Chocolate #7, Blueberry Yogurt #12
Author: winebabe
Title: Verbrennen
Story: The Gemini Occurrence ( Kingdom of Second Chances #7)
Rating: R (language, violence)
Flavor(s): Chocolate #7: regret; Blueberry Yogurt #12: chain reaction
Topping(s): Caramel, Sprinkles
Word Count: 5,970
Summary: November, Week 3, 2028. On Monday, Mona brings Leah and Frankie to Mario--and everything goes to hell.
Notes: Mona Lively, Mario Pierce, Detective Katharine Chastain, Detective Noel Reyes, Detective Leah Grant, Detective Frankie Moeller, ADA Laurent Marion. (Well, this is...dramatic, to say the least.)
Mona meets Leah in the same coffee shop they'd had their last meeting in. She's sitting in the corner again, this time tucked inside a lounge chair near the window. Mona weaves in and out of the tables, moving slowly; Leah's back is to her and she doesn't want to startle her. Before she even makes it to where she's sitting, though, Leah turns around with a grin on her face. "Hey, Mona."
"How did you--" Mona looks around, confused, as if the answer to her question is somewhere in the shop.
"I saw your reflection in the window," Leah quickly interjects, laughing. "Come on, take a seat. I ordered for you, I hope that's okay."
The cup sitting on the coffee table, in front of the other chair, is piled high with whipped cream. "Oh, yeah, that's totally fine," Mona replies, smiling, and sets her purse down on the table beside her drink. She picks up the mug and settles into her chair, and each woman takes a few sips of her coffee in the silence that follows.
"So," Leah starts, "Kat told me you sent her a text message last week? Was everything okay?"
"It was nothing," Mona assures her. She'd almost completely forgotten about texting Kat; she'd been frightened when Mario came home, frightened for herself, but after listening to him she was more afraid of what had happened that day. "It wasn't about me. I mean, he wasn't doing anything to me, but..."
"But what?" Leah probes gently, shifting in her seat so she's facing Mona. "What happened?"
"I saw blood on his shirt," she whispers. "And on his boots, later, when he came back. It wasn't his. He didn't have a scratch on him."
"You're sure? It couldn't have been paint? It couldn't have been a nosebleed or something?"
Mona narrows her eyes at Leah and wraps her coat tightly around herself, as if for protection. "You don't believe me."
"I have to ask," Leah tells her. "If it could have been something else, we can't jump to conclusions. But I do believe you, Mona." She at least looks sincere, Mona thinks, but she looks uncomfortable, too.
"What?" Mona asks her. "What aren't you telling me?"
"Nothing," Leah says. "I just think this is getting a little too dangerous for you. You're not trained for this--hell, you're not trained for anything in this vein. I think this should stop."
Mona doesn't know what to say for a moment, and sips her coffee while she tries to figure out whether Leah is truly concerned for her or if there's something else at play. "Even if I wasn't involved, would you still go after Mario?"
Leah nods. "We would."
"Then I might as well help. It's not going to change things for me whether I'm involved or not."
"Sweetheart, that's not the point," Leah argues, but Mona is resolute, sitting with her arms crossed over her chest. "Just be careful, okay? Promise me you won't try to provoke him or anything like that."
"I promise," Mona replies. "I'm not stupid. I'm not going to put myself in danger."
"I know," Leah sighs, "but you'd be amazed how many people try to push the outcome."
Mona nods and reaches for her coffee again. She doesn't really know what to say; all she knows of undercover stings is what she's seen on TV, and of course, that's all dramatized. She still watches old Dateline episodes from the early 2000s, and the stings are usually people in cars with listening devices, probing the other person about a crime they may or may not have already committed. It's never a girlfriend, living with her boyfriend, wearing a wire the entire time.
"Mario is dangerous," Leah says very quietly. "More dangerous than you know, Mona. I want you to be safe."
Mona nods. "That's what you all are here for, right? To keep me safe."
Leah smiles, and she almost looks sad. "That's right. We're going to keep you safe."
Noel is standing in a parking lot a block away from the precinct, smoking a cigarette and staring at his phone, when Kat finds him. They're both bundled up in heavy winter jackets, and Kat has gloves on over her hands. No one would be able to tell they were police officers; the cold weather is as good a disguise as any. "Noel," Kat says, hoping to get his attention before she startles him.
Noel starts and drops his cigarette on the ground, but turns around to face Kat, a sheepish grin on his face. "Hey, Kat. Sorry, I was reading something on my phone. What's up?"
"Nothing, I just wanted to catch you before you went back inside. I was hoping we could talk."
Noel nods and slips his phone back into his coat's pocket. "Want to take a walk?" he asks, holding out his hand.
Kat smiles and peels off one of her gloves, before slipping her hand into his. "Jesus," she says, and he starts laughing. "You're freezing!"
"Aw, it's not that bad," he disagrees, giving her hand a squeeze. "Besides, you can warm me up."
They start off on the sidewalk, heading in the opposite direction of the precinct. Kat keeps her other glove on and rubs the top of Noel's hand with it; he just grins and watches her, amused.
"So," Noel says, once they make it to the next block, and affectionately bumps her shoulder. "What did you want to talk about?"
"Mario," Kat says, ever pragmatic.
Noel sighs and runs a hand over his face. "Great. Work--yeah, of course. For some reason, I was under the impression this might be personal."
"We've gone over this," she replies, unable to mask her own disappointment. "This isn't--there's nothing personal."
"Yeah." Noel keeps his eyes on the bridge in the distance, unable to look at her. "I know, you've said that before, but--I'm sorry, Kat, I just don't see it. I don't see how this can't be personal."
"Come on, can we please worry about this later? I really want to talk to you, about something that matters at this current moment."
Noel pouts, but he nods for her to go on. "What about Mario, then?"
"You had Leah look into his file, didn't you?" Kat turns to look at him with the intensity of a mother scolding her child.
"Uh, no, Kat, I didn't have her look into his file. She already was, so I just pointed her in the right direction. She had a right to know."
"Leah called me in a panic on Friday night, Noel. She wanted to know what to do if Mario kills Mona. She couldn't get it out of her head. She asked me about a million questions about Ruth, too, and just wouldn't shut up about what she thought was going on in the girl's head. I've never heard her like that."
Noel sighs and shakes his head. "Jesus Christ. I'm sorry, Kat, I didn't realize--" He cuts himself off. "She's a cop, though, Kat. I mean, I'm sorry, but she should be able to look over relevant case files without having a meltdown."
"It was more than that, I think. She made it so personal. She really internalized that case."
They fall silent for a moment, and Noel runs his thumb across the length of Kat's pointer finger. "Are you cold?" he asks quietly.
"Don't try to play boyfriend with me now," she says and laughs, leaning into him, and doesn't protest when he lets go of her hand in favor of putting his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
"One of these days, we're going to have to talk about us," he tells her seriously, and presses a kiss to the top of her head.
Frankie somehow manages to sneak in past Audrey, or charm her enough that she agrees to let him go in and "surprise" her boss, because Laurent doesn't know he's there until he sets a mug down in front of him on his desk. Laurent smears the word he'd been writing and jolts straight up, deflating with a ragged exhale when he sees Frankie. "What is this?" he asks, motioning towards the travel mug.
