I know I'm a little late to the party, but I had this idea rolling around in my head for a little while and needed time to work out some of the kinks. I wrote this in honor of Margaret Fowler, who we lost last month. I will miss her wit and funny insights. Rest easy. We'll miss you.

**Margaret, swallow whatever is in your mouth. Do not take a sip of water. This is your wet keyboard warning, Babe! **

Italian Stallion

Looking down at the mounds of clothing sitting on my basement floor made me cringe. I hated doing laundry and allowed my wonderful, doting mother to usually do it for me. But seeing as how both my mother was in Italy escorting my Grandmother Bella to visit family in the Old Country for likely the last time, I was stuck doing it myself.

Gathering a giant armful of my white shirts and underwear, I shove them into the machine, dump in the appropriate amount of soap and slam the lid down as I hit the start button. I figured if I set a reminder, I could change over the wash into the dryer to keep a rhythm going all day if necessary to get through the nine piles.

Plodding up the stairs I find my way to the front room and park myself in front of the TV showing the replays from the Ranger's game last night. The timer goes off in no time and I rush down the stairs to the washer. Halfway down the flight of stairs the single basement lightbulb hanging over the washer blows, throwing the entire room into darkness. I quickly hit my flashlight app on my phone, setting it to shine off of the ceiling, somewhat illuminating the space enough for me to switch over the first load and start a second load. Snatching the phone up, I head back to the TV hoping I only missed most of the commercial break. If I'm lucky, I'll be done with the laundry by the time the boxing match starts tonight.

Even though it took me over six hours, I managed to get the last load of laundry into the dryer, dumping the fifth clean and dry load onto the far end of the couch to fold as I watch the prefight commentary. Not paying attention to most of the clothing, I just fold as quickly as I can, so I can shove it in my dresser drawers as quickly as possible, not wanting to miss the first round.

The next morning my alarm fails to go off and I realize I'm going to be late if I don't hit the ground running right now. I flop out of the bed, headed for the bathroom to take a quick piss and to throw on some deodorant. To hell with a shower, I just don't have the time today. Damn it. Digging in my dresser I grab a pair of black socks, an undershirt and stop as my eyes find what is sitting in my underwear drawer. Instead of the normal white briefs I normally wear, I find that all my underwear is bright pink in color. Every single pair.

Shit! I must have grabbed my new red t-shirt in the pile of white clothing I washed yesterday. What the hell am I going to do, wear the damn pink underwear?

I knew for a fact that some of the burg ladies that dated a few of the guys that worked for Rangeman, bragged that the men never wore underwear. They went commando. Wincing, I didn't think I could allow my boys to run free like that. Too much freedom and all. My boys liked being hugged gently not swinging free in the breeze. But then again... the thought of being seen wearing bright pink undies made me scowl. Nope. Guess I'm going commando today.

I quickly throw on my clothing, grabbed a couple slices of cold pizza with a can of cola and hit the road, hopefully making it into work before the morning briefing. I manage to slide into an open spot along the back wall as the chief begins roll call. Both Officers Carl Constanza and Robin Russell give me frowns as they notice I made it in without reprimand. Assholes.

Thankfully, today is one of those days where my slate is pretty clean, and my calendar is almost clear. I haven't had a new case in over a week, giving me time to run a few errands, while I head over to talk to one of the remaining witnesses to a murder over a week ago. Between the station house and the witness' home, I could hit up the grocery store for a loaf of bread and some beer, stop at the dry cleaners to grab the four suits I have there and then stop at the bank to withdraw a couple hundred for the trip to the titty bar in Newark, my brother Anthony and cousin Mooch have planned in a few days.

Both stops at the grocery stop and the dry cleaners goes off without a hitch, leaving me only to stop at the bank. I park my tan colored detective's sedan over a block away from the bank, walking the rest of the way, as parking is at a premium around here. My charming smile wows a few of the younger Burg ladies as I hold the door open for them as they leave the bank, tittering as they pass me. Their reaction tells me I still have it even after the living hell my Cupcake has put me through the last few years. I take my place in the obscenely long line and daydream as I wait my turn.

