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Rick was feeling a bit more confident in his chances of getting a steak dinner instead of French cuisine by the time they left the Vizzinis’. Other than being a bit weird about Dante’s admittedly impressive fire trick, the Vizzinis never suggested anything was out of the normal realm. They never questioned the attack dog theory or suggested it was a werewolf like Dante did. In fact, they seemed to know immediately who was behind the dog attack. Who knows. Maybe Dante was one of those quirky agents that is so good at what he does, people just look past his oddities – like Columbo, Monk, or Poirot. Maybe he was self conscious about the disrespect his baby face earned him, so came up with the immortal story to get people off his back.
That had to be it.
They left the Vizzinis’ mansion compound and went somewhere about as far opposite as you could get: a rundown boxing gym in a clearly less reputable part of town.
“The city’s second largest crime boss runs a gym?” Rick looked the place over skeptically as they parked. He decided to lock the car and set the alarm with a click and beep of his key fob.
“Underground fight club, actually.” Dante brushed an invisible speck of dust off his pants as they approached the door. “If people will bet on it, they fight it here – dogs, cocks, MMA, werewolves–”
“Phoenix?” Rick teased. He couldn’t possibly see the prissy, vain agent involved in a fight club.
Dante just gave him a bright grin with a bit of mischief in his eye. “You know what they say about fight club, no?”
“Get out. You? Fighting for fun?” Rick tried to imagine the pretty federal agent with a black eye and fat lip, and failed. “You’re kidding me.”
“You underestimate me because of my appearance.” Dante sobered and his voice took a hard edge. “Perhaps a couple rounds together after we are done today would help your skepticism.”
“Gloves on and spotted, sure. If you don’t think it’ll hurt your pride too much when I wipe the mat with you.” Rick wasn’t exactly sure flooring his new partner the first day was a great way to build rapport, but it seemed to be the first point of common interest they’d found. “I had a bit of a reputation in the ring in New York.”
“I am well aware of your reputation. In spite of that, I will try to go easy on you.” Dante pushed the gym door open to signal the conversion had ended.
Rick fell back a step and stared at his partner’s back. Was that hubris or banter? It hadn’t really sounded like either. Dante sounded like he seriously believed he would have to pull his punches in a ring with the best cruiserweight boxer in the New York branch. Maybe Vizzini was right to call Dante a peacock. It could be fun to take him down a peg, though Rick doubted the other agent’s pride would survive the fight.
They entered the gym with barely a second look from the heavyweight watching the door, and went straight to the business office without confrontation. Dante knocked on the door and a voice on the other side gruffly welcomed them in.
“Dante!” A slight man with a forearm crutch rounded the desk enthusiastically as they entered. “Please, tell me you’re here about the fight. I’ve already started taking bets, but my patrons are always eager to put fresh money on the big fights.”
“I’m afraid our visit is more business than pleasure, Chick. This is my partner, Agent McCoy. Agent McCoy, this is Giovanni Ciccarelli.” Dante paused while the pair shook hands, then addressed Ciccarelli again, “Is Giuceppe or Wharton around?”
Ciccarelli’s face fell. “My son’s a good boy, Dante, and Wharton keeps him out of trouble. What do you need them for?”
“Has your son ever mentioned an Amara Zanotti?” Rick didn’t miss the difference between how Ciccarelli and Vizzini reacted to Dante, and he did wonder at it a little. If they were supposed to be rival crime families, why was his new partner on such good terms with the Ciccarellis?
“He mighta.” Ciccarelli frowned at Dante. “Do we need a lawyer? ‘Business’ means I need a lawyer.”
“That would depend entirely on whether Giuceppe and Wharton can account for their whereabouts last night between midnight and three.” Dante shrugged carelessly, but Rick noticed him fingering the embroidered hem of his glove. Perhaps he was not on as friendly terms as he pretended.
“You’ll have to ask them.” Ciccarelli shrugged and went back to his seat. “Your new partner knows the risks of being your partner?”
“There are always risks in our job.” Dante’s voice grew cold and he didn’t look at Rick. “He’s an experienced LEO, he understands that.”
“How long did Madison last? Regan? That tiny girl you were with at our last fight? I can’t even remember their names, there have been so many.”
“Charles Leon was my partner for nineteen years, and is doing quite well.” Dante’s voice was as soft and polite as always, but his face was pale and his fists trembled at his sides.
“I’ve read Agent Brand’s file,” Rick interrupted, hoping to draw the attention away from his partner. Whatever the source of Dante’s flame-throwing abilities, letting this masterpiece of human manipulation goad him into using them wouldn’t end well for any of them. “I know his history and he knows mine, which has a few spots of its own.”
“Then you read about Iscariot, didn’t you?” Ciccarelli smiled at Rick in a decidedly unfriendly way. When Rick simply scrambled to recall the name, Ciccarelli’s smile widened. “You’ll have to ask Brand to introduce you at some point so you can compare notes.”
Rick didn’t remember reading about a partner named “Iscariot”, and given the religious subtext of the name wondered if it was a reference to the circumstances rather than the guy’s actual name.
