Mr. and Mrs. Rossi

by Carolyn Hector

  The next group of coming out of the drunk-tank was all males. Tattered clothes, bruises from brawls, and some with puke stains on their shirts. Everyone squinted their eyes from the blinding morning sun as they were released from the dungeons. “Son of a bitch,” Dante said pointing toward the glass, “There’s Javier right there!”

  “Who is Javier?”

  Dante grimaced at the sight of Julio standing there with a rolled up piece of paper twisting between his hands. If he’d been a part of Hannah’s life, he would have known. He was willing to bet Julio left Harley high and dry when he learned of her pregnancy. The mental calculations already worked in his head the moment the news broke. At the age of her conception he was disgusted with this man who took advantage of a kid.

  “Look,” Julio sighed, “we can sit here and have a pissing contest over Harley but it’s not going to help Hannah.”

  “Hannah’s fiancé,” Dante reluctantly told him.

  “Fiancé?” Julio sputtered, “She’s just eighteen.”

  “And Harley was fifteen when she was born. Clearly you had no qualms then.”

  Tired of the comments, Julio’s chest bowed out while he pushed Dante’s shoulders. Not expecting it, Dante took a small step back. He glanced down at his shoulders where Julio’s hands touched him. He growled and reached for the lapels of Julio’s jacket. Cole stepped between them.

  “Now’s not the time. Rossi, release him.”

  Dante let the man go. His knuckles ached with desire to punch the man. Cole was right. Now was not the time. “We’re not through.”

  “I imagine not,” Julio hummed.

  Cole cleared his throat and the tension. “What did you learn?”

  “Hannah was checked out with a group of girls set aside to do work release without having to appear in front of the judge and keep everything off the record.”

  “That sounds ludicrous,” Dante blurted.

  “I know,” said Julio, “but the sheriff seems to trust this program. It’s being run by a counselor by the name of Moses Baez.”

  “What?” Cole leaned closer.

  Dante cut his eyes toward his friend, “What?”

  “Do you remember when our system got hacked years ago?”

  “Yeah, by our receptionist.”

  “And then when Cano and Ibanez met up with…”

  Dante snapped his fingers together remembering the explosion at a local mall in Alabama. Cole nearly risked his life to save Rosalind. At the time, the idea of risking your life for a woman was beyond Dante. He enjoyed bachelorhood. He’d had thirty odd years of it. Suddenly the thought of living a life without Harley frightened him. “Son of a bitch, Moses Baez put everyone in touch.”

  “So you guys know him, it’s good.”

  “No,” Dante and Cole said in unison.

  “This guy is slippery and the slimiest bastard ever. He’s got a degree in psychology and business,” Dante explained.

  “And is connected to some of the U.S.’s most wanted.”

  “Well, now he’s on mine,” Julio tugged the lapels of his jacket.

  ****

  Summertime on the sandy white beaches of Villa San Juan was so picturesque it wasn’t uncommon to find Hollywood directors scouting out the area for beach scenes for movies. Orange coolers anchored the corners of the spread out towels and blankets from the families. Depending on what side of the beach you wanted to hang out, metal lounge chairs forked into the sand. Closer toward the hotel lines, heavy plastic white beach chairs lined up in a row for an easy view of the crystal blue water and easy access for the white attired waiters serving tall icy beverages with little tiki umbrellas. Before buying a house on the other side of the island, Harley’s family hung out in the metal chairs with the frayed materials. When her boobs came in at fourteen, she hung out with the locals at the white beach chairs and sipped fruity drinks one after another.

  Down from the lounging beach area you had your vendors selling piraguas to the kids playing even at nine in the morning. Harley passed by a set of twin boys, probably ten, running with the blue syrup already rolling down their arms as they licked at the shaved ice. She smiled, reminding herself to get one before she left. At the volleyball nets, a line waited for teams to go next. The temperature spiked to ninety degrees already. Hand fans bobbed back and forth and the blue gulf water was already packed.

