Chapter 2

Bits of discarded newspaper, losing lottery tickets, and other jetsam of the city skidded down the rutted surface of the alley, blown by a wind turned cold in the evening darkness. The odors from the dumpster by the back door of the restaurant gave unpleasant clues about what had been served several days before.

Al Skelly didn't like it. Not one little bit.

His boss had ordered him to contact some gang bangers that had moved into the area. They were mainly into drug trafficking, which was fine with Al's mob – they avoided that line of business.

But they didn't want the drugs pushed to their prostitutes, or the people and businesses ensnared by their loan sharks. Wacked out whores don't last long on the job; and addicts spend their money on drugs instead of their debts.

So Al was supposed to open lines of communication, and say there was room for everybody. A risky enough proposition, but trying to do it in a dark alley was flat crazy.

But it was the only way the bangers would agree to meet. Despite the cold he could feel a bead of sweat trickling down his back until it reached his waistband, where his Glock was tucked away.

A blast of mariachi music surged into the alley when the door opened. The light from inside seemed to flicker on and off as it was blocked by a procession of four very large Hispanic men coming through the door, which then closed behind them. They took positions surrounding him.

"You Al?" said the man directly in front of him. He'd expected them to be covered in tattoos, but the big muscled arms were unmarked as they extended behind his back. Al nodded.

"You packing?"

Sweat erupted on Al's upper lip. He didn't see the point in denying it. He nodded again. "It's tucked in back."

He felt his jacket being lifted up, and the gun sliding out.

"What do you want?" The voice was flat, expressionless. Al cleared his throat nervously, his mouth as dry as a desert.

"My boss just wanted to say welcome, and that he doesn't have any interest in competing with you in your business. He wants to get to know you, so if there's ever anything we can help each other with in the future that he'll know who to call, and you'll know who to call."

"How could he help us?"

"Lots of ways. He has contacts with city government and the cops that come in handy."

"What does he want from us?"

"Your friendship; nothing beyond that right now. He just wanted to send a message that he wants to get along."

The man flicked his head at the two men at Al's sides; they each grabbed an arm. The man brought his hands from behind his back. Al took a deep breath to scream when he saw the long piece of duct tape in one hand, and garden shears in the other. A sharp blow to his kidneys chocked off his air, and the tape was slapped over his mouth.

The man looked carefully into Al's terrified eyes.

"I just want to send a message, too."

Barbara Ramirez looked at the place settings laid out on her seldom used dining room table, and sighed contentedly. She was content because setting the table was the extent of her work for preparing the family dinner today.

Sandy Goodwin and her boyfriend, police detective Ron Harris, were coming and bringing dinner with them. It was a way for them to help out during the final stages of Barbara's pregnancy.

She heard the front door open, followed by a call of, "Hello!" from Sammy.

Barbara smiled and went to the kitchen to greet her step-daughter. As she rounded the corner she thought at first that Collette was with her.

"Oh, hello," she said warmly and extending her hand, "I'm Barbara Ramirez."

The girl's eyes went up and down from her stomach to her eyes. "Hi, Mrs. Ramirez; I'm Blythe Fisk."

"I'm due next week," she said in answer to the girl's unspoken question.

"Congratulations! But you don't look that far along."

Barbara patted her tummy affectionately. "Thanks. I tend to carry my babies more inside than out in front. I'm still waddling into work, though my husband insists on driving and walking me to my desk! My coworkers give me a lot of grief about that."

"I'll bet."

"Blythe's on the softball team and she just moved in down the block," Sammy interjected as she rummaged around in the pantry. She found a couple snack sized boxes of raisins and tossed one to Blythe.

"That's great! We can do carpooling and stuff," Barb offered.

"Yeah, I'm sure my mom would appreciate that. That reminds me, I have to call her to tell her I'll be home later."

"There's a phone in my room," Sammy said.

Barbara looked out the window at the driveway, seeing only the VW that Sammy drove and not Collette's old BMW that Bobby used.

"Your brother's off to USC again?" she asked. She tried not to frown but it passed briefly over her face regardless.

"Yup. But I'm sure he'll be back in time for dinner," she said in a placating tone. "And Dave's out stump-jumping again," she added.

Barb gave her a sympathetic look. "So ... too much devotion by one guy to his girlfriend, and not enough by another?"

"Men!" they said together, and laughed.

