Stephanie
I started to drift asleep in our bed when I suddenly sat up and shouted, "Giacomo Pacini." The name echoed inside my mind as though it got screamed directly into my ear.
"Babe?" Carlos asked as he sat up and leaned against the headboard.
"My stalker. Though I think we can call him a hitman," I replied. Carlos held my face between his hands. His thumbs gently caressed my cheeks.
He kissed my eyelids. The feather-light touch made my breath catch. Then Carlos kissed my nose. Carlos rubbed his nose along mine, sending electricity through my body to settle in my core. His lips brushed across my lips before he rested his forehead against mine. I breathed in his scent. Once I got my fill, I turned to face the wall at the foot of the bed. I rested my head on his shoulder. We sat in comfortable silence before my instinct to research Pacini overwhelmed my need for sleep.
"Where are you going?"
"To the washroom," I replied.
Carlos pulled me back against his chest and repeated, "Where are you going?"
I huffed and answered, "To the washroom, and then I'm grabbing your laptop from the living room."
"I'll get the laptop." Carlos kissed me, then released his grip. I leaned back to kiss him again. He swatted my ass as I climbed out of bed.
Goodness. Our bedsheets are silky soft. I didn't want to leave our bed, but I had to take care of the monthly visitor. After taking care of the mess, I washed my hands and returned to the bedroom. I knew Carlos would bring the laptop to our bed.
Carlos smiled when I entered the bedroom. He grabbed extra pillows to lean against the headboard so I wouldn't hurt my back. "What's that?" I asked, pointing to the blue rectangle on my side of the bed.
"Heating pad to help with the cramps," Carlos replied. I blinked a few times from shock and suppressed the urge to cry. At home, I used a hot water bottle. I was too afraid my bed would catch fire from the heating pad. "Come here."
I climbed into the bed beside my husband. He passed me a glass of water and another Pamprin. Once I swallowed the pill, Carlos took the glass and drank the remaining water. "Why do you do that?" He raised an eyebrow in question. "Finish my water?" I clarified.
"I don't like wasting anything," he replied, taking me by surprise. "My family was poor. We learned to go without, most times. But we never wasted what we had." Carlos brushed the hair off my cheek and tucked it behind my ear. "Once we started working, we gave our earnings to our father. We contributed to the family. I resented having to deliver newspapers without receiving compensation."
When I got comfortable leaning against the pillows, Carlos placed the heating pad on my abdomen. "Thanks, Babe," I said. He smiled when I used his term of endearment. "Is that when you got into trouble?"
"It took a few years, but it ignited my rebellious gene." Carlos pointed at the laptop. I shifted it over to rest on my legs, then logged into the computer programs. "My Abuela convinced my dad to let me keep the money I earned when I moved to Miami."
"Ah. The money you used to buy the bike I stole," I replied, laughing. He tapped my nose.
"Yes." Carlos pointed to the app icon on the screen. I rolled my eyes but clicked on it. The program opened on the monitor. "You can run multiple searches," he reminded. I knew that already, but I let him guide me. I motioned for him to continue the story. "My Abuela lived on a fixed annuity from my Abuelo's pension. Abuelo pinched pennies and lived well below his means. He worked for the local cobbler and shared his talents as a shoemaker. Add as many details as you can to narrow down the search."
"Huh. That doesn't sound much like what a cobbler does," I joked.
"Smartass."
"You like my ass." Carlos couldn't keep his hands off my butt.
"That I do. My Abuelo and his boss, Sal Christiansen, built a viable business together. Sal handled the shoe repairs while Abuelo made the shoes. The leather footwear got cut from the best hides of the cows culled. Christiansen owned a ranch containing over one hundred cows. He bred and raised the cattle, then groomed them to produce the best leather. Sal and Abuelo cured the leather on the ranch. Abuelo and Abuela lived on the farm. Abuela helped Doris, Sal's wife, tend to the household and children. Abuelo was a farmhand."
"Is that where your grandfather learned to make shoes?" I asked.
"No. Abuelo learned from his father in Cuba. It was a trade passed down through each generation. Abuelo was a migrant ranch worker. He refused to leave his pregnant wife in Cuba while he worked in the states. Sal was kind enough to hire Abuela as a maid." Carlos paused his story and said, "Click on that button. It attaches the imagery to the descriptions."
"Mmhmm," I replied. I moved my hand, asking him to continue. His ancestry story was intriguing.
"Sal's oldest son, Mitchell, tore his shoe while climbing into the fenced enclosure containing the cows. My Abuelo sat Mitchell on the fence, removed his shoe, then used the thick thread and needle he carried in his pocket handkerchief to reattach the sole. Abuelo used a metal sewing awl and a blunt chisel to recess the stitches, preventing them from rubbing on the ground. Why he had tools in his pocket is anyone's guess. Sal was impressed and moved Abuelo from the field to the shoe shop. Abuelo worked hidden in the back since foreigners got treated as slaves. He taught Sal the tricks of the trade he learned from his father. Sal gave Abuelo scraps of hide. My Abuelo carefully cut each scrap to sew together and create a shoe. He had enough scraps to make a pair. Sal was impressed by my Abuelo's skill and offered him a job as his shoemaker. They built a profitable business. When Sal retired, his son, Mitchell, continued as a cobbler while my father learned the trade as a shoemaker. Sal and Doris helped my grandparents get their citizenship. My Abuelo saved every cent not used to care for his six children. When the banks started offering security for the money, he opened an account."
