by J. D. Webb
The afternoon dragged on. No way could she concentrate. She shuffled papers. The no-brainers were done but she saved those requiring more thought for a better day. All thoughts forced her to relive the scene in the doctor’s office. The stiff-backed chair, the alcohol smell, Dr. Phillips taking a deep breath before he uttered those devastating words. Running through her mind like a movie being replayed over and over. She couldn’t make it stop. She wished for an eject button.
When the phone rang again she picked it up still in a daze.
“Hi, honey. How are you doing?” Jim only called her honey when he wanted something.
“I’m okay, but I’m really tired.” Hopefully he’d get the message.
“That’s good. Listen, I’m bringing a client home tonight for dinner. Could you fix that special coq au vin you excel at? It’ll just be us and him and his wife. About seven should be when we’ll be home.”
Trish gritted her teeth. “No, Jim. I will not. Didn’t you hear me? I’m exhausted. I’ve had a rough week.”
“My week was no picnic, either. This is a very important client. Our future may become brighter if I can reel him in. This one time only, dear.” He never called her dear unless he was making a demand.
“I won’t spend this evening in the kitchen.” Silence followed. She could hear him breathing on the other end of the phone. Several seconds passed.
“I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“Yes, you did. Let me spell it out for you. N - O. You want coq au vin, you fix it yourself. I hope your client enjoys it.” She slammed the phone down and then noticed the collection of startled looks directed toward her by the entire office staff. “Sorry. Just having a bad day.”
Anger welled up in her and she found herself shaking. She attempted to finish her work but it was hopeless. Much like her situation in life.
THIRTEEN
Abe’s Place catered to the casual diner as well as the more upscale Chicago crowd. Separated by two carved mahogany doors, one side of the restaurant featured white tablecloths, impeccably dressed waiters, expensive steaks and seafood. The casual, more boisterous side served ribs and burgers and featured a flashy, neon-lit bar.
Heather steered Trish into the elegant side. She gave the maitre d’ a big smile. “Two please. Smoking.”
Trish jerked Heather’s arm and signaled the man. “Non-smoking please.”
Heather shrugged.
Trish constantly railed against Heather’s seemingly unconquerable nicotine habit, and when she could, even hid the cancer weeds. Heather then threatened to shoot her if the lost articles didn’t turn up in five minutes. Fortunately, this time the gun remained in Heather’s purse, if she in fact had it with her at all.
A slender man with a pencil-thin moustache wearing a neatly fitted tuxedo escorted them to a private booth. He placed linen napkins on their laps. “Good evening, ladies. I am Max, your host for tonight. Might I suggest a glass of our wine of the day to start you off? It’s an excellent white Zinfandel guaranteed to tickle the taste buds.” Trish couldn’t place the accent. Maybe French.
Heather gave Trish no chance to answer. “That sounds yummy. We’ll have a glass.”
“Excellent.” Max turned and headed for the wine cellar.
“Heather, I’m on a strict budget here. You didn’t even ask the price of the wine.”
“Don’t sweat it, my girl. Max and I are old friends.” She winked at Trish.
“Oh, no. Is this the guy you’ve been talking about?”
“Yep. He’s new in town. From Montreal. I grade him at just below Brad. Not too far either.” She giggled and they watched Max return with a dark green bottle. He poured a touch in Heather’s glass. She swirled it around and sniffed it, then took a sip. “Oh, that is good, Max.” She held up her glass.
Max took the glass, his hands lingering on Heather’s fingers. He filled both glasses. “What about an appetizer for the beautiful ladies?” Trish had to admit he was smooth, and the accent was delightful.
Again Trish had no chance to speak. “We’ll have the crab cakes, and would you bring some of that excellent sauce?”
“But of course.” He winked at Heather. “Coming right up.”
Max left and Trish again tried to reason with Heather. “While I love crab cakes, I know what they cost. Don’t order anything else for me, please.”
