The Future
01: In Which a Wedding Was Crashed
Special Agent William Robinson of the FBI could not help but feel sick at the gruesome sight that greeted him. The church, that supposed to represent holiness and purity, was nothing but. The altar was in shambles. The sickening scent of blood permeated the whole chapel. Bouquets of white roses were colored red from the excess blood that gushed out from the victims' bodies. Pews, floors and to some extent the ceiling was painted red. Now Robinson prided himself on being a professional. After all, he had been in the Bureau for twelve years. Experience did not get any better than that. But this, this was just too much.
"Body count?" he asked, grimacing as he noticed a corpse of an elderly woman dressed in a white dress. The woman's throat was slit open. Though blood had stopped flowing post-mortem, Robinson still felt uncomfortable.
"Forty five." His partner, Diane Nicholson, said, "The capacity of the chapel was for one hundred plus people, but since this was a closed event, only families were here. And unfortunately everyone was..." she trailed off, uncertain as to how she should express her thoughts regarding the situation.
"Christ," Robinson grumbled under his breath, "the entire Aldridge family was wiped out in one day."
Nicholson nodded, "Either this event was planned to massacre the Aldridges or the murderer was insane. But this was a wedding, wasn't it?"
"Yup. Christian Aldridge's wedding."
"And that's him on the altar..." pointed Nicholson. Robinson turned his head to look at the cold and dead body of Christian Aldridge. The former billionaire and groom was lying on the steps of the altar, tuxedo and boutonniere still intact. His head was severed, but the trademark Princeton class ring that he wore was firmly placed on his ring finger. Next to Aldridge's body were the bodies of his groomsmen, all dead.
The only survivor of this massacre were the priest that was supposed to wed Aldridge to his lady love. However, said man was too terrified to give a statement to the Agents. Another peculiar thing was that the bride was missing. The only evidence that the bride was present during the killings was the tattered and bloodied white veil that lay lifeless next to the bodies of the maid of honor and bridesmaids.
'Shit,' Robinson thought, 'she's gone.'
"Who was he marrying anyway?" Nicholson interrupted his train of thought. All thoughts of the AWOL bride became more prominent in his mind.
"Joliette Grassollino." he answered, tightly. His heart pounded faster as he realized what event unfolded as he spoke that name.
"The actress?" Robinson nodded slowly. Suddenly he wished that he was not the one that was called down to the scene. His eyes started to glance rapidly to the scene surrounding him. So much blood, so much destruction, so much horror! He tried to deny the conclusion that his brain immediately conjured up after connecting the actress's name and the severed head of the groom. His heart started to thud in its cage, encouraging him to find something, anything that proved him wrong. But everything in the scene just seemed to strengthen his unveiled hypothesis.
"I gotta go," he rasped. Nicholson looked at him, as if he was insane.
"What do you mean 'go'? We still have a job to do, Robinson."
"No, we don't. We're supposed to inspect the scene and talk to witnesses. We've inspected the scene and the only witness we had is not talking to anyone but a psychiatrist in the loony bin. Hence, I can go wherever the hell I want to. Have the people who are supposed to clean this up deal with it." Robinson started to walk out of the tainted church.
He had reached the opened door of the church when his partner stopped him again, "How did you know the vic was gonna marry Joliette Grassollino? The press didn't even know that,"
Robinson's expression was solemn. His eyes downcast, and his voice broke when he spoke, "Because I was invited."
***
The sound of laughter resonated in the air as fifteen year old Cygnus Provenzano hit the ball that was thrown by his seven year old sister, Phoenix. His twin brother, Lennon, who acted as the outfielder in their mini baseball game ran to catch the ball, while Cygnus ran the bases. His nine year old sister, Desdemona, affectionately called Mona, was in charge of the first base, though she did so reluctantly. Her eyes were focused on the half finished book titled "Matilda" in her hand. The second base was occupied by a five year old Roman who was currently singing a jolly tune he learned from his mother. The only who was serious about this game was Thomas, their father's subordinate, who was yelling at Lennon to throw the ball to him. Lennon fumbled with the ball, making it slipped out of his glove. Cygnus managed to get around the base and scored a point to his team, consisting only of him.
