No Such Thing as a Lost Cause (16 page)

"So, do you want to go get something to eat?" I asked.

“Yeah, okay.”

We headed back down the steps. When I got to the bottom step I looked up. The old
lady with the walker had reached the top of the stairs and was now pumping her fists
in the air, Rocky style.

We could’ve beat her if we’d wanted to, right?"

John nodded. "Absolutely."

Personally, I had my doubts.

*****

Twenty minutes later we sat opposite each other at the Merchantville Diner, in Jersey,
scarfing down chicken parmesan and the world’s best homemade cheesecake. I had to
get out of my neighborhood to enjoy a meal in peace. Ever since the other night, people
have crawled out of the woodwork, in the guise of
concerned friends,
to ask about my gruesome discovery.

“It’s getting so’s I can’t answer my phone anymore. Last night I got a condolence
call from Nancy Rappaport.” I scraped up the last crumb of cheesecake and popped it
into my mouth. If John hadn’t been sitting there, I would have licked the plate.

“Who’s Nancy Rappaport?”

“That’s what I said. Turns out we’d gone to summer camp together when we were nine.
Sheesh. Some people have no boundaries. Hey, I’m still hungry. You gonna eat your
pie?” I reached over and stabbed a forkful.

John shoved the plate toward me. “Go to town, Sunshine. You’ve had a rough week.”

“Have I told you I love you?”

“Not nearly enough.”

“Oh, speaking of dessert, how did Garrett like the brownies I made him?”

In an attempt to win Garrett’s affections, I’d spent the better part of an afternoon
concocting a confectionary masterpiece for him. I figured I could use the
brownie points.
(Sometimes I crack myself up.)

“Um, he wasn’t actually able to eat them, because he’s on a gluten-free diet.”

“Oh, no. I should have checked first. What does he have? A wheat allergy or something?
That can be life threatening.”

“Nah, it’s nothing like that. He’s just into eating super healthy is all.”

Funny, he seemed a lot more likable when I thought I’d almost killed him.

"Well, he appreciated the effort,” John continued, in an obvious attempt to mollify
me. Only I wasn’t in the mood to be mollified.

“You’re just saying that.”

“No. He said so.”

“Yeah? So, what’d he say?”

John coughed and mumbled something into his hand.

“Take your hand away from your mouth. I can’t understand you.”

“He said, ‘nice try.’”

“Nice try? You can’t dress that up as a compliment, John. He was obviously being sarcastic.”

“Maybe I’m not telling it right. Look, Bran, don’t worry about Garrett, okay? Before
you know it, you guys are going to be the best of friends.”

“Right.”

I dropped it for the time being and called to the server. “Could I get a double espresso,
please?”

“Sure thing, hon.”

John made a face. “Do you really want to drink that so late in the day? You know it’s
going to keep you up.”

“That’s sort’ve the idea,” I confessed. “Ever since that night at Lewis’ house, I
haven’t been all that anxious to go to sleep. Hey, you want to come over tonight?
I’ll let you go through my closet and make fun of my wardrobe.”

John gave me the once-over. “Believe me, it’s tempting. But I’ve already got plans
with Garrett to check out a new, experimental jazz club in Manayunk.”

I waited for the obligatory, “You could come along if you want,” but it was not forthcoming.

I reached for the espresso and downed it in two gulps. “Well, we’re still on for the
Woody Allen retrospective on Friday, aren’t we? Garrett could come along if he wants,”
I added. I’d figured I’d lead by example.

John squirmed in his seat. “Ooh. I forgot about Friday. Garrett scheduled me for a
jorei massage at the Spirit Life Center. Look, I’d cancel but he had to pay in advance,
and it costs an arm and a leg.”

I felt the blood rise to my brain. My mouth opened and I struggled to shut it again
before something rude popped out. I looked like a disgruntled guppy.

“Y’know, I can’t believe you’re crapping out on me. I was totally looking forward
to this.”

The server returned with our check, and John grabbed it off the table. I was so mad
I didn’t even pretend to fight for it.

“Look, Bran. I’m sorry. I know I screwed up. Don’t be mad, okay?”

To be totally honest, my reaction had more to do with jealously than missing an in-depth
analysis of
What’s Up, Tiger Lily
. But it went deeper than that.