"Pumpkin Spice Latte," Frankie announces with a hint of pride as he sits down in once of the chairs across from Laurent's desk. "A peace offering."
"Why would you give me this?" Laurent eyes the mug like it could be poisonous. "I don't drink Pumpkin Spice Lattes."
"Have you ever had one? They're so good! You need something sweet, too--your face is so damn sour all the time, Laurent." Frankie grins, looking more like a mischievous teenager than an almost-thirty year old man.
"You said this is a peace offering," he repeats, choosing not to acknowledge the last of what Frankie said. "A peace offering for what?"
"For the fact that I'm going to make you talk to me. Right now." Frankie's face finally loses some of the sparkle, and he looks unsure of himself.
"I don't have time," Laurent replies, and he tries to be gentle. "I have work to do. We can--I don't know, meet for a drink later? Coffee? Dinner? Just--please, Frankie, not right now."
"Yes, right now," Frankie demands. Laurent has never heard his voice so tense, and he actively recoils, leaning back in his chair. "It's been over a fucking year, Laurent. I've waited long enough."
"That's fair." Laurent swallows, and then lifts the phone receiver to buzz Audrey. "Hold my calls, please, Audrey. Detective Moeller and I have...some business." He waits for her usual pleasant chirp of agreement before he hangs up. "I guess the floor is yours," he says, and picks up the latte.
"I feel like I'm going to throw up," he mutters and closes his eyes.
"Oh, Frankie," Laurent sighs.
"Can you just answer one question? I'm gonna go, but answer one question for me first."
Laurent drops his gaze to the mug in his hand. Frankie looks so vulnerable--tired and underdressed for the November weather, his tan betraying the fact that he used to once live there--and Laurent doesn't know how much longer he can keep up the charade for. He nods, slowly, but won't look up. Frankie's brown eyes are too sad.
"Have you thought about me at all this past year?"
Frankie sounds like a child when he asks, his voice quiet and brittle, and Laurent has to take a deep, slow breath to ground himself. He can't tell him how, almost every day, he stares at his phone screen, his finger poised above the name "Frankie Moeller" in his contacts, unable to hit the call button. He can't tell him that he's been on all of two dates that year, both of which ended with him feigning sudden important work to do and bailing as fast as he could. He'd barely gone a day without thinking about Frankie--but Laurent can't tell him that. "Yes," he says, mild and controlled. "Of course."
Frankie nods, but he still looks so lost. "I'm flying back as soon as Leah doesn't need me anymore."
"Frankie--"
"She told me we're going to see Mario tonight. Mona gave her the okay."
"Okay, but Frankie--"
Frankie pushes himself up of the chair and manages to get five steps away from Laurent's desk before he stops himself. "You owe me more than just that," he says to the wall.
Laurent wants to agree with him, but instead he just replies with, "Thanks for the drink."
"Thought you said you don't drink Pumpkin Spice Lattes," Frankie quips, glancing back over his shoulder.
With eyes on him, Laurent makes a show of sipping the latte. "Coffee is coffee," he says, but Frankie's right, it's good. Sweet, but just in the way he needs. Laurent can't let him know that, though, so he sets the coffee down on the desk.
Frankie turns back and spends a quick moment staring at the doors in front of him. He leaves the office in silence, without turning back to Laurent.
Laurent's not sure whether he's relieved or hurt. The sting that comes after the door slams shut settles it for him.
Mona can't believe her eyes when she sees Leah and Detective Franklin Moeller--the latter for the first time--in the alley outside the coffee shop. Leah looks nothing like a cop, and even less like the put-together woman she'd spoken to earlier that morning. Her eyes are wide, lined with black, smudged liner, and if she didn't know better, Mona would've thought she was strung out. She has black, ripped jeans on, a shirt that must've come from some mall store catering to teenagers, and a too-long, too-big winter coat that makes her look tiny.
Frankie is shockingly tan against the backdrop of oncoming winter, and he looks almost-frightening in his leather jacket. The hostility he displays on his face looks like it's hard work to keep up; Mona can feel the intensity rolling off him in waves. Immediately, she knows he's exactly the kind of person Mario will want to talk to. He doesn't like the easygoing, friendly types; the men he keeps close to him are rigid in their ways, and they understand the way he snaps. Frankie holds himself like a string drawn too taut, and it's exactly how Mario goes through life.
"I'm terrified," she whispers, and Leah pulls her into a tight hug.
"You're gonna be just fine, honey. Don't worry, okay? We know what we're doing, and Kat and Noel are right down the street. They'll be able to hear everything, and if we need them, they'll be there quicker than we can ask."
Mona just nods.
Frankie drops his act just long enough to gently rub Mona's arm and fix her with a warm smile. "Kiddo, I've been in a lot worse than this. It'll all be fine."
Mona's still nodding when he finishes speaking to her. "Okay, um, so what do we do then? How does this work?"
Leah grins and links her arm with Mona's. "This is the part where we get to relax and just talk like friends. Okay? That's all we are--friends. Now, tell me a little bit about yourself, sweetheart," she prompts as she starts off down the street with Mona in tow, Frankie trailing behind them with a cigarette dangling from his lips. "What's this about your brother? Kat says you haven't spoken to him in a while."
"Yeah. That's my fault," Mona says. She knows she should have been better to Devyn when he was working through whatever it was he was going through, but she couldn't make sense of it and his erratic behavior was started to remind her too much of their mother. Some of it reminded her of their father, too, and that was much more than she could handle. Of course, after he met Genevieve, she should have been happy for him. She should have made an effort to befriend the woman he'd set his sights on, but she just couldn't.
It felt too much like he was pushing her out. Devyn had been her first love; as a child, he was the only man she had eyes for, the same way little girls love their fathers, and her heart belonged to him and only him. She'd toyed around with other guys, pretended to involve herself in other relationships, but all she wanted was her brother. He was the only one she ever had, and she thought he felt the same about her.
And then Genevieve showed up, and suddenly all Devyn wanted was her. He didn't have time for Mona's games. He didn't run at the drop of hat if she called. And Mona took that to mean he didn't love her anymore, and so she ran and tried to find someone who would love her.
Of course, she couldn't have a healthy relationship with anyone. Not even with her own family. It was no wonder, really, she'd found herself trapped in an abusive relationship with a man who could kill her. A man who may kill her.
"I get jealous," she says, hoping to condense the reality just enough that it doesn't sound completely horrible. "He found this woman, back when those heart devices were supposedly the only way you could find love, and I got mad and ran. I thought he didn't need me anymore, and I didn't want to need him anymore, and I ran. And some other stuff happened first but then I ended up here."
"That's normal," Leah assures her. "You have a lot working against you. It's normal to latch onto the one person that provides some amount of stability in your life."
"I know, okay? I know, I've had plenty of therapists tell me the same thing. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm a terrible sister, and I love my brother so much that I can't let anyone else have him. Or make him happy. I didn't even make him happy, though."
"That's way outside my pay grade," Leah jokes, "but I think you at least have insight into it, and that's good. Have you met this woman? Have you spoken to her? She may just be one more person to pour your love into."
Mona just nods. She's thought a lot, lately, about going home to Devyn and meeting Genevieve, maybe giving her a hug and welcoming her into the family. She's never even seen the woman, just heard Devyn gush about her, and at the very least she could make an effort. Maybe they could be friends. Maybe they could be close. Mona just never gave her the chance.
