Author's notes: Oh, I'm going to hell for this chapter. It contains eight shades of wrong and, worse, I burst out laughing at six of them. Enjoy!
Chapter 24: Independence Day
Five o'clock in the morning came too early for Mario's liking. Groggily staggering into the ensuite bathroom that was twice the size of his bedroom in Bensonhurst, he turned on the multi-head shower, plaintive that Peach was not with him. He could hardly complain; following the Bowser children's rather late bedtime, he and Peach had a little private time which had been building for days. Mario planned on getting another round in before their departure tomorrow morning, as he did not want to make Luigi and Miles uncomfortable, and he knew from experience that Peach would absolutely not join the Mile High Club.
Shutting off the water, he grabbed one of Peach's large cream-colored bath towels from outside of the glass door and dried himself. Wrapping it around his waist, he stepped out of the shower to brush his teeth and shave at the sink. Next, he shuffled into the room-sized closet where he kept a couple weeks' worth of clothing. He dropped the damp towel on the floor and dressed in boxers, a gray tee-shirt, blue jeans, socks, plumber's boots, and his trademark red zip-up hoodie. Ten minutes later, car keys, wallet, and phone in hand, Mario exited her apartment and entered the nearby parking garage to retrieve his black Honda. Usually, he disliked driving his town car to and from work, but as it was so close to and not on the holiday, he did not anticipate receiving more than three or four assignments. As he clicked his seatbelt into place, he reached over to his phone to check his ticket queue and his eyebrows raised in surprise to see several voice messages from Sal and Giuseppe and a text from Yoshi with a link to a local news page.
"And all this shit before six," grumbled Mario as he tried to get a hotspot signal. He muttered several obscenities underneath his breath and decided to buy breakfast and a cup of coffee, at which time he would find out just what the hell had their knickers in a twist. Throwing his car into drive, he maneuvered himself out of the garage and headed south toward a bagel shop just a few blocks north of Midtown. Despite the early hour, parking spots were limited in Manhattan, though he managed to find one across the street. As he waited for his egg, bacon, and cheese on a bagel, he accessed the article and froze, breathing, "No fuckin' way!"
"Plumbers Union Representative Arrested On Child Porn Charges
By Carmina Hernandez | Published June 30, 2014 | Updated on July 1, 2014 at 3:00 am
A longstanding union representative of the Plumbers Local 2 was arrested late Sunday evening after his company laptop was discovered to have contained alleged images of several children, law enforcement said.
John R. Slaughter, 61, of Flushing, had been employed with the Housing Authority as a plumber when Homeland Security and the NYPD were alerted to the existence of child pornography on his work computer. A search of his personal residence turned up additional alleged images on his personal device.
Detectives of the Brooklyn Special Victims Unit said that Slaughter was previously arrested on charges of indecent exposure to a minor. As the investigation is ongoing, neither Homeland Security Investigations nor the NYPD were willing to comment further.
Slaughter could face up to 20 years in prison for a single count of child pornography. Attorney information was not immediately available.
Neither the Plumbers' Union nor the Housing Authority have any comment on the arrest of Slaughter."
"Fuck me blue," swore Mario as he paid for his ten-dollar bagel breakfast sandwich and five-dollar regular. Walking back to his car, he bit into his breakfast and texted his surprise and disgust to Yoshi. As he ate and sipped his coffee, he listened to the voicemails expressing a lack of surprise by either Sal or Uncle Joe, who called him "a fucking pig through and through." He texted the link to Luigi and Peach with a barf emoji and skimmed his queue which was unsurprisingly tiny given the proximity to the July 4 holiday weekend – a single ticket involving a clogged sink at a restaurant in Little Italy. At this rate, he hoped that he might be able to go home mid-morning. After leisurely finishing his breakfast sandwich and coffee, Mario stuffed the wrapper into his nearly-empty coffee cup and pulled away from the curb to drive toward Lower Manhattan.
He arrived at a little before seven o'clock due to morning Manhattan traffic. The owner, an eighty-something paisan from Naples, was pleasantly surprised to find that his plumber was a fellow Italian – albeit an Italian-American – who spoke both Italian and Abruzzese, which was mutually intelligible with the Neapolitan dialect. While Mario used his industrial snake to unclog the sink, they chatted about the man's family back in Naples, the "robbing bastards in Germany," the idiots in the Italian Parliament who refused to stand up to them, and, more importantly, about the upcoming holiday's food. By eight o'clock, Mario had his sink in perfect working condition and, per the old man's invitation, stayed another hour for an espresso and cornetto. Leaving the restaurant on a full stomach, Mario texted Sal that the job was done; his boss replied that there were no other tickets in Manhattan or Queens, so the journeymen with the least seniority and thus on the holiday schedule would take over the remainder. His workday done by nine o'clock, he checked his messages to see that Peach had secured a private jet for the four of them out of LaGuardia mid-Wednesday morning. For the first time in his adult life, he was not limited in luggage; he decided to stop in the Italian markets for a porchetta to bring to California, as he wanted to make certain that his fratellino ate properly for the Fourth.
By 10:30, he was driving back to 5th Avenue with a large porchetta that had already been brined and tied, dry ice for the next day's trip, Gregoriano, Caciocavallo, and mozzarella. An amused Peach and the stunned Louie and Wendy watched the plumber protect the porchetta as the butcher had instructed. Proud of himself, Mario shrugged at the reactions of his girlfriend and wards, responding that, with the exception of Abruzzo, no porchetta outside of New York would ever compare, and his little brother needed "actual food instead of raw fish, avocado toast, and earthquake survival rations." Seeing her boyfriend's point of view as an Italian, Peach agreed and made plans to bring her hand mixer, special rolling pin, ravioli maker and press, and cannoli sticks.
Later that afternoon, DK arrived with another detective from Brooklyn Missing Persons and the case worker from OCLS. Providing Mario official permission from city authorities to allow Louie and Wendy to travel to San Francisco, they also brought with them two full suitcases of necessities taken from the Bowser home in Bensonhurst. The case worker, Ines Diallo, located John's ex-wife, who had custody of all four of her children with John, and three of the Bowser sisters, none of whom were interested in taking on the extra responsibilities of Marco Bowser's illegitimate children and willingly gave consent for "that rich bitch to do whatever." As for Bowser, there was no sign of him and no word on the street; his house on 65th Street had been ransacked, as though someone had been looking for something that he potentially possessed. There were no vital records for the children at all, including birth certificates or social security cards. Brooklyn PD also brought in Tony Morano and questioned him at length. While Fat Tony denied all knowledge of the man's disappearance, he did admit to persuading John to close the Koopa for a few weeks to "save his reputation in the community." Due to lack of evidence, the police released him. Finally, as DK had suspected, neither child was born in New York. He was so far able to locate Wendy's birth certificate thanks to his contact in Atlanta – the child was indeed born near Fort Bragg in Fayetteville, North Carolina. Her parents were listed as Marco James Bowser and Olivia Jane Smith. Neither name, however, appeared in any birth certificate on the Eastern seaboard for Louie, so they were widening the search to include all states. For the time being, the police, OCLS, Mario, and Peach agreed that the children should remain where they were, and Ines would arrange a follow-up visit after the holiday weekend, assuming John did not appear. The rest of the evening was spent preparing for the next day's flight to California. Whereas the children were excited to see San Francisco, with Louie making a list of potential places to visit, Mario and Peach felt uneasy, as if something, or someone, other than Luigi and Miles were waiting for them in Palo Alto.
