CW: Child abuse

"But I don't understand," the Private said just as the team prepared to call it a day, "why wouldn't plastic dissolve?" He sat back in the chair next to my desk rubbing his chin.

"Not everything completely dissolves in our bodily fluids," I answered, lacing my fingers over my stomach and leaning back in my chair. "And it hadn't reached her stomach acid yet either."

"But — how did she even swallow it?" Private asked.

"Very carefully," I answered nonchalantly. "But it didn't seem to work out too well."

He gave me a look and rolled his eyes. "Well, obviously," he said.

I sighed. "But she gave us the clue we needed, and thankfully didn't get caught by Blowhole, who probably would've taken it out of her."

Private frowned. "You don't think he planted it, do you?"

I thought for a moment. "I don't know. Only one way to find out, I guess."

Private propped his head up by his fist on my desk in thought. "I just wish we knew what 'Zarac' was," he said, concentrating as if he were searching through files in his mind.

I nodded in agreement. "I don't see anything that would make sense. Unless it was an incomplete word. But what kind of word starts with 'Zarac'?" I thought aloud.

"And what did she mean by sister? She only has a younger brother," Marlene asked from her desk.

"Maybe she means Blowhole has a sister," I guessed, "but how she would know that is beyond me."

"Perhaps he talked about her," the Private suggested.

"Why would he do that?" I asked.

"He's insane, Skipper," Marlene said from her desk across from mine. "Who knows why he does anything?"

"Touché," I replied. I let out a deep sigh and looked at the time. It was just past seven in the evening. I pulled some aspirin from the top drawer of my desk and tossed one back. Then I grabbed the water bottle from my desk and washed it down. I always end up with a migraine when we get a Blowhole case.

I noticed the Private was looking at the evidence intently, as if the words on the plastic in the evidence bag were whispering the answer to him and he was trying to hear what it was saying.

"What are you thinking, Private?" I asked, genuinely curious.

Private didn't answer for a moment. Then he set the evidence down, grabbed a pen and paper, and handed them toward me. "Write a C," he commanded.

I arched an eyebrow and blinked in surprise. "Beg your pardon?" I replied.

"Write a C," he repeated, willing me to take the pen and paper.

I questioned what it would accomplish, but I took the pen and paper anyway, eyeing him carefully. I set the paper on the desk and wrote a C at the top of the paper. Then I set the pen down and looked at him. "Okay, now you want to tell me why I had to do that?"

Private held the paper up to me where I could clearly see the C, and then he picked up the evidence bag and held it up, his finger pointing at Zarac.

"Well, it's just a theory," Private started, "but what if it isn't just the word that's incomplete, but the letter C is actually just an incomplete letter as well?"

I knit my brows and looked at the word again. "Why wouldn't she finish the word before swallowing it? If she wanted to provide us with evidence, why wouldn't she give us everything we needed to know?" I asked.

Private's eyes were alive with inspiration, as if he'd discovered the meaning of life or something. It was actually starting to freak me out.

"Well," he said thoughtfully, "imagine this. We've asked why she only gave us words instead of sentences. I think it might be because she was in a hurry, and to top it off, it'd be pretty difficult to carve legible words into plastic as it is."

I considered. "Okay, so she had to be quick, but careful."

Private nodded. "Yes. Now, imagine this," he said, grabbing the pen and paper. He pretended like he was writing something down. "I'm trying to write very carefully so maybe someone can use this to solve my murder. I'm terrified, but I have to be careful. But wait, I hear my captor coming. What's my first reaction?"

I smiled with realization. "You get rid of it," I answered.

"And how did Mrs. Timbers get rid of it?" Private asked with a grin.

"Down the hatch," I replied, sitting forward in my seat, returning his grin. "I think you might be onto something, Private," I said, grabbing the pen and paper from him. "It's most likely a lowercase letter," I deduced, considering she'd only used lowercase letters. I started going through the alphabet in my head. "So that gives us: a, d, e, g, o, and q as the most likely options to complete the letter."

I turned to my computer and started typing in the different forms of Zarac. I started searching through the results.

After a while of searching with Private, we got to G. Private perked up at the first result.

"Zaragoza," he said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, it's a city in Spain," I said, reading from the excerpt beneath the first link.

Private shook his head. "No, I know that name from somewhere," he said, closing his eyes, as if trying to form an image in his mind.

