Keeping Secrets

Catherine raced into the garage. Just as Deanna had said, the child was in his car seat, ready to go. His diaper bag was in the back seat and Catherine saw that Deanna had packed some bottles of Catherine's breast milk, some clean diapers, and Trey's teething ring and Trey's favorite stuffed teddy bear.

"Hello?" Little Frankie frantically answered his wife's call.

"You, whatever you done to her, whatever you're doing to her, it stops. It stops right fucking NOW!" Catherine hissed, then screamed the last words into her husband's ear.

Joey Burrelli left the small hardware store, some tools of his trade in the plastic bags. He used the key fob to open the hatch of his SUV. Just as the hatch began to open, the glass beer bottle someone had set on his bumper fell off of the bumper and struck the ground. Upon impact, the bottle exploded and Joey found his shoes, socks and jeans were on fire. The explosion also sprayed some caustic liquid onto Joey's feet and legs and Joey screamed as his flesh was burning.

"Little Al don't like paying job's ain't done," Joey heard a deep voice say as Joey rolled on the ground, trying to stop the flames.

Of course, the police were very interested in the purchases in Joey's bags. The lawn care products were not easily explained; Joey lived in a third floor studio apartment. Joey was closed-mouthed about the accident and was closed-mouthed about his purchases.

While Joey's injuries were being tended to by the capable staff of Clarkston County General Hospital, Deanna and Amber lay in Deanna's bed, softly kissing and touching each other. With a soft giggle, Deanna allowed Amber to roll her onto her back. Amber lay on top of Deanna, her carrot orange mound pressed against Deanna's soft blonde curls. Amber bent and took Deanna's nipple into her mouth.

"Oh, oh yes," Deanna hissed as Amber wiggled down, soft lips pressed against Deanna's flesh.

"I, you know, you, you don't have to come with..." Deanna said as Amber's tongue reached out and flicked against Deanna's clitoris.

"God damn! Jesus, way to fucking ruin the mood, Deanna," Amber cried out, rolling away from Deanna.

Amber then grabbed Deanna and shook her. She glared angrily at Deanna then kissed Deanna forcefully.

"I said we're coming. I said we're coming with you," Amber yelled.

"But, but you don't have to," Deanna protested. "You, you and Christina, y'all can just..."

"We're all packed up. Christina's toys, her bed, her books, we're all packed up, Deanna. Wait, wait, you, you don't want us. That, that's it! Oh, oh my God, now it all..." Amber complained, then started to cry.

"No, no, oh my God, no, I, Jesus, Amber, I, I told you all about me, all about who I am," Deanna protested, clutching at the smaller woman.

At one minute before eight pm, Deanna entered Little Vixens through the front door. Marcus's face was comic when he realized it was Deanna. His dark eyes nervously glanced toward where Little Al and Little Al's entourage sat, watching as Baldy and Daniel and Julio set up the oil wrestling pool. Deanna smiled, putting her finger to her lips. Marcus shrugged his shoulders as Deanna approached Little Al's back.

"Ten thousand says I kick the shit out of your bitch," Deanna said from directly behind Little Al.

"Dee, Dee, Dee, what? You think I'm born yesterday, huh?" Little Al said, waving his body gaurds back to their seats.

"Just letting you know, whatever you bet on this girl? You might as well have just rolled down the car window, thrown it all out," Deanna said.

"And just letting you know," Little Al smirked. "Beth? She's been told hold you down, don't let you up. This? This is a fight to the death."

"Good to know," Deanna said, walking around the row of chairs to the backstage area.

In the backstage area, a few girls stood around, nervously looking at the two men Little Al had stationed in the backstage area. Neither man hid their leering glances as the girls dressed for that night's activities.

Unconcerned, Deanna peeled off her tee shirt and jeans, revealing her blood red bikini. She put her bag into a locker then sat, waiting.

Baldy called out the schedule. Venus and Beth would be the last bout of the evening; neither girl would be part of the overall competition.

At eleven thirty nine, Beth sauntered into the backstage area. Deanna felt a momentary lurch of doubt; the girl was six feet tall and weighed at least two hundred and fifty pounds, most of it solid muscle.

"When they call for Beth and Venus, you go out first," Deanna said, showing no emotion as Beth stripped out of her track suit, revealing a modest bikini.

"Yeah, sure," Beth shrugged.

Deanna calmly sent Little Frankie a text message. She then put the cell phone into the locker with her clothes.

"All of you, get out before the shooting starts," Deanna whispered to the remaining dancers. "Hear? When they call for me, you need to be in your cars, getting the fuck out of Dodge, hear?"

