Dirty Trouble Read online

  In the kitchen, he set the coffee pot to perk and leaned against the counter, arms folded in thought. This stance was common when something bothered him and it caused me to wonder if I’d be in for a grilling session.

  Cops are like pit bulls. They sink their teeth into a theory, rattle it around a while, and hang on until something shakes loose. When whatever that is, comes to light, they act on it. Sometimes that’s a good thing and sometimes it’s not. I was unsure of what Marcus was thinking at the moment. While I have an extremely curious nature, I wasn’t inclined to ask.

  Rhode Island State Trooper, Marcus Richmond had been on the force about fifteen years. Headquarters for this paramilitary group lay about a quarter mile from where I lived. Stationed out of that unit, Marcus cruised by my house often.

  “Will you be all right here alone? Marcus asked. “Should I call someone to stay with you?”

  Whatever he had on his mind would remain a secret until he decided to share it. Curiosity over needing to know his thoughts pressured me. I struggled hard to keep it under control.

  “I’m fine, I don’t need a babysitter. I promise to take things easy.” My fingers crossed under the counter – I lied. To stay inside on a gorgeous day like this, even though I had a close call, would be foolish by any standards. After all, I hadn’t been injured, except for my sore collarbone.

  “If you’re sure, then I have to get back on the road. The major will have a fit if he finds out I’m goofing off. Besides, I’m pulling a double shift and have to go to Newport tonight with the governor.” He kissed me before he left the house.

  After Marcus drove away, I puttered around the house doing odd bits of stuff until I could no longer tolerate being cooped up. With my jacket on, I headed up the street on foot. I figured walking was good exercise, and surely I wouldn’t get into any trouble doing that? My life is full of surprises, though, and there was nothing mundane about it.

  Chapter 2

  October in western Rhode Island is a splendid time I realized as I walked through the village. Leaves from large elm and maple trees cluttered the yards of the gigantic historic homes. Bits of their brilliant orange, rusty brown, rich red, and luscious yellow colors clustered on branches and snuggled around the bases of hundred-year-old trees. Lovely antique dwellings lined the main drag in the quaint village of Scituate, pronounced sit-chew-it. The two-story Colonial, bequeathed to me by my deceased Aunt Lavinia, nestled among them.

  It was quiet even though I figured the odd leaf peeper would be out. They must have all been shopping instead. The upcoming art festival, held on Columbus Day weekend, meant several thousand people would trample through the village. They’d wander into yards and make a general nuisance of themselves. Those of us living here accepted the onslaught of city folk with a wry sense of humor, and hoped for the best.

  These thoughts fluttered through my mind as I walked, breathing in the fresh, cool air of autumn. I walked a mile or so and passed the local fire station on the outskirts of town as I headed toward home. The barbershop lay to my left. Several cars lined the street curb and two more nestled together in the tiny parking area. One of the vehicles was a grey Crown Victoria, the usual patrol car of the Rhode Island State Police. A trooper was getting a buzz cut.

  A battered old pickup truck slowed to a crawl and crept past me. At the edge of the barbershop’s lot, I glanced at the truck, failed to recognize the driver, and kept on walking. The man pulled over and left the vehicle.

  The scruffy-bearded, shaggy-mopped, raggedy-assed looking man called my name. I stopped mid-stride. Disbelief registered as I hesitated in front of the full glass window of the barbershop. Frozen in place by the sound of his voice, I turned to stare. He moved toward me. My senses filled with apprehension. His dark-eyed gaze roamed my body.

  His brown eyes took in my long legs and meandered back to my face, stopping at my chest for a second. It took a moment to breathe normally as trepidation shadowed every inch of my being. For two years, I had managed to forget this creep. Yet here he stood, right in front of me. How much luckier could I get, a car accident and this creep, both in the same day?

  “Hey Vinnie. It’s been a long time. I can’t believe my good fortune. How’ve ya been?” Tony’s gravelly voice preceded a grin showing teeth that hadn’t seen a toothbrush in a while.

