No Such Thing as a Lost Cause

by Shelly Fredman

  All I had was a gut feeling and a thirty second youtube clip, so I didn’t rush to talk it over with the police. My intuition would be a hard sell to those assigned to the case. Especially after the Claire Dobbs debacle.

  Somewhere in the middle of perusing Stoller’s client list I fell asleep. When I awoke two hours later the sun had already gone down. But even in the darkness, I knew I wasn’t alone.

  My brain was set to auto-panic, but as I breathed in, all I felt was a sense of joy and well being. My heart did a happy dance and I rolled over into Nick’s arms.

  “When did you get back?”

  “About an hour ago. You were dead to the world, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “I wasn’t asleep. Just resting my eyes.”

  “You were sleeping.” Nick brushed my bangs away from my face. “You hate feeling vulnerable, don’t you?” he said, softly. It wasn’t an accusation, just an observation, and I was grateful that he knew me so well.

  I snuggled in closer. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you, too.” He got up and stripped off his clothes and climbed back into bed. I laid my head on his bare chest and listened as his breathing began to quicken.

  “So, how’d things go in…uh, where’d you say you went again?”

  In response he slid his hand under my shirt and slipped his tongue in my mouth.

  “That’s not an answer,” I said, although it was a spectacular diversionary tactic.

  “Will it do for now?”

  “For now,” I agreed, because even as I pressed for details, those age-old words of wisdom rattled around in my mind. Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.

  I untangled myself from his arms and walked over to the curtains and let the moonlight stream in. Nick’s clothes lay in a pile on the floor in the corner of the room. They smelled of dirt, and secret, exotic locations, and I was gripped by a pang of fear that was washed away the moment he reached for me again.

  Later, we sat at the bar in his kitchen, and I watched while he whipped up dinner; linguine with mussels and a radicchio salad.

  “Open,” he commanded, and pressed a spoonful of buttery, garlic flavored broth to my lips.

  “Oh, my God. This is fantastic.” I took the spoon from him and helped myself to more. “Seriously, is there anything you can’t do?”

  “Actually, there are quite a few things, Angel.”

  “Name one.”

  Nick’s smile flickered. “I noticed there wasn’t a lot of food in the apartment,” he said, deftly changing the subject. “Just what were you eating while I was away?”

  “Stuff.” Mostly dessert, but if Nick could keep secrets, I could, too.

  “Touche.” He smiled again and handed me a long handled wooden fork. “Dinner’s almost ready. Would you mind testing the linguine for me?”

  I plunged the fork in the pot and stirred it around a bit and then scooped up some pasta. Years ago, my mother, a notoriously bad cook, (a fact that flies in the face of her Italian heritage) told me that if I threw the noodles against the wall and they stuck it was ready to eat. After years of overcooked pasta that tasted like Elmer’s Glue, I came up with my own method to test for doneness. Pop a strand into my mouth and chew. If it doesn’t break a tooth, it’s good to go.

  Over dinner, I filled Nick in on my trip to K-Nine Security. “Aside from the fact that I got caught red-handed, I think it went pretty well.”

  “You got out alive. That’s always a plus.”

  “True. Anyway, for the sake of argument, let’s assume that Stoller is running some kind of illegal operation. He meets Calvin Doyle, they get to talking, and Stoller ends up hiring Doyle to help him with whatever it is he’s doing. ”

  “Doyle knows Donte Lewis from the hospital. He brings Donte on board, and through him, Mario and Torch.”

  “Right. Now, whether Stoller knew about the other guys is a moot point. The main thing is Mario fucks up, so they kill him before Stoller finds out. Except, they didn’t bargain on that video going viral. Stoller sees it and realizes that Cal got him involved with a bunch of incompetents.” I stabbed a clam off my plate and popped it into my mouth.

  “Sounds plausible,” Nick mused. “But it doesn’t explain how Doyle’s charred body ended up in Donte Lewis’ basement.”

