“Your what?”
“My fifteen minutes. I earned it back at the house when we were playing that game. You may be a lot of things, Gruber, but I never thought of you as a whelcher.” I was grasping at straws here, taking a gamble that his ego would supersede his need to kill me on the spot.
“Christ, you’re a feisty one.” There was definitely an admiring tone in his voice. He cast his eyes toward his watch as if trying to decide if he had anything more pressing to do, and then he glanced back up at the site. “Oh, what the hey.” He grabbed my arm and steered me towards the building. “The view from the top is fantastic!”
It was absolutely imperative that I stay calm. I settled for not throwing up on my shoes. My chin throbbed, my shoulders ached and I couldn’t feel my wrists anymore.
“Could you please take off the duct tape?” I asked. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere. You’ve got the gun.”
“Point well taken, but no.”
Gruber punched in the security code and we entered the building through a back door. It was humongous inside, with a concourse that ran the length of the building and video walls and monitors so that fans wouldn’t miss a minute of the action. There were twenty concession stands, tons of restrooms, and a special “members only” area for those willing to shell out the big bucks for exclusive dining rights. Gruber explained all this to me as he urged me onwards and upwards. “The escalators aren’t running right now,” he apologized, “so we have to walk up four flights, but after that we get to take the elevator.”
I climbed the stairs with difficulty. My knees were bruised and starting to swell and I added them to my mental list of injuries. Two swollen cheeks, a fat lip, a bloody chin and I suspected that my hands would be falling off any moment now, due to lack of blood flow to the wrists.
Tears of frustration began to make their way down my face and I tried to rub them off on my shoulder. Gruber smiled benignly at me. “I know how you feel. I get all choked up just looking at the magnificence of it all too.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand to encompass the room. “Well, your fifteen minutes are almost up and we haven’t reached the top yet. Let’s see a little hustle in your step.”
We stood in one of the offices on the top floor of the complex, overlooking the street below. The only thing standing between us and an eight-story plunge over the edge was a waist high iron safety railing that stretched across what would eventually become windows. Ten-foot panels of tempered glass lay stacked nearby, awaiting installation. A cold breeze blew in through the opening, scattering the dirt and debris that littered the concrete floor.
Gruber maneuvered me over to the railing and leaned forward, exhaling deeply.
“Take a look at this,” he said. “Hoffman and Gruber construction as far as the eye can see.” He pulled me closer to the edge and I shut my eyes tightly, guarding against the nausea that was sure to betray my fear of heights. “You know,” he continued, oblivious to my lack of enthusiasm, “one day they may consider changing the name of our fair city to Gruberdelphia. It’s got a nice ring to it, don’t you think? I’m kidding, of course,” he added, chuckling at his own joke. I wasn’t so sure he was joking.
While Gruber ruminated over his constructural achievements, I took this time to try and figure out how to save my own life, but I was fresh out of ideas. Any minute now he would snap out of his ego driven reverie and implement his plan to chop me up like stew meat. And then I heard something. A faint mewing followed by a tiny scratching sound. He must have heard it too, because he leaned back from the rail and gazed off in the direction of the noise.
We heard it again, more distinctly this time. I followed Gruber’s gaze, and there under a pile of two by fours lay a gray and white kitten the size of a man’s hand. My heart lurched and automatically I began walking toward it.
Gruber put a restraining hand on my arm. “Do kittens make you feel all warm and tingly, Brandy?”
Before I could respond, he turned and pointed the .38 in the direction of the pile of wood. Oh my God. That bastard’s going to shoot the cat.
“Nooo!” I screamed. He whipped around and I bowed my head and rammed him in the gut as hard as I could. The gun clattered to his feet and I scrambled to kick it out from under him, but he was quicker and had the advantage of two working arms. He bent to pick it up and casually advanced on me.
“So, you like it rough, do you?” He raised his arm and smacked me with the full force of his swing. I crashed sideways to the ground, hitting my head on the concrete floor. Pain wracked the side of my face and I rolled into a fetal ball, trying to protect myself as best I could. Gruber stretched out a foot and dealt me a vicious kick with the pointed toe of his designer shoe.
