Wade gestured to a couple of plastic chairs in the corner in what constituted the waiting area. We sat down and I spat out my carefully rehearsed tale.
“I was visiting a friend at the hospital the other day, and I ran across this guy. We started talking—you know how it is.” I thought of Nick naked and made myself blush. “So anyway, he dropped something, and I ran out to give it to him, but he’d already driven away.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but why would you come here looking for him?”
“Oh, well, he was picked up in a K-Nine Security van. So I thought maybe he worked here. I was in the neighborhood, so I decided to check it out. His name is Cal. I didn’t catch his last name.”
I waited for confirmation that he knew him, but all I heard was the soft tinkling of one of his spurs as he tapped his foot on the tiled floor.”
“Ring any bells?” I asked, finally.
Wade shook his head. “Sorry. The person that told you this must’ve gotten us mixed up with another company. We have a strict policy against taking riders. That would be grounds for dismissal. It’s an insurance thing,” he explained. “I have to protect my business.” He stood, signaling the end of our chat.
I stood, too. “Well, I appreciate your time. So, um, I was thinking, Wade. This place would make a wonderful piece for a report on local businesses, and it could be a real boost for you. Do you think I could look around a bit?”
“Sorry.” He cut me an apologetic smile. “I don’t have time to escort you around.”
Just then Tattoo Lady came back into the room. “That sounds like a great idea, hon. Wade, I’ll take her around. We could use the publicity.” She grabbed my hand and whisked me down the hallway. Wade started to follow but she cut him off. “I thought you said you don’t have time for this. And anyway, Ted’s on the phone with that new client. He wants to talk to you. Pick up line three.”
The woman and I continued down the hall. It led to an outside kennel. Rottweilers, Pits and Dobermans were housed in four by eight enclosures. They looked hungry. I swung wide and inched a bit closer to my tour guide.
“Don’t worry, they’re well trained. They won’t hurt you without provocation or a command. My name is Kaye, by the way. Wade is my nephew.” She gave a hearty chuckle. “Wade isn’t a people person, so I’m usually the one to deal with the public.”
“Have you worked here long?”
“Three years in May. Started right after my divorce. What a jerk wad. I still don’t know what I saw in him.”
“I met a guy the other day,” I confided, “and we really seemed to hit it off. I thought he was really nice, and cute, and well…you know how hard it is to meet nice guys.”
“Tell me about it,” she agreed. “This guy sounds like a keeper.”
“That’s actually what brought me here in the first place. I saw him getting into a K-Nine Security van, and I came here looking for him. I told Wade he’d left something behind and I wanted to return it.” I giggled like a nine year-old. “Guess I was too embarrassed to tell him the truth. Anyway, his name is Cal.”
“No one by that name works here, hon. But we have two drivers, besides Wade, that is. Ernesto and Phil. Maybe one of them knows your guy. They’re over in the parking lot hosing down the vans.”
“Listen, Kaye, maybe I should talk to them myself. I mean, if you’re there, they may not admit they disobeyed company policy and used the work van to give a friend a ride.”
She cut me off with a puzzled frown. “Company policy? There’s no company policy.”
Hmm…No company policy…which means either Kaye isn’t up on all the legalities of the business or her nephew is a big, fat liar.
“Oh. I must have misunderstood.”
Kaye tugged my arm and we slowed to a stop. “Between you and me, they’re not the classiest act in town. So if that person, Cal, is a friend of theirs, I’d be careful.” She shrugged, and the tattooed skull on her left rotator’s cuff bobbed its head in seeming agreement.
We resumed walking, and I spotted a smaller set of kennels. They housed a couple of Labs, a beagle and two young pit bulls. “Are they guard dogs too?”
Kaye shook her head. “Not hardly. These babies are drug sniffers. My nephew has a small, side business. He’s got a couple of companies that use him on a regular basis. He trains the dogs himself. You’d think they were his kids the way he fusses over them.”
We reached the parking lot. There were two white vans and one black one; each with the K-Nine Security logo painted on the side. A couple of guys in service uniforms stood behind them, squirting each other with a hose.
