by T. R. Hamby
Finally Gilla said, “You can talk about him.” Everyone looked at her, and she continued, “It’s okay. I can hear it.”
She had a determined look on her face. Michael was still worried--she had the rest of the night ahead of her--but no one seemed willing to question her.
Mel finally said, “We have a lead. The news report said he was last seen on Via di Rio.”
“Via di Rio?” Nora said, frowning. “That’s a strange place for the Italian Mark Zuckerburg to be seen in.”
“There’s a forger there,” Michael said, straightening. “Ani Russo. I’ve had to talk to him before. Specializes in passports.”
“He’ll talk to you again?” Mel asked.
He hesitated, then sighed. “No,” he said. “He’s got...henchmen. Bodyguards, whatever. He’s not afraid of getting roughed up.”
“So? Just knock them over.”
“I can’t just show my true strength,” he replied, trying his best not to sound testy. “If I hurt him, he might just lie to make it stop.” He looked at Mel. “But people tell the truth when they’re afraid.”
“I have no problem with that,” Mel said, nodding. “Tomorrow?”
“After rehearsal?” Nora said hopefully, but she deflated at the looks on their faces. “Okay, fine. Worth a shot.”
“I’m sure we’ll need you at some point,” Michael said, teasing, and she rolled her eyes at him.
Mel
Being awake all night had quickly become boring, as Mel had expected. He had taken to fiddling with his jewelry again, putting together a couple sapphire and ruby necklaces. The only upside of not being able to sleep was the lack of nightmares, which he was grateful for.
Nora stayed the night at his place, and at four thirty he heard her alarm go off. He left the table, which was littered with silver chain and sparkling sapphires, and started to make breakfast. He turned the news on, hoping to see something about Lisia, but there was nothing.
At a little after five she emerged, wearing that scarlet dress he liked so much. The necklace he had made hung around her neck, red and glittering.
“Coffee,” she sighed, coming up behind him and slipping her arms around his waist. “Grazie.”
“Yes, dear,” he joked, pouring a cup, and she giggled. “Did you wear that dress for me?”
She smirked, taking the cup and sipping it. “I’ll never tell.”
“I think you did.”
She simply smiled happily and kissed him.
She glanced at the TV as they sat down to eat. “Anything?”
“No. They’ve probably moved on.”
“Hmm,” she said, scooting a few loops of silver away from her plate. “I see the jewelry making is going well.”
He shrugged. “I’m having trouble finding something to occupy my time. The necklaces are yours, if you want them.”
She smiled. “Why don’t you give one to Gilla? The sapphire one. It’ll go well with her eyes.”
He frowned. “Michael might not like that.”
She shrugged. “Give it to him so he can give it to her.”
“He might not like that either. He already thinks I’m meddling.”
She frowned sternly, sipping her coffee. “Really. I’ll talk to him.”
“Nora,” he said gently, “I know you want us to get along...but some of it you have to leave between him and I. We’ll figure it out.”
She picked at her food, before heaving a sigh. “You’re right.” She glanced at the TV again, then did a double-take. “Mel!”
He looked up and saw Lisia’s face on the screen. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. What the announcer said made his heart drop.
“...word that Alex Lisia, co-founder of the app ParlaChi, is now wanted for homicide after his girlfriend, Bernette Michel, died from her injuries this morning at four a.m…”
“Oh, God,” Nora breathed, holding a hand over her mouth. “She’s gone.”
Mel was chilled to the bone. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest, and they sat like that for a while, staring at Bernette Michel’s face on the TV. She was young, beautiful, and the announcer went on to list her achievements--graduated from Oxford, worked in PR, co-founded a now well-reputed charity...a charity which Lisia had taken an interest in…
“She was only thirty-two,” Nora whispered.
He felt a surge of anger. It was only the scum of the earth that could hurt an innocent, let alone someone like Bernette. He couldn’t imagine what would possess someone to push a woman down the stairs--like trash.
“We’ll get him,” he finally said, firmly, and Nora nodded.
He drove her to rehearsal. Gilla was waiting by the back door--Michael must have just dropped her off--and she smiled as Nora approached her. Mel studied her; she looked a little better than yesterday, more relaxed, and looking poised in jeans and a blouse. The two walked inside, and he turned the car around, Lisia on his mind.
Michael was waiting for him in the parking garage to his building.
“Did you hear?” Mel asked, approaching him.
He nodded darkly.
“Did Gilla?”
“Yeah. She’s doing okay, though. I think knowing what we’re doing is helping her.”
Mel nodded. “Let’s go, then.”
Michael held out his hand, and Mel took it, stepping backwards, and then falling, until his feet landed on pavement. Michael kept him from toppling over, which he appreciated.
Via di Rio wasn’t the best of streets. The buildings were shabby, the pavement cracked. Some storefronts were boarded up, and others had broken windows.
“He owns a shop on the corner,” Michael said as they strode down the sidewalk. “It’s a front, of course.”
“How do you want to do this?” Mel asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He was antsy, ready to interrogate the unsuspecting Russo, but he figured Michael wouldn’t appreciate him taking the lead on this one.