  Harley’s feet burned. In her haste, she didn’t get a chance to put on her shoes, not wanting to raise TJ’s suspicions. Without any money, she couldn’t stop at any of the shops for a pair of flip flops. She ignored the idea of snagging someone else’s who’d carelessly left their own behind while on a dip in the cool water but Harley did not want to take the risk. She was already close enough to where she needed to be. As a matter of fact, she made a b-line toward the water to position herself on the right spot. The water cooled her feet and the sun sizzled against her neck.

  A patriotic parasail up ahead indicated her close proximity to her target. No one stood in line on the breezy cloudless sky day. Odd? Not knowing who was next in line. Her eyes darted back and forth along the pier. To her left in the water, a pretty metallic blue speed-boat sat in the slip while its crew laid out the red white and blue sails. To her right, an older olive complexioned man wearing a pair of black Speedos stood perfectly still while three young girls in skimpy thongs oiled him down with sun tan lotion. His salt and pepper hair complemented his tan skin and bare chest. Harley reluctantly thought of Dante and his hairy chest and immediately longed to feel his skin beneath hers.

  Focus! A voice told her.

  Doing as she bid, she took a deep breath and slipped the white Michael Jackson T-shirt over her head, exposing her very modest bra, which certainly, compared to the three young girls, might as well have covered her like a turtle-neck. She took her chances, loosening her hair from the top of her head and shook out her long dark mane, banking on what she always thought about men. Men were stupid.

  Her father used to tell her a story about a dog crossing a bridge and seeing another dog in the water with a bone. The dog was so greedy he opened his mouth to intimidate the other dog and ended up losing his bone in the water because the dog and bone he saw was none other than his own reflection.

  “Are you lost?” asked a man coming from the pier. He wore a pair of Hawaiian shorts and a white A-line shirt which hid the black gun horribly in his waistband, or that was the point. “Parasailing’s closed today.”

  Harley’s eyes darted toward the customer-free pier and then to the oiled up man. “Really?” she asked with wide eyes. She didn’t stop. If she could get the man to follow her under the pier she could take his weapon without making too much of a scene. He began to walk backwards in hopes of stopping her from crossing the other man’s path. “I just need to go over there.”

  “Take the boardwalk,” he countered with a pointed finger to the area crowded with teenagers on skateboards.

  “The sand is hot.” Water danced through the air toward the bodyguard when she lifted her foot to show her bare feet. She draped her T-shirt over both shoulders and hung onto the sleeves with both hands and continued walking, ten more feet.

  The man, still walking backwards reached for his waistband to brandish his gun.

  Five more feet.

  “I’ll be out of your way in a second,” Harley said.

  “No, go back.”

  Harley shook her head and giggled, “No silly, my friends are right over there.”

  His mistake was to turn and look over his shoulder. Harley raised her foot again, lifting the wet sand toward his face. Long lanky arms shot up in the air while he tried to cover his face from the debris and Harley took a step forward landing a punch in the center of his stomach. He doubled over but reached for his gun. With his arm extended out but the wind knocked out of him, Harley unraveled her T-shirt and wrapped it around his wrist, stepping into his frame. A crack sounded under the dark pier when her elbow connected with his nose. Warm liquid spilled onto her sh
oulder. She looked down as blood soaked the right bra cup. Irritated by the stain, Harley spun with a right hook and swept his legs. The bodyguard fell to the sand with an oomph. Harley stood over him, his gun in her hand.

  “Thanks,” she breathed heavily, now feeling the pang in her ribs. It wasn’t her smartest move, but hey, she was desperate.

  “What are you doing here? This area of the beach is closed.”

  Harley rolled her eyes, tucking her new toy in her T-shirt. The Speedo man stood in the sunlight just at the start of the docks. “Oh my God, I’m so glad to see you.”

  “Me?” he asked in bewilderment. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yes sir,” Harley winced against the throbbing pain and cradled her ribs. “I know exactly who you are Mr. Marchette and I need to talk to you about your son, Leonardo.”

  Chapter 15

  As time ticked away, so did Dante’s patience. He resisted the urge to punch the kid next to him, reminding himself Javier was still a boy. Traffic blurred by in the backseat of the vehicle.

  “You knew the men in the photograph I showed you.”