I continued looking through the first page of results. Zaragoza - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, Zaragoza travel guide, Wikitravel, Zaragoza (119 reasons to visit). I shrugged.

"All I see is information on the city and ways to travel there," I said.

Private opened his eyes slowly. Then they widened with realization and he took the keyboard from me. I didn't even have time to ask what he was doing when he typed "circus" in front of "zaragoza" in the search bar. I lowered my brow in concentration as he clicked on the first result, which brought us to the Circus Zaragoza homepage.

Across the top of the page were different tabs: Home, Buy Tickets, Next Destination, Applications, About, and History.

I questioned what a circus had to do with anything, but this incessant tugging at my gut told me that we were headed in the right direction. I took the mouse and clicked on "About."

A list of acts were listed, with a description of each. At the top of the page, it stated that Circus Zaragoza was famous worldwide for its amazing talent and awe-striking performances.

I skimmed through the list of acts. The opening act was always a Russian named Vitaly who'd tamed a tiger to jump through flaming hoops on his own. A large woman named Sonya apparently did tricks on a motorcycle with a bear. Clowns rode around on rocket skates (I didn't even know they made those). There was Alex and Gia, who performed trapeze. Then there was Marty and Stefano, human cannonballs. Melman and Gloria, who walked and danced on the tightrope. Manu and Maya, the fire-breathing Germans. Finally, there were the Andalusian triplets, who performed tricks on trampolines.

I scrolled back up and clicked on "History." It was a list of links that lead to articles on old accomplishments, former acts, and when acts joined and became a hit. I scrolled through the list of titles: "Vitaly Tames Tiger to Jump Through Hoops of Impossible Sizes," "Tightrope-Walker Gia Chastain Marries New York Performer Alex Stiller," "American Tour Granted After Unforgettable Performance in Rome."

I skimmed a little farther down when Private stopped me.

"There," he said, pointing to one of the titles. It read, "Freakshow Disappears After Startling Outburst Leaving 2 Dead."

We exchanged a glance and I clicked on the article. It said that the Freakshow, "Flippy," whose real name was Francis Felipo, was a thirty-eight year old man who had an accident that distorted the right side of his face and blinded his right eye. His act was to entertain crowds by doing acrobatics such as suspending himself over water by a hoop tied at the end of a string and executing difficult poses. Other times he would perform hooping, or hula hooping with several hoops on his arms, waist, legs, and neck. He would also do acts involving fire. He also had a very good impression of a dolphin's cackle.

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Private and I were leaned in so close to the computer at this point that we didn't realize that our faces were millimeters apart, reading the article intently.

Nearly six years ago, he had a violent fit of rage after a performance. According to witnesses, a couple of teenagers snuck backstage to make fun of him and he lost control. He drowned them both in Neptune's Torture Chamber. Nobody has seen him since. I looked at the date the article was written. Blowhole's first victim hadn't been found by this point.

Private and I slowly turned to look at each other.

"Guys," I called, still looking at Private. Manfredi, Johnson, Rico, and Marlene all turned their heads in my direction. I got to my feet, and Private followed my lead. "I think we have a suspect."

Everyone shot to their feet and looked at the screen on the wall as I displayed the article.

"Two months after this incident, our first victim went missing and they were found six months later, dead. Am I the only one who doesn't find this a coincidence?" I asked, joining them in the center of the room. "Zarac was supposed to be Zaragoza, as in Circus Zaragoza, the circus that Francis Felipo performed with. And to put the cherry on the top, he apparently entertained spectators with his dolphin impression. And our killer just so happens to be named after that same sea mammal."

Everyone smiled and turned to me.

"Skipper, that's brilliant!" Marlene exclaimed. "You might have given us the clue we've been looking for!"

I laughed and ran my fingers through my hair. "Well, actually, I'm not the one that figured it out," I said, turning toward Private, who was standing behind me. He started to nervously fiddle with his fingers as all eyes landed on him.

"James?" Manfredi said with a smile.

Private laughed nervously. "Heh, what can I say? I'm good at cracking codes."

We all laughed and crowded around him, giving him friendly slaps on the back.

"But what if I'm wrong?" Private asked with a frown.

"James," Johnson said, "we have never had a suspect before. Never. I have this strong feeling that if Mr. Felipo isn't our guy, then he's a major clue that will lead us to who is."

"James," Marlene said, putting an arm on his shoulders, "don't take this the wrong way, but I could kiss you right now."

