10. FRANKIE

Once checked in, I went up with Cal and Sutton to the room. Sutton really hadn't been lying when he said he'd got into their system and upgraded us. I wasn't listening to the receptionist, but he'd mentioned us having very high loyalty points and that he was glad we'd chosen to stay at their hotel again.

I wouldn't be here for long, just long enough to make sure they had everything they needed, and if they didn't, Sutton would have some way of getting it.

Sutton threw himself on the large double bed. "I should do this more often."

Cal started to jump on the bed beside him. "We should get a mattress this bouncy!"

"Ok, ok," I said. "I'm heading out. It should only take me an hour or so to get there, it's just across the state line," I said. "I'll be back once I've taken a closer a look."

"You're leaving now?" Cal asked, jumping off the bed. "But I thought we'd get something to eat first, and then maybe we could take the bed for a spin while Sutton goes and does something else."

Sutton picked himself off the bed. "Oh. I can give you the room if you need it."

Taking Cal's hand, I pulled him into a tight embrace. "I told you," I whispered. "You'll get what you get tonight, and what happens will decide just how much of me you get." That was code. On nights where a lot happened, I would tear his ass up, and on nights where there was nothing going down, I made sure that Cal did. I gave him a kiss on the forehead.

The location of this Jack Jefferson was in Paterson, New Jersey. Cal had said it was on our way into New York, but I think he only said that to try and convince me. It was in the opposite direction. You had to go back out of the city, across the Hudson, and then further up into New Jersey.

I'd never been there before, so I didn't know whose territory it was. My family had territory in New Jersey, but not there.

Before I left Cal, I reminded him to keep his cell on him and keep it close by. I could call at any time for information. He also reminded me that if I found a connection to what happened to him, I couldn't do anything. I agreed to that term over a year ago, but I knew my anger might've got the better of me if we did uncover the person responsible for putting Cal through all that pain.

As I headed to the address in Paterson, I thought about how my life had changed. It seemed like a snap change. One day, I had zero care for anyone but myself, and the next, all my thoughts were dedicated to protecting Cal.

* * *

Eighteen Months Ago

Sneaking back into the apartment in the middle of the night. I had blood on my clothes and a bite mark on my hand.

I tiptoed and tried to quash my disappointment.

It was the first solid lead in months. Someone had been peddling a high-quality cocaine on the streets right by the old Chinese restaurant. I hadn't told Cal, I knew he'd worry, but he hadn't left the house, and I knew he'd want to come with me.

"Frankie?" Cal's voice called out.

He was curled up on the sofa, shivering. His teeth tapping together. The windows were wide open, and the TV was playing static.

I dropped to my knees in front of him. "What happened?"

"I did it," he whimpered.

Taking his hand, he was stone cold. "What did you do?" I asked. "I left you in bed. You were sleeping."

"I—I—I went out."

"I told you to take it easy." I stroked a hand on his forehead, forgetting there was blood on my palm. "Why did you open the windows?"

Cal continued to shiver. "You said I—I need fresh air. I—I—I got fresh air. And I—I—I went to the bodega. I—I—"

I cooed him, wiping the blood from his face with my sleeve. "It's ok. Let me close these windows."

"I—I—I got cereal." Shaking, he pulled back the thin blanket to reveal the box of cereal hugged against his chest. It was open, and some of it spilled out over his chest.

This was my fault for telling him he couldn't have that sugary cereal and I'd told him if he wanted it, he'd have to go out and get it himself. I hadn't thought he would've taken that as a personal challenge, just a way of encouraging him to come out of the apartment with me.

Closing the windows, I continued to reflect on my night. I didn't even have any good news to tell him. The dealer was just some college kid trying to make a couple bucks with drugs he found. He learned the dangers. I punched him, his nose burst with blood. He'd grabbed my arm and bit me like an animal. I would've put a bullet in him if he'd been part of a gang, but he was just a kid with no answers to anything.

