Meanwhile across town, Detective Amato was back in his cubicle with the other detectives in the financial crimes unit. It was his own personal nightmare, a desk job he had to do from a shoe box but at least he had a job. In the last year, he went from fugitive, to being welcomed back into the fold and it was all a complete mystery to him. Well not really, he knew that someone called in a favor and he was let back into the force through the cat flap. Amato managed to keep his nose to the grind and keep out of trouble but it was secretly killing him. He wanted more and Amato wasn’t even sure if this is how he wanted to live his life. Looking at spreadsheets and nitpicking over ledgers was not what he dedicated himself to at the academy. It was pathetic, he didn’t even have a gun anymore. The last time he discharged his firearm was when he was taking the marksmanship test. He felt like a dog that had been neutered, a ball-less wonder. Okay, maybe it wasn’t the gun that was bothering him so much. Maybe it was the fact that he knew that the only reason why he was back on the force was because of Cassandra Fenetti. The woman who he owed his newly resurrected career to and the woman he wanted dead for betraying him.
With blurry eyes, he did his best to read the rows and columns of financial data that graced the screen. His job was to flag any inconsistencies and send the documents off to his supervisor. Rinse and repeat, all the day long. It was soul crushing for a man who was used of being out in the field taking risks and chasing bad guys. He didn’t know how long he could take this, in fact, he had already started looking for another job in another town. There had to be someone, somewhere, who needed a cop? As his mind wondered off, his boss, Agent Nicholson, yelled from his office, “Amato, get in here.” Startled, he nearly tripped over his own feet trying to exit his work station, God he couldn’t wait until this day was over.
Once in the office, he noticed Supervisory Special Agent Cohen from the Organized Crime Unit was sitting across from his boss’ desk. “Shut the door,” Nicholson ordered. Doing as he was told, Amato shut the door and approached the desk. Pointing to a folding chair, his boss commanded, “Take a seat.” Once seated, Cohen addressed Amato, “There was a hit this morning on Columbus Avenue and 96th Street. Double homicide, both males.” On the desk was a folder which he reached into and pulled out several photos of two men in a vehicle, shot multiple times. Handing them over to Amato, he asked, “Recognize, the vics?”
Stunned, Amato answered, “Yes, the male behind the wheel is Lucus Hobbs, driver for Stephano Rimaldi, the very dead gentleman in the backseat.”
“Right,” Cohen said as he pulled out a tablet and handed it to Amato, “Press play.” Doing as instructed, a grainy surveillance video played the final moments of the unlucky occupants in the car. “This is overkill” Amato remarked as he saw four men shooting at the vehicle. He watched as the assassins fled the scene and the patrolman approached the vehicle. Pressing stop, Cohen corrected him saying, “No, keep going.” Not certain as to what he meant, Amato pressed play again and watched as Cassie appeared in camera range. “Recognize the female?” Cohen asked.
Hesitantly, Amato answered, “Yes, it’s Fenetti, Cassandra Fenetti. She’s the fiancé of Rimaldi.”
“Interesting,” Cohen said staring at Amato. “Those of us in homicide would appreciate any assistance you can offer in our little investigation.”
“Of course,” Amato replied.
“We’re looking for the female suspect,”
“Suspect?”
“She couldn’t have done this.”
“No, we don’t believe she’s the mastermind of the hit, but she did threaten an officer with a weapon and we would like to talk to her.”
Chuckling, Amato answered, “Good luck finding her, let alone getting her to talk.”
“Yeah about that,” Cohen said sitting back in his chair, “We want you to lead the fugitive task force.”
“Wait, what?” Amato exclaimed, “This is the wrong way to approach the case.”
Smirking, Cohen looked at Amato, “It’s not your call.”
“I’ll provide intel but I’m not leading any task force. It’s a waste of time.”
“Why?” Cohen asked.
“Because she’s probably halfway to Timbuktu already.”
“Are you saying you can’t do it?”
“I’m saying she’s one of the richest women in this town and it will be a million times harder to trace her than she was before.”
Questioning his loyalty Cohen asked, “Why should we believe you? Word is you had a relationship with Fenetti during your excursion away from the force.”
A rush of heat hit Amato’s face from the insinuation that he was protecting some girlfriend. Nonetheless, he took a deep breath and as calmly as he could, Amato responded, “I stepped in to protect a witness when our agency was unable. There was never any inappropriate relationship between myself and Miss. Fenetti.” He kept referring to her by her last name to keep his distance emotionally but also to show that he was not on friendly terms with her which, at that point, he wasn’t.
“If you don’t trust me, then find another agent to do the job. Problem solved,” Amato said, calling Cohen’s bluff.
“I don’t like your attitude, no wonder they put you in the shitter.”
“Hey!” Nicholson interrupted, “I run this shitter and right now I’m flushing you right back to OC (Organized Crime).”
Without a word, Cohen stood up and gathered his tablet as well as his folder and walked out of the office.
“God, I hate those guys.” Nicholson said with disgust.
‘Yeah, me too.”
“You’re dying to get back in OC ain’t ya?”
“Yep,” Amato said as he stood up.
“So what was all that, I’m not the guy for the job shtick?”
“I’m gonna make them beg.”
Rolling his eyes, Agent Nicholson said, “Get the hell out my office.”
Derailed Thoughts 
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