Chapter 8: God Hates Me
Joe’s POV
I wasn’t sure what to think when I got a call from the Chief, not the Chief of D’s, but the Chief Chief with a request for me to double-time it to his offices right then. I left the scene of my latest case (multiple drug dealers dead, possible gang activity) and went right to the top floor of the station. Inside the Chief was sitting with an older man, quietly discussing the machete death of 6 Gang Agents in Newark. I went pale right inside the door. I knew 5 of them. I walk in and shut the door behind me.
“Chief, Sir” I take a seat. I wish I didn’t look so scruffy right now.
“Major O’Neill, this is Detective Joseph Morelli of Vice and Major Crimes. One of our best.” Thanks Chief. How about showing me your thanks with an increase in my pay?
“Detective Morelli, it’s a pleasure you meet you. Chief here has been telling me great things about your background and service.”
“Thank you, Major. I simply try to do my job well.” Please don’t ask me to be on your task force. Please please please. I don’t want to be anywhere near MS-13. I have enough gang problems right here in Trenton.
“Morelli, I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened in Newark.” I nod. Please please please. “Truth is, we are running out of cops with skills like yours, excellent at undercover, contacts with the feds, gang and major crimes experience. Chief says that you are going to be an excellent addition to a new, special task force. This one will be smaller and will report directly to the Director of Homeland Security, none others.”
Whoa! Major face time in front of the feds. . . I might be willing to join your task force.
“The task force will be based out of Virginia, but you will continue to live and work right here in New Jersey. The details will be given to you tomorrow in Fairfax.” He smiled. “I’m sure you noticed that I’m not giving you an option here,” I nod, yeah I noticed, “but the truth is I can’t use anyone out of my current task force, for reasons you will understand when you arrive in Fairfax. For coordination’s sake, you will simply appear to be on loan from Trenton PD for a long-term undercover assignment to an unnamed state agency. The only people in the entire state of New Jersey who will know are sitting in this room right now. Clear?”
“Yes sir.”
“And don’t worry Morelli,” Chief says. “You’re still our officer. You will still continue to be paid and your cases will be farmed out to other detectives. I think you get extra for this work, so I’ll arrange to have it added to your pay quietly without breaking confidentiality. I’ll tell the Chief of D’s that you’re on a long-term assignment that I cannot speak to him about so he doesn’t blow your cover.”
I’m eager to serve on this task force now. Whatever this is, it’s the kind of major case that can make or break a man’s career. If I distinguish myself during this case I can write my own ticket anywhere. This is the kind of case that turns men into Lieutenants or even Majors within local and state police units. Hell, I could become a Special Agent in Charge at the FBI off this kind of case. Yeah, now I’m looking forward to serving on this task force. Please, don’t let it involve MS-13.
He passes me a sealed envelope with the words “New Jersey Liaison” on the front. “Update your will, make your arrangements and good luck.”
“I’m reporting to Fairfax, not Newark, correct?”
“Correct. As a matter of fact, from here on, Chief and I have absolutely no knowledge of anything that you’re doing and we don’t even know that you’ve been assigned to this task force. That’s how closed mouth this special task force is.”
It really is. I walked in the next day and had to pass through three levels of screening. Biometrics, eye scans, blood work, complete physical, they even chipped me in two places like a fucking dog. At no point did they refer to me by name; I was simply called ‘Jersey’. I saw others during the day who looked as gobsmacked as me, so I guess they’re on this case too. It was absolutely amazing and took an entire day to complete. Afterwards, we were transported to a nearby Hampton Inn, to relax, unwind, and hopefully sleep. We were advised not to speak to each other or anyone else.
The next day we met in a small, discreet office building, where we were handed a packet containing our information. New IDs, passports, resumes, credit cards and reports, work histories, you name it the packet had it. Apparently I was now Anthony Joseph De Luca from Brooklyn, NY. Whew. Names I could easily remember and respond to and an area I know decently well. I read the sheets very carefully to understand who I was and what I was supposed to do.