Private's eyes widened as his face turned about four shades pinker. Everyone else laughed, but I just forced a smile and braced a hand on his shoulder.

"Private," I said, "I feel obliged to buy you a drink."

Private smiled uncomfortably. "Actually, I don't drink," he said, "but thanks anyway."

Honestly, I wasn't surprised. He didn't strike me as someone that would touch alcohol.

"Well, drinks are on me, anyways," I said to the group. "You're welcome to join us, regardless."

"I don't know," Private said uneasily, looking down at everyone's shoes.

"Ah, come on," Manfredi said. "You're one of us, now."

"Yeah!" Rico grunted in agreement.

Private's expression changed then. I don't know if anybody else caught it, but I did. He reminded me of Kowalski when our friendship started many years ago. He felt accepted. It made me wonder what his social life had been like during training and college.

"I — guess I can come," he agreed hesitantly, "for a while, at least."

Johnson patted his shoulder. "Let's go," he said, making his way out.

After grabbing Kowalski from his lab and giving him the good news, he agreed to join us for drinks. About twenty minutes later, we arrived at this little pub just down the street from our neighborhood.

"Ah, Skipper!" Archie — the owner of the pub — greeted, walking towards us from behind the bar. "What can I get for ya this evening?" he asked in his thick Brooklyn accent.

"I'll take a scotch on the rocks," I replied. "Whatever they want is on me."

"You got it," Archie replied, grabbing some glasses and taking the orders. We took a seat in a booth at the corner of the pub, where we always sit when we come here.

A waitress brought us the drinks a few minutes later and we started talking, first about the case, and then we moved on to learning more about Private, and he about us.

"So, how did you like your first day doing field work?" Marlene asked before finishing her second drink.

Private shrugged. "I think it was fine. I was a bit nervous at first, I'll admit, but I'd say it was pretty good in the end."

"That is an understatement," Manfredi laughed. "You did great."

Private blushed a little. "Thanks," he said softly.

"You're not used to compliments, are you?" Marlene guessed with a curious smile.

Private shook his head. "More, I'm not used to compliments from friends," he said without meeting anyone's eye.

I arched my brow. "What kind of friends do you have?" I asked after downing my third drink.

Private kept staring at the table. "I, um," he cleared his throat, "don't have any."

I exchanged a look with everyone else, whose expressions fell with pity.

"Come on, no friends? Not even at the Academy?" Kowalski asked. He always limits himself to one drink (well, except when Doris rejects him) that he'd finished a while ago. Something about not wanting to "damage his precious mind" or something.

Private folded his arms on the table. "No," he answered. "Everyone saw me as the British fool following a ridiculous dream," he said, looking at us from the corner of his eyes. "I was just a joke to everyone. They said someone like me would never cut it as a detective."

I exchanged another look with the others. We all shared sympathy for Private. I clapped a hand on his back. "Hey," I said, breaking the heavy silence, "you're with us, now. What you did today? That was real detective work. We've been doing this for a while now, and I don't know if even we would've figured out the secret behind Zarac or not. Even if we did, it probably wouldn't have been for a while. And you come here and crack it on your first day. If you ask me, I'd say you're going to show those other guys up, and they're gonna wish they'd shown you a little more respect."

I meant every word of it, too. I'll admit, I had some doubts at the beginning. Okay, I was nothing but doubts. But that was the best piece of evidence we've gathered on the Blowhole case since the very first victim. Besides, everyone's had a moment at one time or another when they were told they weren't good enough, myself included. Only giving in to those doubts makes them true.

"Yeah, James," Marlene agreed, reaching across the table and putting a hand on his forearm. "You're going to make a great detective."

Private hesitantly looked up and saw her sincere smile, and then he looked over the rest of us. A smile pulled at his lips as he found each pair of assuring eyes.

"Thanks," he replied softly, slightly nodding.

We all smiled at him for a few moments longer before Rico let out a belch upon finishing his sixth drink.

I sighed. "And moment's gone."

"No problem, kid," Manfredi replied with a chuckle. "Well, I'm out," he said, getting to his feet and returning his chair to a nearby table. "You comin', Johnson?"

Johnson finished his drink. "Right behind ya," he said as Marlene slid out of the booth to let him out. "See you guys tomorrow," he said, turning back. We all said our farewells and they left us.

Kowalski looked at his watch. "I should probably go, too. With my lack of sleep lately, I should take as much as I can get," he said.