"You know," I said, going back to Cal shivering on the sofa. "This doesn't mean I'm going to take pity on you. You're going to get into bed where it's warm, and then tomorrow, we'll go out together. And you'll wear a fucking jacket. I'm serious. You're not getting sick just to prove a point. That's some martyr shit, and I won't have it."

That was as much sympathy as he was getting from me. That, alongside being carried to bed, and then being cuddled to keep warm. He was freezing, and I ran at a high temperature. He clung to me all that night like some spider monkey clinging to a branch.

* * *

At the address Cal had given me, I noticed the street was full of cars, some of them just as fancy as the Porsche we'd seen in the parking lot by the shipping dock. The address was for an apartment block, but I had the picture of his face on my cell. All I needed was to make a positive ID, and see who he was with, and I could work from that.

I'd been waiting an hour and a half before there was any activity at the door of the apartment building. Jack Jefferson, that was him, heading into the building alone. He looked over his shoulder and fumbled with his eyes.

My cell rang as I was double checking the face to what I saw in front of me. It was my father.

"Is something wrong?" I answered.

He cleared his throat. "That's no way to answer."

"I'm pretty busy right now," I said. "So, if it can wait, then—"

"Your uncle Vito is here; he's just been dealing with our pest problem at the restaurant" he said. "I took what you said personally. Bad intel is a son-of-a-bitch, and I don't want it running through the ranks of the family."

Pest problem was code about finding out if there was a mole and killing them in a secret room at the back of the restaurant the family owned. I could spare a moment to see what my uncle had to say, although I doubt anything that came out of his mouth was going to be the truth. "And you found out who was feeding us bad intel?"

"No. We went to the source, but he had another source, so we went to that source, and everyone was playing a fucking game of telephone," he said, getting angrier. "Now, your brothers are getting calls asking if everything is all good. Nobody is taking credit. I bet if I told them the drugs were there, everyone would be fighting for credit."

"Then tell them they were right," I said. "Get someone to take credit, then shit on them with the fact that it was a set up." That seemed like the obvious way to go about this. And I thought he was supposed to be the mastermind. Perhaps he really was sick.

"I would've done that," he shouted at me. "But Vito took things into his own hands, didn't ya?" his voice in the distance shouting at his brother. "I don't know what to tell you, but your brothers are certain that someone took the shipment."

Looking out of the car window to the apartment building, I was one-step ahead of my family. "I might have a lead."

"Don't do anything stupid."

"I'm not going to do anything. I'm just doing some recon, like I used to."

"Yeah," he scoffed. "Before you started hanging around with that kid."

"Cal isn't a kid, dad. He's twenty-five," I told him. It was ok when I said that about him, and sure, some people like my dad saw the ten-year age gap and in comparison, he was a kid.

"Yeah, well, your mom thinks he's too green," he continued. "If you want to do things like you used to, give him some money, get him some therapy, and have him leave."

Gritting my teeth together to keep myself from saying something I'd regret, I let out a throaty cough in response.

"You should come by the house, your brothers are on their way, we're gonna talk about what we're going to do next. That means figure out who put a target on your back. The why is probably easy, people fear you."

"I can't," I said, glancing at my reflection in the rearview mirror. I was scowling, my forehead creased up like it was ready to be used as a barbecue grill. "I'm in New Jersey. I'm not letting my lead go. I'll be back tomorrow."

He grumbled. "Fine. But don't go in all guns blazin', I know what you're like, Frankie. And I must agree with Vito, you're getting sloppy."

I hadn't heard what Vito had been saying, but I assumed he was talking a big game since I wasn't there.

Hanging up, I continued to watch the door to the apartment building.

More people came in and left. Since Jack didn't have any known associates, it made me wonder if the identity was new. Nobody had arrest warrants in their name for drug possession and selling around here without some known associates.