Miles stretched, waiting for the coffee machine to brew a cup of Lavazza. As Luigi had returned the rental car the previous evening, he rode his bicycle to the campus earlier in the morning, leaving the blond engineer to sleep. The nature of Miles's cybersecurity and blue-hatting job required him to keep night-owl hours, which suited him well, since he had always detested waking up earlier than nine-thirty. He checked his wristwatch – 10:03 am Pacific Time, which meant that Mario, Peach, and Marco Bowser's two children would land at San Francisco International in about three hours.
Cup of coffee in hand, Miles sat down at his laptop and opened his virtual machine network and Tor Browser. Luigi had gleefully shown him the news article of Slaughter being investigated and arrested for child pornography by Homeland Security and the NYPD. Although he was relieved that the union had at least ousted the man who had tormented the Masciarelli family, he was nevertheless skeptical at how quickly Slaughter had been 'caught' with incriminating evidence, particularly within two weeks of Luigi's practical exam. Using his knowledge of the NYPD's network protocols, which were woefully lacking in backdoor protections, Miles easily broke in and executed several commands to decrypt and view their progress on the Slaughter case. Apparently, an anonymous tip was sent to Homeland Security regarding a city employee's rather large collection of images of underage girls. He curled his lips in distaste at the damning proof as well as the police report from 1997 detailing Slaughter's proclivities. The fact that he was both a pervert and a bigot was undeniably true; however, the hacker wondered if the collection were legitimate or, as Luigi had observed in Colorado, if this was Pete Morell's enacting his retaliation. Backtracking to avoid being detected, he ended the session and deleted the virtual machine.
Just as he was about to create a new virtual machine to search for additional information on Pete Morell and the Plumbers' Union, he heard a firm knock at the door. Walking down the hall, through the kitchen, and toward the door, Miles was immediately shocked when he heard the key slide into the lock and the door handle twist.
"Lou, sorry, I had my headphones in, so …" Miles stopped mid-sentence and was horrified to see a tall man dressed in a lilac and gray suit open the door.
Equally shocked to find Miles in the house, his brown eyes widened, then glared at the engineer. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, pulling the key out of the lock and shutting the door behind him. He walked toe-to-toe with Miles, his extra six inches in height looming over the latter like a shadow.
Miles's inherent gentle nature made him quake with foreboding and fear; quickly thinking through his potential responses, he did note that the man was likely not a home invader and also had a key. Was he the landlord? A friend of Luigi's?
"I will ask one more time, man. Who the hell are you and why are you in this house?" boomed the man's voice.
"I-I-I'm a g-guest," the blond managed to stammer. "Luigi Masciarelli's guest. H-He's renting this house."
The tall man raised his eyebrow. "You're Weeg's guest?! Why wasn't I informed of this? Prove it."
Weeg?! Miles noted with alarm. Only Mario calls him Weeg or Weegie. Who is this guy? Desperate to find his voice and courage before the situation could escalate, Miles summoned his inner cybersecurity badass and retorted, "Why should I prove anything to you? Who the hell are you and why do you have a key to Lou's house? Since he didn't tell me about any visitors, I'm going to assume that this was unplanned. So I'll give you a choice: either tell me who you are or I can get the Palo Alto Police Department on the phone."
The tall man in purple chewed on his lip, debating whether to call the younger man's bluff. Just as Miles began to pull out his small phone to dial 911, he put up his hands and conceded, "Okay, okay. Easy, man. My name is Lucas. I'm a friend of Luigi's. Actually, I'm his best friend. I also help manage this property. I saw movement in the house, so I decided to check it out since I knew Luigi was at school."
Miles's eyes flickered. The man was lying; no one was at home, and he was in the inner office and obscured from its window. But for now, he would play along to obtain more information from him. In hacking and security, having the most information was essential. Lying in person was not his strong suit, so he opted to give the man a slightly distorted truth to avoid both a confrontation and the discovery of his identity. "Oh, alright. I'm glad that Luigi has someone to look out for him. I'm Edward, but I go by Tails. I'm a friend of Daisy's, Lou's girlfriend. I study engineering at Cal Tech. Daisy thought that Lou could use some local company, so …"
"Oh," replied Lucas in a less than ecstatic tone. "How … thoughtful of her. Engineering, huh?"
"Yeah, dude," he affirmed in what he hoped was a convincing California accent. "Graduate student in mechanical engineering. Y'know, can't wait to meet his family. I've heard so much about them from Daisy!"
"His family?" asked the Manhattanite with a hint of surprise.
"Yeah, dude. His brother and sister-in-law are coming out from New York this afternoon. I had no one to hang with on the holiday, so I was invited. Kinda excited, gotta admit."
Miles watched the man's facial expression change from one of mild interest to raging jealousy. Swallowing, then smiling thinly at him, Lucas responded, "Well, I'll, uh, make my exit then. I'll give Weeg a call. I thought we were going to Napa this weekend, but I guess there was a miscommunication. Ciao, Twit-Teller. Teller, right."
"Ciao, dude!" the blond waived as the man opened the front door, stomped out, and shut it with a loud thud. Cautiously, he went to the peephole and observed the tantrum and swearing in an unknown language outside of his hundred-thousand-dollar sportscar. Eventually, the man lifted himself into the driver's seat and sped away, tires squealing. Jogging back to his computer in the back office, Miles created another virtual machine and quickly sent an encrypted email to Maria for Giuseppe containing the simple question, "Who is Lucas?" While he would definitely let Luigi know of Lucas's presence in his home, he also wanted an independent opinion, as his friend may be less than forthcoming about him. If his suspicions were correct about the Rigassis owning the house, it would stand to reason that Lucas was, at the very least, an associate of theirs.
Just before three in the afternoon, Luigi opened the door and sought out his long-time friend, who was finishing up some consulting for a client. Logging off his laptop and shutting it closed, Miles looked up to his tired friend and greeted, "Hey."
"Hey, Miles. Sorry, I know I said two, but my study group went a little overtime for tomorrow's quiz-cum-exam in Machine Learning. I hope you weren't bored, especially as it looks like Mario and the others haven't arrived yet," said Luigi while fetching a can of Diet Coke from the refrigerator.
"Yeah, no, I was just doing some work for a client. You'd think that a bank would know what a firewall is, but, uh, yeah. Um, Lou, who's Lucas?"
Luigi choked on his drink, causing him to cough harshly for a solid minute. "Lucas? Wh-what do you mean?"
"It was weird. Uh, this morning, he let himself into the house. He said that he was your 'best friend.'"
"What?!" cried Luigi. "He let himself in? He had a key?!"
Before Miles could elaborate further, they turned toward the front door, where they heard Mario's voice talking to a couple of children. Luigi left his bewildered friend to open the door for Mario, Peach, Louie, and Wendy. As Peach was pulling suitcases from the trunk of their white SUV, Mario marched up to his little brother and greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Eh, buongiorno, fratellino mio. This is … a very nice place you got." The older plumber then turned toward the blond and called out, "Yo, dipshit. How you doin'?"
"Yo, Mario," replied Luigi happily. "Good flight?"
"Oh, yeah. We can't always afford to fly private, but shit, I wish! I brought us a little somethin' from Little Italy. Or what youse in Earthquake Land can't find here!" He ran back to the trunk, picked up a black bag, and rushed it into the house. Peach shook her head with a little smile while helping the children pull their suitcases inside. Luigi and Miles followed the scurrying Mario into the kitchen where he unzipped the black duffel bag, pushed aside the dry icepacks, and lifted a beautiful porchetta for them to inspect. "Look at that! Nothing like this here!" He placed it on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator to preserve it for Friday's roasting. He also showed an eager Luigi the large blocks of pecorino.
