No Such Thing as a Lost Cause

by Shelly Fredman

  “But I wanted to.”

  Sherese shook her head. “I mean you don’t have nothin’ to feel guilty about. I know you had to shoot Mario. He would’ve killed you, otherwise.”

  I had no idea how much I’d needed her absolution until she offered it. “Thank you for saying that.”

  She lifted herself off the couch and walked me to the door. Her eyes cut away from me as if she were embarrassed. “What’s your name again?”

  “Brandy.”

  “Brandy. I know Cal did some bad things, but he was good to me.”

  I don’t know why, but I felt really bad having her say my name. It was like we were friends and, somehow, I was letting her down.

  “Sherese, if Donte killed Cal, the cops will get him. And if he didn’t, they won’t stop until they find out who did.”

  “See?” she said, chin upturned. “That’s the difference between you and me. You believe it.”

  I didn’t want to tell her how wrong she was.

  *****

  I found Alphonso slumped down in the Hummer, half asleep. He opened his eyes when I knocked on the window and he rolled it down just enough for me to poke my nose in.

  “You planning to let me in?”

  “No.”

  “Please? Hey, I could drive if you’re too tired.”

  “How’re you going to drive this thing? You can’t even see over the dashboard.” He popped the lock. “Get in,” he grumbled.

  I ran around to the passenger’s side and hauled myself up. “Look, I’m sorry I took so long. But I couldn’t leave her. Not with her being so upset and all.”

  Alphonso shook his head. “You’re such a pushover. The woman tried to bash your skull in, and you can’t do enough for her.”

  “Look who’s talking, Mr… Pony …Put-er-together-er.” Okay, totally lame, but it had been a big day.

  *****

  I woke up the next morning, naked and entwined in Nicholas Santiago’s arms. Funny, I hadn’t gone to sleep that way.

  It was after midnight when Alphonso had dropped me off. Nick wasn’t home yet, and I was feeling restless. Adrian and the puppy were sacked out on the couch in Nick’s office. I did a cursory snoop through his mail, figuring if he didn’t want me sifting through his personal belongings, he would hide them better.

  My logic wasn’t completely unfounded. In a moment of weakness, I’d warned him about my overactive curiosity.

  “Don’t worry about it, Darlin’. I trust you.”

  “But I just got through telling you why you shouldn’t.”

  He’d responded with a beatific smile. I know you, Brandy Alexander. And I trust you to behave exactly the way you do. If you’re privy to something I’d rather you didn’t know about, that’s my fault, not yours.”

  In my mind, that’s practically permission.

  “Good morning,” Nick whispered in my ear. “When I came home last night you were dead to the world.”

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I popped an Excedrin P.M.”

  “Living dangerously, eh?”

  “You could say that.” I raised the covers and peeked underneath. Nick was wide awake in every sense of the word. “I don’t seem to be wearing anything. Did you have your way with me last night?”

  “If I had, drug or no drug, you would have remembered.” His hand reached out to caress me as he gently nudged his knee between my legs. “Speaking of which…”

  I repositioned myself to accommodate him. “Does this count as exercise?” I asked. “Because it would save me a trip to the gym.”

  In response, he got up on his knees, grabbed my legs and threw them over his shoulders. His smile was borderline wicked. “Consider me your personal trainer.”

  Half an hour later I scratched the gym off my to do list.

  Nick rolled over onto his back and leaned his head against the backboard. I tucked in under his arm, my head resting on his chest.

  “So,” he said, and his heartbeat quickened marginally. “I heard you had a little adventure last night.”

  “How did you—oh. Alphonso. When did he call you?”

  “From the car. He said you and Sherese had a real heart-to-heart.”

  “I was going to tell you.”

  “It’s not a requirement, Angel.”

  “No. I want to. I went over there because I felt bad for her and the kids. But after talking to Sherese—I don’t know. I have a weird feeling about this, Nick. I think there’s more to Calvin Doyle’s murder than what I’ve assumed to be true.”

  “Do you have anything concrete to go on?”