“This meal is on me. I want you to relax. Throw caution to the wind. Get drunk if you want. You deserve it after all you’ve been through. Besides, I get Max’s discount, and it’s a hefty one. Sit back and enjoy.”
Trish had two glasses of wine. The crab cakes here were divine. But she had no appetite, and finally convinced Heather that she couldn’t eat anything other than a salad. Heather, on the other hand, ordered a huge meal. Max left to place the rest of their order.
“Now tell me what the doc said. Don’t leave anything out.”
Before she knew it Trish had related the episode at the doctor’s office and Jim’s phone call that afternoon.
“So,” Heather said with satisfaction, “there’s some backbone in that body after all. Good for you. If it had been me that dirt bag would’ve been out on his ear a couple of years ago. You want me to go home with you after we eat?”
“No. I can handle it. I think. His client will probably still be there; he won’t make a scene.”
The two talked for more than an hour while Heather devoured a 12-ounce T-bone steak with all the trimmings. Trish relaxed from the wine and the unloading of her troubles. What a blessing to have a friend like Heather.
Max attended to their every need, making sure Heather felt his touch or caught his wink.
Trish pointed to the plate containing a bare bone on the other side of the table. “I was afraid you’d gnaw on that before you were through.”
Heather laughed. “If we’d been on the other side of Abe’s, I wouldn’t have used a fork at all.” She leaned closer to the table, keeping her voice low. “I think you need to get away from that madman you’re living with. You come to my house for a while till you can find a place of your own. I have plenty of room.”
Trish shook her head. “What would your boyfriend think?”
“Max wouldn’t care. He’s really a great guy. I’ve got an extra room.”
Trish’s eyebrows rose. “So, you’re living together.”
Heather nodded sheepishly. “For about three weeks. We seemed to hit it off. Wait till you hear him play.”
“Play?”
“Yeah, that’s how we met. He’s in a jazz combo and plays a mean sax.”
“Many thanks for the offer of a room, but I’d never intrude. You’re right about getting away, though. Jim’s gotten much worse recently.”
“You need a protection order against him. That is if the Keystone Cops and the local DA have such a thing.”
“Wait a minute. Bob has been very helpful and it’s not fair to characterize him that way. Our police department may be small, but they’re efficient. Bob has been asked to join the Homeland Security Department.”
“Bob? Are we getting friendly with Bob?“ Heather emphasized the name, mocking Trish by raising her eyebrows.
“We’re only acquaintances. I knew him in high school.”
“Biblically knew him?”
“Okay, that’s enough. We dated, and that’s all. I’ve never been to bed with him. I’d never consider it.”
“Never is a long time. With a creep like Jim, no one would blame you.”
“I would. That’s just not me. Enough said about that.”
Heather put her hands up. “I surrender. Would you like me to go home with you?”
“No. I’ll be fine.”
“What about missing the meal with the clients? Won’t he be furious?”
“Yes but I’m never allowed to actually participate. Even when a couple is invited I’m to just serve and be quiet. He’ll rant and rave when it’s over. He’d rant and rave about something else anyway.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a marriage to me. Time to unhitch.”
“I know. I feel like a failure.”
“He’s the failure. Takes two going full out to make a lasting relationship. Anyway, my offer stands, even if you need me in the middle of the night.”
“Thanks, Heather. You don’t know how much I appreciate that.”
The meal had been delicious, and in spite of her anxiety about going home to face Jim, Trish was relaxed. She watched the interplay between Heather and Max and envied their relationship. Max was thoughtful and sensitive. Obviously he adored her.
Trish thought back to her early married years. Jim had been like that in the beginning. Little love notes left on the fridge or on her pillow. Flowers often found in a vase on the table in the foyer to ask forgiveness for an argument. She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Now, Jim’s temper always seethed just under the surface. Heather’s right. It’s time to leave.
If I leave how will I get by? What kind of job could I get? In a few weeks I’ll have my license. Then I can get a different job and get away from Jim for good. But I can’t leave yet. I just hope I survive with everything else that’s hitting me.