  “I’m working on it,” I said and made a mental note to hound Mike again.

  “By the way,” Nick said, “I got some information on the illusive Mr. Torch.” He paused. “Maybe we should have this discussion after dinner.”

  You would think all that talk of charred bodies would dampen my appetite. Sadly, it did not. I took another helping, because, honestly, I didn’t know when I’d eat so well again. “Nah, I’m good. So, what did you find out?”

  Nick reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet and handed me a piece of paper. I unfolded it and shuddered. It was a copy of Torch’s mug shot. One of many, I surmised. I stared hard at the smug smile and eerily vacant eyes. So this is what it looks like to be born without a soul.

  “His real name is Reginald Harwinton,” Nick told me. “By all accounts, he’s seriously disturbed. He spent a couple of years upstate in the psych ward of a maximum security prison for, among other things, setting fire to a dog. Even his Junk Town brethren are afraid of him. He operates on his own quite a bit. Doesn’t show particular loyalty to the gang, but he’s always there when something fun goes down. If anything needs to be tortured, Reggie’s your man—which, by the way, is where his nickname originally came from. The blowtorch was a later addition. The word is he’d do anything on a bet or for a buck.”

  Putting a face to the name was more than I could stand. I folded the picture up and tossed it on the counter.

  “What’s wrong, Angel?”

  “I feel so out of control.”

  Nick slid off the bar stool and wrapped his arms around me. “I know you do, Darlin.’ You want your life back. And since that’s not possible right now, you’re putting all your energy into solving other people’s problems. What do you say we put all this aside, just for tonight? I have something that might make you feel better.”

  He reached into the cabinet and took out a box of TASTYKAKES.

  “Hey,” I said, lighting up. “They weren’t there this afternoon.”

  “I picked them up for you on the way home, today.”

  “I guess it would be pointless to ask on your way home from where.” The words came out with an unintended edge. I averted my eyes from his gaze and opened the box. “Thank you for getting them for me.” I unwrapped two and ate them and washed them down with some wine.

  “Okay,” I decided, after a healthy slug of Pinot Grigio. (I don’t even like wine, but I’m trying to class up my palette a bit.) “We’re going to play a modified version of Twenty Questions. I’m going to ask you some questions and you can only answer with a yes or no. But it has to be the truth. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

  Nick drained his wine glass and set it on the coffee table. “I think we may have different ideas of what constitutes fun. I’ll answer three. So choose carefully.”

  “First question. Whatever you were doing when you went away, were you in danger?”

  He looked at me steadily. “Yes.”

  “Was it legal?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Yes or no only.”

  “Then, no.”

  “Do you love me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Enough to trust me with your secrets?”

  “That was four questions, Angel. Game over.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Are you avoiding Bobby?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Did he say I was avoiding him? Because I’m not.”

  Fran snickered softly into the phone. “So, how come you’re avoiding him?”

  It was mid morning, and traffic was backed up all the way to City Hall. I was on my way to Sherese’s house. I would have called first, but I didn’t know her phone number. Plus, I
wasn’t entirely sure she would speak to me. The last time I’d seen her, we’d parted on a semi-friendly note, but that could change in a heartbeat.

  “Look,” I said and swung wide to avoid a bicyclist, “I am a very busy person, Fran. What with butting into other people’s business, feeding my neurotic impulses, dwelling on all the mistakes I’ve made, both personal and professional—not to mention a week’s worth of King of Queens reruns to catch up on, I don’t have time to think about Bobby.”

  “Yeah, okay. So, what did he do to piss you off?”

  “I saw him kissing his new girlfriend in DiVinci’s parking lot.”

  “I can’t believe it. The man should be horse whipped.”

  “Sarcasm noted and appreciated. Believe me, I know how dumb this is, and I’m working on it.”

  “Good, because Eddie’s birthday’s coming up, and I was thinking of having a party for him. But I’ll limit the guest list to just the gang and no extras if it’s too awkward for you.” Extras, meaning Lauren, who I couldn’t help but like, (damn it) and Garret, the poster boy for hipster dufus.

