In less than a flash he’s up in my face and I rocket back, my head slams into the wall. Thank God for my backpack for it absorbs some of the blow. Pinning me against the wainscoting he slams his fist right through it just beside my head. It makes a hole and I hear stuff crumbling and falling to the floor. “You dirty little piece of shit. You think your father is better than me? Why don’t you go ask that whore, Butterfly, if she thinks he’s better too. The one he was fucking behind your mother’s back.”
I foist him off me with all my might. He staggers back, stunned by my strength. He moves behind his desk, opens the front drawer and pulls out a pistol. He aims it right at me. “Stop looking.”
I duck at the sound of the first pop. I’m out the door and down the steps by the time I hear the second.
As I’m pounding my way out of Soda Can Alley, the Doberman’s barking, bullets zipping by my head, the only thing I can think is this: My father cheated on my mother and my uncle is trying to take my life.
7: Priscilla
A young man in his budding twenties stands on the curbside, staring up at a window above The Golden Thread’s clothing boutique. He’s accompanied by three older men. One sings a dusky rendition of Fools Rush In. The second squeezes the melody from an old accordion. The third delivers soft and lingering notes with a saxophone.
The young man’s dark features are obscured by the shadows of dusk, but the window in his sights glows orange from within.
I’m a half a block south on the other side of the street, making my way closer. My car is parked directly across from him, in front of Rita’s Tavern. Stori’s house is just a few blocks from here. When I get to my Jetta I climb inside but leave the door ajar so I can still hear the song. I rub my thighs vigorously to generate some heat.
The young man and his music making entourage have attracted attention not only from me but from some of the locals. A group of smokers under Rita’s awning keep their eyes pasted on the serenading quartet with whimsical expressions on their faces. A car heading north hits the brakes and parks in the middle of the street. The door swings open and a man steps out with one foot and throws an arm over the hood.
Middle-aged couples and young children lean out from nearby stoops, windows and fire escapes. All of us are rapt by the young brave soul who looks to nothing but the orange where he awaits a glimpse of his love.
Finally the curtains part and she appears. She opens the window and sticks her head out and shakes a fist in the air. “Freddy Ambitore!” she hollers. “What are you doing?”
He comes down on one knee and lifts a bouquet of flowers with both hands. Men howl and women shout, “Hooray.”
Another girl appears in the window. She’s younger, most likely the sister of the girl being serenaded. She smiles down on the kneeling suitor declaring his love for all to see. “You foolish boy!” she cries joyfully. “Haha! What a fool.”
The older girl retreats into her apartment and it feels like time stops. The air braces. Waiting inside of eternity I pray she doesn’t leave him kneeling there. I’m convinced if his love goes unrequited he might freeze upon bended knee. Cursed to spend eternity as a sad monument of failure where all will take their young ones to tell his cautionary tale. What a horrible end to the story that would be.
But just when hopes might turn sour the door beside the boutique opens. She steps onto her front stoop, wrapping herself in a wool coat.
Freddy stands and she flies down her stoop into his open arms, her coat falling to the ground behind her.
As they kiss the audience claps and hoots and shouts BRAVO. The young lovers stay wrapped in each others arms, center stage. The newborn night sky is showing its first glimpse of stars and suddenly the moon appears.
This is a magical place—the Valley of Redemption. I don’t care what Nate says about it. I know of nowhere else that stops everything just to get a glimpse of a man and woman in love.
And how about that Freddy? Mad props to him. Nothing like showing the entire world you like someone before you’re even sure they like you back. Most guys nowadays just throw you a text or try to ask you out sideways by inviting you to group events. Sometimes you don’t even know you’re on a date until you’re naked on all fours and then you’re like—Hey, I think this guy likes me.
