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Mancini's Way

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Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Mancini

I felt the burn in my muscles, as I lifted the two hundred and fifty pound weights for my last rep; this is just what I needed to take my mind off of the fuckery I have to deal with later. I've found over the years, that if I push my body hard enough, my mind goes into what I call 'phase'. I can put everything else aside and concentrate on the task at hand. It's just one of the ways I've taught myself to have total control.

There's no one else around to distract me at this early hour, as I'm in my personal state of the art gym, on the thirty-third floor of my high-rise building. Though the room is covered wall to wall with mirrors, I do not watch myself. That is not what this is about; this is about control.

In a few hours, I'll be sitting down across from what's believed to be one of the world's foremost criminals, a little less known fact by any who aren't part of the law enforcement communities of the world. He's wanted by almost every leading government agency for questioning, but still he walks free, then again so am I.

The thought brought a sinister grin to my face; I loved pitting my brain and skills against the best they had to offer. I haven't met one who could best me thus far, which was a bane for them I'm sure, and just more fodder for my kicks and laughs folder.

Sweat formed on my brow and across my shoulders, as I pushed my body just that much harder; next up, stretches and I'm good for the day. An hour of hard exercise always sets me up for the rest of the day, invigorating.

My phone rang, causing me to ease down the heaviness from my hands; I found the first smile of the day as I saw the name on the readout. I flexed my arms and shook it out, prepared to cut my session short for one of the only people in the world I thought worthy of my time.

"Mama..."

"Don't you mama me Hank Mancini, where have you been? I don't see you three whole days, no phone call no nothing, maybe you're dead, I don't know, how would I know? Nobody tells me anything, why you treat your mother this way Hank, didn't I take care of you as a boy?"

I rolled my eyes as she went on with her usual guilt trip, not uttering a word, until she wound down. It was always the same with mama, she's all of five feet, but you'd swear with her gumption, that she was six feet tall. She's the only human being on the face of the earth that had the power to bring me to heel as she puts it.

"First of all you're lying mama, I spoke to you yesterday morning. I told you I had a very busy schedule and you said dad was taking you out to some fancy do and you had a full day planned at the spa, so you would be in and out all day getting ready, ring a bell?"

"Oh that was you? I thought it was Jaxxon or Adrien, or maybe Jace, pfft, I can't keep my boys straight anymore."

"You know mama, if I wasn't so strong of heart I'd be jealous."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you've been saying that for twenty years now my son; so tell me, what badness are you getting up to today?"

I didn't answer, she knew I never discussed my business with her, but that didn't stop her from asking. A long time ago, I'd had to let her in on a little of who her son had become. But that was the one and only time, and only because some things had transpired that had necessitated me sharing some information with her and dad. Since then, I'd made damn sure I never needed to involve them any farther.

I liked to keep my personal and professional lives separate. I'd better; it could mean a matter of life or death to those who mattered most. Though both of my surrogate brothers had joined law enforcement agencies, it was not quite the same thing, but just as dangerous all the same. At least mama was an equal opportunity worrier; she worried about all of us.

Something I hated, but could see no way around. I imagined her sitting in her solarium, having her morning coffee, as she enjoyed her plant life and deciding which of her children to terrorize next. I'll have to go see my favorite girl soon, it had been at least a week since the last time, and if I didn't go to her, the little tyrant would show up here, laden down with a week's worth of food and rearrange my house to the way she thought it should look. Gotta love my mama.

I messed around on the phone for a few minutes with my favorite girl, before tossing it back to the chair where I kept it. I'd have to remember to get her something nice, it's been a while and mama does enjoy her gifts; and the men in her life kept her well supplied. Hopefully, she was already busy interrogating one of them, because when she got into this mood I knew what was coming next.

My thoughts went from family to death in the blink of an eye; in my line of work, death and darkness, was never too far from the surface. I literally swam with the filth of the world, day in and day out; have been for quite some time now, and it didn't look like I would be stopping anytime soon.

There was always some shit going on, in some corner of the world that needed my brand of expertise. I finished out my routine and headed for the shower. I have a meet downtown later in the afternoon, after my sit down with Jace, that I needed to be on point for.

The fucking Feds are acting up again, like I gave a fuck; they're nothing more than annoying little gnats, buzzing around my ass. But I've become an expert at avoiding their overpaid, underachieving asses for the past ten years. I might have admired their tenacity had I not been the one on the receiving end of their bullshit, but all I felt was total disdain. At least they were consistent if nothing else, the fucks.

Their last attempt at throwing me behind bars and throwing away the key had ended with the termination of that particular agent's career for fabrication of evidence. They couldn't pin any of the one hundred and one crimes they suspected me of on me through legal channels, so he'd decided to get creative. Too bad for him, I wasn't one to be fucked with and I had the money and the resources to fight back. Now his pals at the bureau were out for blood; too fucking bad, I have no interest in donating.

"Fuck, what is this, Grand Central?" Fucking phone is a pain in the ass this morning. Most people knew not to bother me at this time, unless it was an emergency; of course that didn't apply to mama, nothing ever did. I answered without first checking the readout.

"Mancini."

"Hank, where the hell have you been? I've been calling and calling for the past three days, do you know who I am...?"

I took the phone away from my ear and pressed end. Chick lost her damn mind; I turned it off when it started ringing again. That ought to send the message home loud and clear, once and for all. Hank Mancini bowed to no one, get the fuck outta here.

I threw on my Armani gear. Today was businessman suave. Crisp white shirt, opened at the collar, under a steel grey suit, no tie, I hate those shits. I think the fuck who invented them had some type of auto erotic asphyxiation fetish, and found the perfect way to hang the fuck out of himself all day, getting his jollies, while fooling the world that his creation was the next best thing in fashion.

I barely passed a comb through my unruly black curls, because the shit did its own thing anyway, no matter what I did, so why bother? Opening my watch safe, I perused my collection, before settling on a Breitling.

I checked the shine on my shoes and was ready to go in less than half an hour. Tomorrow I'll probably be in sweats and ten year old runners, but that's just me, it's the life I live and I have the money and the prestige to do whatever the fuck I want.

I felt eyes on me from the moment I stepped out of the building. I didn't know who had me in their cross hairs this week, Interpol, FBI, SSI or who the fuck. Sometimes it was one or the other, or sometimes they got enterprising and teamed up. It must piss them off that they could only watch me from afar these days, since I'd fought and won that battle too, the first and only time the fucks had tried to put eyes and ears inside one of my places. Now, by law they were prohibited from doing what the good judge had termed 'harassing a citizen of the USA'.

It was barely eight o'clock in the morning and it was already ninety degrees in the shade. Another scorcher, just what I needed to round out my fucked up day. I took a cursory glance around, playing my game of spot the spook. Sometimes I gave them a little wave just to fuck with them.

The last two I had actually ordered pizzas, while they sat outside my place like the paparazzi stalking a little starlet. According to the delivery guy, they almost shit themselves, and after questioning him extensively, until they were satisfied he was really just a pizza delivery guy and not a criminal mastermind, they'd let him go; they'd kept the pizzas.

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