Author's notes: Yet another chapter! As always, please read and review. Thanks for reading and here we go!
Chapter 23: Hard Truths
Though it was well into Saturday morning, Peach was still sleeping; she had arrived home late from both her surgeries as well as several emergencies with which she needed to assist. After giving the Bowser children a hot breakfast from the bodega down the street, Mario put them in the library to watch movies to avoid disturbing her and to finish some of the house chores. As he started the dishwasher, Anthony called to let him know that a lieutenant from New York's Finest was here to see him. Two minutes later, a firm knock rapped against Mario and Peach's Manhattan apartment door. Leaving the kids to continue watching Legally Blonde, much to Wendy's delight and her older brother's endless laughter, he went to let in the visitor. Unlatching the door, he stepped aside for a six-foot-two African-American in his mid-fifties. Lieutenant Duante Kendricks was dressed in a gray suit, white button shirt, and Italian leather shoes, which contrasted with Mario's casual white tee-shirt and wrinkled red boxer shorts.
"Hey, sorry for the late reply. I was working overtime on a case; probably caught eight hours of sleep in the past week," explained the man as Mario closed the door and guided him to the kitchen.
"No problem. Thanks for comin,' DK. Coffee?"
"I'm a cop – I'll never turn down a cup o' Joe," affirmed DK, who sat down at one of the stools in the kitchen. "I, uh, got your message. You got to believe that I had no clue about Marco Bowser's two children. Seriously?!"
Operating the coffee machine, Mario shrugged. "Yeah, and I thought I knew almost everything about that fuckin' prick."
"Yeah. I mean, in the months following 9/11 and … your father's death, I kept tabs on the Bowsers." Mario winced a little at the mention of his father, though said nothing, instead waiting for the man to continue. "I never trusted that piece of shit's motives in entering the service, and to this day, I don't know why the hell the Special Forces took him. In all of my … side investigations, I never once knew of his children, Mario."
"Yeah, me, neither," nodded Mario, placing a cup of black americano in front of the man. "Did you find anything about their mother or this supposed hundred Gs?"
"Thanks," DK murmured, then shook his head. "No. But," he took out his iPhone and added, "I can perhaps figure out if there's anything about the kids. Do you have their birthdates?"
"Ah …" As he turned toward the library, Mario saw both children standing in the entry way, their faces suddenly unreadable to him and the detective.
"Louie was born November 5, 2001 and I was born on January 21, 2003," flatly answered Wendy.
"You must be Louie and Wendy? Hi, I'm DK, I'm …"
"A friend of our father's?" retorted the tween girl, crossing her arms. "Yeah, it seems like our father's suddenly got a lot of them, especially when you just called him a 'piece of shit.'"
"Wendy, there's a lot that you don't know here, aight?" Mario responded firmly. "A lot."
"Fine, then start talking!" she yelled, gesturing with her hand. "Where's John? Who's this guy?"
"Alright, let's just calm down, okay," interjected DK with the same voice that he often used during heated interrogations. Glancing at Mario briefly to signal his intention to play the good cop, he reached into his pocket and presented his gold shield to the children. "I was not going to say 'a friend of your father's,' because I'm not. Wendy, I'm with the NYPD. Mario here called me because your uncle John still hasn't returned. After a certain time, he is legally obligated to call the police. He called me because his father, uncle, and I go way back."
"Wait, what?" asked Louie fearfully. "Where is Uncle John?"
"I don't know. But I need to report this and open an investigation with the right people. We'll find your uncle, okay? Right now, it would be extremely helpful if I could ask my team to do a search for your mother or any other relatives. I'll need your middle names and which hospital or hospitals you were born at, if you know."
The children exchanged panicked looks and slowly nodded to the lieutenant. "Uh, Louis Marco Bowser and Wendy Olivia Bowser. I think we were born at the same hospital, Maimonides in Brooklyn," she answered quietly.
DK immediately got on the phone with his junior detectives to request a birth certificate search for the children. "Uh-huh, yeah … Wait, what? What do you mean there's no record? There's no birth certificate for either of them?! Jesus … Yeah, okay. Yeah, go ahead and see if New Jersey or Connecticut have any information. Thanks." Hanging up the phone, DK took a deep breath and gave Mario a piercing look. "Wendy, Louie, obviously you're sure of your birthdays, but, uh, we can't find a birth certificate for either of you in New York City. We're going to look in New Jersey, Connecticut, and Pennsylvania."
"So we weren't born in Brooklyn?" inquired Louie disbelievingly.
DK put out his hands in a calming, basta gesture that he had learned from Mario's father. "The City amassed all of the birth certificates and personal data of every New Yorker, especially those who were, like you, born after 9/11. Had you or Wendy been born at any New York City hospital, we would have found your vital records instantly, as they'd have been among the first to be digitized. My detectives are going to repeat the search, but … No, you weren't born here – Brooklyn, Manhattan, or nearby."
"It's like we don't exist," murmured Wendy uncomprehendingly, moving to sit at one of the available stools and across from Mario. Louie followed his sister and forlornly took the remaining stool.
"No, no, no! You do exist!" insisted Mario. "Maybe … John got the information wrong."
"It's a little hard to mix up Brooklyn and New Jersey!" cried the girl.
"'Ey! Don't be a little smartass!" growled Mario, pointing to her with his index finger. Inhaling to keep his anxiety and temper in check, he spoke, "Don't worry; DK's good at his job. We'll figure this out, aight? Let me get youse a hot chocolate." As he went to the cupboards to fetch the chocolate cups, he hummed and asked, "DK, did you try North Carolina for Wendy? It just occurred to me that Marco would have been a Specialist at Bragg about that time. I was doing training at Benning in Georgia, so I didn't run into him then. Peach would have met him in 2005, in Italy, so they could have relocated to New York in 2004 or early 2005."
DK raised his eyebrows in thought. "I hadn't thought about it. I could make some calls to a buddy of mine on the Atlanta PD. He's former military and friendly with the folks up at Bragg and Benning."
"Gross!" interrupted Wendy. "I'm a hick from the South?!" Louie gestured to his sister to shut up and wacked her on the shoulder.
"Aight, youse! Basta!" replied Mario while DK tried to hold in a laugh.
"Ah, brings back memories of my three kids. Now I just got two little grandkids."
"I'm sorry, I forgot to ask. How's the family? I heard Shawn just had his first?" inquired the plumber.
"That's alright. You had your hands full. Rashida and the kids are great. Yeah, Shawn made detective third class and has his first at home right now – a little girl. Taniqua has her two-year-old."
"And David?"