"What about you?" she asks, wanting to move the conversation away from herself. "What about your family?"
"My real one or my persona's family?" Leah teases. "I'm from South Dakota. My parents are old--in their late 60s/early 70s, because they'd already had four girls before they had me. My oldest sister says I was a 'happy accident,' but I've heard stories and I was an accident, just not exactly a happy one. My sisters are all married, with lots of kids of their own, and I get to be the fun aunt because I'm young, single, and can spoil them."
"That sounds nice," Mona hums. "I think about having kids sometimes, just not any time soon, obviously. And I don't want them to be as screwed up as Devyn and I are. Our genetics are too strong. I may just adopt."
Leah casts a heartbroken look over her shoulder at Frankie, but says nothing.
"Hey, there are a lot of kids out there in need of loving homes," Frankie says. "Even if I wasn't almost completely set on marrying a man, I'd want to adopt."
"You're gay?" Mona asks, and then clamps a hand over her mouth. "Sorry, that was...inappropriate."
Frankie grins and shakes his head. "No, you're fine! I just outed myself. But, no, not technically. It sounds stupid when I have to explain it, but I like women, too, I just have a strong preference for men."
"So you're bisexual," Mona clarifies, and he nods. "Oh, okay. Yeah, no, I get that. I understand."
"Through experience or just logically, it makes sense to you?"
Frankie laughs, to make it clear he's teasing, but Mona glances over her shoulder and very seriously tells him, "Oh, I'm bisexual, too. I mean, I'm almost certain I am. I've never dated a girl, but I've had a lot of crushes, and once I made out with a girl in the back of a movie theater. It was nice."
"Good God," Leah exclaims, and Frankie bursts into laughter behind him. "This is not the kind of conversation I was expecting to have. I hope Kat and Noel are enjoying this."
"Oh," Mona says, cracking a smile herself. "I forgot they could hear us."
"First rule of undercover work: Never say anything you don't want your colleagues to hear. Because, chances are, even if they aren't listening at the time, it'll come up later," Frankie tells her.
"I'll remember that for the next time I have to go undercover," Mona says and laughs.
When they arrive at the townhouse basement that Mona says is where Mario likes to hang out, they expect for her to have to do a secret knock or know some kind of password to get in. Instead, she knocks twice on the door, and when a big, burly man answers, she merely asks him, "Is Mario here?" After he nods, he steps aside and lets them in. Frankie and Leah exchange a look to share their equal shock.
The basement apartment is not at all an apartment; it's been turned into something akin to a sleazy VIP lounge at a club, with enough furniture to fit the several dozen people they see when they first walk in. The air is a thick haze of smoke, lit with cell phone screens and the glowing cherries of cigarettes. Mona navigates her way through the crowd like she knows where she's going, and Frankie tries his hardest not to look like he's uncomfortable.
He doesn't have a gun with him. He doesn't have anything, and in a place that's as low-visibility as this, he's afraid a situation can turn dangerous quickly.
Leah has slipped back into the character she's trying to play, whirling around with wide eyes, tugging on Frankie's hand like a child. She's supposed to look high, sweet, innocent--Leah isn't the one Mario is supposed to worry about. Frankie wants her to be as unassuming as possible. If he could actually give her some drugs to cement the role, he would.
Mario emerges from a back room, and Mona approaches him hesitantly. Frankie and Leah watch from a distance as Mario pulls her in for a kiss, and then she whispers in his ear--about them, they assume. She points, and they can't see Mario's eyes, but his body angles towards them and they know he's seen them.
There's no backing out now. They have no choice but to follow through.
"This is Mario," Mona shouts over the hip-hop music, and points to Leah and then Frankie, naming them off as she does. "They're my friends from therapy," she tells Mario, and he smirks.
Whatever he says afterwards is too quiet for Frankie to hear, but he doesn't like the look on Mario's face. He's appraising the both of them, his arm around Mona's waist in a way that's more territorial than affectionate. "So, what are you two in for?" he asks in tone that tries too hard to be teasing. "Prostitution," he guesses, pointing to Leah, and then he turns his attention to Frankie. "Are you her pimp?"
Frankie doesn't trust him. There's just something in his eyes, something that makes him wary. "Drug possession. Intent to sell," Frankie responds, keeping his voice even, his face straight. He has a story in his head, just in case Mario pushes the issue. He already knows how he'll answer any question the man asks. Mario doesn't ask, though. He just stares, and it feels a lot like he's searching for some kind of crack in Frankie's facade.
"Let's go talk," Mario says, finally, motioning to Frankie. "You and me."
Leah grabs Frankie's wrist but he doesn't look at her. It's their signal; Leah thinks it's a bad idea. Frankie knows it is. He has to go, though, and as soon as Leah lets go of him, he follows Mario through the same doorway he'd appeared from.
"Come on," Mona says, and tugs on the material of Leah's jacket. "Let's go sit down. Mario wants to talk business."
Leah lets Mona lead her off to a nearby couch, where they huddle together at the end, away from the couple on the other side, some fine, white powder from the coffee table in front of them.
"Mario likes guys like him," Mona says in Leah's ear. "He takes himself too seriously, and he wants other people to be the same way."
"Is that why he pulled him aside to talk to him right away?" Leah asks. "I wasn't expecting that, Mona. I mean, we didn't plan for that."
"I know." Mona glances over at the doorway; the door, marred with cigarette burns at a splintered section where someone--probably Mario--had punched it, is closed now. Mario probably locked it behind him, and Mona doesn't know whether to be worried for Frankie or not. "He needs some help. I guess something happened with one of his other guys a few days ago."
Mona knows Mario killed him. She knows. She saw the blood on his clothes, the rage in his eyes. He's never been so angry, or at least she's never seen him so angry. And then Alejandro just disappears? It's no coincidence, and she knows it's not. She doesn't want Frankie to end up like him, either.
"So he's vetting Frankie for the position," Leah replies, and Mona nods. "That's a good in."
A man walks over, holding two beers, and passes one to each woman. They take them, and Mona pops the cap off hers before taking a long drink. Leah just holds hers, looking over the label, and Mona gently nudges her. "You need to drink. It'll look weird if you don't." Leah nods and opens her own bottle. Mona doesn't mention the fact that everyone in the room is observing them; it's not the first time she's been under the watchful eye of Mario's gang friends, but she doesn't want to worry Leah. Besides, she should know already. She should have experience with these situations.
"So," Leah says with a smile, after a few more drinks, "do you want to hear some gossip?"
"So," Mario says, sitting down on the edge of the cheap sofa, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands together, "Mona tells me you're looking for work."
"Yeah," Frankie says and remains standing, because Mario never gave him a direction. He's tense, but Mario looks completely at ease. "It's too dangerous trying to sell alone."
Mario nods. "It is, it is." He pats the cushion next to him. "Come here, sit down. Don't look so scared."
"I don't," Frankie replies, narrowing his eyes. Mario's power play is blatant, like a child trying to get a rise out of his parent by insisting they're the out of control one. He does sit down next to him, though, as a good faith gesture. "Mona says you're not...affiliated. I like that. Easier to stay under the radar."
