Coming Under Fire

When I get up the next morning I find a stack of papers on the kitchen counter. I flip through them and figure out its the detailed profiles of all the guys John wanted me to look at. I pick the top one because John has it highlighted with a red marker.
The guys name is Vince Giambati. He's Frank's age, which means he's eight years older than me, but like Frank, he looks younger. John has him down as an enforcer and from the picture I can see it. The picture appears to be from a drivers license.
I flip through the folder and some red marker on the last page grabs my attention. It's a phone number. I quickly dial the number and hear John's laughter on the other end.

"That was quick, cupcake."

"What's the deal with this Vince guy?"

"Scully sent him to Boston to chill out at the Ritz while he investigates. The only one of his major players to be sent away. So that sets off my radar."

"Mine too."

"Check out the address in the profile on the off chance that he's come back home, but I think that's pretty slim, being that all roads are pointing to Boston, but it's pretty quiet here."

"You're in Boston?"

"Yeah, but not for long. I need you to come up here, chat Giambati up. From what I can tell, he hangs in the bar all day, watching tv."

"Are you going to be at the Ritz when I get there?"

"No. I don't know where I'll be yet."

"That's ominous. What's with this phone number?" I ask.

"My new cell phone. It's a disposable, I probably won't have it for more than a couple days, but if you need me, call."

"OK. Stay safe."

"You too. Love you."

"Mmhhmm." He hangs up and I stare at the phone for a moment before hanging up.

I get out a folder and stuff Giambati's info into it then put the folder in my purse. I skim over the other guys profiles, but decide to focus on Giambati. I put the other profiles under my mattress just in case some wise guy decides to break into my apartment again.
I do the hair and makeup thing and then I get dressed in jeans, a long sleeved black shirt and my white puffer vest. I put on my Doc Martens just in case I need to do some ass kicking, then I'm out the door.
Giambati's profile gave his address and it takes me about ten minutes to find his neighborhood. It's a newer suburb with a bunch of ranch style houses that all look the same. I find Giambati's house on the left side of the street. The lights are on and there is a car in the driveway. I park across the street and walk up to the house. I rap on the door a couple times and a moment later a woman answers. She's older than me, taller and weighs a little more. Her brown hair is knotted at her neck and her yoga pants have an unidentifiable stain on the thigh.
"May I help you?" She asks.
"Hi, I must have the wrong house. I'm looking for Vince Giambati."
"You've got the right house, but Vince isnt here. Thank God."
"Meaning?"
"We're divorced. He doesnt live here anymore." Now its all coming together.
"Oh I wasnt aware. Do you happen to know where he's living now? I need to get in touch with him."
"He's in an apartment over a warehouse in town. I don't know where exactly."