  And then there was Nick, which brought up a whole other set of worries. After my not so subtle attempt to get him to open up, things felt a bit strained between us.

  “I don’t mean to shut you out, Angel,” he’d explained, afterwards. “But trust doesn’t come naturally to me. I don’t know that it ever will.”

  “I get it,” I’d told him. I hate it, but I get it.

  “Invite whoever you want, hon. I’ll deal. Unh. I just missed my turn.” I hung a quick u-ie and headed back the other way. Someone honked. Obviously, he was driving too fast. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have appeared like I’d cut him off. I rolled down my window. “Yo, chooch. Learn to drive.”

  “Go pay attention to the road,” Fran said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Good idea. Love you, Franny.”

  “Love you, too.”

  The scenery began to change at around Randolph and Erie. I rolled up my window and turned on the air, mostly to rid the car of the oppressive stench of broken dreams. Crack House Alley was to my right. I turned left at Junk Town and drove a couple more blocks to Garland.

  I parked in front of the Rogers’ house and walked across the street. Sherese’s door was shut and the curtains drawn. I didn’t relish re-entering the garbage heap she called home, but I had more questions and I was counting on her for the answers.

  Avoiding the broken step on the porch, I went up to the door and gave a tentative knock. Inside, the TV blared. I knocked louder. Presently, the curtain moved and Sherese’s little girl appeared at the window.

  “Mama, there’s a lady at the door.”

  “Get away from the window, Ayana.”

  “Sherese,” I called out. “It’s Brandy Alexander. I’d like to talk to you.”

  The curtain opened a bit wider, and I stepped back so that she could get a look at me. It swung closed again, and a few seconds later the front door opened.

  Sherese stood in the entryway, her toddler son peering out from between her legs.

  “What you want?” There was no hostility in her voice, only curiosity. Something else was different about her, this time, too. She was sober.

  “Look, can I come in?”

  While she didn’t exactly welcome me with open arms, she stepped aside to let me enter. My eyes automatically darted around the living room. Something was different. Where did all the dirty dishes go? And the place smelled…good. Like Pine Sol Disinfectant…or, the equally effective but economically cheaper generic brand. In the corner sat the hobby horse and one of the books I’d picked out for the kids.

  Ayana stared at me with wide, unblinking eyes.

  “Ayana,” Sherese instructed, “take your brother into the bedroom and try to get him down for a nap, okay, baby girl?”

  “No nap.” The little boy screamed.

  Ayana took him by the hand and coaxed him out of the room with promises of candy.

  “You wanna sit down?” Sherese shoved a blanket off the sofa and cleared a space for me.

  “Thanks.” I sat on the edge of the sofa and began. “The reason I’m here is—and I don’t mean to stir up painful memories for you, but I’d like to ask you some questions about Calvin Doyle.”

  “Why? It’s not gonna bring him back.”

  “Okay, this is the thing. The cops believe Calvin was killed over a drug deal gone wrong. I’m not privy to what all they’re basing this on. I do know that Donte’s back door had been broken into. Maybe Cal surprised him and they got into a fight, and…well, you know the rest. The point is Donte is their number one suspect. Well, him and some psycho named Reginald Harwinton.”

  Sherese nodded. “The one they call Torch. He been to the house a few times. Every time he showed up I’d take the kids and leave. That man is evil, and I don’t mean it as no compliment. Anyway,” she added, “ like I told you before, what Mario and Cal was doing was their business. I don’t know nothin’ about it.”

  “Maybe you know more than you think. See, I might be wrong, but I don’t believe it happened the way the police have it figured.”

  “Yeah? Well, the cops haven’t done nothin’ for me so far. If you have any idea what really happened to Cal, I’m willing to listen.”

  I recounted for her the events that led me to Wade Stoller. “Does the name ring a bell?”

