by Dave Daren
“So, you think Mayor Webber will be doing one of his cheesy speeches on the NYPD’s hard work?” my client mused and rubbed his chin.
“If not, I think we’ll have our questions answered,” I replied. “How long do you think it will take?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I do know we can at least celebrate this victory with some of my mother’s cooking.”
I grinned and followed my client out of his office toward the smell of roasted basil and tomatoes.
Chapter 3
As soon as we walked into the kitchen, Gulia was setting out a tray of some kind of flatbread chips with slices of cured salami, pepperoni, and various types of cheeses.
“Mmm, pinzini ferraresi,” Anthony murmured as he began to stack meat and cheese on a piece of the fried bread.
It reminded me of the meat-cheese-cracker appetizers I’d grown up with until I took a bite. The soft flatbread was a hundred times better than a butter cracker, and I chewed it delicately as I savored the combination of flavors.
“The prosecco is already on the table,” Gulia said and gestured to the dining room. “Take the pinzini and these eggs in there.”
Anthony scooped up a platter full of deviled eggs, and my mouth watered at the sight of the little yellow-and-white puffs of deliciousness before my client carried them into the dining room and set them on the table. I snatched one off the platter and tossed the whole thing into my mouth. It had the perfect amounts of mayo and mustard in the fluffy boiled yolks, and Anthony chuckled as he grabbed one and sat at the head of the table.
“I can’t believe your mother hasn’t been cooking this whole time,” I sighed and picked up my glass of prosecco. “She’s so good at it.”
“It’s one of those things Italians are encouraged to learn, but well-off families aren’t supposed to do regular household things.” My client shrugged and took a sip of his sparkling wine. “She learned and hardly used it until now.”
“Thank God for retirement,” I joked.
Anthony laughed, and we clinked our glasses together.
“What are we celebrating?” Annie asked as she strolled into the room.
Anthony’s sister looked like the younger version of his mother, though she wasn’t nearly as graceful, and sat down with a plop before she picked up a pinzini and piled it with meat and cheese.
“Let’s call it a successful mission,” Anthony answered with a mischievous smile. “That’s all you need to know.”
“You sound like dad,” she retorted and took a bite of her flatbread.
I had to laugh at her response, since it was something I’d thought several times about my client since I’d met him and his father. Anthony couldn’t deny the family resemblance with his Jughead ears and heavy Italian brow, though he’d tried for years to avoid their connection. He’d even changed his last name to his mother’s maiden name, Lamon, which was what he’d been using when we met and the main reason I didn’t know who his father was when I’d taken his case.
“He does know how to keep a secret,” Anthony agreed and winked.
“If you’re talking about secrets, let’s change the subject,” Michael declared as he breezed into the dining room and sat between Annie and Gulia’s empty seat.
“Only because you can’t keep them,” Annie snickered and lifted her sparkling wine.
“Well, that is… certainly a possibility,” her uncle scoffed.
We all burst into laughter as Gulia entered with a platter that smelled like seafood.
“Did I miss something?” the matriarch asked as she smiled and set the tray down on the table.
My eyes widened at the lightly fried shrimp, squid, anchovies, sardines, and several other small fish that lined the tray. Then Katarina appeared behind her with a bowl of spaghetti pasta covered in tomatoes and basil and another bowl with the crispy green leaves of a simple salad.
I tore into the fried pesce with a vengeance, and the perfectly seasoned batter crunched under my teeth as I bit into a shrimp. The pasta was a simple pairing with the seafood, but they tasted great together, and Gulia grinned as she watched us all eat in near silence except for a few groans and sighs of enjoyment.
I finished my first glass of prosecco, and Katarina popped in before I could say a word.
“Would you like more?” she asked as she reached for my glass. “Or we have spritzes if you prefer non-alcoholic.”
“You guys actually have non-alcoholic drinks here?” I teased. “Prosecco is fine.”
“Oh, no, Katarina,” Gulia cut off her reply with an excited wave of her hands. “The new bottle for a celebration.”