"How could she live off an annuity? Don't you have to invest first?" I asked.
"Abuelo sold his shares in the business to Mitchell. He placed every penny into an annuity pension to provide for my Abuela. His health rapidly declined. Abuelo passed away in his early sixties," he replied.
"Wait. Didn't you say your father was a mechanic?" I asked. "And why didn't your dad take over the shoemaker part of the business?"
"You remember correctly. Cobbler and shoemaker jobs were a dime a dozen by the time my dad was old enough to work. Nobody wanted to hire a migrant worker. Technically, my dad was Cuban-American. He was born in Florida. My father got a job repairing torn leather seats and steering wheel covers inside cars. It was an appropriate way for him to utilize his sewing skills as a shoemaker. He worked at the Ford plant in Michigan until he met my mother and moved to Newark. My father completed an apprenticeship to repair engines," Carlos explained.
I searched the list Hector and I had compiled for the probable facial matches. Giacomo Pacini's name wasn't there. I dug into Pacini's background. "Damn!" I snapped.
"What's wrong?"
"Giacomo's background information is too clean. Even I have more inconsistencies. What is he hiding?"
"Steph, let me," Carlos replied. He pulled the laptop onto his lap and opened the research program for the military.
"Are you allowed to do that?"
"Babe." I patiently waited for him to explain. "Rangeman has a contract with various government agencies. General Plum hired us to protect you. He gave Rangeman permission to access the databases required to identify your stalker. The general correctly assumed your stalker was ex-military."
"Okay. I didn't want you to get into trouble." Carlos kissed my cheek, then returned to his search.
I turned off the heating pad when I felt overheated. Carlos told me to place it on my nightstand until I needed it again. I watched as he entered the parameters into the search program. The screen was packed with hundreds of lines of data. My eyes would cross before I could read everything. Carlos printed the pages, then left for a few seconds to collect them from his apartment office.
"Do you have highlighters?" I asked. Carlos grinned, then passed me three different colours. "Sweet." I used the green highlighter for the benign information. It was moderately important but not something we needed to dig into further. My spidey sense guided me to use the yellow highlighter for Tony Gilman and Terry Gilman. Carlos pulled the laptop away from me to enter the names I highlighted in yellow.
"Do you know the Grizolis?" Carlos asked.
I searched my mind for the name. "Not really, but I think I went to school with a girl named Terry Grizoli. She was Valerie's age and dated Joe. Why?"
"Terry Gilman is Vito Grizoli's niece. She married Tony Gilman five years ago. He died a year after Terry divorced him," Carlos explained.
"More like he got whacked," I mumbled.
"Babe?"
"Tony Gilman was a bigger womanizer than Joe Morelli. He fucked anything with two legs and never differentiated between male and female. I bet he stuck his dick into the wrong well. I assume that Terry divorces Tony after catching him red-handed, I mean balls deep, then Vito orders his associate to terminate him. Where does Gilman fit into this?"
"Giacomo Pacini is Tony Gilman's godfather." Why am I not surprised? I want to know who hired Pacini to kill me.
"Why me?" I asked, unsure how to correctly formulate the question. "Is Pacini after me because Joe Morelli hired him?"
"I doubt Joe is directly responsible," Carlos replied. "Joe's likely the scapegoat." I couldn't agree more. Joe wouldn't be stupid enough to risk losing custody of Isabelle. He turned the laptop for me to see the screen.
"Well, I'll be damned. I never saw that coming," I replied.
Joe
I called Slick for the tenth time. He wasn't answering his phone. It wasn't dead because it rang five times before the answering service picked up. "Well?" Helen impatiently asked, tapping the toe of her shoe against the ceramic tiled floor.
"Radio silence. The phone rings but goes to voicemail," I replied. Helen glared as though she didn't believe me. Putting the phone on speaker, I redialled the number.
"Beep beep beep. I'm sorry, but the number you have dialled is no longer in service. Please, check your number and try your call again," a tinny female voice replied. I pressed the speed dial button again. The same message played.
"Shit!"
"Language, Joe. Why me? What did I do to deserve this?" Helen asked. I had a few suggestions, but I needed Helen on my side. Helen kept ranting about why nothing ever goes her way. I was tempted to pull out my dick and shove it inside her mouth to shut her the fuck up.
"Thanks for lunch, mom. I have to get back to work," I lied. My phone pinged from an incoming text. Yes! Not a lie. I do have to work. "Someone found a dead body on Stark. I've got to go."
"I'll see you for dinner tomorrow night," Helen said. I kissed her cheek and left the house.
When I sat in my car, my pants pulled at my crotch. My balls ached. Valerie had a headache for the past few nights and refused to service my needs. I wondered if she got pregnant again. She didn't know I had tampered with her birth control. I wanted a boy. A male heir to carry my legacy and continue the Morelli name. Anthony has two sons, but it wasn't the same. I wanted a boy.
