The Game Changer

by Scott Hildreth

  She kept her eyes fixed on mine. After a few seconds, a single tear rolled down the side of her nose.

  I swept it away with the tip of my finger. “What’s wrong?”

  She wiped her eyes, flipped her hair over her shoulder and then smiled. “Nothing. Planning this together just makes me happy. And six is great.”

  I’d spent my entire life alone. Even while surrounded by marines in combat, I didn’t allow myself to become attached to any of the men for fear of losing them during battle. Only after the war was over did I allow Cap and Lucky to become close.

  Having a family, even if I was simply marrying into one, excited me. To think of holidays like Christmas and Thanksgiving being spent with people I loved—and who loved me in return—was almost incomprehensible.

  “I’m excited,” I said. “About having a family.”

  She pushed her wine to the side and closed the book. “Let’s, um... Let’s just do this later.”

  “What do you want to do?” I asked.

  She rubbed her eyes and then laid her head on my shoulder. “Hold you.”

  I held her close for some time, and then carried her to the bedroom. Without instruction, we both got undressed and into the bed.

  She pounded her fist into the pillow until it was shaped the way she wanted it, then turned to her side and rested her head on her open palm. “On Christmas Eve, we make eggnog from scratch. We get to open one gift on that night, but not the big one.”

  “Big one?”

  She smiled. “When we were little, there was Santa Claus. He always left the biggest gift. Then we got older, and found out it was a farce. But we still got the big gift. But my father said opening the big one on Christmas Eve was cheating, so we had to pick another.”

  Her decision to talk about Christmas out of the blue was further proof that we often shared the same thoughts. Decisions about restaurants, clothing and shoes—that should be arguable—weren’t.

  “So, you sit around and drink eggnog, and then open a gift?”

  “We talk. Kind of reflect on the year, and how grateful we are for everyone and everything. And we eat. You’ll find that out soon enough. Italians eat. A lot.”

  “It sounds fun.”

  “And then, on Christmas morning, it’s a disaster. The tree is like...” She sat up and spread her arms wide. “Covered in gifts. They’re spread all over the room. My mother makes her own bows, and they’re beautiful. Anyway, Peter and I hand out all the gifts, and then we watch each other open them. It takes forever.”

  “You have a real Christmas tree? An actual tree?”

  I tried to recall if I’d ever had a real tree at Christmas. I recalled plastic trees at the orphanage. In foster care, I was never around for the holidays.

  She nodded eagerly. “We still go pick it out as a family. It’s a big deal.”

  “Is that something I’d do with you?”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she blinked. “Michael.” She leaned over and touched my shoulder. “You’re a part of all of this now. You’re a member of the family. Just like Peter and me.”

  I felt like a little boy again, and tried to hide my joy. “I was just wondering,” I said, trying not to look elated. “It’ll be a nice change, that’s for sure.”

  She took her position on the pillow again. “And on Thanksgiving. Everyone comes over. I mean, we eat as a family, but all day it’s in and out, in and out. Everyone stops by. I remember when I was little, I used to think all my father’s associates were relatives. They’d come over with their wives, bring wine and food, and stay for a while and talk. I think I was, like, thirteen or something before I figured out that they weren’t related.”

  So far, there was little differentiation between the family and my family. I was now beginning to think of the family as an extended version of what would be my family.

  She explained about birthdays, New Year’s celebrations, how her mother had been her best friend and her father had been her protector. She shared how she often fought with her brother, but loved him nonetheless.

  That night, we talked until I filled with so much hope I thought I might burst.

  That night, her life’s experiences became my dreams.

  And that night, my dreams were so close I could almost touch them.

  Almost.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Terra

  Dunkin’ Donuts was a guilty pleasure that Michelle and I shared while in school. I shoved half the doughnut into my mouth and wondered how many hours we’d spent discussing boyfriends and breakups at that very booth.

  I pushed my half-eaten cherry-filled pastry toward the center of the table. “No more. I can’t believe I’ve eaten this much.”

  “At least you’re eating,” Michelle said. “You looked sick the other day.”

  “This is cheating, not eating. I’ve got to start watching this stuff.”

  “Why?”

  “Seriously?” I shot her a look. “The wedding.”

  “So, you picked out invitations?” she said. “That’s exciting.”

  “Fairy tale. We both picked the same one.”

  “Isn’t that fuckin’ cute,” she said, her voice infused with sarcasm.

  I took a drink of coffee and flipped her off with my free hand. “Did you ever think I’d be first?”

  “First what?”

  “First to get married?”

  “No. Seriously? I thought you’d be long after me, for sure. I always thought, you know, that you’d be one of those girls like that Karen Simpson bitch.”

  I had no idea who she was talking about. I leaned forward. “Who?”

  “That pasty white bitch with the cheap extensions. The platinum blonde that was always flipping her hair?”

  She swept her hair over her shoulder dramatically, and then cocked her head to the side.

