by Trixie More
That did it. “You and I are nothing alike,” she spat.
“We’re both smart,” he countered. “And I paid my debt. I always pay my debts.” Something in his eyes flickered as if he knew he was lying.
“We both know that’s not true,” she said.
Expecting him to look away, she instead found herself caught staring straight into his eyes. His brows pulled together, pain and resentment evident in his ice-blue eyes. No. She had no sympathy.
“You were inside for what? Two years? If what I’ve heard is true, you haven’t suffered enough to even cover the interest on your debts,” she said. At that, he stepped back, eyes wide, humiliation written clearly across his darkening cheeks. “We are nothing alike, and don’t you dare follow me.” She started back toward the subway and felt Lloyd’s hand on her elbow again. The hand left her even before she spun around, the officer now between them. Doug held a folded envelope in his hand.
“Please, just take the envelope. It has all my research,” he begged. His eyes were wide and pleading above his still flushed face, wanting something from her, just like all of them.
“Sir, step back.” The officer began walking forward, pressing Lloyd back, away from Sophia. For a second, Lloyd’s face was blank, then bald ferocity swept in.
“You have to take this!” His eyes burned under the lowered brows. “I’m reporting a crime, Goddammit!” The officer was squarely in front of Lloyd now.
“Sir, step back. I’m not asking again.”
For a moment, Sophia stared into Lloyd’s eyes. He didn’t look away, but both the pleading look and the ferocity were gone. He slowly turned his head side to side.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said. He never stopped looking at her eyes. He didn’t glance at her chest, his eyes didn’t rove around her face. “It’s bigger than just me.”
The officer glanced at her. She blew out a breath.
“Fine. Officer, can you hand me that, please?”
The envelope changed hands; the cop taking a moment to feel the thin paper.
“Thank you,” Lloyd said simply. Once she had the envelope in her hands, he turned and walked quietly away, gold highlights in the short bristles of his red hair glistening, head bowed. It took her a moment to realize he was wearing loose jeans and low end kicks. Where had the expensive wardrobe gone?
Lloyd looked back at her, raising one hand to his face in the universal gesture of “call me.”
“Never,” she muttered. She would throw the envelope out, for sure. For now, she stuffed it into her bag.
She didn’t want to go home, not with the aftereffects of her conversation with Lloyd still zipping around her nervous system. She didn’t want to face Ben and admit to herself she was more interested in a convicted felon than in the good, decent man she lived with. Lloyd was so, what was it? Self-contained? Flat. Flat, that was it. In his eyes, there was no glimmer of that look, the lustful, smarmy once-over she got so often. Sophia shivered. There was attention she got from men that was about her body, about her face, about her, as an object. When that happened, along came the gushing testaments to her beauty. The too friendly, too solicitous behavior made her sick to her stomach. There was none of that with Lloyd, which was strange. Even gang-bangers acknowledged her appearance in that arrogant, cataloging way they had of doing it. Sophia made damn sure she had a comeback for every look, every thought that crawled around in men’s heads. What she didn’t have was a plan for was Doug Lloyd. He looked right into her eyes. Every time. His gaze never wandered.
Maybe that was all she needed. Tonight, she’d try it out with Ben. Get him to look her in the eyes. Right. Good.
Sophia exited the subway at her sister-in-law’s stop anyway. Hopefully, today Ben wouldn’t be there and she could show Deb the photos of the man at the bodega. The problem with George Connelly’s loan was that it had been made for less than two hundred fifty thousand—and thereby not a good candidate for usury laws. Prosecuting the lender directly for the outrageous interest charged was likely to only result in making the loan null and void. Useless, since they’d paid up. Sophia wanted something bigger than that. The most effective process would be to identify several or even dozens of victims and prosecute for them together. Or, tie the lender to additional crimes, like assault and arson. George had been badly beaten and had fled the city shortly afterward, fearing for his own life and his family’s if he stayed. Still, George remained missing, and having paid the loan off, Ben refused to testify or in any way help her to build the case she needed. Stubborn man. Why didn’t he see there was more at stake here?