"Luigi, where do you want us to put our things?" inquired Peach.
"Uh, there are a set of bedrooms down the hall here." He guided Peach, Mario, Wendy, and Louie to a compartment of two bedrooms and two bathrooms near his office. Mario and Peach took the bedroom with the queen-sized bed and modern bathroom. Mario followed Luigi and the children down the hall to a larger bedroom with two twin-sized beds and a simple bathroom. Louie called dibs on the rightmost bed as Wendy sighed in disappointment at having to share a bedroom and bathroom with her older brother.
Once they were all settled, the six of them gathered in the living room with an assortment of soft drinks, fruit, baguette bread, jams, and Nutella for the kids. As Louie and Wendy fought in ASL over the Nutella, with Mario and Peach interjecting a basta every so often, Miles and Luigi ate and listened to the older plumber brag about making the Italian TSA guys green with jealousy over the porchetta that he was transporting for his starving fratellino at Stanford, much to Miles's wordless, yet uncomprehending amusement and Luigi's incredulous pride. They took the conversation to a Cuban restaurant in Palo Alto where they had juicy pork and Swiss sandwiches and shared a seafood ajiaco, a Caribbean take on paella. Still insisting on eating 'a healthy diet,' Wendy opted instead for the shrimp ceviche and sweet plantains, which entertained all except Mario, who subsequently complained of the agita that the 'little princess' was giving him. The tween snapped that his agita was likely caused by the fat and animal products that he had just consumed in mass quantities. Having failed to read the room, Wendy's boldness shrunk to a small, simmering anger after the entire table reprimanded her.
They returned just before nine o'clock. Tired from their trip and the three-hour difference, Mario, Peach, and the kids all went to bed while Luigi and Miles stayed up for another two hours to catch up on the last episodes of the Eleventh Doctor in Doctor Who. The latter briefly considered resuming their interrupted conversation, but he suddenly found himself indecisive regarding the right thing. On one hand, Miles was certain that this Lucas was more than 'just a friend' to Luigi, given his use of Mario's nickname, and he likely had ties to the Mafia. On the other hand, Luigi enjoyed being at Stanford and living like a rich kid, which Miles believed would have happened had his friend finished at Brooklyn City and been accepted at MIT like he and Yoshi. His particular brand of computer science and information science necessitated a tolerance of the gray area of ethical behavior; yet as Miles was rapidly being forced to acknowledge, that gray area was less palatable when it came to his best friend, and he was tempted to alert Mario against Giuseppe's wishes. He wished that he could bounce ideas off Yoshi, but he would only go right to Mario. When Luigi was less distracted by his brother, Miles would approach him again. Having adapted to the time change, he was the last to go to bed, using the next few hours to complete his multi-page intrusion report for the bank in question. He checked his burner phone which received neither text nor voicemail.
At seven o'clock, Luigi quietly tiptoed out of the house into the sunshine, backpack slung on his shoulder. He walked his mountain bike down the driveway and prepared to mount it when he saw a tall figure standing outside of his sportscar convertible.
"Yo, Weeg, want a ride to the campus?" called out Lucas.
Looking down at his bike, he eagerly nodded, a bit tired from the previous night's evening. Lucas moved the backseats to make room for the green bicycle, and Luigi placed it gently inside before slipping in the passenger seat. Grinning brightly, the tall man jumped into the driver's seat, started the car, and drove down the street toward Stanford.
"So," began Lucas again, "I heard that the Sergeant Major came into town. For the Fourth, I presume?"
"Yeah," said Luigi. "They – Mario and Peach – got in yesterday afternoon."
"Uh-huh," he nodded. "And who's the other guy – Teller?"
Teller? Luigi frowned in confusion. "Who?"
"Blond guy, kind of a sunshine-fried, clueless douche from So-Cal. Engineer, friend of Daisy's?" described Lucas with a hint of derision.
Tails?! Friend of Daisy's? Southern California? Luigi was about to chastise him for calling Miles a douche, then closed his mouth, and reconsidered his answer. Miles had told him that Lucas had a key and tried to enter the house while he knew that he was at school. Although he liked to call his friend Agent Mulder, Luigi was being to see the wisdom in some of his eccentric behaviors. "Uh, yeah, Tails," he finally answered. "He's a mechanical engineer who Daisy knew out here in California. I think he may have gone to a nearby high school or something. Anyway, she thought we could hang for the Fourth."
Lucas chewed on his lip and processed the information. "Daisy's got you on a short leash, man. D'you think that's healthy?"
Luigi shrugged. "She was trying to help. It's my fault, actually. She knew that being in Africa and with Mario in New York, I was a little … lonely."
The man in purple abruptly grinned and punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Happens to the best of us. But why didn't you tell me the Sergeant Major was coming into town? I thought we'd go up to Napa, try some of the great wine and cheese?"
The plumber smiled a little and responded, "I didn't know until early this week. I guess it was Peach's surprise to Mario."
"Of course it was," he bit out, making a right turn to drive south.
"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Luigi.
Lucas sighed dramatically. "It's no secret that Sergeant Major Dickerson doesn't have his backup plan, and I'm sure your Uncle Joe has his hands in this, too. Union and all. I saw the article about Slaughter in the New York news – union's lost its pervert. Anyway, I mean, the Sergeant's got Peach, who serves his sexual needs, but he wasn't about to allow you independence for long. And then there's Daisy, who also seems to have a control issue. Weeg, I'm worried about you, man; the point of going to Stanford was for you to live on your own and without someone trying to control you."
"And if Mario visiting is my choice? He isn't going to change my mind about the union. And about Slaughter? Good fuckin' riddance," the other man argued.
"Alright," conceded Lucas, lifting his fingertips off the steering wheel. "You're right that a few days won't be enough for him to change anything. Just keep what I said in mind, okay? Besides," he added with a mischievous leer, "we can hit Napa anytime in the six weeks that you're here."
Luigi plastered a matching grin on his face and murmured a "Fuck, yeah" to appease his friend. Once again, Lucas shook his friend's shoulder and continued the drive to the Engineering Center. Five minutes later, he parked alongside a large white and red building. "Alrighty, my man," he held out his fist with the Brooklynite touched with his. "Have a good class. Call me if Sergeant Major Dickerson becomes a pill, and we'll do something. Go to LA, hang out in Malibu." Nodding, he exited the car and lifted his bike from the backseat. Lucas watched him walk his bike toward the racks at the Engineering Complex. There was no way in hell that he would let Sergeant Major Dickerson, Joe the Plumber, or Tails the Twat have so much of Luigi's time, even during the Fourth of July weekend. "California is my territory, assholes," he growled.
Shortly after 10:30 am, Luigi skidded to a halt, slightly breathless from his four-mile bike ride from the Engineering Center to Menlo Park. Relaxed from a painless "quiz" in Machine Learning that had only taken him fifteen minutes to complete, he stopped to get a cup of coffee before riding back to the house. Entering and wheeling his bike into the garage, he called out to his brother, Peach, Miles, and the Bowser children who were gathered in the den.
"Hey, Weegie," greeted Mario. "How was your test?"
"Piece of cake," he answered with a grin. "I was actually out in fifteen, but I stopped for a cup of coffee on the way back."