“I’ve got to get back to the front desk,” Kaye said. “Come back and see me when you’re done. I think a story on this place is just what we need. You two behave yourselves,” she called out good naturedly. This girl wants to do a story on us.”
One of the men turned off the water as I approached. The other drew a cigarette from behind his ear and stuck it in his mouth. The tip was wet and it took a couple of tries to light it.
The guy with the hose held onto it like it was a giant dick and puckered his lips in my direction. It made me wish I’d taken Janine up on her offer to come with me. She’d have smacked him upside the head, no problem. I didn’t have a problem with it either, except I didn’t think that would go over too well, and I needed information.
“Hi,” I said and ignored the show. “Sorry to bother you guys, but Kaye suggested I talk to you. You got a minute?”
Smokey drew in a long tobacco breath and threw the rest of the cigarette onto the gravel.
“Trying to quit, huh? My dad used the same technique for years.”
“Yeah? Did it work?”
“Not so much.”
Smokey laughed. “So, how can we help you?”
“Long story,” I said. “But I’m looking for a guy named Cal. I have reason to believe he had a friend or acquaintance who works here.”
“He owe you money?” asked Hose Boy.
“No, nothing like that. I met him the other night and we started talking. I thought it would be nice to see him again.”
“Don’t know him. Sorry.” He turned the water back on and returned to washing the vans.
I tried again. “That’s okay. It’s probably for the best. Anyway, like Kaye said, I’m going to be writing a story on your company, so I hope you don’t mind me asking a few questions.”
“Ask away,” said Smokey, whose name turned out to be Ernesto.
“So, do you train dogs too, or are you strictly drivers?”
“We’re professional trainers. In fact, Wade turned most of the security and protection training over to Phil and me, so that he could work exclusively with the drug detection dogs. There’s a real demand for this kind of work, but he wants to keep the business small, for now.”
Oh, great. A complete change of subject. Now, how am I going to work the conversation back around to the vans? I know! I’ll do it super awkwardly! “So do you each drive your own vans or do you have to share them? I shared a car with a roommate once. Major drag. She was a real slob. Kept leaving empty soda cans everywhere.” Unh! Way to go, Alexander. Who gives a shit about my imaginary roommate’s clutter disorder?
Ernesto did not seem to notice. He considered my question as if it were Pulitzer Prize winning material. “Phil and I drive the white vans. Phil’s a lot shorter and I hate readjusting the seat and mirrors, so we try to stick to the same van each time we go out. The black van is Wade’s.”
Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to leave. “Well, thanks for all the info. I’ll let you know when my story hits the air.”
“That’s it?”
“For now. Listen, please tell Kaye thanks and I’ll be in touch.”
I felt two pair of eyes bore into my back as I ran back to my car.
Janine was asleep in the passenger’s seat. All the windows had been rolled down and she was swimming in sweat. She woke up as I opened the door.
“Finally,”
she grumbled. “Can we go now?”
“One more minute. I swear.” I took out my phone and punched in Edie Wyncotte’s number. “Edie, it’s Brandy Alexander. Quick question. What color was the van that Calvin Doyle got picked up in?” Her answer came as no surprise.
Chapter Fourteen
“Vince, I’m telling you. Wade Stoller is hiding something. Why else would he lie about not knowing Calvin Doyle?”
Vince scowled. “Christ, Brandy. That’s all you’ve talked about since the minute you got here. Will you quit obsessing?”
We were browsing the accessories counter at Meow Ming’s, a trendy boutique on South Street, in search of a birthday present for his mother. Somehow, I didn’t think her idea of the perfect gift would be a set of $280.00 hand-made prayer beads from a remote Tibetan village—or anything else in the store, for that matter. Mrs. Giancola was more of a crock pot kind of gal.
“I am not obsessing.”
“Yeah? Then, what would you call it?”
“Determined curiosity.”
Vince cracked a smile. The thing is, though, he had a point.
