“Sorry, Trent, that’s a damned shame,” Pete said, again taking it much harder and with much more emotion than Trent did. “Oh well, your one will come along, no worries.”
How many times have I heard that before? Good Lord.
And even if his one did come along, he wasn’t really sure he wanted the world to know about it. He’d had his fair share of public relationships, for better and for worse. He was in no hurry to add to his list.
“I’m not sweating Rachelle,” Trent said sincerely. “Honesty, I’m fine by myself. Besides, in my line of work, it’s easier. Too much drama, too much danger. Most people, if they knew what being a Salvatore really meant, would run for the hills as fast as they could. I don’t want anyone up waiting for me to come home when one day, I may not.”
“Hmm,” Pete said.
Pete wasn’t oblivious to the things the Salvatores got into, but Trent wasn’t sure he fully understood. Granted, no one except those in the family really could, but sometimes, it felt like Pete really didn’t understand.
“You know you can’t go all your life living alone.”
Heard this one before too.
“It’s really not lonely,” Trent said with a deflective chuckle. “I have other interests than work. I watch sports, I—”
“When was the last time you had a lady over for genuine companionship? Seriously?”
As blunt as Flannigan was being, and as little as Trent wanted to be having this conversation right now, there was something awfully sincere about the concern in Flannigan’s voice that at least made Trent pause to give a serious answer. If Pete was going to sit down and share what he knew with Trent, then Trent supposed the least he could do was answer his questions honestly and thoroughly.
“I really don’t know,” Trent said, which was a truthful start to his answer. “I guess it would have been Rachelle. I mean, yeah, we talked about our day and stuff, but it was nothing serious. Besides, there’s really not much to tell. I’m a boring guy, Flannigan. I guess that’s why she left.”
That was as much as Trent was willing to admit, not just to Pete, but to himself. He feared digging too deep into that relationship and finding out too many harsh, brutal things about himself. He feared finding out how much he had to work on himself, and in a time like this, with tensions between the Salvatores and possibly the Mikkelsons seeming to flare up, there was no space or time to just “work on himself.”
“Oh, you’re still a pup,” Flannigan said, suddenly becoming lighthearted, much to Trent’s immense relief. “You’ll understand what I’m talking about soon enough, Trenton. When you go home, and you find that stray hair on your pillow and you still smell her perfume and it smells like the place you want to be buried, you’ll realize the significance of even the little moments.”
Oh, I think I realize the significance of that. I think I realize that a little too much right now.
“Listen, I gotta get going,” Trent said.
He could handle a lot of conversation. He could not handle Pete saying something that was so on the nose from earlier that morning that it was like he was in the room with them.
“Thanks for a great lunch, as always.”
Just before he left, however, Trent reminded himself there was something he hadn’t done yet.
“Oh, and before I forget, Kristina’s in town again. So, if you’ll do me another favor, keep an eye out for her?”
“Who’s the deadbeat she’s with now?”
Trent chuckled.
Wouldn’t we all like to know. Wouldn’t we all.
“Well, she didn’t say she was with anyone,” Trent said.
That was technically true, but with Kristina, that just meant it was only a matter of time before she jumped in with someone else.
“Says she’s in town for a job, but I haven’t heard of any new players in the game. If you ask me, it’s a little disconcerting.”
“Understood,” Pete said, apparently missing the concern in Trent’s voice about there being new players around. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
Trent nodded, stood up, and left. It was time to move on to the docks, toward the property he had promised his father he would check out. He didn’t know what he would run into, but he knew full well that he wasn’t going to do anything stupid.
Not with Kristina back in town.
He hailed a cab, deciding that the chill in the air was too much for him to walk down to the docks. He gave the cabbie the address and then pulled out his cell phone, sending his father a quick message.
“Hey, I’m heading down to the docks. Think you can send me a ride in about a half hour or so?”
His father responded instantly.
“No problem. See what you can find out. I’ll be waiting to hear from you when you get home.”
The rest of the car ride was uneventful. Upon exiting the vehicle, Trent walked to the shell of the building that was once one of their prominent storage facilities. He shook his head and cursed under his breath after surveying the shocking damage. He couldn’t say he was surprised to see retaliation like this, but the physical sensation of seeing it before his eyes was unsettling.
“Fuck . . .”
You wanted to be a part of the family? You wanted to be more involved? I guess you got your wish. I hope it’s what you wanted.
Trent walked to the door of the burnt building and pulled out his phone. He took several pictures of the building as well as the surrounding area. He wanted to be able to show the damages when he got back to the mansion. He put his hand on what remained of the charred door and pushed it open gently. He then turned on the flashlight of his phone and looked around.
The ground underneath him was covered with soot and ash. He kicked some loose boards out of his way and proceeded cautiously through the rest of the warehouse. The room itself was uncluttered to begin with, so that was a plus. There weren’t mounds of rubble to walk through. He reached the back of the building and coughed several times, the smell of the smoke still thick and hanging in the air. The sunlight which streamed through the mostly broken windows cast heavy shadows on the damages.
Then his heart dropped when he saw their main supply storage.
The tables that were once full of white powder and various scales were completely demolished. The precious drugs which had immense value on the street had been completely destroyed. Nothing could be salvaged.
He then saw the barrels that had been used for chemical storage. Those were melted and blackened on the outside. They were also shriveled slightly and dried out.
“How the fuck did they do this much damage?” he muttered to himself.
It was surreal. They hadn’t just managed to destroy the place— they managed to annihilate it. It almost felt like there wasn’t a single thing left of the place that had any value.
Though he may not have had much of an immediate connection to the family and had mostly stayed out of the business, he still considered it a personal affront whenever his family suffered. He pulled up his camera to take a few more shots of the damages. He was sure to includ
e the barrel that he had just knocked over. His father and his grandfather were not going to be pleased, nor should they be anything close to it. If Trent had any doubts earlier about not getting involved in the business, well, those were fading away pretty quickly.
He looked around for any signs the intruder may have left behind. He didn’t even see a footprint that looked out of place. Unfortunately, there was so much damage that, had there been any indication of the breaking and entering, it would have either been destroyed in the fire or covered up by the damages. In that respect, the Mikkelsons, or maybe a third party, had done their job too well for Trent’s comfort.
Trent sighed and looked above him. The rafters were still holding up the roof, but in terms of reconstruction, they had suffered too much damage to be salvageable and would need to be completely rebuilt for the building to be usable again. As far as Trent was concerned, the building had no value beyond a write-off. They just needed to try and claim the insurance on it, gather any value they could, and—
Trent saw something strange when he took a second glance at the rafters. Something did not seem to belong, something that certainly did not fall there by accident.
Trent positioned a ladder, climbed it, and reached up, almost touching the top beam. He grabbed what was hanging off it and pulled it down gently. He didn’t want to pull the damned thing down on top of him, so he took his time in both extracting the object and climbing back down the ladder.
He held in his hands a small, silk, orange-colored scarf.
What in the world?
But then Trent looked at it from a different perspective.
“Well, this could prove useful,” Trent said.
He couldn’t say how, but knowing his family and his family’s connections, it seemed like anything was possible. Maybe someone could do fingerprint analysis. Maybe there were DNA strands, maybe, maybe, maybe. The point was, it was something that could have held clues.