“Of course, ma’am.” Gulia’s mysterious assistant replied.
She scurried out with my glass and returned moments later with a wide, clear bottle that featured a glass ball on top.
“Your Collezione Nonino,” Katarina offered.
The liquid was a pale-yellow white wine, and I could tell from the dimpled bottle that it hadn’t come cheap.
“That’s the one!” Anthony’s mother clasped her hands together with a wide smile. “I knew we’d have a reason to drink it soon enough. I felt something good coming.”
They began to pour the fancy white wine, and I joined in the celebration, but part of me wasn’t convinced that it was time to celebrate just yet. We hadn’t heard back from Anthony’s spy at the dock in a while, though I noticed my client repeatedly checking his phone for messages.
After the seafood and pasta, Gulia brought out a container that smelled like nuts and sugar, then lifted the lid to reveal a dish filled with soft cookie sandwiches. The sweet butter cookies surrounded a thick layer of hazelnut chocolate that oozed over the cookie edges and nearly dripped onto the plate.
“What are those?” I asked with wide eyes and a layer of drool on my tongue.
“In Italy, we call them baci di dama,” Gulia answered, and her eyes gleamed with amusement. “It seems you’ve never had one before?”
“No, but I will gladly try one today.” I grinned as I scooped one of the sandwiches from the plate and took a slightly larger than polite bite. “Mmmmmm.”
Oh, these were dangerous.
We ate the cookies and sipped the fancy wine until Katarina had to retrieve another bottle. Then we ate and drank some more. Katarina even joined us for a few rounds, but my attention was on my client, who had begun frequently typing out heated text messages and shoving his phone back into his pocket.
Gulia seemed to notice her son’s growing tension, and she caught his stare for a moment before she stood up.
“Let’s all go enjoy the rest of this wine on the patio,” Gulia suggested. “It’s a beautiful night.”
Annie started to argue, but one look from her mother shut her mouth, and everyone else traipsed out the French doors to the patio while Anthony and I made our way to the den. When I stood up, I realized my mind was spinning a bit from the wines we’d had over the last couple of hours, but I was able to focus on my client as he pulled his phone out again.
“What’s going on?” I asked carefully once he cursed at the screen.
“Nothing,” he muttered and then looked up at me. “Which is kind of the problem. Have you noticed the story pop up anywhere?”
“Ah, let me just…” I trailed off as I searched my pockets for my phone and pulled up my news app. “Nothing.”
“Exactly,” Anthony grunted and flopped onto the chair. “But my guy said there were two news vans that showed up to the bust, so why haven’t they reported it yet?”
“Maybe they want it to be in the morning edition?” I suggested, though I was skeptical about that possibility.
“During an election year?” My client scoffed as he kicked off his shoes and put his socked feet on the ottoman. “Unlikely. Everyone wants to have the first scoop right now, especially with the mayor pushing his anti-Mafia spiel.”
“Yeah,” I agreed with a huff and unbuttoned the top of my collared shirt. “So, what else did your guy see?�
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“An unmarked van showed up about half an hour after we hung up,” he replied as he scrolled through his texts. “No one got out or in it, but one of the rookies talked to the driver for a minute. Other than the news crews, no one else showed up after the team who did the bust.”
“Was Gomez at the dock?” I wondered.
“He couldn’t tell for sure,” Anthony answered with a frown. “He’s never seen him before.”
“Well, we know Gomez is the one who had the info, so he has to be at least somewhat clean,” I mused as I rubbed my chin and yawned. “And whoever is above him that approved the bust has to be clean, too, right?”
“Yeah, I’d say Brooklyn seems pretty clear in the department,” he agreed. “I think we need to get some sleep. You’re a little drunk, and I’m exhausted.”
“I’m not drunk,” I insisted and stifled another yawn. “I mean, a nap wouldn’t hurt, but…”
“Yeah, you don’t really nap at eleven at night,” Anthony chuckled. “There’s a guest room upstairs across from Uncle Michael’s room. You can crash there tonight.”