"And the main event of the night," Deanna could hear the fearful warble in Daniel's voice.

Beth ambled out, hands raised in victory. Deanna smiled as she approached Al's men. Both of them leered at Deanna's bikini clad body.

They would live, but they'd have a bith of a headache when they woke up. Deanna stuffed both men into one toilet stall and used a coat hanger to latch the door from underneath.

"Venus," Daniel called out again and Deanna hustled out into the bar area.

"Damn, girl," Cindy whispered to Deanna, her dark eyes wide with fear.

"Oil me up, then get the fuck out of here," Deanna whispered, playing like she was making out with Cindy.

"Oil me up, then get out," Deanna repeated to Emily as she made a big show of massaging the oil into her breasts.

Finally, Deanna sashayed to where Bet was already kneeling. Deanna blew a few kisses to the audience, then knelt in the oil.

When the bell clanged, Deanna backed up. Beth lunged, but when Deanna backed up, it put Beth slightly off-balance. Deanna grabbed Beth's massive right arm in both hands and gave a savage pull.

Beth sucked in a lungful of air when her right arm popped out of her shoulder socket. She looked, amazed as her right arm hung limply at her side. She was able, barely, to lift the arm.

Beth screamed when Deanna delivered a hard body blow to Beth's incapacitated shoulder, toppling the large girl into the sludge. Deanna fell across the whimpering girl, making sure to drive her knee into Beth's shoulder.

Beth found the strength to somehow push Deanna off, mainly by using her left arm. Beth rose up and gasped out when Deanna again delivered a savage body blow to Beth's right side. Then Deanna grabbed Beth's left arm and pulled while delivering a hard upward palm strike to Beth's elbow.

Beth passed out from the pain. Birdie looked nervously at Little Al, but had no choice but to call 'one-two-three' while Deanna knelt on Beth's sprawled body. Deanna then left the pool, leaving Beth to the incapable hands of Birdie and Julio. Deanna blew Little Al a kiss just before stepping into the backstage area.

Entering the backstage area, Deanna crouched down and stepped back into the darkened bar area. She stayed low as she made her way to the bathrooms in the front of the bar.

Deanna ducked into the men's restroom and pulled the lid off of the garbage can. She grabbed the plastic bag from the garbage can and ducked into a stall. Four minutes later, an old man tottered from the bathroom and wobbled to the door.

"Call this a titty bar? Jesus, I seen more titty on 'Leave It TO Beaver,' I swear," the old man complained to Marcus as he stepped out into the dank, muggy night.

Upon receiving the text message from Deanna's cell phone, Little Frankie called D.J. and told D.J. to meet him at 1710 Cottonwood Drive. Both men parked their cars on Ferguson and made their way on foot to Deanna's house. At a nod from Little Frankie, Willie Sopopano disarmed Deanna's security system. When Willie nodded that he'd managed to turn the alarm off, Pat Sopopano picked the locks and the five Sopopano men quietly walked into the dark home.

"Shit, she's been painting?" D.J. complained, smelling the fumes.

"What I love about you," Pat snickered. "You just keep getting smarter and smarter."

"Got a smart mouth, know that?" D.J. said, slapping Pat in his head, hard.

"Both of you, sit your asses down and shut your mouths, huh?" Little Frankie ordered, moving a drop cloth from a corner of Deanna's couch.

"Shit, she's got a nice place here," Willie said, looking around at the spacious home.

"Yeah, being a stripper pays pretty good, huh?" Mikey asked.

While the five men lolled in her home, the old man started Samantha's car. Deanna resisted the urge to tug at the gray wig, even though it was making her head sweat. She drove toward the truck stop on Highway forty two. Three blocks before the truck stop, right across the street from a derelict motel, Deanna grabbed a duffel bag from the passenger seat and pulled out a cell phone. Deanna got out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition. She punched in a number, then dropped the phone down a storm drain.

Inside of Little Vixens, Baldy did look over at the solitary locker that had a combination lock on it. She could hear a muffled buzzing as a cell phone received an incoming call. She frowned; the girls all knew they weren't supposed to leave anything in the lockers.

Inside of 1710 Cottonwood Drive, Little Frankie heard a cell phone ringing. He looked at his four companions, but none of them were reaching for their phones. He realized, the ringing was coming from upstairs. He also realized, there should be no ringing coming from upstairs.

"Aw shit, aw shit, aw shit!" Little Frankie screamed, struggling to get to his feet.

