No Such Thing as a Lost Cause

by Shelly Fredman

  A giant lump of fear settled in my belly. “Um, this is very important, Mrs. Gentile, and I’m not kidding. So I’d appreciate it if you’d think hard about your answer. Were any of the, um, young men carrying a blow torch?”

  “How should I know?” she bristled. “What do you think I am? The neighborhood busy body?” She turned and stomped back inside.

  I was just about to leap over the rail and follow her into her house when my phone rang. It was Vince Giancola.

  “Vince, I’m really glad you called. I need to talk to you.” I shoved the key into the lock and opened my front door.

  “Let me go first,” Vince said. “I have some good news and some bad news.” Take your pick.”

  Chapter Ten

  I’d had enough bad news to last a life time. “Tell me the good news.”

  I wanted to sit down, but Adrian and little No-Name hogged the couch. Rocky was sandwiched between them, purring contentedly while the puppy licked her head. Nobody moved for me, so I flopped down on the floor and kicked off my shoes.

  Vince took a deep drag off one of the cigarettes he swears he doesn’t smoke and coughed. “Okay,” he said finally. “I know how much you love to be right, so here goes. I got the results of the second autopsy.”

  “And?”

  “You’re really going to make me say it?”

  My heart beat quickened in anticipation. “Yep.”

  “Fine. You were right. Traces of Succinylcholine were found in Mario Lewis’ body. It’s now officially a murder investigation.”

  “I knew it!”

  “Do you want to gloat or do you want to hear the rest?”

  “Both. I’m entitled.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed softly. “You are.”

  “Thanks. So, where do we go from here?”

  “The police found some coke residue at the scene, and they’ve locked into a theory that the murder was somehow related to a drug deal gone wrong. They’ve got a BOLO out on Donte Lewis in connection with the corpse he left sitting around in his basement. That is, unless you’re planning to bring him in for us—and I’m only half joking.”

  “Let me get back to you on that. So, what’s the bad news?”

  “One of our informants told us the Junk Town Gang is getting ready to make a move. Brandy, I’d take this seriously if I were you.”

  “Yeah. About that.”

  Vince listened without interruption while I filled him in on Mrs. Gentile’s gang sighting. When I was finished, he let out a smoky breath.

  “Well, I don’t think you won over any hearts when you busted up that dogfight the other night. You ended up costing a lot of really bad people a shit load of money.”

  “No one can prove I was there…I mean I wasn’t there, so of course there would be no proof.”

  “Don’t con me, Alexander. Everybody knows you were there. It had your M.O. all over it. Dispatch said a female called it in, but we couldn’t get a read on the cell phone number. And the guy that had his liver handed to him in the parking lot—well, whoever took him apart was no amateur. By the way, you can tell your boyfriend I said, ‘well done.’ Off the record, of course.”

  I get nervous talking to law enforcement officials about Nick, no matter how good a friend they are. So, I thought it best to change the subject.

  “Have the cops been able to I.D. the guy in the basement yet?” That half a face still haunted me.

  “Unfortunately, no. They were able to get some prints, but they don’t match anything in our database.”

  “Okay,” I mused aloud. “So the cops are looking for Donte. But what about the other guys? Roger King said three people showed up the night Mario got beat up. They’d all threatened to kill him. And one of them had a blow torch.”

  Vince snorted. “The night Mario got beat up? What the hell are you talking about? I swear to God, Brandy, if you’re holding out on me—”

  Crap. I’d promised Roger I wouldn’t drag him into it. Now what?

  “I’m not keeping anything from you, Vince. At least not intentionally. Look, I swear I’ll stop by your office tomorrow and tell you everything I know. But right now, I’ve got to go.”

  “Nine a.m. Sharp.”

  “Ten, and I’ll bring bagels.”

  I could almost hear him grind his teeth down to nubs. “Fine,” he growled. “And for Christ’s sake, watch your back.”

