Stephanie's POV
I rest my elbows on the table and lean forward. "Dad, how did you know those children Mom miscarried weren't yours?" I ask.
Dad removes a document from his pocket, sliding it across the surface of Ranger's desk. I unfold the paper and read the official paperwork from a paternity test. "I thought you should know," Dad says.
"Oh. Wow. Dad, I know you're my father. Grandma Lydia got the paternity test done when I had the surgery. She wanted to ensure I was your daughter. Is Valerie Anthony's or yours?" I ask, curious if Valerie is my full sister.
"Mine. I have that test, too," Dad confesses. "Your mother and I haven't shared a bed since your birth. We separate the two twin beds at night." The bedroom floors in Dad's house have carpet. It would muffle the sound of them moving the beds apart. Their dynamic finally makes sense.
"Why didn't you take us and leave Mom?" I ask, curious about his decision to stay.
"It would have been too hard for you girls moving between the cities for access visits and school. I asked your Grandpa Harry and Grandma Edna to watch over you and Valerie while I was away. They had you sleep over many times. I know it was to protect you girls from Anthony, especially when you and Valerie hit puberty. Staying with your mother was never about loving her. It was about loving you and Valerie and moderating who your mother invited for dinner. Had I left your mother sooner, she would have invited Anthony Sr over more frequently. Anthony Sr didn't care if his conquests were younger than the age of consent. He had his sight set on you," Dad explains. I shudder at the thought. Anthony Morelli Sr gave me the creeps. He didn't bother me because of Hector. It's one of the many reasons to love my friend.
"Didn't Anthony Sr die in a bar fight a few years ago?" I wonder, failing to recall the details.
Dad chuckles before getting serious, "Sally-Anna had just turned eighteen when she visited her Aunt Janine and Uncle Eric Vogelsang. Her brother, Vince Becker, was in the Special Ops Rangers program. He retired after his sister was raped and assaulted after going to Pete's Pub with her cousin and her friends. The man she described fit Anthony Morelli Sr. Sally-Anna picked his photograph out of a lineup of men. Her visceral response was enough to indict him. Unfortunately, the judge, Salvatore Sunucchi's best friend, let Anthony Sr off with a fine. He was free to continue hurting women."
Vince Becker. The name is familiar. Is he the same Vince Becker who works at Rangeman Atlanta? I write the name on a Post-it to check later.
"That's disgusting to use his position to help his friend," I reply. "I never should have dated Joe Morelli. I'm glad I pressed charges. Who was the judge on Morelli's case?"
"Eric Vogelsang," Dad answers.
"Wow. I'm surprised he agreed to the one-year sentence," I claim.
"Me too." Dad checks his watch. "I have to go. The real estate agent is wanting to show me a house. For the record, I would never let you marry a Morelli. I'm sorry for not saying anything sooner. Like everyone else, I thought Joe was better than his father. It's a shame he proved to be a chip off the old block. I like Manoso and his men. You're happier here than in Trenton. I'm proud of you, Pumpkin."
Hector takes Dad to the garage, where he left his car. I'm glad Dad came to visit. He gave me a lot of things to consider and put things into perspective.
I want to understand why Dad remained married to Mom. It's difficult to fathom because I believe Valerie and I could have lived with Grandma Plum in Georgia while Dad was away. Why didn't Dad take me and leave Valerie with Mom? There's no point getting upset about Dad's decision. He has his reasons for sticking around for as long as he did.
Now, I must call Rangeman Atlanta to speak to Vince. I dial the number but hang up before it rings. As the acting CEO, I have access to all personnel files. Hector's knock is light on the doorframe. "Enter," I say, smiling at my friend. Hector closes the door and looks over my shoulder at the computer screen.
"Check the email," he whispers. Before I could order him to grab a chair, he took one from across my desk. I grimace as I open the email program. Smiling, I glance at Hector and smile. Our Rangeman employee, Vince Becker, is Sally-Anne's older brother. It's a small world, and I believe in the six degrees of separation with people. What are the odds?
"Thanks, Hector. I almost called Vince at the Atlanta branch and hung up when I couldn't think of a way to start the conversation."
"I have your back," Hector reminds me. He leaves my office when the phone rings.
After reassuring the client that our installation team is on the way to their business, I stretch and smile when my ribs don't protest.
It's a shame Carlos didn't want to risk injury by having sex. We share a bed, and we kiss. Much to my dismay, we haven't taken the step to sexual intimacy: no oral sex, no orgasms and no creative positions for intercourse. I'm beyond the point of sexual frustration.
Carlos and the others are on a three-week mission. I hope it only lasts that long. Their debrief may take a week, depending on how everything goes. Sighing, I return to my task of approving payroll. It's a dull yet necessary job. I'm anxious to do something besides sitting at a desk.
~~~~~~~
Joseph Morelli's POV
I'm in a minimum-security prison, which is the optimal place to be. I don't have to contend with murderers or prison fights. It's more like a dormitory than a prison. The guards trust that I won't attempt to escape. I lie on my bunk. Someone snaps his fingers twice. I raise a brow and open an eye. A man smiles and sits against the wall.