"Bene," nodded Mario. "Well, Peaches and the piccoli here want to go," he glared at Peach, who gave him an incredulous eyebrow, "to the fuckin' Ghirardelli Factory in San Francisco. I told 'em that I'd ask you, as Miles has abstained from voting and thus counts for my side a' things. Because if he objects," he eyed Miles, "I'll tell his brother on him. I think it's a bad idea, 'cause ya never know when there'll be a fuckin' earthquake. I still remember the '89 World Series!"
Luigi smirked at his brother and shrugged. "I was just in that area, and it was safe. The only shitty part was the parking. Let's go!"
As Miles and Peach chuckled and the children cheered, Mario groaned. "You and I are plumbers! Earthquakes, fratellino, can wreck perfectly good pipes!"
"Do shut up, Mario. If being in San Francisco makes you a bit squeamish, I'll drive," interjected Peach.
At Miles and Luigi's snorts of barely contained laughter at Peach's proposal, the older Masciarelli puffed out his chest and made a che vuoi gesture with each of his hands, "Nah, nah, nah. Who knows what can happen in San Francisco, land of the fuckin' fruits and nuts. I'll drive youse."
Forty-five minutes following the "vote," the group of six arrived at the parking garage next to the Ghirardelli Chocolate Experience, which Mario sarcastically referred to as Earthquakes, Fruits, and Nuts Experience. After being warned by Peach not to be a cretino, the older plumber focused on negotiating the highway, in which three cars changed lanes without a signal and two cars confused it with the Indy 500. Surprisingly to all, he kept his cool throughout the trip to the northernmost tip of San Francisco. Louie and Wendy had begged Mario to drive across the Golden Gate Bridge, to which Peach replied that he would be glad to do it, much to his teeth gnashing. Miles concentrated on the scenery outside while attempting to avoid Wendy's flirty looks in both his and Luigi's direction.
None of them noticed a purple sportscar tailing their white SUV from several cars away, changing lanes every so often to avoid being observed. Whereas the white SUV went into the parking garage, the car parked about two hundred feet away on the side of the street.
Giddy from the aromatic smell of chocolate, a blissful Peach and two excited children hopped into the Experience while the three men followed. The line for a full-sized table was about twenty-five minutes; fifteen minutes into the wait, Luigi began to grumble, as it was past noon, and he had not eaten since six-thirty. Peach knowingly pulled a granola bar from her Gucci handbag and handed it to the grateful younger brother. Finally, they were seated; Peach rubbed her hands together as Mario shook his head and kvetched about San Francisco mass producing chocolate to offset the depression over sitting on the San Andreas fault line. Wendy and Peach made their annoyance known with several eye rolls while Miles went off on the statistical unlikelihood of a major-scale earthquake – that which exceeded 6.0 on the new seismographic scale – occurring near the Bay Area within the month, let alone the year. Mario retaliated by telling Miles to calculate the probability of the Loma Prieta Earthquake occurring in 1989, to which the blond engineer had no response. Wendy and Louie ordered chocolate-dipped ice cream cones, Miles and Luigi split a mint hot fudge sundae, and Mario and Peach feasted on the house hot fudge sundae in a chocolate-dipped, sprinkle-covered waffle bowl. Grousing again about hippie ice cream, Mario ate only a third of the dessert, thereby allowing Peach her guilty pleasure in decent American chocolate. Luigi pulled out his phone and took pictures of the group to send to Yoshi and Daisy whom he wished could have joined them.
Despite Mario's objections and pleas, Peach paid the bill and grabbed a few bags of chocolate squares to take back with her. Acquiescing to the kids' request to drive across the Golden Gate Bridge, Mario maneuvered the SUV to the west, through the Presidio, and across the Golden Gate Bridge. Wendy and Louie especially oohed and awed at the red towers of the suspension bridge and the blue water hundreds of feet below, whereas Miles took care in looking straight ahead as, in addition to lightning, he was terrified of heights. Soon, they crossed into Sausalito and Marin County, home of what Mario called "the rich hippie dippies." Rolling his eyes, Luigi found a listing for a farmer's market in San Rafael and suggested that they could get fresher and better produce for tomorrow's lunch. Barely making it before close, they were nonetheless able to buy basil, rosemary, fennel seeds, oregano, hot peppers, orange blossom honey, bread, Italian parsley, a variety of fruits and summer vegetables, eggs, and fresh ricotta. Before making their way back toward Sausalito and San Francisco, Peach and the kids stopped at a regular grocery store for sugar, flour, and baking items; Mario, Luigi, and Miles went on the hunt for Marsala and liqueurs. The latter happily showed the two Italians a crimson California Shiraz, but the elder plumber bristled and informed him that he would have to buy that garbage with his "fucking coin." He refused on principle to buy any non-Italian wine. As Luigi chuckled, a pouting Miles clutched the wine bottle to himself like a baby and stuck his tongue out at Mario when his back was turned.
Their shopping done, Mario drove the rental SUV and family back through Marin County and across the Golden Gate Bridge. As they stopped at the view point to walk around and enjoy the greenish-brown around the bridge and the cerulean waters of San Francisco Bay, none were the wiser of the sportscar which had been following them throughout the day. The purple polo-shirted man pulled up several cars behind the white SUV, still grumbling about how "fucking pedestrian it was for Weeg to visit a … farmer's market in crunchy Marin County." Lucas had a passing thought of letting the air out of the Sergeant Major's tires, but he decided against it, as he did not want to strand Luigi with him, the bimbo, the twat, and the brats. Though he expected Mario to bring his "sloppy seconds," Lucas was genuinely confused as to who the brats actually were.
The ringing of his cellphone caused him to swear in annoyance; checking the caller ID, his eyes widened at the burner number. In the best shocked voice that he could muster, he answered, "Yeah?" A moment later, he replied, "No … No. No. I don't know who – Wait, what? Mario has Marco's kids?! Wha—why? Well, what do you want me to do about it?" He stared ahead, then continued, "Yeah, Mario's here. Yeah, kids, too. Nah, he's visiting Luigi. Him and Marco's ex-wife, widow, whatever. Look, I don't know the scumbag, alright? Yeah, I know he disappeared. Yeah, I know because your cousin told me. Yeah. He apparently dumped the kids off with Mario, then took off. Well, again, what do you want me to do? If it's nothing, then why are you calling me, Sam? I'm sure your uncle can –" Lucas snickered a little at the angry retort. "Yeah, okay. Bye."
After Sam ended the call, Lucas laughed like Nicholson's Joker. The Mafia – Stupid Sicilian assholes whose blood line was about as diverse as that found in West Virginia, he chuckled to himself while wiping a tear from his eye. Unsurprisingly, the padrino and his father's personal friend, Carlo Morano, was on the war path following Luigi's untimely dismissal from the union. Slaughter took the bait nicely; the minute that he set the exam up with Pichler and the union, Lucas knew that Johnny the Pervert would act accordingly and preemptively drum Luigi out, thus sealing his own fate (and good riddance) with the Moranos and Rigassis. In order to avoid the embarrassment and financial ruin, he would help "persuade" Luigi to become the new manager, thus forcing the union, Pichler, Big Jackass, and even his father to be indebted to him. Since he was Pichler's source of capital and an associate of the Moranos, he would ride Luigi's coattails into control of the Brooklyn Plumbing and Mechanical Works – politically and financially. Why come up with a business plan when someone else's could be corrupted and utilized? The plan worked out nicely, though either outcome would have been favorable to him; had Luigi not taken the test, they would have simply opened up shop in another part of New York or another state, and underbid union-supported companies with Luigi's new inventions and mechanical know-how of city infrastructure. However, the outcome that Lucas had hoped for would soon come to fruition, and he would be credited as Luigi's consiglieri of sorts. Whomever controlled Luigi would be the kingmaker. As for Pete Morello and his small band of Colorado Crazies, he had cooked up something special and so much more satisfying than waterboarding.