DK paused, as if debating which answer to give, then shrugged. "I haven't seen him. Went off the medication again. Rashida and I tried to get him home, but, uh, he disappeared. Last I heard, he was somewhere in Central Park." Sniffling a little, he changed the painful subject. "Anyway, I'll give him a call. In the meantime, we need to figure out what to do here. It's been forty-eight hours, so John's a missing person's case now. That's not my area. But we can call my contact at OCFS and see what your options are. And none of the sisters will take them?"
"John said no," replied Mario as he set the cups of hot chocolate before each child, who greedily sipped the confection. He turned to them, "Ey, why do youse take your chocolate into the library?" Louie and Wendy silently traded looks and stayed where they were. "That was not a request!" demanded Mario in a more authoritarian tone, signing the same for the boy to understand. A disappointed Louie obeyed first while Wendy scoffed and angrily followed her brother.
Once they were out of the room, DK gestured a thanks with his head. "I don't want them to hear the more sordid details of the Bowser family. Kids don't need to hear that shit."
Mario made himself an espresso and, setting it on the countertop facing DK, smiled mirthlessly. "Yeah, that's what Pops used to say, too. DK, what did happen in that house? And how was it that Marco got away with … what he did to Luigi and Yoshi? You were on the force at that time."
DK shifted uncomfortably on his stool and took a sip of the lukewarm coffee. "That must have been, what, '95? Yeah, I think so – you were a junior at New Utrecht. Your father was workin' seventy-two-hour shifts, so he wasn't at home. Honestly, I never understood why that piece of crap went after little Luigi. He, not Yoshi, was Marco's target, despite them claiming that it was a beef between he and you. I remember reading that in a police report that, we'll say a friend, gave me that hadn't been redacted by Jimmy-B's buddies. I wasn't the first black guy on the NYPD at the time, but it was still pretty hard for us to make detective. So I was still workin' the beat in Queens, despite ten years on the force.
"To answer your question, Mario, Jimmy-B was well-liked by the good ol' boys, even if he did beat the hell out of his wife and kids and had ties to the Moranos. There were rumors of other things, as well, but none of the Bowser women ever came forward. And I feel like shit to admit this; even if they had, nothing would have been done. That being said, I do know that Carlo Morano must have gotten tired of both he and Marco because he did what the NYPD refused to do – warned them to stay away from Luigi."
Mario gasped. "Why was Luigi the target? I always thought that Marco was trying to use him to get to me?" He rolled his eyes and murmured, "Hell, that's what Pops said."
DK shook his head. "I don't know. Neither did my friend. I mean, a fucking nine-year-old?! Really? Marco was always a psychopath, but that was … stone cold. Your father wanted to protect both of you. And he never blamed you, never! During one of our last talks, Mario – your father – expressed how proud of you he was and thought you were," he chuckled, "much braver than he for facing down that piece of trash on your own. He blamed himself, kid, for not bein' there." He took another sip and frowned, "Actually, right before he died, he was more worried about Luigi."
"Luigi?" asked Mario. "Why? The kid was at Brooklyn City and top of his class at that time."
"Yeah," DK nodded. "It wasn't that. Luigi had fallen in with a bad crowd. There was this punk that he used to hang out with at Brooklyn City. Jesus, I can't remember his name; it's been almost fifteen years. Your father was sent by the FDNY to investigate some mysterious fires that had been set in the school – teacher's lounges, the principal's office, very specific places. The case was never officially 'solved,' but he found something that proved Luigi was present at the very least. He confronted Luigi, but didn't get the full story. I remember how … unnerved he was that Luigi – his little Galileo – was lying to him. Mario also found out that Luigi was cutting class to hang with that kid who was obviously a bad influence. He asked me to look into the kid's family, and I was waiting for more information from him when ... That was, uh, the last time we ever spoke."
"What?" hissed Mario. "Whoa, wait a second. Luigi? Settin' fires? Why? And why did he not tell me? I'd have kept him in line!"
"I think it was for that reason. Your father wanted you to have your own life. Yeah, he wanted you to do more than plumbing, but he also saw how settled you'd become. You were almost a journeyman and were serious with Pauline. He didn't want you to get wrapped up in the family drama. He didn't trust the Moranos."
"Don't," rasped Luigi. "He didn't do anything. It's what I did."
Mario's eyes widened and his face blanched at the memory. "DK … Was that punk's name Luca or Lucas? Last name's something Greek?"
"Yeah!" he exclaimed. "Yeah, that was it – Lucas. How'd you know?"
"Motherfucker!" growled Mario, running a hand through his cropped curls. "He's an 'associate' of Fat Tony and Bowser! Or claimed that his father is. That's what my father feared!"
"Shit, the Moranos," stated DK emotionlessly.
"Yeah," confirmed Mario. "And I got another question: why did Luigi go live with the Moranos if he didn't trust 'em? Why not Joe?"
"When Rashida and I were at the reading of the will, I remember us being … beyond shocked at what it said." DK looked at him hesitantly. "I still remember the wording, which was bizarre: in case of you being absent or unable, Luigi would live with the 'member of the Rigassi side nearest to Luigi,' which ultimately meant Carlo Morano. I can still hear Joe screaming at the lawyer and the Moranos – Carlo and Jackie. Sal Maldonado, one of the remaining guys from his firehouse, and I – all three of us – had to drag him out. I think Mario had actually meant Pete Morell, though interestingly, he was not there. God, I haven't spoken to Petey in … close to thirty years, so I'm not sure why he wasn't at the funeral or the will reading."
"Yeah, it's, uh, funny that you mention Pete," Mario said weakly. "He's got some connection to Scott Pichler and used that to bring Luigi for a couple weeks' visit to Colorado back in April." At DK's scoff, he inquired in an incredulous and guilty tone, "What? What else don't I know?"
"Scott Pichler's one dirty sonofabitch. And do I mean dirty. Between you and me, we've been trying to bust that guy for money laundering and racketeering for a couple years now. It's not surprising that the … Cosa Nostra has dealings with him. Pete's a smart SOB, so he wouldn't try to contact Luigi directly."
"Okay, so why did my father want Luigi to live with him?" demanded the plumber irritably while sipping his coffee.
"That … That I never understood. After we found out that Pete went to the 'dark side' in '78 or '79, Mario and your mama kept him at arm's length. I want to say something happened, and Mario was forced to open up dialogue with Pete."
"In '86? Luigi's birth?"
"No, it was earlier than that – I'd say late '82 or early '83. I remember because I was finishing my third year of college and was about to apply for the academy. It had something to do with your uncle – Salvatore. Mario was always tight-lipped about Sal, especially after '83. Neither he nor Joe mentioned him for years. The first time that I saw Sal since '81 was when he'd just been ordained and had come for Gabriella's funeral."
