A Sin For A Sin

It always seems as if the sky is gray in Lawrence Massachusetts. Maybe it's just the atmosphere, not the weather. Lawrence used to be something to see decades ago. The old Victorian homes are starting to deteriorate along with the residents. The bell tower in the center of the city still rings every hour, reminding the old timers of the way things used to be. Now, on almost every street corner there are punks, hookers,mobsters, cops and factory workers, just trying to keep the city together. I've lived in Lawrence my whole life and it's always been this way. To outsiders the streets I grew up on might seem dangerous, but I know the people here. I know their stories, their kids, their cats. Some have fell on hard times and turned to crime, others have worked themselves to death.

My name is Isabelle Parelli. Everyone calls me Izzy. My grandpa started that, I'm not sure why. I've made it thirty years in Lawrence without being mugged, shot at or robbed. The old ladies in the beauty shop like to say that I'll never settle down and I'll never find a man that could put up with me. I don't know if that's true, but I like to keep my options open, much to my mothers dismay. Right now, I'm working as a process server for a company called Mike's Process Serving. The company is housed in a small brick strip mall right on the main drag. In the game of process serving, someone, maybe a landlord or a lawyer, pays my boss Mike to serve someone else with court papers. In turn, Mike pays me to do the serving and I get a percentage of the fee. For a little more cash, I'll take a proof of service paper down to the courthouse and file it. It's not the best job, but it's not the worst either and it pays the bills.

*****

It's the middle of the afternoon. I'm feeling a little depressed after serving two people with divorce papers and another with a eviction notice, so I stop in at Maria's Bakery and buy two donuts. I sit inside and look over some other files I have while I eat my donuts. When I'm finished, I walk outside and find John Kristaldi lounging against my SUV.

To say that John and I have history would be an understatement. For most of my life I hated him for the simple reasons that he was a street punk loser with a big mouth and a womanizing style. And he was best friends with my older brother. We've both come a long way since then. To everyone's amazement, he has a good job, a house and a three year old daughter. A few months ago, we ended up on a while goose chase across the country that ended with us becoming more friendly and naked. The last time I saw John, was two months ago at my brother's murder hearing, in the women's bathroom with our pants around our ankles.

"Long time no see." I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

"What, no hello?"

"Hi."

"You pissed at me or something?"

"It's only been two months without a call, a visit, anything."

"We agreed that we weren't in a relationship." he says.

"We did. But I thought we were friends or something."

"It was getting complicated."

"No shit." he smirks and steps towards me. He tucks a finger into my white tie neck halter top and pulls it out, looking inside. I step backwards and he smiles.

"Just checking."

"You can't do that!"

"Babe, I've seen it all."

"Yeah, but you haven't seen in lately." he smiles again.

"Has it changed?"

"No." I say, smiling now. His attention moves from me to the folders sticking out of my big black handbag. He snatches them from me and walks over to the hood of my car, laying them out.

"What's this?" he asks, flipping through the papers.

"Work."

"What are you doing these days?"

"Process serving." I quickly explain my job description to him.

"You don't have to have some kind of qualification to do that?"

"Apparently not." he snorts.

"Your mother must love that you have this job."

"Not really. She thinks it's dangerous."

"Now why would she think that? I'm sure all of the people you serve with eviction notices usually send you flowers and buy you lunch."

"Well, I've only been threatened with a gun once." he glances over at me.

"What did you do?"

"Ran like hell."

"Atta girl." he closes the files and gives them back to me.

"Do I get to ask what you're doing these days?" he smiles and leans in, his mouth brushing my lips as he talks.

"The same thing I've always done." I put my hand on his chest and push him away and he grins.

"You're such a cupcake."

"Yeah, well I don't know if I want to be your friend anymore."

"Yes you do."

"No I don't." I argue.

"I'll get you. You won't even know what hit you when it happens, but it will happen."

“You’re not scary.”

“See ya, babe.” he says, then saunters off to his truck. I watch him pull away from the bakery, then look through my files. Ugh. I have to serve Karen Gratelli with divorce papers. Karen Gratelli is a viper who is famous for marrying and divorcing rich guys faster than her gangster daddy can dispose of them. Apparently the current rich guy came to his senses before she could take him to the cleaners. I just hope that she doesn’t decide to have her father take me out instead of her husband. I check the address and see that Karen is living in a posh suburb across the river in North Andover. I hop in my car and decide to stop at my parents house on the way.

My parents live in a nice for Lawrence suburb of row houses. Every house is a bigger or smaller version of the next one. My parents house is a two story with three bedrooms and one bathroom. Yeah. Imagine being a teenage girl living with three brothers in a house with one bathroom. I park in front of the house, behind my mom’s car. My dad is retired from the post office and now works part time driving a cab to get out of the house. My mom has been a stay at home mom for her whole life. Never had a job, ever. Her idea of failure is having three of her four children unmarried. The older we get, the less chances of grandchildren.