That being said, he had not counted on John Bowser disappearing, let alone Mario turning up with Marco Bowser's children. That troubled him, as he wondered who else could be paying Pichler and Slaughter besides him and Fat Tony. Patience was key, as they would inevitably show themselves. Yet for now, he needed to continue reconnaissance on Mario and Luigi; keeping Luigi's confidence and separating him from his brother, Joe the Plumber, and this new side chick, Daisy, were key. Ducking his head and, albeit reluctantly, raising the roof of the convertible to elude the potentially recognizing gazes of Luigi or Twat, he obscured himself long enough to drive after the departing white SUV.
Luigi awoke the next morning to the smells of coffee, roasting pork, and warm bread in the air. Blinking awake and throwing back the covers, he checked his iPhone clock – 8:05 am. After going into the bathroom to relieve himself and take a quick shower, he followed the smells into the kitchen where Mario and Peach were busy in the kitchen. The former was wearing shorts and the green football jersey of the Italian national team and the latter was dressed in a pink tee-shirt, jeans, and a baking apron. Neither the kids nor Miles had gotten up yet, which suited Luigi, as he had not had a moment with his brother since his arrival.
"Ah, buongiorno," greeted Mario as he sipped his espresso and popped a piece of thick bread slathered in butter and jam, eyeing Peach's cannoli dough and strained ricotta.
"Buongiorno," replied Luigi, fixing himself bread with marmalade jam and a cup of espresso. "I see youse have been at it for a while already."
"Yes, quite," said Peach good-naturedly. "Mario was up at five this morning preparing the porchetta. I think I got up around half-six to check on the ricotta and make the dough for cannoli. I've been," she swatted at Mario's fingers which had pinched a bit of the dough for a taste, "basta! I've been hard at work making dessert. Later, I'll make spinach and cheese ravioli for the primo." The older plumber's teasing chortle echoed throughout the kitchen and breakfast table, and Peach gave him a piercing glare.
"Yeah, somethin' like that," affirmed Mario, ignoring his girlfriend's silent, but deadly warning. "I turned on the World Cup this mornin' and saw the French lose to the Germans. Dunno how I feel about that. Hopefully, Colombia or Brazil will send their asses home. I guess Brazil's playin' Colombia right now. I'm guessin' that the Sfacciata is rooting for Brazil."
Sipping his coffee, Luigi gave Mario an eyebrow raise of annoyance. "Certo. That's like askin' us if we're Team Azzurri."
"Yeah, but they suck, bro. They had Pelé, and that was it!"
Luigi set his coffee cup down and irritably lifted his hand toward the outside grill, "Are you gonna check on the porchetta, cazzone?"
"Yeah, yeah. Smetti di lagnarti, rompicoglioni," grumbled Mario as he opened the patio door to inspect the roasting meat.
Peach rolled her eyes and smiled at Luigi. "How is Daisy? I do hope that she's safe given where she is."
He bounced his head to indicate that she was doing okay. "She's, y'know, doin' alright. She's supposed to call at one o'clock our time; it's been a few days since I actually spoke with her – we exchange texts and emails all the time – but she, uh, is right on the Senegalese-Malian border."
"Christ, don't tell Mario that. I already hear about the 'sfacciata' daily." The blonde smiled again. "She's been good for you. What are your plans when you return to New York?"
The younger plumber briefly returned the smile and shrugged. "Well … I don't know. Since I'm no longer employed, I'll have to find another job. That'll probably not be in plumbing, as it's an informal rule to hire within the union. And since I passed the master plumber's exam, I'd be a more expensive hire versus a journeyman. So I was thinkin' that I might take a few engineering courses at Brooklyn College this coming year. I got enough money to last me a year or two if I'm frugal. Daisy's got another year at Columbia, and she's applying to law school this fall. Since she was talkin' about needing a 175 minimum on the LSATs, she's likely looking at Columbia, Harvard, Yale. Stanford, I know, is on the list. I guess where I end up will depend on our relationship in the spring. I want to be with her, that much I know."
Peach nodded deliberately. "That bastard Slaughter – such a pig. But here's some advice, Luigi, for what it's worth to you: focus on your relationship and make sure that you both are on the same page. Daisy strikes me as a very independent woman. She has goals, and she'll be in school for another four years plus however many years as a junior partner. That's at least six or seven years. Are you willing to wait that long? And if you are, will you accept that, perhaps, she may not want the traditional Italian family role?"
To his surprise, his sister-in-law's comment rendered him speechless. In all likelihood, he would have to work full-time while she completed her education, passed the bar, and spent her first two or three years as a lawyer. That did not bother him, though he did want to get his engineering degree at some point. So what did he want from the relationship long-term? After five months, he knew that, at least for him, it would either be a long-term relationship or a bit of fun. Of course, he much preferred the first option. Long ago, Luigi had rejected the years-long 'dating' practiced by more and more of his fellow Millennials which, it seemed to him, never ended in marriage or a partnership. Even as a very lapsed Italian Catholic, he did not want to invest his heart and time in a relationship that had no mutual goals or was in constant limbo. He knew that he absolutely didn't want the traditional Italian wife at home, and he didn't mind taking a backseat to Daisy's career, so long as he had his own career and interests, and they worked as a team. The relationship had to grow with their life circumstances.
Make sure that she understands, echoed Uncle Joe's voice.
Minchia, he mentally swore. There it was – he either had to choose the relationship and tell her the more unsavory things about his and his family's past or choose "the bit of fun" and reveal nothing, thus basing the relationship on fluff that would lead to an inevitable break-up. He looked at Peach shily, who in turn gazed at him, knowing that he understood the underlying significance of her words.
A rather pleased Mario walked back inside the house. "The porchetta is cookin' and will be ready in time for lunch." He took another piece of bread and added some butter and sour cherry jam, biting into it and licking his fingers. "So is Dipshit Designation One of Two and the bambini still sleepin'?" he asked between large bites.
"Yeah, Asshole Designation One of Fuck You," mumbled Luigi while watching a YouTube video.
"Hmm," interjected Peach in a blasé tone, "I think the bambini are in the kitchen."
As Mario and Luigi continued their profanity-laced banter in English and Italian, for which the dignified blonde had developed a tolerance over the past four years, a grumbling Miles was woken by the chirp of his phone. There were only three phone numbers that were programmed into this phone – his brother's, Yoshi's, and Giuseppe's. A sleepy, open eye widened at the third number. Nearly leaping out of bed, he made sure that the door was firmly shut and locked before answering. "Hello?"
"Miles, I got your message," spoke Giuseppe, his voice much higher-pitched than normal, the wheezing more pronounced. "Sorry I didn't call you yesterday; due to a large leak near the Jersey line, Maria didn't have time until last night to decrypt the email. I, uh, I was up all night. How do you know that name 'Lucas?' Did something happen there?"
"Mr. Masciarelli, I …" He sighed, then shrugged. "I met him. He said his name was Lucas. No last name. He, uh, had a key to Luigi's house here in Palo Alto. When I asked Luigi about it, he knew the guy and seemed … alarmed that he had a key and tried to use it when he was at school. I swept the place for bugs, but found nothing."
"Shit," mumbled the older man. "And he's tall and thin, right?"
"Yeah."