When she arrived, Deb let her into the house.
“I have a couple of photos I want to show you,” Sophia said.
There was no way to do this without bringing up George. This was the part of her job she hated. It wasn’t just the criminals that hurt the victims and their families. Sometimes justice was no easier on them.
She sat down at the table. “Why don’t you have a seat?” she asked and waited until Deb slid hesitantly into the chair across from her. She reached into her bag. Her hand brushed past the folded envelope and Sophia clenched her teeth. Why had Lloyd picked her to bring his issues to? She pulled out a folder and, laying it on the table, she placed her palm on it, holding it closed.
“These are photos of a man taken during an arrest at a local mom and pop store. I want to know if you’ve seen him.”
“Why?”
“I just want to know, Deb.” She lifted her hand from the folder and let her sister-in-law take the manila file. The curtains floated inward above the stainless steel sink, a warm breeze filling them through the half-open window. Sounds from the neighborhood followed in on the current. Across from her Deb sat back, opened the folder and studied the grainy photos. Each one scraped quietly against its counterpart as she flipped through them. For a moment Sophia’s hopes rose as the no-nonsense woman before her studied one of them for several seconds. Then, Deb flipped quickly through the rest and shut the folder.
“Nope. Sorry, Soph, I’ve never seen this guy.” Deb brushed her short, ash blond hair back from her face and rose, sliding her palms down the front of her khakis. She went to the window, looking out at the yard. Sophia could hear the children playing. Deb turned back. “You think this is one of them, don’t you?”
There was no need to ask who she meant.
“Yeah, I do,” Sophia said.
“Well, then,” Deb twitched her head to the side, quick and brisk, “if I ever did see him, I wouldn’t tell you. This guy? I never saw and hope I never do.”
“Deb, I’m a prosecutor,” Sophia said gently. “If you lie to me, that’s hindering prosecution.”
Deb blinked, frozen. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Sophia pressed on, justice grinding ever forward. “It’s okay. I just need to know.”
At that, Deb burst into motion, turning to her sink, finding it empty of dishes, rinsing out a sponge and scrubbing at the countertops. “I have never seen that man. And! And!” the other woman turned, small and ferocious. “And God damn you for accusing me of lying to you!”
Sophia rose and walked to the counter slowly, cautiously taking the towel hanging over the stove handle, placing it on the beige counter top that had seen better days. Slowly, Sophia began to dry the counter. “Don’t make this worse, Deb.” She had to get her family to stop protecting her. “It’s my job. You, Ben, Derrick, you can’t protect me. You shouldn’t try.”
“Fuck you,” Deb said gruffly. “It can’t get worse! Don’t you get it?”
“Tell me where you saw him.”
“Look Miss Summa Cum Laude Prosecutor, if you’re this dumb, you should quit that job right now, before you get killed like...”
Sophia froze.
“I can’t. Ben...” Deb swallowed, her face angry. “If I do, you’ll be off working on this and you’ll get hurt. You’re not supposed to be working on this!”
“I’ve been moved,” Sophia
said. It was true, but she knew Deb would take it wrong anyway. “To Manhattan. The Bronx is out of my jurisdiction. My old boss doesn’t even want to reopen the case.” She put her hand on Deb’s shoulder, as if that was the bad news coming around in this small bright kitchen. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” Deb said. “I have them to think about.” They both knew she meant the children. “I know that sounds bad, but it’s true.”
“It sounds like a mom,” Sophia said. Not that I would know. “Just tell me the truth.”
Deb bowed her head. “If it’ll get you to stop, just stop.”
Sophia was silent. She wasn’t above a lie to keep things moving.
“I haven’t heard from him in eighteen months.”
What had she just said? Sophia struggled to keep the expression of knowing certainty on her face. A year and a half?
