Reading Time:
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Chapter 3

“Matchmaking,” Tom repeated in disbelief.

“Yep,” Jethro confirmed, sipping his coffee, glad he had a whole cup this time when Tom had called him in.

Tom really wanted to rub his fingers against his eyebrows to stave off the oncoming headache.  Instead, he continued to stare at his agent and worked to control his frustrated disbelief.  He wasn’t having much success.  “Are you telling me that this entire brouhaha has uncovered the conspiracy of an Italian yenta?”

Jethro frowned.  “Isn’t yenta Jewish?”

“Gibbs!”

“Yep,” Jethro said, taking another sip of coffee.  “That’s what it’s going to pan out to on paper.”

Tom hesitated at the wording and sat back in his chair, eyeing his agent suspiciously.  Dealing with Gibbs was always…something.  The man was hardheaded and stubborn, but he had a strong sense of justice and Tom knew, from several off-the-record talks, that Gibbs thought DADT was unjust down to its roots.  “Am I going to be signing off on an investigation that helps hide acts criminalized by the UCMJ?”  Not that he’d be unwilling, he just wanted to know.

“Of course not,” Jethro said with a raised eyebrow.  “Like I told you before, I don’t think we’ll actually find any such acts.  Certainly haven’t so far.”

“What are we going to find?” Tom asked, leaning forward.  “Specifically.  Give me something I can use when SecNav calls next.”

Jethro took several sips of coffee while he gathered together the actual pieces of information he’d gleaned from Tony Adler.  The man was very good at saying nothing by saying a lot, but he’d gotten several things out of their forty-minute conversation.  “You can certainly use the Italian yenta idea.  Mr. Adler is a gregarious and talkative man.  He has friends, or claims to have friends, all the way back to college that he keeps in contact with.  He’s involved in at a leadership level with at least two different on-base clubs of Navy spouses at Norfolk, large and popular ones that touch a lot of people.  And his name is on the organization committee for the annual Fourth of July Base celebration, which means he’s involved with the Base Commander’s office, if not Captain Clancy himself.  Todd did some looking into his business and that’s listed as supporting the local chapter of Disabled American Veterans.  I wouldn’t be surprised if we discover similar circumstances at the other bases he’s lived on, or near.”

“Which are?” Tom prompted curiously.

“San Diego for two years, Oceana for four years, Lemoore for four years,” Jethro supplied.  “Two years at Norfolk so far.  Master Chief Adler did TDY stints in Bahrain and Atsugi, but her husband stayed behind.”

“The homes of the Pacific and Atlantic strike fighters and the homes of the Pacific and Atlantic fleets,” Tom said with a rueful chuckle.  “So Mr. Adler has friends on both coasts, active and retired Navy and civilians.  And who knows who he’s made friends with at such large bases.”

“Yep,” Jethro confirmed.  “And the few interactions I saw support the idea that he makes and keeps good friends.  I only saw women, but they were all pleased to see him and obviously felt safe with him.  I can only imagine his social network.  And that’s just the military side.  I don’t have a handle on the civilian side.”

“Likely just as robust if he spends a lot of time off base,” Tom said with a sigh.  It was never a good idea to anger someone with a large number of varied contacts.

“Plus, he’s got something going on in DC that I don’t have a handle on yet,” Jethro offered reluctantly.  He hated offering partial information, preferred to keep his cards close until he was sure what was going on, but knew Tom needed a heads up.

Tom’s eyes widened slightly in alarm before he controlled himself.  “What kind of something, Gibbs?”

Jethro grimaced.  “Master Chief Adler is the first cousin of Steven Adler of Adler, Mark, and Velitchkova who…” he trailed off as Tom raised a hand.

“Mr. Adler, our Italian yenta facilitating marriages to hide homosexual sailors, is the cousin-in-law of the main lawyer of one the highest priced, most vicious, and most successful law firms in the greater DC area,” Tom said flatly.  “Is that what you’re telling me, Gibbs?”

“It gets worse,” Gibbs said, sipping his coffee.

“How much worse?” Tom asked warily.

“We’ve found some local news stories that the law firm hosts social events several times a year for its clients, and guests, that are well attended by the rich, political, or rich and political.  All catered by Mr. Adler.  In person,” Jethro admitted.

“So Mr. Adler probably has some very powerful friends he could throw into this political goat rope,” Tom said, cringing at the very thought.

“Yep.”

“Fantastic.”

“Yep.”

~~Pasta!~~

Gibbs walked into Giovanni’s Italian Specialties and looked around.  This was the address of record of Tony Adler’s business and he was hoping to get a read on the man as a business owner.  But the name didn’t match.

“In the back.”

Gibbs turned to face the man that had addressed him.  Older, grayer, pudgier, maybe the owner.  “Pardon?”

“You’re looking for Pastaiolo, right?  Not a grocers?  First time?  That’s why you’re standing around blocking my door?” the man asked, tone friendly even if the question seemed rude.

“Yes,” Jethro said with a sharp nod.  “I’m looking for Tony Adler.”

“In the back,” the man said jerking his head.