"Ok, thanks for all your help." I step off the front porch and make my way back to my car. Once I'm out of sight of the house, I pull out my cell phone and call my friend, Joan, at the DMV.
"Hello?" She answers.
"Hey, it's Izzy."
"Oh hey! I've been meaning to call you. I heard about your brother getting arrested and John being on the run or with Erin, or whatever. How are you doing?"
"I'm hanging in there. Hey, can you do me a favor?" I ask.
"Sure, what do you need?"
"I'm looking for this guy for work. Name is Vince Giambati. I need a current address. He just got divorced and the address I got is his ex wife's house."
"Hang on." I can hear her typing in the background. I pull up to a stop sign.
"Ok, you got a pen?" Joan asks.
I reach into my purse for the file on Giambati and a pen, and jot down the address on the front of the folder.
"Thanks girl." I say.
"No problem. Call me later, we can get dinner or drinks sometime, girl talk."
"Sounds good. I'll get ahold of you soon." We hang up and I swing around to the street my apartment building is on. I see an old, rusted out Crown Vic sitting next to my usual spot. I stuff the Giambati file back in my purse and pull in. Frank is behind the wheel of the Crown Vic. I step out of my car and meet him at the door of his.
"Whats up?" He asks.
"Just working. Came home for lunch. What are you doing?" I ask, gesturing at the rusted out POS behind him.
"Undercover car." I raise my eyebrows.
"I didn't know you were working undercover."
"I'm not, I'm working a case where someone else is undercover." I nod.
"Heard you visit with Dom yesterday. Desk guy said it got loud."
"We had a fight, so what?"
"What about?"
"None of your business." He sighs.
"I'm not the bad guy here."
"I know, but what happens between Dominic and I is between us."
"Fine. Tell me this, does he know where John is?"
"No."
"Do you?"
"No." We stare at each other square in the eyes for a solid ten seconds while he tries to decide if I'm lying or not.
"Christ. I gotta go. Be careful."
"Why does everyone keep telling me that?" I ask.
"Because you have a reputation for getting yourself involved in some scary shit." He angles himself into the Crown Vic and cranks the engine over. I watch him pull away before I cross the lot and make my way up to my apartment.
I pack myself a duffel bag of clothes and enough hair and makeup essentials to last me until tomorrow. I carry the bag downstairs and heft it into the back of my car. I pull out of the lot and drive to Giambati's apartment.
It is indeed set up over a warehouse. The warehouse is used for plumbing supplies and is located by the train tracks. I hit my door locks as I cross over the tracks. This area is one of the most dangerous parts of Lawrence, and getting mugged isnt part of my plan for today.
One pass by the warehouse tells me Giambati isnt home, and if he was his life expectancy wouldnt be great. The windows are blacked out and the air reeks of smoke. One of the windows has the distinct hole smashed in it of a fire bomb. I quickly steer my car out of the warehouse district and back over the tracks. I dial the number John gave me. He doesnt answer, so I leave a voicemail.
"Hey, looks like someone is after Giambati other than us. His place was recently firebombed. On my way to Boston. Call me."
I hop on the freeway and do the hour long drive to Boston. When I was a teenager I always wanted to live here. I worked in Boston for a period of time, commuting from Lawrence. Now, I manage to come up about once a month.

I made a reservation at a hotel on my way and when I get there I drop my car off with the valet and go inside to get my room key. I'm familiar with the hotel and make my way to my room smoothly.
Once I get settled, I go down to the bar off the lobby. It's mostly empty at this time of day, but I spot a guy that from the back meets John's description of Giambati. I slip into a back corner booth and descreetly watch the guy sip his beer and watch the tv behind the bar.
After an hour my ass is asleep and I'm completely bored. I get up and take the elevator back to my room. I check my phone and see no missed calls or messages from John. He's starting to piss me off. Here I am going out of my way to help clear his name and save his ass and he can't even return a phone call. This morning he was in Boston. For all I know he could be in this same hotel.
I lay on my bed and think up my game plan for getting Giambati to talk. I make a phone call to my boss because he has connections in Boston. An hour later I'm stocked with a shiny new fake ID and business cards.

I unpack my duffel bag and pull out my favorite short black pencil skirt, a white button up shirt and my Victoria's Secret bombshell bra that makes my size 34B's look two sizes bigger. I put on my business slut outfit and go into the bathroom and curl my hair and then throw it into a messy updo. I smoke up my eyes and gloss up my lips and slip into some black pumps and the picture is complete. I put my new ID and cards into my big black bag and swing my ass down the hall to the elevator.

Once I'm in the bar, I try to act distracted, like I'm not paying attention to anyone else around me, even though I have Giambati in my sights. I pull up a barstool that's one over from him, so it doesn't look like I'm trying to come on to him. I toss my purse on the stool in between us and he glances over at me, giving me confirmation that it's him. I wave for the bartender, who swaggers over with the confidence of a college kid who probably gets laid a lot.

"Can I get a Belvedere on the rocks, please?" I ask him.

"Yeah. Just a sec." I watch as he scoops some crushed ice into a short glass and then skillfully pours the vodka over it. He slides the glass across the bar to me and I take a delicate sip. My goal is to be social, not get shit faced. I blow out a loud, annoying sigh, making sure Giambati is paying attention.

