Chapter 25: Waiting

A moment later, the group heard Mario yell, "Wait, what? What?! No, that's not … That fucking can't be!"

Wild murmuring began circulating at the lunch table outside of the house as Mario's voice alternated between quiet and anger over the next ten minutes. Peach worriedly entered the kitchen area to see what exactly had upset her boyfriend. Luigi, Miles, and then the children overheard heated arguing in Italian between the almost-spouses. Miles looked down at his thumbs, attempting to block out Mario and Peach's voices while the children stared uncomprehendingly at the scene. As the argument was loud enough for him to hear, Luigi unwittingly eavesdropped on the entire conversation:

"DK told me that he found the birth certificate for Louie. Dearborn, Michigan. Born to Marco James Bowser and …"

"And whom? Mario?"

His voice torn on his next words. "Pauline Novak. And that is not fucking possible! I'd have known if Pauline had ever been pregnant! I was with her for … twelve fucking years. Someone is fucking with me, with us!"

"Could she have chea … ?"

"No!" screamed Mario. "No, she never would've! Never! She spent five years of her life at Bragg only for me to just … " he trailed off miserably. "And I deserved it."

"Could she have done this out of revenge?" asked Peach, horrified at the latest developments.

"No," he insisted, "I don't believe it. I don't know why someone would have made this shit up or if DK's lyin' to me. I haven't spoken to Pauline since she left me in 2006. Last I heard, she went back to Brooklyn and is now on the city council. I haven't voted in the city council elections in years, so I didn't know until recently. I think she's married, too."

"Are you sure that it's the same Pauline Novak?" demanded Peach incredulously.

"DK seemed to think so – Pauline Olivia Novak, born December 9, 1978. That's her middle name and birthdate. I just don't … I can't believe this. Even if she had cheated on me with that pig, and that's a big if," spat Mario, "she never would have abandoned her child. Never!"

"Mario, take it from me," began Peach heatedly, "Marco Bowser was a charming psychopath. What he could make people do …"

"No, goddamnit! I mean, yes, I know! I knew him before you did, remember? I saw what he did to kids in the street, to Yoshi and Luigi! But I know she never would've." Luigi heard Mario slam down onto one of the stools; what came next shocked him to the core. In a lower tone, he said, "I know because she had been pregnant. Right before I deployed and about six months before my mission to save you. We were on the outs and knew that it was a matter of time. But, uh, we both decided to keep it, y'know? She wanted that baby more than anything, more than," he chuckled mirthlessly, "even me. Due to the stress of my upcoming deployment, she miscarried. It was her first pregnancy. The doctor confirmed it. She was heartbroken, and I knew we were done when I got on the plane to Afghanistan."

"Why did you never tell me?" gasped Peach. "All this time, I thought …"

"What? That I was cheating on her when I met you? A thousand thanks for your vote of confidence in my morals, principessa!" bit out Mario sarcastically.

"Goddamn you and goddamn the Masciarelli men for all of their fucking secrets!" screamed Peach, storming off to their bedroom and slamming the door.

Luigi heard an audible sigh, a muttered "fuck" in English, and heavy footsteps moving toward the door and the outdoor table. Mario reappeared, took his place and, avoiding his brother's disbelieving glare, announced, "Well, looks like the cannoli will be a little later tonight."

Throwing down his napkin, Luigi hissed, "You're an unbelievable asshole!" He abruptly left the table and went inside; Miles immediately followed his best friend, leaving Mario with the children. From the comfort of his black SUV, and though he could not hear nor understand what had fully transpired, a snickering Lucas made a crack about the stereotypical Italian-American soap opera unfolding for his viewing pleasure.

Sometime later, as Luigi lay on his king-sized bed, staring at the ceiling, he heard a familiar Fibonacci sequence of knocks against his shut door. "It's open, Miles," he grumbled.

The blond walked into the room, shut the door, and flopped on the vacant side. "I, uh, didn't understand any of it, given that I don't speak Italian. I did, however, hear them mention Pauline."

"Yeah," scoffed Luigi, still gazing up at the ceiling. "Turns out that Pauline's name is on the birth certificate for Louie."

"What?" cried Miles. "So that means she cheated on Mario?"

"No, someone's messing with us. Well, with Mario. Apparently, Pauline was pregnant, but not in 2001. Mario never told us that he was actually having a kid with her. She lost the baby shortly before he was first deployed to Afghanistan. And the doctor confirmed to Mario that it was her first. There was no way that she could have given birth and hidden it from an OB-GYN."

"Jesus," muttered Miles. "I mean, honestly, it's none of anyone's business but theirs, Lou."

"Miles, he didn't tell anyone!" retorted Luigi angrily, twisting to face him squarely. "No one! I could have had a nephew! And Peach, she's understandably pissed."

"Lou, I still fail to see how it was anyone else's business. I'm your friend, and I want to be on your side, but it sounds like he respected her privacy. And instead of mourning of what wasn't, you're ignoring the fact that someone intentionally violated Pauline's sense of personhood," said Miles meaningfully. "I'm guessing it's the same whomever behind Bowser's disappearance."

Turning toward the ceiling, Luigi let shame and embarrassment wash over his body. "I … I'm …"

"…Human," finished the blond engineer. "I'd apologize to Mario later if I were you. Meanwhile, we need to figure out who's screwing around with the birth certificate. That's how we can best help. We both know that Louie isn't Pauline's son." He rose from the bed, walked to the door, opened it, and went to his bedroom nearby. Having retrieved his laptop, he came back to Luigi's room and shut the door. Miles unlocked the laptop and engaged a series of virtual machines. Luigi sat up in interest and observed his friend's convoluted method to obscure his actual location. "Where was that birth certificate issued?"

"Uh, Dearborn, Michigan, I think."

Nodding, Miles used his setup to grant himself access to the Michigan Health and Human Services database. "Hmm, let's see. Marco Bowser and Louie or Louis Bowser." Searching for the criteria, he exclaimed, "Ah, got it. Louis Marco Bowser, born November 5, 2001 to Marco James Bowser, born September 3, 1977, of Brooklyn, New York and Polina – with an 'a' and I believe the wrong spelling – Olivia Novak, born December 9, 1978, of Queens, New York. No address given for any residence in Michigan."

"What the hell?" gasped Luigi. "Pauline never lived in Queens. She was born and raised in Brooklyn."

"And you'd think DK would have known this was a fake. So why play Mario?"

"Yeah, good fucking question, Miles. And why mess with Pauline? She's been out of Mario's life since 2006. So eight years."

"Well," began Miles thoughtfully. "Let's start with what we do know about Marco Bowser. Aside from being a grade-A psycho, was he ever with anyone?"

Luigi guffawed. "Honestly, I tried to stay clear of that crazy motherfucker whenever possible. After the incident in the warehouse, I only ran into him a handful of times before I went to Brooklyn City. Insults, same shit as before except …" He snapped his fingers. "Yeah, I do remember someone different. She was blonde, I think. I saw her from a distance. This must have been when I was, like, thirteen. It was maybe a year before I went off to high school."

"Interesting. So she must have been in New York in 2000 and 2001. Somewhere in Brooklyn or Queens, which would make sense, given that the Bowsers were also out there. Let me try – wait, Wendy's a couple years younger than Louie, and Marco was in the Special Forces, right?"

"Yeah," affirmed Luigi. "Peach once said that he was at Bragg around the same time as Mario."

"Okay, let's see what the hospitals around Fort Bragg have." Miles made a quick copy of Louie's birth certificate, closed the session, and connected to another to track down Wendy's. The plumber waited as the blond typed furiously; a moment later, he exclaimed, "Got it. Wendy Olivia Bowser. Mother's name is … Olivia Jane Smith. Different birthdate and birthplace – August 20, 1978 in … Wait, Rome, Italy? Two different mothers with only two common themes: Olivia and fake names. Maybe her real name is Olivia. The problem is that there's got to be a thousand Olivias in Queens. We'll need Mario's help to figure out where to start."