  *****

  It’s astounding how much you can accomplish by eliminating sleep from your daily routine. First, I updated my resume to include jobs I thought I’d be good at but have never actually performed—like audience warm-up comedian for Jay Leno, or air traffic controller. Next, I alphabetized my spices, which took about two seconds, seeing’s all I had were salt and pepper. After that, I spent about an hour teaching Adrian how to Rumba, like that dog on the internet everyone thinks is so cute. I figured it could be a real money maker.

  Turned out, Adrian didn’t have much interest in learning a new skill. I’d brought my laptop into the living room so that he could study the video, but he kept slinking off to sleep behind the couch.

  The house seemed unnaturally quiet; every noise magnified ten fold in the dead of night. Vince had said he’d try to beef up patrol in my neighborhood, but the city is so strapped for cash I didn’t hold out much hope of that happening.

  I felt lonely, and scared, and a little bit sick from eating an entire box of chocolate pudding. I wanted someone to cuddle with and tell me everything was going to be all right…someone with strong arms and high cheek bones…and a scent that was intoxicating. Someone who would whisper dirty things in my ear to take my mind off the fact that bad people wanted to kill me. Someone who would love me, and protect me, and never let me go. In short, I wanted Nick.

  Unfortunately, Nick was away on overnight business, the details of which were left to my imagination. To his credit he’d asked if I felt okay about him leaving. I’d told him, “Oh, of course. No problem,” because I didn’t want to sound like some needy weirdo. (I feel he should learn these things gradually, as it’s still early in the relationship.)

  So I did the next best thing and called Janine. Okay, she was like the third or fourth best thing, the second being a date with Indiana Jones. But Janine had the advantage of being real… and amenable to phone calls in the wee hours of the morning.

  She picked up immediately. “Yo, Bran. What’s wrong?”

  Someone sneezed in the background. It was a distinctly masculine sneeze.

  “Oh, Neenie, you’ve got company. I’m sorry. Oh! Is it Mike? Wow, I guess you guys really hit it off. Call me later and tell me all about it…he can’t hear me, right?”

  “Slow down. You sound like you’re on crack. How much caffeine have you had?”

  “Not much. Listen, I’ll let you get back to your, ah, date.”

  “Hah! I should be so lucky. I’m filling in at the diner.”

  Janine used to wait tables at the 24 Hour Diner on Broad Street. By her own admission, she was awful. But whenever they’re desperate they call her to fill in for the graveyard shift.

  “So, what’s up?” she asked.

  “Not much. Just felt like saying hi.”

  Janine paused. “Hmm.”

  “Hmm what?”

  “Nothing. Have you eaten dinner?”

  “It’s three a.m. Of course I’ve eaten dinner.”

  “Standing over the sink eating the skin off a ready-made chicken does not constitute dinner.”

  “I don’t do that!”

  “You do so. I’ve seen you…and more than once. Come on down. I could use the company. Only creeps come out this late at night.”

  “Excuse me?” That, from the sneezer.

  “I’m talkin’ here. This doesn’t concern you. Keep eating.” To me she said, “I’ll see you when you get here.”

  *****

  The prevailing feature of the 24 Hour Diner was old. Not retro-cool- refurbished old. Just plain old. Ancient tobacco smoke clung to grease stai
ned walls. Formica tabletops bore the scars of former teens, with “love 4ever” etched onto their surface. A phone booth, the kind that Clark Kent used to morph into Super Man, stood vacant in a corner.

  Janine sat opposite me in a booth in the back of the diner. She wore a bright pink uniform which clashed with her auburn hair. The outfit was very snug and made her breasts look enormous.

  “Don’t you have to wait on people or something?” I asked.

  Janine’s eyes swept the restaurant. “Nah. They’re good. Anyway, they know where to find me if they need something. “I’m right here if you need anything,” she called out. “See? They’re fine.”

  I picked up my fork and stared hungrily at the plate in front of me. It was piled high with turkey, and mashed potatoes, succotash, dressing, and a dollop of jellied cranberry sauce. It gave me a sense of well-being just looking at it. No wonder they call it comfort food.

  The potatoes were creamy white with the hole in the middle that stored the extra gravy. I speared some turkey with my fork and dipped it into the potatoes. Sheer heaven.

