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“Will you have an eye on my daughter at every minute?” Fletch counters. “How do you think you’ll do when the cheerleaders traipse through? Or the trio of Beckys who work reception?” Then he lifts a dangerous, challenging brow. “What about if Jenna comes down to the main floor? You gonna take care of my daughter then? Or toss her to the side and chase Jenna’s tail?”
Cato narrows his eyes. “You’re asking for the impossible.”
Minka shakes her head and tugs the apartment door open. “Probably best if you just stay here all day. You lose that child and I’m not sure anyone will stop Fletch from peeling the skin off your bones.”
“It’s called free childcare,” Cato grumbles. “You don’t make demands when you’re asking someone for a favor.”
“It’s called taking care of your family,” I counter. I watch Minka’s back as she lets herself out of the apartment. My eyes, glued to the side of her face. To her lips as they curl up one last time. Then I watch the door she closes and inhale the scent of her perfume as it lingers in the air.
She’s gone.
I’m still here with two other guys and the cutest little girl I’ve ever met.
And then I sigh.
Because it’s time to start my day.
“I know you’re gonna do the right thing, Cato.” I chug the last of my coffee before setting the mug down with a thud, and then I head to the small table by the door and grab my things. Belt. Badge. Keys. I head back into my bedroom and slide my guns into place, one on my thigh, and a second on my hip. I pull on my shoes, check the mirror, and run a fast hand through my short hair, then I take one last whiff of the room before heading out again and making my way to the door. “Have a good day with Uncle Cato today, Moo.”
“I will!” She bounds to the couch, her loose curls bouncing as she runs. “Wanna watch Curious George, Uncle Cato? He’s a bit silly.”
“This is not how I imagined my life,” Cato calls out as I stride to the apartment door. “I’m a gangster. I’m a made man.”
“You’re a manny,” I counter as Fletch steps into the hall. “You’re lucky she doesn’t need diapers anymore.” I grab the doorknob but stare across my apartment and wait for Cato’s eyes to meet mine. “I had to change yours, kid. I held you while you still had your mother’s bodily fluids on your skin. I fed you. I burped you.” I purse my lips and hold his stare. “Felix did all that and more for you. We were gangsters, too. But a man still takes care of his family.”
“He gonna be okay?” Fletch mumbles, not quite sure about his plan for the day. “I could maybe put her in the precinct daycare if?—”
I close the door with a slam and turn away to head toward the stairs. “He’ll be fine. He acts stupid, because he likes being mothered. But he’s got it under control. She’ll be safer with him today than she ever is with Ms. Penny. What’ve we got on the Alves case?”
He considers me for a beat. Not entirely convinced his daughter is in the best hands, but when I start jogging down the stairs, he gives up and follows. “I’ve got William’s boss lined up for an interview first thing.”
“At the station or his garage?”
“Garage. Figured we’d get his point of view before we go any further. Right now, we’ve got folks who saw the Alves’ in and around their home. Our witnesses heard the bickering. They knew what was happening after hours. So now I figure it’d be beneficial to hear who William was when he was on the clock.”
“He’ll present as a decent guy. Probably didn’t drink on the job. Definitely wasn’t beating women while he was working. His boss will get William’s version of everything, if he got any version at all.”
“Gotta get every version before we can tie it up.” He follows me down four flights of stairs and past a watchful Steve. I smell Minka on every floor. She and Aubree, who I know took the stairs a little slower than us. Bursting through the front door, I instantly look to the left in hopes of seeing them.
To catch the backs of two, beautiful doctors. Though my heart beats for only one.
“We walking?”
“Nope.” Fletch grabs my shoulder, though my body turns to the left and begins walking. “I knew we’d need a car, so I already checked one out. This way, Romeo.”
“Mr. Aguero.” I come to a stop at the front of our cruiser outside Aguero’s Auto Body, a garage in the industrial area of the city not too far from the bay. The man who waits by the roller doors, fully aware we were coming today, wears coveralls that roll at the wrists and ankles because the fabric is too long on the short and stubby man’s body.
He’s about five-and-a-half feet tall, twice as wide as me, balding in the back of his head, and aging like sour milk.
“My name is Detective Archer Malone.” I show him my badge, though all three of us know who we are and what’s happening. “Detective Charlie Fletcher,” I nod to Fletch. “Thanks for your time this morning.”
“I was pretty sad to know Billy bit the dust,” he rumbles, the man’s deep voice gruffer than I expected. He turns on his heels, expecting we’ll follow him inside. “He was a good kid.”
Fletch glances across and lifts a brow, as though to say, told you so.
“He was always on time,” Aguero mumbles, making his way through a shed filled to the brim with cars. Some old, some new. Many of them, partially unbuilt. “Never complained about the work. Great attention to detail. He moved at a good pace, never costing me more money than necessary.” Aguero makes his way around stacks of steel. Tires. Machines.
The irony, in my eyes, is that a lot of this is the same shit we keep in a small hut not too far from the home I was raised in. Torches. Tools. All methods to extract information from men who don’t particularly wish to divulge it.