Before Luigi could protest, Miles took a screenshot of the second birth certificate, destroyed his session, and, laptop in hand, strolled out of his room. The younger plumber followed him to the living room where Mario sat slumped on the sofa, half-empty wine bottle and wine glass in front of him. The older man lifted his dejected blue eyes to Miles who said, "Mario, I think DK's a liar. Also, who's Olivia?"

Mario did not reply; instead he faced forward.

"Look, Mario," spoke Luigi from behind Miles. "I overheard something that wasn't my business. I'm sorry, bro. Truly. But please, answer Miles's question. It's important. DK's … version can't be trusted."

Still quiet, the older plumber shrugged.

"She would have been around Marco around 2000 or 2001. Blonde."

Blonde. "What?" rasped Mario. "Blonde?"

"Yeah," said Miles. "Apparently, there was some blonde woman who was with Marco in 2000. Luigi saw her from a distance. We think she's the mother of Wendy and Louie. Also, Louie's birth certificate doesn't have 'Pauline Olivia Novak' on it; it's 'Polina,' like how the Eastern Europeans or Russian Jews spell it. And her birthplace is listed as Queens, not Brooklyn."

Mario's eyes snapped to Miles's, then Luigi's. "Whoa, whoa, what the fuck? You got the kid's birth certificate? DK couldn't have given it to youse?"

Miles and the younger brother exchanged looks. "Well, no. I …"

"Okay," he interrupted, launching himself off the couch, "it's probably better that I don't know specifics. Her name's Polina?!"

"Maybe. Olivia's the common theme, so I'm going with that."

"I don't know of any 'Olivia.' I mean, yeah, I did live with Pops and Weegie back then, but after high school, I didn't really see Bowser that much. I was finishing my last year of apprenticeship. Pauline's parents didn't think much of me – never did – and wouldn't let us live together until I was, to quote her father, 'ready to put a ring on her finger.' I couldn't realistically do that until I became a journeyman. They only allowed her to go with me to North Carolina because I enlisted in the Special Forces, and her father respected that as a Vietnam vet. Anyway," he trailed off, ending his impromptu reminiscence of the past. He coughed, then continued, "Anyway, to answer your question, Marco wasn't really into any girl at New Utrecht. Not that I saw. But then again, I was a year behind him."

"Lena."

The three males turned toward the visibly upset Peach who was standing in the entry way to the living room. Wiping her watery blue eyes, she spoke the name again. "There was a … Lena whom he mentioned. When he was, uh, still in the wine-and-dine phase of our relationship. He called her his 'ex-girlfriend' from Brooklyn."

Miles bobbed his head in thought. "Lena can be a shortened version of Polina. So Polina Olivia. Did he mention a last name?"

Peach shook her head. "No. He never did. But I remember my ex-mother-in-law mentioning a Paola when I had first come to visit after our wedding. That I was never like Paola. I remember Marco becoming so … angry with his mother, demanding that she never mention that name again. She was somewhat … ill when I met her, and later, I assumed that it was one of his flings on the side. It never occurred to me that I was the fling." Overwhelmed, she sat down on the couch, with Mario following her example, sitting next to her.

"And Paola is Polina in Italian or Sicilian," concluded Luigi. "So her name is Polina. Olivia might be a middle or Saint's name. But why try to use another name on the children's birth certificates? He wasn't even with Peach at that time."

"The only thing that makes sense is if she had more to hide than he did," replied Miles.

"Now that's hard to believe," groused Mario, wiping his mustache with his thick right hand and, out of the corner of his eye, glancing at Peach. "The piece of shit should've been in prison long before he could knock anyone up. He was a violent criminal. I wish we had more to go on than just some woman named 'Polina.'" He sighed. "Well, we ain't gonna know until we get back to New York. Let's … Let's just enjoy the rest of the holiday." He looked meaningfully at Peach and, grasping her hand, said, "I don't want that piece of garbage takin' any more of our time." Smiling through unshed tears, she nodded.

"Speaking of Bowsers," interrupted Luigi, "where are the kids?"

"I, uh, wanted to distract 'em, so I told them that they could swim in the pool."

"Mario, they're unsupervised! Can they even swim?" demanded Peach, her voice tinged with worry. Launching off the couch, she ran toward the kitchen and the French doors that led to the outdoor pool. All of the adults quickly followed her to the doors, where they could see Louie and Wendy having a water fight at the shallow end. Exhaling in relief, Peach allowed her body to loosen and lean against Mario's. The plumber encircled his muscular arms around her waist, mumbling a "I gotcha" into her shoulder.

"Well, alright. Luigi, Miles, let's get the leftover food in the refrigerator and take care of the rubbish." Turning to Mario, she smirked, "You're on lifeguard duty."

Mario muttered a "Mamma mia" under his breath.


Right after the next day's breakfast, Mario, Peach, Luigi, Miles, and the children climbed into the white SUV to visit the red brick and mortar and palm trees of Stanford University. As it was the day after the Fourth, much of the campus was closed, but Mario and Peach insisted upon looking around at what the older plumber called "Luigi's fancy-pants school." The adults largely ignored Wendy and Louie's audible boredom and pleas to go to the beach, although Mario hissed at them once and once only to "can it before their beach trip got canned." They concluded the trip to Stanford by Mario stating that the large buildings "looked earthquake proof, but who could tell with lots of money and cheap building materials."

The Brooklynites' white SUV, followed closely by Lucas's black one, headed south toward San José and Santa Cruz. Despite the children's pleas to go to the beaches near the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, Mario, Luigi, and Peach all refused, as the blue waters were known for their frigid temperatures, even in July, and dangerous currents that were known to drown the most experienced swimmers. The calmer, more child-friendly beaches in northern California were in Santa Cruz, though Mario (and Lucas) grumbled at the "fuckhead Cali-pricks" throughout the crowded drive down Highway 17. A little past noon, they parked at Cowell Beach. Peach guided the excited children toward the water while Mario and Luigi carried the large cooler and Miles gathered their beach towels, blankets, and umbrella. Several cars away, Lucas watched the party and was outraged that "Weeg would choose such a pedestrian beach." Groaning at the 'unclean' Santa Cruz sands, he exited his vehicle and followed them, carrying his Egyptian cotton beach towel, sanitizing liquid, and a small cooler packed with foie gras, gourmet bread, black caviar, a California roll, and a Louis Roederer rosé. As he carefully arranged his towel a couple hundred feet behind them, Lucas growled at the grinning, shirtless Luigi with his equally shirtless older brother, who were in the midst of some discussion; Tails the Twat wore a beach shirt and bottoms, obviously trying to hide from the tween girl ogling his small ass; Mario's 'bimbo' opted for a two-piece pink bikini, which both he and the Sergeant Major appreciated; and the Bowser brats were trying to wait patiently, albeit barely, for Peach or Mario to take them to the water's edge.

"Jesus, do something already," hissed Lucas impatiently as he smeared foie gras on a piece of sliced bread. "It's been twenty seconds, and I'm already bored as fuck. Although, Mario's blondie does have nice tits – model quality. Don't know why she's with that fat Bensonhurst fuck."

He alternatively scoffed and huffed while observing the group from afar, especially when Luigi and Tails brought their rented surfboards toward the water. They paddled their boards with their hands out to the smaller waves, then both stood up and rode the baby wave back to the shoreline. Not bothering with his recyclable wine glass, the man in the purple trunks grabbed the wine bottle and took a large swig, muttering "Fuckers" under his breath to the sand. In spite of the distance, he could see Mario gesticulating wildly at his brother and Tails to the blonde, who looked at him with a practiced tolerance. "I'm with you on this one, Dickerson," grumbled the Manhattanite. "Surfers are crazy idiots."