"Sal? But I don't understand why … He was always a priest. Uncle Joe used to call him 'Goody-Two-Shoes.'"
The police lieutenant gave him a pained mien and shook his head, "I honestly don't know, and neither Mario nor Joe ever said much about it."
"And Joe? Why not him?"
Sighing and finishing the last bit of his coffee, DK answered, "Joe was always a bit … jealous of Mario. He, uh, had a thing for Gabriella, though he was too chicken to do anything about it, and looking back, he was a bit too young for her. I know 'cause he and I … commiserated. But that was before I met Rashida," he laughed a little. "So he was a little pissed off when she and Mario started going out. He seemed to have gotten over it by the time Mario and Gabby got married, though. Mario became 'Jumpman,' whereas he was stuck working in your granddaddy's shop. I think things got a little easier when he moved out to Staten Island and was no longer living in your father's shadow. But his obsession with Luigi was what I never got. And I know Wendy-Lady – Gabby – would never have cheated on your father. Never. Joe kept sticking his nose and opinions where they weren't wanted, and Mario wasn't gonna let Luigi become a plumber."
Mario sat on his stool in stunned silence. While he vividly remembered the screaming matches in Italian and English between Giuseppe and his father over Luigi's education, which had often prompted his little brother to hide in his room or flee the house, the plumber had never known about Joe's teenage infatuation with his mother. Throughout their frequent, if not daily visits, Uncle Joe seemed smitten with Lucia and loved being a father to his three daughters, particularly Maria. However, Joe's constant meddling when it came to Luigi provoked whispers of infidelity among neighbors and even members of the Family, including Nonno himself. During one of their weekly grandfather-grandson chats when Mario was nineteen, the elder man, who had drunk a tad too much Aurum, muttered in Abruzzese that he had raised "one son to be a cuckhold and the other to be gutless." Although he loved his nonno and learned a lot from him, Mario had always been uncomfortable discussing his father or uncle with the paterfamilias, as it was apparent that the old curmudgeon treated both sons harshly – his father more than Giuseppe – and never spared an unforgiving comment toward them. Even as an old man, Nonno barely contained his anger and misery; consequently, with exception of Mia and their eldest grandson, no one wanted to talk to him. Following the unhappy man's death in 2000, Mia revealed to her grandson that war and grief had irrevocably changed her husband; after fighting for three years to liberate Italy from the Fascists and Nazi Germany, the sixteen-year-old returned to the rubble of Pescara as well as the deaths of his mother, older sister, and younger brother from Allied bombing raids. Finding himself an orphan and living in squalor amongst the dust, broken brick, and ash, he made his way to New York and later brought his childhood sweetheart. Yet for the concentration camp survivors, partisans, and GIs who returned from war, there were neither Veterans Affairs nor armies of psychologists waiting to assist in treating 'war neurosis;' instead, they were told to be glad to have survived and to get on with it. Nonno Mario's hypervigilance, tendency to drink to excess, extended episodes of paranoia, and unpredictable fits of rage persisted throughout his life and hindered his ability to bond with his children. It was only after he had returned from Afghanistan and begun his rehabilitation that Mario was able to process and give a name for that which plagued his grandfather: post-traumatic stress disorder.
Thanks to a stubborn Army psychiatrist at Bethesda who refused to lose yet another soldier, Mario received treatment for his own episodes of anger, hypervigilance, and night terrors and continued to have discreet check-ups every three months, despite the illness overwhelming him every so often. He consistently refused medication, as he had too much personal experience with amphetamines, quaaludes, and SSRIs from his active deployments abroad. While the military officially frowned upon drug use among its elite soldiers, it was well-known that the piss tests were a joke and failing one, especially on deployment, came with little punishment. Nearly all of the guys in his unit had either experimented with or were active users of drugs, including "the hard stuff." In its place, he went to the cage fights or he retreated into the spare bedroom to avoid disturbing Peach. In spite of his own troubles, he worried about Luigi and Giuseppe, both of whom displayed unmistakable signs of the disorder, yet were sufficiently high-functioning to avoid most commentary by outsiders, including DK.
Mario was brought out of his thoughts by the sleepy hello of Peach, who walked into the kitchen for a cup of espresso. He smiled; perhaps he could hold off the guilt and jitters for a few hours and days more.
Luigi decided to sleep in that Saturday, as he had spent a few more hours talking with Jenna and Anga at his Menlo Park home, which turned into a bedtime of one o'clock in the morning. Waking up mid-morning, he called his beloved lioness, and they talked about him meeting Jenna and Anga and her interviews with Malian women who had crossed into Senegal to flee the 2012 conflict. He suspected that she had purposely left certain and graphic details out to avoid upsetting him. On some level, Luigi was glad; after quietly and indirectly prodding Anga to elaborate on what he had said in the car, the Tanzanian told him that the Islamic terrorists routinely abducted and enslaved Muslim and non-Muslim women alike, particularly those of a lighter complexion, and executed any Western journalists and soldiers found among those captured. While the French, British, American, and G5 Sahel attempted to intervene, the operations normally ended up just short of victory due to infighting and the inability to overcome guerilla warfare in the desert. With Daisy, he bravely controlled his sheer terror and encouraged her journey up to the Senegalese-Malian border. He did not want to be the angst-ridden boyfriend who nagged his independence-minded girlfriend about what she was doing to keep herself safe.
Yet Daisy eventually became wise to his pretense, assuring him that she was taking every precaution, even in a much safer Senegal. After his forced cheerful "yeahs" and "I know," she firmly reminded him that they were partners and hiding his emotions from her fell short of that definition.
"Daisy," he answered quietly, "I just … I just want to be worthy and not some insecure schmuck who can't handle his … girlfriend doing things outside of him."
"Sweetie, that's not why you're anxious, and I can tell. You've got to be honest with me."
Emotional honesty was a hurdle for Luigi. If he were honest, he would beg her to return to him on the next plane out of Dakar, either to New York or to San Francisco – her choice. He would even pay for the ticket. She would ask him why or insist that she was safe. That, he intellectually knew, but if he were honest, he would insist that she was not safe, as she was one fucking country away from Al-Qaeda and their associates. Daisy would then argue that she had been even closer, when she was in the Peace Corps, to which, if he were honest, Luigi would retort that she was lucky to leave unharmed.
"I … I want you to be safe, that's all. And you are," he finally answered. A compromise by half-truth.