“Thanks,” Jethro said and strode towards the back of the store, ignoring the aisles of imported, presumably Italian, foodstuffs.  It didn’t take him long to find Tony Adler, along with four others, working in a kitchen set up behind plexiglass panels.  He stayed back a bit and watched the controlled chaos for several minutes until he felt he had a handle on what everyone was doing.  Tony was making pasta dough by hand, two men were working  sizable pasta machines, one man was managing a cooking station of four boiling pots he was cooking a short pasta in, and a woman was scooping some kind of pasta salad out of an extremely large bowl and filling small plastic to go containers.

“You’re early, Gibbs.  We don’t start serving lunch until 11:00.”

Jethro groaned internally.  He hadn’t realized “providing fresh artisinal pasta to Greater Norfolk” included a lunch service.  Thirty minutes was not going to be enough time to get his questions answered, not with the way Tony could talk around direct answers.  Maybe he would bite the bullet and make an actual appointment.  For now, he’d make the best of what he had.  “What do you serve for lunch?”

“It varies,” Tony said with a smirk, having caught Gibbs consternation that he wasn’t going to get more than half an hour.  “We use in season produce and change up the pasta shapes, though we always have spaghetti because it’s the most popular.  Today we have Kale Pesto Spaghetti with Roasted Cherry Tomatoes, Pumpkin Rigatoni with Pumpkin Seeds and Sage, and our cold option today is Farfalle with Onions, Brussels Sprouts and Balsamic Vinegar.”

“Those all sound good to me,” Jethro admitted.  It might be nice to have a few pasta dishes in his fridge.  “I don’t suppose I could buy all three?”

Tony grinned.  “Of course!  You can buy as much as you want until the cards run out,” he said, nodding to the left.  “There will be a cashier at the table there starting at 11:00.  You pay her for whatever recipe cards you choose then bring them here to Andre and he’ll cook your pasta right then for you.  She’ll also have cards for whatever dried pasta we have in stock that you can exchange with Andre or Kim.  You keep the recipe cards, though.”

Jethro glanced at the currently empty table.  “But not until 11:00.”

“Right,” Tony said with a quick smirk.  “In the meantime….  You had more questions for me?  If you step closer and keep your voice down, we can have a private conversation while I continue to work.  The noise of the pasta machines in conjunction with the peculiar acoustics of this area mean that my employees won’t be able to make out our words, just that we’re talking.”

Jethro stepped up to within a foot of the plexiglass shield and watched Tony knead the pasta dough for several moments, finding the rhythm relaxing.  Push, fold, rotate, push, fold, rotate.  It was soothing in a way.  “Why are you making pasta by hand?  You’ve got a couple slick looking machines and I wouldn’t think you could make enough by hand to be profitable.”

Tony hummed a bit and smirked at Gibbs.  He knew the question was sincere, that the man was curious, but he also knew that the agent was hoping he’d give away valuable information related to his case.  But Tony had played these games long before he’d had a name for them.  “Several reasons.  The primary reason is, of course, because I enjoy it.  There’s something incredibly satisfying about working the dough and literally feeling its texture change due to your efforts.  Something fulfilling knowing that you – not a machine – have made something that your friends and family will enjoy.  Because you’re right, I can’t make enough pasta by hand to feed a lunch crowd or sustain a business.”

“What you’re making now is for yourself?” Jethro asked, dropping his eyes back to the rhythmic push, fold, rotate of Tony’s hands.  “Seems like a lot for one person.”

“I do sometimes make pasta for myself,” Tony said with a chuckle.  “But not today.  Today is a special order for a friend in Annapolis.  She was born and raised in Sardinia and likes to have lorighittas for All Saints Day, per the tradition there.  November 1^st, if you didn’t know.  She used to make them herself but she can’t anymore due to arthritis in her hands.  She taught me to make it years ago, even though it’s traditionally made by women, and I’ve made it for her ever since.  She pays me quite nicely for my time.”

“Your wife has never been stationed at Annapolis,” Jethro said.  “And I’ve never heard of lorighittas.  What shape is that?”

“It’s one of two shapes I know of that absolutely can’t be made by machine,” Tony said as he pulled off a piece of dough and started rolling it into a thin length.  “The other is su filindeu, and I don’t make that.  There are several shapes that are easy enough to make by hand, but need a machine to scale up for retail.”

Jethro watched Tony take the pasta snake he’d just made and wrap it around his fingers a couple times, pinch it together, then twist it in on itself.  He dropped the twisted ring closer to the partition and went back to kneading the remaining dough.  It was pretty, he supposed.  “Seems like a lot of work.”

“It is,” Tony said, picking up the ring and reincorporating it into his dough.  “It’ll take me today and tomorrow to make the amount she asked for the family dinner she’s holding.  Six or seven hours.  Maybe eight, if there’s interruptions.  She’s paying me $500 and I’m invited to the party.  I’m making out on the deal.”

“You’re a busy man.  When did you have time to learn pastamaking from an old woman in Annapolis?” Jethro asked, knowing Tony wouldn’t answer the implied question from earlier without prompting.