Two hundred fifty feet in front of Lucas, the older plumber irritably approached his younger brother and Miles. "Did youse have fun bein' morons? That's open water, and I can't," pointing to his prosthesis, "go get ya if you fall off those things!"

"Relax, Mario," laughed Luigi. "I've done this before. It wasn't far out, and the wave was no more than seven-ish feet." Miles nodded his agreement.

"Seven-ish feet?!" cried Mario, pinching fingers of both hands. "Northern California's got fuckin' rip currents! It don't take much water to pull youse straight out to sea!"

Wendy and Louie came rushing up to Miles's and Luigi's surfboards. "Wow!" exclaimed Louie. "Luigi, can you show me how to do that?"

"Yeah, Miles, can you?" echoed Wendy, batting her eyes.

Looking around at the tweens who were inspecting the surfboards, and in Wendy's case, the blond surfer, Mario rolled his eyes and shouted, "Oh, fuckin' perfect! Now they want to be idiots, too! Four fuckin' idiots givin' me agita! Piccoli, absolutely not!" Although Wendy and Louie whined and pleaded with him, the plumber forced the kids back to their camp, where Peach had placed their sandwiches on paper napkins. The children sank down dejectedly on the blanket; Mario picked up the sandwich and, shaking his head at the two 'idiots,' bit grumpily into the French roll and roast pork. Luigi and Miles went out once again, the waves becoming larger and stronger; though Mario pretended not to notice that his little brother had gone further out with the intermediate-level surfers, with Miles wading several feet behind, Peach watched her boyfriend's muscular shoulders twitch and heard the sharp intake of breath to indicate that his anxiety was rising by the second. Calmly, she began to rub his back, as she had done countless times in the middle of the night when Mario woke up panting and hiccupping. He silently leaned into her touch, still unable to tear his alarmed blue eyes from the Pacific Ocean. As Louie watched Luigi's surfing of a ten-foot wave with glee, Wendy stared at the scene unfolding before her, the normally authoritarian Italian becoming smaller and younger in his mannerisms and need for Peach's reassurance. Having never witnessed this type of intimacy between a man and a woman, she remained quiet, transfixed by the window into mutual souls. Feeling eyes upon them, Peach turned to Wendy; instead of the glare that she would have given a nosy stranger, the blonde held the girl's gaze to request both compassion and understanding.

"Woah, look at Luigi!" yelled a jubilant Louie, pointing out toward the ocean.

Mario's eyes worriedly locked on Luigi's position which was atop a ten-foot wave; he snaked his surfboard along the water, making a gentle zig-zag before skidding to the wet sand. "Fuckin' moron," he hissed, closing his eyes in relief and dropping his head against Peach's shoulder.

Similarly, a man in purple sighed and shook his head. "Weeg, you complete idiot," he said to his half-empty wine bottle.

Dragging himself out of the ocean, Luigi joined Miles, and they walked to the camp, surfboards in arm. Upon arrival, they set them down next to the blankets and carefully sat down to avoid getting sand all over them. Luigi's whoop of victory stopped in his throat at the sight of his fretful brother and visibly irritated sister-in-law. "Mi dispiace, fratello," he whispered to Mario, who managed to nod once. Peach handed Luigi his sandwich and ordered him in Italian to stay and eat with Mario. Not daring to anger her further, the younger plumber took small bites of the roll, while she more gently handed the cautious Miles his lunch. Eventually, Mario calmed down and resumed being his usual boisterous Brooklyn self, gladly allowing Peach to feed him one of the cannoli that she had prepared the previous night for the Saturday picnic. After dessert, Peach proposed a game of volleyball, which permitted all, including Mario, to participate. As Mario and Luigi constantly tried to spike the ball at each other, much to Louie's and Miles's laughter and Peach and Wendy's eyerolls, Lucas glowered at the family fun. "Fuck the fucking famiglia," he spat somewhat drunkenly.

About four o'clock in the afternoon, Luigi and Miles returned their surfboards, and the group brought their blankets, umbrella, and cooler to the SUV to make the two-hour long drive back to Palo Alto. Tired from the sunshine and outdoor activities, Peach, Miles, and the children drifted off to sleep while Luigi sat next to Mario up front. Although they did not say much to each other on the way back, Mario kept his hand next to his brother's and gave him an almost beseeching glance: Come back to Brooklyn – don't stay here. The rest of the evening was equally tranquil as Peach, Wendy, and Louie packed their suitcases for their departure the following day, and the plumbers and Miles thoroughly cleaned the cooler and rental car of excess sand and debris.

Sunday morning had unfortunately come for Mario and Luigi. Loading their suitcases in the back, Peach and the children climbed into the SUV to wait for Mario. Facing his brother, the older plumber quietly asked, "When are you comin' back to Brooklyn?"

Luigi ran a hand through his hair. "Um, August 16. So in about six weeks."

Nodding, Mario then enfolded his brother in a bear hug. "California's nice. The campus's nice. But there are earthquakes, fratellino."

"Yeah, I know, bro. You can call me. Y'know, to make sure that there are no big ones."

He smacked Luigi on the cheek and headed to the driver's side, keys in hand. "Count on it!"

With a wave and a heavier heart, Luigi watched the white SUV pull out of the driveway and make its way back to the airport. A sleepy Miles, still dressed in his pajama bottoms and tee-shirt, walked out into the cool seven o'clock air to stand next to his best friend. The Italian twisted his head to greet his friend. "Hey. I suppose it's your turn next?"

He stretched and replied, "Eventually, yes. However, I've extended my stay until Wednesday. Frankly, the Lucas situation bothers me, and we still need to talk. I didn't want to do it around Mario or the Bowser children."

Luigi shrugged, then re-entered the house. He walked into the kitchen to prepare their morning americano. "Yeah, what about him? I mean, other than violating my privacy by letting himself inside?"

Ambling closely behind him, Miles slid onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar. "Lou, he's dangerous. He's a hacker, which I suspect you know already. And with considerable skill. Do you know how the hacking world operates?"

The plumber reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a plate of cannoli that he knew would be there. Placing two pieces on a saucer plate, he offered one to Miles, who gratefully accepted it. "Honestly, no, I don't. I mean, I saw them - Matt, Sam, and Lucas – hack that government contractor. That's how they got the video of Bowser. And I … hacked a few school computers at Brooklyn City with Lucas's help. But it was just high-school kid bullshit."

"Well," the blond began, taking a bite of cookie and ricotta filling, "you're right that Brooklyn City was 'script kiddie.' Lucas is a black hat, as are your cousins in Colorado. They break into government and financial sites and whatnot looking for information or, more often, to extort money from certain individuals. I'm what you'd call a black hat, although I have never extorted or ransomwared anyone. I look for information only or I break into servers upon the owner's explicit request. But black hats like Lucas don't care about whom they victimize, so long as it accomplishes their personal goals. He's the one who hacked your phone."

"Yeah, I know," admitted Luigi, pouring the hot coffee into two cups. Placing one in front of Miles and sipping from the other, he added, "I put two and two together shortly after I returned from Los Angeles."

"Then why are you still friends with this asshole?" demanded Miles pointedly. "Giuseppe shared with me what happened at Brooklyn City. That only disturbed me more."

"You mean what he thinks happened?" retorted Luigi just as pointedly. "Lucas … Lucas and I go way back. He was, uh, there, y'know? Back when I was being passed around the family like a cheap suitcase, he was the one constant in my life. After I was brought to Staten Island, he disappeared from my life. And I was too embarrassed to reach out."