I flipped onto my stomach, but he caught me right under my breast. The sickening crunch of breaking bones filled my ears as white-hot heat seared through my ribs. The pain was unbearable, and I cried out, tears streaming down my face.
He lowered the gun to my head, spitting out the words in one furious sentence. “I would shoot you right now, but then I’d have to haul your worthless ass down to the ground floor.”
Thank God for small favors. With my last ounce of strength I lashed out with my boots, catching him in the shin. He stumbled and reeled back against the safety railing, knocking the gun out of his hand. It skittered across the floor and slipped under the guard rail. Gruber stared back at me, pure, unadulterated loathing etched on his face. He lunged forward. He was going to rip me apart with his bare hands.
“Step away from her.” The voice was low and commanding. And oh so familiar. Nick stood at the entrance of the office, a .38 trained at Gruber’s heart.
Gruber stepped back, his eyes never leaving Nick’s.
“Nick,” I cried, fresh tears gushing forth. I tried to stand but the pain was overwhelming.
He reached me in seconds and bent low to speak to me. “Can you stand up?” I shook my head, no. “You’re a dead man, Gruber.” He raised his gun again and this time cocked the hammer.
Gruber smiled. “Touché, Mr. Santiago, touché.” In one fluid motion he saluted Nick and, placing both hands on the safety bar, vaulted over the railing and was gone.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I arrived home at three a.m. after a pit stop at Jefferson Hospital for two cracked ribs. The doctor who taped me up told me I was lucky. Had they been broken they could’ve punctured my lung. She said I’d hurt like hell for a while but I’d survive, and she gave me a prescription for painkillers. Gruber wasn’t quite so lucky. He landed face down on the sidewalk, dying on impact. “If I were going to kill myself I’d do something really spectacular like take a flying leap off of one of my buildings.” The master controller to the bitter end.
“I thought you were dead,” I’d sobbed as Nick cradled me in his arms. I leaned against him and he let out a breath, shifting slightly. I looked down at his arm. There was a gaping hole in the sleeve of his jacket, its ragged edges soaked with blood. I nearly gagged at the sight. “What happened?” I whispered.
Thurman Williams had been hiding in ambush when Nick arrived at the mayor’s house. Nick sensed something was wrong and he turned a split second before Williams pulled the trigger. The bullet caught him in the arm and lodged there.
“When Williams came over to check on his handiwork, I let him know he didn’t quite finish the job. Vicious little asshole.” Nick shook his head. “It took me ten minutes to lay him out. Trouble was it laid me out too. Luckily, I woke up first. It’s amazing how persuasive I can be when I’m holding a gun to someone’s head. He told me where I’d find you and then, poor guy, he just passed out again.”
I didn’t want to know what kind of help Nick gave him to that end. “Where is he now?”
“I left him handcuffed to a wrought iron fence. Then I called the station to let your cop friend know where I was headed.”
The sound of sirens screamed in the distance. I tried to raise myself up but the pain was excruciating. Nick gently unwound
the tape from my wrists and massaged them until the blood started to flow on its own. I touched his arm. “Does it hurt much?”
He grimaced. “Well, let’s just say it doesn’t tickle.”
I laughed as relief flooded through me. Then I cried and kept on crying until I heard my name being called, and suddenly I was lifted up and Bobby was holding me, helping the paramedics get me onto a gurney. “The kitten,” I wailed through a flood of tears. “Please, somebody find him.” I was babbling incoherently and I just couldn’t stop crying. After that, I passed out and didn’t wake up until I hit the emergency room.
“Is Nick alright?”
Bobby peered at me through a mist in his smoky blue eyes. “He’s fine. He’s down at the station making a statement… Jesus, Brandy.”
Uh oh. I recognized the beginnings of a marathon lecture. Fortunately, some plain clothed cops came in at that point and began to interrogate me. I answered them as thoroughly as I could, but just breathing was an effort at the moment. They backed off when Bobby promised to deliver me to the police station personally, in the morning.
