Retaliatory Justice (The Talionic Files #1) Page 8

  He then goes to the vault in the wall, which I hadn’t noticed was there before. He is very serious as he blocks the keypad while he types in the code and opens it. I don’t mean to, but I catch a glimpse inside and see that it is stacked with cash. Rows and rows of it. He closes it shut and I hear it click as he turns to me. He hands me a stack of hundred dollar bills as he sits back down.

  “Use this to buy what you need for this week,” he says thoughtfully as he places the cash in my hand.

  My mouth is gaping as I contemplate the fact that he drew this from the multitude of stacks in the vault, which can’t possibly be from our restaurant as these bills are crisp, like they came from a bank or something. The hair on the back of my neck is standing on end and my stomach is turning, sending me warning signs that what’s going on is not right.

  “Dominique, would you like to lie down?”

  My eyes widen. “No, I’m sorry. Thank you. I’ll be going now. I, umm, have a lot to do,” I say as I abruptly stand, passing Whitney on the way out. A few moments later, I hear the high-pitched screech of her voice.

  “What the hell did you just do?” Whitney’s voice echoes into the hallway.

  “None of your damn business,” Phillipe curtly replies.

  “Does Marshall know about this?” Whitney questions loudly.

  “I don’t need permission from Marshall, besides everything is going as planned…”

  I hear only the first part of what Phillipe yells back as I reach the end of the hall. Once in the kitchen, I am breathing heavily. My gut tells me I need to quit. That there is something not right about this whole situation and that perhaps there is some illegal activity going on but my heart is saying, this is your dream, if you stay out of everyone’s way it will be okay. I breathe in deeply, trying to calm down. The reality is, if I left now, without any specific reason why, I would never get an executive chef position anywhere. People will say I quit because I couldn’t handle the pressure of the position, and without any proof of anything shady going on, I couldn’t tell them they were wrong. I close my eyes for a moment and breathe out softly.

  “Just stick it out, you can do this!”

  ~*~

  I pull the stick out of the bun that was holding my hair in place and toss my bag down next to the couch before falling onto the cushions, drawing my arm over my eyes. My head is still spinning from the day. Whitney had sounded pissed when I left her with Phillipe so there was no way I was sticking around to see what came of that. I did a quick inventory of my supplies and went off to the fisherman’s market and then to one of the local merchants to shop for the rest of what I would need. That took most of the day; well, let’s just say that I made it take most of the day. At least tomorrow I will be really busy. I will be going over the specials with my line chefs so that they will be prepared for Thursday’s dinner service. As I’m replaying the events of the day in my head, I hear the door open and then the distinct sound of kissing. I roll my eyes and then smile. I swear those two are something else.

  “You know I’m in the room, right,” I say waving my hand up so they know where I am.

  “Sorry, Dominique,” Jackson answers remorsefully.

  I hear kissing again and a moment later Jackson is mumbling that he will see Santiago tomorrow before I hear a few more quick kisses. I suddenly get an idea and sit straight up, catching the two of them hugging each other tightly. God! They are so cute together.

  “Jackson, wait, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  He looks at Santiago, who shrugs, and then turns to me. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

  They walk over to the love-seat and sit down. Santiago is looking at me strangely as well. I haven’t had a chance to tell him about the latest incident. In truth, I need to talk to someone about the stuff happening at work, and who better than a cop. Maybe he can look into it for me and ease my mind a bit. Well, I suppose it could make me feel worse depending on what he comes up with. I shake my head slightly. I need to know what’s going on.

  “How can I help you, Dominique?” Jackson asks, drawing my attention to him.

  “I don’t know if Santiago has told you anything about the owners of Le Creole and what’s been going on there,” I ask hesitantly.

  I glance at Santiago who is shaking his head. I smile. My friend through and through. I am not surprised he hasn’t said anything. Of course, this is the one time I sort of wish he would have. I’ve told him some of the things going on but not everything and I think it’s time that I come clean about it all.

  “He hasn’t,” he says, squeezing Santiago’s hand.

  “You’re not mad are you?” Santiago asks him nervously.