“The last text came a year after Ben paid them.” Chapped hands with blunt fingers covered Deb’s face. The narrow shoulders started to shake. Sophia reached out and bundled Deb into her arms, pulling the small woman’s cheek into her shoulder.
“He was so angry,” Deb whispered. “It’s been so hard to pretend.”
Sophia wasn’t able to stop her own tears when George Connelly’s widow started to sob.
Mastrelo’s bar was open, but Sophia walked past. She didn’t feel like talking to her grandparents right now. Besides, there was a good chance she’d get roped into tending bar or just bullshitting with the regulars. She didn’t want to talk to anyone outside her inner circle.
George was dead. There was no other reasonable explanation for the lack of communication. Through it all, he and Deb had stayed in contact. Sophia’s stomach clenched. She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Deb, her husband no longer reaching out, and her unable to tell anyone. Sophia rounded the corner, the Manhattan sidewalk bustling, and turned into the alley behind the bar. She strode past the back door, past the dumpster and knocked on the iron door of the next business down, Allison’s Kitchen.
Why? Why had Deb not told her before this? A sense of certainty gripped her. Ben. That had to be it. She pounded on the door as hard as she could and, she had to admit, it felt pretty good. She gave it a kick just for the feeling of release.
“Whoa!” The door opened outward, and Sophia stepped back. There was a scuff on her ivory flats. Strands of wavy-curly hair glinted in the light and then Alison’s head popped out around the door. “What the hell are you doin’, Soph?”
“I want to come in.” There was a petulant sound to her own voice that she barely recognized. Alison goggled at her. “What? I had a bad day.”
The door swung wide, and Alison stepped back. Her jeans were covered in flour, her apron looked like she’d purposefully sprayed herself with a spinning hand mixer full of dough. Inside, it was warm, humid, and smelled divine, like butter and flour and basil and tomato. A tray of sliced bruschetta sat on a worktable and a small girl was carefully putting a bit of fresh mozzarella on top of each crusty slice. The girl had her dark red brown hair pulled into an easy braid; the small pink baseball cap on her head read NY Yankees.
“Oh, this is going to be trouble,” Sophia said, smiling. “Karito, you dare wear that hat in here?” The girl looked up with a grin. Nothing thrilled Karito more than being on the edge of trouble. Sophia shook her head as she reached behind herself and plaited her own long hair. “What are you doing here today, Karito? It’s a school day.”
Marley came banging into the kitchen, carrying two enormous cans of diced tomatoes. “Che’s here ‘cause she can’t behave. Now, she’s got to stay with me when she should be studying!” The cans landed with a clang on the table. Karito kept her face averted from her mother.
“Well, that’s two bad days then,” Sophia said, grabbing an apron.
“You here to do dishes?” Allison asked.
“Nope, that’s Derrick’s job,” Sophia said, heading to the worktable. “I’m strictly artistic.” She washed her hands and picked up a bowl of fresh cherry tomatoes, started slicing and followed behind Karito, laying a slice on top of each bit of cheese. Karito finished and ran back to the start, pushing frilly toothpicks through the stacks.
“I like this part best!” she crowed.
Sophia smiled.
“You shouldn’t like anything today.” Marley scowled. “Jus’ work, little girl.” The harsh tone from her mother seemed to make no difference as the lively girl danced and decorated.
Allison narrowed her eyes at her employee’s tone of voice but said nothing, which was a first as far as Sophia knew.
“How come you’re not at Mastrelo’s?” Allison asked her.
“What do you mean?”
“She means your day must be really bad if you is here with us instead a being with your family, muchacha.” Marley grinned at her. “You know, when things is bad, all the girls come here.”
“Well...”
“Well?” Allison asked.
“You know? I don’t think I want to talk about it,” Sophia said. “Except, well, I got promoted and...”
Allison and Marley looked like they were about to congratulate her, but Sophia stopped them. “And...it moves me out of the Bronx.”