Granted, Stephanie Plum saved my ass from prison when she caught my file when I went MIA after being arrested for murder a few years ago. She figured out I was innocent and brought the truth to light, clearing my name. We hoked back up since then and have been an on and off thing as I hate her job, hate that fucker Ranger Manoso and hate the fact she's so damn strong willed and against being a typical Burg girl, marrying herself off and raising a family. She in return, hated the fact I got mad and yelled, a lot. Hated that I didn't like her job and hated that I expected her to drop said job, marry me and start working on having enough kids to field an entire football team ourselves.

My Cupcake and I have had quite a few epic fights over the years. Nothing quite as epic as the last fight we had a few weeks ago, when she threw me out of my own home when I found that she had spent the night at Rangeman and she decided to throw some shade back at me. She had been holding onto the little tidbit that I had over the course of the last years, had some dalliances with a certain Mafia Princess; Vito Grizzoli's niece, namely Teri Gilman. I began screaming about her job and that fucking poacher Manoso, while she screamed right back about Teri and not wanting to become a wife or mother.

To be honest, I don't know what happened. I just remember yelling at Cupcake, my arms flailing and the next thing I knew, I was staring at the outside of my own front door. It took a few seconds for it to register she had thrown me out of my own house, until the sound of the lock engaging made me nearly feral with rage. I pounded on both doors, the windows and the walls, trying to get her to let me back into my own damn house. Hell, I even tried getting in through the little blacked out window into my basement. It was stuck fast, too many coats of paint built up to allow it to open.

It wasn't until a couple of minutes later four of Manoso's goons showed up to escort Cupcake out of my house and into one of their SUV's. She carried a laundry basket with all her things she had in my house, including all her shampoos, conditioners, soaps and what looked to be all her clothing as well. The one guy, Leaster Santos, was able to keep a good bit of distance between Cupcake and I, making my tirade less than what I wanted it to be.

"Your house key is on the kitchen counter. Stephanie wants her house key returned right now." He held out his hand expecting me to comply.

"Fuck you and whatever fucking horse you rode in on, Santos. Cupcake, I'm not giving you the fucking key back. We're just having a little disagreement and we'll be over this in no time." I bumped his chest with mine, trying to prove I meant business. She just ducked her head and hurried into the SUV, not giving me a backwards glance. She hasn't talked to me since, though I've tried calling her and even dropping by her apartment to talk to her. She fucking changed the locks, though. I found out that little gem when my key refused to work, and I was stuck on the wrong side of her door.

I was brought out of my musings when I looked up to find Janice Chettino, a teller, giving me a warm smile. "Why hello, Detective Morelli. It's wonderful to see you this morning." Her wink and flirtatious smile gave me a reason to rearrange my pants a bit, seeing as they just got a little too snug.

Before I could answer her with a smile of my own, a loud crash came from the front as the doors swung in slamming against the walls, and people hit the floor as bullets began to spray into the ceiling. I dropped to the floor, service weapon in hand as I found the muzzle of a large capacity assault rifle pressed against the back of my head. "You move, and I kill somebody. Give me your gun, Pig." I held out my hands, my service weapon yanked unceremoniously from my hands as the butt of the rifle against my skull knocked me out cold.

I came to, a few minutes later, still laying on the floor. The soft sounds of sniffles and crying came from a couple of my mother's friends huddled into a group in the corner of the bank, being watched by a perp. White male, mid 20's, maybe 5 foot six inches, 175 lbs., wearing jeans, a green t-shirt, ratty white sneakers and an all-black ski mask. A second perp was behind the safety glass ordering the tellers to bag their cash into the duffle he was shaking at them.

I needed to stop them. I needed to get the people out of the bank. I needed to get into a better position. Moving my hands and feet, I soon realized that I was hog tied with both sets of my handcuffs I usually carried, effectively ending my bid to stop the robbery. My secondary piece, hidden in the holster at my ankle was missing as well. Well Shit.

Noticing I was awake, the perp in the green t-shirt sauntered over to me and laughed, a chill working its way down my spine. "Lookie who finally woke up?" He glanced at his watch, looking toward the other perp, "Two minutes eight seconds. We got less than a minute to be out of here!"