Once it got a little darker out, I could see a blue light flashing in the apartment on the third floor, facing out onto the street. I assumed that was 3 A from the address. It looked like he was watching TV, and since there hadn't been any signs of other life in there, I decided that it was my time to go up and see what was happening.

I checked my gun before I left the car, making sure I had bullets and my silencer. I was a little disappointed that I hadn't been able to get the rifle out and use that, but it was ready in a hidden compartment of the trunk for when I needed it.

Practicing a smile, I stood at the door. I looked smart enough that people thought I was here on business, not someone looking to score.

A woman pushing a stroller came up to the door.

"Oh my god, you're my savior," I said. "I lost my key."

"You can just enter the PIN," she said.

"Right, right." I stared at the system on the wall by the door. "But I just moved in, and I should've written it down. I tried putting in my bank PIN and then I realized I forgot it."

She chuckled. "Well, I'm Lou, I live on the first floor," she said. "That must've been you banging around moving things in the other day."

I tutted and shook my head, feigning annoyance, I placed a hand at my face. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'll try and be quieter next time." That meant someone had been moving the cocaine in or removing it.

"You're not what I expected," she said. "I thought it was rented to some addicts. I've petitioned the building to stop allowing them to let them in. It's not that I don't respect their lives, but I've got a kid, and it's scary."

"I agree," I said, wondering if she was going to input the PIN. "I've got a spare apartment key hidden under a—a mat, I know, I know." I held up my hands. "I'm asking to be robbed."

She stepped back. "You—you have a gun."

I pressed a finger to my lips. "I work with the intelligence department. Ironic that I'm not intelligent enough to remember my keys though."

"Of course," she chuckled. "Guns scare me, but I'm always happy to see them in the hands of the police force."

I never said police, but if that's what she got from it, I'd take that trust and run with it. She put in the PIN for me, and I walked in with a big smile on my face. But it was also a reminder to try and conceal my gun in the future.

On the third floor, there were three apartments. One door was open, the same door where loud action film sounds played, and the blue and white flashing lights were coming from.

Attaching the silencer to the end of my gun, I approached the apartment and pushed the door slightly. The sounds were louder, gunshots and characters shouting to each other.

There was a single armchair in front of the TV. I saw his arm. Slowly, I stepped around with my gun poised to shoot if he tried anything.

Someone beat me to it.

The man had taken a shot to the head. His body was limp.

"Fuck."

I placed the back of a finger on his arm. Stone cold. I hadn't seen anyone come in or leave that looked suspicious.

"Fuck," I said, my hand curling into a fist.

The TV had been a distraction, the noise and the flashing lights, that's how nobody had figured it out. I hadn't even seen the flashes until it got darker outside. And now it was too late.

Unless they were still here.

Back on alert, I searched the apartment for any sign of the person who'd done this. The closets were empty, and the cupboards were too small. Whoever had done it wasn't here anymore. And neither were the drugs.

I grabbed his wallet and fished through it for more information. I was right. Jack Jefferson wasn't his real name. His real name was Eric Wiess. And then I found it. His badge. He was a police officer. I almost dropped the wallet.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

The fate of a cop killer wasn't one I intended on finding out about.

I snapped a couple pictures and then I left.

But on the way out, I saw police lights on the street and the loud sirens.

I sat in my car, catching my breath. I whacked my hands against the steering wheel. "Another fucking set up!" I roared. Someone was going above and beyond to try and get me railed. Whoever it was had to be connected to what happened to Cal. It felt connected.

Driving off before the police arrived. I headed right back to New York to see Cal. I'd called and he said he was fine, but I needed to see it for myself. We were being watched. And I needed to stay with him to make sure nothing happened.

"You sound panicked," Cal said.

"It's ok," I told him. "I'll be back soon. Tell Sutton to stay with you and not leave your side until I'm there. Got it?"

His breath became shallow, breathing down the receiver. "I got it. Is everything ok?"