Simply put, New Jersey was the latest victim of the MS-13 gang’s reign of terror. More frightening, the feds were certain that they had a mole, or possibly moles, in their agency but they couldn’t pick them out. Our job was to integrate into a different State’s Task Force, determine if there was a mole there and who and report back to one man, another consultant hand-picked for this case. Hopefully, we could get all the dirty feds taken down before they realized there was a operation underway to catch them.
Once we identified a possible suspect, the consultant would begin running surveillance and execute the take down. There were fifteen of us and we would move in pairs from state to state. Thank god; I didn’t have to be face to face with gang bangers but. . .now I was setting up federal agents for a take down. Jesus Christ! I can’t tell if this is the frying pan or the fire.
I was assigned to start in Florida, Miami to be precise. I grinned; Miami in March is every Jersey boys’ dream. Nice work if you can get it but my letter advised me to learn Spanish fast; Miami is a completely bilingual town. The op would start in 2 months; in the meantime, we would move to the area, get familiar with the “vibe” so we looked and sounded like natives, and learn the language, if necessary.
I pulled out my laptop and the cover was immediately slammed shut. I looked up at the task force coordinator. “Sorry. No unauthorized electronics. We’re about to issue you electronics for this.” 10 minutes later, I’m looking at a brand new laptop, a satellite phone, and an iPhone. I boot the laptop up and surf to Amazon, where I order the Level 1 Spanish program from Rosetta Stone. The coordinator behind me chuckles and whispers I should cancel the order. The software is already on the laptop.
I wouldn’t mind working ops like this more often.
Finally, the coordinator stands up and asks us to introduce ourselves, under our aliases. From this moment on, I am Anthony Joseph De Luca. There are number of very pretty women on this op and I feel no regrets at smiling charmingly at them. I’m single. I can look. Hell, I can even touch. I love Cupcake but there’s no telling how long it will take for her to come to a decision. I have no intentions of actually cheating on her but I am going to leave my heart open for someone else. I refuse to consider that I might wait all my life only to lose to Mañoso in the end; if I find someone I love and who loves me back, before Cupcake comes to her senses, then we weren’t meant to be, regardless of how hard and how long I tried, and I’ll let her know that she doesn’t need to propose.
The coordinator, Trent, starts talking about how we will be structured. Since it cannot appear that we are moles for each state’s organization, they’ve contracted with an outside agency, manned by one of the military’s best, to handle coordination, logistics, and take down. We will appear to be working as special consultants from a company he has set up in case someone starts trying to break into our backgrounds. We’ll pass all intel back to him and he will be directing us. He is the only person we are authorized to say anything to. We are to trust him with our lives, hold nothing back from him, answer all his questions, and follow his orders. His contract is still in negotiation but they know he will be signing on.
Trent grins. “The man is a fucking legend. The best. Absolute miracle we could get him. He’s taken down drug cartels, gun runners, terrorists, you name it, he’s done it. You can trust him to keep you alive.”
And for some reason, I know. I just fucking know. It’s in the hero worship in Trent’s eyes, the slightly glazed expression, the fact that he looks like he wants to go on, but he just can’t. Words would not begin to describe the man, as far as he’s concerned.
He looks like Cupcake.
And then he walks through the motherfucking door. Hand tailored Armani suit, mirror shades, custom shoulder harnesses. Breitling watch. I can’t see the shoes. Mental calculation: at least $25,000. Contract killing pays very well.
“Trent.”
“Sir!” Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck! You mean my goddamn life, for the next year, is in the slightly deranged hands of Ricardo Carlos Mañoso? What did I do, God? Why do you hate me?! Trent passes him a packet. Mañoso opens it, reviews it, and says, “I have my own papers.” He turns to us, nods, and says, “Juan Ernesto Aguilar.” He spots me and I see his mouth twitch. Great. My presence here is amusing to him.
Well, at least I know that if this fucker is undercover with me for the next year, he isn’t back in Trenton fucking my Cupcake. That’s one worry down; I might still have a shot. He takes a seat in the back and motions for Trent to continue.
Trent can barely keep himself together now and the change in demeanor is affecting the entire room. The women whose eyes I caught earlier are now staring at Mañoso like he’s a fucking steak. The men are staring just as hard, as if they are trying to determine what makes the fucker so special. And I’m miserable just thinking that for the next year, this maniac will decide if I live or die.
