“Well, why exactly did you come?”
I debated whether to confide in this nice couple. There certainly wasn’t any love lost between them and their former neighbor. I opted for the truth.
“So, you think Lewis could have been murdered,” Candice said when I finished. “Makes sense to me.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
She handed me the bag of ice and a couple of cookies. I took a bite of cookie and winced. My cheek was killing me, but, not one to waste perfectly good dessert, I pressed the ice against my face and kept on chewing.
“There was constant commotion going on in that house. Lewis and Sherese fought all the time. He was a crazy bastard. He actually chased her down the street with a carving knife one day because she let the kids eat his chocolate bar.”
Well, that would piss anybody off.
“I just prayed those babies would get taken away before something awful happened to them.”
“People would come and go at all hours of the night,” Roger supplied. “There’d be music blaring, dogs barking. It was impossible to sleep some nights.”
I thought back to the last time I’d heard music blaring. Lewis had used it to mask the sounds of something far more disturbing in the trunk of his car.
“Who owns the empty lot next door to Lewis’ house?” I asked.
“They do. It was Mario’s grandfather’s place. The house burned down a few years ago, and they finally got it all cleared out.”
“Could they have been using the property to stage dog fights?”
“Couldn’t say for sure. But I’ll bet there’d be upwards to fifteen dogs in that lot at times. They treated them something awful, too. Once, Junior found a dead puppy, stuffed in our trash. It couldn’t have been more than three months old. That puppy had been mauled so bad there was practically nothing left.”
“Bait dog,” I thought, and almost threw up.
“Did anyone ever call the cops on them?”
“All the time,” Candice said. “But it never did any good, and after a while, they just stopped showing up. There was no point to it. Anyway, you learn real quick around here to mind your own business. It’s safer that way.”
Half an hour later I thanked Roger and Candice King for their kindness and then reached into my bag for a pen and paper. I wrote down my name and number and laid it on the coffee table. “I’m probably just grasping at straws,” I apologized, “but if you can think of anything else, please give me a call.”
Roger cast a hurried look in my direction and then cut his eyes toward his wife. “How about getting Brandy some cookies for the road?”
“I would,” Candice laughed, “but she ate them all.”
I followed the Kings to the door, taking note that Roger picked my number off the table and pocketed it.
“You take care,” Candice told me, as she gave me a hug.
“Thanks for everything,” I said, “and sorry about the cookies.” I left with a sore jaw and a heavy heart.
Okay, Brandy. Just accept the fact that there is no mystery tied to Mario Lewis’s death. You shot him. He’s dead. Your fault. Move on.
I got into my car and pulled away, catching sight of Lewis’ kids standing on the porch. They were scowling at me. Even the little one. Fabulous. First I shoot their father, and then I deck their mom. I hate for anyone to think ill of me, but at the rate I was destroying family members, who could blame them?
Chapter Four
On the way home, I stopped at a liquor store to pick up some lottery tickets. I figured in the past week, I thought I was pregnant but wasn’t, I almost got laid off but didn’t, and Mario Lewis tried to kill me but couldn’t. Plus, I didn’t lose any teeth when his girlfriend punched me, so, obviously, I was on a lucky streak!
A girl in line ahead of me cradled a six-pack of Budweiser. She looked about fourteen. When it was her turn she sidled up to the clerk and hoisted the beer onto the counter. “I’ll take a carton of Pall Malls,” she told him.
“I need to see some I.D.”
“No problem.” She reached into her back pocket and laid a driver’s license on the counter.
The clerk took a look and laughed, and handed it back to her. Then, he scooped up the beer and placed it on the counter behind him.
“Sorry, I don’t sell to minors.”
The girl leaned over the counter and jabbed the card with her index finger. “But it says right here I’m over twenty-one.”
“Yeah. It also says you’re a man.”
“So, what’s the problem? It says I’m twenty-one.”
“A twenty-one year old man.”
She let out an exasperated sigh and turned around to me. “Hey, will you buy me some beer?”
