January 19th

January 19th

One of the most infamous, well-known citizens of Malikan City was Tommy Greco. As the owner of one of the hottest casinos in the county, Tommy had his fair share of interactions with those from both sides of the law. He prided himself as being a negotiator. The peace maker. The man who tried, to a point, to solidify the line between the general public and everyone else.

With his slicked-back black hair, sun-tanned skin, his gold Rolex on each wrist, with his neatly tailored, but gaudy suit, and of course, expensive shades, Tommy Greco, approaching forty, looked like the stereotypical, sleazy casino owner with an obvious connection to the mob.

He did have some connections with the mob. He was what people on the streets called a Swiss player. He knew everyone but didn’t explicitly affiliate with anyone. He didn’t take sides. He only sat back while the fighting continued and offered any help to both sides. Everyone knew he had a complicated relationship with the cops, and that his casino had a strict non-partisan policy.

It was at his casino, located in the theater district of Malikan City, where Marcus and Teresa went to around ten in the morning, following a pit stop at the Suite Girl crime scene. The visit as announced as evident by the look of horror and irritation on Tommy’s face when he caught sight of them walking into his casino, flashing their badges and heading up to his office.

Tommy cursed when he heard one of his guards knocking the door, indicating that he had a visitor. He considered turning the detectives away, but then rationality kicked in. Marcus and Teresa were usually annoyed by him and his ways, but they didn’t hate him, and he would like to keep it that way.

“Look, if you’re here about that lady who got chopped up at the Grand Marquis, then you're wasting your time,” Tommy said the moment the detectives walked inside his precious office. “I ain’t got anything to do with that.”

“Goodness, Tommy, how many times have you been arrested?” Teresa asked, shaking her head. “Don’t you know those are some seriously incriminating words?”

“I’m just saying. I hear from my sources that you two are on case, so I would just like to point that I don’t murder people like that.”

Teresa snorted. “Are you implying that you’ve murdered people before?”

Tommy sputtered. “You know what I mean…”

“Calm, down Tommy, we ain’t here to arrest you. We just want to talk.” Marcus said. “Unless you’ve done something you weren't supposed to.”

“What did you do?"

"Didn't you just hear me?" Tommy practically shrieked. "Nothing! I swear."

Marcus gave the man a look and sat down one of the chairs in front of Tommy’s desk. Teresa followed suit, after ordering Tommy to sit down as well. Tommy grudgingly complied.

After taking a series of controlled breaths, Tommy brought out a box full of top-notch cigars and placed in on his desk. He needed one, badly. Tommy opened the lid of the cigar box. “You want one?”

Teresa shook her head.

Marcus declined. The offer was tempting, but it would be just his luck that his people would discover that he accepted a most-likely contraband cigar from a known mob-confidant.

Tommy shrugged, pulled one out and lit it. “Okay, so, what do you want?”

“Like I said, we’re not here about the murder,” Marcus said. “Not exactly. I know you got eyes all over this city, so start talking.”

“About what?”

“Albanisi.”

“Shit.”

“See, Teresa, told you we should stop here.” Marcus chuckled at Teresa’s half-heartened glare. “Yeah, the Albanisi. C’mon spill.”

Tommy groaned. “C’mon, Marcus…”

Teresa was getting tired of the casino owner’s stalling. “It would be in your best interests to start talking, Greco,” she suggested.

Tommy groaned again, realizing that he wasn’t going to get out of this conversation anytime soon. “Okay, okay. The Albanisi... they’re just being the Albanisi—you know how it is.” He leaned over his desk and lowered his voice. “Word on the street is that they’re going head-to-head in the blood trade with the Atkins’ and their allies. They want control of the northern route.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. The northern route stemmed from northwest Malikan City, up north through four provinces before stopping just past Canada, the closest bordering country. “The Atkins'? I was under the impression that they only did business out west?”

“Well, somehow, someway, they’re here, and now, everyone's collectively losing their shit."

The detectives exchanged looks. Northwest Malikan City was known for being one of the quieter areas. Manuel Yuma, the captain one of the more specialized gang units in that region, hadn’t mentioned anything about the increasing violence.

But then a realization came to Teresa, “Hold up, that region was controlled by the Kazan gang. Had been for years—“

“Yeah, until a week ago. The head of that crew disappeared to fuck-knows-where, and since there’s now a power vacuum, that area’s fair game.”

“For what: drugs, guns, blood, trafficking…?”

“Everything.”

“So, which alphabet agency is up their asses? DEA? ATF, FBI?” Marcus asked. “I know there has to be presence along the northern route.”

