Chapter 19
Ellie
The crime scene tape on my apartment was tattered.
I stared at it wondering why Ringo hadn’t told me anything.
Two reasons came to mind. The most obvious was that he was protecting me.
But that didn’t make sense because the police had to know whose building this was, and who lived in that unit.
Right? Which also meant that this was somehow connected to him and the organizations he worked with. A.K.A., point two.
“Hey Ellie, everything okay?” My neighbor gestured toward the tape barricading my former home.
I smiled and waved at him. “Just evicting a honey badger who took up residence. No big.”
“I hear those things are vicious.”
“They’ll tear your face off if you get too close.” I shot back, keeping the banter going. He probably thought I was the weirdest chick on the planet. Which was just fine. “You didn’t hear the commotion, did you?”
“Naw, I’ve been working doubles lately. I was doing an overnight at the hospital, came home and saw the tape. Sorry about your window.”
Window, right. The boarded-up plywood covered my entire sliding glass door opening. “Thanks.”
He toddled off, clueless.
I stepped over the little wrought-iron fence and examined the damage. Someone had swept up the glass, but there were little glittery pebbles stuck in the crack between the building foundation and the concrete slab I called a patio. My home would be a tomb without the light coming in.
“Hey, Ellie.”
I turned to see which nosy neighbor was hailing me now and stopped short.
Bridget Perkins, former FBI agent—my ass she was a former one—stood in the parking lot. “Did you get reinstated?”
Her face darkened. “Bastards.” She followed that with a cheerier, “What happened here?”
She knew where I lived. I made a mental note to pack all my shit and move it into Ringo’s condo on the lakefront. At least that building had a guard in the lobby. “Squirrels.”
Bridget stared at the plywood behind me. “Awfully big squirrels.”
I shrugged. “Yup. About the size of a small dog. Jumped off the second balcony, saw its reflection and wanted a piece of that, then hit the glass with his dick angled just right and shattered the whole thing.”
She chewed on that for a beat. “I’ve read your file.”
Shit. She’d know about the tall tales then. “What do you think happened?”
With a scan of the lot and the building she spoke. “Johnny Porciello got angry you dumped him at the altar and is stalking you. He’s escalating, isn’t he?”
I bit my lip. The pain voided out the little jitters that had started working their way from my spine to my knees. “I wouldn’t know.”
Her approach stopped short of the little fence, giving me the illusion of safety. But in reality, I was trapped. “You’ve been staying with one Ringo Devlin.”
“You make him sound like a perp.” I laughed, trying to make light of it.
“Isn’t he one?”
“Why did they fire you again?”
The calculating look on her face froze. “Invite me in, I’ll tell you all about it. You won’t even have to get me drunk this time.”
“Ah, a cheap date. Gotta love that.”
“I’m serious, Ellie. You may think you know what’s going on, but it is a lot bigger than you realize.”
There was an art to smiling without artifice when your entire body wanted to run. I’d perfected it by the time I was ten. “Invite you in… I don’t know. Don’t you need a warrant?”
“I’m jobless. That doesn’t mean I can’t warn you. In fact, I’d say I’m in a unique position to warn you about the mistake you’re making. Your call.” She motioned to the door.
Reluctantly, I stepped over the fence, swiped my card over the reader and entered the lobby with Bridget on my heels. I stopped at the door. That had crime tape on it, too. “Is it even legal to go in?”
“For the owner of the building and the tenant, yes.”
Well. Both of those peeps were me. “Fair warning, I don’t even know what I’m facing here. I bet the house is a mess.”
Bridget put a hand in the space between me and the door. “Hang on.” She pulled a small revolver out of a concealed holster.
I took two steps back. My hands shook, and my knees threatened to buckle.
The memory of Johnny pulling a gun on me overrode all the other times I’d seen one.
Ringo’s friends thought they were must-have fashion accessories.
That didn’t make me like them any better. At least they never pointed them at me.
“Relax, this is my personal firearm. I’m licensed.”
My hands were in the air. “I don’t like guns.” Or knives, or garrotes, or anything else Ringo and his friends carried. Even flame throwers.
“Just wait here until I clear the unit, okay? Trust me.”
