by Tom Fowler
“Could you do it?” I said.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve thought about it. Hell, I was raised around it. I knew what my dad did years before he told me.”
“You’ve always been smarter than he gave you credit for.”
“Thanks,” Gabriella said with a wan smile. “But the other side of the business . . . I don’t know. I don’t think I could do it myself.”
“You wouldn’t have to,” I said.
“I know.”
We lapsed into silence. Gabriella finished her turkey burger and, having eaten half my sub already, I started on the second half. We both ignored our fries at this point.
“Esposito found someone to write the malware for him,” Gabriella said after a few minutes.
“I know,” I said. “It’s who I’m trying to find.” I caught her up on Chris and Brian Sellers and the late Anna Blair.
“Esposito’s brother runs his mouth,” Gabriella said. I thought it was a rough segue until she clarified. “I talked to Chris. Asked him what Esposito wanted and how much he paid, so I gave him a little more to leave it alone and work for me someday.”
I felt my mouth fall open. Whatever I thought to say died in my throat. Gabriella filled the gap. “I told him he had to return Esposito’s money,” she said. “I didn’t want him double-dipping.” She sighed. “I guess he decided to keep it after all.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess he did.” What the hell? This got weirder and weirder all the time. Here came Gabriella, back from getting her MBA and whatever else she was doing, injecting herself into the case. Did her father know she did any of this? Would he be OK with modernizing if his daughter were the one leading the effort?
“I know I’ve dropped a lot on you,” she said. “I’m sorry. None of this was ever supposed to happen. If Chris had just returned the money, none of it would have.”
“Would it really be so simple?” I said. “Chris tells Esposito he changed his mind, hands him the money back, and Esposito is going to be fine with it?” Gabriella looked at me. “Would your father be OK with it?”
“He wouldn’t be happy,” Gabriella admitted. “But with the money returned, I think he’d be all right.” I wasn’t convinced, and Gabriella picked up on it. “Look, people like my dad aren’t used to being refused, but they’re definitely not used to people stealing from them. That’s a lot, lot worse.”
She made sense. Being refused was a matter of life. People changed their minds. Someone stealing from you was disrespect. I could see men like Tony Rizzo and Alberto Esposito taking extreme umbrage to it. I started thinking how much of what happened to Chris he brought on himself. Part of me wanted to let him wallow in it. He made his choices, stupid though they were. Brian deserved to get away, however. He didn’t have a role in all of this. He simply didn’t win the lottery when it came to brothers.
I took all the plates and put them in the sink, then chucked the remaining fries. Gabriella sipped her soda. I sat on the couch again. “What brings you back to town?” I said.
“You,” she said.
“Me?”
“Dad and I talk at least once a week,” Gabriella said. “He told me what happened, that you came to him about Esposito.” She chuckled. “And he told me you were a private investigator.” Gabriella smiled and shoved me in the arm again. “You? A private investigator?”
“I’m getting to use what I know,” I said, “and what I learned in China. I’m helping people.”
“That sounds like your parents talking.”
“Maybe a little,” I said. “Maybe they’re rubbing off on me.”
“You’ve always been a good person, C.T.,” said Gabriella. “I know you don’t like to admit it, but you have.”
“Thanks.” I gave her a small smile.
Gabriella put her head on my shoulder. I put my arm around her. “You know,” she said, “I always wanted you to put your arm around me when we were in high school.”
“I know,” I said. “However, I didn’t want your father to have me drawn and quartered.”
“I remember.” Gabriella looked up at me. Her green eyes appeared bottomless. “You assumed you would break my heart.”
“I was a teenager. Relationships weren’t my thing. They’re still not, really.”
“Mine, either.” She sighed. “I know I’ll be able to convince my dad to pass the business to me on day.”
“He’d be a fool not to,” I said, wondering what brought on the rough segue.
“I’m not going to lie, C.T. When I first decided to come here, I figured I would seduce you.” She paused. “Actually, I didn’t think I would need to. We’ve always been attracted to one another.” I bobbed my head in agreement. “Then I remembered you’re working as a private eye. If I do take over one day, I don’t want a complicated relationship with you.”
“Me, either.” It was for the best, really. My conscience barked at me over Bobbi. Even with that door shut, I didn’t need Gabriella complicating things. Gloria and I were in a good place. I don’t think either of us knew exactly where the place was, but we both liked it. It could even lead to something better.
“I brought an overnight bag, though,” she said. “Would you mind if I stayed here?”
“Not at all,” I said.
I set Gabriella up in the guest bedroom. A few minutes later, she turned in for the night, and so did I. As I lay in bed, I kept seeing Gloria sitting at my table and also propped up on an elbow in the bed, grinning at me.
My conscience confirmed I made the right choice. Now I wanted it to let me sleep.
I dreamed of running with Bobbi Lane. We sprinted on the trail near her apartment. She took off at a pace I couldn’t match and got ahead of me. I ran into a wooded area of the trail and looked for her. I called her. She didn’t answer. I slowed to a walk and looked around. Somewhere above me, I heard branches and leaves rustling violently.
