Taste of Vengeance

by Kristi Belcamino

  When I dried off and dressed and hopped into bed, he crawled in beside me, resting his head on the pillow beside me, his bulk pressed tight against mine.

  The next morning, with the sun pouring in the windows, Django leaned over and licked my entire face.

  A noise from the door sent him leaping out of bed, the deep roar of his bark echoing through my loft. The door opened, and his bark disappeared. His entire body wriggled wildly as he greeted Dante. I’d texted him late last night to let him know I was back in town.

  “Paesano, I hope you have coffee,” I said, sitting up.

  “And cornettos.”

  “God, I love you, Dante.”

  “I know. I know.”

  I headed toward the table and grabbed one of the two lattes that Dante plunked down. I sipped the creamy coffee greedily as he unpacked the brown bag of pastries.

  We didn’t bother with plates, just set the pastries on the paper and began breaking off bits.

  “Oh, here.” Dante thrust a newspaper at me.

  “What’s this?”

  “Cat Woman?” he said with an eyebrow arched and a smirk on his face.

  “What?” I was oblivious.

  “Inside front.”

  I turned. The local section contained a small story about a melee at Carnival. It didn’t mention Damien’s death. I lifted an eyebrow as I read.

  “Why don’t they have anything about Damien or Rich’s deaths?” I had called Dante from the plane the night before.

  “I made some calls,” he said.

  Damien still had connections to Washington. His husband, Matt, had been a senator.

  “They claim they are still trying to confirm the identities, but really there is some major damage control being done. On a really high level. Brazil officials are flying into D.C. today. They don’t want all those millions of dollars in tourist money gone before the big money-making day. And on our side, they need to come up with some cover story how two of the nation’s most prominent citizens died in a friendly country. I can guarantee you most of the negotiations are being done so it doesn’t look like a terrorist attack. Carnival makes too much money for that type of publicity.”

  “Well, they’re still fucked,” I said. “Right? Won’t it hurt business next year?”

  Dante shook his head. “No way. The memory of the rich and famous isn’t that long. They’ll have moved on to some new scandal by then. Keep reading.”

  That’s when I go to the part about the two mystery women.

  One in black. One in white.

  The reporter interviewed people who were at the ball.

  “This guy was a terrorist and he was going to blow us all up.”

  I looked up at Dante.

  “Keep reading.”

  “Two women hired as protection stopped the man. They were being lauded by ballgoers as heroes.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  “Keep reading dammit.”

  That’s when I got to the part he wanted me to read.

  It was a quote by Stone.

  “She was hot,” he said. “Like Cat Woman. And she winked at me. She had a mask on, but she winked at me. I’ll be her Batman any day she wants.”

  “That is hilarious,” I said.

  “He’s just as delicious in person, right?”

  “Scrumptious.”

  “I can arrange an introduction,” Dante said.

  “Fuck that.”

  “At least his name doesn’t start with a D.”

  I shoved a huge piece of cornetto into my mouth right when he said it. I wasn’t going to answer that for the world. Besides, Damien’s real name was Clem.

  After Dante left, I headed up to the roof to soak in the sights and sounds of my beloved city. For once, the fog had departed early, filling the rooftop with glorious sunshine and blue skies.

  I stretched, did some Budo moves, and then sat back in a lounge chair under my grape arbor. It wasn’t noon yet, but I leaned over to mix myself a drink and fished out a smoke from my secret stash.

  Thinking of Damien, I clinically examined my feelings.

  I’d loved him—in a really strange way. But I felt no sorrow about his death. He was too damn evil to mourn.

  Puffing on my smoke, I exhaled and then sat up and swore, startling Django.

  I knew where the notebook was.

  65

  Fast Friends

  Sydney and Gia stepped out of the rental cottage on the beach.

  “Let’s take a walk.” Sydney headed for the boardwalk.

  Blue and Django and Snuffles raced along the sand beside them.

  The three dogs were fast friends.

  “What are you going to do with Sniffles or whatever the dog’s name is?” Gia asked.

  Sydney had picked up the dog from Damien’s house the night before after she dropped Gia off.

  “His name is Snuffles.”

  Gia turned to her. “You took a big risk going to his house last night. Why’d you grab the dog?”

  “I have a soft spot for him.”

  “Got room on your plane?”