There was too much gibbering in my head to reply. I handed her the key and let her do her schtick. She returned a few minutes later.
“Well?” I didn’t want to look. My home had been violated, not once, but twice.
“Looks fine. Other than the window, I don’t see a thing wrong.
It took an act of will to step over the threshold. No wonder Ringo hadn’t told me about any of this. He must have figured out I would freak.
Inside, I took a breath. A lot was out of place. It looked more like a show home than the place I’d adopted, nurtured, and smeared my thumbprints all over. My non-PG cross-stitched pillows were gone. Someone replaced them with artfully coordinated teal pillows.
Teal.
I wanted to puke.
My mug collection?
At least some of them were still on the shelves. But there were books strategically placed between the more mundane pieces.
As if I read books that color-coordinated with the furniture? “This isn’t my home.”
“What?” Bridget asked. She looked around. “What’s wrong with it? I think you have a nice house.”
I’d see about that. I stomped into the bedroom, the scene of Johnny’s scissor tantrum and sludge fest.
A brand-new Wayfair bed with padded headboard dominated the space.
The sheets were slightly rumpled, as if someone had lain on top of the piece, but otherwise, it was a study in beige.
Allie would love this. I made a mental note to have it moved to her place and replace her utilitarian twin mattress that she’d kept since Mom got rid of the bunk beds.
Bridget followed me in.
“See this? Does it look like me?”
Her caution was understandable. “What looks like you?”
“Up until about a week ago. I had three pillows with the word ‘fuck’ embroidered on them.”
Oh shit.
I ran to the kitchen.
My little sugar bowl had been turned around so only the white side faced outward.
A nice little bouquet of flowers should have graced the table, but they were wilting something fierce.
The petals fell off as I moved it to the sink.
I set the vase down and turned the bowl around so Bridget could see the word on it.
“Cocaine?” She picked up the bowl, dipped a finger in and tasted. “Cute.”
“See? That’s me. The rest of this? Nope.”
“What happened?”
“Johnny Pornstach.”
It took her all of two seconds to work out the nickname in her head. “Man, if I were still on payroll, the guys wouldn’t believe that you call him that. Not a single one of them would be able to say ‘Porciello’ again. Damn.”
“My sister thought of it.”
“Allie? I thought she was the nice one.”
I laughed. “Wow. You realize that’s an act, right?” I rummaged through the cabinets, finding all my worst mugs hidden on the top shelf, and brand-new packages of food everywhere.
Not a single pantry item was missing, but it was all new. Ringo’s connection was thorough. I appreciated the thoughtfulness of it. I rinsed the coffee maker carafe and measured the water. “You drink coffee?”
“I might have lost my badge but I didn’t lose my mind. Double up on caffeine if you can. Please?”
“Firehouse brew coming up.”
While I wanted for the carafe to fill, I rearranged the artful cups with my staples.
In the process, I found a T-rex mug that made me laugh.
Kat got me that one. Allie got me an orange and white mug that looked like a prescription bottle.
The large text on it said “coffee.” I handed that one to Bridget.
Even the refrigerator had been restocked. “I love being a kept woman.”
And I forgot I had company.
“Who’s your sugar daddy?”
I set the cream down next to Bridget. She could open it and smell to see if it was off or not. “Ringo Devlin.”
Her reaction wasn’t as shocked as I expected. “About him.”
“Let’s not, we’re not girlfriends.”
“Out of former professional courtesy, you do realize he has dubious friends, right?”
“You mean Mario, my sister’s husband?”
Bridget made a noise. “Let’s start there. Mario Valentini. Son of Italy’s trade minister, Nicolo Valentini. His mother was the daughter of Graziano Manca, one of the most notorious crime figures in Sardinia.
“And your friend, Ringo, spends a lot of time there.”
“How thick is the file on my grandfather?”
Bridget raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, is it as thick, or thicker than the files you have on Mario and his family? I’m curious.”
She clammed up.
“Because I would guess my grandfather’s file, or files have to be at least five, six-seven binders full.
Probably more. And yet, he never served any time in prison, never was brought up on charges.