"I'm loyal to no one, but everyone is loyal to me. It's a sweet deal." He grins, and Frankie wants to slap the cocky look right off his face. If only he knew how tenuous the bonds between gangs were, even if they share a mutual fear. He's seen the downfall of many men in LA, cocky young things like Mario who think that they can play the game with no rules. There are always rules.
"I wonder why Mona brought you here, though. She knows I don't like strangers. Can't trust 'em. And you--I sure as hell can't trust you."
Frankie remains silent. Mario's playing with him again, trying to get a rise out of him. Trying to get him to betray Mona, reveal if there's anything going on that he doesn't know about. And Frankie won't take that bait.
"Who are you? Hm, Frankie?" There is something in Mario's eyes that Frankie doesn't like. He wonders if he knows this is a set up, or at the very least, believes it's a bad move on his part.
Frankie blinks slowly, wishing he could have gone back in time and insist they not go so early on. "What am I supposed to say to that?" he answers, his voice tense, hostile. "Do you wanna hear about my childhood? My hobbies? My height, weight, address? What?"
Mario smirks. "What do you think?"
Frankie doesn't respond.
"Mona's a sweet girl, but she's too confident in herself, I think."
"Okay?" That's not a good sign at all, Frankie thinks.
"I'm not stupid." Mario laces and unlaces his fingers, staring down at the floor with a strange smile on his face. "I don't know what Mona was thinking."
"Did you call me in here to be your therapist?" Frankie finally says, unable to hold back any longer. He can feel adrenaline starting to course its way through his veins; fight-or-flight is starting to kick in, and he wants to know which he's supposed to choose. "If you want to bitch about your girlfriend, I'm the wrong man."
"Oh, I know," Mario laughs. "Cops aren't the best listeners."
The blood rushes to Frankie's head, and he freezes in place. Shit. SHIT. He's going to die there, in that dirty basement. It's over. It's all over. He came back from California to die on the floor of some trap house.
"One of my buddies was in lock-up the night you picked up Mona. She wasn't under arrest, was she? She cut a deal to sell me out. I knew she would, too. I was just hoping, you know. She was a pretty decent girl for a while there."
"Maybe you shouldn't knock your girls around, genius," Frankie snaps. He's suddenly so warm in his winter jacket and can feel the beginnings of a cold sweat running down the back of his neck. Mona and Leah are still outside, and he hasn't heard anything from them; for the first time in years, he says a silent prayer begging for their safety. If he can't get out, maybe they can. Maybe no one else knows except Mario.
"Get up," Mario laughs. There's a flash of silver and he extracts a gun from his right pocket, aiming it directly at Frankie's head. "This has been fun, but I don't want to drag it out any longer. I don't have the patience. Let's go get your girlfriend."
"Nah, man. Just you and me. Leave the girls alone." Frankie swallows hard, raising his hands up. "If you want to kill me, now's your chance. Do it."
"Where's the fun in that?" Mario replies. "Your friends have been trying to get me since, what, that prostitute back a couple years? Couldn't pin it on me, and I know they're still bitter. That girl out there--she a cop too? I think she should see this. After all, she's next. Poor little Mona, too."
"You're sick," Frankie mutters, tensing as Mario places the barrel of the gun against his temple.
"I'm powerful," Mario corrects him, and then uses the gun to motion towards the door. "Go. Let's show them how well our talk's been going."
Frankie takes two steps forward and then hesitates. Maybe he could take a swing at Mario, and if he gets him at the right place, he could get the girls and escape. He feels the barrel of the gun on the back of his head again and reaches instead for the doorknob.
"Was it worth it, coming back to the city?" Mario asks, close enough to breathe the question into his ear. "Detective Moeller?"
He should have said something to Laurent sooner. He shouldn't have just left his office, too afraid to hear what exactly Laurent would have said had he stayed and pressed him. They were supposed to have a talk, a real talk. Now, instead, Laurent is going to have to go to the funerals of two officers, and damn it, if he doesn't feel guilty about going out like this. Laurent's going to hate himself.
"Goddamn it," Frankie replies, and pushes the door open.
"I mean, those two are so in love," Leah whispers. "Him and Laurent? God, I mean, Frankie used to tell me all this shit about how stupid they were being, how they'd make out in his office coat closet and one time behind the..." She trails off, realizing she maybe shouldn't bring up the courthouse while they're among criminals.
The women don't even realize Mario and Frankie have returned until they hear the door behind them slam. "That was fast," Mona says, and as she raises her head to look at them, the empty beer bottle slips from her hand. It barely makes a sound against the burned, dusty-gray carpeting, and even if it did, it wouldn't have been audible over the sound of her screaming.
Leah reaches over and clamps a hand over Mona's mouth. "Calm down! Stop screaming!" She's shaking, though, as she tries to quiet the girl down.
Frankie stands before them, looking resolute and resigned, a gun glinting behind his head. "It's okay," he says, holding his hands up. "It's okay."
"What the fuck?" Mona screams. She gets to her feet and picks up the beer bottle. "What are you doing?!"
"Mona," Frankie says, calmer than all of them, "don't worry. It's fine. It's going to be okay."
"Are you going to kill me too?" Mona continues shouting. "I know what you did to Ale! You fucking coward! This is what your life is?" She picks the beer bottle up and throws it at him, missing his head by several inches. It hits the wall behind him with a thud, but doesn't break.
Mario just laughs. "You're so dramatic," he tells her, removing the gun from Frankie's head to point it at her. "Yeah, I'm going to kill you. After I kill the cops. And it's going to be real intimate and real slow, baby. Just the way you like it."
"Stop it! Stop it, they're just trying to help me!" Mona's hysterical, crying and shaking on her feet. Leah keeps tugging on her arm, trying to pull her back down, but it doesn't look like Mario's affected by her outburst at all. The gun in his hand is steady as he aims it directly at his girlfriend's face.
"They've done a great job," Mario replies, and aims the gun back at Frankie's head.
Mona drops down onto the couch, sobbing, grabbing at Leah's hands. "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry," she wails.
Leah pulls her into a hug, letting Mona bury her face in her shoulder. "Shh, no, don't be sorry. It's not your fault." She glares up at Mario. "Some people are just pure evil."
Mario slowly, dramatically cocks the gun. "Turn around," he commands Frankie. "I want to see your face when I pull the trigger. I've never shot anyone before."
"Surprising, for such a big-time thug like you," Frankie replies, slowly turning to face Mario. "Is that because you know you couldn't overpower me the way you did with Ruth? If this was just us, one-on-one, no weapons--you'd lose. Good thing you've got a gun to hide behind." Some of the other men in the room chuckle, and Frankie grins.
"Frankie," Leah hisses, eyes wide and glistening.
"Hey, if he wants to make this a show, it'll be a show. Who are these guys, Mario? Your gang friends? But which gang, I wonder. Do they know that you're not loyal to them?" Frankie turns and looks around, surveying the men gathered around the outside of the room, carefully avoiding the space behind Frankie. "He told me he's not loyal to any of you, but that you're all loyal to him. Is that true?"
Mario hasn't moved an inch. His jaw is tense, his eyes narrowed, but he hasn't reacted to any of Frankie's taunting. He hasn't pulled the trigger, yet, either.
"It's okay," Frankie says, quietly, directed at Mario. "Some of us get performance anxiety."
A gunshot rings out in the room, swiftly followed by the sound of shattered glass and another gunshot. Mona screams and screams as both Mario and Frankie crumple to the floor.