Phoenix's loud cry of disappointment was heard in the backyard as she saw her older brother returning back to the home plate.
"It's not fair! Cygnus always win!" she protested loudly.
"You know it, squirt!" Cygnus teased, laughing loudly. His laughter became louder as he saw Phoenix stuck out her bottom lip, forming a pout.
"Of course he always wins if you're the pitcher, Phoenix. He can only hit a little girl's pitch. If I were the one who pitched I would strike him out in three pitches." Lennon boasted as he walked to where his siblings were, Mona and Roman in tow. Thomas was collecting the gloves and ball that the children left behind.
"If you were the one who pitched, Lennon, I would be able to get a walk out of you in three pitches."
"Yes. That would happen when the sun starts to rotate around the earth."
Cygnus grumbled something that sounded like profanity under his breath as he took in his twin brother's insult. Then he felt a tug on his hand. Sparkling green eyes looked up to his mismatched one. His little brother Roman looked at him with an expression that surely would send his girlfriends to their usual high pitched keening of how cute his little brother was.
"Food." Roman simply said. Cygnus sighed and picked the little boy up, settling him on his hips. "Alright, squirts! Time to eat! Roman's biological clock said so."
A series of childish agreement accompanied him as they walked back to the house, specifically the kitchen, where surely Theresa had prepared the greatest breakfast food in California. They were greeted by the sight of their father, black hair mussed up, cigarette dangling from his mouth and a pissed off expression on his face complete with a dark circle under his eyes. He was reading the newspaper and trying to cut up his sans maple syrup pancake. He looked up from his newspaper when he heard noises coming from the backyard. His aggravated expression turned to a joyous one as he saw the children filed to the kitchen.
He immediately put out his cigarette on his pancake as he saw Roman reaching out to him from Cygnus's arms. Phoenix immediately ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck and gave her father a peck on the cheek. Mona smiled shyly to him and took a seat next to him, eyeing the cigarette on the pancake with confused eyes.
"What's for breakfast, Dad?" Cygnus asked.
"Pancakes, sausage, bacon, bla bla bla. Ask Theresa. I'm not the cook here." Cygnus's father answered gruffly, his voice hoarse from staying up the whole night.
"Another all nighter, Dad?" Lennon asked, pouring a cup of orange juice for himself as he settled next to his father.
"Yeah," he answered, filling up a plate for Roman who was sitting merrily on his lap, "Elena threaten to kill me if I don't get it in by today."
"You should start meeting your deadline, then," Cygnus piped up from the kitchen.
"I haven't been doing it for the last nineteen years. Why should I start now?"
"Because one of these days all we're gonna find of you is your terribly mangled body courtesy of one very pissed off editor. And we don't want that, Dad." Cygnus said, "If you die, who's gonna supply me and my buddies with the stash?"
"That was supposed to be a rhetorical question, smart-ass. Now sit down and eat breakfast." he admonished half-heartedly. Cygnus's only response was to laugh even louder.
***
The massive brass gate that separated the outside world to the large mansion one hundred meters from the main gate stared at him intimidatingly. But Robinson knew that he had no time to be afraid. As he arrived there, two guys in suits came up to his car and asked for his ID. He reluctantly gave them his driver's license, convinced that his badge would not bode well for these guys, or any other guys he would see once he stepped foot in the mansion.
After the security guys clarified that he was of no threat to whoever lived here, he tentatively stepped on the accelerator and sped off to the main entrance. Once there, he pressed the doorbell and immediately a man with a large scar on his face greeted him (not the usual 'hi, how are you' greeting, mind you). He grunted and motioned with his head to come inside. He was shown to a lavish living room. If Robinson had to muster a guess, all of the furniture, including the trinkets on the mantle and the table, must be equal or more than what he made annually.
A few minutes later, he heard footsteps approaching the living room. He looked up from his half-hearted inspection of the picture of two people who seemed to be a couple to the source of the noise.