“The FBI’s been pretty quiet, but you know that’s gonna change soon. There’s some DEA action up north, near the Wint border. There’s this little war’s spilling over out east into Eastland, of all places—into The Gentle Boss, Mbassi, territory—the ATF’S all over that.”

“I thought Abegunde Mbassi was dead?” Teresa asked.

“He is, but now is brother, Sefu, is running the show,” Tommy said. He shuddered. “And boy, that man’s a trip. They call him the Madman. He makes them cartels look like fucking pansies. No one’s crossing him, not even the Albanisi.”

Marcus leaned back and shook his head. Goodness, Manuel was going to be a very busy man, very soon. Maybe Teresa was right; maybe they might need to partner up with the FBI. “Does Mbassi have a strong hold in this city?”

Tommy shook his head. “Haven’t heard anything about that.”

“Okay, back to the Atkins, I need names.”

Tommy snorted. “Oh, come on, you know they don't go by their real names. Even their nicknames change every other year—“

“So, you’re telling us that you don’t know who they are?” Marcus asked. This was Tommy Greco, a man with questionable morals and the ability to obtain information that not even the damn Federal Bureau of Investigation could get their hands on. "You?"

“I mean, I may have heard of them, but like I said, they change their identities all the time,” Tommy explained. “Look, I’ve never seen them in person. Only over the phone and shit. See, the Atkins’ ain't flashy like the Dalca’s. They like to lay low... real low. Low enough for me not to know their actual identities. Except for the boss; everyone knows the boss."

"Who's the boss?" Marcus asked.

Tommy snorted, surprised. "You don't know the boss?"

"Tommy…" Teresa growled.

Tommy threw his hands in self-defense. “Okay, calm down. No need to growl at me. The name’s John Ezequiel Atkins, but he goes by name of Caesar. You know, like Julius Caesar.”

Marcus blinked. “Wasn’t he a tutor somewhere?”

“Former professor of philosophy,” Tommy said. “Now, how did he manage to become a boss from that? I have no fucking clue, but he’s now running the entire operation. You know that blood-drug bust by the DEA last year? The one where they found a few dead bodies filled with bags of blood and organs? That was all him. He managed to send out ten shipments before the feds got on his ass. Did only one year in Arizona.”

Oh, Marcus had heard of that story alright. The deputy superintendent, whose son works for the Drug Enforcement Agency, had been ranting about it. This Atkins guy got off easy because of he was the client of silver-tongue queen of all fixers, Regina D’Agostino.

“I’m glad I’m not in the gang unit,” Marcus muttered under his breath, and then asked in a louder voice, “This squabble over the northern route, is only about the contraband trade, or does it have something to do with the never about the never-ending coven drama?”

“Covens?” Tommy nervously shifted in his seat and swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, Tommy,” Marcus warned. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Look, man, I’m telling the truth. I don’t know nothing about covens.”

“You’re using a double-negative,” Teresa pointed out, earning a glare from the casino owner. “So, I assume that you do.”

“Which one is it, Tommy?”

“I don’t know!” Tommy exclaimed, flailing his arms. He really didn’t want to continue this conversation. “Maybe it’s both. I honestly don’t know anything about covens or vampires. They don’t talk about that stuff around me.”

“But you do know something about it, so that means they must’ve mentioned something around you.”

“Okay, yeah, but only in passing,” Tommy admitted. “I don’t do the supernatural. I have a hard-enough time dealing with humans. I don’t need to start anything with vampires or fairies or fucking people who can turn into wolves…”

“Lycans,” Marcus corrected, trying not to chuckle at Tommy’s dramatic behavior. “They’re called lycans.”

“Well, whatever they’re called—I don’t mess with them either.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” Marcus insisted. He smirked at the puzzled expression on Tommy’s face. Was it childish of him? Maybe, but he loved messing with the man. He was hoping that Teresa had caught onto the reference, but judging by his partner’s side-eye, he supposed she didn’t appreciate it.

Silence fell among them for a bit until Tommy interrupted it. “Hey, so is this little talk over? Because I got a casino to run, among other things.”

Marcus studied the man, but then broke out into a grin and stood up. “Don’t see why not. You’ve given us some important info. Thanks for that.”

“We do appreciate your cooperation,” Teresa added.

“Yeah, well, glad help,” Tommy uneasily replied. “Glad to help.”

Marcus snorted and headed towards the exit, but then stopped and turned around. “What’s your opinion about the Suite Girl murder?”

Teresa gave her partner a confused look, wondering why would be asking Tommy such a question at this time. She remained silent.

“My opinion?” Tommy shrugged. “I haven’t looked that much into it, but… normal people don’t kill like that. That’s some serial-killer, sicario, cartel-shit.”