"What a day. I could use a massage and a bottle of wine." I say to myself, sipping at my drink. I glance at the TV. A Celtics game is one.

"Who's winning?" I ask.

"Boston by 10." Giambati says.

"Where's Gardner?"

"Out with a twisted ankle."

"Figures." I grumble. He looks over at me.

"You follow sports?"

"Mostly hockey and football, but I keep up with basketball sometimes." he nods.

"You in town on business?" I ask casually. He snorts

"You could say that. My boss sent me here until he figures out who the rat is in his operation." Here we go.

"Wow. He thinks it was you?"

"He's so fuckin' paranoid right now, he's suspicious of everyone.... 'Scuse my French." I wave my hand dismissively.

"Do you know who it is?"

"I got my suspicions, but he don't listen to me."

"I don't want to seem nosy, but your situation interests me, because my brother and I run an investigation firm, mostly corperate investigations, that are very similar." He looks at me.

"Is that right?"

"Yeah." I reach into my purse and pull out one of my fake cards.

"Gina Scambolli. Scambolli Investigations." He takes the card and reads it, then reaches over and shakes my hand.

"Vince. Vince Giambati."

"Hi, Vince. If you want to pass my card on to your employer, I'd be more than happy to help out in any way that I can." I keep my tone professional, even though I'm completely impressed with myself. I thought this was going to be way harder.

"Nah, he's not the kinda guy to go hiring professional agencies. No offence. If it was up to me, I'd hire ya and get it done, ya know?"

"Well, I wouldn't typically ask this, but I can see you really care about the company you're in and I admire that, would you consider opening an investigation of your own? We wouldn't have to contact your boss, and we could gather information and once we have everything, you could turn it in to him. I'm sure he'd be grateful that you put in so much work to help him. He might even give you a promotion." I'm selling it big time, and I can tell he's thinking about it. The promotion really made him think. Joe Scully's right hand man. What an opportunity.

"I don't know. He'd probably be pissed."

"But he might be grateful," I pause and look down at my drink, "I'm sorry, I'm being pushy. Always a business woman."

"No problem. I appreciate a fellow business person always working."

"I just love helping people, and I really think your company needs my help." He sighs.

"I'll think about it."

"Keep my card. Call me anytime. I work 24/7." I say, earnestly.

"Thanks. It was nice talking with you." He's suddenly looking a little too interested in my enhanced bust. Time to make my exit. I throw back the contents of my drink and stand.

"Well, it was lovely talking with you, Vince, but I have to get up to my room. I have a conference call, and after that I'm hoping to get a couple hours of sleep. Please give our conversation some thought and call me." I pat his shoulder, throw some money on the bar for the bartender and flounce out of the bar without looking back. I don't breathe until the elevator doors shut, then I break into a smile. I've got him.

I call John, but get no answer. I check my messages. I have one from Frank, wanting to know where I am. I was hoping to get back to Lawrence before anyone noticed I was gone, and I thought having run into Frank earlier that he wouldn't think to check in with me again. For a moment I consider heading back now, but it's late and I have a great hotel room, and if theres one thing I love it's a hotel room. I throw off my high heels and pull my hair down and unzip my skirt and let it fall to the floor. I get on the phone and dial room service and order a bottle of wine, then wander around my room, looking out the windows.

I wonder if John is out there somewhere. Maybe he's back in Lawrence. Either way, he knows where I am. Some people would wonder why I'm choosing to help John, even when my own trust in him is so shaky, and I can't really explain it. I just know that John is my partner. He's always had my back and he's never abandoned me when I've needed help. Beside that, I love him. I've looked my whole life for a man like him. He moves me like no other man has, and now that I've been with him all other men look pale beside him. So even though we're in this place where trust is hard to find, I'm still going to help him because he's not a bad person and he doesn't deserve to have his life that he's worked so hard for taken away.