Chapter 35

Frank Rosetti walked into Giardino’s Italian Family Restaurant like he owned the place. He was short, stocky with dark hair and a permanent five o’clock shadow and chest hair fountaining out of his t-shirt collar. A man, clearly a member of the wait staff, walked up to Frank, who said, “Caio.”

“Ciao, posso trovarti un trattore?” replied the ‘waiter’ whom everyone called Larry.

“I’m not really hungry, I’m looking to meet a guy, name a Paul Jarecki,” said Frank as he looked around the restaurant. There was an older couple in the dining area and a couple of guys at a table near the bar. Nobody looked like a doctor in this small crowd, but it was 10:00 AM and the restaurant just opened.

“Doctor Jarecki, yes. He has reserved a table in our smoking lounge for your meeting. He told us that you enjoy a good cigar.”

Frank grinned, his taste in cigars can get awful expensive if someone else is buying. “That’s very thoughtful of da guy. Lead on.” He still had the stub end of his well chewed morning stogie in his hand.

As he followed the waiter past a table on the way back to the smoking lounge, a rough-looking character at the table caught the waiter’s eye. The waiter acknowledged with a slight nod. The rough-looking character looked at the man across the table from him, who had his back to the door. “That must be the fellow,” said Gus Didomissio. “Larry asked Frank if he could find him a tractor, and Frank said that he wasn’t hungry.”

“I didn’t realize your Italian was so good Gus,” said Paul as he slipped on a blazer. A blazer can add legitimacy to anything a man wears.

“Like we Italians like to say; “La madre dei cretini é sempre incinta,” the mother of the idiots is always pregnant,” smiled Gus.

Paul took a deep breath, “Here we go,” and he grabbed his backpack and headed to the smoking lounge. The smoking lounge was a private establishment physically separated from the restaurant and accessible through a covered breezeway. It was a separate business, a cigar bar, and the alcohol came from Giardino’s. Paul stepped out of the back door of Giardino’s Italian Family Restaurant, crossed the covered breezeway, and entered the lounge, a well-ventilated humidor with several tables, recliners, and couches. Glass doors lined the walls, and hundreds of different cigars were clearly seen. Paul walked right up to Frank, stuck out his hand, and said, “Frank Rosetti? Paul Jarecki, how ya doing.”

“You tell me doc; you called this little pow wow.”

Paul eased into a comfortable overstuffed chair and set the backpack close to his side. “Well, you were in the neighborhood, there’s the wedding coming up, I figured we’d smoke the peace pipe and talk some guy talk.”

“You a heart doc smoking a cigar?” Frank laughed.

“No one lives forever, am I right?” Paul waved the humidor attendant over to their table. “What do you say Frank, Arturo Fuente Opus X? It’s on me.”

Frank raised his eyebrows at the mention of one of the most expensive cigars available, $100 a piece if you can find them. These are not a cigar that you walk into a store and buy off the shelf; you call ahead and order them. “Don’t mind if I do,” Frank grinned.

The attendant brought the cigars over to their table. “Shall I cut sir?”

“Please do,” said Paul, and the attendant snipped the cap off each cigar with a well-practiced clip and offered each man a three jet lighter. After toasting the foot, they lit the cigars properly, puffing and enjoying the smoke.

Frank looked at his cigar. “This tastes like ... like...”

“Jalapeno, you caught that! Few men do,” Paul leaned forward conspiratorially. “It’s the Dominicans, I don’t know how they do it, but when you get Dominican filler, binder, and wrapper, you get a puro, a cigar that’s just,” he took a reassuring puff, “just miles ahead of the others. Am I right?”

“Right you are,” chuckled Frank, who set his old, chewed stogy in the ashtray. The attendant came up with a clean ashtray and asked if he could take the old one. Not looking up to acknowledge the attendant, Frank said, “Sure, take it.”

The attendant took the ashtray containing Franks, chewed the cigar, left a clean tray, and departed unnoticed. As Paul and Frank talked cigars and chuckled like old friends, the attendant stepped outside and was met by Lucy Kocsis who took the cigar with latex glove covered hands and placed the cigar into a ziplock plastic bag then carried it across the parking lot to an Erie County Sheriff’s office CSI van that was parked just up a side street.