My mother appears at the front door as soon as I get up the front steps. She pushes open the screen door and lets me in.

“This is a nice surprise. What are you doing here?”

“I was working in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.” I follow her into the kitchen and take a seat at the table.

“I don’t want to hear another word about that job of yours. Why can’t I have a daughter with a normal job? All of my friends daughters have good jobs, married with children. Not mine! She evicts people from their homes and gets shot at!”

“Are you done?” I ask.

“I need to ask you a favor.” she says, setting a cup of coffee down in front of me, before sitting down across from me.

“What?”

“Have you heard about Frank’s partner and his wife going missing?”

“I didn’t know it was Frank’s partner.”

“Yes. I’m terribly worried about him. Him and Eddie were good friends and he’s not even allowed to investigate.”

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“Maybe you could go over to the house and check in.”

“You want me to check up on Frank for you? Ma, he’s an adult. He’s thirty six years old. He has a wife to check up on him.”

“Well I know that. But, can you blame me for being concerned?”

“You know that Frank never tells me anything.”

“You could try.” I do a deep breath.

“Fine, but I’m not making any promises.” I say, pulling back from the table.

My oldest brother, Frank, has been a cop since he was twenty. He was promoted to homicide detective five years ago. He’s a great guy with a crappy job. He’s seen more death, destruction and depression than any one person should have to see, but he slogs through it all. His saving grace is his wife, Sophie and their three kids, Frank Jr, Michael and Angela. They have a nice house not far from my parents and mostly keep to themselves. I’m concerned about this whole partner mess because Frank has had problems with partners in the past, which I’m ashamed to say I had a big part in.

I say goodbye to my mother and drive around the corner and a few miles to Frank and Sophie’s. Not surprisingly, Sophie’s car is the only one in the driveway. The small yard is nicely kept with flowers all over and I can hear wind chimes somewhere in the back yard. I get out and walk up to the front door and knock, feeling like the most intrusive person alive. Sophie answers the door, dressed in a nice black suit. Her lips and nails are painted blood red. Her black hair is short and curled and I’m once again taken aback at my sister-in-law’s beauty.

“Izzy, how nice to see you.” she says in her soft pretty voice.

“Hi. Did I catch you at a bad time?” I ask, taking in her dress clothes.

“No, I’m just getting home. I was at my great aunt’s wake.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” she smiles ruefully.

“Don’t worry about it, she was a nasty woman.” she crosses herself, then.

“God rest her soul.” I say.

“Exactly. Come in.” she moves to the side and I walk past her into the living room.

“I can’t stay long.” I tell her as we move into the kitchen. I sit at the table and take in the kids drawings on the fridge. Sophie pours me a cup of coffee and sits down with her own coffee and then lights up a cigarette, pulling a silver ashtray in front of her.

“So, what’s up?” she asks, blowing some smoke out of her perfect red lips.

“I heard about Frank’s partner. How is he taking it?”

“He’s managing. There isn’t much he can do, you know?”

“Yeah. I feel kind of nosy for asking, but my mom was concerned.” she smiles.

“I understand. Your family is very close.”

“We are.”

“If there was any reason for concern, let your mother know, she would be my first call.” she says with a cool smile that tells me that she wouldn’t call.

“Thanks. I’ll get out of your hair now before the kids get home from school.” I say, standing.

“Thank you for stopping by, Izzy. It was good to see you again.”

“You too. Tell Frank and the kids I said hi.”

“I will.” she stands by the door until I’m in my car and then she shuts the door. I stare at the house for a minute, feeling guilty for indulging my mother’s nosiness. I start my car after a minute and back out of the driveway and make my way to North Andover.

Karen Gratelli lives in a newer subdivision in a huge house that seems way too big for just her and her husband. I drive by the house and then do a U-turn and park two houses down from Karen. I get out and walk down the perfectly paved sidewalk and turn into Karen’s driveway. I ring the doorbell and listen as a pair of high heels click on the wood floors inside. The door opens and I look inside at Karen Gratelli. She’s a knockout with big hair, big boobs, big lips and tiny clothes. Diamonds bigger than my head hang from her ears, neck and wrists. She stares out at me with an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah?”

“Karen Gratelli?”

“Who wants to know?” she asks, sticking her hip out to the side.

“You’ve been served.” I say, handing her a piece of paper.

“What the fuck?”

“If you could just sign this, I’ll be on my way.” I say, holding out my proof of service sheet. She looks at the paper as if it was covered in dog shit.