  I could swear he’d spit tobacco juice onto the sidewalk any second. Strange as it seemed, I was at a loss for words. Yeah, I know that sounds impossible, but there it is. My mouth gaped open like a fish out of water. Nothing good came to mind, so why speak?

  “Well, aren’t ya glad to see me?” he asked with a smarmy grin.

  I swallowed. “I must say I’m surprised. I didn’t recognize you right away. How have you been, Tony?” Surprise didn’t cover the fact that I hadn’t recognized this creep. It had been forever since he crossed my mind along with the problems he created for me two years ago.

  “You’re lookin’ great, but then you always have.” Tony’s gaze slithered over my torso once again.

  I edged away from him as the barbershop door opened and closed. I heard footsteps and the voice of a man.

  “Hi Vinnie, how are you?” the man asked as he drew near.

  My glance slid toward the man, and I smiled in relief at the state trooper. He smiled back and then turned toward Tony. It was an act of God that this man had been in the barbershop, even though I didn’t know who the guy was.

  “I’m great, how are you?”

  Tony stood three feet away and took in the scene. He shuffled a bit, but stood his ground. Apparently he wanted to say something else.

  The trooper watched him a moment and then turned back to me.

  “I just spoke to Marcus. He mentioned you two are having dinner tonight. Maybe I’ll stop by later, if you don’t mind?” He lied real well, too.

  I nodded and said, “Yes, please do. We’d be happy to have you.” I glanced at Tony and then back at the trooper. “I’m sorry. I should introduce you to an old acquaintance of mine. This is Tony DeGreico.”

  The trooper dipped his hat-covered, buzz-cut head, and said, “Trooper Jonah Franklin.”

  Tony’s glance slid between the trooper and me. His eyes narrowed. Neither man extended a hand to shake.

  “Well, nice to meet you Trooper Franklin.”

  Unsure whether he realized I didn’t know this trooper, or if something else went on behind those sleazy eyes, I waited to see what would happen next.

  Jonah stood at my side for a few seconds after the introduction. “Things are all right with you, Vinnie?”

  “Yeah, fine. Tony just stopped to say hello, and I didn’t recognize him right away. It’s been a while since we’ve seen one another, isn’t that right?”

  “Yeah, we were tight a few years ago, but our friendship took a turn. We went our own ways, didn’t we?” His smile, more like a sneer, caused me to shuffle my feet.

  Anxious to keep him at a distance, I nodded.

  I glanced into Jonah’s eyes. They held a questioning look, but I didn’t offer an explanation. He held my gaze for a few seconds before he bid us goodbye. As Jonah entered the car, I felt my life raft drift away. It was then I knew I’d have to deal with this sleazoid alone.

  A smile crossed Jonah’s face and he waved as the Crown Vic pulled into traffic. The trooper ascertained there was no immediate danger and left me to handle things on my own. Thanks a lot, buddy.

  Tony scuffed his feet in the gritty sand on the sidewalk as he glanced around and scratched his scruffy beard. It entered my mind that there might be vermin in there, and I stifled a shudder.

  A grubby baseball cap rode the mop of bedraggled, matted hair. Again, I wondered what he’d been doing to let his appearance go to hell this way. The old Tony would never have looked or smelled this bad. Was that odor horse manure or a new men’s fragrance?

  “So what have you been up to, Tony?” Not that I cared, but avid curiosity overcomes me at the worst moments. I figured this was one of them
.

  “After I got out of the booby hatch I couldn’t get a good job, so I went to work at a horse farm. I shovel shit now, thanks to you.”

  With a shrug, I stared at him for a few seconds. No sense to deny I had anything to do with his mental incapacity plea. He wouldn’t believe it anyway.

  “At what farm do you shovel this shit?” I asked, in hope that it was a farm far, far away. I knew there’d be no such luck.

  “In Foster. There’s a horse farm along Hickory Road and the owner needed some help. My social worker got me the job and I live there in the stable apartment. Big switch from my former life, eh?” His eyes turned fierce.

  “Indeed. It’s good to see that you’re doing well, though.” Sidling down the sidewalk toward home, I wished him well and started to turn away.

