It's A Sweet Life Part 2

Chapter Three.

"Okay, this looks like s.h.i.t. Tell me again why I had to dye my hair?" It was after eight o'clock Friday evening, and Allan Donohue felt more exhausted than he had in his entire life. They'd just checked into the hotel a few minutes earlier after making their way up the state from Miami, using back roads all the way.

He turned from the mirror over the vanity and shot an evil glare at his twin brother, Benjamin. Before they'd left Miami early that morning, Ben had dragged Allan down to Homestead, where the hairdresser wife of a retired cop friend of Ben's had turned Allan into a blond beach b.u.m in her bathroom.

And beach b.u.m was a look he despised. He had an image to maintain, and scruffy wasn't it.

To be fair, Allan wasn't the only one who'd changed his appearance. Ben had shaved his thick beard and moustache, which he'd worn for three years. The same friend's wife cut Ben's flowing brown hair into a short, neat yuppie style. Years working undercover meant Ben's face hadn't even had time to catch up. His lower face looked far paler than his tanned forehead.

"Because no one expects to see Mr. Preppie Lawyer as a scruffy, dirty blond surfer dude," Ben snarked. "No offense, Counselor." The edges of his blue eyes crinkled in amus.e.m.e.nt. "Sorry it'll conflict with your South Beach party boy persona, but it's not like you're going to be hitting the nightclubs anytime soon."

Allan looked in the hotel mirror again and tried to ignore the jibe. "My eyebrows are darker. It's obviously a dye job."

"That's okay. In a couple of weeks, as your hair gets longer, you'll look totally different. Just wear a hat."

"I can't help but notice you now look like me."

"You mean you missed that while we were growing up? We're identical twins. Duh. For a prosecutor, you can be awfully freaking dense. Those club girls you hanging out with sucking your brains dry instead of your d.i.c.k?"

Allan swallowed back another retort as he ignored the shot and turned to his brother again. "I meant it's odd that you now look like I used to look."

Ben grabbed the remote and started flipping through channels without answering.

Allan wouldn't let it drop. "Dude, did you hear me?"

"Yeah."

Allan recognized the stubborn set to his brother's shoulders. "Then what the f.u.c.k?"

Ben finally looked at him. "If one of Victor Bianco's goons does manage to find us, I'd rather they come after me than you."

Allan shook his head as he realized what Ben had done. Some of his anger over his brother's potshots melted away. "You stupid jerk. Do you really think I want you taking a bullet for me?"

Ben smirked. "I'm hoping neither of us take any bullets." He poked himself in the chest, where he wore an oversized b.u.t.ton-up Hawaiian shirt. "I, however, have been wearing my vest like I'm supposed to."

"Won't help you if they shoot you in the head."

Ben's gaze returned to the TV as he shrugged. "I don't intend for the Biancos to find us. That makes it moot. Once we're settled and I'm sure no one's followed us, I'll be able to stop wearing it. For a while."

Most of South Florida's criminals were on the lookout for the thirty-year-old Donohue brothers, who had a million-dollar mob bounty on their heads, if underworld scuttleb.u.t.t could be believed.

Allan had headed the Miami-Dade County prosecution team that originally took down Victor Bianco's cousin. In lieu of sentencing considerations, that cousin had flipped on Bianco, which triggered a cascade of charges both local and federal against the head of the Bianco crime family. Charges that could effectively dismantle the mob organization if successfully taken to trial.

Ben was the undercover detective who'd spent nearly three years entrenched in the Bianco organization. His work had brought the Bianco cousin to justice.

Add to all that the fact that apparently the entire New Jersey contingent of the Bianco crime family had suddenly headed south for the winter two days earlier.

Destination-Miami.

When the Feds discovered that little factoid, they'd offered the Donohue brothers two options-willingly disappear and stay hidden until the trial, or be taken into protective custody. With several local, state, and federal law enforcement and prosecutorial departments entwined in the biggest mob trial in Florida history, the two brothers had opted to voluntarily disappear.

Their limbo would be spent in Brooksville, Florida. Large enough to hide out in, and small enough to stay off the radar, the little town an hour north of Tampa would be their temporary home.

For now, they were holed up in a Holiday Inn at the corner of I-75 and State Road 50, with Ben registered as Ken Dougherty and Allan listed as Charles Stackhouse.

Allan turned back to the mirror, feeling both guilty that his brother had tricked him into changing appearances to put him at less risk, and loving the big goon for it. "I still hate the blond."

"Keep it up, you'll wake up with a reverse mohawk and have to shave it all off," Ben shot at him.

