A/N1: Maybe the Acostas own Chuck. But they are fictional, so probably not.
A/N2: Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukah to all of my friends and readers. All best wishes to you and your families.
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Guiseppe's Trattoria was located in the Lawndale section of Los Angeles on Manhattan Beach Boulevard near Alondra Park. It had been originally opened by Joe Acosta almost eighty years ago and passed down to Tony on Joe's death. When Tony eventually died his sons would inherit it.
It offered neighborhood red sauce Italian cuisine with excellent sea food. Always busy on the weekends for dinner, it was maybe half full at 7pm midweek. Close to Christmas, it had subdued half-hearted holiday decorations spread out, mostly ignored among the old-fashioned decor. Dark wood and red wallpaper. Red and white checked table clothes. Dark red wine served in short rock glasses, like in Italy. Waiters in black vests. It wouldn't take too much imagination to pretend you were in pre-World War II Los Angeles.
Pete Acosta came in with his body man behind him. He nodded to the bartender on his way to the private room in the back. As he passed one of the waiters, the man stopped him deferentially and said, "Mr. Acosta, I just want to thank you for seeing to that asshole who was hassling my daughter."
His seventeen year old daughter had the poor judgement to date a bad man in his twenties. When she realized her mistake, the man didn't take the break-up well. He had begun to stalk her and finally had caught her alone one day and beaten her up. It was only then that her dad had mentioned it to Pete Acosta, who had assured the concerned father that the problem would be taken care of.
"No problem, Lou. That's what friends are for," said Pete, resuming his walk to the back of the restaurant.
Lou said, "I hope he won't come back."
Pete stopped and looked over his shoulder at the man. Suddenly, his eyes were very hard and his normally pleasant voice took on an entirely different tone when he said, "He's never coming back. Don't worry, Lou."
The chill in Pete's voice gave the grateful father the shivers and he thought to himself, 'Holy Mother of God, I would not want that man as an enemy.' Immediately after that thought another thought came into his head. 'Good.'
Pete's body man took a seat at the bar and the bartender silently slid him a Diet Coke.
Pete knocked on the door to the private room and was told to "come on in" by his dad. He entered, closing the door behind him. Both his dad and Mike were already there and seated at the table. There was a bottle of red wine opened and both men had little glasses of wine in front of them. A basket of bread was on the table, but did not look as if it had been touched.
Pete gave his brother a gentle rap with a closed fist on his shoulder and bent to kiss his dad on the cheek.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey, Pete," said his dad.
Pete took a seat and poured himself a glass of wine.
"Bad business," said Tony, shaking his head sadly.
"Yeah. Somebody is framing Jimmy for the reporter's murder. Got ahold of some DNA someplace and planted it at the crime scene. Jimmy thinks someone is attacking the family through him," said Pete.
Mike said, "They think he'll turn on us to save his skin?"
"That's the best guess," said Pete.
Tony gave a quiet snort of laughter. "Whoever it is doesn't understand Jimmy."
"Or us," said Pete.
"Yeah," agreed Mike, nodding his head. "Or us."
"How's Jimmy handling it? Jail, I mean," said Tony. "We can put the word out. That he's under our protection. He'll have a few dozen guys having his back."
Pete gave a laugh, "Thanks, dad, but I don't think he needs the help. I feel sorry for all the other guys. You know, locked in there with him."
Tony and Mike laughed quietly.
"Yeah. I can see that," Tony said.
"So, who orchestrated this?" asked Mike, showing his emotion. "I'm seriously pissed off. Who has the balls to mess with us? The cartels, maybe? We can fuck them up."
"Not the cartels," said Pete. "Way too subtle for them. Somebody put some real thought into this and that's not their style. They smash. They don't set someone up."
"I agree," said Tony.
A waiter knocked and was called in. The men ordered dinner and the man left them alone again.
"One of the other families?" posited Pete, refilling his wine glass and handing the bottle to Mike.
"Not out of the realm of possibility, but things are quiet," said Tony with a shrug. "I can make a couple of calls to Chicago and see if anyone's heard anything."
"Please do that, dad," said Pete. "It's a long shot, but it'll be good to cross it off the list of possibilities. Narrow the list of suspects."
"Suspects. How about the cops themselves?" asked Mike. "Wallace would love to see you put away, dad."