  “Not much. She mentioned the guys had been working for someone else. And they didn’t want him to know Mario was causing trouble.” I shrugged. “Maybe I’m just stirring things up because I’m bored, or I’m trying to avoid thinking about gang bangers coming after me.”

  “Trust your instincts, Brandy. They’re among your strongest assets. Talk to me.”

  I told him how Sherese had met Calvin and that they were close. “I don’t exactly know what that entailed, but he was nice to her in ways nobody else ever was.”

  “Until you came along.”

  I ignored that and continued. “We were right about Donte meeting Cal at work. But, according to Sherese, Cal wasn’t a part of the dog fighting ring. That was strictly a cousins thing. Well, them and the charmer who threatened Roger King.”

  “But Doyle was there the night Mario got beat up. Wasn’t he the one who’d threatened to shoot him?”

  “Yeah,” I conceded. “Only, from what I gather, he was just there to protect his other interests.”

  “Meaning Sherese?”

  “Sherese and whatever other business dealings he had going with Mario and Donte. One thing was clear. He was scared. Said if the boss found out, they’d all be dead. Which begs the question, who’s the boss?”

  Nick leaned across me and reached for the hand rolled cigarettes he kept in the drawer of his bed stand. He put one to his lips and looked around for a match.

  “I thought you’d quit.”

  It was supposed to come out like a mild observation…y’know, no big deal, just wondering. Instead, it sounded the way I meant it. Oh my god, you’re two puffs away from lung cancer!

  “Being good is overrated. Everyone needs a vice, Darlin’.”

  “Oh yeah?” I challenged. “So, what’s mine?”

  “Me.”

  “I considered this. “Well…” I took the unlit cigarette from his mouth and tossed it back into the drawer. Pushing him onto his back, I straddled him. “In that case, I’m about to be very, very bad.”

  By the time we left the bed it was almost noon. “What are your plans for today?” Nick asked. He was dressed in his workout clothes; a pair of loose fitting sweats and a snug tee shirt. In his hands he held two demitasse cups of espresso. He gave me one and took a sip from the other.

  I thought about making something up. Something nice and safe like job hunting, or going curtain shopping with Franny. But this was Nick, not Bobby. “I want to find out more about Calvin Doyle…who he hung out with…stuff like that. All roads may lead back to Donte Lewis, but I’m not convinced of that just yet. I’m going to start by talking to that guard, Edie Wyncote. She worked with Doyle at the hospital.”

  A look flickered across his face; brief, but all too familiar.

  “Or maybe I’ll go curtain shopping with Franny.”

  Nick finished his espresso and placed his cup in the sink. I walked him to the foyer and waited while he gathered his keys, his sunglasses and his gun. When he was ready to go he put his arms around my waist and hugged me to him. “Be careful curtain shopping,” he murmured into my hair. “Call if you need me.”

  *****

  When I got to the hospital security desk, I saw two unfamiliar faces in place of Edie and Calvin Doyle.

  “Hi. I’m looking for Edie Wyncote. Is she working today?”

  “Edie’s on a break,” one of them told me. “She usually brings her lunch a
nd eats outside in the garden on the third floor.”

  I found her sitting with a group of co-workers, huddled under the shade of an aluminum striped awning. She looked up in recognition as I walked toward her. “Hey, hi. You’re back.”

  “Hi, Edie.” “Listen, I was wondering if I could talk to you a minute.” I cut my eyes toward her lunch mates and added, “It’s sort’ve personal.”

  She shot me a quizzical look. “Sure.”

  Edie got up and gathered the remains of her lunch and tossed it into the trash bin. I followed her to the other side of the garden where she settled on a wooden bench. I took a seat next to her.

  “I’m here to talk to you about the guard I saw you with the other day. Calvin Doyle.”

  “What about him?” Her tone was mildly curious.

  The question caught me off guard. I’d thought the police would have interviewed the hospital staff by now. Clearly, she didn’t know what had happened to him, and I didn’t want to be the one to tell her. Unh! This just served as another illustration of why I should plan ahead.