It meant something to Dante, though, because the blood flooded back to match his face to his hair. His partner muttered, “St. Jerome, give me grace,” then placed his hands – still gloved, thankfully – on the edge of the desk and leaned forward. He said something in harsh, clipped Italian, in a tone far different than he had used with the pizzeria owner.
He got a far different response as well. Ciccarelli grunted a single word in Italian, one Rick was certain he didn’t want to add to his vocabulary, and gestured to the door. “Giuceppe is in the basement getting ready for tonight’s bout. Wharton is probably with him. I’ll send them both to meet you in the parking lot. I’ll not have you messing up my carpet.”
Dante stood, straightened his suit, and nodded. “PNI appreciates your cooperation, Chick.”
“Anytime, Brand.” Ciccarelli’s smile returned more tightly. “And my gym looks forward to the next time you want to fight.”
“You have nice friends.” Rick jerked his head toward the building as they walked back out to the parking lot.
“Ah, when Charles said that my enemies are usually as reluctant to kill me as I am to die, he did not include Vizzini and Ciccarelli.” Dante curled his lip in disgust. “Once my human enemies have cause to realize what I am, they often come to take pleasure in taking me out. Life is cheap, especially when death is transient.”
“You mean I might have to watch your back because one of these guys might try to off you for kicks?” Rick cast a wary glance back at the building as a pair of men exited. One was young, about the age of Joey Vizzini, with black hair, olive skin tone, and the same sullen expression. The other was a gruff man in his mid-thirties, with unruly brown hair, a stubbly beard, and a look of pure hatred on his face.
“Especially these guys,” Dante murmured as he turned to address the newcomers. “Giuseppe, Wharton.”
“Chick says you think I killed some cheap slut.” The older man – presumably Wharton – got in Dante’s face and flashed a set of unnaturally sharp teeth.
“I did not. I asked if Giuceppe knew an Amara Zanotti, and where you two might have been between midnight and three.” Dante smiled tightly. “Is there a reason Chick might have jumped to murder?”
Wharton took a step back and glared.
“Sure, Amara and I had a disagreement,” Giuceppe interjected, “but I wouldn’t kill her.”
“We still need to know where you two were last night.” Rick edged closer to his partner, a little uneasy about the way the young mobster’s bodyguard was eyeing Dante’s neck. “And someone else to corroborate.”
“I was sleeping, alone.” Giuceppe didn’t look particularly happy to be admitting that. “Wharton has a room beside mine. Dad’s security tapes should show you we didn’t leave last night.”
“But you’ll need a warrant for those.” Wharton snarled. “You can get them through the family lawyer. PNI has the contact information.”
“Of course.” Dante nodded. “You may as well prepare them, since it is in your best interest to produce them. It would make life easier on everyone if you just turned them in.”
“Why would I want to make your life easier, Brand?” Wharton gave him a malicious grin as he corralled Giuceppe back toward the building. “Talk to the lawyer. Whoever offed the girl, it wasn’t us. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“We shall see,” Dante murmured skeptically as he and Rick turned to head toward the car themselves.
“And Brand?” Giuceppe called back over his shoulder. His voice trembled was he spoke. “I’d’a never killed Amara. She was coming back to me after she got tired of Joey. I’m a patient man. I didn’t need to kill her.”
“And I don’t need to waste my time with some cheap slut,” Wharton bared his teeth at Dante, “Or a painted peacock. You know our lawyer, Brand. We’re done.”
The door slammed behind them.
“That went well.” Dante shrugged and turned toward the car.
“Because we’re not dead yet?” Rick barked a laugh. “I think Wharton wanted a piece of you.”
“Wharton and I have an extensive history. If any mythic could be called my enemy, it would certainly be him.” Dante frowned. “He sees me as a dog of the human police, just as he is for Chick and his gang. There are many mythics that resent my role, but few who resent it as much as he does.”
“Yay,” Rick said dryly as he climbed in the driver’s seat. “What’s next? Call in the warrant and get lunch while we wait?”
“I’ll call it in.” Dante pulled his phone from his pocket as he got in the passenger seat. “There’s a great Hawaiian food truck in town you should try. The Spam Katsu Musubi is especially good.”
“Hawaiian sounds good. But spam? I’ll pass, thanks. How is that even Hawaiian?” Rick shook his head. “Just tell me where to go.”
They located the truck in the parking lot of a government building, and sat at the edge of the fountain in front of the building to eat. While Rick didn’t get the Spam Katsu Musubi, he did agree that it was some of the best food he’d ever eaten.
“I’m going to let the fact that at no point have we seen any killer attack dogs slide for just a moment.” Rick sucked sticky sauce off his fingers. “You don’t actually think that Ciccarelli and his enforcer had anything to do with that murder, do you?”
“Giuceppe seemed sincere enough.” Dante frowned at the remains of his meal. “My feelings about Wharton aside, I can’t see him acting outside his master’s instructions.”
“Could Giovanni have ordered a hit to get the girl out of his son’s life?” Rick balled up the rest of his trash and shot it into the trash can.
“Possibly.” Dante stood and crossed to the can. “Let’s try to talk to some others who knew them. Perhaps someone can tell us whether Chick opposed their relationship, or if there was a reason she chose Joey over –”
A crack sounded and Dante jerked backward and fell to the ground beside the fountain, shot clean through the head.