Tony looked at his son. He loved him. He loved all his children. But he knew Mike wasn't the brightest of them. "Naw, Mikey. Bill would love to lock me up. He'd probably retire the next day. But he's gonna play by the rules. No question. He's a good man, an honorable man. If we didn't have the jobs we have, he'd be one of my best friends."
"How about those two younger cops? The black guy and the Chinese guy? I didn't like them," said Mike.
Pete said, "Really? I liked them just fine." He grinned at his big brother, who scowled in return and took a drink of his wine.
"Naw," said Tony. "Too young. Not cynical enough yet to pull something like this. And, anyway, I agree with Pete. I liked those guys. They were polite."
"So, who?" asked Mike.
"I don't know, Mikey. That's what I want you to find out. Start making some calls. Rattle some cages. Shake some trees. We got a million contacts. Let's use them. Somebody's got to know something. I agree with Jimmy, that someone wants to get at us through him. There should be rumors about this move. Listen for them, Mikey."
"Ok, dad," said Mike.
"Petey," said Tony, "your job is to get Jimmy out. Find someone, anyone, who saw him at that fucking basketball game. Guy who sold him beer. Pretty girl he flirted with. Anyone who can put him there."
"Ok, dad," said Pete. "Are you still in touch with the guy from the Laker's head office? I forget his name."
"Andrews. Yeah, I can call him," said Tony.
"Great. Call him and have him send me the recording of the game. Sometimes the cameras pan the crowd. Cute kids. Pretty girls. Funny signs. Kiss cam. Whatever. Watching that recording is a good place to start."
"Smart idea, Pete. I'll do that."
"Thanks, dad," said Pete.
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Trong and a half dozen of his men, pulled up to the Haiphong Airport with their police lights flashing and their sirens blaring on the four police cars. Together with Colt and his men, they spilled out of the poorly parked cars. Some of the cops carried the luggage of the Americans.
All of the men, to a greater or lesser extent, were drunk. Loud and boisterous and flashing badges and making outrageous demands, the procession bullied their way through the airport. Colt and his men were somewhat marginally less drunk than the others, knowing that they would be stuck in an aluminum can at 50,000 feet for a long, long time.
The owners of Bihn Mihn had confessed to the smuggling and the involvement of Arapaho, but knew nothing about Peralta's murder. What's more, they had heard from Rachel, who heard from the FBI on the east coast. The executives of Arapaho had not cooperated in questioning, but were nonetheless being indicted for the smuggling. However, there was no evidence connecting them with the murder either.
And then only a few minutes ago they learned that Booker and Chen had made an arrest in Los Angeles.
It seems Peralta had come upon a story of illegal smuggling, but it had probably not gotten him killed.
Team Colt's mission was over and they were heading home.
Trong and his men hustled them through security and hugged them goodbye as they put them onto the plane. With drunken promises to keep in touch with their new American brothers, the Vietnamese cops wished them safe travels.
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Molly was sitting in her high chair in the center of the kitchen as activity buzzed around her. She held out a hand to Casey and said, demandingly, "Mo."
"More?" he asked. "What's the magic word?"
"Peas," she said. "Mo, peas."
"More, please," he repeated. "That's right." He took a small taste of the chocolate cake frosting he'd been whipping and handed her the spoon. She took it and immediately popped it into her mouth with a happy noise.
"You know you're a bad influence," said Morgan.
"Won't kill her, Moron. It's just a taste," said Casey, defending himself.
"Yeah, but I'm giving her edamame. It's crunchy edamame and it's healthy. How can I compete with sugar and fat?" he complained.
"So, she'll grow up liking me more than she likes you. I see nothing wrong with that," said Casey with a smirk. "Show's she's got good taste in men. Deal with it."
Morgan huffed and repeated, "You're a bad influence."
Casey and Morgan were in Emma's kitchen baby-sitting Molly. Morgan was cooking a feast and Casey was baking two cakes for the same dinner. Emma had gone to the store for some last minute shopping.
There was a houseful coming for dinner. Emma and Molly, of course, it was their house. Eileen and Casey. Lou, who had come west for the upcoming wedding, and Morgan. Chuck and Sarah. Ellie and Devon. Ellie and Chuck's dad, Stephen. Rachel and Brian. Chuck and Sarah's teammate, Zondra, and their friend Carina, who also recently arrived in LA for the wedding.