  He shakes his head and then looks at me seriously. “What’s going on, Dominique?”

  I shake my leg nervously. “Phillipe has been hitting on me since I started, but that I can handle. What I can’t handle is Marshall and Whitney, who have been openly hostile to me since I started working at the restaurant.” I swallow and take a deep breath before continuing. “Then today something really weird happened that kind of stressed me out a bit and made my skin crawl.”

  “What happened?” Santiago asks concerned.

  “I mean, it could just be me being paranoid but it was definitely strange.”

  They are both sitting up straight as I begin to tell them everything that transpired, not just today, but in the past two and half weeks, about how Marshall has acted around me and Whitney’s subsequent disdain, about the argument I heard today between Marshall and Phillipe and then Phillipe and Whitney. Finally, I told them everything about the vault I saw in Phillipe’s office that’s stacked with cash that looks like it came from a bank and how he had given me a bundle of crisp hundred dollar bills to spend on food. Santiago reaches over and slaps my leg before sitting beside me.

  “Why didn’t you tell me all of this?” he asks, and I can see the hurt in his eyes.

  “I told you most of it.” I reply sheepishly and then look down when it’s clear that wasn’t what he meant. “I wanted to, but I swear, I thought it was just me. I’m sorry. Are you mad at me?” I lean against him.

  He squeezes my shoulders and kisses the top of my head. “Heck yeah, I am. If I had known all this was going on I would have gone over there and smacked pretty eyes in the head.”

  I can’t help but giggle as I sit back up and look at Jackson. “What do you think?”

  “Do you have any more of those bills?” he asks and I’ve never seen him look so serious in the entire time I’ve known him.

  “Um, yeah, hold on.”

  I drag my bag around the couch and dig through it until I find the envelope that I put the cash Phillipe gave me in. I pull out one of the hundreds and hand it to him. He takes it and walks over to the lamp, moving and twisting it, checking to see if it is counterfeit, I would imagine. Oh snap! What if it is? I start chewing on my lip as my stomach lurches. If it is, I have been passing counterfeit money to local merchants. Does that make me complicit in this?

  “It appears to be real,” he announces and my stomach stops doing back flips. “Were they in sequential order?” he continues.

  “What?” I ask, still reeling from my possible involvement in illegal activities.

  “Are the numbers on the bills in order?” he clarifies.

  “Oh, umm, I don’t know. I didn’t check. Hold on.” I once again look through the envelope and do see that they indeed are sequential so I nod at him. “What does that mean, that they’re sequential?”

  “It could mean nothing or it could mean something. I don’t know yet. Tell you what. I will run these numbers through the data bank and see if I get a hit. I will also do a background check on the three owners, see if they have a record or not.”

  I nod, relieved. “Thank you, Jackson. What do you think I should do now though?”

  “Avoid them as best as you can, try not to be alone with any of them until I have some information, and, mostly, don’t worry. If something illegal is going on t
hey will sense your unease. Do you think you can do that? Otherwise I would say call in.”

  “WHAT! There is no way I’m calling in. I have responsibilities and for all I know I am being totally paranoid. I avoided them all when I went back to the kitchen today and tomorrow will be easier because my line chefs will be with me.”

  “Okay, that’s good then,” he says with a nod. “Give me the full names of the owners and let me record the serial numbers on the remaining hundreds as well,” Jackson says, pulling out a little notepad from his jacket pocket.

  Who the heck carries a notepad in their jacket pocket? I think to myself and chuckle lightly. A cop who plans on becoming a detective one day, that’s who. I take a deep and cleansing breath, already feeling a little better that at least I said something. I would hate for my first opportunity to show the world what I can do as a chef be marred by the fact that the owners may be criminals.

  “Jackson.” He looks up at me, his pen hovering over his notepad. “Thank you for helping me.”

  “You’re welcome, Dominique. Now,” he taps his pen on the pad. “What are the owner’s names?”

  9 Eating Crow

  Valentino Masterson

  June 27th

  “Tino, where are you?” Claire whines immediately.

  “I'm on my way, Claire bear,” I say quickly. “In fact, I’m in my car right now.”