“I’ll do the talking,” he replied immediately. “I don’t think I’ll have to tell you when to use your Talent, though.”
They arrived at the shop and let themselves in. It was small and cluttered--a sort of convenience store. A bored-looking young man was slouched at the counter.
“Where’s Russo?” Michael asked in Italian.
The boy leaned back in his seat, his expression unchanging. “Russo!”
“What?”
“Company!”
A few moments went by, and a short man appeared from the back. For the owner of such a seedy establishment, he was dressed impeccably, sporting Louis Vitton shoes and a gold necklace.
He caught sight of Michael and grinned. “Michelangelo!” he greeted, holding out his hands. “Long time! How are you?”
Michael smiled, putting on the charm. “Very well, Russo. No bodyguards today?”
He waved a hand, snorting. “Please.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t visit earlier.”
“I’m not,” Russo laughed, glancing at Mel, who was watching the exchange quietly. “Come in, come in.”
They went to the back, past the rooms storing merchandise, and into a darker area. There was a table with a mess of papers, a camera on a tripod, and an expensive-looking laptop in the corner. Mel leaned on the wall, keeping his hands in his pockets, trying to appear casual.
Russo turned to face them. He was nervous, bouncing on the balls of his feet. But he smiled as if nothing was wrong.
“Beverage?” he offered, looking at the two of them.
Michael shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“What can I do for you, Michelangelo?”
“There’s a man you sold a passport to, I’m assuming,” Michael said. “Alex Lisia. Did he tell you where he was going?”
Russo hesitated, staring at him. “Greece,” he finally said, deflating a little.
“Where in Greece?”
“Athens.”
Michael nodded. “What name did you give him?”
But Russo was shaking his head. “Come on. I can’t give that up,” he said chidingly. “If people found out I was giving away clients’ names…”
Mel felt the first stirrings of anger. “He beat his girlfriend to death,” he said, his voice dangerous. “Didn’t you see the news this morning?”
Russo looked at him warily. “I don’t ask questions.”
“You should,” he replied, his anger rising, and the air began to freeze. It didn’t take any effort to be angry, not when looking at this sorry excuse for a man, who had helped a murderer get away from justice.
Russo shivered, and a cold sweat broke out on his skin.
He looked at Michael. “Friend of yours?” he asked, and he gave a little laugh, as if trying to appear relaxed.
“My brother,” Michael replied. “You must excuse him...he has...anger issues.”
Mel didn’t appreciate that, and his anger began to boil. Russo took a step back, beginning to shake, and then reached under his desk. Mel immediately knew what he was doing--pressing a panic button--and in a moment two large, muscled men appeared from a door behind the desk. They were huge, bigger than Michael, but neither Michael nor Mel were concerned. If anything, they were annoyed, and they shared a look.
“I got it,” Michael said, “you focus on him.”
Mel did, taking a step closer to Russo, who shrank away, trembling. Michael and the men approached each other, and in an almost easy movement, Michael grabbed the first man’s arm, yanking him to the floor, parrying the second man’s blow and pushing him backwards. The second man hit his head and was still. Michael turned, looking bored, and grabbed the first man’s head, knocking it sharply against the floor until he was asleep.
“Cristo,” Russo groaned, as Michael dusted off his hands.
“Tell us,” Mel said firmly.
“Don’t hurt me,” he whispered, looking at Michael beseechingly. “Tell him…”
“Tell us what we need to know,” Michael said, unimpressed.
Russo moaned, finally backing into the wall. “Georgios Baros. He said he was going to stay at a hostel. That’s all I know.”
Michael smirked. “Thank you.”
Mel took a step away, closing his eyes. He would have loved to continue tormenting Russo, but they had to leave; there was work to do. He took deep breaths, thinking of Nora in his arms...anything to make the anger fade.
“You shithead, Michelangelo,” Russo said as Mel’s anger left him. “Those two cost 400 euro a day.”
“All I did was knock them out,” Michael said casually. “I didn’t break anything. They can still work.”
They left the shop not long after.
“Athens,” Mel said darkly. “How are we going to find him?”
Michael just shook his head, frowning.
They agreed to talk it over when Nora got home from work. Mel spent the day researching hostels close to the airport, writing them down in a tedious list. There were so many, and they had no idea which one he was staying in--or for how long. What would a bigshot tech executive do with himself on the lam? Where would he go; who would he see?
He decided to do some more research on Lisia, and discovered that he spoke three languages other than his native Italian: English, French and German. No Greek, which Mel found interesting. He was smart, having earned an engineering degree at a prestigious school. He had had incidents with women since his college years.
He sat there for a moment. He was sitting at the kitchen table in his apartment, and he had just had a sudden thought. One that immediately filled him with guilt. It was distracting, and he contemplated it for a while. Should he? Would it be right?
Nora had told him the name of Gilla’s ex, had given him a brief explanation of what had happened to her. He couldn’t help but wonder...it would be so easy to look him up, find some sort of social media profile…
Just in case they ever had to find him, he reasoned. He certainly wasn’t doing it out of mere curiosity. Gilla was in his life now, and even though they weren’t particularly close, she was still a woman who needed to be protected. A woman who mattered to Nora--to Michael.