I was obsessing. Maybe it was because I didn’t have a job to occupy my time, so I was looking for connections where they simply didn’t exist. But I didn’t think so. I’d made Stoller nervous. I could see it in the way he began to tap his foot and couldn’t quite meet my eye when I asked him if he knew Calvin Doyle. And he lied about there being a rule against picking up passengers. Edie Wyncote identified his company van, and he’s the only one who drives the black one. Sure, Phil or Ernesto, or even his aunt could have taken it when he wasn’t around, but that wouldn’t make sense, since they each had one of their own to drive. The more I thought about it, the more sure I was.
Vince picked a multi-colored scarf out of a woven basket and rolled the material between his thumb and forefinger. I wrinkled my nose and he put it back down.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here. There’s an antique shop across the street that sells Depression Era glassware. I saw some really cool stuff in the window. Your mother will love it.”
Half an hour later, Vince walked out of Grandma’s Attic the proud owner of a Mayfair Open Rose Pitcher. “You were right,” he told me. “This is perfect. Y’know,” he laughed, “my mother says all she ever wants for her birthday is for my sisters and me to get along. So, one year, we took her at her word. She stopped talking to us for a month.”
I grinned. “You know what else I’m right about?” I stopped to grab a couple of soft pretzels off a street vendor. This was an exercise in self control, as I did not order a cherry water ice to go with it.
“Let me guess,” he said, and punctuated it with a massive grunt. “Wade Stoller.”
“Vince—”
He held up a hand to stop me. “Look, even if the guy did lie to you, it’s not exactly grounds for arrest. You’re not an officer of the law.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he’s not hiding something.”
“Okay, look. I’ve got to be honest with you, Brandy. You could have been in serious trouble after that stunt you pulled when you broke into Mario Lewis’ house. They could still cite you for interfering with an investigation.”
“Are you friggin’ kidding me?” I huffed and quickened my step to put distance between us. I knew I was being a brat, but I don’t do frustration well.
“What are you so pissed off about?” he bristled, jogging to catch up with me.
I stopped short. “First of all, I didn’t break in. And second, there wouldn’t have even been an investigation if I hadn’t discovered Doyle’s dead body. For all we know, he could still be down there, stinking up the entire neighborhood.” And then a thought occurred to me. “Did Bobby ask you to keep me out of the loop?” It wouldn’t be the first time…or the fourth or fifth.
Vince frowned. “DiCarlo had nothing to do with this.”
“Really? Well, good.” In actuality, I felt a little hurt. Didn’t he care about me anymore?
I waited while Vince caught his breath and then handed him one of the pretzels. He smothered it in mustard and took a giant-sized bite.
“Look, Vincent, I’m not mad at you. And I’m not trying to tell people how to do their jobs. It’s just that—” I paused, remembering Sherese’s anguished face. “It’s just that my interest in this case is—personal.”
“It always is with you. That’s why you’d make a lousy cop.” He took another bite of pretzel, chewed and swallowed. “But you make a hell of a friend. Okay. Fine,” he relented. “I’ll give the investigating officer Stoller’s name and suggest he check him out. I’m sure it’ll go over real well. They love it when the D.A. tells them how to do their job. Happy now?”
“Thank you. And tell them to check out the guys that work for him, too.”
“Anything else?”
I took my napkin and dabbed a glob of mustard off the corner of his mouth. “Nope. That’s got it.”
*****
On the way back to Nick’s place I stopped by Carla’s hair salon to get my bangs trimmed. I walked through the door and immediately panicked as I spied a young woman sitting behind the counter, filing her nails. Her name was Bonita, and she was definitely not a fan. At the sound of the door buzzer, she looked up. She glared at me and arranged her pouty lips into a fairly impressive sneer.
“Well, that’s a little unfair,” I thought. “What have I ever done to her?” Okay, so Bonita and Bobby’s ex-wife, Marie, were best friends. And maybe I did, indirectly, have a hand in getting Marie deported, after she’d offered to kill me. But that was ages ago. Sheesh. The woman really knew how to hold onto a grudge.
In an effort to diffuse the situation, I extended my arm in greeting. “Hi, Bonita. Not sure if you remember me…I’m Carla’s friend, Brandy.”