Daisy sighed audibly over the phone. While she had only known Luigi for nearly five months, she was beginning to see that there were two sides to him: the funny, bright Luigi who willingly experienced all that was to life and the morose, anxious Luigi who hid from the world in a desperate attempt to protect himself from loss. Given his visceral reaction to being in Manhattan and his sudden agitation upon learning that she was near the Malian border, she now and sadly had a good idea of what had happened to him. However, as the evidence was merely circumstantial, the gentle conversation would need to take place in person and not via video call or telephone. After his panic attack in April, Daisy asked herself repeatedly if she thought he was suitable as a boyfriend, just to ensure that she was not making another 'Tatanga Mistake.' The truth was that he was gentle, respectful, kind, and intelligent, and provided that he would recognize it in himself and be proactive with her, his anxieties were not a deal-breaker. That being said, she knew that they would need to have the conversation.
Deciding to test the waters, she replied, "Luigi, you can say that you're afraid for me. It doesn't bother me, nor does it make you less brave."
There was silence on the line for a full minute before he whispered, "I'm afraid. Not because I think you'll get into trouble or be unable to handle yourself. You've already proven that with Bowser. But … I'm afraid of losing you. Because you'll think I'm too needy or too suffocating if I say it all. Because things can happen when you least expect them. And I'm trying. Is that going to be enough?"
Sniffling a little, she knew that he could not see her tears for him. "Yeah, as long as you're trying and working on it for you, it'll be enough, sweetie."
On the other side of the phone and globe, Luigi let a matching tear roll down his cheek. "I'll admit that I don't know much about the world and probably should learn more. I guess I've had blinders on about what happens outside of Brooklyn, of New York. And I don't want to take away from your independence. I like that – truly. I just … I don't have that many people in my life, and some of 'em ... Well, I guess I've got only me to blame for that. You … I miss you, y'know?"
"Yeah. I miss you, too. I wish you could experience Senegal with me. Kidira's a beautiful town. You know, despite it being on the border with Mali, it's very tranquil," she said. "I'll send you pictures of it, if you want?"
"I'd like that. Obviously, you know Palo Alto and San Francisco, so I don't have any exciting pics for ya, except those I sent of the sushi dinner. But, um, I have this big house and no one in it. A massive kitchen, pool, backyard." He then added in a low, seductive timbre, "A massive jacuzzi bath."
"Bastard," she hissed in an equal tone. "I'm in a crowded house, and you mention … that."
"Yeah," he growled, still in the same timbre. "I am a bastard. You and your sexy black underwear, right before you leave, princess? A sexy get-up which haunts me at night. When you come back in a month, there will be a bath, be it in New York or California."
She whimpered, her skin and body now sensitive to his voice and suggestion. "A month. I want … I want to come back to California ... to you."
"Bene. And I'll be here when you return to me."
Following more back-and-forth banter, which both excited and frustrated them in just the right ways, Luigi bid his princess a good evening and went for a long shower and brunch, which consisted of pastries and fruit that Lucas had delivered to the house prior to his arrival. As he was running low on food, Luigi went online to order a two-day car rental which he would use to drive to Costco to buy what he needed for the week, given that Mario and Peach would be arriving in California on Wednesday. One of the most notable and, in Luigi's opinion, lamentable differences between New York and California was that in the latter, getting anything of value required a car. Thankfully, the car company sent a representative to pick him up and drop him off at the rental office. Having acquired a 2012 Honda Accord, he was about to leave the parking lot for San Mateo when his phone rang. Checking his caller ID, Luigi raised his eyebrows in confusion at Miles's name. "Yo, Miles," he answered. "What's up?"
"Uh, what's your address in Palo Alto?"
"Er, why?"
"Because I'm at the airport and need to give my prospective driver directions."
Luigi blinked wildly. "Wait, what the fuck?! You're in California? Did you arrive at San Jose or San Francisco?"
"San Francisco. About fifteen minutes ago. Really, when they said that landing at SFO was irritating, I didn't think they were serious, especially about …"
"Can you hang on for about twenty minutes? I just, uh, picked up a car, so I can actually come and get you," interrupted Luigi.
"Oh," contemplated his friend. "Well, that would make things easier."
"Exactly. Plus, I need to pick up food, so bringing you along would be best," chortled the plumber.
"Agreed. Okay, I'll be outside the passenger zone. I flew United Airlines."
"Okey-dokey, I'll be there in twenty!" Luigi hung up excitedly, surprised and delighted that Miles had decided to make the six-hour trip to see him in California. As he left the parking lot and followed Google's proposed route toward San Francisco International Airport, the excitement faded and nervousness set into the pit of his stomach. Ever since the 'Snowden thing' last summer, Miles was an adamant hermit, refusing to make what he termed 'long-distance trips' – anything beyond Bensonhurst or Coney Island. He, Mario, and Yoshi joked that computer science and information security were making him paranoid, and Yoshi even gifted him a tinfoil insert for his poof-ball cap at Christmas. If Miles opted to make a six-hour, transcontinental flight to see him, it was beyond important and, very likely, the result of a worried Giuseppe Masciarelli.
About fifteen minutes later, Luigi pulled up alongside the waiting Miles Prower who, like a good New York paranoiac, was dressed in dark blue jeans, a black hoodie, and black sunglasses, his large Bose headphones around his neck. Depositing his roller bag in the popped trunk and shutting it, he quickly jogged to the passenger seat and slid inside, door slamming behind him. "Long flight?" asked Luigi jovially, following the exit signs to the highway.
Miles snuffled. "Yeah. For a six-hour flight, it wasn't a bad experience. I just wish they had a better selection of chips and snacks. Every time I ask for sour cream and onion chips, the flight attendants give me a look like I've grown three heads. What is everyone's beef with sour cream and onion? It's the best flavor. But no, I got stuck with salt and vinegar. That's what happens when you allow the British to have any say on food. And then the pretzels were stale, and there were no mint candies."
Luigi laughed and responded, "Ah, Miles. Plane food always sucks. That's why it's always better to BYO – bring your own." An uncomfortable silence fell upon the two, knowing that Miles had not made the trip solely to visit his long-time friend. The plumber finally decided to begin the difficult conversation, particularly as Costco was only minutes away, "I'm glad to see you. Really. But what brings you here?"
The blond New Yorker watched his friend deftly negotiate Bay Area traffic. "Giuseppe sent me. Well, I guess I sent myself, too. We should, uh, probably wait until we reach your apartment to have this conversation. It's a long one. But I'm happy to be here. I did miss you, even if it's been a few days since you left New York."