  “So anyway,” I said in between bites. “I was walking out to my car and a police cruiser stopped in front of the house. Guess who the cop was. Nancy Beringer,” I blurted out before she could open her mouth.

  Janine is terrible at guessing games. She always comes up with answers that can’t possibly be right. Like, if the question is, “What is America’s most popular ice cream flavor?” she’ll say pistachio, thinking it’s a trick question or something. You never want her on your team on game night.

  Janine’s eyes narrowed. “How come the cops are keeping tabs on your house? I thought they arrested the jerk that shot it up.”

  “They did. And I really thought that would be the end of it.”

  I forked up some succotash, careful to avoid the lima beans, and gestured to Janine to help herself.

  “Y’know, once a little time had gone by and nothing else happened, I figured I was off the hook. But then somebody started a rumor that I shut down a local dog fighting ring, and it pissed off the gang all over again.”

  “Rumor. Right. So, is that why you’re here instead of home in bed?”

  I nodded, embarrassed by the confession. “I don’t know which sucks worse, anymore. My nightmares or my real life.”

  “You know I’m here for you, hon. Just tell me what you need.”

  I put down my fork and pushed the plate away, having suddenly lost my appetite. “I don’t know, Janine. I’ve been screwing up so badly lately.”

  Janine leaned in to hear me as my voice sank to a whisper. “Bobby once said he thought I had a death wish…I don’t…do I?”

  Neenie made a face. “You don’t believe that any more than I do…or any more than Bobby does for that matter. Bran, if you hadn’t helped Dave Wolinski when he got shot he would have died. I wouldn’t exactly call that screwing up. And what about the puppy you saved from an abusive owner? Not to mention all the poor dogs that were forced into fighting. Sweetie, you had to do something. I mean what kind of a person would you be if you let those assholes get away with it?”

  “You’re right. What kind of a person would I be? And that night at Donte Lewis’ house? That was just a case of unfortunate timing.”

  “No, that was just stupid. Look, I get off in a few hours. Why don’t you sack out here? When I’m done with my shift we can go back to my place.”

  The turkey had a relaxing effect on me. Plus, Janine really had helped me to view my life through a different perspective—one where I didn’t come off feeling like an impulsive loser, but rather a credit to humanity.

  “Okay. I’m just going to stretch out here for a while,” I told her. “But I’m way too keyed up to fall asleep.” I put my feet up on the booth and laid my head down. And in the next instant I was out like a proverbial light.

  *****

  Having slept for three hours in the fetal position on a rock hard booth at the diner, I was not exactly ready to face the day. It would save me a trip to the D.A.’s office and the price of a dozen bagels if Roger agreed to talk to Vince.

  “Roger, it’s Brandy Alexander. Is Candice there? Can you talk?”

  Roger King’s rich baritone erupted in laughter. “Candice is right here, but it’s okay. I told her all about that night a few days after I met with you. I figured if she found out I’d kept something from her, she’d give it to me worse than anything those gang bangers could come up with. Ow, stop hitting me, woman! So, Brandy, what can I do for you?”

  I filled Roger in on the autopsy results and ended with my conversation with Vince. “It might really help with the investigation if you’d talk to him, Roger. But the last thing I want is to put you in danger.”

  “Candice has been trying to get me to do the same thing,” he admitted. “I’ll give your friend in the D.A.’s office a call. Maybe when they find Lewis’ cousin we’ll be able to put all this behind us.”

  I truly hoped it would be that simple.

  “I’ll tell you this much,” he continued. “It’s been a hell of a lot quieter around here since Mario’s been gone.”

  “How’s his family doing?” Now that my bruises had healed I felt slightly more kindly toward his girlfriend. I suspected Sherese might not be the most balanced person in the world on a good day. But grief over the loss of her significant other, no matter how much of a worm he was, had to be hell.

  “Every so often Candice goes to check on the kids. She brings them casseroles that the little girl can reheat without too much trouble. Lord knows their mother ain’t fit for nothin’. Ow. There she goes hitting me again. Candice, you know it’s true.”