Title: Verbrennen
Story: The Gemini Occurrence ( Kingdom of Second Chances #7)
Rating: R (language, violence)
Flavor(s): Chocolate #7: regret; Blueberry Yogurt #12: chain reaction
Topping(s): Caramel, Sprinkles
Word Count: 5,970
Summary: November, Week 3, 2028. On Monday, Mona brings Leah and Frankie to Mario--and everything goes to hell.
Notes: Mona Lively, Mario Pierce, Detective Katharine Chastain, Detective Noel Reyes, Detective Leah Grant, Detective Frankie Moeller, ADA Laurent Marion. (Well, this is...dramatic, to say the least.)
Mona meets Leah in the same coffee shop they'd had their last meeting in. She's sitting in the corner again, this time tucked inside a lounge chair near the window. Mona weaves in and out of the tables, moving slowly; Leah's back is to her and she doesn't want to startle her. Before she even makes it to where she's sitting, though, Leah turns around with a grin on her face. "Hey, Mona."
"How did you--" Mona looks around, confused, as if the answer to her question is somewhere in the shop.
"I saw your reflection in the window," Leah quickly interjects, laughing. "Come on, take a seat. I ordered for you, I hope that's okay."
The cup sitting on the coffee table, in front of the other chair, is piled high with whipped cream. "Oh, yeah, that's totally fine," Mona replies, smiling, and sets her purse down on the table beside her drink. She picks up the mug and settles into her chair, and each woman takes a few sips of her coffee in the silence that follows.
"So," Leah starts, "Kat told me you sent her a text message last week? Was everything okay?"
"It was nothing," Mona assures her. She'd almost completely forgotten about texting Kat; she'd been frightened when Mario came home, frightened for herself, but after listening to him she was more afraid of what had happened that day. "It wasn't about me. I mean, he wasn't doing anything to me, but..."
"But what?" Leah probes gently, shifting in her seat so she's facing Mona. "What happened?"
"I saw blood on his shirt," she whispers. "And on his boots, later, when he came back. It wasn't his. He didn't have a scratch on him."
"You're sure? It couldn't have been paint? It couldn't have been a nosebleed or something?"
Mona narrows her eyes at Leah and wraps her coat tightly around herself, as if for protection. "You don't believe me."
"I have to ask," Leah tells her. "If it could have been something else, we can't jump to conclusions. But I do believe you, Mona." She at least looks sincere, Mona thinks, but she looks uncomfortable, too.
"What?" Mona asks her. "What aren't you telling me?"
"Nothing," Leah says. "I just think this is getting a little too dangerous for you. You're not trained for this--hell, you're not trained for anything in this vein. I think this should stop."
Mona doesn't know what to say for a moment, and sips her coffee while she tries to figure out whether Leah is truly concerned for her or if there's something else at play. "Even if I wasn't involved, would you still go after Mario?"
Leah nods. "We would."
"Then I might as well help. It's not going to change things for me whether I'm involved or not."
"Sweetheart, that's not the point," Leah argues, but Mona is resolute, sitting with her arms crossed over her chest. "Just be careful, okay? Promise me you won't try to provoke him or anything like that."
"I promise," Mona replies. "I'm not stupid. I'm not going to put myself in danger."
"I know," Leah sighs, "but you'd be amazed how many people try to push the outcome."
Mona nods and reaches for her coffee again. She doesn't really know what to say; all she knows of undercover stings is what she's seen on TV, and of course, that's all dramatized. She still watches old Dateline episodes from the early 2000s, and the stings are usually people in cars with listening devices, probing the other person about a crime they may or may not have already committed. It's never a girlfriend, living with her boyfriend, wearing a wire the entire time.
"Mario is dangerous," Leah says very quietly. "More dangerous than you know, Mona. I want you to be safe."
Mona nods. "That's what you all are here for, right? To keep me safe."
Leah smiles, and she almost looks sad. "That's right. We're going to keep you safe."
Noel is standing in a parking lot a block away from the precinct, smoking a cigarette and staring at his phone, when Kat finds him. They're both bundled up in heavy winter jackets, and Kat has gloves on over her hands. No one would be able to tell they were police officers; the cold weather is as good a disguise as any. "Noel," Kat says, hoping to get his attention before she startles him.
Noel starts and drops his cigarette on the ground, but turns around to face Kat, a sheepish grin on his face. "Hey, Kat. Sorry, I was reading something on my phone. What's up?"
"Nothing, I just wanted to catch you before you went back inside. I was hoping we could talk."
Noel nods and slips his phone back into his coat's pocket. "Want to take a walk?" he asks, holding out his hand.
Kat smiles and peels off one of her gloves, before slipping her hand into his. "Jesus," she says, and he starts laughing. "You're freezing!"
"Aw, it's not that bad," he disagrees, giving her hand a squeeze. "Besides, you can warm me up."
They start off on the sidewalk, heading in the opposite direction of the precinct. Kat keeps her other glove on and rubs the top of Noel's hand with it; he just grins and watches her, amused.
"So," Noel says, once they make it to the next block, and affectionately bumps her shoulder. "What did you want to talk about?"
"Mario," Kat says, ever pragmatic.
Noel sighs and runs a hand over his face. "Great. Work--yeah, of course. For some reason, I was under the impression this might be personal."
"We've gone over this," she replies, unable to mask her own disappointment. "This isn't--there's nothing personal."
"Yeah." Noel keeps his eyes on the bridge in the distance, unable to look at her. "I know, you've said that before, but--I'm sorry, Kat, I just don't see it. I don't see how this can't be personal."
"Come on, can we please worry about this later? I really want to talk to you, about something that matters at this current moment."
Noel pouts, but he nods for her to go on. "What about Mario, then?"
"You had Leah look into his file, didn't you?" Kat turns to look at him with the intensity of a mother scolding her child.
"Uh, no, Kat, I didn't have her look into his file. She already was, so I just pointed her in the right direction. She had a right to know."
"Leah called me in a panic on Friday night, Noel. She wanted to know what to do if Mario kills Mona. She couldn't get it out of her head. She asked me about a million questions about Ruth, too, and just wouldn't shut up about what she thought was going on in the girl's head. I've never heard her like that."
Noel sighs and shakes his head. "Jesus Christ. I'm sorry, Kat, I didn't realize--" He cuts himself off. "She's a cop, though, Kat. I mean, I'm sorry, but she should be able to look over relevant case files without having a meltdown."
"It was more than that, I think. She made it so personal. She really internalized that case."
They fall silent for a moment, and Noel runs his thumb across the length of Kat's pointer finger. "Are you cold?" he asks quietly.
"Don't try to play boyfriend with me now," she says and laughs, leaning into him, and doesn't protest when he lets go of her hand in favor of putting his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
"One of these days, we're going to have to talk about us," he tells her seriously, and presses a kiss to the top of her head.
Frankie somehow manages to sneak in past Audrey, or charm her enough that she agrees to let him go in and "surprise" her boss, because Laurent doesn't know he's there until he sets a mug down in front of him on his desk. Laurent smears the word he'd been writing and jolts straight up, deflating with a ragged exhale when he sees Frankie. "What is this?" he asks, motioning towards the travel mug.
"Pumpkin Spice Latte," Frankie announces with a hint of pride as he sits down in once of the chairs across from Laurent's desk. "A peace offering."
