by JJ Lamb
“I really could use some coffee.”
“Might as well stop,” she agreed. I can't think anymore and I don't know where else to look.”
“I must have hit every street in town, at least once,” Harry said, yawning. “Plus you've gone to the bus station, library, rec center, and every movie theater in the area.” He slowed and pointed to a convenience store sign a block up the street.
“I can't quit until we find out what's happened to Vinnie.”
Harry pulled into the parking lot, waited for another car to back out, and parked in front of the store. “Coffee for you, too?”
“Herbal tea,” she said, then shook her head. “No, maybe the caffeine will wake up my brain. I keep thinking there's some clue I'm missing.”
“Like what?”
“Like something Vinnie may have told me, like there being something special about today.”
“It's the third Friday in May,” he said. “Never been anything special about that that I can recall.”
“Me neither. It's still more than a week to Memorial Day, but I can't see that having any special meaning for Vinnie.”
“Not unless he's trying to make it back to Indiana for the Indianapolis 500.” He saw her lips tighten, jaw go rigid. “Sorry! I'm getting a little punchy.”
She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and reached over to take Harry's hand. “You've been great. I really appreciate it.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Tell you what: why don't you get the coffee and a munchie of some kind and I'll call the hospital to see if they've heard anything.”
Using her cell phone, Gina watched the foot traffic in and out of the 7-11 while she waited for someone to pick up the phone in Oncology. The charge nurse finally came on the line just as Harry came out of the store, trying to balance two hot coffees and a bag that probably contained something chock full of calories and cholesterol. Right now she didn't care.
After hearing there was still no news of Vinnie, she clicked off and again wondered where the kid could have gone. Harry drew her attention as he tried to fend off two teenagers in tuxedos. She watched him backpedal away from them, shaking his head slowly. But when one of them gave him a digital salute, she caught a look in his eye that told her she'd better intervene.
“Harry!” she called. “What'd you get us?”
Harry looked at her, looked back at the two teens, gave a shrug, and met her at the truck.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
“Wanted me to buy them a pint of vodka, and didn't seem to want to take no for an answer. Then they started ragging me about being too old to remember my own senior prom.”
“Oh, shit!” Gina cried out.
“What?”
“That's it! The senior prom!”
* * *
Vinnie had less than $2.00 left after he paid the cab driver, but he didn't care. He knew that after tonight he probably wouldn't need money, or anything else.
He stood at the corner and looked down the street at the entrance to the school gymnasium. The parking lot across the street was already full, causing late arrivers to drop off their dates and drive on to find distant parking. A few limousines pulled in, let out three or four couples at a time, and drove away.
Too early ... should have waited another hour or so.
The question was, where to wait? He didn't want to just stand around on the street corner in his tuxedo, with a flower in his lapel. He considered going for a long walk, but he knew that was out—he would never make it back. The nap at home had helped, but that had been too long ago. He was drained, his stomach in spasm from the junk food; cold sweat kept forming on his brow, trickling down his face.
Vinnie uselessly patted his jacket pocket for the third or fourth time, but he knew he'd taken the last of the Mylanta almost an hour earlier.
He started toward the gym entrance, but turned off onto the path that led to the school athletic field. Holding onto the wooden edges of the stadium bleachers, he moved out onto the red cinder track and followed it around to where it almost merged with the close-cropped grass of the baseball outfield. He walked directly toward home plate, pausing for a moment at the pitcher's mound. He tossed an imaginary game-winning pitch, and doffed his cap to the cheering crowd.
His goal was the small, four-level bleacher section behind the batter's box, but by the time he made it to the backstop, he was panting and had to lace his fingers through the wire mesh of the screen to keep from falling. He lowered himself onto the scarred bottom plank and sat there, eyes closed, trying to slow his breathing. When he finally opened his eyes, he was staring down at the tops of his shoes.
“Shit!”
He reached down and began to wipe away the wet blades of grass that covered the rented patent leather shoes.
* * *
“Are you supposed to be chaperones?” the teacher-ticket-taker asked Gina and Harry, giving their rumpled hospital clothes a disapproving glance.
Gina shook her head as she strained to look inside where the graduating class was dancing to the music of a live band. “We're looking for someone—Vinnie Capello.”
“I don't think you're going to find Vinnie here. He's seriously ill ... in the hospital.”
“Yes and no,” Harry said, stepping up to the table. “He's supposed to be in the hospital, but he took off this morning without telling anyone where he was going.”
“You think he might come to the dance?”
“He had it circled on his calendar,” Gina said, “And I know he's been terribly upset about a girl ... Angie Norris, I think.”
“Well, Angie's here,” the teacher said, pivoting around in her chair to gaze into the gym. “She came with a couple of other girls, but Vinnie wasn't with them.” She turned back and consulted a list of names on the table in front of her. “Wait a minute,” she said, turning the roster so Gina and Harry could see it. “Vinnie bought two tickets, numbers two-eleven and two-twelve. Angie came in on number two-twelve, but two-eleven is still unaccounted for.”
“Could we please talk to Angie?” Gina asked.
“I don't know—”
“Look, I'm his nurse and this is an emergency ... if we don't find Vinnie soon ... well, let's say we have to find him. Angie might be able to help.”
