Mr. and Mrs. Rossi
Page 7
“A cop though?”
Female officers got their respect. Dante thought all women had the right to serve and protect the same way as a man. There were certain women who served their country better than men. The problem with female cops was their intuition. “Don’t start comparing her to Makana Leonard.”
“Did you forget Makana tried to have our brother Elliott arrested on terrorists acts?”
“Of course not,” Dante shook the dark memory out of his head.
“You have so many women to choose from,” said Roman, “why not hang with one of them?”
As an agent for STB, Dante’s long hours—or at least his reasoning for being away so long—raised eyebrows on law enforcement women. Yes, he did have his choice in a bevy of women, but none had been as interesting as Harley. The model girlfriends cared more about their diets. The athletic girls who played professional sports wanted a visitor at a game or two. Women who worked in an office, romance came with set hours and at five they expected dinner and drinks. A cop? She had access to files, and when she used them on him and found information, all hell would break loose.
“I’m going to end things soon enough,” Dante’s thumb scrolled the annulment services for the State of Florida. This State allowed annulments in cases of religious reasons. Was she religious? Judging from the way she kept calling for her God, she was. A crooked smile etched across Dante’s face. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He read further on. If either of them were in extreme intoxication the marriage could be annulled. They drank but weren’t totally shitfaced.
His finger stopped scrolling, his smile faded. If the marriage had been consummated then an annulment was out of the question for them. They’d have to get a divorce. A clamp gripped the tip of his heart. Strange, he thought, rubbing his chest. He’d never had indigestion like that before. Clearing his throat caused Roman to glance over with a raised brow. Was it the doughnuts he devoured this morning?
“You need a Tums or something, man?” asked Roman.
“Naw, I’m good. So how far are we from this place?”
As soon as the question came out, a mariachi band greeted them at the entrance of a neighborhood. If Dante didn’t know his neighborhood celebrated the same, only with banners and groups of people greeting the graduates, he would have laughed.
“We’re here. Now what does the blip on your tracker say?”
The red dot on his GPS flashed brighter and faster. “Up ahead on the left.”
The car made a slow crawl through the block party. Older men and women with time lines etched in their wrinkled faces smiled and mingled with the next generations of students dancing and playing in the streets. A group of teen-aged girls were huddled in a corner staring and whispering behind their painted fingers at a group of teenage boys.
Meat seared with a roar off a grill toward the end of the street. The drippings caused a flare up of flames, directing the attention of laughter from a set of men seated on overturned red milk crates. Corn husks burned on the open grills.
“Christopher Alfaro’s group,” Roman nodded his head in the direction of a group of men standing on each corner. Alfaro kept himself heavily guarded.
Dante’s eyes scanned the area for facial recognition of a child version of Harley. “So Hannah and Javier could be around here anywhere?”
“I don’t know what they look like,” said Roman.
“Here,” he shared the image on his cell phone.
In the process of showing the photograph, Roman reached for the phone. The photograph went to Harley’s photograph. The snapshot was of last night’s drunken duo holding out their ring fingers while trying to smile and stretch their lips toward each other as they smiled at Chet holding the camera. The white headband veil confirmed a wedding.
“What the fuck is this?” Roman held the phone up for Dante.
Dante opened his mouth to speak and a single shot rang throughout the air followed by a hail of gunfire outside the car. People screamed and ran in every direction. Once the smoke cleared, Dante caught a glimpse of a young male figure in clothes similar to those Javier wore running toward a waiting car. His eyes searched for a long raven-haired driver behind the wheel but the tinted windows obscured his view. Dante got out of the car in time as Javier dove into the backseat. The car peeled off and in its place, Harley’s mustang swerved half onto the curb. The fastback tail blocked the intersection from anyone coming down the street, especially when another car rammed her from behind.