"Why would you give me this?" Laurent eyes the mug like it could be poisonous. "I don't drink Pumpkin Spice Lattes."
"Have you ever had one? They're so good! You need something sweet, too--your face is so damn sour all the time, Laurent." Frankie grins, looking more like a mischievous teenager than an almost-thirty year old man.
"You said this is a peace offering," he repeats, choosing not to acknowledge the last of what Frankie said. "A peace offering for what?"
"For the fact that I'm going to make you talk to me. Right now." Frankie's face finally loses some of the sparkle, and he looks unsure of himself.
"I don't have time," Laurent replies, and he tries to be gentle. "I have work to do. We can--I don't know, meet for a drink later? Coffee? Dinner? Just--please, Frankie, not right now."
"Yes, right now," Frankie demands. Laurent has never heard his voice so tense, and he actively recoils, leaning back in his chair. "It's been over a fucking year, Laurent. I've waited long enough."
"That's fair." Laurent swallows, and then lifts the phone receiver to buzz Audrey. "Hold my calls, please, Audrey. Detective Moeller and I have...some business." He waits for her usual pleasant chirp of agreement before he hangs up. "I guess the floor is yours," he says, and picks up the latte.
"I feel like I'm going to throw up," he mutters and closes his eyes.
"Oh, Frankie," Laurent sighs.
"Can you just answer one question? I'm gonna go, but answer one question for me first."
Laurent drops his gaze to the mug in his hand. Frankie looks so vulnerable--tired and underdressed for the November weather, his tan betraying the fact that he used to once live there--and Laurent doesn't know how much longer he can keep up the charade for. He nods, slowly, but won't look up. Frankie's brown eyes are too sad.
"Have you thought about me at all this past year?"
Frankie sounds like a child when he asks, his voice quiet and brittle, and Laurent has to take a deep, slow breath to ground himself. He can't tell him how, almost every day, he stares at his phone screen, his finger poised above the name "Frankie Moeller" in his contacts, unable to hit the call button. He can't tell him that he's been on all of two dates that year, both of which ended with him feigning sudden important work to do and bailing as fast as he could. He'd barely gone a day without thinking about Frankie--but Laurent can't tell him that. "Yes," he says, mild and controlled. "Of course."
Frankie nods, but he still looks so lost. "I'm flying back as soon as Leah doesn't need me anymore."
"Frankie--"
"She told me we're going to see Mario tonight. Mona gave her the okay."
"Okay, but Frankie--"
Frankie pushes himself up of the chair and manages to get five steps away from Laurent's desk before he stops himself. "You owe me more than just that," he says to the wall.
Laurent wants to agree with him, but instead he just replies with, "Thanks for the drink."
"Thought you said you don't drink Pumpkin Spice Lattes," Frankie quips, glancing back over his shoulder.
With eyes on him, Laurent makes a show of sipping the latte. "Coffee is coffee," he says, but Frankie's right, it's good. Sweet, but just in the way he needs. Laurent can't let him know that, though, so he sets the coffee down on the desk.
Frankie turns back and spends a quick moment staring at the doors in front of him. He leaves the office in silence, without turning back to Laurent.
Laurent's not sure whether he's relieved or hurt. The sting that comes after the door slams shut settles it for him.
Mona can't believe her eyes when she sees Leah and Detective Franklin Moeller--the latter for the first time--in the alley outside the coffee shop. Leah looks nothing like a cop, and even less like the put-together woman she'd spoken to earlier that morning. Her eyes are wide, lined with black, smudged liner, and if she didn't know better, Mona would've thought she was strung out. She has black, ripped jeans on, a shirt that must've come from some mall store catering to teenagers, and a too-long, too-big winter coat that makes her look tiny.
Frankie is shockingly tan against the backdrop of oncoming winter, and he looks almost-frightening in his leather jacket. The hostility he displays on his face looks like it's hard work to keep up; Mona can feel the intensity rolling off him in waves. Immediately, she knows he's exactly the kind of person Mario will want to talk to. He doesn't like the easygoing, friendly types; the men he keeps close to him are rigid in their ways, and they understand the way he snaps. Frankie holds himself like a string drawn too taut, and it's exactly how Mario goes through life.
"I'm terrified," she whispers, and Leah pulls her into a tight hug.
"You're gonna be just fine, honey. Don't worry, okay? We know what we're doing, and Kat and Noel are right down the street. They'll be able to hear everything, and if we need them, they'll be there quicker than we can ask."
Mona just nods.
Frankie drops his act just long enough to gently rub Mona's arm and fix her with a warm smile. "Kiddo, I've been in a lot worse than this. It'll all be fine."
Mona's still nodding when he finishes speaking to her. "Okay, um, so what do we do then? How does this work?"
Leah grins and links her arm with Mona's. "This is the part where we get to relax and just talk like friends. Okay? That's all we are--friends. Now, tell me a little bit about yourself, sweetheart," she prompts as she starts off down the street with Mona in tow, Frankie trailing behind them with a cigarette dangling from his lips. "What's this about your brother? Kat says you haven't spoken to him in a while."
"Yeah. That's my fault," Mona says. She knows she should have been better to Devyn when he was working through whatever it was he was going through, but she couldn't make sense of it and his erratic behavior was started to remind her too much of their mother. Some of it reminded her of their father, too, and that was much more than she could handle. Of course, after he met Genevieve, she should have been happy for him. She should have made an effort to befriend the woman he'd set his sights on, but she just couldn't.
It felt too much like he was pushing her out. Devyn had been her first love; as a child, he was the only man she had eyes for, the same way little girls love their fathers, and her heart belonged to him and only him. She'd toyed around with other guys, pretended to involve herself in other relationships, but all she wanted was her brother. He was the only one she ever had, and she thought he felt the same about her.
And then Genevieve showed up, and suddenly all Devyn wanted was her. He didn't have time for Mona's games. He didn't run at the drop of hat if she called. And Mona took that to mean he didn't love her anymore, and so she ran and tried to find someone who would love her.
Of course, she couldn't have a healthy relationship with anyone. Not even with her own family. It was no wonder, really, she'd found herself trapped in an abusive relationship with a man who could kill her. A man who may kill her.
"I get jealous," she says, hoping to condense the reality just enough that it doesn't sound completely horrible. "He found this woman, back when those heart devices were supposedly the only way you could find love, and I got mad and ran. I thought he didn't need me anymore, and I didn't want to need him anymore, and I ran. And some other stuff happened first but then I ended up here."
"That's normal," Leah assures her. "You have a lot working against you. It's normal to latch onto the one person that provides some amount of stability in your life."
"I know, okay? I know, I've had plenty of therapists tell me the same thing. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm a terrible sister, and I love my brother so much that I can't let anyone else have him. Or make him happy. I didn't even make him happy, though."
"That's way outside my pay grade," Leah jokes, "but I think you at least have insight into it, and that's good. Have you met this woman? Have you spoken to her? She may just be one more person to pour your love into."
Mona just nods. She's thought a lot, lately, about going home to Devyn and meeting Genevieve, maybe giving her a hug and welcoming her into the family. She's never even seen the woman, just heard Devyn gush about her, and at the very least she could make an effort. Maybe they could be friends. Maybe they could be close. Mona just never gave her the chance.