The hospital wanted me to stay overnight for observation, but I’d had enough of being told what to do. Bobby took me home in a squad car. He even put the lights and sirens on because I asked him to. As he helped me into the car I heard a small purring sound emanating from the back seat.
“Looks like someone wants his mommy.” He reached over the seat and lifted up a tiny bundle of gray and white fur. True to form I started crying again.
“Are you gonna be doin’ this all night? Because I gotta tell ya, I need my beauty sleep.”
I was laid up for the next couple of days, which gave me a lot of time to think. What would have happened to me if Nick hadn’t come along when he did? If Gruber hadn’t jumped, would Nick really have pulled the trigger? Would I have wanted him to? I honestly think the answer was yes, and that scared me more than anything.
My ribs were starting to heal and my face had taken on a sort of jaundiced hue, which was a step up from the blue and purple of the previous day. A little foundation and you could hardly tell I’d been beaten within an inch of my life.
Bobby had taken me home that night and stayed with me. He helped me to change out of my dirt-encrusted clothes, cleaned my knees and used a washcloth to wipe the dried blood from my chin. I’m sure I would have been mortified, had I been halfway cognizant, but as it was I was totally whacked out on Vicodin and don’t remember a lot of the details.
DiCarlo wouldn’t let me go near a mirror, which was probably a wise move, as my body couldn’t take another shock to the system. He carefully tucked me in and turned on the nightlight. The kitten was perched on the pillow next to me. I’d named him Rocky, after my favorite Philadelphian.
“I’ll be in the next room if you need me.” Bobby turned off the overhead lamp and laid the palm of his hand against my cheek.
“I don’t want you to go,” I whispered, suddenly afraid.
He ended up sleeping all night on a chair next to my bed. I wanted him right on the bed beside me, but my ribs groaned in protest, so I settled for holding his hand until I fell asleep.
I made the morning, midday and evening news, not just on local stations, but nationally as well. My boss in L.A. called to congratulate me on “breaking the story,” and then she asked if I’d given any more thought to the “on air nose job” segment we’d discussed. “It seems like perfect timing, what with your recent injuries and all.”
“Why stop there, Gail? Why don’t we do an upbeat spot on vivisection? I’m sure lots of viewers will tune in for that one.”
“Maybe this isn’t the best time to talk about it.”
Ya think? Once I was through with the pain meds I was going to have to do some serious re-evaluating.
Paul and the gang came over with a huge bouquet of flowers and a nice big box of chocolate truffles.
“This is a hell of a way to get out of wearing that bridesmaid’s dress,” Franny sniffed. “If you didn’t like it you could’ve just told me.”
“We did tell you,” Janine and I chimed in together.
Vince Giancola stopped by with a foot long hoagie from his dad’s deli, and Johnny consumed more than half of it.
“Hey! I thought you were a vegetarian now,” I said, eyeing my diminishing dinner.
He threw me a disgusted look. “Have you ever known cauliflower to keep body and soul together? These are stressful times, dollface. I need the meat!”
Even Mrs. Gentile showed up with a casserole. It tasted like it was left over from last Thanksgiving but it was the thought that counts.
The only conspicuously absent person was Nick. Okay, so I’d gotten him shot, but we had some good times too, didn’t we? I debated whether to call him. Maybe he’d just decided I was more trouble than I was worth. The thought of not seeing him anymore made my stomach hurt, but I owed him my life, and if nothing else I wanted to let him know how grateful I was.
Finally I plucked up the courage to call him, but all I got was his voicemail. “Uh, Nick, it’s Brandy. Alexander,” I added. Oh God, like he couldn’t figure that out. “I just wanted to see how you were feeling and to say thank you for saving my life. And um, okay then, I’ll talk to you soon. Unless you don’t want to. I mean I’d totally understand. So, uh”… Oh WHY couldn’t I just shut up? “Okay, bye.” What a colossal geek. No wonder the man is avoiding me like the plague. He probably thinks geeky is contagious. If I’d had the time I would have dug a great big hole and climbed in, but I had to get ready for Franny and Eddie’s serenading party.