I laughed. "It took you long enough."

Kowalski smiled back. "Night, guys," he said, sliding out. He turned and grabbed at Rico's arm. "Come on, gassy. You know you're going to need a ride after six straight vodka shots."

Marlene sat back down. "I should probably get going here soon too," she said tiredly. "I want a good night's sleep before we investigate that circus tomorrow. I'll text Becky to come drive me home," she said, pulling out her phone.

Private looked at me.

"Her cousin that lives on our street," I clarified. He nodded. "Where are you staying?" I asked.

"I'm renting an apartment down the street from the precinct," Private answered.

I thought for a moment. "You don't mean The Vesuvius Complex?" I inquired.

Private nodded. "That's the one."

"Dude," Marlene broke in, "those guys are crooks. They'll find any reason they can to increase the price of rent."

"Really?" Private replied. "They seemed nice to me."

"That's their game," I replied. "They act all nice and negotiable at first, and then they creep up on you and wham! You're paying double the rent you started with only a month later."

Private raised a brow. "Well," he said, "I guess that sucks for me. I don't have anywhere else to go. The Vesuvius Complex offered me the deal I needed. Everywhere near here was out of my budget."

I looked down at my empty glass, not believing what I was about to suggest. I mean, he wasn't a bad guy I guess. Might've even been too good. But I couldn't let him live in a complex owned by those snakes.

"Look, uh, I have a guest room," I said. "You could move in with us."

"Us?" Private inquired.

"I live with Kowalski and Rico. We share expenses," I explained. "It'd only be until the end of your field training."

Private looked at me hesitantly. "I don't know, I wouldn't want to impose like that. Captain Rockgut has already made me your responsibility at work," he said.

Don't remind me, I thought.

I shook my head. "Nah, you wouldn't be imposing. It might even work out for the best. We can talk freely about the case, I can give you some pointers, et cetera, and you have a place to sleep," I said, tracing my finger around the brim of my glass.

Private still seemed hesitant. "Don't you think you should talk to Kowalski and Rico before you make a decision like that? It's their home too," he pointed out.

I smiled. "Trust me, they won't mind. You in or out?"

Private shrugged a shoulder. "I — guess I'm in," he replied reluctantly. "Thanks," he said, trying to smile gratefully. I assumed he was just nervous about moving in with people he'd never met.

"That was very nice of you, Skipper," Marlene said, eyeing me spitefully. I knew exactly what she was upset about.

"I'm a nice guy," I said, smiling bitterly.

She maintained eye contact with me for a moment before her phone chirped, indicating she received a text message. She looked at her phone and then stood as she pocketed it. "That's Becky, she'll be here in a few. I guess I'll see you guys tomorrow," she said with a nod toward both of us.

"Bye, Marlene," Private said as I let off a two-finger salute.

After she left, Private turned to me. "What was that about?" he asked.

I hailed a waitress for another drink. "What do you mean?" I asked, hoping he wasn't going for what I thought he was getting at.

"I don't know, I just sensed some kind of tension between you and Marlene," he said. "All day, now that I think about it."

I took the drink from the waitress without meeting his eye. "Well, uh, it's a long story," I replied, praying he wouldn't push it.

He didn't reply and I glanced over at him. He looked at me half hesitantly, half expectantly, like he wanted to ask, but was afraid to. I sighed and took a sip of my drink before I spoke.

"We, uh, dated a couple years ago," I admitted. His eyebrows rose, as if shocked by that news. "Things didn't work out."

"What happened?" Private asked.

I hesitated. This was one of those things I didn't like to talk about. It was personal.

"Um," Private started, "if you don't want to talk about it, I'll respect that."

I looked at him again. He had the kind of face you just couldn't say no to. Never once in my life have I considered a grown man cute, but he had this very youthful, childlike look about him, like a toddler begging for a cookie before dinner. I mean that in the nicest way possible. I sighed again.

"There was this . . . incident," I started. "Marlene met this woman — goes by Rhonda, if that was even her real name — and she told Marlene that she'd just moved to New York to escape an abusive husband. They met here in this pub, actually. She said she was trying to find somewhere to stay until she got back on her feet. Marlene offered her a place to stay in her guest room. Rhonda heartily accepted.

"We'd been seeing each other for a couple months when this happened. This was our first argument as . . . well, a couple. I told her she was foolish to let a woman she doesn't even know stay in her home. Marlene said she was doing the right thing, helping a woman in need. I understood her reasons, but I still had this very bad feeling about Rhonda, even when Marlene insisted she was sincere. She said I was just being paranoid.