“You think it’s them?” Teresa asked.

“Who, the Albanisi?” Tommy asked. He shook his head when Teresa nodded. “Nah, they’re old-school. If they'd killed anyone, you wouldn’t even know about it.”

Marcus frowned. Tommy was absolutely right. That was part of the reason why the Albanisi family had been able to slip through both federal and municipal law enforcement for years.

He nodded, checking the time on the clocking hanging on the wall adjacent to him. It was a good time to leave, anyway. After all, he and Teresa had to visit the roommate of Tiffany Tomlinson and see if she could provide some pertinent details for their investigation. “Thank you, as always, for your help. Have a nice day and try to stay out of trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…”

***

Two hours after meeting with Tommy, the detectives arrived at the doorstep of Samantha “Sam” Vaughn. The visit had been expected; the precinct had contacted the roommate of Tiffany Tomlinson earlier in the morning, hoping the woman had time for them and would cooperate. Sam had said she did but warned them that her roommate was known for providing limited information to everyone. There was only so much she could say.

Teresa knocked on the door, and the detectives waited for Sam, or some other person, to answer it. They didn’t have to wait long, and after introducing themselves and presenting their badges, the front door to the apartment creaked opened, revealing a young woman. About twenty-four, twenty-five. Standing about five feet two, a little on the chubby side. Cute lady, with curly red hair and freckles. Didn't look like she would have anything to do with a sordid murder—but Marcus couldn't think like that. Based on his many years of experience dealing with criminals, he couldn't judge anyone's innocence on looks.

“Good afternoon, Miss Vaughn,” Marcus started. “We apologize for this unexpected visit, but we were wondering if we can ask you a few questions.”

Marcus could smell the anxiety rolling off Sam, but it wasn’t anything he should be alarmed about. It was expected for people to be nervous around him and Teresa. The both of them, standing next to each other, looked like they belonged in some SWAT team. He, a man standing at six-four, far from thin, and Teresa, at five-ten, lean but deadly (and a terrific shooter), and a glare that could (had) intimidated the hardest of criminals.

The detective gave the woman his patented-warm smile. He usually played the good cop with his friendly face, and Teresa usually played the bad one (although he had to remind her that they were doing some recon, not an interrogation). It worked for them, and it worked for the police force.

“I promise you, you’re not getting arrested,” Marcus said, sensing Teresa straightening up next to him. “We just want to ask you some questions about your roommate.”

“You mean Tiffany.”

“Yes,” Teresa said. “Tiffany Tomlinson.”

“Just questions.”.

Sam’s nerves dissipated a bit and allowed the detectives to walk inside. “You can come in, I have nothing to hide.” She insisted. “I have seen countless detective shows. I know the drill.” She stopped. “Are you sure I don’t need a lawyer?”

“Not unless you have a reason to,” Teresa said.

Sam checked with Marcus. He winked, and she smiled, trying to suppress her blush.

Teresa rolled her eyes at the exchange.

Sam led them to the living room and offered the detectives to sit down in the sofa. She, herself, sat down on the love seat, opposite of the guests with only a small table between them. She was composed, still a little anxious, but composed. She looked around her living and let out a dramatic sigh.

“I feel terrible for not doing anything,” Sam whispered, eyes now downcast on her lap. She twiddled with her thumb and bit her bottom blood. “I just can’t believe she’s dead…”

“How long have you known Tiffany?”

“Three years.”

“You two were close?”

“As close as roommates could be,” Sam said. “I mean, we were friends. Sort of. But not best friends.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“That morning. Right before I headed to work. She told me she didn’t have to work that day, so she stayed behind. She was making some eggs when I left.”

“What time specifically?”

“A quarter to eight.”

“Did she mention anything about her plans for that day?”

Sam shook her head, but then nodded. “Oh… she did mention that she was going to meet up with this guy. The name escapes me, but they were gonna meet in some bar downtown.”

“What time would that be?”

“Don’t know. Nighttime? Probably during happy hour?”

“Did she provide some details about this guy?”

“No, not all. All I know was that he was a hot, Eastern European guy, claiming to be an aspiring model.”

Teresa nodded as she jotted down the notes. Aspiring model. So, the man had to be young and attractive. “Did she have any other plans?”

“Yeah, she was going to spend the night at a hotel.”

“When did she plan on coming back?’

“The next morning,” Sam replied, definitively. “She said she was spending the night downtown. She often books a room at Millionaire’s. I guess she wanted to think she was rich or something.”