“I’m not mad,” I finally decided. “And I know you think this is about Garrett not
liking me—which—okay, it is. But—well—c’mon, John. You hate experimental jazz. You
said it sounds like they’re perpetually tuning up. And the Spirit Life Center? Seriously?
We make fun of those people. They give you the willies, remember?”

“So, what’s your point?”

I hesitated. “My point is I feel like you’re re-inventing yourself—and for all the
wrong reasons.”

“I’m just trying to broaden my horizons. Is that a crime?”

God. Why am I doing this? Never mind that John’s turning into someone I barely recognize
just to please old-stick-up-the-ass Garrett. He’s happy. Just shut up.

“Look, I’m sorry. I guess I’m just overly sensitive these days. Forget I said anything.”

John put some money down on the table and handed me the bag of leftovers. “Don’t worry
about it,” he said. “I shouldn’t have flaked out on you for Friday. So, how can I
make it up to you?”

I thought about this for a minute. “Well, as long as Garrett isn’t going to eat those
brownies, do you think you can ask for them back?” After all, no sense in them going
to waste.”

*****

John dropped me off at my house. As I walked up to the porch, I caught a glimpse of
Mrs. Gentile peeking out her front window through faded, floral curtains. They were
the color of overcooked spinach.

Oh, man. I still haven’t gotten around to painting her living room.
Maybe if I pretend not to see her, I can just slip inside…

Her head disappeared from the window. In a flash she flung open her front door and
stepped outside.

“Oh. Hi, Mrs. Gentile. I was just about to knock. I wanted to see about getting started
on your living room.”

My neighbor scowled as if I’d just left a giant turd on her porch, and rattled off
something in Italian which I didn’t understand. I’m guessing it wasn’t very nice.
After she ran out of ways to curse me in her native language, she switched to English
for the finale. “You and your hooligan friends are a disgrace to the neighborhood.”

Hooligans? I hadn’t heard that word since my elementary school’s third grade production
of Oliver!

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Gentile, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just got home.
I haven’t had time to be a disgrace to anyone.”

She leaned her wilted body over the railing and pointed a gnarled finger in my face.
“Don’t get smart with me, Missy. A car full of young men stopped right in front of
your house. They knew you, all right. They were calling your name. They sat right
there in the middle of the street, with the engine running and Satan’s music blaring.
It was blasphemous, I tell you.”

A giant lump of fear settled in my belly. “Um, this is very important, Mrs. Gentile,
and I’m not kidding. So I’d appreciate it if you’d think hard about your answer. Were
any of the, um, young men carrying a blow torch?”

“How should I know?” she bristled. “What do you think I am? The neighborhood busy
body?” She turned and stomped back inside.

I was just about to leap over the rail and follow her into her house when my phone
rang. It was Vince Giancola.

“Vince, I’m really glad you called. I need to talk to you.” I shoved the key into
the lock and opened my front door.

“Let me go first,” Vince said. “I have some good news and some bad news.” Take your
pick.”

I’d had enough bad news to last a life time. “Tell me the good news.”

I wanted to sit down, but Adrian and little No-Name hogged the couch. Rocky was sandwiched
between them, purring contentedly while the puppy licked her head. Nobody moved for
me, so I flopped down on the floor and kicked off my shoes.

Vince took a deep drag off one of the cigarettes he swears he doesn’t smoke and coughed.
“Okay,” he said finally. “I know how much you love to be right, so here goes. I got
the results of the second autopsy.”

“And?”

“You’re really going to make me say it?”

My heart beat quickened in anticipation. “Yep.”

“Fine. You were right. Traces of Succinylcholine were found in Mario Lewis’ body.
It’s now officially a murder investigation.”

“I knew it!”

“Do you want to gloat or do you want to hear the rest?”

“Both. I’m entitled.”

“Yeah,” he agreed softly. “You are.”

“Thanks. So, where do we go from here?”

“The police found some coke residue at the scene, and they’ve locked into a theory
that the murder was somehow related to a drug deal gone wrong. They’ve got a BOLO
out on Donte Lewis in connection with the corpse he left sitting around in his basement.
That is, unless you’re planning to bring him in for us—and I’m only half joking.”