Several hours later, the same person snaps his fingers twice. I sit up and look around. The man sitting against the wall smiles. "Do you have a problem?" he asks.
"No," I quickly reply. I can't afford to lose my temper. Fighting will only get me moved to the medium security area. I close my eyes, and I'm almost asleep when I hear two snaps. "Who's doing that?" I demand.
The man moves from the wall and climbs into his bunk. "You'll find out soon enough," he replies.
"Dinner," a guard shouts. He opens the cells for everyone to walk in single file to the cafeteria. I get in line behind my cellmate. He speaks to another man in line ahead of him. They talk in Spanish, which I don't understand. The only word I do understand is the name Hector. I vaguely remember Helen Plum complaining about a boy named Hector hanging around Stephanie.
I learn my cellmate's name is Javier. He waves at someone across the room. I glance in that direction to see the Comstock Slayer from the TPD cell sitting at a table with his prison block mates. Seeing someone from home hits hard. Does he know Stephanie?
"Do you know Antwon?" Javier asks.
"Not really. We shared a cell at the precinct," I reply.
"He arrived here two weeks ago. Antwon knows Hector Alvarez from Trenton, New Jersey. Hector is an ex-gang member. Left when his sister from another mister moved for school," Javier explains.
"Where is he now?" I wonder.
"Don't know. Hector found a job and moved. Never gave a forwarding address," Javier says. My cop intuition says he's not telling the truth. I'm not asking for trouble and decide to let it go.
Someone bumps into me as I sit at the table. He grabs my cup at the top, preventing it from falling over. I nod my thanks and sit. The man introduces himself, "I'm Herbert. Everyone calls me Buddy."
"Joe," I reply.
"What are you in for?" Buddy asks.
"Assault."
"Your old woman?"
"Yes."
"She has brothers?"
"No."
"Her papa still alive?"
"Yes."
"Dumb move, man. You've got to watch out for her father, especially if he's ex-military," Buddy wisely says.
I think about Frank Plum and admit I don't know much about him. He served in the Army during his twenties. Mom said he continued his military career until his forties. I'm trying to determine his age based on the information I learned. Frank Plum attended the same high school as my father and in the same grade. I'm twenty-nine. Anthony is thirty-one, and Dad was nineteen when he married Mom. That puts Frank Plum at fifty-one. Most men leave the military in their mid-forties.
"Is he?" Buddy asks.
"What?" I wonder.
"Your old woman's father. Is he ex-military?"
"Yes," I sigh. Buddy shakes his head and laughs. I ignore him and finish my meal, then drink the watered-down bitter orange-coloured water they call orange juice.
The guards watch as we return to our cells. Another man bumps into me. I feel a pinch in my side. When I enter my cell, I search for cuts and blood. Finding nothing on my skin, I lie on my bed and close my eyes. Sleep comes easy.
I'm having an erotic dream. Stephanie gives me the best head I have ever had after she snaps her fingers twice. She stops short of my release. I go flaccid, and she snaps twice again before continuing. I'm harder than a nail and eventually ejaculate. I wake up, expecting to find my pants sticky from semen, but I'm clean. The bulge of the mattress above mine indicates my cellmate is in his bed.
Shaking the fogginess from my head, I use the toilet in the corner of the cell. I'm watching my cellmate over my shoulder, praying he doesn't attack me with my ass bare. He snorts and mumbles before turning over. Is he awake? Did he watch me urinate?
I return to my bunk and go to sleep. Someone snaps twice. My dick twitches but doesn't get completely erect. I sigh and fall into another dream about Stephanie.
Many weeks pass as the days and nights bleed into one. I'm not sure if it's Tuesday or Saturday. The month is easier to determine by the weather. It's cold, and the temperature only rises to the upper thirties during the day and drops to the lower twenties at night.
The drunken haze I experience in the mornings lands me in the infirmary, where the doctor tests my urine and blood for drugs. He has yet to find any in my system. I know someone is drugging me. How they are doing, it escapes me. I even gave Mom some snacks for testing at an independent lab. She assures me the food is safe. Mom suggests someone is hypnotizing me. I know I'm susceptible, but how would anyone else know?
Is someone spiking my drink during dinner? It seems the drugs only affect me at night. Men shove and bump into me constantly, but it's never the same person. I can't put my finger on it. Is there a conspiracy? Are the other prisoners aware I'm a cop? People say cops have it hard in prison. Is this what they meant? Are cops targets even inside a minimum security prison block?
Something strange is happening to me. I need to find out what it is. Someone snaps twice. I'm instantly hard. What the fuck? How is this possible? It reminds me of the Pavlovian conditioning on dogs, where Ivan Pavlov incited dogs to salivate when they heard a bell. Is that what someone did to me? Condition me to get an erection with the double snap of fingers? I must test that when I'm alone.