"I know," he said quietly. "You didn't even talk to Yoshi or me for a better part of a year and a half."

"What was there to say?" Luigi took a small bite of the cannolo and went on, "You guys were at Stuyvesant during my last year of high school and were on the early decision list for MIT. Hell, he ended up at Harvard. Me? I was a late decision for the Plumbers' Union. Anyway, Lucas came back in my life as a result of Fat Tony's latest bullshit. He cajoled me to go to California with him. The rest you know."

"You mean, he threatened you," concluded Miles matter-of-factly.

"Yeah," nodded the plumber. "Threatened to shut down Sal's contracts unless I went with him. But … I'll admit, I didn't need much pushing in that regard. Miles … I was, no, I am so sick of taking a backseat to everyone – Mario, Uncle Joe, Sal, the union, even you and Yoshi to an extent. I wanted … When Lucas brought me to Los Angeles, I was keenly aware that he was – is – playing some sort of game with me, but when I saw his house and the life on the beach … I realized that I wanted that, mainly because of Daisy. Her family is very, very wealthy. Aside from my ethnic and religious background, I knew they would be … less than thrilled with the idea of their beautiful, smart, and well-educated daughter dating a loser plumber from Bensonhurst. I figured that if I became a successful engineer, the other stuff wouldn't matter as much."

"He's using you, Lou. And you're not a loser. You never were!" his friend insisted, his voice picking up an octave at the latter declaration.

"Yeah, I am, Miles. I am a loser. And until I went to Arizona, I hadn't realized just how much of a loser I'd become. And whether it be fortunately or unfortunately thanks to Lucas, I am now on my way to having that life. I don't … I don't want to give that up just to go back to the Plumbers' Union and live a life of perpetual inconsequence."

"Lou, don't take this the wrong way, but at this point, if you were to choose perpetual inconsequence, then that would be completely on you. But it's not either or; you can still be an engineer without Lucas! Professor Omaya has been waiting for a decade, and he still waits for you at NYU! He never gave up hope! And neither did Yoshi or I! I know why you wouldn't go to Columbia, but NYU's in Brooklyn. Why won't you go?! What is so special about Stanford?!"

"It was my father!" cried Luigi. He took a deep breath, then put up a hand in a silent apology for raising his voice. "Miles, Pops always wanted me to go to Stanford, MIT, or Harvard. But more importantly, he wanted me to get out of New York. After he caught me with the fires, we … we were gonna leave after the fall semester was over, right after Christmas. I never knew where exactly we were going, but the week before … he died, he told me that we were leaving for good. He never believed that we had a future there, and that's why he made sure that I went to Brooklyn City or Stuyvesant. It was best way to get me to Massachusetts or California. That's also why, in part, he was never interested in remarrying – no ties to keep him, me, and possibly Mario to New York. That was always his plan, and that was why Uncle Joe started at least half of those screaming matches. I didn't understand until recently, not even when Joe had pulled me off a bus bound for Santa Monica. He told me that as long as he was alive, I'd remain in New York."

"And Lucas essentially made an offer that you couldn't refuse, knowing that you had been about to leave. Jesus," muttered Miles, taking another bite of the cannolo.

"He didn't know," interjected Luigi with a hint of a smirk. "To this day, he still doesn't know. Neither did Joe. Frankly, neither does Mario, at least, not to my knowledge. But … I think Pops was right. Look at Mario – I'm keeping him from moving in with Peach, having his own family! And I don't … Uncle Joe's got his own children and grandchild now. I know he looks at me like a son, but everyone leaves home eventually. The travelling, it showed me. It showed me that I'm ready to move on, Miles. With Daisy, if she wants me."

"I know," affirmed Miles. "But neither Lucas nor the Rigassis, including Carlo Morano, will allow this. I don't think the union will, either, to say nothing of the backdoor politics involved there. That's what my intuition is telling me, Lou. Intuition because I don't yet have proof. Just circumstantial evidence. If you want the choice to live however you want – and no one can fault you for that – then you'll need to take control and step up to whatever game they're playing. I think that's where your father miscalculated. He was trying to run away from the future rather than confront it."

"Sounds like him," murmured Luigi with a small laugh. "He was a pacifist through and through. Mario always wanted to fight, and every time, Pops would get pissed off at him." He picked up his cannolo and bit into it, cream sticking to his lip, which he licked away. "So … how do I … confront the future? How do I confront it and keep everyone – you, Yoshi, Mario, Peach, Joe, and Daisy – safe?"

"Good question. I'm used to dodging various jerkoffs online, but I've never played the game in real life before. I would say that we need to acquire information and make sure that we have more than they do. That's going to be the tough part, as both Lucas and Pete Morello have a head start of several decades. Then, provided that we get that information, we take their game and throw it back at them. Yeah, we can do that."

Luigi drank his coffee, deep in thought. "What if I play dumb?" he mused. "Both you and Joe seem to think that the union will replace Sal with me, so that would be when both Pete and Lucas would make their true intentions known and, along with any information you'd find out along the way, we'd have the upper hand. Power corrupts absolutely."

Miles raised a blond eyebrow. "So, like, going undercover of sorts? Are you up for that? What about Daisy? If you act as bait, there's a chance that you may not be able to walk away. They could use her against you. She is already a visible figure online, so I can't scrub her footprint."

He sighed. "I planned on telling Daisy when she comes back. Inasmuch as I want her far, far away from this, she's made it clear that being given a choice is important to her. And inasmuch as I want to run away like Pops did, I … Yeah, I can do this. I have to do this."

"Just remember, Lou: power corrupts absolutely – that's why you can't be by yourself."

"Yeah, I know. I'm risking a lot. I just … You don't have to do this. I can't hide in the shadows, but that doesn't mean that you can't."

"Like I said to you before, besides my brother, you're my best friend – you and Yoshi," stated Miles meaningfully. "I will always have your back."

"Ti voglio bene, Miles, and thank you," replied Luigi.

The rest of the morning and afternoon were passed in a comfortable silence; Miles and Luigi took opposite positions in the living room to work on their individual projects. Checking his online gradebook, the plumber was pleased to learn that he earned a perfect score on his Machine Learning 'quiz' and received a 97 on his first checkpoint for his final project in the Computer Security for Manufacturing and Control Systems course, with the professor inviting him to attend Monday's afternoon office hours to "discuss his ideas further." As Luigi tested his section of the Machine Learning homework in Jupyter and sent it to his study group, he received a notification on his iPhone that someone was at the door. Seeing that it was Lucas, he swore and gestured to Miles to hide his laptop. While Miles hid it in a safe place, Luigi went to greet Lucas at the large door.

"Hey, man!" greeted the man brightly, waltzing into the house without Luigi's invitation. "Did Sergeant Major Dickerson leave yet?"

"Yeah, he and his girlfriend left this morning," answered the plumber as he shut the door behind him.

"Finally! I couldn't imagine how fucking bored you must have been around Soldier Boy. Anyway, let's take a drive to Monterey. We'll get back a little late, but my guess is you've got your shit done already. Dinner au bord de la mer, and believe me, man, the view's …" Lucas stopped abruptly upon spotting Miles. Even as he forced a thin smile, his brown eyes narrowed faintly. "Weeg, I didn't know that you still had company! Remind me of your name – Twat, was it? No," he snapped his thin fingers, "Tails! That's it, Tails!"

Miles did not visibly react at the insult. "Yeah, dude! Tails, it is. And yeah, like, Luigi and I were going to ride the waves for another couple of days before I head out to catch the big one to JPL, you know?"

"Um, yeah, sure," deadpanned Lucas. "Well, Weeg and I have a gala in Monterey. Nice talking to you!"