A group of men followed. Machine guns fired away. Warped silver circles scarred the black metal. Harley jumped out from behind the wheel, guns blazing. While the last remnants of bullets flew toward her, Dante didn’t think he could take much more. He took off running toward the gunfire not realizing Roman already started rolling his car toward the action. A familiar face appeared through the crowd.
“Oh My God,” Harley screamed from her side of the vehicle. Fearlessly she stood her ground locking her elbows in place, her pistol resting comfortably between her palms, naturally like a third hand. “Seriously, my car.”
Through the crowd, a well-dressed man made his way toward her. Dante, still behind the group, made his way as well; his height gave him the advantage of seeing over the heads of the crowd. A shorter man than he expected parted the crowd like Moses did the Red Sea. He was dressed in a shark colored gray pinstriped suit. The street grew so quiet, the man’s shoes clicked against the sidewalk. Guns lifted from Harley’s direction by a wave of Alfaro’s hand.
“Brave chica,” Alfaro said, his voice laced with a thick Spanish accent and instant admiration. Dante didn’t blame him. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Miss?”
It’s Mrs. Dante thought bumping shoulders with another person. He looked down at the phone in his hand. The red dot flashed in one spot. His eyes scanned the crowd for Hannah’s face.
The brave chica moved around to the back of her car to face off Little Mexico’s notorious leader, gun still in her hands. “It’s Harley.”
“A name like my favorite ride,” Alfaro glanced over his shoulder for reassurance of his funny joke from his minions and got it. The laughter from the audience made Dante’s blood boil. “Can I ride you?”
“You can try,” Harley loosened aim.
“I have a feeling I might get hurt in the process. Put your weapon down, you’re out numbered here but I assure you, no harm will come to you.”
“Your feelings are right,” Harley flashed him a flirtatious smile. Dante recognized it because he’d received the same one last night. She holstered her gun into the back of her pants.
“What is a pretty lady like yourself doing carrying such a big gun?”
“Well, just as you said,” Harley kept her hands in her back pocket, the position made her breasts stand out further, “I am a pretty lady venturing out in this side of town, notorious for crime.”
Alfaro walked right in front of Harley and stood toe to toe by the time Dante reached the edge of the crowd. “Crime? In my neighborhood?” Alfaro laughed again and this time did not need reassurance from his minions, the crowd laughed automatically. “The only crime that seemed to be committed was when you blocked the street so my men couldn’t see who was shooting at us.”
“I caused?” Harley’s voice went up a range. “Here I am driving around lost when someone starts shooting.” She blinked. Dante caught the innocence she portrayed to Alfaro and wondered if he should nominate her for best dramatic actress. “I turned down the wrong street and almost rammed the front of my car into the car that just left and your men,” she nodded her head toward the men behind Alfaro, “started shooting. Who is going to pay for my damages? This car is a classic. Does car insurance pay for bullet holes?”
“Really? So what you’re saying is you’re lost?”
Harley shrugged her shoulders effortlessly, “Yes, and now I am extremely late for a barbecue.”
“You looking to party?”
The half laugh and half sarcastic chuc
kle she gave him—priceless. Dante smiled to himself and watched the interplay. Harley didn’t scare easy. He assumed she developed a thick skin from photographing scary images such as the one from this morning.
“Not to, but for a party. A specific party, a graduation party.”
Alfaro opened his arms, revealing wide pools of sweat that stained his pits. “We have a graduation party going on right here. Come, let me show you around.” He reached for her hand but she pulled away. “Don’t like to be touched?”
“I don’t know you well enough.”
I didn’t, Dante thought, yet he touched every inch of her body.
“We can arrange to fix that, come with me, Harley,” Christopher Alfaro attempted once more to reach for her.
The cocking of a rifle inspired her to have a change of heart. Dante noticed the passenger’s door depress downwards but Harley hipped it closed. The tinted windows blocked his view. Hannah? Didn’t Hannah leave?
“C’mon, let’s go have a talk. I am interested in why your friends in the other car tried shooting at me.”