He was two steps away from the couch when the entire home went up in a 'whoosh!' As the upstairs collapsed on top of the downstairs, temporarily smothering the flames, Deanna's cell phone went to voice mail. As Samantha was already dead as she lay in Deanna's bed, dead from the moment Deanna snuck up behind her in the back parking lot of The Captain's Table, Samantha did not feel the impact of the initial blast or the second or third or fourth blasts. She did not feel the inferno that engulfed the home.

Entering the truck stop, Deanna smiled as she saw Amber and Christina sitting, eating the order of pancakes Deanna had promised the two year old girl. Deanna also saw John 'Smitty' Schmidt sitting on a stool. The genius looked as out of place in the truck stop as a beautiful red head and beautiful red headed toddler looked.

"Hey, what's a cute little girl like you doing in a place like this?" Deanna gruffly asked Amber as she slid into the seat across from Amber.

"Jesus fucking Christ, what? What is it with all you God damned perverts?" Amber asked the creepy old man that dared approach her.

"A lot of guys been hitting on you?" Deanna asked in her normal voice.

"De, Deanna?" Amber asked, now looking closely at the withered old man.

"Uh huh. Listen, order me a steak and eggs plate; medium rare, eggs over easy," Deanna said and ambled over to where Smitty looked around, large Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously.

"Smitty, calm down, huh?" Deanna said, sliding onto the stool next to him.

"That's not what you're supposed say," Smitty giggled nervously.

"Sorry. 'Is that your green truck out there?'" Deanna asked the password, rolling her eyes.

"No. My truck is the gold one next to it," Smitty said his greeting.

"My mistake. I accidentally scratched the green one on my way in," Deanna completed the agreed upon greeting.

Deanna slipped the young man the twenty five thousand dollars. He put the bundle into his inside coat pocket without looking into the envelope. Deanna knew, if she were one dollar short, with just a few keystrokes, Smitty would terminate the new identity, and alert a few people where the still very alive Deanna Sopopano could be found.

Smitty nodded, looked around again and handed Deanna a large plain brown envelope. Deanna did not look in the envelope as she returned to where Amber sat, watching Deanna and Smitty's exchange.

"She said it'll be coming right up," Amber said, indicating the cup of coffee with a nod of her head.

"Thanks, Sweetheart," Deanna said.

Deanna did not look up when Smitty got up and walked to the door. She did not watch as Smitty half-ran, half-walked to the gold pickup truck parked next to a hideous green pickup truck.

When the waitress put the breakfast in front of Deanna, Deanna asked about the showers. She paid for their breakfasts and the shower with cash; her new credit cards had not been activated yet.

After eating, Deanna dragged her duffel bag into the indicated shower cubicle. Rapidly stripping out of the short gray wig and restrictive clothing, Deanna showered the oily sludge from her skin. Finally cleaned, Deanna toweled dry, then pulled her short skirt and cute top from her bag. She strapped on the sandals and pulled the matching purse from the bag. Deanna had determined, as part of her new identity, she would eschew jeans and shorts and slacks. For years, Deanna had toned down her feminine beauty; her brothers and cousins had actually made Deanna resent being so pretty. But now, she would enjoy her feminine charms, would embrace being a woman.

Out of the envelope Smitty had handed her, Deanna pulled the keys for the green pickup truck and dropped them into her new purse. The driver's license told her she was now Darlene Sanborne, formerly of Great Oak, Texas. Deanna giggled; Smitty had made her twenty one, instead of just twenty years of age.

"Oh boy; I can drink now?" Deanna asked the empty cubicle.

The three credit cards, a Discover, a Master Card, and a Visa were all in the name of Darlene. Deanna blinked twice; Smitty had made Darlene a graduate of the University of Louisiana at DeGarde with a bachelor's in Business Administration and a Master's Degree in Financing. Darlene Kelly Sanborne was now enrolled in Whittle College, in Broken Field, Kansas, working on her doctorate in Statistical Analysis.

"Damn. That blow job was worth it," Deanna said, fishing her thong panties out of her bag and wiggling them up her hips. "Guess I'd let him stick it up my butt, I'd already be a doctor, huh?"

Dropping the duffel bag into the garbage can, Darlene made her way to the pickup truck. The trailer was hitched to the truck, loaded down with all of Amber's and Christina's things. Deanna had packed little; she'd learned that anything she attached any sentimental value to, D.J. or Little Frankie, or Barry or Paul would destroy it. So, other than some clothing, the trailer had little of Deanna's things within the securely locked interior.

"Ready?" Amber asked, Hyundai idling.