In predominantly Italian South Philly it is the custom for the groom to serenade the bride the night before the wedding. It’s like a gigantic block party. They cordon off the street and all the neighbors come out to witness the event and partake in massive amounts of food and alcohol consumption.
Franny stood at the bedroom window, looking down on the crowd below. Her parents had insisted that she “come home where she belongs for a proper send off.” I could tell by the look on her face that she was embarrassed to death by all of this. She would have much preferred being in on the action, eating crab cakes and drinking champagne, than to be stuck up in a tower like Rapunzel, waiting for Eddie to belt out his rendition of “Fly Me to the Moon.” At least she wasn’t standing on the sidewalk freezing her butt off.
Someone had started a fire in one of those big metal trashcans, and I made my way over to it to warm up. Uncle Frankie was there with Carla. She was wearing a faux leopard skin coat and white go-go boots, with this funky Russian cap. She looked like a good-natured Cruella DiVille. Frankie had his arm around her, and when I walked up to them he opened his arms to encircle me as well.
“Don’t you ever scare me like that again.” I wasn’t sure but I think my big, macho uncle had tears in his eyes.
“Believe me, I don’t plan on it.”
“Where’s Bobby?” Carla wanted to know.
“He had to work late. He should be here any minute.”
She gave me a sidelong glance.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she shrugged. “It’s just that you’re getting pretty chummy with him again, that’s all.”
“We’re friends, Carla. But thanks for worrying about me.” I kissed her on her heavily made up cheek.
“Hey, anyone want a crab cake?” Frankie took off in search of food, and then a bunch of Franny’s cousins started singing “Goin’ to the Chapel,” a cappella and Carla drifted off to join them. On the other side of the street Paul, Kenny and Taco had set up a bandstand and were wiring it for sound.
I tried to focus on the festivities but somehow my heart wasn’t in it. It was time for my pain medication, and I was feeling tired and achy. My emotions were still pretty raw and I just wanted to go home and curl up in bed with Rocky, who, by the way, turned out to be a Rockette. My house is only a few blocks away, so I decided to walk home. I didn’t want to spoil anyone else’s fun by asking for a ride, and I fig
ured a little “alone time” would be good for me.
As I rounded the corner I spotted three squad cars parked outside the house. Two uniformed cops, guns drawn, came around from the side of the building, holding a short well muscled man in handcuffs. Bobby led the pack, his expression grim. Oh, what fresh hell is this? Curiosity beat out the stone cold lump of fear in my stomach and I edged closer to get a better view. The man in custody looked up, his drunken eyes darting back and forth. I recognized those eyes.
“Get him out of here,” Bobby said, his voice tight. He turned to me. “I drove by your house to see if you needed a ride over to the party and I caught him climbing up the trellis. He was carrying this.”
I knew what Bobby had in his hand without even looking. “Who is he?” I asked, almost too numb to care.
“His name is Luis Gomez.” AKA Hatchet Man.
“But Gruber’s gone.” Jeez, this guy must have a really strong work ethic. He was going to finish the job even if his employer was too dead to pay him.
“Ah, Brandy, there’s something you should know.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “What?”
“Gomez didn’t work for Gruber.”
“How do you know that?”
Bobby hesitated, clearly embarrassed. Well, tough.
“Spill it, DiCarlo.”
“Last time I checked, he’s my brother in law.”
Oh, fabulous. Marie DiCarlo’s crazy-assed brother was out to avenge his sister’s honor. Apparently the genius thought this up all on his own, so I could rest easy knowing that all the would-be Brandy stalkers were finally laid to rest. Bobby felt terrible and asked if there was anything he could do to make it up to me. Gazing into his deep blue eyes, I could think of a few things, but nothing that wouldn’t require a trip to confession in the morning.
I sighed deeply. “Nope, I’m good.”
Before he left he did a quick sweep of my house and yard and made me promise to call him if I needed anything. I promised, knowing that what I needed he wasn’t free to give.
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