"Goddamnit, Luigi!" exploded Giuseppe, wheezing at the same time. "Miles, did you tell Lucas your name?!"
"No. I, uh, I didn't trust him, so I made up something plausible on the fly. I wasn't proud of lying, but given what he had just done, going into Luigi's house like that …"
"Miles, I get the picture," interrupted Joe with a hint of a smile. "You did good, kid. Real good. Lucas's a piece of trash. Youse – you and Yoshi – would have been too young to remember this, but he and Luigi used to pal around, before I pulled him out of that shithole of a school. About a year after Luigi's father died, I found out Luigi and that trash had been settin' fires in the school, cuttin' class, doin' drugs, and breakin' into teachers' computers. Professor Omaya had been forced out by some very lowlife characters at that school, and Luigi sought revenge. Lucas egged him on, all the while cheatin' on exams and usin' him to get ahead. He set several students up to cover his own ass; Luigi tried to report him, but Lucas's equally trash father made a 'donation' to get the whole thing to go away. And because Luigi was the whistleblower, Lucas turned the administration against him as punishment. Even after I took him out of Brooklyn City, Lucas continued to manipulate him until I told him that I'd call all of the NYPD, FDNY, and FBI's fuckin' phone numbers and report him for harassin' Jumpman's kid. He left, though he told me that he'd be back for Luigi – my late brother be damned. I nearly lost my mind at that punk. But I thought, after a few months had passed, it was bullshit on his part."
Miles sank back on the bed, stunned at Giuseppe's explanation. "C-computers?! Mr. Masciarelli, how … sophisticated is this Lucas around computers?"
"I don't know, kid. But from what Omaya later told me, the kid was a networking genius, even better at it than Luigi. But Luigi was better at the math, hardware, and mechanics."
"Fuck!" hissed Miles. Giuseppe gasped in surprise at the young man's rare use of profanity, especially around him. "That's the asshole who hacked Luigi's phone! I should have seen this, Spock's rotting corpse in Qo'nos! That whole phone incident in February never sat well with me!"
"That means he's responsible for Luigi's little five-day disappearance," concluded the plumber. "Jesus Christ! Why, Luigi, why him?! And that also means Pete and that pig Pichler have something to do with this."
The blond engineer stared out into space, his face tight with anger. "I want his name."
"Kid, what are you plannin' on doing? Revenge isn't … "
"This isn't about revenge, sir. Lucas didn't just appear now randomly. He's also – and I hate saying this – a decent hacker. He was able to fool me, and that's saying something. And if the Rigassis are involved, and if Luigi will be offered a high-ranking position to appease Carlo Morano as you think might happen, then the only way to protect Luigi and indeed Daisy, Mario, you, and Maria, well, it's information. Hacking is about obtaining information, which is why Lucas has so far been able to manipulate us. And forgive me for saying this, but this is not Bensonhurst where things were settled with baseball bats and beefs. Within twenty years, all warfare will be cyberwarfare. A soldier like Mario won't go to Afghanistan; he'll press a button, call up a drone to kill a terrorist, all while eating a chicken sandwich and listening to the Beastie Boys."
Uncle Joe was silent for a few moments as he considered what Miles had told him. "Aight," he finally said. "Lucas Kariolis."
"Give me forty-eight hours; thirty-six for research, twelve to present it to Luigi," requested Miles. "He won't ignore hard evidence, and I think he's mistrustful of Lucas, anyway."
"Then why did he go with that pig in the first place?" whispered an angry, coughing Giuseppe.
Miles sighed, feeling uncomfortable as the proverbial Figaro between two men who should have talked to each other years ago. "I don't know. But if this is going to work, then … Luigi needs to know that he's valued. He's not Mario."
"That's why he cannot fall into Pete's grubby fuckin' hands, to say nothin' of Lucas's." He added quietly, so softly that Miles almost misheard it, "That's why I pulled him out of that school. He'd have died, and I couldn't have …" They remained in a pensive hush for several minutes; Miles shook his head slowly as he marveled at how, despite their strength, morality, and bravery, three generations of Masciarelli men failed at basic communication. "Well, I gotta go, Miles. We got a call with Mario and Luigi on Skype soon. But let's keep this conversation quiet for now, at least until you've done your research. We'll be in touch." With that, the plumber disconnected the call.
As there was little chance of going back to sleep, the blond engineer rose from the bed and approached the door to unlock it. For the moment, he would enjoy the good food and drink and set aside his immediate desire to enlist Yoshi's assistance and go hunting for one Lucas Kariolis. He had to; if Mario were to learn not only of Lucas's existence but also to the extent of his current influence over Luigi, the keg of Brooklyn Italian dynamite would scatter the situation to the four winds, and it would harm his younger brother. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves to make certain that Mario was none the wiser, he opened the door to reveal an eavesdropping, grinning Wendy. His eyes narrowed at the tween girl who was dressed in tight jeans and a form-fitting pink tunic. "What … What … ?"
"Hi, Miles," she said, batting her eyes. "It's a … lovely morning. Isn't it?"
"Well, uh, uh … I haven't checked," he stammered, trying to inch around her to reach the kitchen and protection.
She blocked his attempt at escape. "I've seen out of the window, Miles. It's a beautiful day for swimming."
"I'll – I'll take your word for it." Smiling nervously, he slithered against the wall and through the small gap to slide past the girl. Before she could corner him again, he took off in a brisk walk to the kitchen. Breathing a sigh of relief at seeing Mario and Luigi, he timidly arranged himself near both brothers. A minute later, the Bowser children arrived, with Wendy still ogling the blond engineer.
"Ah, it's the Dipshit and the Bowser bambini," Mario greeted nonchalantly. "There's bread, jam, and Nutella. Coffee for the adults hot chocolate and juice for the piccoli. Mangiati."
Miles and the children each fixed their own breakfast plate. Wendy and Louie proceeded to fight over the Nutella and nearly spilled the hot chocolate on the kitchen floor, causing Mario to growl (and sign) at them to be careful and "quit horsin' around!" Out of eyeshot, Wendy sign-spelled out the letters for "douchebag" at her brother who in turn flipped her the bird. The timid Miles selected his bread slices, applied marmalade jam in a precise manner, and poured himself a cup of americano, mentally lamenting that he had not brought his French press. Distancing himself from Wendy and her brother, he sat next to Luigi at the table as Mario checked his phone for the time of the upcoming Brazil-Colombia game. Luigi quickly retrieved his laptop and logged into Skype.
Across the street from the pale yellow house, a tall, sunglassed figure sat in a black BMW, having to be content with the limited miniature camera that he was able to place in the middle of the night. While he could only make out so much, as his camera was hidden outside near the patio door, he saw Sergeant Major Dickerson come in and out of the house to check on something that he was roasting on the outside grill. Lucas growled, complaining aloud to himself about Tails the Twat interrupting him and his original plan to televise Luigi's activities after the latter's little 'shit fit' at the arcade. He supposed that he could have invited himself to the celebration, and that would have been his preference, yet there was no telling what the Sergeant Major would do. Frankly, Lucas did not understand why Luigi would choose to forego Napa Valley to play famiglia. Mario had always abandoned him. However, he took care of him in those months following his father's death, had hidden him from both Jackie and Joe the Plumber, gave him a better life than languishing in some plumbing shop, and handed Stanford to him on a silver platter. Luigi's lack of gratitude was enraging. Lucas continued to watch in disgust and rage as Mario said something and everyone, including Weeg, laughed. They were staring at and talking to Luigi's computer screen, presumably a call either with the busty Amazon Queen or, Lucas gagged silently, with Joe the Plumber.