  “Things could be better, Vinnie, and I haven’t been able to forget how you helped change my life. I’ll try to repay you somehow.” He called, and cackled a bit.

  Thank goodness Hickory Road was over ten miles west from my house. It meant the chances of running into the nutball would be next to none. Hickory Road, an agricultural section of the town of Foster, borders the Connecticut State Line. I rarely ventured into that section of the town. The slim chance of any interaction with this man was a comfort.

  In an effort to end the conversation, I hurried away, almost at a dead run. He gave me the creeps and I couldn’t shake the sense that this wasn’t my last encounter with the ‘nutter.’ Maybe my overactive imagination was on a rampage, but somehow, it didn’t seem so.

  I hustled across the street and approached my home.

  The phone jingled its tune as I entered the house through the side door. I quickly stepped to the counter and grabbed the receiver off the charger to answer the call.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, it’s your mother. Where have you been? I’ve been calling for over an hour? Did your classes run longer than usual today?”

  My mother, Bake Sale Queen and Chocolate Maker Extraordinaire, sounded a bit out of sorts. Now what had I done, or not done? Was this about the accident?

  “No, they didn’t,” I lied. “I took a walk and got waylaid coming back to the house. What’s up, Mom? Is there a problem?”

  “You’re Aunt Mafalda is in a snit, and I need your help.”

  “Aunt Muffy? What’s happened?” My aunt, the dater of mob-connected men, made life interesting for everyone except me. “Can you give me some idea of what the snit is about?”

  “She and her new flame have been hauled to jail and she’s called to see if you can get them out.”

  With a deep sigh, I paced the kitchen while my mind flew over the possibilities. Without information, I couldn’t help Muffy and hoped my mother would be more forthcoming.

  “Why were they lugged?”

  “It seems Antonio has been charged with racketeering and since Muffy was with him, she’s been charged as well.” Her voice hitched as she explained and I could envision her stress level at the overflow mark.

  “Where are they being held? What police station?” I asked, then dragged fresh jeans and a sweater from the dresser and charged into the bathroom to change.

  “They’re at the Providence Police Department. What can you do, dear?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll head down there now.” Good grief. What was I, a miracle worker?

  My mother uttered her thanks and disconnected the call. I set the phone down, then changed my clothes. Somehow, my encounter with Tony left me feeling soiled.

  My Aunt Mafalda, ‘Muffy’ Ciano was the divorced mother of four grown children. They moved as far away from Rhode Island and Auntie as they could without leaving the country. Their father – bless his dead soul – was a smalltime hood from the Italian neighborhood of Federal Hill, in Providence. In the old days, the Hill gained fame as the hangout of a major crime boss and his crew of cutthroats, hustlers, and enforcers.

  Once the FBI and the state police cleaned up the neighborhood, Federal Hill became a tourist trap for those who got a thrill from sitting in a ‘tratoria’ on the Hill. It gave the fools a charge to visit a place where there had been a cold-blooded hit by mob enforcers. Go figure!

  I called my best friend Lola, to ask if I could borrow her car. With a brief explanation of why I needed to do so, she readily agreed to let me take the MINI Cooper.

  I was ready to leave when a knock sounded on the door. Aaron Grant, my upstairs tenant and an undercover FBI agent, strode into the house with a bag of sandwiches from the Salt & Pepper Deli on the corner. Lola owns the deli that serves the most scrumptious food imaginable. Aaron glanced at my face and stopped short.

  “What’s happened now? You have an anxious look on your face, Vin.”

  Dressed in khakis and a knit jersey, he looked as delectable as I knew the food was.

  “My mother just called and said my aunt has been lugged by the Providence Police Department,” I said stuffing my feet into sneakers.

  Thick, dark eyebrows shot up over warm chocolate brown eyes in the handsome face. He tossed the bag onto the counter. Aaron’s professional wrestler-sized frame leaned against the door casing and he folded muscle-bound arms across his massive chest. His tan skin and dark hair enhanced his easy sparkling smile. He reminded me of The Rock, a famous wrestler, turned movie star.

