Jennifer Makris did not like going around without her favorite hat.

It was a stiff antique fedora that she wore everywhere, including to her favorite bagel shop every morning, and she didn't feel like herself when she ordered a "garlic and onion with cream cheese and bacon" without it. It felt like she was somebody else.

Hugo Zane called two days after. "I lost my hat," she said. She tried not to pout.

"Don't worry about it." Hugo's rumbling voice came through a clear line.

This to mean that their police contact had arrived on the scene first and gotten rid of the hat before any other cops could bag it for evidence. That was a relief, but better news would be that Jennifer would have her hat returned. She didn't ask that over the phone.

Hugo hung up, and Jennifer put her Galaxy away in her vintage classily beaten leather bag. The lack of a spoken goodbye was a signal in itself — it meant "See you soon," which meant come by for a job.

Finishing her orange juice and the dreadful West Coast bagel that had nothing on a New York or Montreal bagel, she drove her Aston Martin Atom to Daedalus Bar. The place was quiet this early on a Tuesday. Nobody important was there — another sign she could read into — and you didn't just walk into Mena Sigler's office or even the meeting back room. If you were wanted, someone would bring you back. Evidently, Jen wasn't wanted there.

Next door was a coffee shop just as dark inside as the bar but much more packed with people — on laptops, in line to order, in line to pick up, and hovering over tables with full cups of latte ready to spill. Jennifer pushed through — a little aggressive, bumping arms, maybe spilling someone's too-full coffee. At the back, someone was waiting. One of Hugo's daughters, Thalia, waved her through to the back room.

It was uncommon to be called into Hugo's office. Hugo didn't do most of the planning on the front lines, he was a behind-the-scenes kind. He had another business setup, a pizza joint in North Beach, but this was the private office he kept to be near the action and right next door to Mena.

It was the most Californian, and thus most odd gangster office Jen had ever seen and ever hoped to. Leaving the coffee shop's craft wood interior, the first steps inside Hugo's office felt like entering an exterior patio. A sunlit space with a jungle of potted plants and creeping vines. Water trickled down the walls in what Jen's mind had come to process as fountains. Once upon a time, the sound made her think that streams and dripping waterfalls were eroding the stone away.

Tables for two lined those stone walls creeping with vines, and sofas sprawled around card tables, yet Hugo was the only occupant of the oasis and had been every time Jen had been invited in. At a desk that looked like a tree trunk turned sidewalks and polished with shining amber, Hugo played a Solitaire game.

Sitting across from him, Jen took a perfectly normal stool, and the instant her but settled onto the beige upholstery, it became a toadstool in her mind.

For a whole other minute, Hugo ignored her and continued to place his cards on the table. That didn't bother Jen, who helped herself to a Cuban from a crate open on the desk in a silent offering. She cut it and lit it.

Placing the last card, Hugo gave Jen the celebratory grin of a victor, eyes that had no wrinkles yet crinkling at the corners.

She snuffed her cigar. "Want to play Go Fish? Actually, I know a variation you'd enjoy. Instead of saying 'Go fish' you say 'Go feck yourself' every time. It sounds childish at first, but it gets to be a good laugh."

"Some other time." Hugo's gruff voice had a genuine warmth and he smiled like he really would like to play this game where he affectionately told his protege over and over to go fuck herself. Instead, he put the cards away in a drawer that defied Jen's understanding of the tree trunk desk and said, "I have a job for you. Mena wants it done today. Crazy capo's in a rush."

Two days in a week. The Paul thing had taken a month of planning. Jen had a date tonight. None of these objections were voiced out loud. Leaning in, Jen rested her elbow on Hugo's desk and her head on her hand to show she would listen to what Hugo had to say.

"I'll need you to stick around and get into the weeds with me today, Jennifer. Usually, I wouldn't go into all the intricacies and context. Not with the girl pulling and trigger. But we've come to a transitionary phase in this organization, and at such times, our most capable people will need to take on responsibilities. New leadership roles may open up. Soon.

"I'm going to start asking for your feedback. Today, however, will be an exception in that this move will be open to no alterations, no negotiations, no backing out. Yet you need to understand what you're doing today so that tomorrow when I ask for your opinion, you're going to know what you're talking about. After this task, I'm no longer going to think of you as a pupil but an advisor."

That speech required a verbal response — but not need for a yes to be stated out loud, so Jen said, "Thank you, Hugo. You honor me. What is it that I can do for you today?"

Hugo made a long process of cutting and lighting his cigar, and then, seeming to pause and think something over for a second, suddenly said, "Why don't we have drinks? I'm going to get you a drink, Makris."

He got up, and Jen didn't dare to protest or offer to get the drinks, not sure whether she should. Letting the boss do what he wanted to do seemed like the best option, but Jen, now to be considered a consigliere and not a kid anymore, didn't know for sure if it was the right answer.

Hugo went to a spot in the vine-encased wall and pressed on what turned out to be a cabinet door, which swung open to reveal and Macallan 1939, valued off the top of Jen's head as a $10,000 vintage. She wondered whether the place where Hugo touched was fingerprint activated or whether the boss really kept one of the most expensive whiskeys in the world unlocked in a "secret" compartment.

Now Jen felt the appropriate thing to do would be to object. "Aw, come on, Hugo. That's too much, just give me the Macallan 10." She wanted to add, "I won't even know the difference," but knew that wasn't the right thing to say. She also knew Hugo would wave her off, flapping his fingers with a "don't be ridiculous" half-smile, which he did; that Hugo wouldn't make this offer unless he really meant to open the bottle; and that she shouldn't insist a second time.

It made her feel better that the bottle had been opened on a previous occasion, and four fingers were already missing. The boss poured a generous few fingers for Jen into a Glencairn glass and a roughly equal amount into his own.

"To you, Jennifer," was all Hugo said before they clinked glasses and each had a hundred-dollar sip. A lot went unsaid, didn't need to be put into words.

After a pause to appreciate every moment of that sip, Hugo launched into business.

"I imagine you have figured by this time that we are not responsible for Senator Athena Rex's murder. Mena has taken it personally that the authorities have reason to suspect otherwise. She doesn't like the scrutiny. We believe the Andreous did this — and since the Andreous never make high profile hits, we believe the purpose was to incriminate one of ours. Same as they did to little Ghost, who's not so comfortably situated at San Quentin now, for who knows how many years — she's too scrappy, those fists will give 'em plenty of opportunities to extend her sentence. The Ghost nickname dates from back when she was littler, quieter; kid grew up to be more of a Slugger.

"We got an officer in our pocket who has yet to report what evidence might have been planted for the purpose, but we want to act quickly to respond to this great insult, this declaration of war. There will be time to collect details later; for now, Mena wants to send the Andreous a message.

"And there's a second item on the docket. The detective we have failed to hamstring. She will be hounding after Paul's murderer since Nakos botched his snare for her. Yesterday Robert and Thalia shared our next move with you — the one in violation of the Hennessey Code, to never strike at law enforcement."

Jen wasn't familiar with that name, but the code was mafia protocol since forever — though knowing how old Hugo was, maybe it wasn't forever for him.

Hugo went on, "When you take Officer Dianthea Alafoggiannis, it's important that you know one thing, consigliere-to-be. Mena will not be told of this. The boss will not be told of our violating the code."

Thank you for reading Detective Fog. The story continues. Please remember to leave a star behind as you pass on through. It fuels all of the magic.