He really wanted to slash that asshole soldier-plumber's tires.
He also really needed to get Luigi down to L.A. to keep his eye on the prize, so to speak.
The two children caught his eye. Whoever managed to cause Bowser to shit himself and skid off to places unknown had his respect, as that stupid putz was likely an informant – Fat Tony did not believe him and refused to pursue the matter – and had a traitor brother. There was a line, albeit a marginal one, that even he would not cross; supporting the terrorists that destroyed Lower Manhattan and killed nearly three thousand fellow New Yorkers was one of them. He did have standards. Abruptly, he caught yelling from inside the house as Sergeant Major Dickerson, Luigi, and the others were chastising the little girl for having said something inappropriate. Pity that he couldn't hear it – if it was referring to Joe the Plumber or the aforementioned asshole soldier, Lucas would have sneaked her a piece of candy for good behavior.
The Sergeant Major came and went several times more throughout the conversation, examining and smelling the roast which Lucas was finally able to identify as porchetta. "It's a-me, Mario, the sewer shit!" he muttered in a falsetto mock Italian accent as he gazed at his measly cooler with leftover food from a scarcely five-star experience in a San Francisco steakhouse.
Oblivious to the fuming Manhattanite outside, the group chortled merrily as they ended the call with Uncle Joe and the Family in New York. Astonishingly, Nonna Mia, Aunt Lucia, and Giuseppe were able to shield their disgust for the elder Bowsers and remained civil to Wendy and Louie; Nonnamost of all, who said in Italian that "they were probably going to be the closest to great-grandchildren that she would get from Mario in her lifetime." Peach, who was obscured from Luigi's laptop camera, wordlessly rolled her eyes at the old woman. Following the Skype call, Mario checked the score on his iPhone – 1-0 Brazil. Shrugging at the current result, he pocketed the phone and called out, "I think the porchetta's gonna be ready by one, so we gotta get the cannoli and salads made."
Wendy crossed her arms and huffed. "I don't know how to cook Italian. I make spaghetti in a can."
The incredulous plumber glared at her, having 'corrected' her behavior twice already that morning. "Jesus fucking – Spaghetti in a can? Was your nonna really Sicilian?! Well, pick somethin' and learn! It ain't hard, and if you can learn to sign, you can learn how to use a spoon."
Louie chuckled and responded, "I can do salad. I think."
"Atta boy! See, Wendy, your brother's gonna make a salad," replied Mario.
The tween girl scoffed and, after signing an 'I hate you' to her smirking brother, sniped, "Fine. Whatever Il Duce wants."
Shocked silence fell upon the kitchen; a red-faced Mario narrowed his eyes and, as if arriving at a brilliant solution, smiled thinly. "Well, since I'm a dictator, I can order you and your mouth to your room. Youse can have a discussion about World War II there. So g'head, princess. I'll let you out maybe before your hair turns gray!"
Wendy's mouth formed a o-shape in surprise and, stomping her foot, roared, "You wouldn't dare, plumber!"
Three heads turned toward a fuming Mario who retorted, "Oh, yeah, I fuckin' will! I'm number one, capisci? Now, go to your fuckin' room before I personally haul your ass there."
Faced with five glares, Wendy's outrage shifted into a tearful reproach. "This is so not fair!" As she spun on her heel to the shared bedroom, she heard Mario chuckle and call out, "Ey, life ain't fair, cupcake." Angered at the man's mocking response, she marched down the hall, threw herself into the room, and slammed the door. Luigi gave a golf clap to his brother while Miles breathed a sigh of relief at her departure.
Attempting to defuse the post-tantrum tension, Mario cleared his throat and said, "Aight, we got pasta, salads, and cannoli to make, huh?"
At a quarter to noon, the antipasti was laid out at the wooden dining table underneath the gazebo in spacious yard and pool area. Thankfully, there was little wind in Menlo Park, so they did not worry about utensils and wine bottles being shifted or blown away. Mario and Miles prepared two plates – one with crudités and a second with sliced meat, cheese, and peperoncini. Peach went to parole Wendy from her room-cum-jail upon condition that she would apologize to Mario for her outburst. A dejected Wendy came out to the gazebo, where Mario, Luigi, Miles, and her brother were already seated, and grumbled a "sorry" to the plumber. Mario bit his lip at the half-apology. However, after a raised eyebrow from Peach, he reluctantly extended a hand for her to sit next to her brother. Yet upon seeing that she was directly in front of Miles, she grinned and happily took her seat. Miles shifted nervously in his place.
Inside his car, Lucas maneuvered the robot to view the picnic table in the backyard, cursing the lack of consistent sound due to the distance and physical interference between him and the backyard.
"Well," began Mario, munching on a piece of salami, "I see that Brazil beat Colombia 2-1. Now they gotta play Germany. I don't know how they're gonna pull that off."
Eating a pepper, Luigi shrugged. "Eh, I'm just rootin' for Brazil because of Daisy." Mario wordlessly harumphed at his brother and popped a carrot stick in his mouth.
"Yeah, well, I think Germany's gonna win," interjected Wendy. At the five heads that turned toward her, she rolled her eyes and gestured with her hands. "Oh, c'mon! They just finished off France and have been putting up the stats all year! The only team that might be able to beat them is Argentina because of Messi!"
An amused Peach answered, "You follow footie? Are you a hooligan?"
"I …" she trailed off for a moment, as if debating whether her mouth would get her sent back to her room. Exhaling in a nonverbal 'screw-it,' she said, "Look, I live in a complete sausage fest of a house. And yeah," she turned to her brother who was making a w-sign for 'whatever,' "it's true! So, including my Uncle John, I live with eight men and boys. Eight! So yeah, I know my stats – soccer, football, and baseball! And by the way, the Mets do suck."
The heads spun toward Mario who calmly chewed on some sliced prosciutto. Facing the collective look, he asked, "What? I mean, she's got a point – eight Bowsers under the same fuckin' roof. And it ain't her fault that she's a Yank-me fan. She's had bad influences."
Louie lifted his fist and announced, "Go Yankees!"
"'Ey!" cried Mario, pointing downward and tapping his finger on the surface. "This is a Mets table!"
Miles continued to nibble on his piece of cheese, completely disinterested in the sports talk. He felt the wandering eyes of the tween girl and moved closer to Luigi, who gave a questioning side-glance; the blond did not move from his best friend, voicelessly beseeching the latter to protect him from the girl's flirtations. Peach's blue eyes alternated between the uncomfortable Miles and the beaming Wendy. Making eye contact with Luigi, she shifted her eyes to the scene unfolding next to him. Upon observation that his best friend was being harassed by his enemy's daughter, Luigi's blue eyes became dark with shock and offense. As Peach rose from the table to serve the ravioli, she asked Miles to help her. Luigi then switched places, explaining to the confused Mario that it was to help Miles and Peach serve the primo. His brother accepted the answer and continued his friendly debate with Louie over baseball. Wendy scowled as Luigi sat in his new place and raised a defiant eyebrow at her. Peach and Miles returned with a large serving dish filled with spinach and cheese ravioli in a white sauce.