Bonita continued to glare. I stood there for an embarrassing moment before returning my arm to my side. “Is Carla here?” I asked.
Thankfully I didn’t need to wait for a response, because at that moment, Carla emerged from the back room.
“Hi, hon. This is a nice surprise.”
“Hey, Carla,” I babbled, stealing glances at Bonita. “Just thought I’d come by and get the ol’ bang-a-langs trim-a-roo’d.” I don’t know why, exactly, but whenever I’m faced with a socially uncomfortable moment, I start talking like Ned Flanders.
This time even Carla looked at me funny. She took my arm and led me over to a recliner chair at the hair-washing station.
“Honey, why don’t we give your hair a wash? Maybe trim some of those split ends along with your bangs. Freshen you up a little bit.”
I melted a little at her words. Guess I needed the mothering more than I’d realized.
“Thanks, Carla.”
“Just sit down and get comfortable,” she told me. “Bonita, come on over. You’ve got a customer.”
“Bonita?” I bolted upright. “Um, do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“Oh? Didn’t I tell you? Bonita graduated last week from her prison work-release program. And since she’s done such a great job cleaning up around here, we promoted her to hair washer.” Carla beamed, proud of her protégé.
“That’s great!” I replied, a little too enthusiastically to be convincing to anyone but Carla. That’s the trouble with genuinely sweet people. They always think the best of others.
Bonita approached, her trademark scowl having suddenly transformed into a grin.
She grabbed a smock and tossed it to me. I pushed a reluctant hand through the armhole.
Carla patted me on my injured shoulder. I bit back a wince. “I’ll be through with Mrs. Parnelli in a minute,” she said. “Just come to station three when you’re done.”
“Lean back,” Bonita instructed, and shoved my head into the basin. My neck felt like it was resting on rocks, but I did as I was told.
“Um, the other shampoo lady usually puts a towel down to cushion my neck…but this is good, too.” Was is my imagination, or was steam rising
from the faucet? “Ow!”
“Too hot?”
“Maybe just a tad.”
She cranked the heat up some more and began scrubbing my head with her stiletto-like nails.
“Um, Bonita, I just washed my hair, yesterday. Honestly, it’s not that dirty. In fact, a little oil is good for the scalp…”
In response, she grabbed a hunk of my hair and twisted it in her fist, pulling the skin around my eyes so tight my cheeks felt like the product of a botched face lift. I elbowed her in the gut and she let go.
“Puta,” she muttered under her breath.
Now, I may have flunked first year Spanish, but I knew what that word meant. “Yo, Bonita,” I said, jumping out of the chair. “Puta this.”
I was all set to shove her into tomorrow, when Carla came up behind me. “Well, I see you’re all done here. Great!” She grabbed my hand and steered me down to station three. Conditioner dripped off my head onto the floor.
“She called me puta.”
Carla sighed. “Maybe she meant it as a compliment.” She began toweling the extra conditioner out of my hair. “So,” she said, after a beat, “why are you really here, sweetie?”
“I told you. I wanted to get my bangs trimmed.”
“Your bangs are fine.”
Damn. The woman was good. “Carla, when you and Uncle Frankie first got together, did you ever worry that maybe you wouldn’t fit in with each other’s worlds? Or that your friends wouldn’t accept him? Or that you might want more than he could give? Or that he played everything so close to the vest, you were afraid you’d never really know him? Or—”
“Sweetie, is everything all right between you and Nick?”
“Absolutely. Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” I caught the reflection of her smile in the mirror as she picked up a pair of scissors and snipped away at my split ends. “I’m thinking about having a dinner party next weekend,” she said. “Nothing big. Just you and Nick, if you’re free.”
“Are you sure? I mean, that would be great. But, y’know, Uncle Frankie…”
“Your uncle will be fine. He loves you and he wants you to be happy. If he has a problem with Nick, I’ll remind him that he wasn’t exactly a dream catch, either. At least not according to my family. And look how well that turned out.”
No Such Thing as a Lost Cause Page 19