  “How well do you know Calvin?” I asked.

  “Not real well. He just works at the hospital part time, and sometimes we share a shift.” Edie frowned. “Look. I’m not comfortable talking about Calvin behind his back. Is he in some sort of trouble?”

  Not anymore he’s not. “Um, Edie. I have something to tell you.”

  I tried to gloss over the details, alluding to the notion that I was working with the police and wasn’t at liberty to divulge more than a cursory, “He’s dead and we’re looking into it.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Edie whispered. “He was a nice guy.” That seemed to be the general consensus, unless you asked Mario, whose ass Cal had wanted to cap…and did. “Do the police have any idea who killed him or why it happened?”

  I spread my hands out in front of me, a gesture meant to convey I wish I could tell you, but I have to follow orders. “Edie, you said Cal only worked at the hospital part time. Did he have another job?”

  “Not that I know of. He didn’t talk much about his private life.”

  I thought for a moment. “How about hobbies? Or friends? Did he ever mention anyone he hung out with or anything like that?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Nothing comes to mind.” She glanced over at the table under the awning where her friends had been seated. The table was empty. “My break is up,” she announced, rising. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

  I stood too. Scrounging around in my pocket book, I found an old Acme receipt. I tore it in half and took down Edie’s number. Then, I scribbled my name and number on the other half and handed it to her. “Edie, if you do happen to think of anything, could you give me a call?”

  “Sure thing.” She studied the slip of paper a moment. “Listen, I don’t know if this is the kind of stuff you mean but, sometimes when Cal’s shift was over, someone would come around in a van to pick him up.”

  “Did Cal ever mention who it was?”

  “No. But I remember the van, because there were words written on the side of it. You know, like advertising for a business.”

  “Can you recall what it said?”

  “Wait.” She closed her eyes as if trying to conjure up an image. A minute later her eyes popped open. “The sign said K-9 Security Services.”

  “K-9 Security Services,” I repeated, committing it to memory. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Hey. Do me a favor. Let me know what you find out.”

  “I will. And, thanks.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I was just leaving the hospital when John called me. “Hey, Sunshine. I’m trying out a new recipe I saw on the Food Network today. You want to come over for dinner?”

  A real, home cooked meal sounded like heaven. Nick had scheduled some late training sessions, which left me to fend for myself. My idea of fending is a bowl of corn flakes and a stack of peanut butter crackers. “That’d be great. Will Garrett be there?”

  John was immediately on guard. His voice pitched low. “Why?”

  “No reason.” Actually, I had come up with a new strategy to win Garrett’s favor. I figured I’d appeal to his love of culture and dazzle him with my extensive knowledge of fine art and literature.

  “I didn’t invite him. It’s just you and me.”

  Crap. I memorized those Trivial Pursuit cards for nothing.

  “Maybe we should make it for another time. I’ll bring Nick over, you ask Garrett, and we could do a game night.”

  “You hate games. And besides, you have the attention span of a flea. The last time we played Monopoly you quit before we even finished setting up the board.” John began to cackle.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I was just picturing the four of us together. You and Garrett would be trying not to strangle each other, while Santiago and I bonded over the fondue pot and a rousing game of Yahtzee.”

  I really love John, but sometimes I want to smack him. “Fine, John. Make your little jokes.”

  “Bran, why are you pushing this?”

  “Because I want Nick to know my friends. And how is Garrett ever going to learn to like me if we don’t spend any time together?”

  “Will you stop obsessing about Garrett? It is what it is.”

  “It is what it is? What does that even mean, John? Of course it is what it is. What else would it be? What I want to know is how to change what it is.”

  “You’re giving me a headache. I’ll see you at seven.”

  I took a circuitous route back to Nick’s apartment, via my neighborhood. It’s not that I didn’t love staying with him. Hell, I’d camp out in a tent on top of Mt. Saint Helen’s as long as we could share a sleeping bag. But this was my home, and I missed it.