"What about you?" she asks, wanting to move the conversation away from herself. "What about your family?"
"My real one or my persona's family?" Leah teases. "I'm from South Dakota. My parents are old--in their late 60s/early 70s, because they'd already had four girls before they had me. My oldest sister says I was a 'happy accident,' but I've heard stories and I was an accident, just not exactly a happy one. My sisters are all married, with lots of kids of their own, and I get to be the fun aunt because I'm young, single, and can spoil them."
"That sounds nice," Mona hums. "I think about having kids sometimes, just not any time soon, obviously. And I don't want them to be as screwed up as Devyn and I are. Our genetics are too strong. I may just adopt."
Leah casts a heartbroken look over her shoulder at Frankie, but says nothing.
"Hey, there are a lot of kids out there in need of loving homes," Frankie says. "Even if I wasn't almost completely set on marrying a man, I'd want to adopt."
"You're gay?" Mona asks, and then clamps a hand over her mouth. "Sorry, that was...inappropriate."
Frankie grins and shakes his head. "No, you're fine! I just outed myself. But, no, not technically. It sounds stupid when I have to explain it, but I like women, too, I just have a strong preference for men."
"So you're bisexual," Mona clarifies, and he nods. "Oh, okay. Yeah, no, I get that. I understand."
"Through experience or just logically, it makes sense to you?"
Frankie laughs, to make it clear he's teasing, but Mona glances over her shoulder and very seriously tells him, "Oh, I'm bisexual, too. I mean, I'm almost certain I am. I've never dated a girl, but I've had a lot of crushes, and once I made out with a girl in the back of a movie theater. It was nice."
"Good God," Leah exclaims, and Frankie bursts into laughter behind him. "This is not the kind of conversation I was expecting to have. I hope Kat and Noel are enjoying this."
"Oh," Mona says, cracking a smile herself. "I forgot they could hear us."
"First rule of undercover work: Never say anything you don't want your colleagues to hear. Because, chances are, even if they aren't listening at the time, it'll come up later," Frankie tells her.
"I'll remember that for the next time I have to go undercover," Mona says and laughs.
When they arrive at the townhouse basement that Mona says is where Mario likes to hang out, they expect for her to have to do a secret knock or know some kind of password to get in. Instead, she knocks twice on the door, and when a big, burly man answers, she merely asks him, "Is Mario here?" After he nods, he steps aside and lets them in. Frankie and Leah exchange a look to share their equal shock.
The basement apartment is not at all an apartment; it's been turned into something akin to a sleazy VIP lounge at a club, with enough furniture to fit the several dozen people they see when they first walk in. The air is a thick haze of smoke, lit with cell phone screens and the glowing cherries of cigarettes. Mona navigates her way through the crowd like she knows where she's going, and Frankie tries his hardest not to look like he's uncomfortable.
He doesn't have a gun with him. He doesn't have anything, and in a place that's as low-visibility as this, he's afraid a situation can turn dangerous quickly.
Leah has slipped back into the character she's trying to play, whirling around with wide eyes, tugging on Frankie's hand like a child. She's supposed to look high, sweet, innocent--Leah isn't the one Mario is supposed to worry about. Frankie wants her to be as unassuming as possible. If he could actually give her some drugs to cement the role, he would.
Mario emerges from a back room, and Mona approaches him hesitantly. Frankie and Leah watch from a distance as Mario pulls her in for a kiss, and then she whispers in his ear--about them, they assume. She points, and they can't see Mario's eyes, but his body angles towards them and they know he's seen them.
There's no backing out now. They have no choice but to follow through.
"This is Mario," Mona shouts over the hip-hop music, and points to Leah and then Frankie, naming them off as she does. "They're my friends from therapy," she tells Mario, and he smirks.
Whatever he says afterwards is too quiet for Frankie to hear, but he doesn't like the look on Mario's face. He's appraising the both of them, his arm around Mona's waist in a way that's more territorial than affectionate. "So, what are you two in for?" he asks in tone that tries too hard to be teasing. "Prostitution," he guesses, pointing to Leah, and then he turns his attention to Frankie. "Are you her pimp?"
Frankie doesn't trust him. There's just something in his eyes, something that makes him wary. "Drug possession. Intent to sell," Frankie responds, keeping his voice even, his face straight. He has a story in his head, just in case Mario pushes the issue. He already knows how he'll answer any question the man asks. Mario doesn't ask, though. He just stares, and it feels a lot like he's searching for some kind of crack in Frankie's facade.
"Let's go talk," Mario says, finally, motioning to Frankie. "You and me."
Leah grabs Frankie's wrist but he doesn't look at her. It's their signal; Leah thinks it's a bad idea. Frankie knows it is. He has to go, though, and as soon as Leah lets go of him, he follows Mario through the same doorway he'd appeared from.
"Come on," Mona says, and tugs on the material of Leah's jacket. "Let's go sit down. Mario wants to talk business."
Leah lets Mona lead her off to a nearby couch, where they huddle together at the end, away from the couple on the other side, some fine, white powder from the coffee table in front of them.
"Mario likes guys like him," Mona says in Leah's ear. "He takes himself too seriously, and he wants other people to be the same way."
"Is that why he pulled him aside to talk to him right away?" Leah asks. "I wasn't expecting that, Mona. I mean, we didn't plan for that."
"I know." Mona glances over at the doorway; the door, marred with cigarette burns at a splintered section where someone--probably Mario--had punched it, is closed now. Mario probably locked it behind him, and Mona doesn't know whether to be worried for Frankie or not. "He needs some help. I guess something happened with one of his other guys a few days ago."
Mona knows Mario killed him. She knows. She saw the blood on his clothes, the rage in his eyes. He's never been so angry, or at least she's never seen him so angry. And then Alejandro just disappears? It's no coincidence, and she knows it's not. She doesn't want Frankie to end up like him, either.
"So he's vetting Frankie for the position," Leah replies, and Mona nods. "That's a good in."
A man walks over, holding two beers, and passes one to each woman. They take them, and Mona pops the cap off hers before taking a long drink. Leah just holds hers, looking over the label, and Mona gently nudges her. "You need to drink. It'll look weird if you don't." Leah nods and opens her own bottle. Mona doesn't mention the fact that everyone in the room is observing them; it's not the first time she's been under the watchful eye of Mario's gang friends, but she doesn't want to worry Leah. Besides, she should know already. She should have experience with these situations.
"So," Leah says with a smile, after a few more drinks, "do you want to hear some gossip?"
"So," Mario says, sitting down on the edge of the cheap sofa, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands together, "Mona tells me you're looking for work."
"Yeah," Frankie says and remains standing, because Mario never gave him a direction. He's tense, but Mario looks completely at ease. "It's too dangerous trying to sell alone."
Mario nods. "It is, it is." He pats the cushion next to him. "Come here, sit down. Don't look so scared."
"I don't," Frankie replies, narrowing his eyes. Mario's power play is blatant, like a child trying to get a rise out of his parent by insisting they're the out of control one. He does sit down next to him, though, as a good faith gesture. "Mona says you're not...affiliated. I like that. Easier to stay under the radar."
"I'm loyal to no one, but everyone is loyal to me. It's a sweet deal." He grins, and Frankie wants to slap the cocky look right off his face. If only he knew how tenuous the bonds between gangs were, even if they share a mutual fear. He's seen the downfall of many men in LA, cocky young things like Mario who think that they can play the game with no rules. There are always rules.