"Billy? What's up? What brings you here?" the man asked him.
Robinson let out a sigh as he took in the sight of his best friend. "Fuzz, I've got to tell you something,"
Noticing the less than jovial expression on his friend's face, he sat down in front of Robinson, urging him to sit down too. "Is everything okay? Is Henry hurt?"
"No, no. Henry's fine. He's in Switzerland right now. You know, that convention about fishes..."
The man Robinson called "Fuzz" nodded, a small smile graced his usually stoic but handsome face, "So what do you wanna tell me?"
"Aldridge is dead." He blurted out, not knowing the best way to inform Fuzzy about the massacre. He noticed his best friend's eyes started to close up, not letting any emotion of the bearer's out. Fuzzy looked nothing short of a porcelain doll. His pale face was devoid of emotion; his emerald eyes were hard and stony; his posture exuded arrogance.
"Oh." he muttered, looking away from Robinson. "So?" his voice even, and like his face, held no tone whatsoever.
"Everyone is dead. Everybody who has the last name Aldridge is dead." Gaining no recognition from Fuzzy, he decided to try something else, "Jolie's missing." And just like that, Fuzzy's focus was on him once again.
"What do you mean 'missing'?" Robinson could detect anxiety and fear in his best friend's voice.
"You know that she and Aldridge was supposed to be married today, right?" Fuzzy's silence answered for his question. "The massacre happened at the church. My guess is the perp slipped inside the church and finished everybody off. Then kidnapped the bride."
"You think I did it?" Fuzzy retorted. The two best friends then stared at each other, unwilling to break eye contact. Robinson seemed determined to pull something out of his friend.
"Did you do it?"
"I have an alibi. I was up all night trying to finish my manuscript. I know that nobody can really vouch for me, but I did not massacre the Aldridges. It doesn't give me any benefit in doing so."
"Really? How about the fact that Aldridge has been pushing to buy a few of the shops on Washington Ave for his business. That's in your territory, and if you lose that territory, you'll lose Hollywood Boulevard as well. That's bad for business isn't it?" he asked, starting to get impatient at his friend's dismissal of the fact that a whole family was dead for god knows what.
"I would have done something else. I wouldn't resort on killing a whole family over a little loss of territory. Did you forget, Billy? Even if I lost Hollywood Boulevard, I still have the rest of the West Coast to give me money." he answered with a smirk, "just because I'm a mobster doesn't mean I'm totally immoral, you know. I do have some scruples."
"Coulda fooled me," Robinson grumbled angrily. Fuzzy just smirked and stalked off to the mini-bar.
"Anything to drink?" he asked.
"Whiskey," he answered immediately. He knew that drinking so early in the day wasn't good for his health. But fuck it! He had just seen forty plus people dead, several heads rolling on the church floor, blood painted the ceiling and floor, and he had just had a chat with his best friend who happened to be the prime suspect in the killings. Plus, said best friend was the most powerful Mob Boss in the West Coast. Hell for all he knew, Fuzzy was the Cappo di tutti capi of the American Mafia. Oh, that last part was totally headache inducing. And where the hell was Fuzzy with the whiskey?!
"Sorry to keep you waiting." Fuzzy said with a light tone. The fact that his ex-wife seemed to be out there somewhere, unknowing whether she was alive or dead, seemed to have escaped his mind. Robinson quickly downed the whiskey without any second thoughts.
"So what's this about Jolie missing?" Fuzzy was all business in a flash. A look of fury crossed his face. Robinson placed his glass on the table and sighed.
"She wasn't among the victims. All we found was her veil, that's it. The people who did this might kidnap her or something."
"People? How do you know there's more than one killer?"
"Some victim had knife wounds, and others had gunshot wounds. It's kinda hard to kill someone with two weapons. If you're helped by someone, that would be easier."
Fuzzy said nothing to this. He only shook his beer bottle and took a swing from it. His head was running different scenarios as to who killed the whole Aldridge family. Who had a grudge against a family that had done nothing bad, except for being a capitalist? And in Christian Aldridge's case, a lady killer.
