Speaking of domestic disturbance, Mike mused as the Galaxie made a sharp u-turn across two lanes of traffic, before getting off the Embarcadero and heading eastbound.
A call from dispatch had alerted them to a domestic situation at a funeral home in the upper class Nob Hill neighborhood, the situation severe enough that it turned into an "all-units-call".
Even though they were at least a dozen blocks away, Mike knew that a fatal wreck on the northeast side of town had tied up several units for the morning, short-staffing the rest of the force.
Maybe for once, Conden wouldn't mind them interfering with business that wasn't homicide, he thought sourly, immediately scolding himself for cursing at a situation that had gone exactly as he'd predicted to begin with.
What else had he expected?
Even without Steve getting hurt, the case would have eventually caused raised eyebrows and questions, many of them; none of which he had any sort of answer to at the moment.
Several other units followed them along the lengthy journey down California Street, painfully parting traffic that seemed to move at the speed of cold molasses despite their sirens blaring and strobe light safely affixed to the roof.
"Hang a right over there.", he instructed, causing Steve to brake at the last second, then make a sharp turn that made the wheels screech in protest, while the backend of the Galaxie swung around forcefully.
"Try to get us there in one piece, if you can.", he added with gritted teeth, his cantankerous attitude making young inspector to smirk.
"First, I don't go fast enough, now I am going too fast. You are a hard one to please this morning, Lieutenant."
As if on cue, the side road dipped several feet down, causing the tan sedan to go airborne for several feet, before landing hard enough that the suspension below groaned in protest.
Holding onto his fedora with one hand and the doorframe of the Galaxie with the other, Mike cringed at his partner's aggressive driving style, no matter how many times he kept reassuring himself that they had never crashed before- so far.
"Just…just drive, will ya?", he finally said, releasing a quiet sigh of relief when the funeral home came into view.
Two black limousines were parked out front, and several people dressed in suits had gathered near the entrance, their body language aggressive as they argued back and forth, then shoved one another.
By the time they pulled into the parking lot, Mike released another sigh- this one out of dread.
"Of all the people to come across today…", he groaned, then pointed his chin at Vincente DiBarolo, currently held back by two of his bodyguards, stopping him from going after another man who stood pressed against the wall, arms raised in defeat.
"This week has been nothing but one vicious cycle after another…", Steve grumbled from the driver's side of the sedan, hesitating for a moment of silent contemplation, then changed his expression to that of neutral professionalism as he got out of the car, his crème-colored tie waving in the breeze as he approached the commotion.
Mike followed behind for once, wanting to take an extra moment to look over the crowd, seeing several familiar faces, all of them with a file of priors thick enough to reach the top of the TransAmerica Pyramid.
And none of those priors were petty charges either.
Off in the right-hand corner, he noticed Adrian DiBarolo, Vincente's oldest son; heir to the largest portion of the drug running operation. At almost six feet tall, the skinny built man in his mid-thirties looked like a teenager wearing a pinstripe suit three sizes too big.
And despite his father's love and devotion, his maturity level hadn't advanced much past that stage either.
Their arrival had changed the atmosphere of the encounter drastically and Mike noted DiBarolo's bodyguards letting go off their boss, both men stepping to either side of the smaller statue man as if to form an impenetrable wall.
"I hear there's been some disagreements going on around here…", the lieutenant said, keeping his voice lighthearted as he let his eyes drift over the crowd, then stopped at the man up against the corner of the front door, visibly intimidated, clinging onto the concrete pillar nearby with a death grip.
If his memory served him right, it was the funeral director.
"Stone…", DiBarolo hissed and took a moment to straighten out his grey dress coat that was wrinkled from the scuffle, "Aren't you supposed to be handing out parking tickets down at the Potrero or something?"
Chuckling at the outward insult, Mike walked up the slight incline toward the front entrance, relieved when the rest of DiBarolo's muscle made room for him and Steve to pass through.
"I graduated from that around the same time you went into the heavy business, remember Vincente?", he countered, never taking his eyes off the dangerous mobster.
"I don't know what you are talking about. Go and harass somebody else. Take the…take the kid and all those bottom feeders out there back with you."