  Sherese pursed her lips in concentration. “No,” she said, finally. She picked up a pack of cigarettes from the coffee table, took one out and put it to her lips. “Mind if I smoke?”

  “Honestly?” I said.

  She shrugged and tossed it back on the table. “So, you think that Cal and them others was working for that guy, Stoller. But you don’t know what they was doing for him.”

  “Right,” I admitted. “But I’m pretty sure it had to do with his drug detection business.”

  Sherese looked wistful. “All I know is Cal said he was working on something that could make him some money and he’d take me on a vacation.”

  Something that had been rattling around in the back of my mind pushed its way to the forefront. “You’d told me that Cal had wanted to take you on a cruise. Why a cruise? I mean it’s sort’ve random, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I thought so, too. But he come over one day and tells me he knows somebody who can get him a free cruise and did I want to go. I said hell, yeah. I never been on a cruise before. Shit, I ain’t never been out of the neighborhood.”

  She stood and walked toward the bedroom, talking to me over her shoulder. “I got a what’cha call, a brochure in here. I’ll be right back.”

  Sherese emerged a few minutes later looking annoyed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t find it. It was sitting out in plain sight on my night stand. Ayana!” she bellowed. She had impressive lung power for a smoker.

  Ayana appeared at the doorway.

  “Did you take that picture of the ship off my night stand? And don’t lie to me.”

  Ayana took a precautionary side step. “No, Mama. I didn’t.”

  “You sure?”

  The little girl nodded and retreated into her bedroom.

  “It was right there,” Sherese murmured.

  “I notice the house was…” hmm…how to put this delicately…“spruced up. Maybe you put it somewhere for safe keeping.”

  “No.” She shook her head, her eyes filling up. “I liked looking at it. Y’know?” She was quiet for a beat. Then, “Now I think about it, I haven’t seen that brochure since the break in.”

  “What break in?” Wow. Did this woman have crappy luck or what?

  Sherese picked up the cigarette and, once again, put it to her lips. This time, she lit it and drew a deep breath, waving the smoke away from my general direction.

  “Couple of weeks ago, me and the kids went out on errands. When we came home the house was a mess. Shit everywhere. Every drawer was opened. Clothes and shit was dumped on the floor. Even the couch c
ushions were overturned. My baby’s piggy bank was broke in pieces. I checked around, and the back door window had been kicked in. I had to go and put boards up to keep the rats from climbing in.”

  “What was taken?”

  “Nothin’, far as I can tell. I ain’t got nothin’ worth taking. But it was nasty knowing somebody was pawing through our personal property. Candice, from across the street helped me to clean up,” she added, lowering her eyes. “I guess I let things get away from me since Mario passed.”

  I knew the answer to the next question, but I asked it anyway. “Did you call the police?”

  Sherese dragged on her cigarette and turned her head to let out a breath. “What was the use? Besides, I didn’t want them snooping around here. I couldn’t take a chance they’d find something wrong and bring social services down on me.”

  I nodded sympathetically, but my mind was elsewhere. “Sherese, the person or persons that broke in probably took the brochure, which is in line with everything I’ve just shared with you. Do you happen to remember the name of the cruise line?”

  “Uh huh. Island Dream Vacations.”

  I was not in the least surprised.

  “We was gonna go to some island I ain’t never heard of.”

  “Don’t worry about that for now. The important thing is they were after more than just the brochure. After all, you said it had been left out in plain sight. So, why would they continue their search after they’d found it?” I thought for a minute. “Did Cal ever ask you to keep anything safe for him?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Letters, documents, anything that might incriminate Wade Stoller if they turned up? Maybe Cal hid something here as insurance against something happening to him.”

  “If he did, he didn’t tell me.”

  I handed her my phone number. “If anything comes to you, give me a call.”

  *****

  After leaving Sherese’s I needed to regroup, and what better place to do just that than the Barnes and Noble café. “I’ll take a redeye, please.”

  The kid behind the counter punched in my order. He looked bored. “Will there be anything else?”