"There's something else though." Robinson said, again, making Fuzzy looked up from the carpet. "There were a lot of bodies with severed head, but for some reason one body was treated differently."
"Different how?"
"There was a head impaled on a candle stand on an altar. We checked the ID, and he's not an Aldridge."
"What's his name?"
"I think it was Luciano Riina." If Robinson hadn't known Fuzzy for eighteen years, he would have not noticed how his best friend's eyes widened before it shrunk back to its usual size.
"Fuzz, do you know him?" Fuzzy only shook his head, his face never gave any indication of his feelings.
Robinson exhaled loudly, "Well this has been a waste of time. I better get back to the office. Now that we've established your non-involvement in the killings, I have no reason to bother you anymore. But can I trust you not to say anything to the kids?" At this, Fuzzy nodded.
"Fuzz, I gotta ask. When's the last time you saw Jolie?" When Fuzzy didn't answer, Robinson repeated his question along with a loud call of his nickname. When that still didn't work, he called Fuzzy with his real name, "Abe!" That did the trick as he immediately responded to the call.
"What?"
"When's the last time you saw Jolie?"
"This morning when she dropped Mona, Phoenix and Roman off."
Robinson squinted his eyes in confusion. "She's getting married, but she dropped her kids off at her ex-husband's?"
"Yup. She said she didn't want the kids to suffer the agony of wearing an ugly purple dress and tuxedo. Cygnus and Lennon are boycotting the wedding, so they were here since last week."
Nodding at his friend's explanation, he quickly stored them to his memory. Abe's expression still had that out of reach look that didn't bode too well with him. It was the look that he would get when thinking of elaborate tricks to write in his novel.
"Are you sure you don't know who this Riina guy was?"
"Positive. He was just a nobody," Abe answered swiftly.
"Okay. I'll let you know if there's anything new on Jolie. Don't stress yourself too much, okay?"
Abe only nodded and followed Robinson to the front door. As he watched Robinson's SUV sped away, he clenched his fist tightly to his hand; a look of anger crossed his face.
'Goddamit Jolie! What have you done?'
Special Agent William Robinson of the FBI could not help but feel sick at the gruesome sight that greeted him. The church, that supposed to represent holiness and purity, was nothing but. The altar was in shambles. The sickening scent of blood permeated the whole chapel. Bouquets of white roses were colored red from the excess blood that gushed out from the victims' bodies. Pews, floors and to some extent the ceiling was painted red. Now Robinson prided himself on being a professional. After all, he had been in the Bureau for twelve years. Experience did not get any better than that. But this, this was just too much.
"Body count?" he asked, grimacing as he noticed a corpse of an elderly woman dressed in a white dress. The woman's throat was slit open. Though blood had stopped flowing post-mortem, Robinson still felt uncomfortable.
"Forty five." His partner, Diane Nicholson, said, "The capacity of the chapel was for one hundred plus people, but since this was a closed event, only families were here. And unfortunately everyone was..." she trailed off, uncertain as to how she should express her thoughts regarding the situation.
"Christ," Robinson grumbled under his breath, "the entire Aldridge family was wiped out in one day."
Nicholson nodded, "Either this event was planned to massacre the Aldridges or the murderer was insane. But this was a wedding, wasn't it?"
"Yup. Christian Aldridge's wedding."
"And that's him on the altar..." pointed Nicholson. Robinson turned his head to look at the cold and dead body of Christian Aldridge. The former billionaire and groom was lying on the steps of the altar, tuxedo and boutonniere still intact. His head was severed, but the trademark Princeton class ring that he wore was firmly placed on his ring finger. Next to Aldridge's body were the bodies of his groomsmen, all dead.
The only survivor of this massacre were the priest that was supposed to wed Aldridge to his lady love. However, said man was too terrified to give a statement to the Agents. Another peculiar thing was that the bride was missing. The only evidence that the bride was present during the killings was the tattered and bloodied white veil that lay lifeless next to the bodies of the maid of honor and bridesmaids.
'Shit,' Robinson thought, 'she's gone.'