Ranger’s POV
Dios me odia! (God hates me!) Are you serious? Please God, tell me you are kidding me? Morelli’s on this op? I have to keep him alive? Jesus Christ on a cracker (Note to self: No more Mad Men)!
This part of the operation, helping them pick their agents and getting them ready, is costing the government $250,000 plus expenses. It’s only 8 days, which I think is reasonable. I sent the names to Silvio and tell him to “Plum Search” each one, hoping that the familiar name wasn’t who I thought it was. I’m watching the body language in the room, determining who should probably be tossed from this op and who can stay.
Although the temptation is great (damn near overwhelming) to toss Morelli off this op, I won’t. First, I’ve always acknowledged that he’s a good cop, a good detective. It’s not fair to him or his career to bounce him for nothing more than personal dislike. Second, he’s a good undercover cop. I’ve watched his career closely, occasionally giving it a boost very quietly (and if that boost just happened to involve a long-term undercover assignment to give me some quality poaching time, what can I say?) and trying to ensure he stayed clean and sober. If my Babe ever chose him over me, I didn’t want him to lack funds or turn into his father. Then I’d have to kill him. Third, the first part of his op is in Florida; was supposed to be New Jersey, but I prefer putting some distance between him and Babe. If they really are off (she says yes; I’m still not completely sure) then I want to encourage that.
The other 14 agents in the room run the gamut from overweight and sweaty to ridiculously oversexed and horny. One female agent catches my eye, licks her lips, and stares at me. I’m slightly impressed that she held it for so long, but the moment I let my expression run cold, her eyes drop to the floor. Good. I won’t be fucking you so don’t get any ideas. Trent’s a damn puppy now, overeager and anxious to please. I’m glad he talked me up to these agents; they know I hold their lives in my hands but the hero worship on Trent’s face will make it easier for them to accept it.
The morning passes by with discussion of MS-13, its history and spread. We break for lunch and then talk about their tactics and look at crime scene photos. I requested this; intel says that some of them are good detectives but have never worked a lot of undercover or extended undercover. This kind of undercover case requires a special kind of fortitude and I need know they have it. I want to see who can hold their lunch and school their face. Two agents immediately break; there’s no crying in undercover! I’ll toss them. The rest look green and uncomfortable. Thankfully Morelli’s seen so many of these scenes that, although he’s disgusted, he looks the most normal, the most nonchalant. Yeah, I’ll keep him on. We wrap the day up and everyone starts packing up to file out. I catch Morelli’s eye. Good, he recognizes we need to talk too.
“Trent, I have De Luca. You can leave.”
Trent looks as if he might want to disobey, but my reputation precedes me. The other 14 agents and Trent leave. I stop to see Jones and advise that the two agents who cried are to be bounced. They don’t have the stomach for this. I find Morelli outside in a corridor and motion for him to follow me to my car.
We slide in and I disable the vehicle audio monitoring and call it in to RM Trenton. Morelli hasn’t spoken. Good, he knows better than to assume that just because he’s in a car, he’s not being monitored. Now, how candid do I want to be with him? I don’t really hate him, I just don’t like him. As long as Babe is between us, we’ll never be friends. Ah well, let’s be somewhat candid. It’ll throw him off for days and if I’m lucky it might fuck up his entire week.
“Before I walked into the room, you looked interested, excited even, to be on this op. I won’t toss you. It’s not fair to you or your career to toss you from something that you’re excited about that can really help your career just because you and I love the same woman.”
He looks stunned to hear me say that. He turns red, nods, then turns his eyes back toward the road.
“I did request that you start in Miami though.” Now he looks pissed. “Simple reason: you’ve got two months to learn Spanish. Miami is a bilingual town, so being exposed to it constantly will help get you there faster. Plus, I have a vested interest in keeping you alive. I’ll allow you some access to RangeMan Miami, for the gym and range time, and to allow you to practice your Spanish with my guys. At the end of two months, you’ll be able to follow about 70-75% of the conversations you hear.”