"I wonder why Mona brought you here, though. She knows I don't like strangers. Can't trust 'em. And you--I sure as hell can't trust you."
Frankie remains silent. Mario's playing with him again, trying to get a rise out of him. Trying to get him to betray Mona, reveal if there's anything going on that he doesn't know about. And Frankie won't take that bait.
"Who are you? Hm, Frankie?" There is something in Mario's eyes that Frankie doesn't like. He wonders if he knows this is a set up, or at the very least, believes it's a bad move on his part.
Frankie blinks slowly, wishing he could have gone back in time and insist they not go so early on. "What am I supposed to say to that?" he answers, his voice tense, hostile. "Do you wanna hear about my childhood? My hobbies? My height, weight, address? What?"
Mario smirks. "What do you think?"
Frankie doesn't respond.
"Mona's a sweet girl, but she's too confident in herself, I think."
"Okay?" That's not a good sign at all, Frankie thinks.
"I'm not stupid." Mario laces and unlaces his fingers, staring down at the floor with a strange smile on his face. "I don't know what Mona was thinking."
"Did you call me in here to be your therapist?" Frankie finally says, unable to hold back any longer. He can feel adrenaline starting to course its way through his veins; fight-or-flight is starting to kick in, and he wants to know which he's supposed to choose. "If you want to bitch about your girlfriend, I'm the wrong man."
"Oh, I know," Mario laughs. "Cops aren't the best listeners."
The blood rushes to Frankie's head, and he freezes in place. Shit. SHIT. He's going to die there, in that dirty basement. It's over. It's all over. He came back from California to die on the floor of some trap house.
"One of my buddies was in lock-up the night you picked up Mona. She wasn't under arrest, was she? She cut a deal to sell me out. I knew she would, too. I was just hoping, you know. She was a pretty decent girl for a while there."
"Maybe you shouldn't knock your girls around, genius," Frankie snaps. He's suddenly so warm in his winter jacket and can feel the beginnings of a cold sweat running down the back of his neck. Mona and Leah are still outside, and he hasn't heard anything from them; for the first time in years, he says a silent prayer begging for their safety. If he can't get out, maybe they can. Maybe no one else knows except Mario.
"Get up," Mario laughs. There's a flash of silver and he extracts a gun from his right pocket, aiming it directly at Frankie's head. "This has been fun, but I don't want to drag it out any longer. I don't have the patience. Let's go get your girlfriend."
"Nah, man. Just you and me. Leave the girls alone." Frankie swallows hard, raising his hands up. "If you want to kill me, now's your chance. Do it."
"Where's the fun in that?" Mario replies. "Your friends have been trying to get me since, what, that prostitute back a couple years? Couldn't pin it on me, and I know they're still bitter. That girl out there--she a cop too? I think she should see this. After all, she's next. Poor little Mona, too."
"You're sick," Frankie mutters, tensing as Mario places the barrel of the gun against his temple.
"I'm powerful," Mario corrects him, and then uses the gun to motion towards the door. "Go. Let's show them how well our talk's been going."
Frankie takes two steps forward and then hesitates. Maybe he could take a swing at Mario, and if he gets him at the right place, he could get the girls and escape. He feels the barrel of the gun on the back of his head again and reaches instead for the doorknob.
"Was it worth it, coming back to the city?" Mario asks, close enough to breathe the question into his ear. "Detective Moeller?"
He should have said something to Laurent sooner. He shouldn't have just left his office, too afraid to hear what exactly Laurent would have said had he stayed and pressed him. They were supposed to have a talk, a real talk. Now, instead, Laurent is going to have to go to the funerals of two officers, and damn it, if he doesn't feel guilty about going out like this. Laurent's going to hate himself.
"Goddamn it," Frankie replies, and pushes the door open.
"I mean, those two are so in love," Leah whispers. "Him and Laurent? God, I mean, Frankie used to tell me all this shit about how stupid they were being, how they'd make out in his office coat closet and one time behind the..." She trails off, realizing she maybe shouldn't bring up the courthouse while they're among criminals.
The women don't even realize Mario and Frankie have returned until they hear the door behind them slam. "That was fast," Mona says, and as she raises her head to look at them, the empty beer bottle slips from her hand. It barely makes a sound against the burned, dusty-gray carpeting, and even if it did, it wouldn't have been audible over the sound of her screaming.
Leah reaches over and clamps a hand over Mona's mouth. "Calm down! Stop screaming!" She's shaking, though, as she tries to quiet the girl down.
Frankie stands before them, looking resolute and resigned, a gun glinting behind his head. "It's okay," he says, holding his hands up. "It's okay."
"What the fuck?" Mona screams. She gets to her feet and picks up the beer bottle. "What are you doing?!"
"Mona," Frankie says, calmer than all of them, "don't worry. It's fine. It's going to be okay."
"Are you going to kill me too?" Mona continues shouting. "I know what you did to Ale! You fucking coward! This is what your life is?" She picks the beer bottle up and throws it at him, missing his head by several inches. It hits the wall behind him with a thud, but doesn't break.
Mario just laughs. "You're so dramatic," he tells her, removing the gun from Frankie's head to point it at her. "Yeah, I'm going to kill you. After I kill the cops. And it's going to be real intimate and real slow, baby. Just the way you like it."
"Stop it! Stop it, they're just trying to help me!" Mona's hysterical, crying and shaking on her feet. Leah keeps tugging on her arm, trying to pull her back down, but it doesn't look like Mario's affected by her outburst at all. The gun in his hand is steady as he aims it directly at his girlfriend's face.
"They've done a great job," Mario replies, and aims the gun back at Frankie's head.
Mona drops down onto the couch, sobbing, grabbing at Leah's hands. "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry," she wails.
Leah pulls her into a hug, letting Mona bury her face in her shoulder. "Shh, no, don't be sorry. It's not your fault." She glares up at Mario. "Some people are just pure evil."
Mario slowly, dramatically cocks the gun. "Turn around," he commands Frankie. "I want to see your face when I pull the trigger. I've never shot anyone before."
"Surprising, for such a big-time thug like you," Frankie replies, slowly turning to face Mario. "Is that because you know you couldn't overpower me the way you did with Ruth? If this was just us, one-on-one, no weapons--you'd lose. Good thing you've got a gun to hide behind." Some of the other men in the room chuckle, and Frankie grins.
"Frankie," Leah hisses, eyes wide and glistening.
"Hey, if he wants to make this a show, it'll be a show. Who are these guys, Mario? Your gang friends? But which gang, I wonder. Do they know that you're not loyal to them?" Frankie turns and looks around, surveying the men gathered around the outside of the room, carefully avoiding the space behind Frankie. "He told me he's not loyal to any of you, but that you're all loyal to him. Is that true?"
Mario hasn't moved an inch. His jaw is tense, his eyes narrowed, but he hasn't reacted to any of Frankie's taunting. He hasn't pulled the trigger, yet, either.
"It's okay," Frankie says, quietly, directed at Mario. "Some of us get performance anxiety."
A gunshot rings out in the room, swiftly followed by the sound of shattered glass and another gunshot. Mona screams and screams as both Mario and Frankie crumple to the floor.