  “It may be true,” his wife said, taking over the phone, “but it’s not very charitable. She’s younger than our Kendra. She’s got no education, no family—’cept her children—and the state keeps threatening to take them away. Maybe they’d be better off, but that’s not for me to decide.”

  Thinking about Sherese’s young children made my stomach hurt. “There has to be something I can do to help them,” I thought. And the battle between my alter egos was on.

  “Do not get involved,” warned Sensible Me.

  “But in a civilized society, that’s what we do. We help each other,” countered Impulsive (and apparently, more compassionate) Me.

  Note to self: Google Multiple Personality Disorder.

  Anyway,” Candice announced, “I’ve got some chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven, and I know how much you like them.” She allowed herself a small chuckle. “If you find yourself in the neighborhood…”

  “Thanks for the offer. I may take you up on it.”

  I was saying my goodbyes when someone knocked on my door.

  Adrian and the puppy raced me down the stairs. I nudged them out of the way and took a quick look out the peep hole.

  Paul stood on the steps wearing a Classic Rock tee-shirt and a red Phillies cap. I opened the wooden door and unlatched the screen. Next door, Mrs. Gentile slammed hers shut.

  “What’s with Mrs. Gentile? She called me a hooligan.” Paul took off his cap and stepped inside.

  “Maybe she’s still mad about the time you accidentally broke her window with a Frisbee.”

  “Really? It’s been like fifteen years. You’d think she’d be over it by now. Besides, I told her it was you.”

  Paul drifted toward the sofa. I’d put Hello Kitty Band-Aids over the bullet holes, because I didn’t have the money to get the couch fixed. I thought they added a touch of whimsy.

  “Why do you have Band-Aids all over your couch?” He sat down and inspected them.

  “They’re not Band-Aids. They’re art. It’s all the rage. So, how come you’re here? I mean I’m glad to see you, but you never leave the club. Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine. I was thinking about going for a jog, and it would be nice to have some company.”

  “Oh. Well, I guess I could use the exercise…but I’m not much of a jogger. Could we meander inst
ead?”

  “Um, Bran, I meant, could I borrow the puppy. You can come along too, if you want. But I know you’re busy with…” he looked desperately around the room. “…stuff.”

  “Paul, I’ve been out of work for weeks. The last thing I am is busy. But if you don’t want my company—”And then it dawned on me. “Ohhh. You want to take the puppy so you can pick up girls.” I grinned. “You devil.”

  Paul turned a deep shade of pink. “Well, you’re the one who suggested it in the first place.”

  “Because it works. Who can resist a puppy? Paulie, it’s fool-proof. And you’re right, I can’t tag along. Girls will think you’re unavailable.”

  “Okay, could we please change the subject now? It’s embarrassing enough. Oh, hey. I was down at Lorenzo’s Music on Locust and I ran into John and Garrett. They were going into a hair salon.”

  “Oh, I know the one you mean. It’s supposed to be real cutting edge,” I said, and waited for my incredibly clever comment to sink in. Paul just groaned. My brother needs to work on his sense of humor. That was hilarious.

  “Anyway, speaking of Garrett, what do you think of him?” I tried to sound light-hearted, to covey that I thought he was just swell, and that I was asking merely for conversational purposes.

  “He seems like a nice guy.” Paul stood up. “I should probably get going. Where’s the leash?”

  “Hey. Where are you going in such a hurry? We hardly ever spend time together. So, where were we? Oh, yeah. You were saying that Garrett seems just okay.”

  Paul began to sweat. “I said he seems nice. L-look, I don’t want to have this discussion. Now, if you’ll g-get me the leash—”

  “What discussion? I was just asking for your honest opinion. John is one of your oldest friends. I would think you’d show more of an interest.”

  Paul sat down, defeated. “Ok-k-ay. You’re not going to stop pushing, so w-we m-might as well get this over w-with.” He took a deep, cleansing breath. “You’re my sister, and I love you, but—for some people, well, l-l-let’s just say you’re an acquired taste.”