“It’s better than takeout,” Heather shot back. She snickered. “God, I can’t wait for the weekend.”
I nodded. “Me either.” I yawned. “I feel like ever since I started working full time, I’m just exhausted. Like, all the time.”
Heather nodded. “I get that,” she said. “Hey, can you put on the TV?”
“Why?” I frowned. “What’s coming on?”
“Some guy robbed a woman on my subway car this morning,” Heather explained. “I wanted to hang around and see if he got caught but I was already running late so I had to go.”
I nodded. “Sure.” I walked over to the small TV we kept on the edge of the bar and flipped through the channels until I found a local news station. The anchors were sitting in front of a tall desk, looking both comical and serious as they read bits and short stories from a televised prompted.
“So,” Heather said. “This weekend, I was thinking – you wanna go shopping in Jersey? Mom offered to take us to lunch.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know, I was thinking about catching up on my sleep.” Keeping one ear on the television, I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone. Suddenly, one of the anchors said a familiar name.
A name that chilled my blood when I heard it spoken.
“Alessio Amoruso, owner of local restaurant chain Amoruso’s, has been officially released from prison today. He served six months after violating parole.”
I grabbed the remote and fumbled, dropping it on my feet. The plastic bounced off my toes and I cried out in pain as I reached down and grabbed it again, desperately punching the ‘volume up’ button as I aimed the plastic square at the television.
“What the hell,” Heather hissed. “What’s wrong with you, spaz girl?”
“Shut up,” I said. “I’m trying to hear this.”
The female anchor turned back to her co-star and laughed politely. “Sources say Amoruso could be facing more severe charges, but a lawyer for the family has released the statement that he’s happy to be out of jail, and looks forward to returning to the restaurant empire.”
“Oh, Amoruso’s,” the male anchor said. “Wow, I love their pasta. You ever eaten there, Cindy?”
The female anchor laughed. “No, Mark,” she tittered. “I haven’t, but I hope to soon!”
Groaning, I muted the television and buried my face in my hands.
“This is so fucked,” I mumbled under my breath. “I can’t believe he’s out! I can’t believe they didn’t get him for Michael!”
“Babe, what are you talking about?” Heather walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. “I thought you were having a good day!”
“I was,” I moaned miserably. “Until I heard about this!”
“Oh, honey, I’m sure he doesn’t want anything to do with you,” Heather said.
I frowned. “I’m not worried about that idiot or his dumb threats,” I said slowly. “But I can’t believe he didn’t serve more time.” Guilt flashed across my brain. Michael would want me to avenge him, I realized as I stared at the muted television screen.
“Well, you’re fine then,” Heather chirped. She stirred the marinara sauce on the stove. “Feel like dinner?”
I grabbed my phone and shook my head. “I gotta call someone,” I said. “And then I’m gonna go lie down. Thanks, though.”
Heather pouted as I left the kitchen. I wanted to tell her what I was feeling, but part of me didn’t think she’d understand. After all, now that Michael was gone, her favorite thing to say was, “the two of you weren’t perfect for each other.”
What would she say about my urge to avenge his untimely death?
Alone in the privacy of my small bedroom, I called the New York police.
“Hello,” I said. “May I please speak with Detective Aberson?”
There was a long pause. “What for?”
“It’s about Alessio Amoruso,” I said.