The dreary run-down bar is the perfect place to meet. No one will recognize me or expect me to be here. Still, I circled the block five times before parking two blocks away.

Walking briskly in the crisp autumn air, I constantly check for a tail as I make my way to the bar. You wouldn’t know it was a bar if you weren’t looking for it. It’s just a beaten wooden door like all the others on the face of a long red brick building. I pull the heavy door open, moving through the dingy bar to the back booth hidden from onlookers. There are only five other people in the bar, all drunk to the point of oblivion. A waitress, if you can call her that, comes up to the table and waits silently. Never asking what I would like, just waits. I order a pint of whatever is on tap…I won’t drink a drop. The waitress returns with the pint, remaining silent as she sloshes beer on the table while carelessly plopping it in front of me before retreating again.

The door to the bar swings open. Here is the man I’ve been waiting for, Mancini. It’s been just over twenty-two years since I’ve seen him in person. He’s aged and worn from his life, but looks more lethal than the kid I once knew. Mancini is a stranger to me now and I must approach this cautiously. He calmly makes his way to the booth, drawing no attention to himself, and slides in front of me as we silently study each other.

“What have you got for us?” I question Mancini in almost a whisper. I’m outside my depth here and trying desperately not to allow my discontent to shine through the façade. I must control myself. He reaches in his inside jacket pocket and pauses studying my face discriminately. I remain still and allow the scrutiny, knowing I have no choice in the matter. After several painfully slow moments, he pulls a large envelope from his jacket and slides it across the table.

“I think you’ll be very pleased,” Mancini says in a harsh cutting voice as he leans back stretching his arms wide along the back of the booth.

I slide a finger under the edge of the seal hoping this will finally put an end to my search. I pull out a newspaper article first. The headline reads:
Butch Rossi Granted Retrial
. I feel my brow furrow; Butch Rossi is not any of my concern.

“Read the caption,” he directs.

Shannon Kelly, Guardian ad Litem for Mia Rossi, makes her way into the courthouse for preliminary hearings.

I look at the picture above the caption. It’s been so long, could that actually be her? She’s a woman now, not an eight-year-old little girl. She was a precious child, features not unlike those of the woman in the picture. Her face is being shielded by a man, a bodyguard. Why does a family attorney need a bodyguard? I reach back into the envelope pulling out a stack of surveillance photos and a fact sheet (of sorts) listing her personal information: address, phone numbers, facts about friends, and detailed information about her routines. It’s the photos I focus on.

Her gorgeous green eyes glimmer in the sun as a large man with a huge tattoo across his chest chases her around their living room in one photo. Her wavy auburn hair shines under the lights of a night club as she dances with a dark haired man in the next. Her athletic body is misted with sweat as she races a colossal man for a basketball in another photo. Who are all of these men around her?

“Yeah, that could be a problem,” Mancini replies to my unasked question.

“Do you have any information on them?” I ask with a pleasant tone. It’s more pleasant than I’ve spoken to anyone in decades. I know I have to keep up this front to gain what I require.

“They’ve all lived together since they were teenagers. They’re as dedicated to her as any of my men are to me. What we’re plannin’…need to consider them,” his tone is serious but his posture is still relaxed.

I go back to the stack of photos. This is her. I know it’s her. Other photos show her with her boyfriend, a huge blond man with strange colored eyes and her bodyguard an equally huge dark and mysterious type. The bodyguard is not unlike the man sitting across from me.

“What about the boyfriend and bodyguard?” I ask in the same muted tone I’ve been practicing for weeks leading up to this meeting.

“The bodyguard is a nonissue.” I raise my brow at that statement. How can a bodyguard be a nonissue? “Anyone hired to protect someone is a nonissue. Money changes everything,” Mancini repeats in a growl cautioning me not to question further. I nod understanding how well money can influence the actions of others.

“The boyfriend is a bit of an unknown. Seems he may have a pregnant girl in Seattle. Still runnin’ checks on that. If he’s screwin’ around on her,” he motions at the photos of Shannon, “he’s a fuckin’ idiot. From what I’ve been told, she’s grown into a woman you do not fuck around on,” Mancini says the last part with a small smirk on his lips. Shannon’s always had a way with men her entire life. Even as a little girl she could wrap any man or boy around her finger with just a smile. That’s why I need a professional team for this job, immune professionals.

“We need more background on all of these men. I don’t want any surprises. Have you put together a team yet?” I ask Mancini hoping he’ll give an affirmative.

“Just about. Gotta make sure they’re good with doin’ a job with a woman,” he explains sitting forward resting his forearms on the table.

“I didn’t know gender would be an issue,” I state trying to force the issue in a civilized manner when all I want to do is call bullshit.

“Some men aren’t good with it. I need to be sure before we move in,” he states firmly.

“I’m not requiring anything that’s outside the norm. We need the best for this job and you told me you could make that happen. What do you need to move forward?” Mancini studies my face for a long time before answering.

“Double the fee and I’ll put my guys together in the next few weeks,” Mancini states. I nod my head in agreement sensing there’s more to the deal. He bows his head glancing at his knuckles before returning his gaze. “We need quick and easy so I’ll pull a crew together that can handle that. Once we’ve got what we need, I decide how this ends.” Mancini’s eyes are cold and intense with this last statement. His reputation for how he ends jobs flashes through my mind. I’d like some say in the matter.

“This affects you as much as it does me. If there’s an issue with her being a woman…what if your men become weak when it comes to her?” I ask. A bad choice, I realize the moment the words escape my lips. All the work I’ve done to keep the typical me at bay faded to the back with that statement. My first mistake. Mancini leans forward crossing onto my side of the table pushing me to retreat to maintain any personal space.

“Weakness is a man terrified of an eight-year-old girl,” he seethes. “And don’t begin to remind me how this affects me. I’ll hold up my side of this clusterfuck and you hold yours. My men won’t have an issue with her. Fuckers don’t have souls. I do this job I’ll do it my way and in the end she’s mine to deal with. Now, if you’re waverin’ on my ability, let me straighten that shit out for you. I’m runnin’ this fuckin’ show. You try to come at me or send someone in to do the job behind my back…I’ll take it as a personal insult. You’re aware how I deal with insults right?” His gaze is menacing as he growls.

I’m convinced. He’ll get this job done. I’m also certain I need to keep my responses in check. I’m normally the one running the show and Mancini is giving orders now.

“I’m aware of how you deal with insults. It was not my intention to offend or insult you. She has a way with people and I wanted to be sure she won’t affect your men,” I explain. Mistake two.

“Don’t pretend to understand my men or me. I know you. I don’t understand you, but I know you.” This is a threat. “We’ll get the job done and deal with her as I see fit. My men’ll clean it up. Keep the fuck outta my way and I won’t have to make any visits to Northside.”

With that Mancini pushes back to his side of the table and spreads his arms across the back of the booth again. He just threatened my children (Northside is where they attend school). I know this and know there’s nothing I can do about it. I knew when I made the decision to find her that I was risking everything. Mancini just reminded me of the weight of those risks.

“I’m not going to do anything that would endanger my family,” I say quietly.

“Newsflash, you already have,” he smirks in response. “I’ll get you the rest of the details and keep you in the loop as much as you need to be. Give Katherine my best.” With that he stands up and moves out of the bar as inconspicuously as he entered.

Mancini threatened my wife with his last statement. I don’t understand this world or the men I’m now dealing with, but I know a threat when I hear it…that was not an idle threat. I glance back down at the photographs choosing the one where Shannon’s smiling looking directly into the camera secretly capturing her radiance. I feel the slightest ghost of a grin play at the corners of my mouth. If only she knew…blackness awaits.