“Norm!” the teacher called to a man standing near the entrance. “Go find Angie Norris and bring her here ... it's urgent!” She turned back to Gina and Harry. “Norm's one of our counselors; he should be able to find her quicker than anyone else.”
Within a couple of minutes the counselor returned with a very worried-looking teenager.
“Hi, I'm Angie Norris,” she said. “What's wrong? Has something happened to my parents?”
“No, not your parents,” Gina said. “It's Vinnie Capello; we're looking for him.”
“Oh, Vinnie!” She looked from the counselor to the ticket-taker. “I thought he was going to be here, too. I've been waiting...”
“What made you think he would be here?”
“He sent me these flowers today,” Angie said, holding up her arm, “along with a ticket and a note asking me to save him a dance.”
“But you haven't seen him?” Harry asked.
Angie shook her head, tears welled in her eyes. “Is he in trouble?”
“I'm afraid so,” Gina said. “Did he say what time he would be at the prom?”
“No.”
“Is there anything ... anything else you haven't told us?”
“No. I mean, I was really surprised to get the gardenias and the ticket. Vinnie has refused to even talk to me since he went back in the hospital. I thought I'd done something to make him angry ... I thought he hated me.”
Gina took her hand. “It isn't you. He's just angry about everything. Besides, he's a very stubborn kind of guy.”
“Boy, you can say that again,” Angie said. “Whenever he has a problem, he just shuts you out and goes off by himself until he's solved it. Most of the time I'd find him out at the
baseball field, sitting behind the backstop with that cruddy old Giants cap pulled down over his eyes. If he waved when I called his name, then I knew it was okay to go to him. Otherwise—”
“Where's the baseball field?” Gina asked.
“Over by the gym,” she said, pointing. “Why?”
Gina grabbed Harry's hand and started pulling him toward the door. “Never mind why. Just keep Vinnie here if he shows up before we get back.” She and Harry started running.
“I'm coming, too,” Angie called out, kicking off her pumps.
* * *
The music drifted in and out of Vinnie's head. Every so often he tried to push himself up off of the ground, regain his seat on the wooden bench.
So cold. So cold!
“Vinnie!” The syllables came in counterpoint to the beat of the music.
“Vinnie!”
Angie?
Vinnie raised his head; blurry figures floated toward him. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, tried to clear his vision.
“Angie?” He pushed one arm up with his other hand and managed a small wave before the arm flopped down across the bench. The next thing he knew, Angie had her arms wrapped around him.
“I waited for you, Vinnie … waited so long,” she whispered. “You never came; I didn't know what to do.” She started crying. “I thought you didn't want me anymore.
“All I thought of was you ... missed you so much.”
“Vinnie,” Gina said softly,” we need to get you back to the hospital.”
He looked up, saw Gina standing nearby; some guy had his arm around her waist. “Hey, Bronx, how'd you find me?”
“It hasn't been easy, kid.”
“Almost made it,” he said, nodding in the direction of the music.
“Here, let me help you up, buddy,” the man said, offering a hand. “I'm Harry, and I've heard one hell of a lot about you.”
Vinnie managed a weak grin. Then, supported by Angie and Harry, with Gina walking backward in front of him, he managed to keep his legs moving until they got near the gym. There, he stopped, and turned away from Harry. He took Angie into his arms and haltingly danced her around in a small circle, his face buried in her hair, the fragrance of her corsage drifting around them.
Chapter 31
They stood at the entrance to her apartment building, Gina leaning heavily into Harry's arms, her head resting against his.
“I can't believe how lucky we were to find Vinnie,” she said. “He looked so small and forlorn, curled up on the ground behind the backstop.”
“At least Kessler thinks his chances are good,” Harry said. “But only because of you and your damned hunch.”
“Can you imagine the hell he must have gone through to get as far as he did?” She sighed. “He just wanted to make it to the dance.”
“Yeah, but it's that kind of spunk that's going to save his life.”
“I hope you're right,” she said, holding up crossed fingers and realizing it was something she was doing a lot lately. “It's about time something good happened to that Vinnie.”
“Are you game for a cup of coffee?”
“No way. I'm totally exhausted, Harry; nothing but one big ache from head to toe ... got to get to bed.”
“You do look tired; you’ve been pushing yourself to the max through this whole business.” He caressed her forehead. “I’m really concerned about you.”
“Thanks. It’s just that so many things have happened today ... my head is still spinning.” She took in a deep breath. “I think this has been the longest day of my life. Truthfully, all I can think about right now is crawling into a hot tub and soaking until I turn into a wrinkled olive.”
Harry laughed. “Prune. A wrinkled prune.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Who wants to be a wrinkled prune?”
He kissed her cheek and buried his face in her neck. “Sure you don't want company?”
It was so comfortable in his arms, she wanted to stay there, but forced herself to pull away. “And after my bath, I'm crawling right into bed and not moving until morning.”
“Tell you a secret: I'm looking forward to a steaming shower myself. You know, water pounding on my manly shoulders with hot thoughts of you in my head.”
