November 2, 2015, 11:40 a.m.

Thalia Zane snapped an old flip phone shut, and mid-stride tossed it into a garbage can she walked past on Columbus in North Beach. The ludicrous four-lane street was like a commuter highway with bumper to bumper cars, except that they had to stop at crosswalks and red lights to let the crazy parades of pedestrians go by. It was the busiest street in the city and all without a building over two stories high.

Tourists would have thought the stream of people and cars were heading to a special event, maybe at Fisherman's wharf, but it was a regular Saturday just like any other. The park at Washington Square, even with the early afternoon fog coming in, looked like Woodstock had sprung up in the middle of it, or more like Woodstock had just been there, but the stage had disappeared, leaving a hundred hippies dancing and swirling hula hoops and smoking joints and eating authentic Mexican burritos and authentic Italian pizza to the music that wasn't playing.

The morning had involved hungry work that made Thalia run on her stilettos, past all the mayhem and dart through the slow-moving crowd on her way to pizza at Anchor Bay Cafe on the corner of Columbus and Lombard. Once or twice, she even used her elbows to butt ahead of groups that moved like molasses.

It was one of those corners where the diagonal Columbus crossed a grid-like street forming an acute angle, and therefore, the pizza shop opened out of a triangle not unlike a flatiron building but with the more severe panes of glass meeting at a sharp point, almost making fun of the ridiculous planes of the intersection. The entrance was on Lombard.

Inside the pizza shop were red-checkered tablecloths and the smell of a wood fire oven. The joint was packed every Saturday, a bizarre meeting place since it was uncomfortably full to the brim. Edging between tourists there for an authentic Neapolitan slice was uncomfortable, and there was always a line to get food, a line to get to the bathroom, the water pitchers were always empty, and the pizza sold out by two p.m.

Upstairs her father had a spacious conference area and lush offices, but the office was closed up on weekends, so meeting in the cafe was a matter of habit, not anything based on logical sense. The kids had a big table in the back, though, and there was one seat left, saved for Thalia. Some of the other kids had to stand around; they had been told not to take Thalia's chair.

Franz Ferdinand played her in, and she sashayed to her seat along to the beat.

🎵I say don't you know

You say you don't know

I say, take me out!

🎵If I move this could die

Eyes move this can die

I want you to take me out🎵

Heads swiveled around to her red-lipsticked, but otherwise un-madeup face, and the boys and girls looked up from their pizza and welcomed Thalia when she sat down. Joey Podesta, a girl with a blue perm erupting out of her cream-colored cloche who liked eyeliner a lot more than Thalia but kept her lips pink as peaches, slid to the very precarious edge of the bench along the wall to speak to Thalia.

🎵I know I won't be leaving here (with you)

I know I won't be leaving here

I know I won't be leaving here (with you)

I know I won't be leaving here

🎵With you

🎵I say don't you know

You say you don't know

I say, take me out!🎵

Luckily it was so noisy she didn't have to get out of her seat to avoid being overheard.

Still, Joey avoided specifics. "How did it go?" she asked.

"Dandy," said Thalia. "Can I have some pizza? I'm starving."

Joey slid a whole two-thirds of a pepperoni pizza on a stainless steel tray over the table to their end and examined Thalia while she devoured her cheesy sustenance.

Joey's eyes fell on Thalia's elegant hands holding the slice and then to her bare fingers. Interest in Thalia's morning waned. "Where's your ring?" she asked. It was with a tone that, unlike her previous question, allowed no room for Thalia to blow her off.

Thalia met the challenge. She gave Joey an annoyed look, put down her pizza, and held out one hand, palm up. Her golden wedding band magically appeared on top of it. "I didn't want to get ... anything on it," she said and slid it back on her ring finger. Joey smiled at her and put her left hand on top of Thalia's, where a diamond engagement ring was paired with her matching wedding band.

Only Thalia's wedding band didn't match. Joey's was 24k gold, and the ring Thalia had been avoiding wearing for the past twenty-four hours was somehow, for some reason she didn't understand and had yet to get to the bottom of, was 14k. A subtle difference, but yesterday, the ring she had found on her bureau when she came home from early morning yoga, which she had left for safe but apparently not safe enough keeping, was not her wedding ring. It had been switched. Whether for some hilarious prank or a nefarious purpose well beyond her imagining, she didn't know yet.

"I want you to tell me everything," said Joey, eyes pleading not even playfully, just demanding what she wanted. She must have doubted Thalia would oblige. "I don't want to wait for the media to catch on, to hear second hand with those details withheld that the police find necessary to draw out the guilty parties. The news has shit all so far."

Cheese, dough, and tomato sauce saved Thalia from answering right away. "Come on. Even you know it's not smart to talk. Here or anywhere. You're just using the presence of my friends to pressure me. You think I won't refuse you anything if you ask in front of others. I got a rule. I told you it went fine, that's all you're getting out of me. Pass me the wine."

There was a carafe filled with red wine in the center of the table. Joey didn't move for it, but on Thalia's other side was her younger sister Jessica, who passed it over. "Thank you kindly," said Thalia, her eyes not leaving Joey's. She would have smacked her had she asked a question that involved so much as the names of Cassandra Aniston or Senator Athena Rex. Or implied a question without using the name.

At the other end of the table, Robert Cavonis gave her a thumbs up with a question mark on his mouth. Thalia returned the thumbs up, and he relaxed and went back to his conversation.

"So it's not the place that's the problem," Joey pressed. "It's not 'cause we're here, you just wouldn't tell me, period? Not in a hotel room registered in someone else's name with the music turned up high and in the bathroom with the taps turned on?"