Morgan's menu included a salad and separate a shrimp dish as starters, cornbread (courtesy of Casey), two smoked prime rib roasts which were already very slowly cooking in the grill in the backyard, a wide assortment of vegetable side dishes, au gratin potatoes, and creamed corn. He was also making some salmon with BBQ sauce in case any of the guests didn't want meat.
Casey was baking a salted vanilla cake and a chocolate blackout cake. Of course, there would be ice cream to accompany the cake.
Morgan and Casey, notwithstanding their carping at each other, worked smoothly together in the kitchen. Occasionally, one of them handed something to the other without the recipient having asked for the item but needing it at that moment anyway. They seemed to understand and anticipate what the other man needed as they worked side by side harmoniously.
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Chuck looked quietly smug, while the rest of the table laughed hysterically. His soon-to-be wife held on to his arm, in what appeared to be to be her effort to avoid toppling over to the tiled floor in her mirth.
Morgan said, "No way, dude. That can't be a true story."
Lou, next to him, nodded along with Morgan's view.
Chuck said, "It's absolutely true." He paused for a moment or two and then said, "I read it on the internet." The crowd laughed again, maybe even louder this time.
Stephen said, quietly, laughing and taking another drink of his wine, "Not the Intersect?"
Sarah looked at him, smiling, and said, "Shush, dad."
While still smiling, he said, "Yes, dear."
Emma had noted the close relationship between her daughter and Stephen and was happy to see it. She didn't know what had happened to move the relationship to the next level (or really several levels above the next level) but, in her view, it had happened suddenly and dramatically. Whatever concerns Stephen had harbored in his heart about Sarah had been shredded and banished. Emma could see that Stephen now loved her daughter, and that made her love Stephen as another member of her family.
Zondra said, "How can you four be so calm. The weddings are just in a few days. And you guys are slip sliding away."
"God," said Ellie with a smile at her soon-to-be husband. "I honestly don't know, Z. I guess we're just happy with what is on the horizon. It's all good."
"It's awesome," said Devon with the look of love returned to Ellie.
Lou said, "Even with the terrible bullshit with your wedding planner?"
"They caught the guy," said Devon. "The cops caught the guy who did it."
"Yeah," said Sarah. "Seems that way. But I'm still crushed for Daphne. Even with her husband's killer in jail, it's so rough on her."
"Yeah," agreed Chuck.
"On the other hand, it's going to be such a fun wedding. Weddings. I've never been to two weddings at the same time," said Eileen, trying to change the mood. "This party is going to be the best LA has seen in years."
Sarah said, laughing, "Jeez, I hope not. Remember we like to stay under the radar."
Rachel said, "Naw. You guys gotta know you're the quiet talk of the town. Not the spy stuff, of course, but the rest of it. I mean, look, no offense to the grooms, but even with Hollywood women to compare to, you two are the most beautiful women to get married in Los Angeles in years. And to have them together. Just gotta say, I'm totally straight, but I know what the word on the street is."
"And you hear this where?" asked Emma.
"At Castle of course. It's not like I get out to anywhere else, Emma," said Rachel. "Just sayin', don't be surprised to find paparazzi at the hotel when the time comes."
"Oh, crap. That's the last thing we need," groaned Devon, shaking his head.
"Amen," agreed Chuck.
Molly toddled over and climbed into Sarah's lap, saying, "Sis." Sarah hugged her and repeated what the little one had said, kissing her on the top of her head. Somewhere deep inside, she began to question her intention to wait for children, to wait to have Chuck's children. Maybe sooner wasn't the worst choice.
Carina, seeing the look on Sarah's face as Molly cuddled into her, said, "Hey, Blondie, how about some more wine? You have an empty glass. You want another one?" She waggled the wine bottle in her hand.
Sarah looked at her with mock confusion and said, "Why would I want another empty glass?"
Everyone cracked up laughing.
Carina snorted and said, "You know, you think you're funny, but you're not."
Chuck leaned over to nuzzle his woman on her neck and said, "I think she's funny." He licked her earlobe, making her squirm.
"At least I'm not a cannibal," she said, looking at Chuck with love.
"A cannibal?" asked Carina.
"Inside joke, Red," said Sarah with a smirk, still looking at her man.
Emma and Stephen looked down the long table at the tribe of younger people and smiled.
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A/N3: Thanks go to Hiller7496 for the suggestion of the big dinner at Emma's. Thanks, my friend.
A/N4: Now, you know how I feel about you all. And I'd love to hear from you. All the best. See you again next year (yeah, a dad joke).