Giving a nod and a small smile, Luigi continued toward Costco where they soon arrived. They put the inevitable aside and focused on the shopping trip in the busy sea of people. Apparently, Miles bought a round trip for eight days, so he was staying for the Fourth of July. The plumber was inwardly pleased that he would have a house filled with family – Miles, Mario, and Peach – for the upcoming holiday weekend. Given the logistics of having four people in the house, Miles and Luigi decided to buy extra food and supplies, as they did not yet know precisely at what time on Wednesday Mario and Peach would touch down in California. Much to Miles's delight, they found an extra-large bag of sour cream and onion Ruffles and a family-sized snack bag of York peppermints, both of which he intended on finishing before his departure. A shopping cart filled with items and three hundred dollars lighter, they deposited their items in the car and drove back to Menlo Park. Miles's eyes widened and enlarged at the massive gray driveway and three-door garage of the well-maintained pale yellow house. Judging from his initial observations of the property, Miles guessed that the house was at least 4,000 or 5,000 square feet, making it at least twice the size of Mario and Luigi's A-frame in Bensonhurst. It was also very well-kept, implying that it was either someone's investment property or a corporate rental. The Rigassis. Oh, great Spock of Vulcan, would Giuseppe love this, he complained to himself.
They brought in the food and beverages as well as Miles's suitcase. Walking through the house, the blond engineer oscillated between amazement and apprehension at the small mansion in which Luigi was living; he immediately noticed the security cameras and breathed a sigh of relief that his friend was being cared for, though he wondered if this was Pete Morello's plan, to seduce him with promises of the good life. He chose one of the spare adult bedrooms, wheeled his roller next to the queen-sized bed, and then returned to the kitchen where Luigi had put away most of the groceries and set the pepperoni pizza, which they had picked up from the Costco food court, on the adjacent circular table. They both agreed that it was 'convenience pizza,' as none of the pies in California would measure up to those in Brooklyn or New York area.
Miles insisted on keeping the windows shut for their talk; Luigi munched on a large slice of pizza and waited for the 'big reveal.' "So, as I said before, Giuseppe sent me here. Right after you left, he gave me a jump drive with information on it, asked me to do a little … research on John Slaughter. Luigi, did you know that the union's mobbed up?"
The plumber's chewed slowed to a stop, and he swallowed somewhat nervously. "Not … precisely. Over the years, I heard rumors. But that's all I thought they were – rumors."
Nodding a little, Miles went on, "They're more than just rumors. Ever since Maria's 'accident' in 2003, Giuseppe's been gathering various shit on Slaughter. I guess he was going to wait until Maria made master plumber to go public, but since he went after you, he decided – with Maria's consent – to go for it early. The Mafia owning one or two unions isn't news to either of us. Hell, the New York Times publishes an article every six months about how some asshole in the city management got caught money laundering or has ties to x mobster and belongs to y union. Yet what's bizarre about your situation is that you got kicked out … by the union which your family essentially runs."
Luigi frowned and shook his head. "The Masciarellis don't own …"
"Lou, I'm talking about the other side."
The plumber's mouth made a perfect oval shape in realization. "W-wait a sec. The Rigassis own UA 2?"
"In a manner of speaking," affirmed Miles, chewing on his slice. "Carlo Morano does. Giuseppe didn't think he or Pete Morello gave the order, though. So Slaughter was put up to this by someone else. And if that's true, then that someone is after you."
"Slaughter didn't need persuading," griped Luigi sourly. "Okay, so who and why?"
"That, I'm not sure of. I'm still looking. But I did find some weird ad listed on the Dark Web regarding a contract out on John Bowser for a hundred grand. It's got to be bogus, as ..."
"Holy shit!" he exclaimed. "So it's true! Oh , sh … Miles, Mario called me last night saying that John dropped Marco Bowser's fuckin' kids off with him and Peach, claiming that they were in danger. I knew the bastard lied about them being the target."
"Lou, you didn't let me finish. The reason why it has to be bogus is that the ad claimed Marco Bowser was still alive."
The plumber dropped his half-finished slice onto the lid of the box. "Wait, what the fuck? That … That's not possible!"
"I know. That's why I think it's bogus. Mario saw the body, unless he's lying." At Luigi's incredulous look, he backtracked quickly, "The Dark Web has a lot of these fake ads. But John Bowser? The putz who got his ass beat for everyone to see and became an overnight meme? This doesn't make any sense …" trailed off Miles as he sipped his Diet Coke from the can. "I do wonder if Pete thought that Marco could still be alive."
"Why? What makes you say that?" inquired Luigi.
"Well, your meeting with Vinny DiScala. You know, the wiseguy from Las Vegas. He, uh, has a reputation. Apparently, he's the personal hitman of Carlo Morano."
"Great," muttered Luigi weakly, "I had lunch with a serial killer. To answer your question, Miles, I don't think so. Pete and Gene seemed more concerned with the video reaching light of day than whether someone somehow defied the laws of nature and brought a vile piece of shit back to life."
"That's not all. I found some really bizarre payments to your shop – well, former shop – over the past twenty or so years. Millions of dollars were funneled through Scott Pichler, who owns some third-rate construction company. Cheap building materials and whatnot. But, uh, those checks were approved by Sal Maldonado."
"What?!" he screamed, rising out of his chair. "Sal … Sal Maldonado? Sal?! My ex-boss? The guy you had dinner with a bit over a month ago! You think he's a crook?"
Miles looked away, torn between wanting to assuage his friend and reporting the facts as he had them.
Luigi shook his head. "Nah, nah, nah. You're wrong, Miles. S-Sal … Sal would never do that. Sal was there when I went up against Slaughter. You think he'd do that if he were on the same side as him?!"
"Lou," began Miles in the calmest voice that he could muster, "I didn't say that he was with Slaughter. Rather, I think he's involved with the Mafia – the Moranos. He was borrowing money from them to keep the shop running, hence also the continued involvement of the union. That's … why Giuseppe never mentioned it to either you or Mario. Taking down Slaughter meant taking out Maldonado and … implicating his father – your grandfather. Your paternal grandfather employed both Joe and Sal Maldonado as journeymen. That's one reason why he hates Slaughter so much; he would be sacrificing a forty-year friendship when he was on the outs with the union." He inhaled deeply. "I, uh, I'm not sure if I should continue. It only gets worse from here."
Sinking down into his chair, he covered his face with his hands and nodded. "I need to know, Miles. How deep in the shit am I? Mario?"
"Mario's not involved with any of this." Miles smirked and added, "He's still the same Brooklyn asshole brother with the Louisville Slugger."
He let out a sigh of relief, then spat out angrily, "I don't get why Uncle Joe would want me to stay and fight. He and Mario kept pressuring me to come back to New York and go up against the union. Why?!"
"I think it's because they'd have to make you a manager of some sort to appease Carlo Morano's wrath. Slaughter's going to pay somehow. It's not a question of if but when. Joe thinks that it might change the tide and bring the union back to the plumbers, that you might … be able to save Sal Maldonado and your shop. Plus, it might give you some protection against whoever's tried to kick you out. I, uh, think you should go back and make them promote you. And I'm normally not a proponent of playing with douchebags."