She chuckled. “See, we'd run out of hot water if we didn't have two apartments.”
“A minor detail.”
Gina studied him for a long moment, searched for the right words, finally said: “I've been doing a lot of serious thinking this past week ... about us.” She tugged nervously at her hair, bit her lip, looked downward. “But maybe this isn't the time to talk about it.”
His eyebrows pinched into a worried look. “Talk about what?” He tipped her chin until she was forced to look in his eyes. “You haven't suddenly changed your mind about us, have you?”
The light from the entryway reflected on Harry's distressed face. “No!” she said. “As a matter of fact, just the opposite.” She caressed and kissed his cheek. “Mr. Lucke, not only do I love you, I intend to hold onto you for dear life.”
His face transformed into one huge smile. He squeezed her tightly as their lips met in a long, lingering kiss. When they finally separated, they were both breathless.
“Then you meant what you said at lunch?” he asked.
“Have I ever lied to you?” She flashed a smile, moved toward the entrance. “Later, for you.” Her fingers fanned a good-bye as she entered the vestibule. She turned and peered out the glass door—Harry was still there, throwing kisses at her. She waved him away and watched as he trotted out to his double-parked pickup.
Gina trudged down the hallway, sighed when she saw the elevator still had the Out-of-order sign posted. Disgusted, she turned around and used the stairway. The three floors dragged by as she climbed, trying not to think about anything. She leaned heavily on the handrail, counting the steps by fives. Still, it seemed like an eternity before she stood motionless in front of her apartment.
She fumbled in her purse, searching for her keys. “Where the hell are the dumb things?” As she dug into a zippered compartment, someone grabbed her arm from behind.
“Hey!” She whirled around, swinging out with one fist
Faye jumped back out of range. They stood there speechless, staring at one another.
“Jesus, Faye!” Gina finally said, hand to her chest. “You scared me to death. What's the matter with you, sneaking up on me like that?”
“I'm sorry,” Faye said, backing up to the wall. “I ... I didn't mean to scare you.”
Gina looked at the lab tech’s pasty face, then tugged on her arm. “Let's get inside.”
As they entered the living room, Gina said, “Look, Faye, I might as well tell you I'm going to the police tomorrow.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re the one who's been stealing the marrow. Who else could it be?”
Faye blinked, stepped back, her face a mask of astonishment.
“Oh, for God's sake! I know you must be involved in this mess.” Gina threw her purse onto the sofa—lipstick, comb, keys, Tums, spilled out onto the floor.
“It just has to be you,” Gina insisted. “You and that ... that creep you're living with. When I finally realized it was Tracy Bernstein's scarf at your house, I was able to put it all together.”
“I don't know what you're talking about. I never took anything from Mrs. Bernstein's. Frankie gave me that scarf.”
“You didn't steal it from Tracy's room?”
“No, of course not! I wouldn't do that.”
“I see,” Gina said, trying to fight off the rage that kept welling up inside of her. “Of course not.” Her eyes bored into Faye's. “How insensitive of me to think you would steal someone's scarf. Oh, it's perfectly all right to steal someone's bone marrow, but my goodness, steal a scarf?” Gina held the back of her hand to her forehead. “I do apologize, Miss Lindstrom, for daring to question your ethics.”
Faye turned a bright red, s
tammered two or three times before she could speak coherently: “It can't be Mrs. Bernstein's scarf. It can't be!” Faye moved further back until she was flat against the wall. “Frankie gave it to me. If it's hers, how did he get it?”
“What a good question, Miss Lindstrom. If you didn't give it to him, where did he get it?”
Faye burst into tears. “I don't know. All I know is, I didn't take it!”
“I don't believe you.”
“I know I've lied to you in the past, Gina,” she said,” but not this time.”
“Wow! Big surprise. True confession time.”
“I didn't want to ... but—”
“But what?”
“I couldn’t tell you the truth; I didn't want you to ... to hate me.”
“What the hell's the matter with you, anyway?” Gina asked. “I mean, what are you doing in the middle of all this?”
“I ... I couldn't help it.”
Gina wanted to grab her, shake her, hit her, do something. Instead, she bent over, picked up everything that had fallen from her purse, and tossed the accumulation helter-skelter onto the sofa. When she straightened, she was still angry.
“Couldn't help it?” she snarled. “What kind of crap is that?”
“He beat me, Gina. Frankie ... every time ... every time I refused.”
“You didn't have to stay with the bastard,” she said, feeling her throat turn dry from shouting. She stomped into the kitchen, shoved a glass under the faucet, and drank the water in a single gulp. “Other women leave assholes like him; you could have left any time.”
“It's so easy for you to tell me what to do,” she said, jutting her chin out defiantly. “You’ve got a great guy, everything is happy-go-lucky for you.”
“That's the way my life looks?”
Faye nodded.
Gina downed another glass of water. “So, just because things aren't hunky-dory and your life isn't a storybook fantasy, you hook up with some sleazebag and start stealing people's marrow to make money. That’s supposed to make everything all right?”
“It sounds horrible, I know ... but ... but...” She looked wildly up at the ceiling. “You don't understand. I need him; I need Frankie. I had find some way to keep him from leaving.”
