Page 24 of Pretty Little Disaster

“You think you can handle that?” Dario checks,

“Amanté was a good friend of my father’s, I will see that he gets what he needs.” I nod my head and shove the folder into my holdall.

“Nic.” Dario catches me as I’m about to walk out the door. “You're doing well, I wasn’t going to tell you this yet, but I’m hearing whispers of Bruno Monti’s deteriorating health. I’m sure I don’t need to point out the fact that he has no sons. You would be eligible to put yourself forward, should he step down or pass on. I would support it.” I can tell from the slight smirk on my brother-in-law’s face that he’s happy to tell me this news. The two of us haven’t always gotten along, I very much misunderstood his intentions with my sister when they were first married and Dario misunderstood me. I’ve worked hard to earn his respect. I’m sure excelling at doing his dirty work, and the fact I allow his murdering cunt of a father to still breathe upstairs in his room has gone a long way to help with that.

“I appreciate that support.” I smile before making my way out the door. It’s time to fuck up Jeremy Doyle’s day.

I sit outside Doyle’s bungalow in one of the fake business-signed vans we use for surveillance. This one is for a security system installer and whoever used it before me clearly lives like an animal. It stinks of stale cigarette smoke and there are takeout wrappers filling the footwell. Right on cue, Doyle steps out of his front door and locks it behind him. I watch him stroll down the street until he turns the corner then I get to work. Picking up my holdall I cross the street, being vigilant as well as brisk in pace. I take the path that leads around the side of the house so I can gain access through the back door. I nearly leap out of my skin when a huge Rottweiler starts barking like crazy. He may be foaming at the mouth and looking like he’s going to kill me, but he’s not going to be able to do much while he’s locked upin that steel kennel. I check over the neighbours’ fences in case anyone’s feeling nosey today and when the coast is clear, I take out my lockpicks. I have to ignore the constant barking coming from behind me as I focus on the lock. It’s been a while since I’ve had to do something like this.

My father used to run this district for the DeMarcos when I was younger. We were, of course, upgraded to a much more profitable one once Madalina married Dario. I was lucky enough to never have toget byon those streets, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t want to learn about them. Back then I was convinced that one day these streets would be my responsibility. I wanted to understand them, how else could I make them better? Often, I would swap my fancy designer clothes for thrift store jeans and a worn, filthy sweater. I’d head into the streets of the Bronx and hang around with the wrong crowd. I figured the best way to know your streets is to eat, sleep, and breathe among them. I learned more during those days than my father could ever have taught me. He would pay thousands of pounds on boxing lessons for me but nothing taught me how to hold a guard or throw a punch better than fighting for scraps behind a 7-Eleven. You’ll never experience kindness quite like a man offering you the cardboard he sleeps on because “Your young bones ain’t used to the ground like these worn ones.” Being able to pick a lock is one of the many things I learned from those days that I spent pretending to be a nobody. But it isn’t the most valuable.

I manage to get the door open so I can step inside the kitchen and I quickly learn that it’s not just Dario’s surveillance team that lives like animals. The counters are covered with dirty plates, crushed cans, and empty packets, the trash is overflowing and I don’t even want to know what the black shit floating in the basin is. I quickly pass through into the living room where there's a pyramid of cigarette ends piled in an ashtray on thecoffee table. The TV is still on but muted, and I wouldn’t even lay a dead body on the old, ripped couch that's stained yellow and rests in front of it.

I start searching around for any evidence of guns, or a clue into who this Doyle guy is and where he fucking came from. There’s nothing in here, other than a bad smell so I head down the hall to search the rest of the place. There are two bedrooms which are pretty much empty, a bathroom you couldn’t pay me to take a crap in, and a closet which, ironically, contains a vacuum and a good stock of cleaning products. I close it back up and spot the bookshelf at the bottom of the hall. It’s shelves are stacked neatly with books and I get the feeling that I might have hit the jackpot.

