Page 96 of Forgotten Deeds

My pager sounds, and I check the encrypted message from Fabio.

Need a trainer ASAP. Can you get to AC?

I send him a reply.

Heading your way now.

Taking a quick shower, I change into street clothes before locking up behind me. On the drive, I start a new podcast: the story of a serial killer who was caught because he was dumb enough to swipe a trophy from the victim’s house. I angrily turn off the episode, as this topic hits a little too close to home. I never take a trophy, and why I chose to start with that damn rainbow charm, God only know.

Arriving at Sergio’s restaurant—now Fabio’s restaurant—I park in the back. Fabio greets me at the door, and we fist bump before he leads me through the kitchen to a private dining room.

I whistle, taking in the scene. Men are slumped over at the table—their bullet-riddled heads having landed in their plates of pasta, with their blood and innards painting the floor and wall behind them. “They must not have liked the dinner special.”

“Send food back at your own risk.” Fabio chuckles as he gears up. Grabbing a hacksaw, he begins sawing a torso in half.

I open my bag, putting on my protective gear and face shield before lending a hand. “Why does Sammy always get out of the grunt work?” I complain.

“Perks of being the underboss,” Fabio tells me. “How’s newlywed life treating you?” he asks, grabbing a severed head by the hair and tossing it into an industrial barrel.

“Can’t complain,” I say, keeping my marital problems to myself as I remove an arm with effort, tossing it in the barrel. “When you going to settle down?”

“You sound like my nonna,” he gripes.

“She’s probably just grateful you stopped doing those fake butter commercials,” I taunt. “Any more romance book covers on the horizon, or have you put away the baby oil for good?”

He snorts a laugh. “After all these years, you’d think everyone would come up with new material.”

“Why, when the old shtick is so good? Anything happening at Ace’s Wild?”

“Things have been quiet. Too quiet,” he tells me.

“We’ll flush the fucker out eventually,” I say.

“That we will,” he agrees.

“You been keeping an eye on my cousin, Kat?”

“And if I say yes?”

“Then you’re doing your job,” I assure him. “What do you think?”

“The boss gets paid the big bucks to think; I just follow orders.”

I snort. “That’s the biggest fucking cop out if I’ve ever heard one.”

He pauses before saying, “Kat appears clean, but then again, she knows we’re watching. Time will tell.”

“True enough.” I can only pray time is on my cousin’s side.

We turn our attention back to finishing the dismemberment job. Making sure all body parts are accounted for, I help Fabio load the barrels onto a refrigerated truck.

“Be right back,” Fabio tells me. Returning with a bucket of blood, he dumps it over the already bloody floor. “Pig’s blood; muddles any DNA testing.”

“Nice touch,” I tell him.

I help spray down the room with a pressure washer mixed with a bleach solution; a floor drain’s hidden beneath a table for such an occasion. Helping him load the barrels, we peel off our gear and stick it in a trash bag, and Fabio tosses it on the back of the truck, closing the door. “Thanks, man,” he tells me.

“Any time. You need help with the trash haul?” I ask as we return inside and wash up.

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