"The next day, Marlene met the real Rhonda. She was a very obnoxious and inconsiderate woman. She borrowed her things without permission and expected Marlene to clean up after her, taking advantage of her kindness. Marlene put up with it for a few days hoping things would improve, claiming she was going to continue being a good samaritan, but I think she was really only trying to prove me wrong about her. We barely spoke during this time, and when we did, we just ended up arguing again.

"I still didn't trust her, and not just because she was insufferable. There was something about her that didn't seem quite right. Marlene still thought I was just being paranoid. She's rude and a bit disgusting, but she's no criminal, she'd said. I asked her why she even wanted her to stick around when she didn't even seem grateful that she was helping her out, and Marlene stubbornly claimed that she was still doing the right thing and that she was just trying to find the best in her, like she does everyone.

"Well, on the bright side, Marlene finally became fed up with Rhonda's arrogance. She came to me one morning in a rage, telling me that she was going to tell Rhonda to leave tonight, after work. But when we came home, not only was Rhonda already gone, she'd stolen an important project from Kowalski. Oh, he's an inventor, by the way. Most of his inventions don't work, but the ones that have worked were pretty great. The project she stole was an unnamed invention that Kowalski wasn't sure what to do with. It was a tool strong enough to cut through just about anything in a matter of seconds.

"We have no idea what she did with it. We never heard from her again. We imagine she probably sold it on the black market or something. Marlene and I had an even bigger argument after that. I blamed her for letting her in her home and infiltrating her life. It was the perfect sob story to get her to offer a place to stay, and an even better act to seem completely disinterested in our affairs so we wouldn't suspect her to pull a stunt like stealing from us. Marlene said it was ridiculous to think that everything was premeditated. Then I said that it couldn't have possibly been a coincidence and . . . well, we had a big falling out and that's pretty much how it ended."

Private watched as I threw back the rest of my drink and slid my glass to the end of the table. He didn't reply for a moment. Then he said, "Sorry to hear that. How have you two been working together for so long after that?"

"Well, we decided not to let our personal lives get in the way of work. The idea of a relationship was bad enough in the first place. We still work well together. Despite anything that happened between us, we still solve cases very efficiently. We eventually learned to be friends again. Things can be a little strained sometimes, but we just let it go over our heads. Like just now, when I invited you to stay at my place. She's obviously comparing it to that experience, but I don't know how she could even think there's any comparison. Not to mention I'm usually pretty good at reading people. I'm pretty sure you aren't going to steal or kill us in our sleep."

Private laughed. "Please. When I was in high school, I stole from one of my teachers and felt guilty about it for three days before giving it back and apologizing," he said.

I arched my brow. "What'd you steal?"

"A pen," Private answered with a humorous smile. We laughed.

A waitress came to our table. "Another drink?"

"No, just the tab, please," I answered. She took my glass and left toward the cash register.

I looked at Private. "You mind driving me home? We can pick up some of your stuff on the way and grab the rest of it tomorrow," I said.

"That sounds fine," Private replied. "I only have two suitcases, and most of it is still unpacked. I could probably grab it all and check out within ten to fifteen minutes."

"Sounds good," I said, accepting the tab from the waitress. "You go ahead out to your car while I take care of this."

— § —

Well, I was hoping it was going to be easy. But with the Vesuvius Twins, nothing's ever easy.

We pulled up to the apartment complex and I entered the building with him. The manager, Fred, stood at the front desk as we entered. He was the kind of man that would be . . . well, stupid enough to work for The Vesuviuses.

"Hello," he said in his slow monotone. I know it's probably rude of me to say this, but his overbite always distracts me. "Welcome to the Vesuvius Complex."

"Evening, Fred," I said, smiling bittersweetly. Fred is . . . not the easiest person to talk to.

"Hi, Fred," Private said with what seemed like a sincere smile. "Look, I don't think living here is going to work out after all."

"Really?" Fred replied as his brow crinkled. "I thought you said you got a good deal."

I internally facepalmed. He'd been working here for six years, and never once did he catch on to the Vesuvius' little game. He doesn't really catch on to anything, really.

"I was offered something better," Private explained calmly. "I'm going to go gather my things and return my key. Give the Vesuviuses my apologies."