The clerk leaned across the counter and tapped her on the shoulder. “Uh, you know I can hear you, right?”
I figured anyone with that kind of chutzpah didn’t deserve to go away empty handed. I bought her some string cheese and a Red Bull and headed back to the car.
As I climbed into the driver’s seat, I spied a thirty-ish looking guy with a crew cut rounding the corner. He was wearing shorts and flip flops and a tee shirt that said, “I’m great in bed.” A spotted boxer- terrier mix puppy with big dark eyes, and ears that stuck out like a bent antennae trailed along beside him.
I whipped out my cell phone and called Janine. “There’s a guy wearing a tee shirt that says I’m great in bed,” I reported.
“Is he cute?”
“If he was cute, would he have to wear the tee shirt?”
“Good point. Well, at least he’s confident in his abilities. Do you think I’d like him?” she asked.
Janine’s great, but her taste in men is borderline icky. The last guy she went out with asked her if she’d be cool with a ménage a trois with a stripper he’d met at a bachelor party (she wasn’t). Fran and I are trying to wean her off the weirdos.
The puppy stopped about two yards from the car and began sniffing the ground, then squatted to do her business. The guy looked away, like he had no idea in the world there was a dog attached to the other end of the leash and that he would be responsible for what came out of it.
The puppy finished up, and the guy yanked on her leash and kept walking, ignoring what the dog had left behind.
“Hang on, Neenie.” I rolled down the window and leaned over curbside. “Yo! Pick that up, ya yutz.”
Mr. “Good in Bed” flipped me the bird and kept walking. How rude was that!
The guy reached the liquor store and tied the leash to a lamp post. The puppy lay down and began to whimper.
“Shut the hell up,” her owner muttered, and punctuated his words with a vicious kick to the dog’s hind quarters. The puppy yelped in pain.
My heart stopped. “Are you insane?” I screamed.
Ignoring me he turned and went into the store.
“Bran, what’s going on?” Janine yelled through the phone.
“I’ll call you back.”
Without thinking, I scrambled out of the car and ran over to the puppy. “Hi, Baby.” I soothed.
She licked at her injured leg, but stopped to lick my hand, instead. I could see her owner standing at the counter, talking to the clerk. In a flash, I untied the leash and coaxed the dog to her feet. She began moving forward with a slow, painful limp. I bent down and scooped thirty-five pounds of puppy in my arms, waddled back to the car, and shoved her into the back seat of the LeSabre. Then I climbed into the driver’s side and locked the doors, shaking with rage.
At that moment, the jerk came barreling out of the store and ran full steam toward my car, only he stumbled and tripped on his flip flops. He yanked them off and threw them at my windshield. They bounced off into the street. I scrambled to start the engine, but sometimes it stalls in the heat and this was one of those days.
The guy reached the car and pounded on my window, his face turning the color of cooked lobster. Any minute I expected his fist to come flying through the glass. I prayed for a mi
racle and tried the key again. This time it worked.
“Give me my God damn dog!” he roared.
“Bite me!” I stomped on the gas and took off.
Oh my God. What have I done? I just stole a dog! I called Janine back. “I just stole a dog.”
“Oh. Um, congratulations!”
“Neenie,” I huffed, swerving out of the way of a van, “I could be in real trouble here.”
I glanced in the rear view mirror. The dog kicker appeared out of nowhere and was following me in a black Ford pickup. He was about five cars back and gutter sniping to close the gap.
“Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“He found me.”
“Who?”
“Jeez, Neenie. Keep up. The guy with the dog. I gotta go.”
He gunned his engine and tried to squeeze in right behind me. Luckily, the friendly drivers of Philadelphia didn’t care much for this yahoo bolting the line. They closed ranks and locked him out. I took the opportunity to hang a left on South Street and prayed he didn’t notice. Unfortunately, he did. Three blocks later he was two cars back. Great. What now?
I was only a few blocks away from Uncle Frankie’s gym. Now, normally, I don’t like to involve my friends and family in my petty problems. But so far, the day really sucked, and I was tired of fighting my own battles, even if I was the one who’d started them. I hit speed dial and called my uncle.