  I glared at her. “The one with the boobs? Who screwed Bobby Wilson? That one?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I shot her a look. “What the fuck?”

  “You know, she went from guy to guy to guy, and each guy would always be worse than the last one. They were always slapping her around, but she thought it was love. I felt sorry for her.”

  I stared at her in disbelief.

  “Really,” she said.

  My stare continued.

  “No, really.”

  I let out a sigh. “I can’t believe you sometimes.”

  “What?”

  I picked at the doughnut. “You thought I’d end up bouncing from guy to guy to guy?”

  “Not like that. I thought you’d be a long time figuring out what or who or whatever you wanted.”

  “Oh.” I slid into the back of the booth. “I think Michael found me, really.”

  “Kind of.”

  I believed Michael and I met as a result of fate, and wondered if anyone else shared such thoughts. “Do you think everything happens for a reason?”

  “Like destiny?” she asked.

  “No, not destiny. But, like, I’m in this place, and this guy comes there at the exact time that this thing is happening, and it just so happens that he’s protective, and he steps in, and then we meet again, and everything just kind of works out?”

  She laughed. “That’s destiny.”

  “Okay, whatever. Do you believe in it?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah. Kind of.”

  “What do you mean, kind of?”

  Her eyes fell to the table, and she picked at the half-eaten Danish. “I think sometimes things like that happen, and maybe you don’t, I don’t know, like, do the right thing, and then you mess up what was supposed to be.” She looked up. “Or whatever.”

  “Oh wow.” I leaned on the edge of the table and met her gaze.
“Do you have a big regret?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh my God. Tell me.”

  “It’s just—I don’t know. Cap is just—He’s like—I don’t know. He’s, like, perfect.”

  “And that’s a problem how?”

  “My dad would kill me if he found out I was with him.”

  I reached for the Danish and took a bite. “He’s Italian.”

  “I know.”

  I took another bite. “His dad is the attorney who got my father out of jail.”

  Her eyes shot wide. “What?”

  “Pretty cool, huh?”

  “What? Are you serious?”

  It dawned on me that I must not be the only one having information kept from me. For an instant, I felt better, then it quickly faded.

  I began to wonder if it was something I was going to have to get used to, and then realized I hadn’t responded to her question.

  “Yep. I forgot to tell you when I texted you. I think I was still in shock.”

  “Cap’s dad? He was the attorney?”

  “Yep.”

  “I didn’t know his dad was an attorney.”

  “I didn’t either,” I said. “But he is.”

  “Wow.”

  She sat there for a moment, and then slumped into her seat.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You know how my dad is,” she said. “The first thing he’d want to know is what Cap did for a living. Anything sketchy, and he’d throw a fit. Cap’s a great guy, but what they do is pretty sketchy.”

  I was beginning to accept this as being a fact. Or, at least I was trying to.

  “Your dad’s one to talk.”

  She twisted her mouth to the side and raised both eyebrows. “I know.”

  “If it wasn’t for him, would you see your relationship going the distance?”

  She nodded. “I mean, for me? Yeah.”

  I tossed the Danish remnant onto the plate. “Really?”

  “Um. Yeah,” she said. “We have, like, everything in common.”

  “Do you think you’d, like, get married?”

  “Do you mean, would I marry him if he wanted to?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fuck yes, I would.”

  I grabbed the remaining Danish and shoved it into my mouth. “Really?”

  “I mean, I don’t know if he’d ever want that, but yeah. I would so marry him. Things are so much different with him. What I want to do, he wants to do. We like the same shows. We laugh at the same things. We both love the same foods. And he makes me come so hard.”

  “You shouldn’t let your dad get in your way. I didn’t.”

  She laughed so hard I was afraid the entire doughnut shop was going to turn and stare. “Really?”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t even tell him who you were. Cap knows who I am. I mean, he hasn’t met my father or anything, and I haven’t told my parents about him, but I haven’t lied to him, either.”

  Hearing her say it stung. One thing I could always count on with Michelle was blatant honesty, though.

  “I wish I wouldn’t have. Stick with the truth.”

  “With Cap, I will. With my dad? I’m saying nothing. He’d kill me. Or Cap. Either way, it wouldn’t be a good thing.”

  “Maybe he’d be like mine,” I said. “Maybe he’d tell you how happy he is that you’re happy.”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “So what do you think will happen?”

  “I don’t want to think about it,” she said. “For now I want to just keep doing what I’m doing.”

  “Maybe it’s destiny, or whatever.”

  “Maybe it is.”

  “Then you should figure out a way to make it work.”

  “Well. If the destiny thing is like you said—” she picked up her purse and shrugged “—if it’s meant to be, it’ll work itself out.”

  I grabbed my purse. “I hope it does.”

  “So do I,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Michael

  The entire restaurant was empty, but at 10:00 a.m., I didn’t expect it to be filled with patrons. At the same location where all the meetings seemed to be held, Sal, Agrioli and I sat and discussed opinions and options.