Pointing at Steve, then at the two black and whites stationed behind the Galaxie, DiBarolo straightened out as if to make himself appear taller.
"See, I can't do that. We were called here because there was some trouble.", Mike began and carefully stepped forward, just enough to position himself between the funeral direction and the angry mobster, Steve flanking him to the right, "And I understand that Joey was killed. I am very sorry to hear that. It must hurt you quite a bit. But I am certain that no matter what you are trying to do here, it won't bring him back."
"Joey had it coming for a long time."
The callous comment was followed by stunned silence of the rest of the group, causing Mike to frown.
"Then what are you doing here, on this beautiful, sunny morning, hassling the funeral director?"
"I want his body released so that we can make plans for the funeral ceremony.", Vincente countered matter-of-factly and gestured toward the entrance of the impressive building.
"Now you know this won't happen. His body is still in Pasadena pending the outcome of the murder investigation. It won't be released quite yet. But if you say the magic phrase, I could put in a good word for you."
"Go to hell, Stone."
"Not that one."
"What is it you want from me, hm? You're nothing but an annoying fly, buzzing around to get some attention. But you know what I do with a fly? I squash it to death."
"Is that usually what you do with people who get too close to you? Who threaten to expose your criminal business? You kill them?", Steve asked, immediately drawing Vincente's ire toward him.
"I see the old man hasn't taught you when to keep your mouth shut, kid. I'd follow up on that lesson real quick. People get smart with me and they end up in a lot of trouble. I run an honest business, but I most certainly will not be talked to like that. Making pointless accusations for which you have no proof."
"We're being nice here, Vincente.", Mike growled to pull the conversation away from Steve, sending the young inspector a warning glance, "I could waste my time taking you downtown for hustling a funeral director about a body he doesn't even have in his possession. But neither one of us has time for such…petty business on this fine morning. I am willing to let everything drop if you and your…clowns get back into those fancy cars and crawl back under the rock you came from."
"I want my son's body. Now!"
"Why do you want the body so bad? You didn't worry about him that much when he was alive. Are you afraid something might happen to Joey in the morgue? Or is it that…you are worried something might be discovered that could tie you directly to his murder?"
"You are entering some dangerous territory here, Stone…", DiBarolo hissed and stepped closer, until their faces were mere inches apart.
"Is that so?", Mike countered, his body language rigidly unyielding, not moving a single muscle as he stared at the mobster.
"Unless you want to spend the rest of your pre-retirement years being a meter maid, I'd suggest you back off now. I will not hesitate to talk to the mayor and express my thoughts on you harassing hard working people such as myself."
"Listen to him, Stone.", Adrian finally cut in, stepping next to his father, his chest puffed out in false arrogance, "Joey wasn't the smartest but he didn't deserve to end up in some alley, stabbed to death. It's a disgrace. We just want him home with us."
A wily smile spread on Mike's lips as he took a symbolic step back, then shook his head.
"Now wait a minute there, Adrian. Nobody said anything about him being stabbed to death."
Knowing that he had talked himself into a tight corner, the young mobster shrugged dismissively.
"The cop that notified us told me about it. Of course, we all wanted to know what happened."
"Shut up, Adrian.", Vincente ordered, his face quickly turning crimson.
"No, he didn't. You see, we didn't release any of that information; not how he was killed, or where his body was found. I left that for the killer to tell us."
Momentarily confused, the young man took a step back, never even reacting when Vincente grasped his shoulders and violently shook him back and forth.
"What's the matter with you, fool?!", he screamed, focusing all his earlier aggravation on his oldest son now, his bodyguards once again stepping up, ready to pry him off his victim.
Sitting back as the intriguing family feud played out, Mike stole a glance over at his partner, noticing that Steve was having a hard time holding back a victorious smile.
As any other noise was drowned out beyond the vicious insults of a furious Vincente, the young inspector cleared his throat, visibly amused.
"Ten years of a clean run and you finally got them on something. How does it feel pruning that family tree back one branch at a time, Lieutenant?"
"You know what, buddy boy?", Mike said and crossed his arms over his chest, "It might just make up for the horrible week we've had."