"I got a rule. If it doesn't need to be said, I don't say it. If you needed to know, you'd know. I'd tell you. Enjoy your pizza. What do you want to do tonight, do you want to see a movie? Go out on the town?"

Joey pouted her peach lips. "Yeah," she said, "let's see a movie. I don't want to party."

"Why not?" Thalia asked as if suddenly possessed with the need to dance and abhorring the idea of a movie — when in reality, a quieter night would suit her just fine this weekend.

At Robert's end of the table, he and three others dressed in vests, shirts, and slacks got up and grabbed their coats and hats. Joey looked up to watch them and see what was happening, where was everyone going, and then looked to Thalia to see with disappointment that her wife was perched on the edge of her seat as if to take off with them, seeing if she was invited. "I don't feel all that celebratory," said Joey, trying to win Thalia's attention back. "Maybe if I had more details on everything you're out there accomplishing, maybe I'd want to go out. Celebrate."

Robert came over and put a hand on Thalia's shoulder, communicating with her without words. She turned back to Joey and said, "Yeah, so let's meet for a movie later then. No problem with me. I'll look up the showtimes and text you." She stood up to go with Robert and the others, fell in with them, and didn't look back to see Joey's disappointment. She could picture the face without seeing it, but Joey would get over it.

Joey said she didn't want to be part of the business, didn't want to be involved; well, if she wasn't going to make herself useful, she didn't get to have her curiosity itch scratched. Bloody stories and gory gossip was for members only.

They got into Robert's black Astin Martin, which was parked right outside. Robert began to drive north, falling into the slow flow toward the wharf. He had a similar rule to Thalia, which meant he and the others who filled the car, Jennifer Makris, Jason Nakos, and Jack Costas, sat in silence for the whole ride. In any case, it was impossible to guarantee the car wasn't bugged. None of the five were into small talk.

The clouds were getting to be dark gray when Robert found a parking spot on Jefferson Street, and the troop got out of the car and walked a reasonable distance down the Hyde Street Pier out over the water.

Robert needed to know details. "No trouble with Cass?" he asked, and for a second, Thalia was surprised at his use of a cute nickname. Then it occurred to her Cass was the shortest you could shorten her name almost out of existence, whether for fear of bugs or because acknowledging her by her commonly used moniker would be painful.

"No trouble," said Thalia. She took several strides in silence and then added, "Some feedback, though." Several more strides put the last stragglers out of sight, mind, and hearing, which she assured with a backward glance. "Foggy's already going to walk away from the scene last night. I think she's going to walk from this too. Do you think anyone's going to believe that hours after being arrested, Fog takes out the wife? What, she texts herself the crime scene photo? Sure, I planted some forensic evidence, but the pigs know a frame-up when they see one. I'm yet to see the genius of this plan."

The pack moved on to the edge of the pier. Water lapped up on both sides, a small crash against the supports the only hint of waves despite the wind. Thalia rubbed her hands together and wished she owned gloves.

Robert shrugged. "No genius. Just keeping her busy. A couple of hours in a cell is better than out putting pieces together."

"It's not when we didn't even kill the Pigeon," said Thalia abruptly. "I'd say she has enough to keep her hands full, and she can go ahead and solve that crime. I don't care." It was funny to use the code name Pigeon, when not only did the whole world know it, she was stating that none of them did commit the hit. "It had to be the Andreous, so why bother keeping Fog busy? Could've kept that neat trick in our pocket for some other night."

Jason Nakos piped up in defense of his plan. "Paul and Nick needed disposing of anyways."

Robert assented agreement with a slant of his head. Then he asked her, "You're so sure it wasn't us that did the Mission Pigeon?"

"Pretty sure," said Thalia.

"How do you got that figured?"

"They would've had me do it," said Thalia, a weak argument, but she didn't want to confide to all present her real suspicions. Or the feeling in the pit of her stomach that was far short of evidence.

"They didn't let you do Mayor Banikas."

"That was a long time ago. I hadn't worked my way up yet. I had barely made my bones. I know Paul hadn't either, but I assume Ioana wanted someone she could bag up later, and I don't fall into that category." She racked her brain for additional arguments in case this one provoked more debate but then decided that'd make her look desperate. Instead, she hid her hands in her armpits for warmth and waited.

It looked like a storm was coming over the bay, but it never did. The fog made up the darkest clouds that weren't clouds. It was bloody depressing. Thalia wanted it to thunderstorm.

Finally, Robert said, "We're not here to talk about the past; we're here to talk the future, right, kids?"

"Sure, boss," said Jason. The rest of them let him speak for them and waited.

"There are those in the police still who think they're fighting a war. Those who continue to investigate and unearth matters that are better left buried. I'm not sure how they can call themselves peacekeepers; there'd be peace if they left us to our business.

"They're the ones behind the bloodshed, they should put themselves behind bars. Anyway, you're going to have to cancel your date tonight, Thalia, because we have to do some planning. It's time to make an example of the pigs. We're not scared to kill police. For some reason, they think they're safe, like if we killed one of them, they would hit back harder than we like, and we'd have to run home crying to dad and mom. I have a target in mind."

Robert looked out at the clouds as if delighted despite the fire in his words. But who didn't love feeling angry?

"There's a lady cop who shouldn't be hard to make disappear. I'm not sure anyone will miss her, but it'll send the desired message. And not just to the force, but to Detective Fog, too. If they want to call this a war on our business, well, contrary to popular belief, we're not afraid to fight a war."

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