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“The one on the serial killer. Anyway, they finally gave him a name.”
I could hear the bubbles in the beer hissing and wheezing. “What is it?”
“That fucking reporter must have a source somewhere. The FBI has been all over this shit, no details have leaked until early this morning. They’re calling him The Rosary Killer.”
The image on the back of my shooter’s jacket had been the Virgin Mary. I didn’t believe in coincidences and this just seemed too big of a chance to be one.
“Fuck,” I murmured.
“What?”
“Have you been checking footage from any of the women’s apartments or anything like that?” I asked.
My brothers were looking at me like I was crazy at this point. “No. They were all dumped in different areas…I shouldn’t even be discussing this if we’re being honest.”
“Who the fuck are we going to tell?” Carmine rolled his eyes.
“Good point,” Matteo sucked down more beer. “The victims were all women. Mostly women no one would notice missing…prostitutes, those types. He would spend time with them though, they would be scrubbed head to toe in bleach, nothing but strangulation marks around their necks and a rosery wrapped around their arms.”
“Surely they had homes?” I questioned.
“Well yeah,” Matteo spoke. “What are you thinking?”
“We’re killers,” I replied.
“Speak for yourself,” he pulled on the beer, talk of the family business was making him nervous.
“We think like killers,” I offered. “I would hunt these women first. I would stalk them…”
“Are you confessing?” Matteo asked.
“Fuck no, trying to make your job easier?”
He sighed leaning against the counter. “What makes you think this?”
“That fucker that shot at me this morning…he had a jacket on with the Virgin Mary stitched into it. I only briefly caught it. I think this might be your guy.”
Carmine frowned. “This is way too much for eleven am. I need more than beer. I need pussy and whiskey.”
“Shut up, you just had some,” I rolled my eyes.
“Don’t act like you didn’t fuck that girl you work with last night,” Matteo grinned turning up his beer and taking a long pull.
“Yeah, well she just wants to be friends.”
Matteo sputtered, and beer went everywhere. “That’s it!”
“That’s what?” Carmine asked looking between us.
“Nothing,” I murmured.
“Oh no,” Matteo wouldn’t stop that shit eating grin from forming. “It’s something.”
The Corsican and I wanted to take Matteo’s own gun and shoot him with it.
“That’s why that thing is flaring up,” Matteo told our younger brother. “It’s pissed…she rejected them.”
“Wait, you told her about us? Is this not need to know information?” Carmine asked.
