Tito

by Hildreth, Scott

“Here’s how I know he loves me.” I raised my index finger. “How I feel when he kisses me. I can’t even begin to explain it. It’s magic.” I extended my second finger. “He puts me first. Always. Doesn’t matter what it is, it’s always me first.” I extended my finger of authority. “When he holds me in his arms, I feel like nothing else matters, because nothing else does.” I raised my ring finger. “When we make love—yes, daddy, we have sex in the bed you bought me—he’s not selfish. Once again, it’s always about me.” I lifted my pinkie finger. “He makes sure he does everything in his power to protect me. It doesn’t matter if it’s keeping information from me regarding his friends in the club or putting himself between me and a crowd. He’s always protecting me.” I extended my thumb. “Lastly, he tells me he loves me. And, I believe him.”

  “So, he is in a club?” he asked.

  Out of everything that I said, he focused on the one thing that went against the grain of his beliefs. I shrugged innocently. “That slipped out.”

  “Does it bother you that he is?”

  “Not at all. It’s not what you think,” I explained. “It’s just him and a bunch of his friends from school. Well, his friends from school and one ex-military guy they met. They’re just friends. He’s talking about getting out of it, anyway.”

  He seemed surprised. “Oh really?”

  “Yeah. He mentioned it a few times.”

  “Why” Did he say what brought it on?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re such a cop.”

  He stepped back and gave me a look. “I was asking because I wanted to know if it was recent—after your declaration of love—or if it was before. If it’s a sacrifice he’s making because he feels he needs to—”

  “He mentioned it the night we met,” I said snidely. “And, a few times since.”

  He looked away. “Night you met, huh?”

  “Yeah. I asked if he was in one. I thought you’d be mad if he was. Ends up, I really didn’t care if you were mad or not.”

  He faced me and laughed. “I love you, Reg.”

  “Love you, too.”

  He gestured toward Raymond, who was hiding amongst a sale rack of spring clothes. “I’m guessing that kid with the makeup all over his face is Raymond?”

  I rolled my eyes. “The one and only.”

  “Who’s he hiding from?”

  I glanced in that direction. As if he thought we couldn’t see him, Raymond was wadded up into a tiny ball, peering in our direction from between two tangerine-colored shirts. His green skinny jeans and sneakers were well out-of-place, extending from the bottom of the shirts down to the floor. His entire upper body was completely obstructed by the rack of clothes, except for the one eye that peered in our direction.

  I laughed at the sight. “I’m guessing he’s hiding from you.”

  He covered his mouth with his hand to hide his laughter. “Why?”

  “Because you’re big, intimidating, and a cop.”

  “Well,” he said. “He’s got nothing to worry about.”

  “Can’t say that for the rest of this city,” I said with a laugh.

  “Making this city a better place one criminal at a time.” He spread his arms wide. “Give me a hug, I’ve got work to do.”

  I hugged him. “See you Sunday.”

  “Damn,” he said. “That crept up on us. Day after tomorrow, huh?”

  “Sure is.”

  He seemed to be ashamed. “I may have to work.”

  “Big case?” I asked.

  “The biggest.”

  He’d been chasing the same ghosts for as long as I could remember. I couldn’t recall the amount of Sunday dinners that I’d forfeited as a result of him working on that ridiculous case.

  Frustrated, I shook my head. “You’re never going to catch those guys.”

  “Never say never,” he said.

  40

  Tito

  In the past twenty-four hours, I’d all but lost my mind, completely. My time with Reggie—which could have easily been my last—was spent in state of blind confusion. Plagued with blank stares, racing thoughts, and the fear of incarceration, our night together was disastrous.

  Cash and his gun were long gone. My chances of meeting with Reggie’s father and walking away had diminished to nothing. Filled with regret for not having stepped away from the club when I had the first notion, I sat in the diner waiting on my fate.

  While I choked down my second cup of coffee, he walked into the diner, stone-faced. My field of vision narrowed to nothing, leaving me looking through a pinhole at the man I thought would one day be my father-in-law.

  He sat down across from me. “I was up all night assembling the pieces of what I hope to be an airtght case.” He raised his index finger and nodded toward the waitress. “How was your night?”

  There was no way I was going to make it the next few minutes without getting physically ill. In an attempt to disguise the fact that I might either shit myself or vomit at any instant, I raised my coffee cup to obstruct my face.

  “Sleepless,” I murmured. “My night was sleepless.”

  The waitress handed Ted a cup of coffee. After thanking her, he took a few sips. “Understandable.” His brows raised. “Where’s my murder weapon?”

  “I don’t have it.”

  The lack of expression he wore morphed to frustration. “You don’t have it?”

  “I do not.”

  “Well, we’re going to have a problem,” he said. “A very serious problem. I’ve made arrangements, all of which include the delivery of—”

  Midway through his sentence, our personal space was invaded by a large shadowy figure. Numb to my surroundings, I stared blankly at my coffee cup. Ted glanced to his left, and then quickly stood.

  “Brock “Cash” Flannigan,” Ted said. “I didn’t know you were invited.”