“By herself?” Marcus asked. So, that explained why the hotel room was under her name. A room that, on average, cost six hundred dollars a night. “She books a room for herself?”

Sam shrugged, sensing the detective’s disbelief. “Yeah, I know it sounds a bit weird, but this is Tiffany. She has uh… a reputation for doing different things. I guess it was a birthday gift to herself or whatever. It was her birthday that day. Twenty-four.” She let out a dry, humorless scoff, and mumbled, “Ain’t that a bitch…”

Sam watched as the detective communicated to each other through their eyes. She cleared her throat, and offered, “I guess you’d want to see her bedroom?”

The detectives nodded. They didn’t technically have a warrant; they were only here to ask questions, but since Sam had been the one to offer first, they could get away with it without getting yelled at by their captain. They both rose from their seats and followed Sam into the bedroom.

The detectives paced around once they entered the room. It wasn’t anything special. A medium-sized neat bedroom furnished by two beds, two dressers and two large closets with mirrored doors. Marcus focused on Tiffany’s dresser as Teresa’s approached Tiffany’s closet. It was slightly opened.

“Do you mind?” Teresa asked Sam.

Sam shrugged. “Go right ahead.”

Teresa carefully slid back the door and peered inside. It was a mess, full of clothes and shoes and books. Nothing looked odd. Nothing smelled too odd, and—she stopped, pulled out a tissue from her coat pocket, and bent down to pick up a pair of stilettos—authentic crystal Louboutin’s. Although Teresa was far from a fashion connoisseur, she knew that those red-bottomed pumps had to, at least, cost several hundred dollars. She looked around and found a few more pairs.

Louboutin’s. Gucci. Fendi. Chanel. Yves Saint Laurent...

“Your roommate had quite the taste,” Teresa remarked.

“Yeah, she was a shopping-fanatic. She would only wear name-brands. Damn, there are things that cost more than people’s salaries.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Marcus started. “You both worked at the same diner, right?”

“Yep.”

“How much you get paid an hour?” Marcus asked. It was obviously suspicious that with no trust and horrible credit could be able to purchase an entire closet full of expensive merchandise. Or maybe she didn’t buy them. Maybe they were gifts provided by a wealthy benefactor. Either way, it didn’t look good.

“Um… we’re waitresses. It depends entirely on the day and the people,” Sam said, staring at the shoe, and then muttered under her breath, “Not enough for afford those. that's for sure.”

Teresa put down the shoe and mouthed to her partner, “We gotta get a warrant,” when Sam looked away. Marcus nodded in agreement.

“Did she have any other means?” Teresa asked.

Sam hesitated to answer. “I don’t know for sure…” she quietly said, flinching under Teresa’s suspicious gaze. “I’ve never asked her about her money. She paid half the bills with no problem, so I’ve never bother. Maybe she had some long-lost rich relatives?” She paused to gather her thoughts. “Or maybe… now, this is gonna sound so bad because Tiffany was a great girl, but I think she was, you know, flaunting herself.”

“A stripper?” Marcus suggested.

“Prostitute?” Teresa offered.

Sam quickly shook her head. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that… I think she was a sugar baby, or something. I mean, that would explain the random exotic trips, and the clothes, the jewelry, right?”

“Jewelry?”

“Oh, you gotta see this.” Sam led the detectives to Tiffany’s dresser and opened the top drawer. She pulled out a metal box. It was night, and no key in sight. “I obviously can’t open it, but I know she has stuff on here—You know that movie Titanic? And that necklace Rose wore?”

“The Heart of the Ocean,” Marcus quickly said, ignoring the amused look from Teresa. Yes, he had seen the movie more times he could count. He had a thing for disaster movies. And Kate Winslet. Sue him.

“Yeah, that’s the one. She has one in here, just in here,” Sam said. “But it’s red. Ruby, maybe?” She held out the box for the detectives to take. “Here. Take it. I have no use for it, especially since it belonged to a dead person. Not trying to get haunted, thank you.”

Marcus declined and chided himself for not asking for a damn search warrant. He made a mental note to make sure he demanded one when he returned to the precinct. “You can put it back. Thanks. We will definitely keep in touch.”

***

January 20th

Half past midnight, Tommy found himself staring through floor windows of his office in pure terror, instead of calling his chauffeur to drive him home, wondering what horrible deed he could have done to deserve this fate.

Maybe he should have listened to his teachers and parents and invest in his schoolwork. Maybe he shouldn’t have worked with the mob. Maybe he should have taken his probation and community seriously. Maybe he should have just lived an honest life.

“Artemisia…?” Tommy choked out. This was just not his week. First, he got a visit from the damn copes, and now, he had to deal with one of the most ruthless people he had ever encountered. “Fuck my fucking life.”