As Lucas tried to grab Luigi's arm and head toward the front door, the latter turned to him and said, "He's my guest, Lucas. I can't just leave him here. I'm down for a drive, but only if he comes along. I mean," he leaned into Lucas's ear, "he's Daisy's friend, y'know?"

The man in the purple polo shirt and expensive beige dress pants sighed audibly. "Alright, he can come."

Fixing a fake smile, Miles replied as he started to sprint to his room, "Far out, dude! Let me get my wallet. Just take a minute!"

Lucas pulled out his iPhone and texted to Luigi, "JFC, Weeg, are you seriously going to make me take Daisy's Dork?!"

"Yes," replied Luigi aloud with a smirk.

Shaking his head in a deliberate manner, Lucas mouthed a "fuck you" to the plumber. A moment later, a nonchalant Miles returned. "Okay, dude, it's all copacetic here!"

Leading the other two to his purple Porsche 991, Miles busied himself with his cheap burner phone, quickly writing and sending "44 6f 75 63 68 65 62 61 67" to Luigi. As the plumber pushed his seat forward to allow him to crawl into the back, his iPhone buzzed against his leg. Re-arranging the seat and sliding into the front, he caught the message and stifled a chuckle.

Lucas raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Oh, a friend of mine from back home sent me a text," Luigi explained.

The tall man hummed and started the engine, adeptly maneuvering the sportscar out of the driveway, down the street, and toward the highway to Monterey. Miles kept his affixed dopey smile as the Nefarious 44 6f 75 63 68 65 62 61 67 of Manhattan merged onto Highway 101. As the youngest group in the regional and national robotics competitions, the Brobot Boys experienced their fair share of taunting and insults from older teenagers who were jealous of their raw talent and numerous gold medals. In order to defend themselves and to avoid being disqualified for disrespectful conduct, Luigi, Miles, Yoshi, and Omaya's son used hexadecimal ciphertext to refer to their bullies, which they employed to this day for secret messages or in-jokes.

[44 6f 75 63 68 65 62 61 67 = G]

Lucas kept quiet throughout the ninety-minute drive, seething at the constant interruptions that he had to endure. What I fucking do for friendship, he lamented. Instead of enjoying a nice dinner with his bestie, he was stuck babysitting Tails the Twat, whose brain was no doubt fried from the previous afternoon's beach trip. Even he received an invitation! Granted, the Manhattanite would have preferred ear flossing over spending five minutes or more with Sergeant Major Dickerson and the Ditzy Blonde, yet it hardly seemed fair that a perfect stranger spent several days with Luigi. Amazon Queen or not, ample tits or not, this will not stand, Daisy, he thought with a sneer.

At half past four in the afternoon, the purple Porsche roared up to an upscale Spanish-style hotel. Valets stepped out to greet Lucas as he leisurely tossed the keys to one of them. Luigi and Miles followed the tall man into the restaurant, and the hostess seated them at one of the wooden outdoor patio tables underneath a natural canopy of ferns and a tall palm tree. The waitress brought out some Spanish olives, almonds, and a pitcher of vermillion-colored sangria. Lucas gestured at the food with his hand, "Mi casa es su casa! Well, este restaurante es el nuestro, or some shit like that. I didn't take Spanish in school – Weeg knows that. Tails, you must have picked up some español out here in California?"

Nibbling at one of the olives, which was a bit salty for his taste, Miles replied, "Nah, dude. Like, I have enough trouble with English, let alone Spanish, dude."

"Huh, so where did you say that you studied basket weaving?" asked Lucas while ignoring Luigi's glare.

Miles chuckled, feigning ignorance. "I don't know anything about baskets! It's mechanical engineering. I study at Cal Tech. Pasadena, dude! Are you a Stanford dude like Luigi here?"

"Me?" inquired Lucas with a hint of underlying incredulity in his voice. "I finished my education about two years ago. Weeg and I went to Brooklyn City High together," he began while wrapping a long left arm around the plumber's shoulders, "then I went to Harvard for my undergrad in computer science and mathematical sciences. And then I got my MBA from UPenn."

"Right on, dude. So you work for your daddy-o or something?"

Lucas took a sip of sangria and curled his lip. "Hardly," he spat. "I've got my own gaming company. I'm about to put out the newest masterpiece in my collection – War Rampage 3: Return to Benghazi."

"War Rampage 3? Uh, what were the first two about?"

The man in purple stared disbelievingly at the blond engineer who popped a few salted almonds in his mouth. "What does it sound like they were about? It's like Call of Duty and GTA all in one! Invade 'em, fuck 'em, and shoot 'em!"

"Invade, fuck, shoot – got it. Like, nice flowchart you got there, dude." Miles and Lucas overheard an impromptu cough from Luigi, who was attempting to hide his laughter at blond's last comment. "I'm into mindfulness, bro. Invading, fucking, and shooting hella upsets the chakra flow and surfing gods! Personally, I'm way into fuzzy foxes and hedgehogs. Much more, like, wholesome." Lucas gaped blankly at Tails, who continued his thought, "I mean, like, who could turn down a nice viewing of Bambi? Such beautiful woodland critters."

Luigi audibly gagged and spewed his drink across his appetizer plate. "Ah, sorry," he said between coughs. "Went down the wrong pipe."

Lucas had neither moved nor asked if his friend was alright; he maintained the same blank stare in Miles's direction. The latter looked to Luigi and inquired in a concerned voice, "Luigi, dude, are you okay?" At the plumber's curt nod, Miles sipped at the sangria. "So, like, Bambi's, like, a totally underrated film. The part where Bambi's mother dies … That's, like, philosophically deep, bro. Should've won an Academy. They totally screwed Bambi and other critter-kind out of an Oscar. But their response was hella typical of the period – 1940s anti-critterism." Luigi chewed on his lip, willing himself to keep a straight face as Miles calmly chewed on a piece of fruit from the sangria.

Lucas, who had thus endured the blond's film critique, slowly folded his arms across his chest. "So, Tails," he began with a forced smile, "I just have one question for you." At the blond engineer's raised eyebrow, the Manhattanite flatly posited, "How did you end up at Cal Tech with such a gift for … abstract analysis?"

"Great question, bro! I guess I'm just, like, fortunate. And I like bowties. Bowties are cool."

Mouth open, the tall man turned to Luigi and, mumbling an "Excuse me," abruptly rose, and walked toward the interior of the restaurant, presumably to use the men's room. Out of eyeshot, a pink-faced Luigi giggled uncontrollably. "Bambi, Miles? What the fuck?"

"What?" the blond inquired seriously. "That was a very important film, Lou! Besides, I got key information. For a black hat, he's not very smart." Reaching into his back pocket, he briefly held up a phone-sized tracker that had identified Lucas's iPhone's name, phone number, and carrier. "My design. Don't ask."

Before the plumber could reply, his iPhone buzzed. Taking it out, he read the message from Lucas and rolled his eyes: "WEEG, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? WHERE DID DAISY FIND THIS TWAT? Is she into dominance and role-play, hence the pussified surfer dude? Man-eater?"

"Gotcha, asshole," muttered Miles. "Turnabout's fair play."

"Wait – I just learned this in school. Don't you need his network password to get into his phone? That's gotta be twelve or more letters and/or numbers. It's secured, right?"

"Yep. A secured carrier network's notoriously difficult to crack, and his hotspot's password protected. But there are other, better ways to backdoor him. I just needed a little info."

Suddenly, Lucas's figure re-appeared and ambled toward the two Brobot Boys. "Shit!" hissed Luigi. "He's coming."

Miles pretended that he was checking his email and put the "phone" away as Lucas merrily greeted them. "Ah, sorry about that, gents. Nature called! Shall we order dinner?"