"Who was he marrying anyway?" Nicholson interrupted his train of thought. All thoughts of the AWOL bride became more prominent in his mind.
"Joliette Grassollino." he answered, tightly. His heart pounded faster as he realized what event unfolded as he spoke that name.
"The actress?" Robinson nodded slowly. Suddenly he wished that he was not the one that was called down to the scene. His eyes started to glance rapidly to the scene surrounding him. So much blood, so much destruction, so much horror! He tried to deny the conclusion that his brain immediately conjured up after connecting the actress's name and the severed head of the groom. His heart started to thud in its cage, encouraging him to find something, anything that proved him wrong. But everything in the scene just seemed to strengthen his unveiled hypothesis.
"I gotta go," he rasped. Nicholson looked at him, as if he was insane.
"What do you mean 'go'? We still have a job to do, Robinson."
"No, we don't. We're supposed to inspect the scene and talk to witnesses. We've inspected the scene and the only witness we had is not talking to anyone but a psychiatrist in the loony bin. Hence, I can go wherever the hell I want to. Have the people who are supposed to clean this up deal with it." Robinson started to walk out of the tainted church.
He had reached the opened door of the church when his partner stopped him again, "How did you know the vic was gonna marry Joliette Grassollino? The press didn't even know that,"
Robinson's expression was solemn. His eyes downcast, and his voice broke when he spoke, "Because I was invited."
***
The sound of laughter resonated in the air as fifteen year old Cygnus Provenzano hit the ball that was thrown by his seven year old sister, Phoenix. His twin brother, Lennon, who acted as the outfielder in their mini baseball game ran to catch the ball, while Cygnus ran the bases. His nine year old sister, Desdemona, affectionately called Mona, was in charge of the first base, though she did so reluctantly. Her eyes were focused on the half finished book titled "Matilda" in her hand. The second base was occupied by a five year old Roman who was currently singing a jolly tune he learned from his mother. The only who was serious about this game was Thomas, their father's subordinate, who was yelling at Lennon to throw the ball to him. Lennon fumbled with the ball, making it slipped out of his glove. Cygnus managed to get around the base and scored a point to his team, consisting only of him.
Phoenix's loud cry of disappointment was heard in the backyard as she saw her older brother returning back to the home plate.
"It's not fair! Cygnus always win!" she protested loudly.
"You know it, squirt!" Cygnus teased, laughing loudly. His laughter became louder as he saw Phoenix stuck out her bottom lip, forming a pout.
"Of course he always wins if you're the pitcher, Phoenix. He can only hit a little girl's pitch. If I were the one who pitched I would strike him out in three pitches." Lennon boasted as he walked to where his siblings were, Mona and Roman in tow. Thomas was collecting the gloves and ball that the children left behind.
"If you were the one who pitched, Lennon, I would be able to get a walk out of you in three pitches."
"Yes. That would happen when the sun starts to rotate around the earth."
Cygnus grumbled something that sounded like profanity under his breath as he took in his twin brother's insult. Then he felt a tug on his hand. Sparkling green eyes looked up to his mismatched one. His little brother Roman looked at him with an expression that surely would send his girlfriends to their usual high pitched keening of how cute his little brother was.
"Food." Roman simply said. Cygnus sighed and picked the little boy up, settling him on his hips. "Alright, squirts! Time to eat! Roman's biological clock said so."
A series of childish agreement accompanied him as they walked back to the house, specifically the kitchen, where surely Theresa had prepared the greatest breakfast food in California. They were greeted by the sight of their father, black hair mussed up, cigarette dangling from his mouth and a pissed off expression on his face complete with a dark circle under his eyes. He was reading the newspaper and trying to cut up his sans maple syrup pancake. He looked up from his newspaper when he heard noises coming from the backyard. His aggravated expression turned to a joyous one as he saw the children filed to the kitchen.
He immediately put out his cigarette on his pancake as he saw Roman reaching out to him from Cygnus's arms. Phoenix immediately ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck and gave her father a peck on the cheek. Mona smiled shyly to him and took a seat next to him, eyeing the cigarette on the pancake with confused eyes.