  Agrioli folded his hands together and leaned forward. His eyes met mine, and then shifted toward Sal. “I don’t know who the rat is, but I know who it’s not.”

  Sal looked at me and then at Agrioli.

  I swallowed heavily.

  Agrioli nodded his head toward Sal. “It ain’t you.” He looked at me and nodded. “And it ain’t you.”

  Thank God.

  Losing Agrioli’s trust would be the end of life as I knew it. Married or not, my dreams of a family would vanish into thin air. If he couldn’t trust me, I’d be useless to him.

  “But. Anybody else?” He leaned against the back of his chair. “Who fuckin’ knows.”

  I inhaled a shallow breath, looked at Sal and then turned to face Agrioli. “It’s a matter of record that there’s a confidential informant close enough to the family that he’s provided the feds with information about the murder of Jackie Four Eyes. I’m convinced the first guy—although he was an ATF agent—was on his own, but we haven’t been tied to that murder yet.”

  With his teeth clenching his lower lip, he stared back at me.

  “Without a doubt,” I said, “someone told the feds about Jackie Four Eyes.”

  “Someone that’s still alive, boss,” Sal said.

  “They took me from my daughter’s fuckin’ celebration. Her engagement party,” Agrioli growled. “His, too.”

  Sal nodded. “I know, boss.”

  “Everybody knows.” Agrioli’s fist came down onto the table with a thud. “It was on national fuckin’ news.”

  Agrioli stood, shook his head, and then sat down. “Get Vinnie. Talk to him. See what he says.”

  “You think it was Vinnie the Fifth?” Sal asked.

  “I don’t think nothin’. I think the fuckin’ feds got someone to turn rat, that’s what I think. You two? You two find him, whack him and shove a rat down his fuckin’ throat.” He pushed himself from the table, folded his arms in front of his chest and glared at Sal. “And then toss the dead motherfucker on the steps of the courthouse.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  “As God is my witness, I want this son of a bitch dead.”

  Sal nodded.

  He slammed his fist down, toppling over the three glasses of wine. “Dead!”

  I reached for the glasses, righted them on the table and tossed a napkin over the mess. “We’ll find him, one way or another.”

  He shifted his eyes to me. “You’ve got surveillance?”

  “I do.”

  “Use it.”

  “I intend to.”

  “That rotten fuckin’ Frank Gazzone.” He looked at Sal. “That rat motherfucker wanted a plea bargain. To cooperate. Did he tell you?”

  Sal shrugged. “What can you do?”

  “That fuckin’ rat,” Agrioli seethed. “I’ve got something for him.”

  His hot temper was right up there with mine, but I couldn’t say I blamed him. If one of my men had turned me in to the feds for a murder, I’d be just as angry as he was.

  He looked at me. Although his eyes expressed disappointment, they no longer reflected the anger he had earlier possessed. It seemed, unlike me, that he could turn his hot temper on and off at will.

  “You did good, Michael.” He reached for my shoulder. “You’re making your place here.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  He laughed a low laugh, lo
oked at Sal and tilted his head toward me as he spoke. “He’ll do his best.”

  Sal chuckled.

  “You saved my son from the Russians. You whacked two feds. You got me an attorney—a goddamned fiorintino—who got me out of jail, and you’re going to find the fuckin’ rat that snitched to the feds.” He looked at Sal. “In what? Three months? Four?”

  “He’s thorough,” Sal said with a laugh.

  “You’ll do your best.” Agrioli chuckled and patted me on the shoulder. “I’ll take it.”

  “The kid tell you they broke into his house?” Sal asked.

  Agrioli nodded. “I heard from Terra. Took the dog. Who takes a dog?”

  “Personally, I think they were after the teeth,” I said. “It’s the only thing that can actually link us to the murder.”

  He turned his palms up. “Lori says he needs them.”

  “He told me they couldn’t search his office,” I said. “Makes me nervous to let anyone have them, but if that’s what’s best...”

  “Get the teeth to me. They can’t search my house. Not for that,” Agrioli said. “I’ll put them in the safe.”

  He was right. He couldn’t be arrested for the same crime again. But keeping the teeth—long-term—simply made no sense to me. According to Cap’s father, tossing them wasn’t the answer.

  Keeping them seemed even more foolish.

  “I’ll get them to you,” I said. “But I’m melting the weapons down in my shop.”

  “You’ve got good instincts.”

  I agreed with him.

  I did have good instincts.

  And my instinct told me that keeping the teeth of two dead federal agents wasn’t in anyone’s best interest.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Terra

  We met at the restaurant because he had “business to take care of” afterward. Originally, I thought meeting was a great idea. Now I wasn’t so sure.

  As he held the piece of sushi between the tips of his chopsticks, he stared blankly at the center of the table.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “I, um...” He looked up. “I was thinking.”

  He poked the sushi into his mouth. While he chewed, he gazed beyond me, preoccupied with whatever it was that had kept his attention all night.