A few hundred feet away, Lucas hissed at the video feed, "Waa? Fuck! They even made ravioli?! Weeg, I am going to kill you! When there's ravioli, I expect a goddamn invitation! Even if Sergeant Major Dickerson's there! Although," he leaned in to the screen and added, "His bimbo's got a nice ass." He watched the two people return to the table; Tails found himself next to Mario and breathed a sigh of relief as Luigi carried on conversation with the group while glaring at the tween girl. Twenty minutes passed eating and conversing; Mario closed his eyes at the last bite of the ravioli and kissed Peach in a quick grazie and praise. Luigi rose from his chair to re-enter the house and, about two minutes later, returned with his laptop which he centered on the table. Though Lucas was unable to see the computer screen, he snarkily surmised that the Amazon Queen, as opposed to Joe the Plumber, was calling for her 'whipped bitch.' Even she was invited. And what was he – chopped Walmart steak? "I wouldn't mind doing the Lambada with her, but I would certainly not become her whipped bitch!" he yelled to no one. Grabbing his cooler of Wagyu steak, greens, and New York-style cheesecake, he used a portable stove at the open trunk to warm the steak to an acceptable temperature and served it on a golden, recyclable, fine-dining plate next to his little salad and took a bitter bite off his thick, golden fork as the group smiled and laughed at the laptop screen.
Sometime after came the secondo, which Mario made a great show of what Lucas called the fucking roasted pig. He cut up the rolled roast pork and, with bread of course, served generous portions to each person, including the two children whose eyes grew large at the sheer amount of food. Luigi took the computer inside, presumably to have a more private conversation with his Daisy, and he did not return for nearly twenty minutes.
Luigi was infinitely glad that the Wi-Fi router was just strong enough to hold the signal for Daisy to have virtually joined them at the table, which was arguably better than a simple phone call. In his study, they shared her photos of the village on the Malian-Senegalese border. Eventually, she admitted to him that she had crossed the footbridge above the river and into Mali. But to her surprise, he did not become angry with her; when asked why, he shrugged and said, "Because I trust you, Cat-face. Had it been dangerous, you wouldn't have done it. Just continue to be careful." Nervously, Daisy then told him of an opportunity that one of her colleagues presented to her, that he and a cousin of a friend would drive her into Mali, to a city called Kayes in the western part of the country, to interview a group of women who had fled the Islamist invasion of the north in 2012. The anxiety began to rise and burn Luigi's insides, though he did not immediately reply.
"It'll be one day, sweetie. Maybe two," Daisy tried to reassure him, yet there was something small and unsure in her voice.
"And you can't get this any other way?" finally whimpered the plumber.
"I could," conceded Daisy with a deep sigh, "but my research wouldn't have the same impact. Unfortunately, I need my advisor's letter of recommendation for law school applications. Especially since my LSAT score from June was only a 175."
"Daisy, do you need to go to the Ivy League?!" cried Luigi, rubbing his face and mustache. "I mean … I know you've worked hard for it, and it's what you want. I want it for you, too. But … At what point? A 175 is phenomenal! You'd get into NYU, no problem! And fuck your advisor! I lov … Just tell me what you want and need, Cat-face. I know it's easy for me to say, 'Come home, sweetie. Just fuck it and come home.' But this scares me. And pisses me off a little. You're going to do it regardless of what I say!"
"No, that's not true!" insisted Daisy. "That's why I told you now – to discuss it. My father doesn't even know. He and Yael are in São Paulo for the World Cup. But I suspect it's so that, at the first sign of trouble, he can get to Africa in under eight hours. For the first time in my life, I'm … questioning. When I saw you all at the table – Mario, Peach, Miles, and even the two kids – and I still don't get why that pig dropped his niece and nephew with you guys – when I saw you all, for the first time, I wanted to be there and not adventuring in parts unknown. I mean, I could definitely go without the pork – haram – but … I wanted to be with you."
"I miss you, too," breathed Luigi, touching the screen as if her face were tangible. "So much. And I'm so grateful that you called." He exhaled and regarded her seriously, "Let's find a solution that works for both of us. Are you going alone? Will you be alone?"
"No. I'll be accompanied at all times by people whom I trust. They have no interest in seeing me harmed," she answered.
Luigi nodded with a touch of reluctance. "Aight. Two days and no more. Two days, and you cross that damned border. When do you leave?"
"I don't know yet. I'm guessing July 9."
"You call me before you leave and text when you've crossed the border. Then … you make your way to Dakar."
"At that point, I'd want … to return to the United States," whispered Daisy.
"Then do it," encouraged Luigi. "Just come back. If you can get what you need and impress your advisor, then come back to the States. To me."
"Okay," she murmured with a watery smile.
"I've got a big house and … a bathtub and candles waiting for you, mia principessa." Luigi sensually closed his eyes and mumbled, "I want you sleeping next to me again. Not just for making love. But your presence comforts me in so many ways."
Her hand reached up to the screen, mimicking his earlier gesture. "Me, too. The beds where I've slept have been cold without you, Luigi Masciarelli. But, uh, you'd have to share me with my parents. They'd have my head if I were to come back to the Bay Area without being with them at least sixty percent of the time – and that'll be a negotiation."
Luigi chuckled lightly, still delighted that she would be returning two weeks sooner. "I don't care. Well, I do. However, if it means spending two or three extra days or nights per week with you, so be it. Once I'm done here, we'll go back to New York and ... Well, I still gotta figure that part out. Slaughter's out – got charged with kiddie porn."
"Dio meu, how does that not surprise me? Good riddance. Do you think you'll go back to the union?"
"I don't know, sweetie," he replied honestly. "Apparently, I have a fan club in several shops. If I did, I'd work a master plumber's hourly wage, which isn't bad – forty-five and change per hour. With overtime and other bennies, it's around six figures before taxes and any business costs. Depending on what's involved, it can be sixty to seventy thousand take-home. Generally, though, there is only one master plumber per shop unless they're business partners. And I'm not sure that I want to be stuck in a shop for the rest of my life. IT guys, especially those with my background, make twice that. But be patient with me – I've always landed on my feet. I won't piss around. I promise you."
"I know, sweetie. I'm not worried about that. I just … I want you to be happy and settled."
He chuckled again at the latter word. "I'm workin' on it, Cat-face. You and me, y'know?"
"Yeah, I know. You and me. Us."
"Us."
Having returned from his call with Daisy, a content, settled Luigi sat down at the table to finish his cooled slice of porchetta. There was roughly half of the log left, which Mario guaranteed would make good sandwiches for the beach trip the following day. To rest their expanded stomachs, the adults drank wine, including Miles's cheap-ass California wine, while the children each imbibed a can of soda. As their parents had done in their youth, Mario and Peach permitted Wendy and Louie to have a small sip to adapt to the taste, tannins, and experience. Post-meal quiet falling upon the group, the elder plumber fished out his iPhone and typed something in the search box.
"Don't you know that it's rather impolite to use your phone at the table, amore?" teased Peach while taking a sip of her wine.
"Normally, yeah. But I'm lookin' for where they got the sparklers in this fuckin' town. It's Independent Day after all," retorted Mario.
"They're illegal," interjected Miles.
Mario's eyes snapped up in incredulity. "What the f-? Illegal? Oh, yeah, that makes sense! They got fuckin' pipes right above a goddamn active fault line, but they prohibit kiddie fireworks?! Are you fuckin' serious? Weegie, why did you come to this fuckin' place again? Jesus Christ!" Before his brother could reply, Mario's phone rang and buzzed in his hand. Glancing at the caller ID, he pressed the green key. "Yeah, DK, what's up? Uh, yeah, sure." He put the phone down and mumbled a scusate before moving indoors to the kitchen.
A moment later, the group heard Mario yell, "Wait, what? What?! No, that's not … That fucking can't be!"
