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“Mafia, then?” Getting a grunt as an answer, I chewed on the inside of my cheek.
All this time, members of the mafia had been stopping at my home. How scary. I wondered if they were from the same family. I didn’t want to ask.
Once we were a good five miles down from the road, Marco held up his phone.
“Gonna make a call, so don’t panic. I need them to be able to ping my phone out here,” he explained before holding the device up to his ear. He called some club, pestering them with questions.
“You really think things through,” I pointed out after he ended the call, “you’re smarter than the average brute.”
He snorted. “Not smart enough to avoid getting captured by you,” he joked.
I was smiling, just like he was. Despite his situation, he looked comfortable.
We stopped at a large cornfield. Between soybeans and corn, farms surrounded us.
I followed him, making sure he wasn’t up to no good. Marco simply dug a hole, burying his phone.
Figuring he’d want to stick around for a bit longer, I was surprised when he was ready to get back to my home.
He was very insistent on finishing his job. I just had to try not to get in his way.
Frankie
“Why photo albums?” I asked as we dug through the basement. Marco wanted to go through my uncle’s belongings.
“Well, I’m thinking if our guy knows Jimmy is dead, then he has some kind of relationship with him. Photos represent memories.” He shuffled through a box, grimacing when seeing there were only small statues inside. Plucking one out, he stared at the sculpture. “I’m sure you packed this stuff up quickly.”
“They all stare at you,” I explained with a chuckle, “of course I did.”
If my uncle had any photo albums, there’d definitely be one down here. I didn’t have the heart to throw away any of his belongings. Instead, I shoved them all down here. Maybe this was a sign to clear up some space. Ithadbeen two years.
While we dug around, I listened to Marco’s commentary. Without realizing it, Ienjoyedlistening to him complain about my uncle’s tastes.
“Our guy wears suits and jewelry.” Marco lifted a piece of clothing in his hands with a scrunched nose. “Your uncle wears sweaters and cardigans.”
“Well now there is no doubt about it, right? Outside of the whole being dead thing?” I asked, mocking a grin.
He hummed in thought before nodding. Marco was kind of funny, I’d give him that.
“I suggest grabbing some of his clothes. No offense, but you are quite a mess,” I pointed out, taking the chance to openly let my eyes drag down the length of his body. His shirt was crumpled and stained with dirt. His dark pants looked even worse. “I’ll let you use my shower if it means I can see you in one of those sweaters.”
Marco laughed sarcastically, already shooting down the idea without using a single word.
Moving to another box, I let out a gasp. Before I could alert Marco of my finding, he was at my side instantly. Rather than looking in the box with excitement, he was staring at me in concern.
“Um, I found some picture frames,” I explained after too many seconds.
He looked down and I swore his shoulders relaxed. Kneeling down, he plucked through the frames one at a time. “When you were digging through my phone, did you see the picture of the man I’m hunting down?”
I sat next to him, reaching out to grab a picture frame as well. “I did. Though, I didn’t recognize him, if that’s what you’re after.”
The picture in my hands was two young men, people around my age. They were smiling at the camera.
“My uncle was one of the few people I called family,” I explained, “he wasn’t much of a people person either. He didn’t have many options when it came to asking someone to come take care of him.”
“You weren’t close?” he asked, taking more interest in me rather than the pictures in his hands.
“Not really, not at first. I hated driving all the way out here every day.” Grabbing another photo, I frowned as I looked at my uncle. “A year is enough time to get close to someone. Especially when you are stuck with them.”
