Rondo IS out of character, I realize that, but I needed a sleazy dealer, so…
Also, there is quite a bit of swearing in this chapter. Heads up!
"I've never met a seller who buys from a buyer." The black man smirked. "What's up with that, Vanilla?"
"I'm not here to buy back, Rondo." Jane Rizzoli crossed her arms. Next to her, Barry Frost, her friend and partner, rolled his eyes. Rondo, Boston's main man in alcohol and drug distribution and purchases, was a sketchy man. He did not dress well, he didn't smell very good, but he fit in perfectly with the seedy and sleazy of the city, the ones the Rizzolis could not, and would not, ever associate with.
Frost and Jane had crossed every dark corner of Boston to get to the dimly lit Merch, Rondo's own establishment, a well known bar to both the populace and the cops. The place was a sleazy as the owner was, all grime and soot, but the patrons didn't mind much. The place had girls that kissed each other and booze, they didn't have much room to complain.
His face fell. "Oh. You here 'bout Frankie." He shrugged his shoulders. Jane wondered how his clothes still hung onto his thin frame, tattered and ragged as they were. "I had nothing to do with it."
"I would hope not." Jane snapped. She paced around the small backroom of Rondo's home. The décor was very much like its proprietor, drab, about to fall to pieces, in serious need of detox. She turned back to face him, and his gaze followed the gun strapped to his side. "How's business with the Irish?"
"Come on, Vanilla. Y'know I can't tell you about another dealer. That'd be bad trade for me." He laughed and leaned against the table, the shabby wood creaking underneath his weight. "You crazy." Her eyes narrowed.
In a blur, Frost's fist connected with Rondo's jaw, and the man dropped to a heap on the floor. "Answer her!" He barked. "Respect!"
"Shit man." Rondo fingered his swelling jaw. "Keep your dog on a leash. Damn. I think he broke something."
"If he had, you wouldn't be able to talk." Jane's eyebrow raised in amusement. She picked the man up and sat him down heavily in a nearby chair. "The Irish, Rondo."
"Fuck Rizzoli, I don't know. I haven't seen a drop of booze since last Sunday. Seven whole days. I'm running dry."
"He can count." Frost remarked.
"Sunday?" Jane kneeled down, face to face with the dealer. "Their boys run a tight ship. Is Cavanaugh not delivering for them anymore?"
Rondo giggled. "You guys call yourself underground, but you know chicken shit about what's going on 'round town." Jane hit him upside the head lightly, cutting him and his wheeze of a laugh off.
"Stop getting off topic."
"Stop hitting me, I'll tell you." He brought his hand up to shield himself. "I'm guessing it has to do with the death. They're probably taking a break and letting good folks like me starve." He shook his head.
"Death?"
"Yeah. Doyle's sister in law got popped last Sunday as she left church. Three shots. Bam bam bam. God didn't help her out in the end after all."
Next to her, Frost winced. "Why haven't we heard about this?"
"Unlike you Italians, them Irish stay low and off the map. You guys are on the front page every morning."
"And yet the police don't seem to want to touch either of us. We're just more glitzy." Frost shrugged.
"Who'd want her dead?" Jane asked.
"Constance? Hell, everyone with a bone to pick with Paddy." Rondo smirked. "They think it was you though. I heard they cut off all contact with the peeps who work for both of yous. Which is why I ain't had nothing to drink for a damn week. When's Crowe gonna get over here with your shipment?"
"Why do they think it was our hit?" She asked, quickly becoming annoyed.
"The killer left a present. A signature."
"Which was?"
He grinned. "A pipe wrench."
Jane cocked her head to the side, a small smile playing on her lips. Next to her, Frost froze.
"Funny, ain't it?" Rondo asked, winking at her. She nodded.
"Hilarious."
Her boot slammed into the end of his chair, flipping him head over heels. The wood chattered as it hit the stone floor, and Rondo landed on his back, wind knocked out of him. She straddled him.
Jane slapped him hard across the face, and her free hand reached out to grab his collar before he scrambled away. Her fist slammed into his gut, doubling him over where he sat. She hit him again and again and again, seeing red. She knew he was starting to tenderize, knew she'd broken a rib or three. There was a cracked tooth, and his knee popped out where she held him down with her own leg.
"Jane."
She elbowed him on the side of his face.
"Jane!"
She was pulled away by a frantic Frost, and she regarded the bloody mess that was Rondo on the floor with a glare that could easily have killed what was rest of the dealer. She reached for her gun, but Barry beat her to it, and snatched it away from her.
"You're a fucking liar! Take it back you son of a bitch!" She yelled.
On the floor, blood pooling out of his mouth, Rondo laughed through his broken face.
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