As promised and per Lucas's recommendation, they ordered a colorful Portuguese seafood stew and paella with an extra helping of bread. Throughout much of the meal, Lucas remained quiet, save for the occasional smartass remark or glance of disbelief at Miles who appeared unaware of the man's derision. Luigi did much of the talking to defuse the uncomfortable silence at the table which, for a New York Italian, meant that someone had died or would die imminently. Providing the excuse of being 'fatigued,' Lucas decided that they should leave before dessert; he paid the bill and drove them in silence back to Palo Alto. An hour later, Luigi received another text from Lucas: "When is Furry le Fucker leaving?" He quickly wrote that Miles was leaving "at the end of the week."

The next few days went by rapidly; Luigi received multiple accolades from his professors, who asked what his career plans were and if he would be returning to Stanford for the next year, and comforted Daisy as she ranted and sobbed over Brazil's horrific World Cup loss to the Mannschaft, whose punishing efficiency and fortitude yielded an unforgettable score of 7-1. At the same time, Luigi worried over Daisy's announcement that she would be crossing the Malian-Senegalese border the following day for a two to three-day trip to the western part of the country; still tearful from her team's loss, she softly reminded the plumber of her promise to notify him the minute that she was safely back in Senegal and had her plane ticket back to the States. This calmed Luigi somewhat, even though he was still largely silent on the matter.

As for Miles, he began a deep dive on Lucas Kariolis as well as setting up a fake profile and social media for "Edward 'Tails' O'Brien" in case Lucas decided to do a search. Lucas had several social media profiles online; Miles explored his Facebook and Twitter pages which were self-aggrandizing, his tagline included epithets such as 'gamer dude' and 'blockchain genius.' The blond engineer rolled his eyes; he had a special loathing for pontificating dandies like Lucas. Although he was at the top of his class in mechanical engineering, Miles spent a rather lonely three years at MIT and two summers at JPL in Pasadena, mainly due to his social eccentricities as well as being merely middle class. He was too socially adept for the kids with Asperger's and too inept for the wealthy future CEOs and start-up superstars. At MIT and Cal Tech, Miles had been surrounded by Lucases. Aside from his half-year study in Denmark, he loathed his undergraduate years and, against the advice of his professors who wanted him to continue at Cal Tech or Cambridge, returned to New York for his graduate studies. He needed to return to his special equipment in Chelsea to search further; patience was a virtue, especially with dandies such as Lucas.

Before departing for New York, Miles devised several makeshift frequency scanners, with which he found and destroyed the abandoned robotic camera near the outside door. He showed Luigi how to use them, as he was certain that Lucas would, at some point, enter the house. He also gave Luigi a burner phone that was programmed with Miles's number to send and receive information without anyone knowing. On one hand, Luigi was content that 'Agent Mulder' and his network of virtual machines had his back; on the other hand, he was anxious to be alone again. Aside from a potentially lurking Lucas, Luigi's worry over Daisy's whereabouts cast a shadow over the rest of the week. It reared its ugly head during a phone call from Mario, who, in between multiple rants about the Bowser piccoli and the inexplicable silence from Brooklyn Missing Persons, made the mistake of bringing up the Sfacciata one too many times, causing the younger brother to yell at him that "her fucking name's Daisy!" Stunned at the outburst, the older plumber backed off the topic and instead attributed it to 'college stress' when the latter refused to discuss her further. Mario and Giuseppe were not the only Italians suffering from a case of severe agita.

His anxiety intensified by midday on Friday the 11th. Thankfully, his exams were on Thursday and Friday morning, so the stress from an uncommunicative Senegalese number would have a minimal effect upon his grades. Luigi worked on his projects, having incorporated some of his professors' ideas and comments, eventually stopping at four o'clock in the afternoon. He checked his phone for the sixty-fourth time that day – nothing. "Damn it, Daisy!" he cried as he tossed the iPhone against the couch and watched it ricochet to the floor. Scrubbing his face and mustache with his shaking hands, Luigi decided to go for an extra long bike ride as a physical outlet for his frustration, apprehension, and anger. What had been planned to be an hour-long ride turned into three hours, and a sweaty, exhausted Luigi returned a little past seven in the evening. Putting his bicycle in the garage, he walked into the kitchen to find that the lights had been switched on. His heartrate increased from adrenaline; despite the unlikelihood of such an occurrence, the plumber found himself hoping that Daisy had decided not to go to Mali, had taken the first available flight from Dakar to San Francisco, and was now waiting for him in his living room or, better yet, in his bed. His hopes were crushed when he found Lucas sitting on his living room sofa, flipping through one of his textbooks. The Manhattanite looked up at the sweaty Luigi and wrinkled his nose. "Man, where did you go? Play pickleball or something?"

"I, uh, went for a bike ride. Three hours. How did you get in here?"

He shrugged. "You didn't answer my texts. I have a key for emergencies. I had my driver drop me off about an hour ago."

Luigi checked his phone – three texts and calls from Lucas's number and a voicemail from Uncle Joe. "Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. I, uh, needed to clear my head," he said quietly. "Look, Lucas, this weekend's a not a good time to go out. Maybe next weekend? That's just before your birthday, so it'd be a better time to go up to Napa."

Lucas slammed the textbook on the couch. "Man, we haven't been able to hang out since you got here! What's the problem?! Daisy's making you play 'Dominatrix, may..'"

He was unable to complete the insult when a vibrating Luigi yelled, "Fucking enough, Lucas! Just shut the fuck up about Daisy!"

The man's mouth fell open at Luigi's outburst. "Woah, man, geez. Did you two break up or something?"

"No!" shouted Luigi. "We are still very much together, you sanctimonious asshole! But maybe, just fucking maybe, I have problems right now that don't revolve around you! You broke into my apartment, or invited yourself, whatever, and are making the big fucking OH-NOES when you find out that I'm not thinking about you right now! You let yourself in, so you can undoubtedly figure out how to make an exit!"

With an angry hiss, Luigi stomped off to his bedroom ensuite to take a shower and let out a few tears. The thumping of his disappointed and frightened heart obscured the sound of footsteps behind him. A firm hand stopped him at the entrance. "Weeg, look, I was worried about you. Truly. I'm really worried about you now. What's got you so upset? It's got to be Daisy."

"Just leave, Lucas," he growled, freeing himself from the man's hand and shutting the bathroom door in his face.

Stripping his damp clothes, he turned on the hot water and stood under the shower spray for what seemed like hours, occasionally pounding his fist against the tile. Where the fuck was she?! She fucking promised to text him two days after her departure. Daisy was not the type to go back on a promise, which meant that something had happened. He cursed her for going across the border; he cursed her advisor for arm-twisting her into taking the risk; he cursed himself for believing that this situation would turn out for the best. Eventually, Luigi shut off the now-cold water and pushed open the glass door to towel dry and dress. A few minutes later, he walked into the kitchen where Lucas was sitting at the breakfast bar.

Without looking up at Luigi, the man spoke, "After a three-hour bike ride, I'd imagine that you must be hungry. I asked my driver to get an Indian takeout that I ordered. The pizza's shit out here. Food should be here in about ten minutes."