“Who the fuck are you? Why are you doing this? Is this some kind of joke?” she asks.

“No joke. If you look at those papers I just gave you, it explains everything. Now, if you could just sign this.” I say, anxiously. Before I can even realize what’s happening, she reaches forward and snatches my purse from my shoulder and slams the door in my face. I can hear a deadbolt slamming in place inside. My mouth drops open and then I start banging on the door.

“Hey! Give me back my purse! Open the door!” I yell. I ring the doorbell a few times.

“Give me my purse and I’ll leave!”

“Go to hell!” she yells through the door.

“Bitch, open the door or I’ll call the cops!” she whips open the door and tosses my purse out at me and looks at me with an evil smile.

“Go ahead. I have what I need, Isabelle Parelli.” she says, and then slams the door again. I leg it back out to my car and start driving. My heart doesn’t stop racing until I get into my apartment parking lot. Holy shit. I’m fucked. Karen Gratelli is probably at this moment, ordering her father to have me killed.

I get out of my car and cross the parking lot into my building. I live in a low budget brick building in the center of town. It’s home to the newly wed, the nearly dead and me. I live on the second floor surrounded by senior citizens. I key myself into my apartment and drop my keys, purse and sunglasses on my small kitchen table and check the messages on my answering machine.

“Did you really make out with John Kristaldi in front of the bakery? And how did it go at Frank’s. Call me.” my mother. I erase the message and open my fridge to find that the food fairy didn’t stop by and fill it up while I was gone. Just as I close the fridge, someone knocks on my door. Without looking in the peephole. My brother, Dom is standing outside, wearing jeans and a black leather jacket.

Dom is two years older than me and four years younger than Frank. He was always the trouble maker when he was a kid and as he got older, he got worse. Word on the street is that he’s becoming a powerful player in the Boston mob scene. We have a complicated relationship to say the least because our whole lives, whenever Dom did something, I would try my hardest to cover it up and make things better for him.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him.

“Can I come in?” I move to the side and he walks in. I shut the door and turn to him.

“I need some help.” he says.

“What kind of help.”

“I need a place to crash for a few days.” I close my eyes and sigh.

“Who are you hiding from now?”

“You hear about the cop who’s missing?”

“Yeah, it’s Frank’s partner. Why?” I ask, getting a sinking feeling in my stomach.

“The cops want me for it.”

“Why?”

“I was sleeping with the wife for months.” he says.

“OK, start at the beginning.” I say, sitting down on one of my two kitchen chairs.

“It’s not much of a story. I met this girl, she was very upfront, said she was married. I didn’t care. He was always working, didn’t pay her a lot of attention and when he was home, all they did was fight. So, we started seeing each other on a regular basis. But she was getting way too serious about it. A week ago she told me that she was going to tell her husband about the affair and file for divorce to be with me. I told her to do what she had to do with the divorce but to forget about me. Now, they’re both missing.” he says.

“How do the cops know about this?”

“Apparently she told one of her friends, who told the cops. She told them I was dangerous and volatile and capable of murdering the cop and kidnapping Anna.”

“Without you freaking...did you?”

“Honey, if I had, I’d be on a tropical island sipping cocktails with my newly widowed wife.”

“So, if you didn’t do it, why don’t you just tell the cops that you didn’t?”

“Because it’s a fucking witch hunt. They’re looking for someone to blame and I’m perfect for it.”

“Have you talked to Frank?” I ask.

“He showed up at my apartment and I told him I didn’t do it.”

“Dom, this is a really fucked up situation.”

“Tell me about it. So, can I stay here?” I think for a minute before answering.

“Yes. But, Dom there are going to be some rules.” he smirks.

“I can hardly wait.”

“I don’t want any guns in my place.”

“Sorry sweetheart, that’s out of the question.”

“Fine. But, there won’t be any mob business going on here.” I say.

“OK.” I stand up and walk over to my window which overlooks the entire parking lot.

“I don’t see your car.” I say, looking for his Escalade.

“I traded up. White GMC work van in the corner of the lot.” I locate the van immediately.

“Stolen?”

“Borrowed from a friend.”

“What friend?”

“You don’t want to know.” he says.

“What friend?”

“Vito Grizzoli.”

“Jesus Christ, Dominic. That guy is crazy. And dangerous.”

“He’s all of those things, but he’s a good guy to have on your side in emergencies.” I take a deep breath.

“I need some air. I have to take some things to the courthouse.” I say, picking up my purse. Dom grabs my arm and we make eye contact.

“You’re not thinking about turning me in, are you?”

“No. It’s for work. Jesus.” I yank away from him and stomp to the door.

“Do I get a key?” he asks.

“In the drawer by the microwave.” I yell as I walk out the door.