"Okay. Are you sure you don't want them anymore?" Fred asked. I sighed to myself. He didn't mean to give them his apol . . . oh, whatever.

"Um," Private started, his brow crinkling. I put a hand on his shoulder.

"He's sure," I answered for him. "Come on," I said, pulling Private to the elevator.

We stepped inside and Private hit the button for the fourth floor.

"How does he still have a job here?" he asked.

"Well, let's see," I started. "He's gullible, he'll agree to just about any pay without realizing he's being exploited, and the Vesuvius's favorite reason, he annoys everyone with his incompetence," I explained, listing them on my fingers.

Private considered. "Guess that'd make sense, if all you say is true about them," he said.

"If you don't believe me, you can stay here and find out for yourself," I said, gesturing to the hallway as the doors opened and we stepped out.

"Nah, I'll take your word for it," Private said, pressing his lips together.

He stopped by a door marked D - 12 and pulled the key from his pocket, fitting it in the lock and pushing inside. I followed him into the apartment and to the bedroom, where two suitcases sat off to one side. Two drawers in the dresser were open with a few things neatly folded inside, and the bed was hastily made. Private knelt next to the suitcases and opened one as he started grabbing his clothes from the drawers. I went to his bedside table, where a photo was framed and propped up under the lamp.

In the photo, there was a young boy with a man and a woman. They were standing on a sidewalk. The man had one arm around the woman's shoulders and his other hand on the boy's shoulder. The woman had one arm around the small of the man's back and the other hand on the boy's opposite shoulder. Big Ben was in the background. All three were smiling.

"My parents," I heard Private say behind me. I looked over my shoulder. He was still kneeling next to his suitcase, but he was zipping it up now. He stood and made his way to my side. I couldn't decipher his expression.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, "I didn't mean to —"

"No, it's all right," Private interrupted as he grabbed the photo and looked distantly at it. I think I recognized longing in his expression. "I was six here. My mum and dad took a day off from work to take me wherever I wanted to go. Just for a day we could spend together. No special reason."

I looked at the photo again and smiled sympathetically. I clapped a hand on his shoulder. "They sound like a pair of great parents," I said softly.

Private nodded. "They were." A moment of silence passed before he sighed and turned on his heel, heading back to his suitcases. "What were your parents like?" he asked, tucking the photo away in his luggage.

I cleared my throat. "Well, um, it's pretty complicated. My dad was in the military the entire time I knew him. He was a pretty great man. Whenever he came home, he'd bring me souvenirs, like shotgun shells or knickknacks from other countries. He'd spend pretty much the entire time he was home with me. We'd play sports, go to the city, see movies. All kinds of stuff. Then he died at war," I explained, looking at the floor. That was a pretty tough memory for me.

"I'm sorry for your loss. What about your mum?" Private asked from the bathroom as he gathered his hygienic utilities and put them in a ziploc bag.

I always cringe when somebody mentions her. I took a deep breath. "We never had a good relationship. She took care of me fine, I guess, but she never really cared about me like a son. She badmouthed my father, saying that he was selfish for leaving us for so long at a time — that he cared about his country before his family. She resented me for loving him. She wouldn't even come to his funeral. I pretty much raised myself after my dad died. If I ever needed a parent's advice, I'd usually just go to Rico's dad. Honestly, I don't really consider my mom my mom at all. She just gave birth to me, and that's it."

Private was at the bathroom door, leaning against the frame with the bag in his hands. He looked at me with a hardened expression that I didn't think he would've been able to manage with his non-intimidating features.

"You mean she completely ignored you? She never packed your lunch or — or asked how your day was?" he asked.

I cocked an eyebrow as I heard his inflection rising. "Well, I guess not completely. She tossed some money at me for food, brought me some medicine when I was sick, but her heart was never really in it. Like she cared enough to know I was alive and well, but not really give a damn about how I was feeling or what I was going through. She didn't care where I went as long as she heard from me every couple of days. She was mad at me for believing my father was in the military not just to protect our country, but so he'd have a home and family to return to. She was upset that I believed he actually cared about us. Then she started a relationship with someone else just a year after my father had died. I left as soon as I turned eighteen," I explained. It usually bothered me to talk about my mother, but Private was just so easy to talk to. I hardly ever get this personal with anyone, and feel comfortable about it on top of that.

Private tried to hold back what seemed like a grimace.

"What?" I demanded. "You think I should forgive her?" I asked defensively.