  As I turned onto my block, a sudden, intense, flash of anger surfaced and formed a burning lump in my esophagus. At first, I’d thought my lunch was taking a walk down memory lane. (I’d indulged in a couple of spicy shrimp tacos at a food truck in Powelton Village. Maybe not the best idea, but who can resist Taco Tuesday!)

  However, indigestion didn’t account for the clammy hands and palpitating heart. God damn gang bangers. I hated being at anyone’s mercy. What I hated even more was being afraid. Would I ever feel safe in this world? I pulled over to the curb in front of my house and sat there feeling very sorry for myself. And the next thing I knew, the tears were falling again. Note to self: You cry too damn much. Look into hormone therapy.

  *****

  According to their website, (which featured pictures of big, scary looking dogs with bared teeth and names like Zeus and Diablo) K-9 Security Services offered “a variety of services for all of your commercial and residential protection needs.” What it didn’t advertise is someone that worked there knew Calvin Doyle. Maybe they could shed some light on who killed him.

  I called the police station to give them the inside scoop on my investigation. That resulted in a brief, but spirited conversation with a cop I mentally dubbed Officer Crankypants, who, apparently, did not share my enthusiasm for working as a team. Duly noted. I printed out the address and stuffed it in my pocket.

  I’d taken the dogs on a long walk and was running late for John’s. No time now for a shower, so I cheated and doubled up on deodorant. It left a white streak on my shirt, which would bother John no end. I laughed just thinking about it.

  Along the way I stopped to get some Ben & Jerry’s, in case John was on another health food kick and mistook fruit for a real dessert. When he opened the door to his apartment, I handed him the ice cream and then did a double take—the cartoon kind where the guy’s head swivels all the way around in surprise and a big bubble appears above him with the word YIKES written inside in capital letters.

  “Oh, hey!” I said, with way too much enthusiasm. “You got your hair…done! Um, is that a perm?”

  “Garrett says they’re making a comeback. So, what do you think?”

  “It’s uh…it’s…n
ice.”

  John looked skeptical. “We tell each other the truth, remember? Here, I’ll start. You’ve got deodorant on your shirt. Okay, your turn. And be honest.”

  I sighed. “Honestly? It looks like you’re trying out for the lead in Annie!”

  “Damn it, I knew this was a bad idea.”

  “Then, why—”

  “Garrett thought it might be fun for me to experiment with my style.” I’m not sure, but I thought I detected a note of sarcasm in his voice. He walked into the kitchen carrying the cartons of ice cream. I followed behind him, thinking.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “We can fix this. I mean, how many times have we watched Legally Blonde? Remember the way Elle solved the crime with cosmetological reasoning? You just need to wash it out is all.”

  John shook his head. The curls flounced around like they were spring loaded. “No good. I already tried, but I waited too long.”

  “So cut it all off. Bald is sexy.”

  That got a laugh out of him. He paused. “Listen, Bran, thanks for not giving me a hard time about this.”

  I shrugged. “It’s only hair, John.”

  “You know I’m not talking about the hair, right?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Over Mario Batali’s recipe for Fettucine Bolognese I filled John in on Calvin Doyle. He listened with growing agitation, his eyes wide, his fork poised in the air. When I was finished, he waited a nano second before laying into me.

  “All right, I tried not to say anything, because of you being so nice about my hair. But I’ve got to be honest with you. I think you’re an adrenalin junkie.”

  “Well, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “You know, addicted to dangerous situations. If you need excitement, why can’t you just have sex in public places like normal people?”

  “God, John. I know what it means. But do you honestly believe I enjoyed being shot at? Or that I went looking to get trapped in a cellar with Barbeque Man? I’m not getting some kind of sick thrill out of any of this. And just to set the record straight, once and for all, I don’t have a death wish, and I’m not going off the deep end. Look, you weren’t there at Sherese’s. Calvin Doyle wasn’t much, but he’s all she had. The least anyone can do is to help her find out the truth about who killed him. Now, could we please just shut up about it and move on?”