“Like I said,” Harley moved slowly with Christopher Alfaro’s hand clamped around her wrist, “I was looking for a graduation party.”
They approached the door to the restaurant Christopher Alfaro emerged from. “I did not get to have men this protective over me by believing every pretty face that came to me,” he said through a forced smile into her ear.
A woman standing next to Dante looked down at his hands when he balled them into fists. If he let Harley disappear into the restaurant, he might not see her in one piece. If he exposed himself now, he risked Leonardo being inside and fleeing. Then he noticed Harley’s left foot hesitantly move forward. Her red toes paled as they dug into the plastic of her yellow flip flop. That was it. Dante pushed through the crowd, Leonardo be damned. As he made his way, Harley’s courage stood out. She stomped Christopher Alfaro’s foot, forcing him to let go of her wrist, then double punched him in his chest sending him several steps backward. She reminded him of a video game character. Alfaro’s men made a move for Harley, grabbing her by her arms and holding her back. Christopher Alfaro recovered and moved toward her, his fingers gripped her face. Dante went red.
Guns cocked and a no-pun-intended Mexican standoff ensued. Dante’s arms spanned out like wings, guns in both hands. One end of the barrel made an indent in Christopher’s temple, the other pointed at no one in particular. Roman moved the crowd by clearing his throat.
“If I were you,” he growled, grabbing Christopher Alfaro by the scruff of his neck, “I’d let go of my wife.”
“Wife?”
Blurting it out like that hadn’t been his plan to break the news to anyone, let alone Roman or Harley’s niece, Hannah, who slammed the passenger’s door. It wasn’t like they discussed their marriage last night as to whether or not to keep it a secret. The topic of conversation did not come up in her kitchen only because they were trying to identify the men in the picture. Dante would rather spend an hour under one of the men in the picture’s guns than face the icy cold daggers Harley shot him right now.
Chapter 6
“You married this guy?” Hannah asked, her mouth gaped open incredulously.
“Why don’t we all go inside my café and have a hot cup of coffee,” Alfaro interjected, “I’m dying to find out all the details. Starting with what the fuck y’all are doing in my hood.”
Dante growled in Christopher’s direction, “Watch the language.”
Harley steadied her breath while Alfaro’s eyes glanced over her shoulder toward Hannah. He offered an apology in Spanish. She appreciated his attempt of respect but maybe right now with no less than twenty guns pointed at their heads, now the sincerity behind it was hard to absorb. With everyone being pushed forward, Harley took the opportunity to reach into her back pocket and finger the gold band back on her finger. Since Dante just blew any chance she had on being one of Alfaro’s Girls, she had to play the part of doting wife. But she looked on the bright side, five weeks of working with the local police with hopes of gaining access to Alfaro and she was here.
Finally in Alfaro’s presence and so close to putting an end to his work only to be accompanied by all people, Dante. Had this opportunity presented itself sooner, she’d find herself on the arm of Alfaro’s instead of in front of his gunmen. It was hard to believe a man barely five-eight stirred up such a ruckus. So far, if you got past the hired guns, Christopher Alfaro seemed to be the perfect host.
The surveillance cameras did not do him justice. Christopher was a good-looking man in his own right. Sharp curly hair, clearly in shape with broad shoulders to counter his stocky legs and he was a sharp dresser. What was with the suits these days? Perhaps he was even a ladies’ man, judging from the women surrounding him outside before the hail of gunfire.
“My apologies, please, let us go inside. No need to ruin the rest of everyone else’s afternoon.”
Not like they had a choice, Hannah, Harley, Dante and his giant biker friend with the sub machine gun followed Alfaro into his café. More men stood against the wall with their weapons drawn. The leader of this band waved them at ease. Harley’s eyes scanned the room for an exit. A red sign hung just beyond the pastry window case. Ceiling fans cooled the room but not enough. No amount of fans during the months of June, July, and August would be able to squelch the heat. Sweat dripped down the neck of the bartenders standing behind the bar. No way had she planned on ordering anything.