Those who had never met Artemisia would ever understand Tommy’s fear of her. Yes, Artemisia looked like she had just graduated from high school. Yes, she was barely five feet tall. Yes, she looked like innocent with her slim build, blonde hair and wide hazel eyes. But looks could be definitely deceiving.

For a brief hysterical moment, while watching Artemisia walk past the doorman and through the doors to his casino, Tommy considered calling the cops, but then realized that by the police rolled in, he would already be dead.

"Artemisia!" Tommy exclaimed moments later, forcing a smile when Jane walked through the door to his office. He tried to hide his fear, but knowing Jane, she probably smelt that from miles away. "So, good to see you. Looking lovely, as usual."

Remaining silent, Artemisia gave the casino owner a side-eye before sitting down. She hung her purse on the back of the chair and neatly folded her hands and legs, waiting for Tommy to make his next move.

Tommy didn't know what to do. He wanted to run away, but instead he gulped and walked out from behind his desk, rubbing his hands together, clearly nervous. "This is a surprise… What can I help you with?"

"We need to talk."

Tommy swallowed. “About?”

“Your recent interactions with the Malikan City Police Department.”

Tommy nearly tripped his over his feet while talking behind his desk. He slowly sat down. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Artemisia emitted frustrated sigh. “Mr. Greco, I do not have the time nor the patience for any of your foolery.”

Tommy slowly sat down in front of the woman, not taking his eyes off her. He feared that if he removed his gaze for even a second, she would end him before he could realize it. He took a couple of breaths while he played with his fingers. He knew there was no point lying to Artemisia; she was an interrogator, an enforcer, a damn good once. She would sniff out his lie with no hesitation.

"Okay, fine. Damn it, you caught me. They'd stopped over here earlier."

"Why?"

"I don't know—it was unannounced."

"What did you talk about?"

"They asked about you guys and what you were doing."

"What did you talk about?" Artemisia repeated.

Tommy cleared his throat and carefully said, "The conflict."

"The conflict? So, you ratted on us," Artemisia accused.

Tommy swallowed once again. It sounded bad. He knew it did, but he had to look out for himself. “Oh, c'mon, Artemisia. You know how they get. If I don’t give them some answers, they’re gonna send my ass right back to prison.”

“So, you’re admitting that you’re a rat."

“No— that ain’t what I said. Look, all I did was give them what they wanted to hear. It didn’t have to be completely true, just believable enough to get them off my cause and yours.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” Tommy said, knowing where this conversation was heading to, and not liking it one bit. He had to prove his loyalty or else he would become a goner. “Artemisia, seriously, when have I ever done you wrong?”

Artemisia thought for a moment. “You have been good…”

“Yes, I have,” Tommy said as she slowly rose from his seat. He wasn’t planning to cut this meeting short, but he did have a casino to run. “Now, is this meeting over because I gotta—fucking hell!”

“Sit down,” Artemisia ordered through gritted teeth as she pulled the man back down by the end. She smirked when the casino owner yelped in agonizing pain. “I didn’t say we were done.”

Tommy didn’t think about disobeying, even while his hand was getting its life squeezed out of it. It didn’t matter how he tried, he couldn’t pay away from the woman’s grip. Hell, he could barely move his arm. He just couldn’t understand how this woman, such a small one, could harbor strength.

“Does that hurt?”

Tommy nodded, biting down his bottom lip, attempting to hold back any screams.

Artemisia’s smirk grew as she tightened her grip. Her eyes glistened with mirth at the sight of the man’s cracking and bending in such an unnatural manner. “Good. Let it be known, Mr. Greco, that the pain you’re experiencing now…” she trailed off as she watched, amused, Tommy struggling to get out of her grasp. She squeezed harder. “Pales in comparison to the pain you will feel if we find out that you’ve been a very bad boy. Do you understand?”

Tommy nodded as tears formed at the corner of his eyes. He tried, with all his might, to quell any sounds of pain. He knew from experience how much the noises would only spur Artemisia on.

“I am glad we were able to have this conversation,” Artemisia said simply, finally letting the man’s hand go. She snorted when the casino owner let out a sigh in relief. She rose from her seat and gathered her bag. “Goodbye, Mister Greco, I hope you have a wonderful night. Remember, we have our eyes on you at all time, so please, do behave.”

And with that, she left without another word.

Tommy felt like he couldn’t breathe until he watched Artemisia enter an unmarked car and sped away. He let out a breath, thanking every deity under the sun that he could live another day.

“Sadistic bitch…” he muttered, soothing his injured hand.