  “Hurry, daddy said we’re going to leave without you,” she says in a near panic.

  “He’s just teasing you, Claire bear,” I reassure her. “I promise, I’m only twenty minutes away.”

  “He’s twenty minutes away,” I hear her yell over the phone before talking to me again. “I love you, Tino. I don’t want to go without you.”

  “I’ll be there. Tell dad not to leave without me,” I say laughing.

  “Don’t leave without Tino,” I hear her say as she hangs up.

  I jump up, startled. My fingers fumble with the light as I reach around the nightstand in search of my cigarettes. Sleep has not come easy for me. Bad dreams have plagued my subconscious since I laid my head down. Rolling my shoulders, I rub my lids with my fingers while I draw in a long drag. Glancing at my clock, I sigh, five in the morning. There’s no point in trying to get back to sleep since its obvious my mind won’t shut off long enough to do it.

  Sliding out of bed, I head to the bathroom to look at my reflection. The lack of sleep is starting to take its toll. The bags under my eyes are heavy and dark, while the stubble on my face looks rugged and the small amount of hair on my head that is growing back is unkempt and sticking up in all directions, making me look like some sort of disheveled prisoner of war. I run my hand over my hair before digging the clippers and my shaver out of my drawer.

  “Tino, are you sure you can make it tomorrow?”

  I smile and ruffle her hair. “I will make it, I promise.”

  “Will you make it on time?” she asks, quirking her eyebrow.

  “You know, this little eyebrow thing you’re doing doesn’t work on me, kiddo.”

  “How about this?” she says as she quirks her other brow and places her hands on her hips before breaking into a fit of giggles as I start tickling her.

  The sound of the razor dropping onto the counter startles me as my hands drop onto the edge of the counter, expelling the contents of my stomach in the sink. By the time I’m done, my head feels as if it’s in a whirlwind. I’m not sure whether it’s because of the events of tonight or the events of six years ago. I strip quickly and jump in the shower.

  “Get it together, Masterson!” I mumble to myself.

  An hour and a half later, I am in my team room, looking over the data we have collected so far. Adding the names of the people who were there last night, leaving room to figure out what their role is in all of this. Obviously, they are buyers, but what exactly are they buying? Most definitely not drugs, which is going to piss Carmine off. I take a seat and am watching the board when I find myself dozing off.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” I hear Anderson yell from the doorway.

  I practically fall out of the chair, but recover and jump to my feet. I blink several times, realizing where I am and that I am face to face with my area director who looks fit to be tied. I am momentarily stunned by the look of pure rage before me but then stand my ground.

  “I had reason to believe that an exchange was happening. I had to investigate.”

  “I gave you a direct order not to go in there.” He takes two quick strides and is in front of me. “I asked if you understood that order and you said yes.”

  “I did understand, sir. I just didn’t agree with you,” I reply as calmly as I can.

  “You didn’t agree with me?” Anderson takes a step back and I swear it looks as if he is ready to deck me.

  “Agent Paulson had legitimate reason to believe…” I start but Anderson narrows his eyes.

  “Can it, Masterson. You assured me that there would be none of your vigilante bullshit on this case, yet here we are, and I’m stuck trying to clean up your mess,” he yells, his face turning darker while the veins in his neck begin to pulse. “My ass is riding on the line, as is yours and your entire team. There is a lot at stake and all you can think about is yourself and your vendetta against Enrico. You’re gonna get yourself killed or worse,” he pushes past me to examine the board, “get someone on your team killed. Is that what you want?” he asks as he turns to stare at me with steely eyes.

  I don’t say anything. What am I supposed to say? Yeah, you’re right, I’m a selfish jerk and I could have gotten my entire team shot last night. I already know that. I turn and start pacing in the room, stopping at the window and placing my hands on the ledge. I look at the city, alive beneath me, but I feel dead inside. I pinch my eyes shut, trying to get the images of my family out of my head but I can’t. I should have killed Enrico when I had the chance. I breathe in deeply and glance at my hands, seeing that they are shaking again. The ringing in my ears makes it difficult to focus and my knees feel as if they can no longer support my weight. The doctor the bureau made me see before I could return to work told me it was a PTSD response from witnessing my family’s death. He said it wouldn’t go away until I ‘worked through it’. Whatever the heck that means.