“Sit,” Christopher demanded.
As long as they all stuck to the same story, no one would get busted. Javier’s foolish attempted murder on this man’s life put them in a precarious position. Though Harley had a three hour head start on Dante, she spent her time riding up and down the streets, cruising by each block party as well as getting stuck in a few. She’d driven almost to the pier when she spotted Hannah standing at a bus stop crying. Javier wisely dropped her off before his stupid stunt. Hannah spilled the beans on Javier’s plans and they drove like crazy hoping to stop him, but they were too late. Her plan was to ram the back of his impala but he was too far ahead. Sacrificing the side of her car was the only way to save him. As of right now, everything was a coincidence. Hopefully Christopher believed in coincidences. She didn’t. Her plan would have worked if her darling new husband hadn’t shown up.
Dante dipped his head close to hers and inhaled the curve of her neck as he held out her seat for him. A chill spread down to her knees. Hannah and Dante’s friend shared the same quizzical smirks on their faces at the two of them. What made matters worse, or perhaps better follow-through, Dante reached for her hand when he took his seat next to her. With Hannah on one side of her and Dante’s friend on the other side of him, Christopher Alfaro sat across from them with his eyebrows raised at the gesture. How in hell was she going to gain Alfaro’s adoration with Dante hanging on to her like this?
“You two are newlyweds?”
“Brand new,” Dante gave a tight smile. “We married last night.”
As Alfaro nodded his head he squinted his eyes and studied them. He cocked his head to the side and admired the gesture. A pink tongue darted out of his mouth. Under the little bit of light that came through the top windows, the red tint of his Aztec history showed through. “National Decided to Get Married Day?”
Surprised he heard of it, she stretched her eyes and nodded. Who came up with that kind of shit?
“The minute our eyes locked,” Dante brought Harley’s hand to his lips. The warmth of his mouth sent a chill down her spine, “and I didn’t want to be without her. I can’t wait to start our own little family together.” He gave her hand a little squeeze.
For a moment Harley’s body swayed into his. His words sounded so sincere, but she remembered he lied for a living.
“This is so sweet! I’ve always wanted her to give me a cousin,” Hannah sighed. She held her chin with the palm of her hands while resting her elbows on the blue and gold Talavera patterned tile.
Since the windows were closed with western shutters, a metal looking star hung over the table, lighting the small space from the various points. The twenty men outside dwindled inside down to five who all started cleaning the glass off the floor. A larger man, dressed in a suit much like Alfaro’s, came out from the back and took a seat on the barstool behind Christopher. He stood out from the typical stature of the men in the room. She didn’t take him to be of Mexican or Aztec, possible Puerto Rican or Dominican.
“You,” Christopher said turning his attention to the teen and drawing Harley’s attention away from the henchman, “You weren’t there for the wedding?”
“We eloped,” Dante said.
“And you weren’t there because you were,” the drug lord’s tongue raked over a gold canine tooth, “where?”
Harley’s heart flashed panic. The photograph. Damn that stupid photo-bombing! Did Alfaro figure out what happened? Stupid instant media. Why did these kids have to have their every thought and action posted for the world to see.
“I was with my boyfriend.”
“Why are we here answering questions?” asked Dante.
Christopher’s brown eyes turned toward Dante. “Because right after someone came here and shot up my place and your wife coincidently drove her car onto the curb, you walk up calling my name like you’re about to arrest me. Got something to say about any of that?”
“You know women, Mr. Alfaro, they can’t drive for shi-nothing,” said Dante’s friend.
“Who are you and how do you know my name?”
“Who doesn’t know who runs things down here?” The man held out a large hand for Christopher to take, which he didn’t and two seconds later, he withdrew his hand. “I’m Roman, best man of the happy couple.” Roman nodded his head and in doing so, a lock of dark hair fell over his shoulders.