“I’m in trouble,” I announced. “Could you meet me outside the gym in about a minute?”
“You got it, hon,” he said, no questions asked.
I looked in the rear view mirror again. The guy was practically riding my bumper. He looked really mad. “Oh, and Uncle Frankie, you might want to bring some friends.”
Half a block later, I pulled into South Street Gym’s parking lot, the Ford pick-up riding my bumper the entire way. Uncle Frankie was standing there waiting for me, flanked by three giant gym rats with muscles to spare. I pulled up next to them and jumped out of the car.
The dog kicker had gotten out of his truck and was headed in my direction. He was so focused on me he didn’t seem to notice my steroid enhanced entourage.
Frankie gave me the once-over. “What happened to your face?” Without waiting for an answer, he added, “Did he do this to you?”
My uncle has a soft spot for me and a short fuse when he thinks someone has done me wrong. Before I could set him straight, he broke ranks and was on the guy like Whiz on a cheese steak.
He grabbed him by the front of his shirt, stretching the collar all out of proportion. “You’re a real big man, beatin’ up on a girl, aren’t ya?”
“Whoa,” the guy said, stumbling backwards. “I didn’t lay a hand on this whack job. She stole my dog.”
“Hey, watch your mouth.” Frankie turned to me. “D’jou steal his dog?”
“I had to. He kicked it.”
“You swear he didn’t hurt you?”
I nodded.
Frankie smoothed down the guy’s tee shirt, and shoved him backwards toward his car. “Get the hell outta here, you creep.”
“What about my dog?”
Frankie snarled at him. “What dog?”
“Yeah, what dog?” The gym rats echoed like a Greek chorus.
He stood there for a minute appearing to weigh his options. “Ah, you’re all nuts. You can keep that pain in the ass hound. I’m tired of her pissing on my rug, anyway.”
We watched him as he drove off. “So, Uncle Frankie, you want a dog?”
*****
Halfway home, my breathing began to return to normal. The puppy had settled into the back seat and was busy gnawing on a bag of beer pretzels I keep on the floor of the car in case I’m ever lost in a snow storm and have resort to cannibalism in order to survive—but, wait—no, I don’t, because I had the foresight to pack a bag of pretzels!
“Don’t make crumbs,” I told her and reached for my phone to call Paul.
“I found a puppy,” I announced.
“Yeah? Where?”
“Right on the street. It followed me home. I put signs up and all, but nobody’s come to claim her, so I was thinking maybe you’d want her.”
“Brandy, you know I’ve got asthma. How am I supposed to breathe?”
“I’ll pick up some Benadryl on the way over. Please, Paul. Just until I find a permanent home for her. I’d take her, but I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.”
“I k-know,” Paul said, his stress stutter kicking in, “I’ve b-been w-worried about you.”
“No need, Paulie. I’m fine. Honest. Listen,” I said, feeling warm, wet, puppy breath on the back of my neck. “You don’t have to give me an answer now. Just think about it, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow.” I drove the rest of the way home with the puppy’s head on my shoulder.
*****
I woke up at 6:00 a.m. to a ringing phone and the combined weight of two canines sitting on my chest. Rocky was stretched out on the pillow next to me, unfazed by the puppy’s unexpected arrival. I shoved the dogs off me and grabbed the phone.
“Brandy?” The voice was vaguely familiar.
“Yes?”
“It’s Roger King.”
I have found that early morning phone calls generally fall into two categories. Either someone died, in which case you probably didn’t need to be woken up, they’d still be dead at a reasonable hour, or the occasional time zone mix-up. Since we lived on the same coast, I went straight to the worst case scenario.
“Is Candice okay?” I asked, slightly panicked.
“She’s fine. Listen, I’m sorry about calling so early, but I’ve got to get to work, and I didn’t think I should wait on this.”
“Wait on what?”
