Brothers' Epistolary - Episode 1

Detective Julian Alvaro paid for his meal as the sun started to set. He tipped the waitress with the last bills in his wallet and called her by name when he reminded her to say ‘hello’ to her mom for him. He considered asking the waitress, if she had spoken with Juliet recently, but decided against it. Jenny and Juliet may have grown up together as best friends, but Juliet went with a different crowd these days. She would not have reached out Jenny at the worst of times, and times were bad for Juliet. This story was a common one in their turbulent neighborhood. The story was too alike Julian’s own.

As he left the restaurant, he passed by a few familiar faces. Normally, he would stop to check in with each of them, but not tonight. Instead, he tipped his golf cap to them all as he passed, taking the opportunity to pull it low over his eyes. The bell over the door chimed at his exit. Severe winds had started up, a powerful gust barreled into the restaurant, forcing all the patrons to zip up their coats and jackets, which were never removed. They shivered against the cold and wrapped their scarves around their necks while Julian collected the collapsed sidewalk sign and placed it just inside the door. He wondered if tonight would be the night John, the owner, finally turned on the heater. He would gripe about it to his daughter the rest of the long night. Julian shrugged and half-smiled apologetically at Jenny before pulling up the collar of his coat and heading into the bitter autumn evening.

With hands stuffed deep into his pockets and head low, Julian made his way to his destination. He carefully picked his path through back alleyways and streets. Not a single soul passed him on the streets, except the rats and one dog. The only human witnesses to his passing were those frantically pulling in their clothes hung to dry on the lines between the apartment balconies. If they paid him any mind, they probably would not have recognized the top of his hat anyway, but no one looked in his direction as he drifted below. People knew better than to pay attention to the passersby and happenings in these alleys once the sun dipped low. Still, Julian cautiously made a circle, doubled back and took another route the second time. Just to be sure. The last couple of streets before the mosque, kids scrambled home as the lights came on to signal the end of play.

During his twenty-minute stroll, he had walked through what the locals deemed the Spanish Quarter, Chinatown, and Little Italy. It was the charm of the neighborhood he was born into and the reason he could never leave, no matter the dismal pay and heightened crime. It was as if all of New York’s boroughs had been scaled down to fit into one. Except here all the lines separating the cultural hubs were blurred. Here all the families knew each other and spent holidays and games together. Everyone proudly shared and accepted all the eccentricities of their cultures like swapping baseball cards. Recipes, prayer beads, handmade gifts, and furniture were freely traded at backyard barbecues and Sunday mass, along with laughter, stories, and tears. This neighborhood’s population had been wildly diverse for as long as Julian could recall. From the stories his parents, aunts and uncles had shared, it was the same for them and generations before.

Julian entered the sahn as the top of the minaret tower fell into shadow. There were a few individuals in the courtyard before the mosque, some just leaving their evening prostration and a man sitting on the edge of the fountain with a book perched on his knee. The last bits of sunlight glinted off the edges of the golden domes topping the structure. As Julian entered the mosque, he removed his shoes at the door and slipped his holster and gun off his waistband which he discreetly placed inside his shoes. There were three men in total inside the mosque with brooms in hand cleaning the long, rug-filled room. One of those men was his childhood friend Aziz, the man who had taught him about mosques, or as he would call it in Arabic, masjid. Julian was never a practitioner, but he appreciated the deep-rooted traditions of Muslim. He also appreciated and trusted in the fact that Aziz would never say a word about seeing him here tonight or having left the door to the maktab unlocked for his covert meetings.

Inside the classroom, Julian kept the lights off, he sat in a desk and waited in the dark. His ex-wife strutted into the room a few moments later and sat in the desk next to him.

“Julian,” she stated in a hushed tone.

“Rosalind,” he responded curtly.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and awkward, until finally Julian asked, “Why did you want to meet me?”

Rosalind did not answer immediately. She sat still, except the rhythmic tapping of her long nails on the desk, her eyes fixed on the chalkboard ahead. Her lack of response and calm demeanor told Julian she was carefully calculating her reply, making him wait for her weighted words. He hated it when she did that.

“Rosalind, I don’t have time for this, tell me why I am here.”

“Why waste words asking me questions you already know the answers to?”

“I am not sure what you mean.”