I’m not saying it was like that with Nate. He’s Redemption’s Most Eligible Bachelor for God’s sake. I mean he’s got some serious game. Not serenading, down-on-one-knee game, but c’mon—that shit’s pretty much extinct outside the Valley. Nate made it just as exciting if you ask me. Here’s how my love story went down:
I was looking for full time work after college and Heather, a friend of mine, convinced me to take the five hour drive northeast to Redemption for the weekend. She was already working for Bill and knew he needed extra help at the office. Since all those children had been disappearing, (I think there’s about fifteen of them now) CPS was slammed with cases.
After my interview with Bill I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to pursue the job any further. Even though the pay was decent and the office was pristine, something about Bill made me hesitant. He reminded me a little of my dad. He rarely smiled and the few times he did it didn’t seem sincere.
“You don’t have to make a decision right away,” Heather told me. “Come on. Let’s go for a sexy drink.”
We ended up at Le Chíc. Working on my second Dirty Martini I wandered alone over to the windowed walls and strolled from the west wall and it’s glorious view of the casino over to the east where the massive billboard hung over the expressway. I took a cleansing breath and read the words. “Future Forward. Strive for Better.”
“Do you like it?”
There was Nate. Six two, dirty blonde hair falling in tousled locks just past his ears and big brown eyes. A sight for sore eyes but maybe a little too young for my somewhat seasoned palette. (I tend to like them older.) “It’s a little large I would say, but your city’s motto is quite catchy.”
“It’s called a Declaration. You might not believe this but I gave Mayor Vaughn the idea. We’re friends. Here in Redemption we’re building a new city. A Future Forward City. We don’t stay stagnant in the past.”
Hearing it come from Nate’s mouth, abundant with glittering optimism, it dawned on me what that Declaration could impose upon my battered life. “That’s nice,” I replied, taking note of the way he held his gin on the rocks so confident yet casual. I already wanted him to save me.
“I like it too,” he said puffed up with pride. “Do you like the girl? The model?”
“She’s very pretty,” I answered stiffly, not sure where he was going with such an inquiry. (My ménage à trois days were over. I was preparing for something more meaningful.)
“I used to date her.”
My heart did a little flutter. If he was trying to make me jealous it was working. If I was on the fence about liking him just moments ago, I sure as hell wasn’t now. I rolled my eyes in my good-old Erie girl fashion. “So what.”
I decided not to look at him anymore. But I could feel his eyes on me and was quietly pleased. “You’re prettier than her. Like a goddess.”
I tried so hard not to do it. I tried so hard. But Nate was good. Oh boy, was he ever. So I smiled.
Nate’s face disappears at the sound of my cell phone whistle. A voicemail. It’s my sister, Grace. I tap her name and listen.
“Where have you been? Why don’t you ever pick up? God, Pris, ever since you left Erie you act like you don’t have a family anymore. What are we only gonna talk on facebook now? And by the way I can hardly recognize you in your pictures. Since when did you start dressing like Paris Hilton? Don’t think I’m jealous. Cause I’m not. You’re living the good life and that’s fine by me. But just so you know, Dad is dying. Dying, Pris. If you wanna come and say your goodbyes you better do it soon.”
I delete the message as soon as it ends. I don’t need my little sister telling me what kind of person I’ve become. I deserve a better life, Godda
mnit. Just because she’s okay with that backward town we came from doesn’t mean I have to be. So now that dad’s dying I have to drop everything to run by his side? Where was he when I was down and out and needed a father? If I let myself go back I’ll lose it. I want to call my sister right now and tell her some of the horrible things my father has done. Things she was too little to know about. Why should mom and I have to carry the burden and not her?
My heart’s racing. I have to get a hold of my emotions. They always interfere and I refuse to let them tonight. But I just can’t help myself. Another memory comes crashing in like a ten foot wave and despite my best efforts to run for dry land, it washes over me and pulls me back to the bottomless waters of the past. I can’t fight the current so I let go.