Blythe was thinking Barbara had to be Sammy's step-mom. They were both beautiful women, but didn't share a family resemblance; and Sammy had called her by her first name instead of 'Mom.' Which meant her dad was her biological father, and her step brother Bobby was Barbara's biological son. That resemblance she could see clearly.

Barbara noticed Blythe's contemplative stare and raised an eyebrow at the girl. Blythe blushed.

"I'm sorry, I was just thinking how much your son looks like you," she said.

"Oh you've met the big goof, have you?"

"Sammy introduced us. And I tend to notice boys that are taller than I am, since there aren't that many of them around."

"I can understand that. Bobby's been hanging out with kids older than he is since grade school, since they've been more his size. But maybe the kids his age are finally catching up to him," she said with a wink. "Will you be staying for dinner?"

As Blythe looked abashed, Sammy jumped to her defense. "Be nice now, Barb, no teasing on her first visit. She's here to help explain why I got into a fight at school today."

Barbara's eyes popped wide open. "Samantha Ramirez, what did you do?" she demanded. Then she immediately amended, "Oh the hell with that, are you all right?" She moved closer and grasped her shoulders, rapidly scanning her step-daughter for damage.

"I'm fine, Mom. Mom, you're squishing me!" she protested as Barbara wrapped her up in a full protective hug. "Can we wait until Dad gets home to talk about it? No offense, but he's the one I'm kind of afraid to tell."

Barbara knew when Sammy called her 'Mom' it meant that what she was saying was important to her. She accepted the slight manipulation knowingly. "Fine; he should be home any minute anyway. But I will be present for the discussion, agreed?"

"Believe me, Mom, I want you there too. We'll be up in my room."

Bobby couldn't reach the buttons as he wormed his way onto the elevator in Collette's dorm.

"Four please?" he called, and someone pressed it for him.

The early dinner crowd was returning from the cafeteria, and the old elevator groaned under the weight of the students packed tightly inside.

He felt like a seed squirting out of a watermelon when he popped out on four and turned right. The floor was co-ed, with girl's rooms to the right of the elevators, and boy's to the left.

Several girls nodded familiarly as he made his way down the hall.

Both sides of the floor were sprinkled with volleyball players and other athletes, as Bobby was reminded when he saw a familiar figure, a foot taller than him, coming his way.

He looked happy, which Bobby could understand – what's not to like about living steps away from a bunch of college coeds?

"Hey, Clay," Bobby said, getting a nod and friendly slap on the shoulder as they passed in return.

Collette knew Clay, or Clayton Leady, from a summer volleyball camp they'd both attended the year before she and Bobby got together. He and Collette's roommate were occasionally dating, and Bobby would periodically find him in their room when he came to visit.

Since USC started the school year nearly a month before his high school began, Bobby had been able to visit the dorm a lot to this point. But with his school and fall baseball practice starting up, that was going to have to change.

Nevertheless, he was here on his first full day of school to demonstrate his devotion - and that he could still make it over to see her.

When he arrived at Collette's room he found the door open. She and her roommate were sitting at their back-to-back desks, turned towards the door and looking like they had just been laughing about something.

"Hey, baby," he said from the doorway.

Collette beamed as she stood up. He saw a bunch of thick textbooks spread across her desk, the scent of yellow highlighter in the air. She extended her arms in welcome.

"Hi, sweetie," she said warmly as they hugged and kissed.

"Hey, kid," said Collette's roommate, Cynthia. Not 'Cindy, ' she'd been emphatic about when meeting them; it was 'Cynthia.'

Cynthia McSwain's accent betrayed her New York origins, along with her direct and some might say challenging manner of speaking. She and Collette were a good match in that regard, besides both being back-line specialists in volleyball. Neither girl was on scholarship, but both aspired to be.

"I think I'll go see if I can catch up with Clay for dinner," she said with wink to Collette. "Remember now, you need to get this guy home before his bed-time," she said. Collette stuck her tongue out at her, as she closed the door on her way out.

"Never mind her," Collette said, while pulling at his belt and pushing him down on her bed.

"I missed you, too," Bobby said, mildly if pleasantly surprised. His girlfriend was always direct, but this was a bit quick.

"You shouldn't even be here, Bobby. Sammy told me that Ron and Sandy are coming to your house for dinner, so I don't want to make you late," she said as she pulled his pants and boxers off.