“So? Karito, put that down. If you’re done with the toothpicks, then go start putting away dishes.” Marley barely glanced away from Sophia to direct her daughter.
“So, it moves me further from the Connelly case.”
Marley looked at her sharply. “I thought Ben did’n’ want you doing that.”
“He doesn’t,” Sophia said. “What’s going on with Karito?”
Marley gave a little negative shake of her head, so Sophia went back to bitching.
“And, well, you’ll never guess what happened today.”
Allison shrugged. “What?”
“Well, I noticed a man in the courtroom today, and after I got out of court, he came up to me. It’s that guy, the one that put Dorothy in his trunk.”
Allison stared at her and set her knife down gently. “Doug Lloyd?”
“Yeah, him.”
Now both women were staring at her.
“What the hell did he want?” Allison asked. “You know that Dorothy swears he is the man,” Allison glanced at Karito and lowered her voice, “in the video, right?”
Marley made a face at Allison. “Dorothy is flitty, like a moth. She doesn’t think the same thing two days in a row.”
“You told us before,” Sophia said to Allison. “Let’s not bring it up now.” She tipped her head toward Karito.
Marley turned to Sophia, “So? What did he want?”
“I’m not sure. I told him to leave me alone.” Sophia wasn’t as comfortable discussing him anymore. She wished she’d never brought it up, and suddenly, mentioning the details seemed unwise. It was so like her to bring up salacious details to impress other women in conversation. She wanted Allison and Marley to be interested in her and look what it got her. Allison would never understand her interest in the creep. Even she didn’t understand it. Marley, however, seemed to think he walked on water.
“He’s got that machismo in him, that man,” Marley stated candidly, and for a moment, Sophia wondered if she’d spoken her thoughts out loud. Marley, however, wasn’t looking at Sophia. She was staring at her red-haired daughter.
Sophia glanced at Allison and saw a speculative look on the other woman’s face that surely matched her own. She raised her brows at Allison, who simply shrugged.
Marley glanced sharply at them. “Wha?”
Sophia and Allison studiously returned to their work, Allison chopping onions and Sophia slicing tiny tomatoes.
“What?” Marley asked louder.
“Karito,” said Allison, “can you go to the cellar and get me a container of salt?”
“With the girl and the umbrella?”
“That’s it,” Allison said. The girl was out the door before she heard Allison.
“Marley, what does Karito’s father say a
bout her school troubles?” Sophia had asked the question gently, but Marley still glared at her.
“Now? Now one of you asks me about her father?”
What did that mean? thought Sophia.
“Who is her father?” asked Allison.
“None of your business.” Marley had her head stuck inside a refrigeration unit, having scooted away from them the minute she figured out they weren’t letting it drop.
Allison swung her knife in Sophia’s direction, gesturing broadly, small diced onions flying everywhere. “Shit. Do you know who it is?” The curse seemed to be directed to the vegetables, the question, to Sophia.
“Me? No!”
Allison turned to Marley. “Does he know?”
“He who?” Marley’s ass was in the air, and she was digging through containers on the bottom shelf.
“You never told him?” Allison’s voice was incredulous.
“A man with a brain should be able to figure it out himself,” Marley announced into the shelving, her words cold and frosting over in the chilly air. Each word was spat out short and staccato. “If he can’t figure out nine months on the calendar, then I don’t need to bother with him.”
“Is he wealthy?” Sophia asked softly.
“Here it is!” Karito danced into the room.
Sophia took the round carton of salt from Karito.
“Thank you,” she said simply, and Karito wrinkled her nose.
“Sure!” She whirled away, sneakers skipping, stopping at the door to the refrigerator by her mother. She grabbed the handle and leaned back, letting her slim hips stretch backward until she looked like a bow. She began to sway side to side. The girl certainly had her mother’s endless energy.
“You think Lloyd is macho?” Sophia asked.
Allison made a gagging sound. “Pushing a woman into the trunk of your car is not macho. Your brother is macho.”
