Who was killin' these bitches?

It sure ain't me.

The affirmation felt more and more like a lie.

He used his phone to login to his Times account. Yet, his password wasn't working. The invalid credential warning flashing on his screen worried him. So, Martinez had been totally serious about the state of his job. His finger hovered over her phone number, but he finally decided calling her would only make things worse.

However, Zeke did remember Carter's login. Without a thought, he typed in her info, and hit SUBMIT. The magical firewalls parted, and he was allowed access to the system.

First, he scanned the incident board. Seeing nothing of consequence, he clicked on the latest murder, of the twenty-something girl, Aliana Chambers.

The name sounded familiar, and he read the few details in the file entry. Two words stood out to him, screaming out to him just how hard he was fucked: Times employee.

Now he remembered her. Aliana. She had brought him coffee once or twice, given her intern status. Like every dude in the office, Zeke had longingly watched her leave the room, small bottom bouncing under her skirt.

He groaned, re-reading the file, wanting to be wrong. The details of her death were vague, but she'd been killed and dumped, like Carter. Aliana was tied to him, tenuously, but it stuck.

Still, Zeke couldn't have killed her, as he'd been sleeping. For. Sure.

When he asked his mother, Andrea Petrov, she shook her head, wiping up the kitchen counters.

"You went out for a few hours last night," she said.

Zeke sputtered, "Like hell I did."

She stopped cleaning to glare at him, the lines in her face etched deep. "I went to the bathroom, and you weren't on the couch."

"Then where was I?" he yelled.

Andrea shrank back against the counter. "I don't know."

Tears shone in her wide eyes. Zeke stepped back, aware of how nuts he was acting.

"Ma," he held out his hands, "I'm sorry. I'm just stressed."

The high he'd experienced only thirty minutes before was fading fast. None of his contacts could be darn contacted, because he was still a murder suspect, twice over now. Any clues to be garnered from this latest murder had to be raked in solo. Good thing he was so brilliant.

She stared at him warily. "Been takin' your meds?"

Not regularly.

"Yes," he said slowly.

She shook her head, and mumbled, "I'm gettin' your father."

"Don't---," fuckin' do that, but he bit his tongue. Plus, she had gone anyway.

Zeke wanted to avoid his father, Dom Petrov, at all costs. He tore off a piece of sweet bread for the road, and lumbered to the front door. Before he was home-free, he heard a booming voice that had scared him since childhood:

"Zeke!"

The authority in the tone tugged at him. His hand hung on the doorknob, ready to turn it, ready to run.

"Goddamn it, boy, get in here!"

The words pulled him into a memory he'd buried...

"Goddamn it, woman, shut your hole!"

Andrea, younger and angrier, continued her tirade. "You want me to believe you? Stop stumblin' in here with perfume on your collar, ya idiot!"

No, don't.

Name-calling only made him dangerous. As though to prove a point, Dom drew his hand back, and brought it down on Andrea's face. Smack. Click. Her teeth rattled with the force of the blow. She tripped, grabbing the counter and missing. Prone on the floor, she crawled from her husband, holding her cheek and cursing him.

Zeke watched from behind the living room couch, keeping his breath as steady as he could. He had practiced being quiet in his room.

Dom sighed, hands on his hips. The scuffle appeared to be over. Then, he bent and wrapped his hands around Andrea's long black hair, yanking her to her feet.

"You never believed in me," he said, the control in his voice contrary to his actions. "Let my restaurant go under, and now you accuse me of sleepin' around." He dragged her face to meet his. "I saw you with that...thing. I know what you've done. Embarrassing this family, and now you try to blame me for your whorish ways." With that, Dom slammed her face into the counter.

Zeke drifted back to reality.

"Boy, I said get over here!"

He dragged in a breath and wandered back to the kitchen.

Dom stood six feet tall, salt and pepper hair slicked back and shining under the fluorescent lighting. His thick arms were folded, accentuating his mottled face.

"What the fuck are you up to?"

No hello. No I've missed you, son.

Zeke suspected his father never missed anyone.

"Hi, pop," he replied.

Andrea tsked, wiping counters she'd already wiped.

"You been skippin' your meds, gettin' in trouble? The hell you doin'?" With every word, Dom's voice rose, cresting on a quiet roar.

Zeke's heart raged in his chest. Heat flushed his face to match his father's crimson hue.

"Nothing. I haven't done anything." I think. "But I am in trouble."

Dom shook his head. "Thought I taught you better."

He thought back to his mother screaming, blood streaming from her nose.

"... your cousin," his father was saying.

"What?" Zeke wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Damnit, listen. I said, see your cousin Raffi in Ybor. He'll get you outta this mess."

As he strained to recall Raffi, he rubbed his chin, prompting Dom to throw out gruffly,

"The hell is that?"

"What's what?" Unconsciously, he stepped back.

Zeke watched his father change from crimson to bright red. Uh-oh.

"That shit on your hand, what is it?"

With a sheepish grin, he opened his mouth to explain away the make-up. Yet, when he checked, the make-up was gone, revealing his very messed up hand.

"I uh, I don't know." Too late, he hid the evidence behind his back.

Andrea gasped, and started crying. Dom wrapped her in his grasp, glaring at Zeke.

"You upset your mother, idiot. Go see Raffi before you embarrass us again."

"Ma, it's okay, I promise." He reached out to her, but she cried harder.

"Out!" Dom barked.

Zeke scrambled to leave, slamming the door behind him. As he descended the apartment stairs, his mother's wails lessened, but they never really went away.

~*~