The black-haired CSI officer in the high-tech van took the cigar and sat down with it and started her magic. “If this wasn’t for Paulie, there’s no way I’d be doing this.” The technician looked up at Lucy. “He’s from the old neighborhood, and he’s the first boy I ever kissed. Man, I should have held on to him tight. Of course, that was the sixth grade – who knew? He was a bum like the rest of us.”

“This is a favor for Paul? I thought you were driven by the ‘what Momma Giardino says goes’ rule,” said Lucy, as she watched intently.

“Well, yeah, that too. Actually, it’s more like ‘Momma gets what momma tells her kids to get for her’,” said Officer Janowitz, formerly Annabella Giardino. She had already processed the swabs that Lucy had brought and was reviewing the output from the computer. “Are you sure these are from two separate women? You didn’t make a mistake?”

Lucy leaned over Annabella’s shoulder and looked at the output. The results looked identical, and Lucy smiled. “Yep, they’re identical twins.”

“Really!” gasped Annabella. “I’ve heard that identical twins had identical DNA, but I didn’t realize exactly how identical it is. I’ve never actually seen it for myself before, thanks for this opportunity.”

“It’s a shame it’s off the books.”

Annabella nodded, causing her raven locks to sway. “But at least I know now.”

About 10 minutes later, Lucy left the mobile crime lab clutching a readout from the CSI truck’s sophisticated equipment. She went over to the breezeway between the lounge and the restaurant and tapped softly on the lounge door, then turned around and walked into the restaurant. She strode up to the bar and sat down next to the spot where the waiter gets his drinks. She was almost trembling when she ordered a vodka and Sprite.

At the same time the attendant heard the gentle tap and caught Paul’s eye as they were talking about boats, and Frank talked long about his pride and joy, a Riviera 72 named the Regal Dream, which has recently been repossessed by the bank, a fact that he didn’t share with Paul. The Riviera 72 is a sports motor yacht, four luxury cabins, salon, galley, flying bridge that can be made into a cabin, more bells and whistles than the Orange Blossom Special. “I’m planning to cruise the entire Caribbean after Christmas,” said Frank.

“I know it’s early, but – drink? It’s on me,” smiled Paul.

Frank grinned; this was like taking candy from a baby. He’s going to drop a writ for child custody and Andi is going to scream. Ol’ Doc Paul here is going to write a big fat check to make the writ go away and the Regal Dream is his again. “I’m a bourbon man but hell, it’s Christmas. Christmas calls for Crown Royal, on the rocks. Am I right?”

Paul turned to the attendant. “My friend will have a Crown Royal on the rocks, and you know what I like.” The attendant nodded and stepped out the door, walked into the restaurant, walked up to the bar, and ordered a Crown Royal on the rocks. The bar tender placed the drink on the attendant’s tray and Lucy, who was sitting at the bar, put her vodka and Sprite on the tray also and out the attendant went holding his tray high. Gus saw the attendant walk by carrying drinks and saw that one was a vodka and sprite. He got up and followed the attendant a few moments later. On the other side of the restaurant, Ernie Kraft, big as a bear, excused himself from his wife and followed Gus.

The waiter, known to Gus, Ernie, and Paul as Larry, stepped into the lounge and set the Crown Royal on the table next to Frank, then handed the Sprite and vodka to Paul. For his part, Paul didn’t know what drink would come out for him. Paul considered the vodka and sprite that was in his hand. His other option would have been a Cape Cod, cranberry juice and vodka. The bright red color of that drink signaled stop, go to ‘Plan B,’ and his Plan B was weak at best. This colorless drink festooned with lime and a cherry signaled it was all clear. The green lime said to proceed at full speed. The cherry was something Lucy added. Andi loves cherries and Lucy added it as a reminder, hoping Paul would remember not to hurt Andi in what happens next.

And so it began.

Frank took another puff of his exquisite cigar, noticing that the jalapeno taste had faded, and he was now getting notes of chocolate and leather. “So, this is all well and good Doc, but what’s your angle?” asked Frank.