Doyle clearly doesn’t take pride in anything, and this bookshelf looks exactly how you would expect a bookshelf to look.

It doesn’t fit in.

I step closer to it, checking down the hall toward the front door over my shoulder before I shift the thing sideways, and just like I expected, I see a hidden door.

Dragging the bookshelf further away from the wall, I take my lockpickers back out of my pocket and work on opening it. Once I’m in, I feel the wall for a light switch. Time is ticking on and Doyle could be back any minute, the whole point of me letting myself in was to gain the upper hand and catchhimby surprise. I don’t want to be the one getting caught out. Eventually, I find a pull cord and when a light at the bottom of the stairs flickers on, I take a chance and follow them to the bottom.

Down here things appear to be very different. There's a cot bed in the corner of the room that’s neatly made up, a desk that is tidy and organized, and on the other side of the room are the crates I’ve been looking for. Lifting one of the lids the first thing I pull out is a VEPR 30-06

“Fuck.” I size up the impressive piece in my hand before placing it back and taking some pictures on my phone to show Dario. Then I get to what I’m really here for. I figure a man's desk is a good place to start when looking for his secrets.

There’s a framed picture of Doyle standing beside a little girl on his desk and it’s a harsh reminder that the man, who I’m here to kill today, is someone's father. Then I remind myself that Mia Greco was someone's daughter. That Doyle is selling dangerous weapons to bad people, and that he’s selling them on our streets.

I lift the screen of his laptop and when I see that it’s locked with a passcode, I decide to spend the limited time I have, searching elsewhere. I pull open the top drawer of the desk and search through typical top drawer-fucking-items. Loose change, a screwdriver, some loose bullets, and, of course, a takeout menu. I feel through the second, finding a handgun, along with a passport that names Doyle as Salvok Alekseevich and makes him a Russian citizen. I move on to the third but it’s locked.

“Here we go,” I whisper to myself, taking out my lockpickers again and crouching to the floor. I know nothing about Doyle, it seems as if no one does, and if he’s had special armed forces training, there isn’t much I can do to him that will get him talking. Maybe I can find a client list locked away here in the drawer, or a phone containing contacts, there has to be something.

It’s tough but, eventually, I get the damn thing open, and all I find is a sealed envelope taped to the back of another photo frame. There’s a note paperclipped to the envelope that says…

In the event of my death, please give this to my daughter.

I lift up the note and when I see the name written on the front I drop the frame like it just caught on fire.

“No!”

My head shakes as I pick it back up and slowly turn it around and my guts clench when my fear is confirmed.

“Fuck,” I whisper before quickly setting everything back in its place. I need to leave everything exactly as I found it and get the hell out of here. I rush back upstairs, dragging the bookshelf back into place, then hurry back to the kitchen so I can let myself out the back door. I press my shoulders to the wall and catch my breath before ensuring the coast is clear for me to cross the street to my van. When I see that I have a clear run, I walk as fast and as inconspicuous as I can manage to get in the driver’s seat.

“Fuck, fuck,fuck!” I slam my hand on the wheel, not knowing what the fuck I should do next. Or how Dario is going to react when he finds out that I’m going to have to fail him for the first time. What Idoknow is that Doyle is going to live to see another day while I figure it all out.

LORNA

“Looks like you're ride’s here.” Wes gestures his head toward Nic’s fancy car when it pulls up beside us.

“You sure you and him aren’t a thing?” Cass stares at him dreamily as she waves through the window at him. Nic nods his head politely in response as he leans over the passenger seat to pop the door open for me.

“Nope. He’s just the father of my child,” I sigh, before heading down the steps and getting inside.

“Had a good day?” he asks, but I can tell from the way he’s gripping the wheel that he’s in no better mood than he was when I left him this morning.

“Actually, it was. We’ve been planning what we’re going to do after graduation. Cass was thinking about us all taking a trip.” I figure if I give him plenty of notice it will give him time to come to terms with the idea.

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