"What's for breakfast, Dad?" Cygnus asked.
"Pancakes, sausage, bacon, bla bla bla. Ask Theresa. I'm not the cook here." Cygnus's father answered gruffly, his voice hoarse from staying up the whole night.
"Another all nighter, Dad?" Lennon asked, pouring a cup of orange juice for himself as he settled next to his father.
"Yeah," he answered, filling up a plate for Roman who was sitting merrily on his lap, "Elena threaten to kill me if I don't get it in by today."
"You should start meeting your deadline, then," Cygnus piped up from the kitchen.
"I haven't been doing it for the last nineteen years. Why should I start now?"
"Because one of these days all we're gonna find of you is your terribly mangled body courtesy of one very pissed off editor. And we don't want that, Dad." Cygnus said, "If you die, who's gonna supply me and my buddies with the stash?"
"That was supposed to be a rhetorical question, smart-ass. Now sit down and eat breakfast." he admonished half-heartedly. Cygnus's only response was to laugh even louder.
***
The massive brass gate that separated the outside world to the large mansion one hundred meters from the main gate stared at him intimidatingly. But Robinson knew that he had no time to be afraid. As he arrived there, two guys in suits came up to his car and asked for his ID. He reluctantly gave them his driver's license, convinced that his badge would not bode well for these guys, or any other guys he would see once he stepped foot in the mansion.
After the security guys clarified that he was of no threat to whoever lived here, he tentatively stepped on the accelerator and sped off to the main entrance. Once there, he pressed the doorbell and immediately a man with a large scar on his face greeted him (not the usual 'hi, how are you' greeting, mind you). He grunted and motioned with his head to come inside. He was shown to a lavish living room. If Robinson had to muster a guess, all of the furniture, including the trinkets on the mantle and the table, must be equal or more than what he made annually.
A few minutes later, he heard footsteps approaching the living room. He looked up from his half-hearted inspection of the picture of two people who seemed to be a couple to the source of the noise.
"Billy? What's up? What brings you here?" the man asked him.
Robinson let out a sigh as he took in the sight of his best friend. "Fuzz, I've got to tell you something,"
Noticing the less than jovial expression on his friend's face, he sat down in front of Robinson, urging him to sit down too. "Is everything okay? Is Henry hurt?"
"No, no. Henry's fine. He's in Switzerland right now. You know, that convention about fishes..."
The man Robinson called "Fuzz" nodded, a small smile graced his usually stoic but handsome face, "So what do you wanna tell me?"
"Aldridge is dead." He blurted out, not knowing the best way to inform Fuzzy about the massacre. He noticed his best friend's eyes started to close up, not letting any emotion of the bearer's out. Fuzzy looked nothing short of a porcelain doll. His pale face was devoid of emotion; his emerald eyes were hard and stony; his posture exuded arrogance.
"Oh." he muttered, looking away from Robinson. "So?" his voice even, and like his face, held no tone whatsoever.
"Everyone is dead. Everybody who has the last name Aldridge is dead." Gaining no recognition from Fuzzy, he decided to try something else, "Jolie's missing." And just like that, Fuzzy's focus was on him once again.
"What do you mean 'missing'?" Robinson could detect anxiety and fear in his best friend's voice.
"You know that she and Aldridge was supposed to be married today, right?" Fuzzy's silence answered for his question. "The massacre happened at the church. My guess is the perp slipped inside the church and finished everybody off. Then kidnapped the bride."
"You think I did it?" Fuzzy retorted. The two best friends then stared at each other, unwilling to break eye contact. Robinson seemed determined to pull something out of his friend.
"Did you do it?"
"I have an alibi. I was up all night trying to finish my manuscript. I know that nobody can really vouch for me, but I did not massacre the Aldridges. It doesn't give me any benefit in doing so."
"Really? How about the fact that Aldridge has been pushing to buy a few of the shops on Washington Ave for his business. That's in your territory, and if you lose that territory, you'll lose Hollywood Boulevard as well. That's bad for business isn't it?" he asked, starting to get impatient at his friend's dismissal of the fact that a whole family was dead for god knows what.