“OK, cut the bullshit. At RangeMan Trenton you have two men accompany me all the time everywhere on your fucking premises. Now you’re offering me the use of your company? Excuse me if I smell shit from you.”
“At RangeMan Trenton you either have a personal reason to be there, namely Steph, or a professional reason to be there, your cop duties. Neither is a reason to allow you to walk around unsupervised in my building and you won’t be walking around unsupervised in Miami. However for the next year, I’m in charge of your fucking life. Like I said, I have a vested interest in keeping you alive.
If you don’t return, the cops will immediately assume I had you killed, regardless of the fact they don’t even know that you and I will be working together. It’s just the assumption that will be made. Second, if you die and I could’ve prevented it, Steph will never forgive me. So, we are both completely fucked for the next year. We have to learn to trust each other. You have to trust that I’ll keep you alive. I have to trust that you’ll remain professional and do your fucking job, regardless of the fact that you think I’m a crazy, deranged mercenary who isn’t quite tied tight. Hai capito, il mio amico? (You got that, my friend?)
Stony silence. Internally I’m smiling. It’s nice to remind someone that their life is completely in your hands, especially when they don’t like you. Even better when you can do it in their language. “Si, mi amigo.“
“Bueno! Two more months and I’ll have to curse you in French.”
Joe’s POV
On the outside, I look calm and collected. On the inside, I’m seething. First, I know he enjoyed reminding me that my life, my fucking life, is in his hands. Second, I’m angry all over again. It was easier to understand why Steph wouldn’t commit when I just thought he was in it for the sex and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to ride that ride before committing to me; knowing that he loves her hurts even more.
No wonder she won’t commit; she has the best of all worlds. I’m steady and dependable, the sure thing. He’s alluring and exciting, the long shot. And, as every shitty chick flick has taught us, women want the long shot.
I hate him.
“Question.” I get a glance out the corner of his eye. We’re almost back to the hotel. “Are we going to be allowed to call anyone while on this op?” Silence.
“It looks suspicious for you to never call anyone. Do me a favor: don’t call Steph.”
“My mother is always my contact.”
He cringes. “I try to keep family out my dealings but if that’s your normal contact, keep it up. People suspect a man less when he is in constant contact with his mother, especially if she’s the scolding kind.”
My mother isn’t but when she’s passing neighborhood gossip it seems like it. Quite frankly, she’s excellent cover. We reach the hotel, where Trent looks slightly worried, then relaxed to see us. Mañoso’s nose wrinkles. “Room?”
“405. We don’t get the Hilton, sorry.”
“Hampton is a Hilton hotel. You got a crappy one.”
We enter room 405 and before I can say a word, Mañoso gestures for me to stay silent, then begins talking about last night’s Ranger’s game. He glances around the room calmly then takes a small box out of his pocket and activates it.
Oh, for Christ’s sake! Is he really checking the room for bugs? This is absolutely ridiculous . . . except that the box shows the room is bugged. My fucking room is bugged. I can’t believe this shit. I’ve only been here two days.
Why on earth would they think that I’m . . .
Except that it makes absolute sense. We’re trying to root out possible rogue federal agents. I have to step my game up. Mañoso says nothing. He’s made the point. We’re still talking bullshit over last night’s game while searching for the location of the bugs, all without missing a beat in the conversation. I’m surprised he knows this much about Rangers’ hockey and I say so.
“Babe.” Answer and explanation all at once.
God hates me.
Steph’s POV
It’s been two weeks since the end of my relationship with Joe and contrary to all expectations it didn’t end in a screaming match at the scene of an ‘Incident’. There were no exploding cars or dead bodies. There was just quiet.
Lots of quiet.
The day he finally came back over I was ready. I knew what I needed to say to him, the apologies I needed to make. I do love him but I’m just not ready to be married. Maybe I need to say the words more but my family expresses emotions with pats and cake not words. Words and hugs make us antsy. But I didn’t want to lose Joe; I didn’t want him to walk around thinking I didn’t love him. It’s just. . . I’m not ready. . . his love comes with conditions, expectations. His love means having to give up what matters to me. . . I mean, give up some of the people who matter to me. Like Ranger. Like the Merry Men. Joe means having to let the independent part of my life go.