Abruptly, she turned her body to him. She was already losing patience. Julian could always win these games of wit Rosalind loved to play, not because he was smarter than her, he knew that, only because he kept calm where she could not.

“Where is our daughter?”

“Our daughter hasn’t said a word to me in over a year. You know that,” though he tried, he could not conceal his sadness caused by that painful truth.

“Clever,” she said, not at all amused. “Yes, we both know Juliet hasn’t spoken to you, but I know she sent you a message.”

“I haven’t gotten any messages.”

“Oh, Julian, cut the crap already. I know you have the letters!”

Julian finally turned to meet Rosalind’s eyes with equal fury, his finger going quickly to his mouth to remind her to keep her voice down. She suddenly stood up from the desk and came around it, bending down so close to him that their noses nearly touched.

In a whispered yell, she demanded, “You tell me what you know right now, Julian. I will tell you what I know for sure. Our daughter, unfortunately, is in a relationship with your old friend’s son. Over the last year, they have written love letters to one another in secret, since both of their dear papas would not approve. A real Romeo and Juliet situation, if you will. However, luckily for you, the Romeo of our story is a lot freer with information than he should have been, meaning those letters are not good for his father’s business. Now, somehow, you have possession of those letters and our daughter is missing in action. What I believe, is our daughter managed to get those letters to you before her disappearance, which means she likely told you where to find her. What I don’t know is why she would think you were the best person to handle the precarious situation posed by the existence of those letters since you haven’t been any help to her since you kicked her out on the streets. We both know I should be the one handling this, so let me, and tell me where I can find her!”

Like usual, Rosalind knew more than she should. Like usual, Julian decided honesty would be the best defense against her. “I don’t know where she is. The letters just showed up, I suspected they came from you. There was no information about where she went, no clues in the letters either. I have read them a dozen times. I only know Juliet is missing because I went by her apartment. You’re her mother, I hoped you would know.”

She stood up straight, the dusk light coming in from the windows cutting over her face and chest, “Are you telling me the truth as her father, or are you playing detective and lying?”

“I don’t play detective, Rosalind, I am a detective.”

“Yeah, some detective you are, you can’t even figure out where your only child is.”

Julian turned away from her again, her damaging words drawing blood, the chasm between them filling with silence and old pain.

Rosalind slumped into the chair in front of him, again her eyes fixed on the wall ahead. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried.”

He fought the urge to comfort her. Instead, he asked, throat tight, “How do you know about the letters?”

“Juliet told me, of course.”

“No, she didn’t. What actually happened?”

She slumped forward more, speaking into the palms of her hands, “Fine. I found the letters and confronted her. It got heated. I warned her of what could happen if he found out about their relationship.”

“You threatened her, and she believed you would do it, that you would rat out your own daughter. That’s what happened.”

“I was only going to do it to keep them apart. To keep her safe. You haven’t seen that boy since they were in elementary school. You don’t know him like I do. He doesn’t deserve her, and there is no way the boss would be happy with them seeing each other. He would have put a stop to it.”

“You’re unbelievable. Trying to keep her safe? You should have thought of that before you recruited her to work for the mob, real Mother of the Year over here.”

“I won’t explain our reasons to you again, Julian. You decided a long time ago that you would live your life, and we would live ours.”

Another lull as their old wounds opened to fester again.

“She has been gone for a week. Are you planning to do something with the letters? You must act. You have to make it feel safe for her to come home.”

“You threatened to expose our daughter to a man who would not hesitate to do whatever it took to keep those two apart. Allowing you both in his gang to mock me and poison you against me, that’s just a game to him. Allowing the daughter of the man he hates most to be with his only son, that he would never do. I will not sit idle while my daughter’s life is potentially at risk, but you’re insane if you think I am going to tell you anything about my plan. Now, I am leaving.”

Julian stood and stormed over to the door, expecting to hear a rebuttal before he even touched the doorknob, but there was no response.

Without looking back, he said, “If I hear word from her, I will let you know. I expect you to do me the same courtesy. Get home safe.”

He didn’t wait to hear if she said anything back that time.

As Julian made his way home, he mulled over all the new details of the case. His mind was muddled though and kept getting stuck on the one detail most important to him. Juliet had left the letters for him. When she was in trouble, it was him that she trusted. He silently vowed to not let her down. Not this time.