Just after I dodged out of the way, something landed on the trail. I looked down. It was Anna Blair’s body. She had been shot five times in the torso. Her shirt had turned red with blood. I stared up in the tree. Bobbi Lane sat on a sturdy tree branch. She looked down at me and laughed.
I woke up and oriented myself. My bedroom. I could feel my heart beating fast in my chest. I took a few deep breaths. The door opened. Gabriella rubbed sleep from her eyes as she looked at me. “You OK?” she mumbled in a drowsy haze.
“Yeah,” I said. “Just a bad dream.”
“You yelled loud enough to wake the neighbors.”
“Sorry.”
Gabriella went back to the guest bedroom. The nightmare left me wide awake. I spent a while staring at the ceiling, then tossing and turning, then staring at the ceiling some more. I kept seeing Anna Blair’s body as if it were projected above me onto the white paint. I shut my eyes and rolled over.
It took a while, but I finally got back to sleep.
I slept late the next morning but still felt groggy as I came downstairs. Gabriella sat in the kitchen, drinking a coffee and looking at her phone. She grinned at me. Even in frumpy pajamas and no makeup, her beauty couldn’t be denied.
“Finally,” she said.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said as I made a cup of coffee. “Rough night.”
“Must have been. It’s almost lunchtime.”
I looked at the clock on the Keurig: ten minutes to noon. “Jesus,” I said. “I haven’t slept this late since college.”
“I’ve been waiting patiently for you to cook me breakfast for like, two hours now.”
“How about we fast-forward to lunch?”
I raided the fridge, emerging with the ingredients for a chicken stir fry. Gabriella, no doubt motivated by hunger, helped me chop the vegetables. I multi-tasked by setting the rice to boil as I managed everything in the skillet. A few minutes later, we each enjoyed a plate of chicken stir fry atop a bed of brown rice.
“Mind if I do a little work?” Gabriella said. She took a small MacBook Air out of her bag. One
single bag held her clothes, makeup, and a laptop. She was the anti-Gloria.
“Only if you don’t mind me working, too,” I said, banishing the thoughts of comparing Gloria and Gabriella. I already knew who won.
We ate in silence while we focused on our computers. Out of habit, I checked a few online haunts for Chris Sellers. I hoped he capitalized on a free moment to send a message asking for help. No such luck. I went back to my trace program on Brian’s burner. No activity.
“What’s that?” Gabriella said from behind me when I closed the program. I didn’t even notice her get up from the table.
How much could I tell her? She would be the last person who would work with Esposito. However, she owed Chris Sellers no loyalty. He made his choice. If he survived, he would owe her, and I knew Gabriella would call in the debt at some point. “A cell phone tracker,” I said. In the end, I didn’t think Gabriella knowing would be a problem. If something made life more complicated for Esposito, she’d probably consider it a win.
“Whose phone are you tracking?” she said.
“I gave Chris’ younger brother a burner.”
“Is it online?”
“It has been,” I said, “here and there. I can’t pin it down to a specific place yet.”
“Has he called you?”
“He’s texted once. Didn’t know where he was. I told him to keep the phone hidden and keep himself safe.”
“Do you think you can find him?” Gabriella said.
“I do.” I frowned.
“What?”
“I’m concerned about getting him out,” I said. “Even if I find where he is, Esposito could have a dozen goons there.”
Gabriella smirked. “They don’t really like being called goons,” she said.
“Then they shouldn’t act so goonish.”
She chuckled and shook her head. “How many people could you get?”
“Counting me?” I said. “Probably three.” I figured Rich would be in. Maybe Paul King. I might even ask Gonzalez, though he’d most likely want to bring a bunch of cops.
“You’re not going to send the police?” said Gabriella.
“I want to guarantee Chris and Brian’s safety,” I said. “If the police get wind of a hostage situation, they’ll roll a SWAT team in there and who knows what will happen?” I shook my head. “It needs to be a smaller team.”
Gabriella pondered this. “I might be able to get you a man,” she said.
“Really?” I said. “One of your father’s men?”
“He used to be. He and Dad . . . disagreed on some things. He did a lot of good work, though, so Dad let him walk away.”
“You think he’ll come out of retirement for you?”
“I never said he was retired,” Gabriella said.
I smiled at her moral ambiguity. For all I knew, the man she talked about could have been working for her in her absence. Gabriella was as morally gray as I was, but her dark side trended more toward the dangerous. Tony was a fool; his daughter could run his operation better than he could.
“I’ll let you know,” I said.
“What are you going to do today?” she said.
I shrugged. “Hope for a bolt of inspiration, I guess. You?”
“Can I hang out a while?”
“Sure. Stay as long as you want.”
“Thanks.” Gabriella grinned. I liked having her as a sounding board. I wouldn’t call her and blather about all my cases with her, but while she was here, why not?
In a couple years, she might take over for her father. I doubted I would have her to bounce ideas off once she established herself as the queen of Baltimore organized crime. So long as she didn’t ask me to write any ransomware after the coronation, we would get along fine.