  I stopped what I was doing and stared, “You know about this, don’t you?”

  “I didn’t realize the woman with the ‘perp’ was your aunt. She’s in trouble, Vin. Resisting arrest is a serious offense.”

  “You don’t say?” I rolled my eyes. “She resisted arrest, huh? Just how did that happen?”

  “When the officers attempted to take Antonio down, she stepped up and gave them a verbal beating. A real tongue lashing, from what I understand.” Aaron chuckled a bit. “They tried to put her aside and she refused to allow it. The cops cuffed them both and took them to the station.”

  “Great, just what I need. My aunt, the Mafia Moll.” I rolled my eyes. “Cripes, she’s in her sixties for God’s sake. I don’t suppose you can help me out, eh?”

  “No, I’m afraid it’s in the PPD’s hands at the moment.”

  “Well, in that case, I’ve got to go. Sorry.”

  “Right. Come upstairs when you get back. You haven’t seen some of the place since I moved my stuff in. These sandwiches will wait, unless Marcus will be here tonight?”

  “No, he’s on duty in Newport with the governor. Save me some food, and I’ll see you later.”

  “Sure, I have an important matter to discuss with you. By the way, where’s your car?”

  “That’s another story, but I haven’t the time to get into it right now. We’ll talk when I get home.”

  In a rush, I brushed past and left him to lock up on the way out. I hustled to the deli on the corner down the street and drove Lola’s MINI Cooper to Providence.

  Chapter 3

  The two men in my life, Aaron Grant and Marcus Richmond, are both gorgeous to a fault, arrogant, and involved in law enforcement. Marcus saved my life not long ago, and gets testy with me on occasion. Though I can’t mind my own business, and I’m a thickheaded Italian woman, I think he loves me anyway.

  My tenant, Aaron, a cool dude with a warm heart, never makes emotional demands on me. I consider him more friend than anything else, and never let his undercover FBI status interfere with my unconventional life and Italian family. Marcus, on the other hand, raises my blood pressure with just a glance and though deep down, he really accepts me, is always in my face about my behavior and my family.

  I’m unfortunate enough to have an inner voice that screams at me constantly with dire warnings of the dangers of personal involvement with law enforcement agents. It rants on about how I’ll only be hurt by a cop, a cop of any kind. For the most part, I ignore it. I was good about remaining romantically uninvolved with cops in the past, until I met Marcus.

  It’s been a challenge since I’m a Criminal Justice instructor at a local univers
ity and teach law enforcement officers of all types. Two Point Fives, real Five-Os, ‘flashlight cops’, and ‘wannabes’ participate in my programs every day of the school year. The Two-Point-Fives and ‘flashlight cops’ – nicknamed such by real cops – are security personnel from all walks of life.

  Real Five-Os are the cops who patrol the streets to keep the American public safe. Wannabes are future recruits who further their careers in law enforcement through education while they wait for an opportunity to test for the police department. They’re a gregarious group of people, men and women alike. Coarse, crude, funny, protective, and dangerous are the descriptive terms I use for them.

  They share theories and get involved in classroom discussions to the point where yelling becomes a common occurrence. Sometimes things run out of control, but they blow over, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I often consider my job to be that of adult babysitter rather than instructor of Criminal Justice.

  As I cruised along the highway into Providence, I turned toward the newly built police department complex. I lucked out when I pulled into the lot. One skinny slot stood open, and I squeezed the small car into it. An available parking spot was an incredible find.

  Locking the doors, I edged sideways between the other cars to get out into the lot. It’s a good thing I’m tall and lean. When I glanced back, I realized the passenger side of the car was nearly up against the cruiser next to it. With a shrug, I hustled into the police station.

  Once inside, it was necessary to pass through metal detectors, where Officer Fernando Petronio stood guard. ‘Nando’, currently enrolled in one of my classes, grinned when he saw me. These guys never pass up a chance to act out, so I knew he’d put me through my paces. He’d go through my purse and probably search me if the alarm went off when I went through the detector.

  “Step up and place your bag on the counter, ma’am.” He grinned.