Tony smirked at Gibbs, enjoying their verbal dance.  “I learned from her when she was in Virginia City.  She moved to Annapolis to live with her son just a few weeks before Ophelia was transferred from Oceana to Lemoore.”

That meant Tony had been friends with the woman for at least six years.  Maybe ten years if they’d met early in the deployment at Oceana.  Which seemed more likely if Tony was being invited for a family dinner.  With Jethro’s luck and the way this case was going, he wouldn’t be surprised if this old woman was the mother of the governor of Maryland.  He thought he’d heard something about the man’s mother living with the family, actually.  “Is your friend the mother of the new governor?”

Tony barked a laugh and grinned at Gibbs.  “I don’t think the name of my Sardinian friend is relevant to your investigation,” Tony said, still grinning.

Jethro sighed.  Well, shit.  He shook his head as Tony laughed at him again.  “A more serious, and relevant, question,” Jethro said and waited for Tony to calm and nod his head.  “What is your opinion of Lieutenant Birk?”

“Lieutenant Birk is a perfectly competent administrator,” Tony said blandly.

“Yep,” Jethro said with a sharp nod.  That was true from what he’d seen.  Boring, but competent.  And possibly harassing Petty Officer 1^st class Marinos’ wife, another couple on Maesson’s homosexual/fake marriage list.  “And what is your opinion of Lieutenant Birk, off the record?”

“Nigel needs to re-read and internalize the Don’t Pursue provisions in section 654,” Tony replied grimly, kneading his dough a little too firmly for a moment.

Jethro nodded, having expected such a reply.

“Nigel should also have a little more compassion for his family as they deal with the fallout from his younger brother having been outed against his will and landing in the hospital for a week after being a victim of a gay bashing,” Tony added, expression icy.  “And you can put that on the record.  I’m not the only one who knows.”

Jethro blinked in surprise.  Now that wasn’t anything he’d expected.  “Where did you learn about that?”

“Nigel’s wife is part of the Fourth of July planning effort,” Tony said, quirking a mean smile.  “Sweet woman.  She was quite distraught when her brother-in-law was assaulted and wanted advice on what she should do and how she could help.  We discussed it as a team in between deciding on hot dog and hamburger vendors.”

“Interesting,” Jethro said.

“Nigel should also give up his friends over in Human Resources,” Toy continued, locking eyes with Gibbs.  “Not only are they leading him down a path of intolerance, they’re also eroding his integrity when it comes to confidential information.  It’s been negatively affecting his personality over the last year or so.  That’s off the record.”

Jethro stiffened and pulled in a long breath through his nose to control his temper.  He saw that slippery slope.  Today confidential personnel information, tomorrow classified intelligence.  “How bad?”

Tony shrugged a bit.  “Apparently just a small concern for the moment.  Probably correctable with a good mentor, for which Lieutenant Commander Neuman doesn’t qualify.”

“Why not?” Jethro asked intently.  Was he going to be investigating a possible security breach when he returned to the office?!

“From another direction, also off the record, Neuman has, shall we say, wandering eyes,” Tony said then rocked his head a bit.  “It’s unclear whether or not that’s all of his anatomy that’s…wandered.  So to speak.”

Jethro huffed at that.  He hated cheaters.  “You hear that from his wife?”

Tony hummed.  “She, and her friends, attended the Labor Day event at Breezy Point Park.”

“Overheard gossip,” Jethro murmured.  “I can work with that.”

Tony tilted his head in acknowledgement.  “That’s not related to Birk directly, though.  Back to him, you might want to, let’s say, audit his work.”

“For the last year or so?” Jethro asked while shaking his head in irritation.  “Anything specific?”

“Just supposition.  Nothing specifically known,” Tony denied and stopped kneading, pulled a tail from the dough ball, and started rolling it.

Jethro watched Tony roll a thin snake of dough then pinch off a bit and make a fancy pasta ring that he then placed on a flat wicker basket.  He shook his head again.  He now had more paths branching off from the main investigation and a lot more questions than he’d started with.  “Tell me about Petty Officer 1^st class Marinos.”

Tony chuckled.  “What do you want to know?”

“Did you indulge in your matchmaking hobby and introduce him to his wife?” Jethro asked, quirking a quick smile.  He knew Tony was going to make him work for every answer so it was better to just ask blunt questions.

“I may have experienced an unfortunate evening of listening to Viktor wax poetic about mountain biking and the thrill of flying over hills and skidding through turns,” Tony said with a smile.  “In order to protect myself from future torment, I promptly located a local mountain biking group, explained my plight, and begged for one of the ladies to take the young, fit, Petty Officer off my hands.”

Jethro chuckled.  “And you got a taker?”

“Of course!” Tony said with his own chuckle.  “I assure you I was very pitiful and Laura took mercy upon me.”

“Sure,” Jethro said doubtfully.

“Things then progressed as things do between two people with similar interests,” Tony said with a nod.

“Nothing nefarious to find,” Jethro said dryly.

“Nothing at all,” Tony agreed with a bland smile.