  Javier shook his head then clasped his hands over his ears. He reeked of cheap vodka and tropical punch. No one in the SUV wanted to get too close to him on account of his stench of vomit.

  “Okay, I spotted Christopher Alfaro at the club. I blame him for being with the guy who killed Gaston.”

  Even though he needed an eyewitness account to put Leonardo away, which he now had, Dante sighed with a mixture of frustration and relief. He hated to have Javier as his witness. Not only did Javier put his life in jeopardy, he placed Hannah’s in danger, as well. His brother paid the price with his life and Dante understood the overwhelming desire for revenge.

  “You can’t let your feelings overrule you, Javier.” Dante placed a hand on his shoulder. “If you testify, we can put him away for a long time.”

  “I’m not testifying!” Javier shrieked, “I don’t want what happened to Gaston to happen to me. I’m not giving him or his goons a chance to do anything to me, I’m going to kill him.”

  “Kill him and then what?” asked Dante. “What about Hannah? What good are you going to do to her in jail?”

  Javier shrugged off Dante’s hand. “She’ll understand.”

  The tension in the car broke. Tito slammed his hand on the dashboard and the car came to a skidded dusty stop on the side of the road. He spun around so fast even Dante jumped back in his seat. “Look, you little piss-ant, we’ve been busting our ass trying to find this guy and ain’t no way in hell you’re not turning states evidence.”

  “I’m not a snitch.”

  Tito balled his fist. Of the Undesirables, Tito had both, brains and brawn. His brains usually worked in full gear; smart with computers and machinery but his fists were registered lethal weapons. If his anger mixed in, everyone needed to watch out. In one quick swoop Tito grabbed Javier by the front of his dingy undershirt. “Your girlfriend was thrown in the slammer yesterday because of you.”

  Javier paled, “You’re lying. Hannah is back in Tallahassee. I left her at the corner of my cousin’s where her aunt could find her.”

  “She’s now with a maniac hell bent on sending her into the slave trade. Is that what you want?”

  Young dark eyes pleaded to Dante. A twinge of guilt made him reach out and pull Javier back into the seat, but then he realized Javier spent the night in a jail cell like Hannah and yet he didn’t have a mark on him. No one intimidated him like they did Hannah. “There’s a reason you’re still alive. You know something.”

  “Whatever, no I don’t,” Javier’s voice now threatened to quiver. “Where is Hannah now?”

  “Like my partner said, some guy wants to sell her. You’ve heard of the white slave trade?” Dante dipped his head and glanced down at the gold band around his finger. Why did he still have it on? Because he made a promise, albeit a drunken hazed vow in front of his cousin, but Dante promised to honor and protect Harley. She had her reasons for withholding the truth about Hannah, but they’d work it out later. Right now he planned on keeping her family safe—his family. “Think, Javier. Time is wasting.”

  “Why’d you come here, to Villa San Juan?” asked Cole.

  “Hannah told me about her family’s place here where I could hide out after I shot up Alfaro’s place.”

  “And why’d you shoot up his place?”

  “I told you, he was with the dude who took Gaston.”

  Tito slammed his hand on the dashboard again. “Damn it. Get his ass out of my backseat. He can’t tell us anything.”

  “For your information, we don’t know where either Alfaro or the guy who took Gaston is,” Dante leaned across Javier’s lithe frame and popped open the back door. “Good luck with that.”

  “Wait!” Javier cried. “I want immunity?”

  “Immunity?” Dante laughed. “What’d you do wrong?”

  “I want you guys to put me in the witness protection program, me and Hannah.”

  “No way,” Tito bit out, “tell us what you know.”

  “Gustavo Marina,” Javier announced with a cryptic smile.

  “Who?” asked Tito.

  “Not who,” Cole said, “the marina by the docks.”

  “So we got what we want,” Tito turned back around to the steering wheel and looked out the review mirror. “Kick his ass out.”

  Javier clung to the door-frame. Cars whizzed by honking at the opened door. “I can take you. Just promise you’ll get protection for Hannah.”

  “Without a doubt,” said Dante calmly. He loosened the push on Javier’s shoulder.

  “Okay-okay, Gustavo and I might have overheard the guys talking about meeting up at the marina. There’s a shipment worth a fortune in one of the containers. We planned on robbing it.”