I’m five years old again, standing on my front porch, watching as three men chase my father toward the house. Before he can reach the steps they catch up to him. One grabs him by the neck, punches him in the back of the head and shoves him to the ground. Then they all crowd around him like vultures settling over fresh death. That’s when the kicking begins.
I blink and I’m in my car again. I wipe at my tears and shut the door against the cold. Freddy and his lover are gone and so are his entourage and the crowd.
I slip my key into the ignition and meditate on the task at hand: figuring out what to do with the Putzarella case. I know Nate wants me to focus on only him and having fun and not get too caught up in my work, but I can’t stop thinking about the witch Regi said she saw in her house. Their mother’s gonna die. The least I can do is spend an hour at the office investigating if maybe someone did kidnap the father. If there’s a way for them to get him back, I should at least give that option an hour of my time.
Back at the office, as I plunk the Putzarella file on my desk and settle over it, Bill peeks in from the hallway. “Knock knock.”
“Oh, hi Bill.”
“I talked to Heather. She has an opening. She can take the Putzarella case. Do you have the first assessment?”
Heather’s my friend but she’s also notorious for being a no-nonsense unforgiving social worker. If this file lands on her desk, those kids will be out of that house by the weekend.
I stare at the file. The mere thought of Heather taking it sets a panic loose in me. I slam a territorial hand on top of it and say, “I’m not as behind as I thought. I think I just might keep it.”
“You’re not behind? It’s seven fifteen already. You’ve been here since 6:30 this morning.”
“I had some errands to run in the afternoon.”
He swings his body around and comes into the office. “Priscilla,” he says in a more authoritative tone. “I noticed you’ve been a little stressed lately. Not your normal self. If you’re overworked, you should tell me.”
“Don’t worry about me. Really.”
He taps the desk before leaving. “Think it over. Heather’s ready when you need her.”
“Bill,” I say, suddenly remembering the man with the hair on his face.
He stops and turns to face me. Bill is mostly about business but he occasionally offers a conversational side.
“Do you believe in the devil?” I ask him.
He hesitates. “I have known darkness,” he says. “So yes, I do. But I don’t believe he’s some fantastic demon lurking the streets at night. I think he is me, and you. He is all of us. When we choose to do what isn’t right, that’s the devil. And then there’s God. And he is me and you and all of us. When we choose to do right.”
“Are some of us just born bad?”
He grimaces and ruminates some more. Finally he says, “Bad is just good that’s forgotten.”
“Forgotten what, Bill?”
The cleaning lady has started the vacuum down the hall.
Bill glances back at the noise and then returns to me. “What it was when it first came into this world.”
“You make a lot of sense.”
“Good night Miss Van Patten. Don’t work too late.”
I wish I can take his advice. I think again of the Cosimo rumors, the hairy faced man and Regina’s witch. Could one or all possibly be involved in Frank Putzarella’s disappearance? And the missing children including the Bak boy? Maybe there have been other witnesses who’ve seen something.
I go to the cabinet where we keep our Closed files. I don’t find a file on any Baks but I do find some other files of children who’ve gone missing, from the Valley and beyond. I bring them back to my desk and start to sort through them.
After about an hour I can’t seem to find any statements involving Cosimo or anything extraordinary from anyone else.
I lean back into my chair in utter defeat. I blow a strand of hair out of my face. “It’s just a stupid myth, like Nate says. Regina must be crazy. And if I spend any more time on this, I might go crazy too.”
But then something pops out at me. An analysis of a ten year old dyslexic girl named Jasmine. A pleasant little girl who loves dancing and participating in the da Vinci Theatre of the Arts for Children.
I open another file and rummage until I find another assessment of a boy with Bell’s Palsy. Tyler is an avid reader and writer and enjoys composing his own songs as well as performing them for his friends and family.
I go to another file. Melissa finds her outlet for her speech delay in the modern movement courses she takes at the YMCA.
And then of course I remember what Regi told me about the Baks. Singing and dancing and writing… Performance! This is what all the missing children have in common.