“Only because I really love my car, and I also don’t remember how many glasses of wine I had,” I said in a very serious voice.
“Yeah, that second one is the one I figured,” he laughed. “Katarina already put fresh sheets and a blanket up there for you. I tossed some of my sweats in there, too. I figured you didn’t want to sleep in slacks.”
“Indeed, I do not,” I agreed. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Anthony rose from his chair and motioned for the stairs. “I’m going to sleep, too. There’s nothing helpful about sitting here wondering what’s going to happen in the morning.”
I followed him upstairs and turned down the hall opposite from his office. The second door on the right was alright open, and I pushed through it to find a huge king-sized bed with a fluffy down comforter and silky white sheets already turned down for me to slip inside.
“Night!” I called out before I shut the door behind me.
I heard Anthony’s faint response and looked around for the sweatpants while I unbuttoned my shirt. I found the sweats on a floral pattern chair and stripped down to my boxers before I pulled on what was probably the only cotton clothing Anthony owned. Then I tossed my clothes on the floor by the chair, slid into the soft bed, and let out a sigh of relief. The mattress was perfectly fluffy and seemed like it swallowed me in as I relaxed.
I fell asleep before I could even form a coherent thought, and I awoke the next morning with a killer headache. I wished my internal alarm clock would let me pass out again, but I finally gave up and rolled out of bed. I stared at what should have been my dirty clothes from yesterday and saw they were freshly laundered and folded on the chair with my cell phone sitting on top.
I got dressed and jogged downstairs toward the smell of fried eggs and fresh pancakes while I checked every news and social media app I had. Twitter, the Times, Facebook, no one had anything to say about the Serbian coke operation getting busted at the dock last night.
“Still nothing?” Anthony muttered as he looked up from his laptop on the dining table.
“Nope.” I shook my head in exasperation. “Maybe we need to check the print versions.”
“Actual newspapers?” my client asked with eyebrows arched in surprise. “Why?”
“You never know,” I replied with a shrug. “I’ll go back into the city this morning and see what I can find out. Maybe my friend at the Daily News can give me some insight.”
“Yeah, what happened to her big corruption story anyway?” Anthony wondered and closed his laptop. “I haven’t seen it.”
“She said someone told her to get her facts straight.” I smirked. “So, basically, someone shut her down. Maybe it’s time I go find out who.”
“I think that would be wise,” he agreed and smiled when Annie set mugs of steaming coffee down in front of each of us. “Thank you, though I think Hunter needs it more than I do.”
“Ha, haaaa,” I huffed and lifted the mug to my lips to take in a whiff of the hot caffeine. “And it smells like what I imagine heaven smells like.”
“Let me know when you make it there,” Anthony chuckled and sipped his drink.
I nearly snorted before I let the hot liquid pour down my throat and soothe my aching body. Then I pulled out my cell and scrolled to my texts with Brenda to send her a message.
Hey, got breakfast plans?
“Let’s see if I can talk to her first thing today,” I murmured when I saw the three bubbles pop up on my screen that indicated Brenda was replying.
I suppose I do now lol I’ll give you the place.
A few seconds later, she sent a screenshot of a place called Center Coffee Shop a few minutes from her office.
I grinned as I started typing in my response.
Works for me. I can be there by 9.
See you soon.
“I take it you’ll be meeting the attractive reporter lady?” Annie batted her eyelashes and made a kissy face.
“Yes, and it will be all business, thank you,” I retorted and slurped down the rest of my coffee as she giggled uncontrollably. “Anyway, I need to get going. I’m meeting her near her office at nine, and you know LIE morning traffic will be shit.”
“Let me know how it goes,” Anthony replied with a wink.
“Yeah, yeah,” I grunted before I picked up my jacket off the chair and rushed out to my car.