Luigi opened the refrigerator for a soda and, giving Lucas a single weak nod, moved to the living room to drink it alone. Undaunted, Lucas trailed behind and made himself comfortable adjacent to the distressed man. They sat in a ten-minute silence that was interrupted by the driver and Indian takeout. Setting three paper bags in front of Luigi, Lucas went into the kitchen and returned with two sets of plates, silverware, and glasses. Dividing the utensils between them, he set out the garlic naan, basmati rice, chicken tikka masala, tandoori chicken, vegetable samosas with green sauce, and a large bottle of Grey Goose. Luigi raised an eyebrow at the vodka; every Friday night in his sophomore year, he and Lucas used to split a cheaper version, courtesy of their fake IDs, on the roof of Brooklyn City High, often getting so drunk that they woke up in the same place the subsequent afternoon. Since the night that Giuseppe had caught him in possession of both Cherry Smirnoff and cocaine, Luigi touched vodka only on special occasions. Deciding that evening qualified as special, he twisted the cap and poured a generous amount in each glass. Scarfing down a samosa, he clinked his glass with Lucas, and downed the alcohol. He reveled in the burn against his throat and filled up his glass a second time. They ate and drank wordlessly, Lucas giving him a concerned glance every so often. By the evening's end, Luigi slurred the words to Sam Cooke's "Bring It on Home to Me" to Lucas's mixed amusement and pity and passed out on the couch, bottle in hand.

The bright California sunshine scorched his eyes and head. Now conscious and moaning from pain and nausea, the plumber slid out of bed and ran into the bathroom, vomiting all over the toilet seat and floor. "Fuck," he muttered, spitting the remainder of the previous night's Indian food and three-quarters of the Grey Goose. Flushing the toilet, then reaching for a dark colored bath towel to clean up the mess, he heard Giuseppe's voice from twelve years ago, "Congratulations on being the biggest fuckin' idiot in all of Brooklyn. How's that goin' for ya, kid? Drinkin' until you pass out, puttin' shit up your nose? How'd you think your father would have taken it?" He closed his eyes in embarrassment, as he could only imagine what FDNY Lieutenant Masciarelli would have said, to say nothing of one Daisy Abravanel. Here he was in someone else's rental, and he was treating it like a frat house. Tossing off his shirt, drenching a tea towel in cold water, then wrapping it around his neck to help with the nausea, he set to work cleaning up the vomit with the navy blue towel. Once finished, he reached into the medicine cabinet and took three Advil for his hangover. Carrying the foul-smelling towel in his hands, he left the bathroom and crept along the hallway walls toward the laundry room. After he dropped it into the washing machine and washed his hands in the sink, Luigi staggered into the kitchen where a humming Lucas was preparing eggs, bacon, buttered toast, and strong coffee.

"Morning, Weeg. I took the liberty of picking up some hangover food. Sorry that I don't have patsas, but this will do in a pinch," greeted Lucas, handing him a pair of sunglasses which he gratefully accepted and slid over his sensitive eyes.

"Thanks," he murmured. "I, uh, don't remember much after you brought in the chicken tikka. What happened, and how did I get back to my room?"

"Let's see," Lucas began thoughtfully, as he turned off the oven cooktop, "After dinner, you were about halfway through the Grey Goose. So I called some chicks for company, and one ended up giving you a blowie."

"What?!" shrieked Luigi, blue eyes wide with disgust and fear.

Lucas burst out laughing. Pointing and shaking his head to the outraged Brooklynite, he giggled, "Gotcha good!" He snorted a few times, then calmed down to serve breakfast. "Actually, I should have thought of that a few weeks ago. Anyway, no, I listened to you sing Sam Cooke off-key and slur some shit about Daisy being in Mali. You must have been really fucking drunk to think she'd be there. France bombs that Islamist-infested fuckhole several times every year."

"Shit!" suddenly exclaimed the plumber and, despite his massive headache, he ran to his room to retrieve his iPhone. Unlocking it with a trembling hand, he saw that he received no texts, emails, or voice messages. With the same shaking fingers, he texted a "Where the hell are you?" to Daisy's Senegalese number. He then scream-sobbed a curse in Italian and briefly entertained asking Lucas to fly him to Senegal.

A moment later, Lucas knocked on his door and called out, "Weeg, you need to eat and soak up that alcohol." Looking at the distraught man who had not acknowledged him, he demanded, "Okay, just what the hell is going on?! Inasmuch as I like drunk and loose Luigi Masciarelli, I can't figure out why you're staring at that goddamned phone for the millionth time in so many hours or acting so morose." Several seconds passed in silence, and Lucas's eyes widened. "Woah, wait a sec – Daisy's in fucking Mali? She's … she's fucking insane! Yeah, okay, I like to make jokes the ball-and-chain, but this time, I'm serious, Weeg. She's lost her mind! This morning, I saw in the French news that asshole jihadis staged an attack in the north. That means France will bomb the shit out of them in the next day or so."

Luigi wordlessly closed his eyes at Lucas's revelation and sank down on his bed. "She's not in the north; she was going to a city just across the border in the western part. I'm … I'm just hoping that she crossed the border and is on her way back to Dakar."

The tall man exhaled harshly and griped, "Okay … Just … stay there." Twisting on his heel, he walked away and left his friend to stare brokenly at his phone. As abruptly as he had left, Lucas returned with two breakfast plates and, handing one with silverware to the plumber, sat next to him on the bed. They ate silently, much as they had done the previous evening. After he made certain that Luigi had finished more than half of his food, Lucas resumed what he had planned to say. "She knows how to fight, so I'm sure she's on her way. But is this the girl that you want, Weeg? A woman who runs off to Mali?"

For the first time in several minutes, Luigi turned to his frenemy and responded, "Yes."

Giving him an enigmatic glance, Lucas nodded and focused his attention from Luigi to his half-empty plate.


Later that afternoon, Luigi lay in his bed, drapes closed against the bright sun and phone positioned next to him. Lucas had left shortly after breakfast, sensing that the plumber wanted to spend the weekend alone in his anxiety and fear over Daisy's whereabouts. A small voice somewhere in his past reminded him that he should do his homework or make further progress in his final projects, but his Stanford coursework seemed insignificant compared to the well-being of one Daisy Abravanel. He checked his phone again and stared at the voicemail from Giuseppe; briefly, he thought of playing it back, yet he could not find the interest or strength to do so. Luigi wondered if this was how Gabriella felt at every three or four-alarm assignment that his father received. As he dozed off to a dreamless sleep, he heard his iPhone ring. Slowly, he opened his eyes and prepared himself for disappointment.

A familiar Senegalese number flashed as the caller ID. His heart began to pound as his trembling fingers pressed the green telephone key, and he hurriedly answered, "Daisy! Where are you?"

"Oh, Dio, sweetie!" Daisy greeted him in a tired voice, "I'm so, so sorry that I didn't text or call you right away. I had some trouble getting out of Mali; we actually left on Thursday evening, but because of attacks up north, there was heightened security at the border. If I'd been caught without a visa … Anyway, my colleagues and I got back into Senegal, and I caught a flight from Tambacounda to Dakar. So I'm out of Mali. I've got a flight from Dakar to San Francisco in a few hours, so I'll be back tomorrow afternoon your time."

Rolling onto his back, Luigi started simultaneously to laugh and cry. "Oh, Jesus! I'm so … so fucking relieved! Yes, yes, goddamn it, come home!"

"Yeah?" she teased.

"Oh, fuck, yeah!" he almost shouted into the phone. Then he asked, "Did … Did you get what you needed?"

"I think so. It'll have to be good enough, as I'm not going back for a long while."

He smiled. "Wise decision. I'd be rather disappointed if you made any other impromptu trips. What time are you arriving and do you .. y'know, need me to come get you? I know you're probably headed to your place in San Francisco, but, uh, I really want to see you."

"My plane gets in around 2:30. However, I have to go through Immigration and Customs, so it's probably better if I take a taxi down to Palo Alto. Can you text your address to my 415 number? Since Papai and Yael are still in Brazil and won't be back until the end of the week, we should have … some privacy."

Luigi's body immediately reacted to her low, seductive tone. "I can't wait to see you," he growled in return.

"Yes," she drawled. Then she paused and resumed a normal voice. "Dio, Luigi, are you okay? I know I promised you, and I would have, but …"

"Daisy, it doesn't matter. What matters is that you did call me and you're coming home. That's all I care about now," he replied softly. "You're safe and will be with me soon."