He wouldn’t let me say a word. He laid out for me what he needed in order for there to be an “us”. It’s my decision. He can accept Ranger, minus the alley. He can accept my job, as long as I learn to do it “competently.” He’s willing to give me the things I thought I would have to give up in order to be in a relationship with him and now I’m more miserable. Because I see now that Joe really loves me and will make whatever compromises are necessary for there to be an “us” and I’m too scared to give him what he needs. I’m not ready to marry again but I love him and for him, it’s over until I’m ready to make a permanent commitment.
I don’t want a permanent commitment. I like this loose thing we have going. I can’t remember to keep Rex fed and he wants me to be a wife? I don’t know how to be a wife and previous experience tells me I suck at it. Otherwise Dickie would not have screwed Joyce on my dining room table.
Children frighten me. I love my nieces but I couldn’t put up with Mary Alice neighing all day or Angie sighing and rolling her eyes all the time. Eddie’s kids and Mary Lou’s aren’t much better. Babies are the worst. I mean they’re cute and they smell good but they’re high maintenance. They need things, time, attention, food; I can’t keep Rex fed and I’m a semi-decent hamster Mommy. But Joe wants kids and he expects the “us” to contain kids. Mommy and Daddy and 2.5 children and Bob eating through everything and I can’t pretend that I didn’t know this. I’ve known for 4 years that he expects this.
It was an ultimatum. He didn’t try to hide the fact that it was, told me I could consider us off until I made a decision and was up-front about the fact that he was going to date other people. And he started off with a bang, the ICU nurse from St. Francis. Evidently she’d slipped him her phone number during one of my many admittances. Three nights after speaking to me, they were at Rossini’s having an intimate dinner. We never went to Rossini’s for an intimate dinner but my phone line blew up with everyone in the ‘Burg calling to tell me. They’ve gone out twice more since and each time half the ‘Burg calls to tell me.
“Damn, White Girl! SuperCop was spotted at Pino’s at lunch the other day with the chick from the hospital. What’s up with the two of you? I thought y’all was all nice and cozy.” Lula has been my best source for what’s going on and the Trenton commentary.
I didn’t want to hear it and for the first four days after I didn’t have to. Within 15 minutes of Joe’s leaving, Ranger walked in. I had not moved from the couch yet. He took one look at me, called Tank with “I’m offline,” picked me up and carried me out to the Turbo. I was belted in and on my way. . . somewhere. . . before I could really register what happened. Next thing I know, I’m installed in Point Pleasant and crying my eyes out while Ranger held me and rubbed my back.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
And we didn’t. I didn’t explain, he didn’t ask. He simply kept me supplied with ice cream and allowed me to walk on the beach while he worked. I slept late every day and went to sleep wrapped around him, clutching him like a security blanket. The third night, I slipped on top of him, pulled off his black shirt, and waited.
“I’m not his substitute.”
“Whose?”
Ranger stared at me as if trying to determine if this was really consent or substitution. Whatever he was looking for he must have found. By the morning, I couldn’t remember my own name but I felt a hell of a lot better.
At first I was angry, really really angry. How dare Joe walk into my apartment and give me an ultimatum? It was unfair! He didn’t even allow me to say anything, to apologize and tell him I did love him and I loved our relationship. He got to say what he wanted to and just left. He basically told me that he wouldn’t love me in 10 years if I remained the person that I am which really wasn’t fair. You either love the person that you’re with or you don’t; you don’t demand they change.
I’m well aware that most people who know me, who know anything about my life, think I need to change, that I need to grow up but I can’t understand why I should. What the hell is so great about their lives that I should want to be the same, miserable and bored with kids and a husband who drive me crazy? Why should I want that life? I’m doing fine, most of the time. I make the decisions in my life; I call the shots. I’m determined not to be my grandmother, waiting until I’m old to live the life I always wanted to. I’m going to live the life I want now, until I can’t anymore. If that means that someday I look back and wish that I had married Joe, or Ranger, earlier then that’s a regret I’ll have.