"No," Private snapped back. "I believe in forgiveness, but only to an extent. I also believe when you choose to have a child, you should give them your life, heart, and soul. I'm sorry, it just really bothers me when someone tells me about their deadbeat parents."

He walked back to his suitcases and stuffed the ziploc bag into one of them. I was taken aback by his tone. Usually, those with perfect parents are the ones that try to convince me that she was my mother and no matter what, I should forgive and respect her just because of that. So, why didn't he?

"Did I strike a nerve or something?" I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Private started double-checking all the drawers. For a second, I thought he'd started to ignore me when he finally spoke.

"No, it's not you. I — I had a friend once. When I was in high school. He was the only real friend I'd ever had. He was a great person, but he had terrible parents. His father abused him and his mother tried to take up for him, like his form of discipline was only because he loved him or something. One day his father took it too far. He came home drunk and beat him senseless. He died of head trauma and internal bleeding. He took the only friend I had. All because his parents couldn't care less. The worst part? His mother still took up for his father. Said he didn't mean to kill him. It was just an accident. As if that matters. Out of all the things that bother me in this world, bad parents really takes the biscuit," he said as he finished making sure he had everything.

I arched an eyebrow. "Takes the biscuit?" I inquired.

Private turned slightly pink. "Sorry. Sometimes my British roots come back to me. It means that bad parents are my limit to — you know, things that bother me," he explained.

I smiled — half humorously and half sympathetically. Then I frowned again. "I'm sorry that happened. I wouldn't suggest asking Kowalski about his then," I said. He rolled his eyes and muttered something; I only caught the words 'bad parents' and 'last thing I do.' I started for the door. "You ready?"

"Yes," Private replied, following me.

We rode the elevator down to the first floor and walked into the lobby, where Fred was waiting with the Vesuvius twins, who were wearing identical suits.

"Ah, there you are," one of them said. I could never tell which one was Atticus or Adalius.

"We've been waiting for you," the other said, his voice identical, patiently lacing his fingers behind his back.

Private and I stopped in front of them. After putting his bags down, we respectfully shook their hands.

"Mr. Vesuvius," Private acknowledged, shaking one's hand, "and — Mr. Vesuvius," he finished, awkwardly shaking the other's.

"Fred, here, tells us that you're planning on moving out already. Was there something wrong with your apartment, Mr. Shumpert?" the first Vesuvius asked.

"Um, it's Stuart, actually," Private corrected, "and no, nothing's wrong with the apartment. I was just offered a place to stay from a friend," he explained.

"Really?" the other Vesuvius said. I found his tone suspicious. "Then you don't mind paying the first two months' rent we discussed even though you won't be using the space?"

Private's brows knit with confusion. "Why would I pay if I'm not going to live here?" he asked.

"Well, your contract stated that you would pay the first two months' rent by the end of the week," the first Vesuvius said.

Private spread his hands. "Yes, if I live here," he argued.

The second Vesuvius smiled calmly and pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from his inside breast pocket, as if he were expecting this. Opening it, he said, "It's here in black and white, Mr. Strikland. It clearly states that you agreed to pay the first two months' rent by the end of the week. There is no stipulation that you have to actually be living in the apartment. And there's your signature at the bottom."

Private took the paper and looked it over with a frown.

"Of course," the first Vesuvius said, "if you refuse to abide by the contract, we'll be forced to take legal action. And I warn you, Mr. Strauss, our lawyers have never lost a case."

Private looked at me for help, but I looked down at the floor with my lips pressed together. What could I say? The Vesuvius' were right: their lawyers never lose a case. That's why they always get away with everything, and why no one's bothered to even try to arrest them for their manipulation. They're very manipulative in the ways they word their contracts, but once you sign them, they're legally binding.

"I . . ." he started in a weak voice. I felt sorry for him. I've seen a lot of good people get hustled by these creeps. "I guess I'll pay you by the end of the week, then," he said in defeat.

The Vesuvius' smiled.

"That's good to hear," the first one said.

"We'll be waiting for your payment. And you can keep that, it's only a copy," the second said.

"Pleasure doing business with you," the first one added before they turned and went inside their office. When the door shut behind them, you could hear muffled laughter beyond it, as if they wanted to be sure we could hear it. They probably did.

I looked back up at Private, who was staring intently at his contract, as if he could make it disappear if he concentrated hard enough. I awkwardly cleared my throat.