  My eyes darted toward the shadow. Dressed in a pair of slacks, lace-up leather shoes, and a button-down dress shirt, Cash stood at my side.

  “I wasn’t,” Cash said. He tossed an envelope on the table, in front of Ted. “That’s for you.”

  Ted gestured to my side of the table, and then took his seat. He reached for the envelope. “The Legal Offices of Wicks, Payne, and Perth,” he said, reading the return address printed on the envelope. “This must be important.”

  Cash took a seat at my side.

  Ted opened the envelope and removed a folded sheet of paper. He read it silently. After folding it and placing it on center of the table, he looked up. “Impressive.” He glanced at Cash. “It’s also bullshit.”

  “Take it, or leave it,” Cash said.

  Ted returned a cold glare. “Where’s the weapon?”

  Cash glared back. “In my truck.”

  “Is your truck locked?” Ted asked.

  Cash removed his keys from his pocket and tossed them on the table. “It’s in the glovebox. Silver key will unlock the glovebox. The little brass key will unlock the case it’s in. Glovebox lock’s hard to get open. Gotta jiggle it.”

  Ted picked up the keys, studied Cash for a moment, and then walked outside.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” I whispered.

  He snatched the coffee cup from my hand and took a sip. “Taking care of business.”

  “What business?” I asked. “Where in the fuck have you been, and why are you dressed like that?”

  He finished the coffee and slid the cup to the side. “I’ve been where I’ve been, and I wore this so I didn’t look like a thug during the press release. It was Kimberly’s idea.”

  Granted, I hadn’t slept in the past twenty-four hours, but I was completely lost. “What press release?”

  He reached for the letter and handed it to me. “Read it.”

  I unfolded the letter and did as he asked.

  Detective Ted Gottschalk,

  The typed confession described below is made without coercion, and the confessor is of sound and solid mind as of this writing.

  Furthermore, th
is confession is given with the agreement that the prosecution of the confessor will include a lifetime of incarceration. As part of the typed agreement, the death penalty will not be sought for punishment of this—or any other—instant offense brought against the confessor.

  I, Brock Cashton Flannigan, did, on or about the early morning hours of July 18, knowingly and willfully kill two armed police officers while active in the commission of a crime.

  Although there were other parties present, they were unaware of my whereabouts and further unaware of my actions, including, but not limited to, the murder of the aforementioned officers.

  To clarify, I acted alone.

  My eyes welled with tears, preventing me from continuing. I had read no more than the first quarter of what was typed. I lowered the confession and looked up. “Cash, you can’t—”

  He snatched the letter from my grasp. “Already did.” He folded it and tossed it to the other side of the table. “In the future, you fuckers won’t be able to say anything about me but good shit.”

  “God damn it, Cash…” There was so much I wanted to say before Ted got back, but I couldn’t get the words to come out.

  I cleared my throat.

  Cash wiped the tears from his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Just make sure to take care of Kim, my mom, and the baby, will ya?”

  Overcome with emotion, I could barely speak. “Cash…you can’t…this is on all…it’s on all of us.”

  He coughed out a tearful laugh. “Hell.” He clenched his fist and held it between us. “From what I recall, you weren’t even there, little man.”

  I glanced at his fist and shook my head. “No.”

  “Pound it, ‘midge,” he demanded in a broken voice.

  “No.”

  He raised his fist. “Pound it, before I catch another case for pounding your ass right here.”

  Out of my peripheral, I saw Ted come through the door Carrying a plastic case. I glanced at Cash’s clenched fist.

  “I love you, Brother,” he whispered.

  I pounded my knuckles against his. “I love you, too.”

  41

  Reggie

  Following another late-night outing with the motorcycle club, Tito was irritable, nervous, and couldn’t fall asleep. I had yet to meet one of the men he called his brothers. To be honest, I didn’t care to. Whatever the club was doing to him, I didn’t like. If given an opportunity, I’d give each of the men a piece of my mind.

  Frustrated that he didn’t act on his impulse to walk away from them, I made the final touches to my makeup. As soon as I finished, I stepped into the living room. Tito was sitting at the breakfast table drinking a cup of coffee.

  “Are you ready?” I asked.

  A long breath escaped him. “Yeah.”

  “I hope you’re in a better mood by the time we’re there.”

  He stood and faced me. “I’m sorry. It’s just—”

  “It’s just what?” I snapped, letting my frustrations be known by the tone of my voice. “It’s just the motorcycle club, that’s what it is. Every time you’re out with them lately, you come home late, angry, and unable to sleep. I don’t know what you guys are up to, but I don’t like it.”

  He gave me a kiss. “I’m sorry. I really am.” He leaned away and looked me over. “I’ll be fine at your father’s.”

  It was impossible to stay mad at him. I loved him far too much. I mentally crossed my fingers that the club’s late-night activities would dissolve to nothing and gave him a peck on the lips. “Okay.”

  * * *

  When we walked into my father’s house, he was in the kitchen preparing our meal. The smell of onions and garlic tickled my nostrils, and the sound of his whistling filled the air.

  “Someone’s in a good mood,” I said.

  He was standing at the kitchen counter, slicing an onion. “Something wrong with being in a good mood?”