After more unproductive time spent looking for Brian and Chris, I ordered dinner. Forty-five minutes later , the doorbell rang. I opened the door, paid for the pizzas, and carried them to the dining room table. I didn’t have a big eating area. The first-floor office was a boon for my job, but it made the dining room and kitchen smaller. My table was square and could fit four people so long as they kept their elbows close to their bodies. It was perfect for Gabriella and I to share a pizza. I got two beers out of the fridge as well. Gabriella smiled when I set the beer in front of her.
“An IPA?” she said. “A man after my own heart.”
During our teenage years, there were a few times I thought I might have been. “My favorite, too,” I said.
We ate the pizza. It had an appropriate level of grease, which is to say holding up a slice and letting it dangle would cause a stray drop or two to escape. Gabriella wanted Italian sausage. I’ve always hated sausage on pizza, so I got half her way and half with mushrooms and onions.
Between the two of us, we ate a whole large pie and drank two beers each. After dinner, Gabriella plopped on the couch. She grabbed my cable remote and poked around the On Demand options. I carried the last two IPAs from the six-pack into the living room as Gabriella chose some comedy I saw a trailer for months ago.
We watched the movie and drank the last beers. The movie ended up being funnier than I would have expected. After it was over, Gabriella turned off the TV and picked up her phone. While she busied herself with something there, I looked again for signs of life from Brian’s burner phone.
Nothing.
Gabriella leaned against me. “I’m glad I got to see you,” she said. “It’s been way too long.”
“It has,” I said. “Let’s do this more often.”
“I’d like to. Let’s see how my schedule works out.”
“What are you doing, anyway?”
“Traveling. Learning.”
“Learning how to take over for your dad?”
“Just because he doesn’t want to teach me right now,” Gabriella said, “doesn’t mean I haven’t found mentors. Being my father’s daughter opens some doors.”
“Be careful,” I said. “Just because a door is open doesn’t mean you should walk through it.”
“It’s nice of you to worry about me.” Gabriella yawned and stretched, exposing a tan, toned stomach. “Mind if I crash here again?”
“Help yourself.”
“I’m not sure whose reputation this arrangement is ruining more,” she said.
I chuckled. “Do people even have reputations like that after college?”
“I guess.” Gabriella frowned in thought and pursed her lips. “I don’t know, really. I guess in certain circles. Like, your friends might warn you about a guy or girl, and word would probably get around an office.”
“People meet online a lot nowadays,” I said. “Your baggage isn’t on display when they decide to swipe left or right.”
“I’ve missed talking to you,” Gabriella said.
“Me, too.”
“It’s a shame I have to hit the road again.”
“There’s always Skype.”
“FaceTime?” she said.
I grimaced. “Do you really think I would own an Apple product?”
“I guess not,” Gabriella said with a light laugh.
I enjoyed talking to Gabriella, and I’d miss her when she left. In the years she spent away, I didn’t think about her much. Now, seeing her again—combined with Esposito trying to depose her father—made me consider what she’d be like when she ran the show. Tony and I were on good terms, though he got a little frosty when he first heard of my chosen profession.
Now I wondered if Gabriella and I would be on opposite sides of something I was working on. The thought darkened my mood.
Chapter 19
The next day, I woke up at a more respectable hour. I went downstairs and worked on breakfast. A few minutes later, turkey bacon sizzled in a skillet while multigrain bread browned in the toaster.
The aromas of breakfast cooking and coffee brewing roused Gabriella from her slumber. I heard her feet hit the floor upstairs, and she joined me in the kitchen a couple minutes later. "Smells good," she said, padd
ing to the Keurig.
"I think it'll taste good, too," I said. A couple minutes later, I set two plates on the table.
After drinking coffee and eating about a third of her food, Gabriella said, "What are you going to do today?"
"Hope for a break in the case," I said. "I checked a little while ago . . . still no activity on the burner phone."
"You sure you don't want to use my man? He'd be a help."
"We'll be good."
"You and the police?" Gabriella said.
I nodded. "I'm not looking to go in and kill everyone. Esposito and his goons will be arrested."
"And if there's a shootout?"
"Then I have a gun," I said.
Gabriella looked at me for a few seconds. "This suits you," she said.
"Making breakfast?" I said. "I know my way around the kitchen."
"Being a PI."
"You think so?"
"Don't you?" she said. "It's your job."
"I'm taking to it more than I thought I would," I said. I finished my mug of coffee. "It's not as easy as I first thought."
"Most things aren't," Gabriella said.
I got up and refreshed both our cups. When I sat back down, I said, "Why do you say this job suits me?"
"It lets you use what you're good at," Gabriella said. "Part of that is your interesting moral fiber." She grinned. "And part of it is your willingness to go into who knows where with a gun to save someone you barely know. A lot of people, even people in your job, wouldn't do that. They'd just call the cops and watch from afar. You want to be involved."
"I think people expect it of me," I said.
"No, I think you expect it of yourself," said Gabriella.
I didn't say anything. She continued. "Come on, C.T., I've known you too long. I know you always used to say you didn't want to work. Despite that, I think you've found what suits you."
"Thanks, I think," I said. Gabriella smiled and went back to her breakfast. "What about when you find what suits you?"
"What suits me?" she said.
"Your father's job."