He filed his taxes religiously, and even after seventeen lawsuits, I’m a still getting my trust monies. Why is that?”
I didn’t let her talk. “I’ll tell you. Because the mob? It’s gone legit. They got tired of going to jail. And people like my grandfather helped them do that. And now? You don’t have shit on any of them.”
“Why did five members of the Conti crime organization go missing four days ago?”
“Who?”
“Never mind. What I’m saying is that Mario, his family, and his friends, are rumored to be elite hitmen. The kind they make movies out of. And within a couple of days of Ringo Devlin arriving in Chicago, five criminals disappear.”
I was going to strangle that bastard.
“And, we can’t seem to find your ex.” She tipped her head as if to convey some pointed message.
And, yes, I got the words loud and clear. I had a newly decorated apartment, brand new bed so fresh it still smelled like the warehouse, and an assassin boyfriend who was the jealous sort. Of course, Bridget didn’t know that part.
“Let’s talk about my ex. Why can’t you find him, and what did he do that you want to find him?” I asked.
She didn’t mince words. “He killed Adelmo Conti. His accomplice in that murder was Adelmo’s sister, Dianora Conti.
She’s being held in Italy for the murder of her father.
It appears she attempted a coup. But then, as her father lingered on his deathbed, he changes his will and names one…
I kid you not on this…one Ringo Devlin as his illegitimate son and orders the American holdings transferred to his name.
“You’re in this thick, Ellie. I wish I knew why.”
That would make two of us. “I get it, I’m some criminal mastermind using the bar as a front. Right?”
“No, the bar is legit. Either that, or you’ve built up a hell of a cover story. I mean, winning the lottery, that’s hard to fake.”
Because it wasn’t faked. I’d been so frightened of losing Jaja’s money that I tried to lose it myself. That way I wouldn’t miss it and could only blame myself. “What’s your angle?”
Bridget sighed and stared at her coffee. “At first, I wanted to break open a case so tied up it had stymied whole departments for decades. Then they started changing things.” She frowned.
“Like what?”
“Don’t ask. Long story short, you can’t think for yourself, you can’t have friends who are themselves, and you certainly can’t have any loyalty to the mission anymore.
There is no mission. It’s close your eyes, toe the line, and cross your fingers that you’re not going to be swept up in a fraud case.
Or made an ‘example’ of as they kick your ass to the curb with barely a compensatory settlement. ”
“You should talk to Casey. He’s got stories about stuff like that.”
“Interesting that you bring him up. You collect washed up anti-establishment types.”
“Just call me Robin Hood.”
Bridget shook her head. “You’re not. What you are is someone with a good beef against the kind of assholes with badges who think kids are fair game to target.”
“Huh, you actually did read my file.”
“One of the last things I did before getting fired.”
Yikes. “I hope that wasn’t the trigger.”
“It might have been. I was digging into a money laundering scheme that pointed at Adelmo Conti and his company. When he abruptly died, my case was dead. But I visited the impound lot to look at the car that got mangled in the accident. And what do I discover? Bullet holes in the seat.”
Her eyes went a little wide.
“You had a shitty job. I couldn’t do it.”
“Adelmo was murdered. Johnny is being sought for a hit and run, but not murder. That means, someone on the police force and in the media buried details. It’s kind of…
scary that in this day and age of cameras everywhere, and social media conspiracies that a crime like murder simply vanishes.
Worse? Anyone with connection to Johnny Porn—Porciello vanishes, too.
Except you. Even your sister is out of the country and beyond reach. ”
Bridget was treading on dangerous ground. If she only knew how dangerous, she’d… I had second thoughts about what she’d do. Because once an agent, always an agent. I’d learned that lesson early enough. “Your point?”
“Your grandfather had over seventy binders on him. Those were the ones the task force could read. You know, the ones not locked up for national security reasons. It’s like… someone is protecting you from beyond the grave.”
A chill rattled me. The familiar tingle of a fainting spell concentrated at my hands, but luckily didn’t creep any farther. I needed to find Ringo and tell him everything about this conversation. Too late, I realized that Bridget hadn’t just “happened” upon me at the apartment. She was stalking me.
Just like Johnny.