He typed Bakker’s name into the search engine, and his LinkedIn appeared. He clicked on it, and Bakker’s face, along with a profile, filled the screen. He seemed young--it was hard to tell exactly--with blue eyes and blonde hair. He was a banker, having worked for various companies over the years.
Mel found a link to his Facebook page and clicked on it. His account was public, and his latest picture was of a steak dinner--typical. The timestamp was last night at seven, but didn’t show the location.
He scrolled through the page for a while. It was amazing how innocuous it all looked, when it belonged to an abusive dickhead. Mel finally got far enough that he saw pictures of Bakker and Gilla together, and his heart sank. She was much thinner in these photos. She was smiling, but there were circles under her eyes.
He scrolled further, but that was it. The page was only two and a half years old.
Interesting. It wasn’t likely that a man as young as Bakker had only just created a Facebook page. What else was he hiding?
Mel decided to give up for now. He had snooped enough anyway, and he had to get back to Lisia.
He went down to Nora’s apartment at six, having given her some time to herself first. She was lying on the couch when he came in, reading a book with a mug of tea in her hand.
She beamed when she saw him. “You look sexy.”
He laughed. “I’m glad you still think so.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked as he sat beside her.
He shrugged. “I’ve been gone a while.”
“Seriously? You’re still going on about that?” she exclaimed, and he laughed. “Come here.”
He hovered over her, and she slipped her arms around his neck. She studied him for a moment, taking him in.
“You really are here,” she whispered.
He felt a pang, remembering again all the time he had missed, all the little moments.
He nodded firmly. “I’m right here,” he replied.
She smiled, relieved. “Yeah. I love you.”
“I love you too.” And he kissed her, almost roughly, savoring the feel of her against him.
Their nights together had been...brief, as Nora was often tired after rehearsal, and fell asleep quickly. This, and spending so much time with Gilla and Michael, cut their time together short. It had only been a few days since he had returned, but he felt the separation sharply. He itched to be with her, longed to spend days with her, not hours.
“You took a while--coming down,” she murmured, breaking away to look at him. “You know I get home by five.”
He frowned. “I thought you might want time alone...you’ve been around people all day.”
“You’re not people,” she said, giving him a look. “You’re Mel. And I miss you.” She sighed, running her hands up and down his arms. “Things are so busy with rehearsal...and now there’s Michael and Gilla. I’m sorry. It’s been a lot.”
Mel sighed. He brushed at her hair, studying those brown eyes.
“Let’s go somewhere,” he said. “After Lisia is finished. Anywhere you want.”
She brightened, looking thoughtful. “Paris?”
He grinned. “You want to go to Paris?”
“I’ve always wanted to go,” she said, almost shyly. “Go to the Louvre, the Musee d’Orsay...eat escargot at the Place Charles de Gaulle…”
“Good,” he murmured, kissing her again. “We’ll go there, then.”
“Do you have a place there?” Nora asked.
“I don’t,” he said, and she looked surprised. “We’ll have to look for one while we’re there. We can come up for long weekends. Somewhere close to the museums…the Left Bank, maybe…”
She was beaming, and she looked so happy that he felt a thrill.
“Soon, then,” she said, and he nodded, smiling at her.
There was a knock at the
door then, and they broke apart.
Michael had brought Gilla--and also pizza. The four sat at the table and ate. They talked casually at first, but Mel couldn’t contain himself for too long.
“How are we going to find Lisia?” he asked, looking from Michael to Nora.
Michael looked annoyed. “Don’t rely on us for ideas,” he muttered under his breath.
“Hey,” Nora said sternly. She gave Michael a look before saying, “Let’s go over the details again. He’s going by Baros now. He’s in Athens.”
“And he’s supposed to be staying in a hostel,” Mel added.
She frowned, clearly thinking. “A hostel. There must be hundreds of hostels in Athens.” She thought for another moment, biting her lip, before she looked struck. “But it is the twenty-first century. I bet he booked online.”
She jumped to her feet. “I’m getting my laptop; don’t move.”
And she rushed into her bedroom. Mel smiled, and when he looked at Michael and Gilla, found that they were smiling too.
“I don’t understand, though,” Gilla said, frowning.
“Don’t understand what?” Michael asked.
“Why he would go to Greece,” she replied. “It’s a little...out of place. Does he speak Greek?”
Mel shook his head. “He speaks English, French, and German--but not Greek.”
“Right--so why didn’t he go to France, or Germany?”
“He might have connections in Greece,” Michael said.
“But he’s staying in a hostel?”
Mel frowned. Gilla made a good point. Maybe there was something they were missing.
Nora returned, her laptop already flipped open, and sat down.
“I wonder if I can get in myself,” she said, beginning to type. “I’ve been practicing in my free time...not in the last few days though…”
Mel was frowning. “Practicing what?”
“Oh, hacking,” she said, glancing at him. “I didn’t tell you. I’ve been teaching myself code...different ways to get into a website. I thought it would be useful, and if I can figure it out here, I might be able to find which hostel Lisia booked his stay.”