He raised his blue eyes to meet Miles's. "Suddenly, you're now the spokesman for Giuseppe Masciarelli? Why couldn't he tell me this himself?"
"Because he only found out about it last night, at least received confirmation of what he had suspected. I was in Staten Island, stayed with your family for a night before flying here to California."
"I don't know, Miles. Wouldn't it make me indebted to Carlo Morano?"
Miles grabbed a second slice, only to pick off the large pepperoni and eat it separately. "God, we need a Schaum's Outline to Dealing with the Mafia. It would make things much easier."
Luigi burst out laughing at the ridiculous notion of a practice guide to joining the Mafia. "Jesus Christ, Miles! Somehow, I don't think Murray Spiegel got around to writing that one. And I kind of doubt that 'practical applications' would be a good idea."
The blond huffed a little. "I'm more worried at who drummed you out of the union. I don't think the Mafia's right now the one to worry about."
"Okay, so what's really bothering you? Or who, rather?"
"Alright. Slaughter's involved with someone who's got it in for the Moranos and therefore you. Whoever did this put you up to taking the exam, betting that you wouldn't go through with it. I think that's why Slaughter tried to up the ante by harassing you on the day of the practical. He was probably going to start a brawl and get you disqualified. It wasn't about removing Masciarellis, but about removing Rigassis. That's why, I think, they didn't go after Mario or Giuseppe. I mean, they could have busted Mario for missing days due to his, uh, cage-fighting side gig. Or provoked him into a fight."
"Well, they did try. Those two boneheads – Matusz and Ferenc. Slaughter did outside of the courthouse."
"Yeah, that I don't get. Why did Fat Tony send those two morons after you and Mario when they already own the union?" asked Miles.
Luigi shrugged. "Maybe Carlo owns the union and Fat Tony was shaking it down from his grandfather? Which would be a pretty stupid thing to do, knowing Carlo's reputation, to say nothing of Cousin Pete's."
"Or," offered Miles, "You weren't the targets. If Sal Maldonado is getting loans from the Moranos and believe me, Lou, he is, then Fat Tony sent them to shake him down. Him and Scott Pichler. They didn't want you and Mario the wiser, so they staged that bullshit cage fight to make it look good. Carlo must have known."
"Actually," murmured the plumber, "Sal sent both of us to that job. Well, I was sent; Mario was sent as the enforcer. And, uh, John said that the fight was to cover my ass because I said something to Mario about the shakedown who, in turn, went to Tony."
"Yeah," Miles agreed. "See, that's why I think you were the target and not Mario. In a weird way, this someone still wants Pichler and Maldonado to remain in business, perhaps to be exposed later. If they really wanted to take out the union and the shop, they would want to nail its foremost enforcer. That would leave it exposed to independent contractors. No, the takeover is a, well, corporate one. Take out the board and its middlemen, then use consultants, I dunno, to choose whom you want to keep and whom to discard."
"Okay, so again, why me? I'm a journeyman plumber. Hardly a chairman or union higher-up."
"Because you're a Rigassi. So's Mario, but he's Masciarelli paterfamilias after Joe. He's a Mario. You're not. Someone is playing by Mafia rules."
He blew out a puff of air and argued, "But I'm not Mafia! I have never been in the Mafia nor do I want to be!"
"Spock on a salty cracker, Luigi!" swore Miles testily, rising from his chair and squaring off against his shocked friend. "I've tried to express this in any number of ways. But sometimes, you can be so fucking dense! Why did Pete Morello bring you out to Denver and sit down with Vinny DiScala, huh? For a reunion trip? Without Mario, his other cousin? No, Lou, he brought you out there because you are the heir apparent. I don't know much about the Mafia or – what the hell is it, omertà – but that's what your father's deal with them was about. Giuseppe told me this himself. Carlo needed an heir. Again, I can't prove why. My guess, at least in part? Big Jackass and Fat Tony are idiots who will either end up dead or in prison, and he's trying to keep his crew, family, whatever he calls it, going into the twenty-first century. From what I've read, all East Coast inductees need to be Italian on both sides, preferably Sicilian, with the right pedigree. Pete's son can't be that because the mother – Pete's wife – is only half Italian. The same with Gene Carlino, his brother-in-law. Gene's mother was not entirely Italian, either, making both he and Sam ineligible for the New York crews. You, however, are one hundred percent Italian with a maternal line back to Sicily and the Sicilian LCN. Their line."
Luigi thought back to Pete's analogy of the chess pieces. The Queen. Oh, shit. "I … I'm not, I didn't. I … Miles, I …"
Miles let out an exhausted sigh. "I know, Lou. You thought you were so inconsequential that it didn't even occur to you how important you really are."
Several moments passed in an eerie quiet; Miles watched the ashen Luigi struggle to process what he had learned. "I don't know what to do," he finally said in a childlike voice. "I can't tell Mario any of this. If he knew …"
"They could manipulate him to get to you," confirmed the blond. "Right now, I'd say complete your coursework at Stanford, then be as visible as possible. Make them reveal themselves first. Playing in the shadows makes you vulnerable. We need to know who's behind what."
"And Daisy … God, the video of her and Bowser!"
"Okay, Lou, stop this," he interjected. "Daisy's safe in Africa. At some point, yes, you'll need to tell her. And the fact that she's not Italian protects her for now."
"Miles, I don't … I don't want to be a mafioso. I don't want to be a crook or a killer. I want … I want a settled life that's legitimate. Wife, kids, nice house."
"I know," he nodded. "We'll find a way. Lou, whatever happens, whatever you decide to do, you need the right input. Isolating yourself isn't the way to get it."
"No, you're right." Luigi sighed heavily and gave a blank stare at the pizza. "In a way, Bowser had a point; I've been hiding behind Mario for so long. Coasting. I have to come out and be visible on my own." He huffed again, as if summoning his inner strength. "It's not something that I can solve today or even during the seven more weeks I'm here in California." Allowing Miles to see his blue eyes shift quickly toward the left and outside. "You know, there's a very nice, well-kept swimming pool outside, right?"
"I did see that, yeah," answered Miles.
"And you saw the extra pair of trunks that I bought, right?"
"I did."
They exchanged excited grins and, leaving the half-finished pizza on the table, ran to their rooms to change. Five minutes later, they were whooping and hollering in the curved swimming pool. Luigi tossed Miles a surfing shirt, warning him that he had found out "the hard way" about how cold the water was in California. Miles was grateful, as the pool was outdoors and unheated; compared to the weather on the East Coast, which normally became hot and humid in early July, the Bay Area stayed temperate with little fluctuation above the mid-eighties. After spending a half-hour complaining on how cold the water was, their bodies sufficiently adapted to the water, and they ended up having a massive water fight. Miles won by mentally calculating the optimal amplitude with which to splash Luigi in the face. They spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in the hot tub next to the pool or indoors playing World of Warcraft.