"Yep; listen. Any calls from five oh one? Ignore them unless you know for sure who it is," Darlene told her girlfriend. "Seven eight five will be me, okay?"

Leaning into the car window, Darlene gave Amber a kiss, then whispered what her new name was. Amber quietly repeated Darlene's new name and Darlene nodded. With one more kiss, Darlene swung up into the pickup truck. She playfully flashed Amber her panties before closing the truck's door.

While Amber and Darlene began the journey from Myndee, Arkansas to Broken Field, Kansas, Little Al angrily slammed the door from garage to kitchen. Timmy and Ralph admitted that they'd been keeping their eyes on Deanna Sopopano, just like Little Al said. Then, right after Beth left the backstage area, Deanna walked up to them and knocked both of them out.

Wally, the guy Little Al had stationed behind the bar confirmed that all of the dancers had left, all of them at once. Then a couple minutes later, two more girls left. But Deanna Sopopano never entered nor left through the back door of the bar.

Burt said he had seen Deanna enter the nightclub through the front door. But he never saw her, or any woman leave through the front door. But they had scoured the club from top to bottom and had seen no sign of the bitch. They'd found her bikini in the trash can in the men's bathroom, but she'd not been anywhere inside of the building. Little Al had even made Wally climb up on the bar and move an acoustic ceiling tile aside and peer around in the area between ceiling and roof.

"'Bout time you got here, Mr. Babanetti," Joey Burrelli said, clicking on a lamp in Little Al's living room.

Little Al saw his wife, his four daughters, and his beloved son, all duct-taped to their dining room chairs. The smell told Little Al that at least one of his children had soiled themselves.

"What is this, Joey?" Little Al asked, wondering if he could get to his nine millimeter before Joey Burrelli could react.

"Didn't appreciate your little present," Joey said, voice hard. "No sir, didn't appreciate it at all."

"And what present would that be?" Little Al asked, truly baffled. "I know nothing about..."

"Adding the Drano to the mix was true genius," Joey said, his twenty two handgun making little more than a loud 'pop' as Joey put a bullet into Little Al's kneecap.

Little Al screamed and fell to the floor. He grunted and thrashed in absolute agony; his grunts drowning out the muffled screams of his children and the sobs of his wife.

"I'm going have remember that one. The doctor says I'm going need all kind of skin grafts fix that up," Joey said, hefting himself up from the couch.

Joey used his cane to limp to where Little Al lay. Little Al looked up, his dark eyes pleading with the insane arsonist.

"Joey, on my mother's life, I had nothing..." Al whimpered then screamed as Joey put a bullet into his left shoulder.

The third, fourth and fifth bullets slammed into Little AL's right hand, his right shoulder, then into Little Al's cock. Then Joey put the sixth bullet into Little Al's left foot.

"Aw, I'm all out of bullets," Joey said to the six family members that sat, screaming, crying and begging into their duct tape muzzles.

Sally, Mrs. Babanetti actually had hope that somehow, they'd survive this hellish nightmare as the insane man slowly, painfully made his way to the front door of their home. Sally cried great racking sobs for her husband, the only man she had ever loved. Watching her husband, her great strong provider attempting to crawl to where his family sat, helpless tore at Sally's heart. Sally's hopes for survival were cut short and the sob caught in her throat as she saw the flash of light from just beyond their front door.

*..*..*..*..*..*..*..*..*

Doyle Brundette, the district attorney for Clarkston County breathed a sigh of relief when the Clarkston County medical examiner identified the bodies of Deanna Sopopano, D.J. Sopopano and Little Frankie Sopopano as well as three other Sopopano males in the charred shell that used to be 1710 Cottonwood Drive. The way the house had burned, collapsing in on itself and burning even more quickly when the fire department tried to put out the flames told Doyle that this had been the work of Joey Burrelli.

Doyle had to hand it to the man; he was a true professional. 1708 and 1712 Cottonwood Drive had only suffered some blistering from the heat of the fire. Neither house had been in any danger, even as 1710 Cottonwood Drive was a complete loss. Doyle also knew, there was no way to trace it back to Joey Burrelli. He would have left no trail.

Doyle almost danced when the remains of the entire Babanetti family had been identified from the charred remains of 203 Hasting's Creek. There was now no one that could tie Doyle Brundette, identify Doyle as the one that had put a bullet into the head of Annette Strohm. He still felt a stirring in his chubby little cock as he envisioned the terrified dancer's eyes, pleading with Doyle just before he placed the barrel of his official issue.38 handgun between her eyes.