I slam my hand on my desk again and stand for battle. My chair goes thwack as it hits the ground. My discovery has ignited an unexpected fire in me. I know my duty is to pass the information along to Bill so he can notify a detective. That would be protocol. Let the police do police work and focus on my own job, getting Stori and her sister out of neglect’s way.
But ever since I’ve been in Redemption I can’t shake this feeling that the city might be in danger somehow. Whether it be terrorists, or mafia stuff, or even a serial killer, I’ve just got to find out. I won’t stop at just these files. I’ve got to do more snooping. I’ve got to go somewhere where people know a thing or two about this Cosimo guy.
Back in front of Rita’s Tavern I turn off the ignition, snatch my purse and open the car door. The icy air has a vicious bite so I hunch my shoulders against it. I slam the door shut, press the alarm button on my keychain and make my way inside.
One thing is for sure about the Valley, these people care nothing for décor. None of the furniture matches and there’s barely enough lighting, as candles upon wall sconces are the only source of light. The air in here is thick with must and dust and regret. I wade through it all and make my way to the bar where I take a seat, leaving a respectful two stools between me and a burly man in a nubby sweater. The middle aged woman at the bar, who I assume is Rita, does not even acknowledge my entrance. Very bad customer service if you ask me.
“I’ll have a Gin and Tonic,” I say politely as I wedge my purse between the backrest of the stool and my ass.
She still doesn’t look at me.
I give her a minute and then repeat, “Gin and Tonic when you get a chance.”
She huffs like I just asked her to take out the garbage or mop the floors and makes me the drink begrudgingly, only pouring a three count of gin. I don’t say anything because I already know my presence in her establishment is not appreciated. She wipes the counter down with a dishrag and sets my drink in front of me. “You looking for that Molly shit, honey, you come to the wrong place. We’re not that kind of gig.”
Oh my God. Did I come off as copping? I hope not.
Frantically, I plead my case. “I’m not looking for anything like that. I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to beat the cold.”
She gives me one of those bitch, please looks and saunters off to the other end of the bar. One of the first things I learned about people from the Valley is they are not inclined to faking pleasa
ntries. Here it’s all about straightforwardness and transparency. If someone doesn’t like you, you’ll know it instantly.
The barmaid does not like me.
Who cares, I tell myself, resenting her for making me feel I have to ask permission to be in her shitty bar. She’s nobody. She must not have any friends, too. She’s like my sister, Grace. Never giving people a chance. I, on the other hand, have plenty of friends. And as a matter of fact, I will soon have more. Nate’s taking me to the grand opening of Strive. Lots of important people will be there and Nate knows them all.
If you want to get anywhere in this world, you have to have lots of friends. And in order to do so, you can’t be like this woman—letting people know how you really feel. You have to hide that stuff. You have to make people believe you want them in your world.
Good thing men are much easier to win over. I take a sip and smile at the guy next to me, “Boy, is it cold out there.”
He only grunts.
That was stupid. Can’t I come up with something better? I note a local newspaper tucked under his left arm. “I see you have the paper. Anything good today?”
He glances sideways at me, and I can see a meanness in his face that can only mean one thing—mafia. “Some good. Some bad, but who knows if any of it’s true.”
“Awww. Don’t get him started,” a man grumbles from a table behind us.
“Yeah. We don’t need to hear the Arm’s fairytales tonight,” adds another man.
“You wish they was fairytales,” the Arm says, unmoved. He’s obviously too tough to be threatened by playful teasing.
“I like a good fairytale,” I say fully aware of how absurd I must sound. Lately I’m used to dinner parties where I’m exchanging meaningless platitudes with Wall Street tycoons and Broadway producers. They’re not nearly as hard to talk to. But nevertheless I persist. “Tell me a good one.”
The Book, the Key and the Crown (Secrets of the Emerald Tablet Book 1) Page 9