When I arrived at the crime scene, I found Shondra examining the body. "Hey, Joe."
I puffed up my chest from her greeting. "What do we have?"
"Multiple stab wounds."
"Cause of death?" I know better than to assume the victim bled out from a stabbing. You never know what to expect on Stark St. Anything and everything happened in that neighbourhood. Shondra once found a beer bottle shoved into a corpse's orifice. It was a man. Do I need to say more?
"Gunshot wound to the chest. The suspect removed the bullet."
My lips pinched, and I furrowed my brows. Other than leaving the body for identification, someone had covered their tracks. I wanted to scream it was a mob hit, but they cleaned up after themselves. The mob wasn't sloppy, and they would hide the body. My money was on the Rangeman gangster they called Hector. He was proficient with knife play.
"I expect a full autopsy report."
Shondra rolled her eyes. "When have I never delivered?" she challenged.
"You always deliver to my satisfaction," I replied. She caught my double entendre. Shondra smiled and touched her thumb to her ring finger. It was our code to hook up later that evening. Before I could whisper wicked promises to her, my phone rang. I checked the display before answering.
"Oh. Thank goodness you answered, Joe. Agents from the CIA or something like that is here to search our basement. What do I do?" Valerie cried. Yup. She was pregnant again. I hope it was a boy this time. I only have to grab her breast to know for sure.
"Do you mean the CID?" I asked.
"Yes. That's what I said," she snapped. It wasn't, but I didn't want to deal with her weepiness more than necessary. "What do I do? The neighbours are watching."
"Did they show you a search warrant?"
"Yes. I'm not stupid, Joe." Valerie doesn't have the sense God gave a screwdriver. They showed Valerie a warrant. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to grant them access. Was Valerie trying to get arrested? I didn't share my thoughts. They were probably listening to her conversation. I wouldn't be surprised if they could hear my replies.
"Let them inside. We have nothing to hide." Valerie breathed a sigh of relief. I cleaned the basement last night. She should trust that I removed all evidence of Kenny sleeping in our basement. I even traded sofas with Brian Gaspick. He took our sofa bed, and I took the worn leather one from his living room.
"Can you stay on the line with me while they search? I'm scared, Joe," Valerie whined.
"Val, I'm working a homicide."
"Please?" she begged. I found myself caving. Shondra grinned while stifling a laugh.
"Thank you, ma'am," I heard a man say over the line.
"No problem. Let me know if there's anything else I can do to help," Valerie politely offered.
"Do you have any idea where Kenny is hiding? Is your family protecting him?" the agent asked.
"I'm sorry, but I don't. I haven't seen Kenny in years. My husband is a homicide detective at the TPD. He would never risk his career by concealing a fugitive," Valerie lied. He thanked her, and I assumed he passed her a business card when he asked her to call when she located Kenny. Valerie promised. I heard the door open and closed, followed by the snick of the lock.
I waited a few minutes and warned Valerie, "Don't say anything. Don't call anyone. I'll be home in a few minutes."
"Is everything okay?" Shondra asked when I hung up and stared at my shoes.
"It's fine. Hey, I have to go home for a few minutes. I'll be back."
Shondra nodded towards Eddie Gazarra and Carl Costanza. "Get them to canvass," she suggested. I nodded my thanks and approached the officers.
"Eddie, Carl. I have to run home for a minute for an emergency. Do you mind canvassing the area for evidence and witnesses?" I asked. Eddie and Carl exchanged a glance before agreeing.
I ran to my car and hopped inside. When I looked into the rearview mirror, I saw Eddie putting his phone against his ear. He turned his back, preventing me from reading his lips.
Valerie was pacing in the living room. I could see her through the front drapes. She always opened them wide for people to see inside our home. I preferred when they are closed. Our neighbours were too nosy. Valerie saw my car parked on the street.
I grabbed the device to check for bugs from my glovebox. She met me at the door. I pulled her into a hug and groped her breast. She flinched from discomfort. I'll grab a pregnancy test later. I placed my finger against my lips. Valerie nodded and followed me through the house.
She watched as I removed a glass from the cupboard. I went to the laundry room with Valerie close on my heels. Her eyebrow raised as I filled the cup with bleach. I reminded her to remain silent. The device picked up three bugs in the basement. She held the glass and watched the bugs drop to the bottom.
We found seven bugs. Valerie opened her mouth to talk. I shook my head for her to wait. She followed me to the garage behind our house. I went to my toolbox to grab a hammer. After dumping the contents onto the cement floor, I smashed them until they shattered. "Valerie, didn't you watch them search the house?" I shouted.
She shook her head and cried. God help me. "Stop yelling. I didn't know," Valerie sobbed. I hugged her, feeling guilty for yelling.
"Val, get a pregnancy test. I think you're pregnant."
"What?" she screamed. "I'm on the pill." She pulled away to look into my eyes. "Oh my God. Please, tell me you didn't." Valerie shoved me, then stomped into the house. Shit! I was in the doghouse.