Thank God someone had washed my clothes last night since I’d have zero time to run back home and get ready before coffee with Brenda. I figured I’d get there just in time to pick up a couple newspapers and get in line for another brew. The cup from Annie had merely woken me up, but my head was still pounding from last night’s unknown number of glasses filled with the new white wine.
I turned on my warming seats to relax my tense muscles as I made the drive into the city and listened to some morning talk show. Several election ads wiggled their way in between the host’s sets, and I almost turned it off, but I figured the ringing sound of silence would be worse.
When I finally reached Plainview, I took the exit for Oyster Bay and drove toward a small outlet of shops. I parked at the end of the strip and walked back toward Joe’s. I noticed a bank of newspaper vending machines and stopped to grab a few before I continued toward the coffee house. I walked inside and felt a little blast from the past with the maroon vinyl seating and circular patterned wallpaper, but the waitresses offered friendly waves and gestured toward plenty of open booths.
I slid onto one of the supple cushions when I noticed Brenda’s girlish figure stroll through the door and glance around the shop. Her dark red hair stood out among the dull colors of the restaurant, and I was surprised to see her tugging a tall, scrawny man by the hand behind her.
He was over six feet tall, but his arms were skinny as toothpicks, and he had the look of a deer caught in the headlights as he watched a small group of people brush by to exit the shop. I’d never seen the guy in my life, and I must have looked confused.
“He’s fine, he’s with me,” Brenda said by way of greeting when she was close enough. “Eddie, Hunter. Hunter, Eddie.”
“Hello.” Eddie dipped his head but didn’t offer his hand, and I put mine back down to my side awkwardly.
I noticed his other hand never let go of Brenda’s, and I wondered if the wild reporter had decided to settle down, though I had no idea why he would come to our little meeting.
“Soooo, what’s he doing here?” I asked Brenda after a moment of uncomfortable silence.
“He’s my photographer,” she said as she looked over the menu. “It would look weird if I said I was going to work on a story without him. And he’s my boyfriend, so we can trust him.”
“With everything?” I asked doubtfully.
He looked like a large gust of wind would knock the breath out of him, and I couldn’t believe he was able to hold any kind of secrets from someone who really wanted to know the
m.
“It’s fine,” Brenda insisted and practically shoved him into the booth across from me.
Eddie slid almost against the wall, and Brenda plopped down happily before she plucked a menu from the approaching waitress and scanned for her order.
“Morning, guys, how are you?” our server asked with a pleasant smile. “Can I get you any coffee to get started?”
“Yes, please, the biggest coffee you have,” I replied.
“Us, too,” Brenda agreed. “And a cinnamon roll for me as well.”
“The lady knows what she wants,” the waitress chuckled as she retrieved the menu. “Anyone else want some food?”
“I think I’ll take a cinnamon roll, too.” I wasn’t sure if it would live up to my diner expectations after the last one I’d eaten at nearly every day of my trip to West Virginia, but I’d give it a shot.
The waitress smiled and rushed toward the kitchen with our order. She returned moments later with the coffee before she whisked away again.
“Okay, so, what’s the deal?” Brenda asked with a knowing smile. “You have the scoop on something for me?”
“Maybe,” I hedged. “What happened with the other story? Your message was pretty vague.”
“Yeah, well, it was way too long to text,” she sighed and stirred about twelve scoops of sugar into her coffee. “My editor said I needed to fact-check before he’d publish it. I said it was all legit, and I’d done the research and interviews myself. He says-- are you ready for this-- I needed to identify my sources.”
“I thought part of journalism was not exposing your sources?” I wondered.
“Exactly!” She clenched her fists on the table, and Eddie reached over and patted her arm. “I said there was no way in hell I was going to list who I’d talked to, and he squashed the whole thing!”
“You think someone got to him?” I asked, though it was hard to imagine someone taking the time to shake down every editor in New York.
“It had to be!” Brenda exclaimed before she lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “And he knows I suspect something. He’s been giving me shit stories to cover ever since, like he’s trying to keep me away from the juicy stuff.”