  “Agent Masterson, are you okay?”

  I blink several times, as my mind and body start to settle down. I take a steadying breath before I finally start speaking. “Look, I know you’re probably going to suspend me but my team is not at fault here. This was my decision. They were only there to look after me,” I say to the window. I don’t hear anything so I turn to face him. “My team is good. They know what they’re doing, maybe they just need a better leader,” I finish, taking another deep breath.

  He crosses his arms and I prepare for the worst. He stares at me for the longest time. Long enough to make me feel uncomfortable. If he’s canning me, I wish he would just do it versus making me stand here wondering. His facial features change slightly before he turns to the board again.

  “What did you find out?” he finally asks, and it seems my berating is done.

  “We found a shell casing underneath the poker table that doesn’t belong to any weapon I have seen before. There were three people there aside from Enrico, Gino, Aryana and a new guard we have identified as Tony Martin. Two of the additional men were from Chicago but I don’t know one of them and the other was from Nebraska.”

  “Who were they?” he asks, keeping his arms crossed, for emphasis I presume.

  “Marshall Winston and David Fisher are the guys from Chicago and then the guy from Omaha is a man named Jeff Stenson, who Hoffman identified as a well-known gun trafficker in Nebraska.”

  “Fisher free-lances, but the last I heard, he was doing some work for the Russian mob. I’ve never heard of Winston though. What’s your running theory?”

  “That they were there to make a gun buy. They realized we were coming and hid everything but they were in a hurry and missed the one s
hell.” I walk over to stand beside him. He glances at me when I do. “I don’t think this is about drugs, which concerns me, because it appears that Enrico is going behind Carmine’s back and that will cause a riff between the brothers that won’t end well.”

  “I expect a full report on my desk by the end of business today.”

  I nod, realizing that maybe I’m not fired after all.

  “Get your act together, Masterson. This is your last chance,” he says before turning and marching out the door past Clayton and Jeff.

  “What happened?” Jeff asks.

  “Tell me you’re still on the case?” Clayton adds and I can see the worry on his face.

  I nod. “Yeah, I’m still on. He’s giving me another chance to mess up,” I say with a slight smirk.

  “Hell yeah!” Jeff shouts.

  “Right on!” Clayton adds with a beaming smile.

  I laugh as we start to head towards morning debriefing. Zach and Michelle both turn to me and they are also grinning. The guys and I join them, laughing a bit. I never thought I would be a part of a team and actually enjoy it, but I do. Anderson clears his throat and all the murmuring in the room ceases.

  “Agent Masterson, will you please apprise every one of what you and your team discovered last night,” he says with no emotional inflection in his voice.

  “Yes, sir,” I rise and begin addressing the room. “While on surveillance, my team and I discovered some new information related to Enrico Sicignano.”

  Everyone in the room turns to me as my team sits proudly. I proceed to tell the room what we discovered. The new players that were identified and that the case seems to be centered on weapons, making it one-hundred percent our case, which everyone is happy about. We may work well with our FBI brethren, but we all want this. When we leave to go back to our office, we get a lot of ‘great jobs’ from people, something I never anticipated getting and I’m starting to feel confident that we are getting very close to nailing Enrico.

  The rest of the day was draining to say the least. Clayton made some calls and we are seventy percent sure the shell casing under the table comes from the gun currently being manufactured overseas. We gathered all the Intel we could on the three people with Enrico last night. Stenson is definitely bad news. I can see why Clayton wanted to take him out last night. He is the primary dealer for several local gangs in Omaha and Lincoln, but he always slithers out of a conviction. Anderson was right about Fisher as well. He is connected to the Russian mob, specifically the Komarovski family. Those Russians are brutal as is, I can’t imagine the havoc they would cause if they had a weapon like this. Winston, we found nothing on, which makes him the most dangerous of the bunch since we aren’t sure of his role in the whole thing.