Read Online The Burning Day by Timothy C. Phillips - Free Book Online
Authors: Timothy C. Phillips
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up. As I approached the door, she flung it open and ran into my arms. Her parents were both Italian, and it showed in her flawless olive colored skin, jet black hair and beautiful dark eyes. She is so incredibly beautiful.
Beatrice. Pronounced the Italian way, it has four syllables, and that’s how I think of her privately, She of the Four Syllables. Bee-uh-TREE-chee. My Beatrice. We are in love. She held me close for a long time, and then looked up at me. “I heard Francis speaking with my uncle. I know there was a gun fight. I heard him say that you were there. I have been so worried.”
Beatrice’s uncle was Don Ganato, head of the local Mafia. What can I say, my life is complicated. Her mother, Don Ganato’s sister, had died of cancer several years ago, and Ganato had appointed himself the caretaker of Beatrice and her younger brother, Tony. However, Ganato hadn’t done such a good job protecting Tony, who had been gunned down dealing drugs on an Ensley street just a little over two weeks ago. Now, all that Beatrice had in the world was me, and a few craggy male relations who were all mobbed up.
I shrugged, though I couldn’t lie to her. “There was some shooting. I was on the sidelines, though. I wasn’t one of the interested parties. I was never in any danger.”
“Don’t make fun, Roland. I thought that I would die when I heard Francis say your name. They are wondering what you were doing out there.”
“So your uncle sent them out there?”
“I don’t think so . . . but I don’t really know.” She asked me again, “What were you doing out there?”
I kissed her gently and took her in my arms. “What I’m always doing, when things get rough. My job. But that’s enough for now. Let’s talk inside.”
We went into her apartment and sat down. It felt good to relax. The earlier excitement had left me a little tense. She took my face in both her hands and kissed me.
“I worry about you so. I wish you could stop being a cowboy, sometimes.”
I kissed her back, then I kissed her neck and whispered in her ear through her soft black hair, “I’m not a cowboy. They ride horses. I’m a detective.”
She started unbuttoning my shirt. “Detective. Knight in shining armor. Cowboy. They are all the same, there is a worried woman somewhere. I worry because I love you.”
I pulled her close and looked into those beautiful dark eyes. “I love you, too. Nothing is going to happen to me, to us. I promise.”
She smiled and leaned back away from me, and I pulled my shirt off. I started unbuttoning hers.
“You have work to do here, tonight, I think, mister detective,” she said. Then she pulled her blouse off, revealing a lacy black lingerie bra and dusky Mediterranean skin.
Time to get to work, indeed.
Chapter 11
I went in search of an old friend the next day. I found him just where I thought I would, in the basement, poring over a thick file.
“Tiller.” I called his name, and he looked up, gave a grunt, and tried to suppress a smile.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the long lost Mr. Roland Longville. What brings you down to the bowels of the Cold Case Dungeon on such a fine spring day?”
“Nothing official. I was over at headquarters looking into a case from some years back. They told me that it had fallen off the active ledger. I knew that meant that it was now down here, in your bailiwick.”
Tiller snorted. “Give an old codger a break, here, Roland. Your cases are never ‘official,’ as I recall. But somehow, they always end up that way. A cold case, huh? Well, as you know better than anyone, cold cases are my meat and drink. But in just the metropolitan area alone, there are more cold cases than Simpson and I can handle.”
“Simpson and I?”
“You didn’t know? Yeah, they finally gave me an assistant. Sgt. Simpson just made detective a couple of months ago. I think the Chief is finally getting it through his head I’m really going to retire one of these years,
Beatrice. Pronounced the Italian way, it has four syllables, and that’s how I think of her privately, She of the Four Syllables. Bee-uh-TREE-chee. My Beatrice. We are in love. She held me close for a long time, and then looked up at me. “I heard Francis speaking with my uncle. I know there was a gun fight. I heard him say that you were there. I have been so worried.”
Beatrice’s uncle was Don Ganato, head of the local Mafia. What can I say, my life is complicated. Her mother, Don Ganato’s sister, had died of cancer several years ago, and Ganato had appointed himself the caretaker of Beatrice and her younger brother, Tony. However, Ganato hadn’t done such a good job protecting Tony, who had been gunned down dealing drugs on an Ensley street just a little over two weeks ago. Now, all that Beatrice had in the world was me, and a few craggy male relations who were all mobbed up.
I shrugged, though I couldn’t lie to her. “There was some shooting. I was on the sidelines, though. I wasn’t one of the interested parties. I was never in any danger.”
“Don’t make fun, Roland. I thought that I would die when I heard Francis say your name. They are wondering what you were doing out there.”
“So your uncle sent them out there?”
“I don’t think so . . . but I don’t really know.” She asked me again, “What were you doing out there?”
I kissed her gently and took her in my arms. “What I’m always doing, when things get rough. My job. But that’s enough for now. Let’s talk inside.”
We went into her apartment and sat down. It felt good to relax. The earlier excitement had left me a little tense. She took my face in both her hands and kissed me.
“I worry about you so. I wish you could stop being a cowboy, sometimes.”
I kissed her back, then I kissed her neck and whispered in her ear through her soft black hair, “I’m not a cowboy. They ride horses. I’m a detective.”
She started unbuttoning my shirt. “Detective. Knight in shining armor. Cowboy. They are all the same, there is a worried woman somewhere. I worry because I love you.”
I pulled her close and looked into those beautiful dark eyes. “I love you, too. Nothing is going to happen to me, to us. I promise.”
She smiled and leaned back away from me, and I pulled my shirt off. I started unbuttoning hers.
“You have work to do here, tonight, I think, mister detective,” she said. Then she pulled her blouse off, revealing a lacy black lingerie bra and dusky Mediterranean skin.
Time to get to work, indeed.
Chapter 11
I went in search of an old friend the next day. I found him just where I thought I would, in the basement, poring over a thick file.
“Tiller.” I called his name, and he looked up, gave a grunt, and tried to suppress a smile.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the long lost Mr. Roland Longville. What brings you down to the bowels of the Cold Case Dungeon on such a fine spring day?”
“Nothing official. I was over at headquarters looking into a case from some years back. They told me that it had fallen off the active ledger. I knew that meant that it was now down here, in your bailiwick.”
Tiller snorted. “Give an old codger a break, here, Roland. Your cases are never ‘official,’ as I recall. But somehow, they always end up that way. A cold case, huh? Well, as you know better than anyone, cold cases are my meat and drink. But in just the metropolitan area alone, there are more cold cases than Simpson and I can handle.”
“Simpson and I?”
“You didn’t know? Yeah, they finally gave me an assistant. Sgt. Simpson just made detective a couple of months ago. I think the Chief is finally getting it through his head I’m really going to retire one of these years,
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