  Sydney shook her head. “I’m a one-dog woman.”

  Gia ran her fingers through her hair. “Fuck. I guess he’s mine then.”

  They watched the dogs running and playing, darting into and out of the lapping waves on the beach.

  “He is cute,” Sydney said.

  “Yeah, but I’ve learned not to fall for a pretty face.”

  “Unless you take love pills that is?”

  Gia glared but then burst into laughter.

  “I’m glad we got that notebook.”

  “Me too,” Gia said.

  Dan from Joyful Justice was already in Rio. He’d been able to search the penthouse, but it wasn’t until Sydney called him that he searched the roof and found the notebook in a backpack behind an HVAC system.

  Gia had remembered something went spiraling off the helipad when she was grappling with Damien. At the time, she thought it might be a gun or weapon.

  When she remembered that Damien always had the notebook with him, she knew.

  Somehow during their struggle, it had been kicked off the helipad and sent spiraling behind the HVAC system where it had lodged in a small cubby under a larger platform.

  Dan had flown the book to San Francisco himself. The three of them had poured over the details and taken pictures before sending the book onto the proper authorities.

  The commonplace book listed details of every single one of Damien’s crimes. Every rape. Every murder. His creation of the love pills. His plans for the brain-computer interface. And details of how he and Rich lured female victims with the promise of funding their projects. Then Damien did the dirty work, killing the women and liquefying their bodies in vats of acid in the pied-à-terre’s closet. The coup de grâce was when the two men stole the woman’s ideas, claiming them as their own.

  For fifteen years, the two men had been building their company’s fortune in this way. More than thirteen women were believed to be victims of the two men. Unfortunately, their remains had been disposed of. The caretaker was arrested, but he pleaded innocent to knowing what he’d been disposing of. The only proof authorities had come from the details in the commonplace book.

  Alaia’s father, Mr. Schwartz was working to make sure all the families of the dead women received the profits from the ideas the women had brought to Sky Enterprises.

  It was justice of a sort.

  Gia reached into her bag and brought out a beat-up silver flask. She took a slug and handed it to Sydney.

  “Day drinking, are we?”

  Gia shrugged.

  Sydney took a drink and then examined the flask. The initials GVS were carved into the metal, and it was dented in several places.

  “What’s the V for?”

  “Valentina.”

  “You could probably afford a new flask.”

  “This one has sentimental value.”

  “I figured.”


  “I gave it away once. But the morgue later gave it back to me.”

  Sydney eyed her new friend. Because that’s what she was. Gia had been through some shit, too. Maybe Sydney had finally met someone who got it. Got it on the same level as she did.

  Or maybe not.

  At the very least they were friends.

  Sydney held up the flask again in a toast this time. “I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.” She sipped and handed it back to Gia.

  Gia paused, looking at Sydney. “I should warn you, I’ve had shit luck with female friends.”

  “That’s too bad. Good women friends will have your back for life.”

  Gia nodded. “I’ve heard that. I could use a friend like you. Too bad you live on some island.”

  Sydney shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. You need me, I’m here.”

  Gia smiled and lifted the flask. “Same.”

  Sydney saw a black car pull near the boardwalk boarding the beach.

  “Listen, I’ve got a flight to catch.”

  “I think I’ll hang here for a while,” Gia said. “I’m meeting an old friend. Plus, I’ve got some things to think about. Like how I’m never going to be weak like that again. This damn dog,” she pointed at Snuffles, “will be a living symbol of my resolve to never be blinded by lust ever again. To never be weak and foolish like that again.”

  “Hey, give yourself a break,” Sydney said, opening the door of the car.

  After she and Blue settled into the back seat of the car, they watched Gia sit on the sand, facing the ocean, her knees drawn up to her chest. Snuffles and Django frolicked in the surf. The sun glinted off the water as it rolled into shore. That’s when Sydney saw a man approaching Gia. He wore a police uniform.

  “Stop the car,” Sydney said. After all this, they were going to arrest Gia? She had to do something. But then as the man’s shadow fell upon Gia, Django rushed over to the man and put his paws on the man’s chest, licking his face. When the dog sat back down, Gia stood, brushed sand off her, and fell into the man’s embrace, burying her face in the man’s chest.

  Sydney smiled.

  “Farewell,” she said. “Until our paths cross again.”

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