  “You idiots thought you could rob one of the drug cartels?” Dante’s upper lip curled hearing the stupidity. “What in the hell did you think you were going to do with whatever you found?”

  “Sell it.”

  “What?” the three agents asked.

  “We figured whatever they had must have been worth something. So we were just gonna hijack them, like a ransom. I wanted to give Hannah the wedding of her dreams.”

  “You’re a bigger idiot than you look.” Tito pulled back into the traffic and made an illegal u-turn toward the marinas without making sure they were buckled or if the doors were even closed. Dante went back to hanging onto Javier’s shoulder. Finally, the turn slammed the door closed.

  ****

  Harley sat in the backseat right next to one of America’s Most Wanted with the sound track of AC/DC’s TNT pounding in her brain. Dante Rossi infiltrated her brain once again with his heavy metal hair bands, but she had to admit she felt like a total bad ass. She’d single handedly gotten close to the crime boss without so much as a warrant, orders, or even her own weapon. She merely did what her Jenny said she did, and tattled. Unfortunately Bobby Marchette was not her assignment.

  Bobby Marchette was the epitome of the original gangster. Though her excursion on the beach interrupted his afternoon of parasailing, he seemed to be in a good mood. He told his lady friends he’d return in an hour or so and, dressed in a white terrycloth robe he slid into the backseat of his limousine.

  The air inside flowed the perfect temperature, accommodating to Harley’s attire. The butter soft gray seats, softer than her bed, cushioned her behind. The floor absorbed her weight and she’d swear the carpet massaged her heels and all ten toes. He’d even offered a beverage, which she politely refused and then shared a little bit of dialogue with her. The precursor story before a death. She assumed it was going to be hers, still giving her collection of where she was, who she was with, and the orders she did not have.

  “Leonardo was always a spoiled boy,” Mr. Marchette said. “My youngest. We weren’t supposed to have any more children, he came as a surprise.”

  “My folks had me at a late age,” Harley made herself familia
r with him, just in case he did plan on killing her for getting too close. She’d exposed the Marchette’s dirty secret but given the sadness in Mr. Marchette’s voice, he had a clue. Mr. Marchette’s piercing blue eyes peered into hers. “Not saying you’re old, Mr. Marchette,” she added with a nervous smile.

  “We’re so close now, please call me Bobby.”

  “Bobby,” Harley nodded. “Well Bobby, I am sure you tried your hardest with Leonardo but sometimes kids just go wayward, you can’t blame yourself.”

  Bobby Marchette sighed deeply, “I blame myself for not getting involved sooner. I’ve tried to turn the Marchette name into something good and despite all my hard work, he’s drug it down deeper. Like he wants to hurt me.”

  Far be it for her to suggest family therapy, but in this case, they may want to. “I am sorry, Mr. Marchette, I mean Bobby. But I believe if you confront him, he might see the errors in his ways.”

  “Talking? Have you ever tried?”

  “The last time I was in the room with him he shot me out of a window.”

  Bobby made a tsking noise with his teeth and patted Harley’s thigh. She didn’t take the act to be sexual but more a symbol of an apology. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He is like a dog with a bone. You know his mother died giving birth. His older brothers and sisters wanted nothing to do with him. I even hired a nanny for him. He really seemed to be smitten with her.”

  The chauffeur drove the limo over the causeway to the docks. Through the dark tinted windows of the limousine the Gulf’s typically clear blue water seemed hazy. A barge carrying different colored freights sat out in the water waiting for the bridge to allow passage. Vacationers enjoyed a spin in speedboats and jet-skis. On the other side of the bridge an American flag parasail sailed in the wind, next to a bright yellow smiley face almost mocking her.

  They crossed the bridge into the quarry toward the rest of the offices. The road continued into downtown Villa San Juan without a car in sight. In fact, most of the offices looked closed, unusual for this time of day or time of year. The parking lot resembled a ghost town. Harley’s heart raced at the sight of the VSJ PD prison van parked near the metal cargos. She was glad she remembered Hannah’s guidance counselor, Mr. Baez, reaching out to Hannah.