"What the hell do you mean, you can't find anyone?" shouted Mario into his iPhone. "Wha-? Well, where the hell does that leave us? We're supposed to leave for California the day after next! I told you people tha … Really? I'm doing youse a fuckin' favor, as – how did you put it – you wouldn't be able to put them in a foster family until after the holiday. Oh, okay. Yeah, well, you know what, lady? You call your supervisor, director, whatever, and get permission for us to take them to the Bay Area with us! I'm not heartless, and I'm not gonna let two near teenage kids run around New York! Yeah, you do that, bye!" Furiously hanging up on the overworked case worker from OCFS, the plumber stormed out of the spare bedroom to find Peach, who was playing Monopoly with the children in the library. In the entrance way, he signaled with a tilt of his head that he wanted to speak with her in private. Promising to return as soon as possible, the blonde followed him into their shared bedroom, which was spacious and decorated with Venetian furniture from the nineteenth century and the adjoining balcony gave them a panoramic view of the evening lights in the Upper East Side.
Shutting the door behind them, Peach crossed her arms over her pink-covered chest. "Well, what'd they say?" she asked in Italian to avoid being understood by potential adolescent eavesdroppers.
Her boyfriend huffed and sank on the bed. "They're so fucking backlogged that they're not worried about two kids staying with a rich doctor and her Green Beret partner in the Upper East, if you know what I mean? I told them to get official permission for us to bring them to California. DK will vouch for us. It's the only way that we can see Luigi while they look for Numbnuts."
"Have you lost your mind?" demanded an incredulous Peach. "No, correction, John haslost his mind." She put her head in her dainty hands. "I'm sorry, amore. This is not your fault. I asked you to take them in. This is my fault, I …"
"No!" insisted Mario, rising to stand before her. He lowered her hands obscuring her porcelain skin and bright eyes. "This is John's fuck-up, not yours. I hate their father, but like you, I … I can't turn my back on children. Not even that motherfucker's brood." Gently enfolding her in his arms and bringing her to sit with him on the bed, he mumbled, "Can we still go with four tickets?"
She nodded against him. "Yeah. I can call in a few favors, get a private jet to fly us round-trip. That'll be our best bet so close to the holiday."
"You sure? I mean," he sighed miserably, "we can always rebook for another time, maybe right before he leaves?"
"No!" she cried, kissing him firmly, which he returned. Breaking the kiss, she whispered against his lips, "Mario, the Bowser family has made my life miserable for years, has inconvenienced you and me countless bloody times. Luigi is family, and I will not let them take this from us!"
Mario cupped her cheek with a solid, yet gentle hand, and cracked a small smile. "Family, huh? Does that mean you've finally accepted my proposal?"
Peach laughed. "We'll discuss it."
He gave her a distinct pout, then kissed her again. "Jesus, you know how to dash a guy's hopes," he grumbled in English.
Gently, he let their bodies fall onto the bed, his back crushing the stacked pillows and her head against his tee-shirt covered chest. They stayed like that for several minutes, enjoying the first bit of intimacy that they had had since the arrival of Wendy and Louie. As he stroked her blonde strands of hair, she murmured in English, "I'll admit; having Wendy and Louie here has made me wonder about … having a child. What it would be like, the good and the bad. I'd never have had a child with Marco – never. But you … I've seen how you are with them and how much you care in your own brusque New York way." She looked up at him to see that he was smirking a little and added, "I'd have one with you."
"Then what's stopping you, Peaches?" Mario suddenly asked in a broken voice. "I honestly don't get it. I'm ready. I've been ready since I came back from Bethesda. Three years, I've been waitin.'"
"Are you?" she retorted in a serious tone. "Are you ready to have your own family, independent of your relatives and even Luigi?" At his protests, she raised a hand to indicate that he allow her to finish. "I'm not asking you to choose. I'd even move to Brooklyn for you, for us. It's your home, and I've made a life and career here that's far better than anything back home. But Luigi needs his own life, Mario. He's been floundering for as long as I've known him. And you know why. I think Daisy's good for him. Stanford's good for him. He's made incredible progress in the past five months, and I'm convinced it's because of her. He'll finally recognize and grow into his true potential. But you have to let him do it, just as you did in the military. And me? I'll not be a single parent and give up my career. I have worked too hard to escape my intended life as a socialite Barbie doll."
"I never asked you to give up your career!" argued Mario. "If I wanted the traditional housewife, I could have gone with any of the ragazze in Bensonhurst. Hell," he muttered, "I could have settled with Pauline back in North Carolina. I just … I want to be settled." Inhaling deeply, he lifted her head to make her look at him and spoke again, "If that means just living together, if that's what you want, I'll do it. And … I understand what you mean about Luigi, Peaches. My father would have been beyond proud to learn that he's studying at fuckin' Stanford! But I can't lose him. He's my family, my blood, and my heart – you and him. He kept me going before I met you and while you were still married to that disgusting fuck. When you were still in Doctors Without Borders and couldn't get to me in Bethesda, he came and made sure that I got off my self-pitying ass. I'm not blamin' you, not at all. You're also my reason to get out of bed in the mornings and when … the nights get a little tough."
"I know," she nodded. "I'm not blind to those nights, amorino. I'm also not blind to your cage fights or need to beat out your anger. I hear the cries, shouts, and whimpers when you're in bed with me, too. It's not all from Afghanistan or Iraq. See, I recognize those dreams. It's from … before that, before we met. What you've never talked about." As he attempted to shake his head, Peach frustratedly lifted herself upright to sit next to him on the bed. "Don't deny it, Mario. Have you ever talked about it? Even with your Army psychologist?" He gave her a blank stare in response. She nodded again, "That's what I thought. You and Luigi, living through something like that …"
"Don't go there," he warned with a finger. "Just don't."
"Now you know the why," Peach quietly responded before moving off the bed to leave the room. Opening the door, she stopped briefly to face her expressionless almost-spouse and stated, "It's nine o'clock. Call your fratellino; he shouldn't learn about the extra guests in California." She then left the bedroom without waiting for his assent.
Scrubbing his face and mustache with his thick hands, he muttered a few obscenities in Italian and Sicilian. That's what was keeping them from getting married? He shook his head insistently at an empty bedroom. Although he was more than willing to admit that Peach had seen countless tragedies and evil in her life as a wartime doctor, Mario refused to share his experiences about … those seventy-two hours. No one would ever want that in their heads. He knew because he did not. "Oh, principessa, don't you know that I'm protectin' ya?" he inquired aloud.