Allan sighed and grumbled under his breath. "f.u.c.ker."

Libbie awoke earlier than normal, at 3:37 Sat.u.r.day morning, before her alarm even went off. The first thing she noticed was that her hands didn't hurt nearly as badly as they had the day before.

She didn't know if that was due to Dr. Smith's prescription, Mandaline's unconventional concoctions, or a combination of both.

She wouldn't question it.

As she shut of her alarm clock and sat up, she realized her whole body felt better than it usually did.

That alone was enough to make her smile.

With coffee brewing, she grabbed a hot shower and dressed, taking her mug of coffee downstairs after swallowing a pain pill. Ruthie arrived at four to help. When Grover arrived a little after five, they had half the day's normal offerings underway, including several red velvet cakes for Libbie's unpaid volunteer movers.

Grover offered Libbie a smile. "Well, look at you. Ain't you the chipper one this morning?"

"I actually saw her smiling before her third cup of coffee," Ruth gently teased.

"I feel really good," Libbie confirmed. "I'm not going to question why."

He grabbed a clean ap.r.o.n from the cabinet and put it on before washing his hands. "You look better than I've seen you in a few weeks."

"And I had an idea last night." She detailed her plan to him, receiving his approval.

"I think you're right. That's a good idea. It means less stuff to move out of there, too."

By eight in the morning, the entire Johnson brood, including their significant others, had arrived and started the moving process. With Galileo loudly protesting the upheaval from his travel carrier, Libbie helped out as much as she could while Grover and Ruth watched the shop and finished the daily orders.

When he called Libbie downstairs at nine thirty, a grinning Mandaline was waiting at the counter.

"Well? Grover told me you're feeling better."

Libbie gave her a hug. "It's too soon to tell yet, but I'm definitely going to keep using them."

Mandaline practically squealed with delight. "So what's the big excitement going on?"

Libbie looked back at the hallway, where sounds of activity echoed down the stairs. "I'm playing musical apartments. I'm going to rent out the larger one in front that I've been living in. Furnished. If you hear of anybody nice, feel free to send them my way."

"How much? I'll put up a card on my bulletin board for you."

"Seven hundred a month. Including utilities. Two bedrooms, one bath. Between you and me, I'll be willing to negotiate the rent if they want to help out in the bakery."

Mandaline tapped the info into her iPhone. "Sounds like a deal to me." She flashed Libbie a smile. "I'll light a candle for luck and prosperity for you."

"Thanks."

Her smile turned into a grin. "Want me to throw in one for love as well?"

Libbie let out a laugh. "What the h.e.l.l, why not? Can't hurt, right?"

"Right." She waggled her fingers at Libbie and left. Libbie watched Mandaline cross the square, carrying her boxes.

"She's a sweet gal," Grover said from behind her. "Even if she is plumb crazy."

Libbie looked up at him. "Grover," she scolded. "That's not nice."

Ruth shook her head, clucking at Grover. "I think she's sweet."

He shrugged. "I didn't say she was bad crazy. She's sweet enough. But all that mystical hoo-hoo nonsense isn't my thing. Louanne, now she likes crystals and stuff. Spends plenty of time over there." He glanced back at the stairs as he realized his youngest daughter was up there helping out with the move. He lowered his voice. "At least that's the worst crazy stuff she ever did. I'll take that over drugs or drinking any day. She's a good girl."

"Well, I think it's sweet for Mandaline to do it, even if it's not my thing." Libbie shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe a little luck is what I need now." She flexed her hands, which while achy, still felt great compared to the pain she'd been in the day before. "I certainly won't refuse any good luck I can get, regardless of where it comes from."

Sat.u.r.day morning, Allan and Ben sat in the far corner of the hotel's restaurant and studied the newspaper as they ate breakfast a little after eight o'clock.

"We can't spend six months here," Allan said. "In a hotel, I mean."

Allan loved his brother, but the two of them made Felix and Oscar look like Ozzie and Harriet by comparison in regards to how they got along in close quarters. They could barely share an apartment in college, much less one room. Ben was a homebody, while Allan had enjoyed making use of what free time he had to go out and party with friends to make up for the years of strict studying and hard work he'd suffered through in college. But for the sake of safety, they'd agreed they needed to stick together, and Allan had bowed to his brother's law enforcement experience to keep them safe.