Roger lowered his voice. “Something happened about a week before Lewis got shot. Candice doesn’t know about it, and I want to keep it that way. Can you meet me at the McDonald’s at Broad and Snyder in an hour?”
I had to be in Horsham by nine to cover their annual Police VS Firefighter softball game. I was throwing out the first pitch. I did a quick mental calculation. It would take me twenty minutes to shower, throw on some clothes, and feed and walk the dogs. No time for breakfast, but I could grab a bite at Mickey D’s. Oh boy, breakfast fries!
“I’ll be there,” I told him. “Can you give me a hint as to what this is about?”
Roger hesitated. “I can’t say now,” he whispered, and hung up.
Forty minutes later, I slid into a booth across from Roger King, balancing a tray of Egg McMuffins and coffee. He waited until I settled in, and then he turned an earnest eye on me and cleared his throat.
“A couple of weeks ago, Candice spent the night at her sister’s, and I had a boys’ night out.”
“Oh.” I said, squirming uncomfortably in my seat. “Listen, Roger, I barely know you. Don’t you have a friend or someone more appropriate to confess that sort of thing to?”
Roger laughed so hard that he choked on his coffee. “Candice is the only woman for me, and she knows that. This is about something I saw that night. I’d been over to a friend’s place for a poker game. It broke up at around two, and I came home and parked in front of the house. I’d just shut off the engine when a car turned the corner and cruised down the street. I got a little suspicious because they didn’t have their lights on, so I sat there waiting to see what they were going to do.”
“Could you tell the make of the car?”
Roger shook his head. “It was too dark out. I guess the city don’t want to spend money on street lamps. All I know is it was some kind of SUV, but I couldn’t tell the make. Anyway, it pulled up in front of Lewis’ house and this guy got out. He made a phone call and a few minutes later, Lewis came out of his house. He wasn’t wearing nothin’ but a pair of shorts, and it looked like he’d just woke up.
“The next thing I knew, two more fellas piled out of the car. Can’t be sure, but I think one of them was white. The other one was black. The black guy was holding a bat, and the
white guy grabbed Lewis as he tried to run back into the house. The one with the bat started swinging at Lewis’ head. Lewis raised his arms up and tried to protect himself, but they wouldn’t let up. I could swear they was gonna kill him, but they just messed him up a whole lot.”
“Could you hear what they were saying?”
“Clear as can be. He was laid out on the sidewalk, moaning the same name over and over. Donte. That’s when the guy with the phone went over to him, and Mario started blubbering something about blood. I thought he meant he was bleeding, but then Donte went off on him. He said, ‘Yeah, we blood, but this is business, bro. You fuckin’ up. You fuck up again, you dead.’ Then he said he blew the whole deal with the dogs.”
“The dogs?”
“That’s right. Then the white guy pulls out a gun and says he don’t wanna wait. He just wanna cap his ass. So that guy, Donte, said he’d see to it that Lewis wasn’t any more trouble. That’s when the guy with the bat looked over to my car and saw me sitting there.
“I’ll tell you, my heart just about leaped right out of my chest. He crossed the street and threatened to smash the window if I didn’t open up. I thought about leaning on the horn to scare him off, but in this neighborhood it’s unlikely anyone would pay much mind. So I started fumbling around a bunch, pretending I was drunk and he finally walked back to his car.
“I thought I was in the clear, but a minute later he came back, and damn if he wasn’t holding a blow torch. He fired it up, and said I’d better mind my own business or he’d burn my house down. Then Donte yelled for him to come on. He said, ‘Hey, Torch. Stop fuckin’ around, man.’
“After that, Donte helped Lewis off the ground and got him back inside, and they all piled back in the car and took off. I waited until they turned the corner and then I got in my house real quick. The next night when I came home from work, the dogs were gone.”
So, Mario was in business with a relative named Donte, some white guy with anger management issues, and a gentleman named Torch who liked to set people on fire. Rough crowd.
“Roger, do you think you would recognize these guys if you saw them again?”
No Such Thing as a Lost Cause Page 5