"Sorry about that," I said softly. "Told you they're crooks. If you want to stay here to get your money's worth, I understand."

Private shook his head. "It makes me sick that I even fell for their little tricks. I can't stand in this building for another minute," he said, his voice trembling with anger.

"Then why don't you sit down?" Fred broke in. "You can use my chair if you want."

We'd forgotten he was still standing nearby. It took us a moment to register what he was referring to. Right . . . Private can't stand to be in the building.

"No," Private said, shaking his head, "I mean I —" He sighed. "Never mind. Have a nice night, Fred."

"Wow," Fred said, his tone unchanged. "You're giving me a night? A nice one at that. Gee, thanks. No one's ever given me a nice night before. I didn't know you could just hand those out."

Private opened his mouth to respond, and then thought better of it and grabbed his bags, turning on his heel. He turned back once more, as if considering saying something, and then he shook his head and continued to the door. I followed closely behind and helped him get his bags into the backseat of his car. When we climbed into the front, he was still simmering, muttering something about not believing he was duped by those con artists.

"Sure you don't want a drink?" I asked with a humorous grin.

"Don't tempt me," Private said with a roll of his eyes as he pulled out into traffic.

I directed him around the city blocks until we branched off onto a road with houses lined on either side. We passed the sign that said "Central Park Estate." After passing several houses, I pointed to the left.

"There," I said.

Private paralleled by the curb and killed the engine. We grabbed his bags and went inside. Rico was in the living room, watching some action movie on the television. He paused it when we walked in.

"Oh, hey!" he grunted as he got to his feet.

"I invited him to stay with us," I explained. "I didn't think you would mind."

Rico shook his head. "Uh-uh!" he said before grabbing Private around the shoulders and rubbing his knuckles on his head. He ignored Private's protests until he wriggled free.

I chuckled. "Get used to it," I said as Rico returned to his movie.

"What happened to his voice?" Private whispered to me as we walked toward the stairs.

"His voice was damaged a long time ago, long story. We'll tell you later," I said with a yawn. "I'll take you up to the guest room."

I led him upstairs and went to the third door on the left, opening the door and walking in. I set the suitcase I was carrying on the floor at the foot of the bed. I turned to him as he entered. "All right, here's a quick rundown. I wake up at six thirty and take the first shower. Then Kowalski takes his at about seven. Rico goes at seven thirty. If you take a quick shower, you should still have hot water by eight."

"Actually, I like to take my shower in the evening, if that's okay with you," Private replied.

I shrugged. "Even better. The first door you come to at the stairs is a bathroom. The next door is a storage closet. The room after this one is my bedroom, then Kowalski's, then Rico's. The room at the end is the study and another guest room." I pointed to the door across the bedroom. "That walk-in closet there merges with mine, so don't freak out if you open the door and see me standing there."

Private nodded with a humorous smile. "Good to know," he replied.

I thought for a moment. "Well, if there are no further questions, I'm gonna head off to bed," I said.

Private pursed his lips in thought. "I don't think so," he said.

I nodded. "Then I'll see you in the morning," I said with a kind smile before heading for the door.

"Skipper," I heard him call behind me. I stopped at the threshold and turned.

"Yeah, Private?" I asked.

He smiled gratefully. "Thanks for letting me stay here," he said.

I smiled back. "Don't mention it. Night," I said, shutting the door.

"G'night!" he called after.

I sighed as the exhaustion of the day caught up with me, with a side of tipsy. So much had happened in less than twenty-four hours. I headed downstairs for a light snack before bed. I grabbed a can of sardines from the cabinet and set it on the counter in the serving hatch, which looked into the living room where Rico was still watching the movie. Now that I had a better view of the television, I saw that he was watching Live Free or Die Hard again. John McClane had just finished sending Mai Lihn down the elevator shaft in the SUV, and Rico laughed at the explosion that followed.

I started eating the sardines when the events of the day reeled through my mind and I smiled. I walked into work this morning and thought my whole day was ruined because I had to train a rookie. Then it got worse when we got the Blowhole case. While I knew it still wasn't going to be easy, I decided maybe things wouldn't turn out so bad after all. He didn't seem like much on the outside, but Private had a whole lot more to offer than I had initially realized. He might've given us the lead we've been looking for for years. It made me hopeful that this might be the case that lands Blowhole on death row. After finishing the sardines, I tossed the can in the garbage can and walked away from the kitchen as the building on the movie exploded behind me.