Ben nodded. "I know." His eyes never rose from the cla.s.sified ads he studied. "We need to rent a place. Preferably from an individual. These fake ident.i.ties we have won't hold up to detailed scrutiny from someone running background and credit checks. Jim did the best he could for us under such short notice." They had okay-looking driver's licenses from Nebraska, which was the best Ben's friend in the DEA could do for them with less than twenty-four hours to a.s.sure their cover. Jim already had new Florida licenses in the works for them through his contacts in Tallaha.s.see. They'd be overnighted from Omaha once Ben gave him an address.

Allan guessed his brother was erring on the side of caution by going through a completely different agency for their disguises, but he wouldn't question him on that, at least. "And why, again, was running the better option?" Allan would have been happy accepting federal protection, but deferred to his brother rather than argue with him about it.

Ben finally lifted his gaze, one eyebrow upraised. "Honestly? I don't know who we can trust. I prefer being on the other end of a disposable cell phone than being a sitting duck in Miami." His attention returned to the cla.s.sifieds. "Look at it this way, now you'll have time to do all that artsy c.r.a.p you're always b.i.t.c.hing you don't have time for when you're too busy out scoring a new hot chick at a nightclub."

Allan bristled, but bit back the "f.u.c.k you" struggling to get out. This morning he'd had to fight not to stare at his brother. It was like looking in a mirror before his own dye job.

He didn't like feeling guilty that his brother was willing to take on his appearance for the sake of keeping him safe.

Instead, Allan opted for civility. "You used to like to draw. Before college. You were really good at it, too."

"Yeah, and that was before I saw what life was really like. What people are really like. I've got too much to do now usually." He let out a snort that Allan recognized as Ben's "shut the f.u.c.k up" conversational warning.

Allan also felt guilty that his brother had, in essence, given up three years of his life to bring down a mob kingpin. All the while he'd been able to go about his own life in carefree freedom.

He sat back and focused on the front section of the paper.

Ben breathed a silent sigh of relief when Allan took the hint and shut his hole. They might have looked alike growing up, but the brothers couldn't be more different in temperament. And he'd promised his mom before she died that he'd take care of Allan.

"He's not like you, Ben," she'd said one afternoon while he was alone with his mom in her hospital room. They'd just turned nineteen, and had spent it sitting at their mother's bedside during her losing battle with breast cancer. "He's as smart as you, but he's book smart. Your father always said you got the street sense."

Which was why Allan majored in law, and Ben majored in law enforcement. Like their dad, who'd taken a bullet when he accidentally walked in on a robbery in progress at a bodega in Little Havana one night. He'd gone in at the end of his night shift to pick up a carton of milk to bring home for them for breakfast.

He'd never made it home.

Even though they were only nine when it happened, Ben remembered how hot the sun had felt on their backs as they stood beside their mother while a full honor guard carried their father's flag-draped casket out of the church.

During school, Allan was the one picked on while Ben had to watch his back. Ben went out for football while Allan chose Latin Club.

For a couple of years he'd honestly suspected his twin brother was gay. Until the night in college when he accidentally walked in on Allan boinking a girl on their apartment couch when he came home unexpectedly after his own date fell apart early.

Then the girl, two years older than them, had brightened at the sight of him and suggested a threesome.

"I've always wanted to do twins," she practically squealed. "It's on my bucket list!"

It still boggled his mind how many women were actually down with the whole twins thing. He'd always thought it was a male-only fantasy, but they'd shared a few women in their time.

Not that he'd had anything resembling a love life in the past few years. Entrenching himself in the Bianco family was his life, completely. He couldn't risk anyone's safety by attempting to have a normal relationship on the side. And it allowed him the freedom to enjoy the occasional hooker or exotic dancer with "the boys" in the course of his job without guilt or remorse.

I couldn't do that to a woman I loved.

He shoved the thought back into its hole and slammed the door tightly against it as he felt his heart clench. Yeah, he was lonely most of the time. It was worth it to put away a hefty chunk of the Bianco family for good and get a.s.sholes like them off the streets.

If it meant he had to be a stereotypical bachelor detective, then oh well.

His glance skittered across the restaurant to where a small family had just been seated in a booth. A young man and woman, maybe late twenties, with a beautiful blonde little girl, maybe two years old. And a cute little boy a year or so older than his sister.

He forced his eyes back to the paper. I'm thirty. I wasn't meant to have a wife or kids. I was meant to be a cop.

"So what do you think?"

Allan's voice pulled him out of his mental meanderings. For once, he welcomed the distraction from his thoughts. "What?"

"We go into town, take a look around, see if we find anything that way. I need to get out and stretch my legs."

Ben looked back down at his paper and nodded. "Sure. Whatever."

"Grouch."