"I would have done something else. I wouldn't resort on killing a whole family over a little loss of territory. Did you forget, Billy? Even if I lost Hollywood Boulevard, I still have the rest of the West Coast to give me money." he answered with a smirk, "just because I'm a mobster doesn't mean I'm totally immoral, you know. I do have some scruples."
"Coulda fooled me," Robinson grumbled angrily. Fuzzy just smirked and stalked off to the mini-bar.
"Anything to drink?" he asked.
"Whiskey," he answered immediately. He knew that drinking so early in the day wasn't good for his health. But fuck it! He had just seen forty plus people dead, several heads rolling on the church floor, blood painted the ceiling and floor, and he had just had a chat with his best friend who happened to be the prime suspect in the killings. Plus, said best friend was the most powerful Mob Boss in the West Coast. Hell for all he knew, Fuzzy was the Cappo di tutti capi of the American Mafia. Oh, that last part was totally headache inducing. And where the hell was Fuzzy with the whiskey?!
"Sorry to keep you waiting." Fuzzy said with a light tone. The fact that his ex-wife seemed to be out there somewhere, unknowing whether she was alive or dead, seemed to have escaped his mind. Robinson quickly downed the whiskey without any second thoughts.
"So what's this about Jolie missing?" Fuzzy was all business in a flash. A look of fury crossed his face. Robinson placed his glass on the table and sighed.
"She wasn't among the victims. All we found was her veil, that's it. The people who did this might kidnap her or something."
"People? How do you know there's more than one killer?"
"Some victim had knife wounds, and others had gunshot wounds. It's kinda hard to kill someone with two weapons. If you're helped by someone, that would be easier."
Fuzzy said nothing to this. He only shook his beer bottle and took a swing from it. His head was running different scenarios as to who killed the whole Aldridge family. Who had a grudge against a family that had done nothing bad, except for being a capitalist? And in Christian Aldridge's case, a lady killer.
"There's something else though." Robinson said, again, making Fuzzy looked up from the carpet. "There were a lot of bodies with severed head, but for some reason one body was treated differently."
"Different how?"
"There was a head impaled on a candle stand on an altar. We checked the ID, and he's not an Aldridge."
"What's his name?"
"I think it was Luciano Riina." If Robinson hadn't known Fuzzy for eighteen years, he would have not noticed how his best friend's eyes widened before it shrunk back to its usual size.
"Fuzz, do you know him?" Fuzzy only shook his head, his face never gave any indication of his feelings.
Robinson exhaled loudly, "Well this has been a waste of time. I better get back to the office. Now that we've established your non-involvement in the killings, I have no reason to bother you anymore. But can I trust you not to say anything to the kids?" At this, Fuzzy nodded.
"Fuzz, I gotta ask. When's the last time you saw Jolie?" When Fuzzy didn't answer, Robinson repeated his question along with a loud call of his nickname. When that still didn't work, he called Fuzzy with his real name, "Abe!" That did the trick as he immediately responded to the call.
"What?"
"When's the last time you saw Jolie?"
"This morning when she dropped Mona, Phoenix and Roman off."
Robinson squinted his eyes in confusion. "She's getting married, but she dropped her kids off at her ex-husband's?"
"Yup. She said she didn't want the kids to suffer the agony of wearing an ugly purple dress and tuxedo. Cygnus and Lennon are boycotting the wedding, so they were here since last week."
Nodding at his friend's explanation, he quickly stored them to his memory. Abe's expression still had that out of reach look that didn't bode too well with him. It was the look that he would get when thinking of elaborate tricks to write in his novel.
"Are you sure you don't know who this Riina guy was?"
"Positive. He was just a nobody," Abe answered swiftly.
"Okay. I'll let you know if there's anything new on Jolie. Don't stress yourself too much, okay?"
Abe only nodded and followed Robinson to the front door. As he watched Robinson's SUV sped away, he clenched his fist tightly to his hand; a look of anger crossed his face.
'Goddamit Jolie! What have you done?'