Alonzo watched from his desk by the window as the young women stepped out of a red Ferrari across the street. Her lipstick matched her car, a bright and shiny red lacquer that demanded attention. She walked towards the doors of the police station.
His interest was piqued. He watched as she entered the reception office, separated from the detective’s desks by a glass wall. She strode to the front desk and spoke to Maria, the receptionist, standing with her hands behind her back like a soldier at ease. Despite her violent lips, she was dressed entirely in dark, muted shades - long black pants, black boots, and a leather jacket far too warm for the bright Sicilian day.
Alonzo had to chuckle when Maria’s lips tightened, and she jabbed a finger at a chair behind the girl. Maria had no time or patience for the rich. She had been supporting herself and her four children since the Mafia had killed her husband.
The Mafia was a serious problem in the city - one that, unfortunately, had the police forces’ hands tied. They could not find a single informant who didn’t disappear in the night, no matter how well-guarded or secret the safe house was made. DNA testing had failed them too, with even the lower-ranked “soldiers” taking precautions against leaving fingerprints, hairs, and blood, committing perfect crimes every night. Alonzo hated those American CIA shows - they gave away all the secrets.
The entire police force had been working overtime trying to get to the Mafia, but the best they could ever get was a soldier or two in the slammer. And even then, the kid was out in little more than a day, his bail paid by some “distant relative”.
Alonzo bent his head back over his most recent report, pushing distraction out of his mind.
It was only after lunch that Alonzo’s thought’s returned to the girl. She was still sitting rigidly in the plastic chair in the reception area, staring into space. Alonzo put down his pen and walked to Maria’s desk.
“That girl came in hours ago,” Alonzo said quietly. “Why is she still here?”
Maria scoffed. “Girl indeed! She’s only eighteen. She came in here and demanded to speak to a high-ranking officer. When I told her she was insane, she just said she would wait. Pah!” Maria went back to typing, having expended the energy she could spare for the youth sitting in the corner. “Probably a prank. Rich kids go around thinking hardworking folk like us got the time to amuse ‘em.”
Alonzo glanced back at the girl. No wealthy child would try to alleviate their boredom by sitting in an uncomfortable chair at a police station all day, especially one who had a Ferrari.
“Would she talk to me? I could just take her statement and toss it if it’s garbage.”
Maria’s eyes did not leave the dusty computer screen “Be my guest,” she said. “Just as long as she isn’t wasting my time.”
“Beautiful, Maria,” Alonzo said absently, and approached the girl in the corner.
She only snapped out of her reverie when he was within a meter of her chair. Her hair was coming out of her strict bun in frizzy, curly chunks that hung around her face like limp spaghetti noodles.
She squinted up at him. “Are you the captain?” she asked.
Alonzo smiled, thinking of his pipe dream. “No, I’m a detective.”
Her eyes unfocused again, and returned to a dusty corner of the room. “I refuse to speak to anyone except the captain or someone of equal status.”
Alonzo could see why Maria had lost her patience so quickly.
“Unfortunately, kid,” he said “I believe I am the only one here who is going to talk to you. So we can either go chat about what’s on your mind, or you can have your butt fall off when it goes numb from that chair.”
Red lips slim and sharp as a paper cut, the girl nodded and stood up. Alonzo began walking to the interrogation rooms, and she followed at a brisk pace behind him.
The interrogation rooms were dark, with the cheap lightbulbs casting barely enough light to read by. White walls had turned an ambiguous grey. The table was covered in dirt and greasy finger prints, but at least the two broken-down chairs were cushioned.
Alonzo had been sitting quietly with the girl for a few minutes now. He expected she would out with it when they sat down, but she just stared at him, waiting. Finally, he broke.
“Name?” Alonzo asked.
“Angela Columbera,” she responded promptly.
Alonzo leaned forwards across the desk. “And what can I do for you today, Miss Columbera?”
Angela settled her hands on the table, and began rubbing her thumbs together.
“How can I be sure you’ll use this information appropriately?”
His eyebrows shot into his hairline. They all knew the Mafia must have people in the Police force, even the captain had acknowledged that, but Alonzo was still affronted by such an accusation. “You think I’m a plant, lady? A sell out to the cause?”
She just raised her own brows.
Alonzo rubbed his jaw. “Fine, I don’t blame you. But frankly, nothing I could say would convince you I’m not a plant. You’re gonna have to take a leap of faith. But,” he gestured to the ceiling. “One thing we do keep running around here are the security cams. They’re reviewed after every interrogation. Captain won’t tolerate any cops losing it and beating up some poor witness for information.”
Alonzo expected the girl to look either disturbed or comforted by this, but there was no change in her expression. She did, however, begin nodding, fluffy tendrils bouncing around her face. Then she reached into her leather jacket.
Alonzo’s hand twitched towards his gun, but there was no need. The girl had begun pulling plastic bags, not weapons, out of her pocket. As she laid them out one by one on the dirty table, he could see the contents through the clear plastic - there was a used cigar, a few shiny CDs, and a gun, but she removed it from her coat so gingerly that Alonzo knew there was no danger.
For a moment both the cop and the witness stared at the mess of objects on the table. Angela took a deep breath.
“These belong to Dante Abandonato,” she said. Alonzo immediately recognized the name. Abandonato was suspected to be the Don, but the force had no evidence they could use against him in court. She pointed to the cigar. “He smoked this, so it should have some spit on it, for DNA.”
Alonzo reached for the CD. “What’s on these?”
“I’ve recorded his conversations,” she said quietly. “As many as I could, over the past couple months. I pretend I’m listening to music, but I’m really recording with my phone. I’ve got him saying some… incriminating things.”
Alonzo’s eyes widened. “Are you saying you have evidence he’s Mafia?”
She nodded.
Alonzo looked down at the gun sitting on the table. “And that’s…”
“It’s not his real gun,” she said. “But he uses it a lot to threaten people, so I thought you could use it for prints.”
Alonzo picked it up off the table. “If it’s not real, what does it do?”
“It shoots marshmallows,” Angela said, looking away, biting her lower lip. “He just likes to scare people, then see their faces when they realize they were hit with candy.”
Alonzo was speechless. Even if it wasn’t much, it was more than the department had gotten in months.
Angela had started rubbing her thumbs faster and faster. “Well,” she said. “That’s all I have. So… if you’ll excuse me,”
She stood up abruptly, and walked out of the unlocked interrogation room. Alonzo got up and followed her out the door, only catching up with her in the reception area. Maria was watching her leave, a satisfied look on her face.
“Wait!”
The girl turned in a perfect about-face.
Alonzo gestured helplessly. Nothing about this made sense.“…Why?”
The girl’s blood red lips cracked into their first smile. “Because,” she said. “Dante is one shitty stepfather.”
She pushed open the glass doors and walked out into the street, hips swaying like she could finally move freely. She got into her vivid car and sped away in the opposite direction she had come, leaving Alonzo and Maria to stare at where the crimson vehicle had been.