Sighing again, knowing that both his little brother and almost-wife would be pissed at him for at least the next day, he retrieved his phone and speed dialed Luigi's number. "Yo, Mario," responded his brother's happy voice after a few rings.
"Yo, fratellino," he greeted, overhearing his brother chatting pleasantly with someone. "Who's with you?"
"Bro, you won't guess who came from New York? Miles!"
"Oh, that's great," said Mario weakly. "Where's the other dipshit?"
"Cazzone. Yoshi and Birdo are in New York still. Miles came impromptu."
"Oh," replied the older plumber. "Listen, bro," he exhaled, "can we switch to Skype? I want to do this face to face and not simply over the phone."
Luigi's happy voice immediately changed to an alarmed one. "What's wrong? You're not comin' to California?"
"Let's just switch, okay?" He hung up and opened the laptop computer on his and Peach's bedroom desk. Logging into his account, he waited until Luigi called him. Answering the videocall, he saw Luigi's anxious face appear; in the backdrop were white walls framing a nice office space. As he was three hours behind New York, Mario saw the early evening sunlight trickle down through a medium-sized window.
"Mario, so what's wrong?"
"Aight," he began tiredly. "So Peach and I have a bit of a problem. DK came by on Saturday, got us in touch with OCFS. You know that part. They told us that they'd find a family for the two kids. Apparently, they think that the kids are best suited with us for now, given where we live, what we do for a livin', and that there's two 'parents' as such."
"Fucking Bowsers!" growled Luigi. "So you're not comin' after all!"
"That's … not what I said. DK and OCFS will get us special permission to travel with the children. We can come … if we bring 'em with us." Mario finished his sentence, then looked away from the enraged blue eyes boring into him.
The plumber in the characteristic green tee-shirt remained silent for a moment, chewing his lip. Finally, he yelled, "Are you fucking insane?! You want to … You want to bring Marco fucking Bowser's kids into my house, make me play housemaid to Bowser's problem?! After what he did to me?!"
"D'you think this is what I wanted? Would you prefer that I not come at all, fratellino?! Wouldya?" demanded Mario, raising his own voice. "I hate that fuck, even in death! I HATE HIM! But I can't turn my back on little kids, bro! I can't …"
"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ!" screamed the younger brother. Putting his head in his hands, he murmured something and then was quiet.
"Mi dispiace, fratellino mio," spoke Mario softly. "I tried arguin' with the lady at OCFS. I did! Those fucks saw doctor, Green Beret, and Upper East Side. Maybe if I was in their shoes, I'd have done the same, I dunno. But Peach … She's callin' in favors, just to try to get me on that plane, because she knows I want to see you. She loves you, me, that much!"
Without removing his hands, his muffled, tearful voice asked, "Are they like their fuckin' father?"
"Nah, Weegie, I don't think so. One's deaf; he seems aight. Reminds me a lot of you at that age, to be honest. He's always askin' questions and even wanted me to bring him on plumbing jobs! The other one likes to sass me and Peaches. I guess it's typical pre-teen girl shit."
At Mario's last few words, Luigi abruptly burst out laughing. Wiping his eyes, he faced the screen again and chuckled, "Jesus. I can't imagine you trying to … parent a teenage girl."
"Yeah, laugh it up, coglione! Five days into it, and she's already drivin' me up the fuckin' wall. She opens up to a point with Peach, but she loves to push my buttons."
Luigi suppressed a snort. "D'ya ask Cousin Maria for help?"
"Little shit!" he sniped under his breath while giving him the one-fingered salute. "She'd probably mail the poor ragazza to Abu Dhabi." He watched his brother lean back in his chair and, still sniggering, his tense body destress somewhat. "Weegie, I would never knowingly put you or Peaches in harm's way. Never! But it's your call. If you don't want 'em in California, I'll respect your wishes, no questions or complaints. Aight?"
His brother nodded and swiveled on his chair in thought. He swayed for a couple minutes before responding, "Alright, they can come. My hatred for their father is less than my desire to see youse on the Fourth of July. But on one condition."
"Name it."
"I'm not left alone with them. Even if it's a kid, I can't trust a Bowser."
"Done!" agreed Mario eagerly. "Now that brings me to my next, er, point of business. Peach told me that you were housesitting. Would there be enough room or should we find like a hotel … ?"
"I have enough room. It's, uh, five bedrooms and three baths."
"Jesus!" the older brother exclaimed. "How'd you find that? And no rent?"
Luigi's lips turned up enigmatically. "It, uh, came through a friend of a friend."
"Huh," he concluded wordlessly. "Aight, we'll be out there by Wednesday afternoon. We'll have a rental car, so we'll able to go shopping, get some real food. I figure you got school on Thursday, so Peach and I will take the rugrats for a drive to Earthquakeville and get what we need for the Fourth. Miles can come with us if he wants. We're also gonna see this fuckin' fancy school of yours."
"I got school in the morning, yeah, but it's only one class. I should be finished by noon. And bro?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm not fuckin' cleaning up any disaster areas."
"Aight, aight. Jesus! You and Peach always bitchin' at my … organization methods. I get the cleaning done … Eh, eventually."
Though Luigi harrumphed in incredulity, he also rejoiced at the thought of bitching at his older brother in person. "Despite who you're having to bring, I'm glad that you're coming to California. And thank you. Thanks to Peach."
"Eh, figurati, huh? Ti voglio bene, fratellino mio. Per sempre."
"Anch'io. Vi voglio bene – Peach e ti."
After asking him what he would like to eat for the Fourth, Mario bid his brother a good night and logged off the laptop. He then walked out into the common living space where the lights had been dimmed. Checking the library for Peach and the kids, he noted that, in true Italian fashion, she was still playing with them past 10:00 pm. Peach's previously angry blue eyes had since softened, and she welcomed Mario into the room. Another boardgame – Sorry! – covered the glass coffee tabletop, with her and Wendy sitting on the sofa in front of it and Louie leaning over the set-up from one of the Rococo chairs. Too exhausted to move the other armchair, the plumber slid down to the floor in the empty space next to the boy and watched a smirking Wendy move one of the pawns three spaces forward. While the children played and taunted each other, Mario and Peach exchanged reassuring, almost happy glances in preparation for their trip to California the day after the next. They enjoyed the scene for another two hours, at which Mario insisted on imposing bedtime for the children so that he could have some alone time with Peach and a few hours of sleep. Whereas she was on vacation for the next week, he still had to work tickets for Sal on Tuesday. His attention consumed with the Bowser children and his girlfriend, Mario missed several texts and calls from Yoshi, Sal, and Giuseppe, requesting him to check the local news pages online.