  “I suppose not.” I wrapped my arms around him from behind and kissed his cheek. “Is there something I should know?”

  “I love you,” he said. “I guess that’s it.”

  I chuckled. “I’ll make note of that.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “You look like haggard shit, Son.”

  Tito sighed before managing to muster a crumpled smile. “Thanks.”

  “Have a beer,” my father said. “Maybe you’ll feel better.”

  “I’ll grab us each one,” I said.

  Much to my surprise, the fridge was filled with Michelob Ultra. I handed Tito one, and then set one beside my father. “When did you start drinking this?”

  “I just thought I’d give it a try,” he said. “A guy bought me one yesterday evening, and I thought it was a novel idea. Full-bodied taste, low calories, and almost no carbohydrates.”

  He set the cutting board aside and turned around. “In fact, the guy was a friend of yours.”

  “Oh, really?” I asked.

  “That’s what he said,” he replied. “His name was Braxton Rourke.”

  “Oh. Yeah,” I said excitedly. “Where’d you meet him?”

  Tito choked on his beer and began coughing hysterically. I turned around. “Are you alright?”

  Red-faced, and out of breath, he pointed to his chest. “Went. Down. Wrong.”

  “Be careful,” my father said. “Hate to have you choke to death before the big day.”

  “What big day?” I asked.

  “I’ll be retiring next week,” he said. “Semi-retiring, anyway. If things go well, it’ll be permanent in a month.”

  My heart raced at the thought of him being able to enjoy living life. I wondered if he could even make it though a day without police work. “Seriously? What about your little gang?”

  “If things go my way, they’ll be behind bars next week.”

  “Holy crap?” I gasped. “Seriously?”

  He tilted the neck of his beer bottle toward me. “I’ll semi-retire after the arrests are made. After their conviction, I’ll retire permanently.”

  “Oh. My God.” I alternated glances between my father and Tito. “This is the best news I’ve heard in a long, long, time.”

  My father sipped his beer, and then lifted his chin slightly. “You’re looking pretty puny over there, Silva. You need to go puke or something?”

  “I’ll be alright,” Tito said.

  The color had all but drained from his face. He looked like a ghost. “You really look bad,” I said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  He wiped the sweat from his brow. “I need to sit down.”

  “Let’s go in the living room,” my father suggested. “I’ll come back in here and finish this up in a few minutes.”

  We gathered in the living room. My father took his favorite chair, and Tito and I sat across from him, on the loveseat. While Tito nursed his beer, my father’s mouth twisted into a ornery grin.

  “Realized a guy I work with knows you,” my father said. “He had nothing but good things to say about you and your friends, which left me to wonder if his opinions were either bullshit or biased.”

  I gave him a cross look. “Daddy!”

  Tito wiped his brow. “Who was that?”

  “Detective Marc Watson,” my father replied. “Said he knew you, and those five friends you run with. Said you were quite the Brainiac when it came to computer manipulation.”

  My eyes darted to Tito. “You’re friends with a detective?”

  He looked away before meeting my gaze. “I wouldn’t say we’re friends. I’ve met him a few times. He’s more a friend of a friend.”

  “He sure knew a hell of a lot about you and your crew,” my father said. “A man’s an extension of the company he keeps, and if he’s running with the likes of you and your crew, I wonder about him.” He chuckled. “I guess time will tell if he’s full of shit, or not.”

  I couldn’t believe my father was acting the way he was. I scowled. “Stop being mean.”

  He chuckled as if he was enjoying himself. “Looks l
ike if I keep it up, he just might barf where he sits.”

  I looked at Tito. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  He nodded. “I’ll be alright.”

  “Well,” I said. “You sure don’t look like it.”

  “That’s the damned truth,” my father said. “You look like you’re out of your element.” He crawled out of his chair and sipped his beer. “What can I get for you? To make you feel better?”

  “I’ll be fine, really.”

  My father shook his head. “Boy, you sure don’t look like it.”

  “I feel like I’m being tortured,” Tito said.

  I scrunched my nose and gave Tito a look. “Why would you say that?”

  “Just a figure of speech,” he replied. “I feel like shit.”

  My father turned toward the kitchen. “Look like it, too.”

  My father disappeared, leaving Tito and me in the living room. I set my beer on the end table and faced him. “I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m worried about me, too.”’

  “Why?”

  “I just.” He shook his head. “I just need to make some changes with the club, that’s all.”

  “Are you having problems with your friends?”

  “Not so much. It’s. I. We need to dissolve the club. We’ll be looking into it this week. Maybe that’s what’s bothering me, I don’t know.”

  “Did something happen?”

  A worried look overcame him. “Sometimes men in the club do things that I don’t agree with. Instead of standing up to them, I often just let it happen. Hindsight’s always twenty-twenty, but I wish now that I would have stood up to them a few times. In the past.”

  I put my hand on his knee. “You can’t dwell on the past. All you can do is make sure you learn from your mistakes and live tomorrow knowing that you won’t repeat them.”

  “That’s sound advice she’s giving you, Silva,” my father shouted from the other room. “You should listen to her. Repeating the mistakes of your past could prove disastrous.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Tito muttered.