“Let me get back to you on that. So, what’s the bad news?”

“One of our informants told us the Junk Town Gang is getting ready to make a move.
Brandy, I’d take this seriously if I were you.”

“Yeah. About that.”

Vince listened without interruption while I filled him in on Mrs. Gentile’s gang sighting.
When I was finished, he let out a smoky breath.

“Well, I don’t think you won over any hearts when you busted up that dogfight the
other night. You ended up costing a lot of really bad people a shit load of money.”

“No one can prove I was there…I mean I wasn’t there, so of course there would be no
proof.”

“Don’t con me, Alexander. Everybody knows you were there. It had your M.O. all over
it. Dispatch said a female called it in, but we couldn’t get a read on the cell phone
number. And the guy that had his liver handed to him in the parking lot—well, whoever
took him apart was no amateur. By the way, you can tell your boyfriend I said, ‘well
done.’ Off the record, of course.”

I get nervous talking to law enforcement officials about Nick, no matter how good
a friend they are. So, I thought it best to change the subject.

“Have the cops been able to I.D. the guy in the basement yet?” That half a face still
haunted me.

“Unfortunately, no. They were able to get some prints, but they don’t match anything
in our database.”

“Okay,” I mused aloud. “So the cops are looking for Donte. But what about the other
guys? Roger King said three people showed up the night Mario got beat up. They’d all
threatened to kill him. And one of them had a blow torch.”

Vince snorted. “The night Mario got beat up? What the hell are you talking about?
I swear to God, Brandy, if you’re holding out on me—”

Crap. I’d promised Roger I wouldn’t drag him into it. Now what?

“I’m not keeping anything from you, Vince. At least not intentionally. Look, I swear
I’ll stop by your office tomorrow and tell you everything I know. But right now, I’ve
got to go.”

“Nine a.m. Sharp.”

“Ten, and I’ll bring bagels.”

I could almost hear him grind his teeth down to nubs. “Fine,” he growled. “And for
Christ’s sake, watch your back.”

*****

It’s astounding how much you can accomplish by eliminating sleep from your daily routine.
First, I updated my resume to include jobs I thought I’d be good at but have never
actually performed—like audience warm-up comedian for Jay Leno, or air traffic controller.
Next, I alphabetized my spices, which took about two seconds, seeing’s all I had were
salt and pepper. After that, I spent about an hour teaching Adrian how to Rumba, like
that dog on the internet everyone thinks is so cute. I figured it could be a real
money maker.

Turned out, Adrian didn’t have much interest in learning a new skill. I’d brought
my laptop into the living room so that he could study the video, but he kept slinking
off to sleep behind the couch.

The house seemed unnaturally quiet; every noise magnified ten fold in the dead of
night. Vince had said he’d try to beef up patrol in my neighborhood, but the city
is so strapped for cash I didn’t hold out much hope of that happening.

I felt lonely, and scared, and a little bit sick from eating an entire box of chocolate
pudding
.
I wanted someone to cuddle with and tell me everything was going to be all right…someone
with strong arms and high cheek bones…and a scent that was intoxicating. Someone who
would whisper dirty things in my ear to take my mind off the fact that bad people
wanted to kill me. Someone who would love me, and protect me, and never let me go.
In short, I wanted Nick.

Unfortunately, Nick was away on overnight business, the details of which were left
to my imagination. To his credit he’d asked if I felt okay about him leaving. I’d
told him, “Oh, of course. No problem,” because I didn’t want to sound like some needy
weirdo. (I feel he should learn these things gradually, as it’s still early in the
relationship.)

So I did the next best thing and called Janine. Okay, she was like the third or fourth
best thing, the second being a date with Indiana Jones. But Janine had the advantage
of being real… and amenable to phone calls in the wee hours of the morning.

She picked up immediately. “Yo, Bran. What’s wrong?”

Someone sneezed in the background. It was a distinctly masculine sneeze.

“Oh, Neenie, you’ve got company. I’m sorry. Oh! Is it Mike? Wow, I guess you guys
really hit it off. Call me later and tell me all about it…he can’t hear me, right?”

“Slow down. You sound like you’re on crack. How much caffeine have you had?”