I could hear the other guy start to get upset. "Fucking put the shit in the bag, Bitch!" A single gunshot rang out, causing the customers in the bank to cry out in terror.

The first perp refocused on me before snickering. "Dude. I was going to leave you in your skivvies, but this was too good of an opportunity to pass on. I didn't know cops went commando." I stilled and began to feel the coolness of the marble tile floor seeping into my skin a bit more than I had realized. Oh, for the love of God. They stripped me naked before handcuffing me. I could feel the icy tile against my junk, my boys none too happy at the temperature they were finding themselves at the moment. They had to have been nearly shrunken into themselves to stay warm. I mean, I'm not a small guy in that department, but even guys like me have issues when exposed to temps well in the 50's.

"Let's go." The second perp came out from behind the teller counter, dressed similarly to the first guy. By his voice, I'd say an older male, maybe in his mid to late 30's, 6 foot, 200 lbs., grey t-shirt, jeans, black sneakers and similar black ski mask. He was carrying a loaded black duffle bag and a rifle the same as the first perp. They shot a couple more rounds into the ceiling before running out of the bank and onto the street.

"Someone call 911!" I shouted and then turned to the first person I saw, the old man hired as the security officer, hiding under a desk to my right. "Can you get into my pocket in my pants. There's a handcuff key on my key ring."

"I'm sorry Son. They took your clothes and keys. Said something about taking your car instead of theirs." My head dropped to the floor with a thud. I was going to be hogtied, ass up when the first unit arrives. Fuck me.

Less than a minute later, I heard the arrival of the first units, their patrol vehicle sirens blaring.

"Can someone throw a jacket or something over my ass, please?!" I begged before I watched a number of officers come rushing in, weapons drawn. It took all of ten seconds before they were all bent at the waist, hands on their knees, laughing their asses off at me.

"Fuck you guys. Get these cuffs off of me. And for God's sake, get me something to wear. Those fuckers took my fucking clothes. They may have taken my vehicle. Put a BOLO out on it."

"What the fuck Morelli?!" Lt. Octavio groaned, "What the fuck happened?"

As I stood up, after being released from my own handcuffs, I could hear whispering and snickering coming from multiple places surrounding me. I had to remember to stop grinding my teeth when I got upset or frustrated, my dentist would kill me right now if he could hear the grinding going on. The sound of a snapshot from a phone brought me back to the present, "Can I fucking get something to wear here? It's fucking cold."

From behind me I heard the voice of someone I had hoped and prayed to not hear EVER while standing naked, let alone in the middle of a bank, in public. Edna Mazur.

"Well, hello there, Detective Morelli. Fancy seeing you here and commando none the less. I'm not really sure why they call you the Italian Stallion with a tiny little pecker like that, though. I'd be more likely to call you a mini-horse with that wee little thing."

Without thinking, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, "It was cold! I swear it was the cold. I'm a grower, not a show-er." Peals of laughter fill the bank as a rookie finally come in with a spare pair of sweats and t-shirt emblazoned with TPD down one leg and across the chest. I could hear people chattering and the words: really hairy ass and significant shrinkage, included frequently. I'm going to need an entire pallet of Maalox to get rid of the heartburn from this embarrassment.

An hour later, after giving Lt. Octavio my statement and descriptions of the perps, I walked outside to hitch a ride with someone back to the station. Leaning against a black Porche 911 Turbo, arms crossed, aviator glasses shading their eyes, were both Cupcake and Manoso with Santos and his partner leaning against their SUV in similar fashion. There goes that grinding sound again. I'm going to owe my dentist a fortune if I don't stop.

"Morelli." I could hear the amusement in Manoso's voice.

"Manoso." I glanced to Stephanie. "Cupcake." Though her eyes were covered in the aviator glasses, I could just imagine her eyes rolling at my greeting.

"Morelli. Just so you know, going commando is for show-ers not growers." Santos mocked, his hand indicating toward his groin and giving me a brilliantly wide smile as his partner laughed outright. Manoso gave what I can only describe as a smirk followed up with a grin as he grabbed my Cupcake's hand leading her into the Porche. As she raised her hand to the roof to steady herself before getting in, I caught the glint off of a massive diamond sitting on her left hand.

Fuck me!