In the midst of all that I realized that what Joe really said to me was that he loved himself more than me and that if I wasn’t going to ever want the life he wanted to just tell him now and end it. It hurt, because I realized that I was wrong and he was right, not that I would ever tell him. He had been upfront with me from the beginning, clear about what he wanted and he’d been waiting around all this time for me to be ready for the same thing. I loved him but we were in a relationship because I wanted commitment but not permanence. I wanted something more than casual sex but less than marriage. Ranger required a condom; Joe required a ring; I wanted commitment…and the condom. Each man was giving me something that scared me and I wasn’t ready to make any decisions.
Then I realized something much worse. I was Ranger’s Joe, waiting to see if I could get a commitment out of someone who gave me mixed signals. And if I made Joe feel half as confused, lonely, excited, horny, afraid, and angry as Ranger made me, then I owed him an apology for the past four years. No wonder he called it quits.
Our return to Trenton was quiet. When we finally reached my apartment, Ranger turned off the car and moved to exit but I stopped him.
“Joe and I are over.”
Silence. “Babe.”
“No, I mean it. It will only happen again if I propose to him. His words.”
Silence. His hand covers mine.
“I’ve been ducking his proposals, his commitment for years because my mind wouldn’t accept what my heart already knew.” Now I’m looking at my hands, at the gorgeous mocha-latte fingers laced with mine. I can’t say this to his face, but perhaps….perhaps I can say it to his fingers. “I couldn’t accept his commitment because I couldn’t give him my heart when someone else has part of it.”
The fingers tighten. I’m not looking at his face. “I’m not asking you for a commitment Ranger. You’ve been clear about where you stand there. I’m telling you that I’m your Joe. You have my commitment. I just don’t know if I can hang on as long as Joe did.” I pause. “And when I get out of this car, I’m never speaking of this ever again.”
I move to open the door only to hear the locks slam into place.
“Babe.” I can’t move. “Babe, look at me.” I’m not moving. Finally, he places his hand on my chin and turns my face to him. I’m not opening my eyes. I feel him blow air on them and, startled, I open my eyes to see him smiling at me.
“Stubborn.”
“Not funny, Ranger.”
“No it’s not. This is serious.” He stops smiling and looks at me closely. “Babe, I’m not Joe. I’ll never be the white picket fence guy. Betting on me is bad business. I’m here today, gone tomorrow, sometimes with no advance word, no information. Is that really how you want to live your life, always wondering where I am, if I’m safe, if I’m alive? I don’t work for the government officially, so if I die in some hell hole you may never know where I am. You may never get any piece of me back. Marriage and children with me are a remote possibility, extremely remote. Is this the life you want to live?”
“Ranger, it’s the life I’m already living. What would be the difference?”
Ranger tilts his head back against the headrest and for a few long minutes he says nothing.
“The op I’m headed to discuss in DC will be one year.” Oh my god, he’s giving me info in advance? “It will be the most expensive op I ever charge the government and it will be the deadliest. Worse, it’s domestic so it’s the most likely to leave me with enemies I’ll have to remove later. One year, Steph.”
He looks at me and I can tell he’s made a decision. “If you still feel this way in one year, we’ll talk about it. But I need you to accept that my life involves danger. It involves constant monitoring and intel on enemies. It requires that I display few weaknesses. The weaknesses that I have are limited and the only real known weakness is you. Just you. I’ve made Julie harder to find and my parents and siblings are well-protected, but you are the wild card.” He looks at me hard. “I’ve already removed threats to you. Permanently. A life with me means accepting that you will have to acknowledge that kind of information. Safe houses, panic buttons, a loaded gun, all the things you run from now will be a part of your life with me. And that habit you have of running from arguments, that won’t fly with me. Not acceptable. It would have to end.”
We’re talking terms. This is new. I nod, start thinking about what mine will be. Is this what I want? I don’t even know. I just know that for the first time, Ranger is willing to give me a glimmer of hope.
“One year Babe. Then we’ll discuss this.” He pulls me to him and kisses me hard. I don’t want to let go.
“When do you have to report?”
“0900.”
“Stay with me.”
When I wake up the next morning, he’s gone.