"Okay," she whispered. "I, uh, probably should go now. I actually have to be at the airport very soon, as my flight leaves at one in the morning here. I'll sleep on the way to Lisbon and San Francisco."

"Alright, sweetie. Text me when your plane lands in Portugal. I'll be waiting."

Exchanging goodbyes, Daisy and Luigi ended the phone call. Luigi allowed himself to sleep for several hours before sending Daisy his address, ordering Chinese food, and doing a couple weeks' worth of housework. He took pride in making sure that the house was clean and comfortable for his lioness, especially after a month abroad. Once each room and kitchen passed 'the white glove test,' the plumber went into his study to reserve a car for a grocery and drug store run and to finish this week's and next week's homework in advance. By the time that he completed the required readings and homework sets, Daisy had already landed in Lisbon and was making her connection to San Francisco.

Despite the lingering effects of Friday's vodka binge and Saturday's hangover, an excited Luigi got up at eight o'clock in the morning, practiced extra care with his hygiene and grooming, had a quick breakfast of fruit, scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee, and rode his bicycle to the car rental agency. By noon, he was finished with his errands, having stocked the kitchen and refrigerator with bread, pastries, pasta, butter, and fruits and vegetables for Daisy's vegetarianism as well as having purchased a few other items, including a bouquet of a dozen red, pink, peach, and lavender roses that he put in a glass vase at the kitchen table. For the agonizing four-hour wait, Luigi retreated into the living room and played Uncle Joe's message, which requested that Luigi call him back about "the recent news involving Slaughter." Sighing, he decided to return Joe's call either tomorrow or Tuesday; he did not want to think about that asshole or the union on the day of Daisy's homecoming. Next, he called Yoshi and had a two-hour-long chat about Stanford, his studies, and the latter's holiday weekend, which he spent with Birdo and friends. Whereas Luigi told him about Wendy and Louie accompanying Mario and Peach to California, he did not mention Lucas, as he knew that doing so would only invite the Japanese to inform Mario, whose chronic agita would incite him to fly back to San Francisco for an asshole hunt and turn a controllable situation into pure chaos. After his phone call with Yoshi and a brief text message to Mario, Luigi watched Netflix to pass the remaining time, his eyes constantly glancing at the computer clock.

At around 4 pm, he heard a car pull up right behind his garage. He immediate stopped the program and ran to the front door. Checking his app, he saw that a tired looking Daisy was moving toward him, roller suitcase in hand, as a taxi backed out of the driveway. Swinging the door open, Luigi greeted his exhausted lover with a grin, which she returned. Immediately taking the suitcase with his left hand and grasping hand with his right, he pulled them both inside and pushed the door shut with his foot. Setting the suitcase against the wall, he pushed the overjoyed Daisy against the door and covered her lips with his. She used her lower center of gravity to alternate the positions, his back now against the doorframe.

"I missed you," she managed to gasp as she occasionally broke the kiss for air, even as Luigi closed the distance each time.

While awaiting his reply, Daisy squealed as she felt herself being lifted up and a muscular arm catch her legs. She wrapped her arms somewhat loosely around Luigi's neck and pulled back to see his almost black orbs and a suggestive smirk play about his lips. A primitive growl reverberated deep inside his throat, and he seized her lips again briefly before breaking into a jog toward the hallway. The movement caused her body to bounce in his arms, and she yelped. Luigi chuckled and moved faster. "What are you doing?" the laughing woman shouted as they dashed down the hallway. Another feminine giggle and the slam of Luigi's bedroom door echoed throughout the house.

Hours later, Luigi lay against several layers of pillows, stroking his lioness's vibrant auburn hair that fanned across his bare chest. Dropping his head down to kiss the top of hers, he murmured to her sleeping form, "I missed you, too." He wrapped his arms around her, moving his fingers down her silky strands to caress her back. As he did so, he tried to count the number of freckles on her tanned skin, from her neck, along her shoulder blades, and to the base of her spinal column. 104, the man thought. By night's end or the next morning, depending on when she rose from jet-lagged slumber, he planned on worshipping each one. His daydream of ravishing her for the third time was interrupted by the noisy demands of his stomach. Grumbling, Luigi carefully slid from underneath the Sleeping Beauty to stand up, put on his boxers, and make his way to the kitchen for a small dinner. At the refrigerator, he removed a block of the cheese that Mario had brought for him, prosciutto, and fruit and set them on the breakfast bar. Shutting the doors, he grabbed a salad plate and a small knife; he cut some slices of bread and from the cheese block, arranging them on the plate. So intent was he on making dinner that he did not notice Daisy enter the kitchen. She stood behind him, placed a kiss between his shoulder blades, and lay her head against him.

Luigi smiled tiredly. "Mmm, shouldn't you still be asleep? Africa's, what? Seven hours' difference?"

"Yeah," she murmured, kissing his back again. "But I was getting cold and hungry."

He gave her a teasing smile while she pouted, her amber eyes shifting in the direction of the bread and cheese. Reaching into the cupboard for a second plate, he chortled, "You're such a cat-face!"

She waited patiently as he sliced some cheese and bread for her plate; he opened the refrigerator once more and took out a jar of green olives, hummus, and chickpea salad. Arranging the food nicely, he handed it to her. "Merci," she said.

"Prego," he replied as his eyes wandered down her gray sports bra and boy-shorts clad body. "I'm … so glad that you're finally here."

Dipping her bread into the hummus and swallowing, she grinned at him. "Me, too. That final week, all I thought about was getting back to you, sweetie."

The plumber set their plates down on the counter, moved into her space, and stole both another kiss and one of her olives.

"Bastard," she muttered against his five o'clock shadow as his lips found their favorite spot on her lower nape. "I saw that."

Stepping back and popping the olive into his mouth, he laughed victoriously at her. Daisy retaliated by plucking one of his slices of cheese from his plate and eating it. Raising her eyebrow at him, she noticed that Luigi's eyes had become the familiar almost-black color, yet with a hint of a bright blue akin to sapphire. He was about to pounce when the loud buzz from his iPhone emanated from his bedroom. She looked at him quizzically, but he seized her lips. "Leave it," he growled against her, his fingers tracing the bottom of her sports bra.

"Mmm, food," she moaned as she ran her hands down his shirtless back.

His iPhone rang once more and several chimes followed almost simultaneously. "Fuck!" he hissed. "I'm gonna kill Mario and Giuseppe!" Breaking away from the amused lioness, he griped, "I'm gonna tell them to fuck off and then we'll resume what we were doing. I'll be right back."

An annoyed Luigi walked back to his bedroom and, among the piles of clothes that had been shed earlier in the afternoon, found his iPhone. Unlocking it, he found that Mario, Giuseppe, Yoshi, Miles, and even Lucas had sent him texts or emails of the same link. The exasperated man clicked on the link from Mario, which sent him to an New York 1 news article. Upon reading the title, his mouth fell open and he heard his voice yell, "Holy shit!"

"Accused Pedophile Found Dead While in Custody

By Carmina Hernandez | Published July 13, 2014 | Updated on July 13, 2014 at 8:15 pm

John R. Slaughter, 61, who had been accused of and arraigned on multiple counts of child pornography, was awaiting trial when he was found dead this morning in his cell at the Metropolitan Correctional Center.

At approximately 7:15 am, corrections officers found him unconscious and, after attempting CPR, rushed him to the New York Downtown Hospital where he was pronounced dead at 7:27 am.

Federal authorities confirmed that Slaughter's cellmate was being questioned as a person of interest and that an autopsy would be conducted by the Office of Chief Medical Examiner of the City of New York."