A touch on her arm brought her back to the restaurant. “You okay, Trish? I lost you for a moment there.”
Trish nodded and fought back some tears. She used her bright red napkin to disguise wiping her tears and laid it beside her plate. “Thanks for this great meal, Heather. I needed to get away for a while. But I’d better head on home. I’m already pushing the envelope.”
“No problem. Can’t complain about the company or the dreamy waiter. And I meant what I said. You need me, I’m there. By the way, did you notice Bob has been sitting two booths behind you?”
“You’re kidding.” Trish took out her compact and pointed the mirror over her shoulder. “Good God! That’s him. He’s spying on me.”
“Uh, I think he’s being protective. Isn’t that sweet?” Her smile widened.
“I’m leaving. Thanks again. See you tomorrow.” Trish practically leaped out of her chair and hurried past the startled Bob.
“Trish. Trish, wait.” Bob was pulling out his wallet and waving for a waiter.
She stopped two steps beyond his booth. “What’s the idea here, officer?” Diners stopped eating and focused on the two.
Bob spoke through clenched teeth. “Look, I’m trying to keep you safe and have dinner at the same time. Please sit down and let me finish my meal. I promise I won’t bite. Well, except this fine steak.”
Somewhat mollified, Trish hesitated. After all, there was the matter of a killer on the loose. She sat opposite him. “I’m sorry. I’m a little out of sorts lately.”
“I won’t be long, then I can escort you home. I promised Cheever I’d keep you safe. Please don’t get me in trouble with the Feds. I really want that Homeland Security job.”
“All right. I guess it was rather silly to start out on my own.”
“Well, a homicide is not a usual occurrence in Millvale. Besides, I have some news.”
FOURTEEN
Bob took an inordinate amount of time chewing his food. Trish was about to burst wanting to know his news.
“Okay, okay, swallow. What is it?”
Bob held up his hand and Trish sighed. “Minute,” he managed to say. He put down his fork and took a drink. “Cheever says they have an ID on the guy in the video. It was Gino ‘Fat Boy’ Marciano. Haven’t yet found the body. He is a notorious mob boss in Detroit who moved to Chicago in the late 90s to escape death threats. Seems he was carving out a big swatch of territory on the North side and someone decided to reduce the competition.”
“So how does that help us?”
Bob reached for a folder beside him and pulled out a grainy photo. “This is the hit man. A copy is being distributed throughout the bureau to try to get an ID. Have you ever seen him before?”
Trish squinted at the picture. It was no use. She couldn’t imagine anyone being able to identify the person from such a bad print. “Sorry, all I see is the form of a thin man with indistinguishable features. Looks like he has a moustache, but that’s about it.”
“The FBI is trying to get a computer enhancement to improve the quality. When they do, I’ll let you see it.”
“I hope they can do something with it.” Trish pursed her lips and sat back in the chair.
“Give me a couple of minutes to finish my coffee and we’ll go. Okay?”
She nodded and sat through ten minutes of uncomfortable silence. Bob struggled to be conversational, but neither spoke much. Trish must have shifted in her chair a half dozen times before he paid his check and they left.
Once outside, they were pelted with huge raindrops. Bob smiled at her. “Seems every time we meet lately, it’s raining. Where’s your car?”
She pointed to the right. “Down about four cars. It’s the Jag. My car’s not done yet.”
Bob followed her hand. “I see it. Do you have an umbrella?”
“Sure, in the car. It’s okay, I can run; I won’t melt.” She started trotting. Bob appeared beside her, running with no apparent effort. He held a notebook over her head as they ran.
He helped her into the car. “I’ll follow. Don’t leave until you see me behind you. That’s an order, ma’am.” He slammed the door shut before she could answer, and he was off.
The trip home was uneventful. She actually felt better having those headlights centered in her rear-view mirror. She pulled into her driveway and parked next to a new Cadillac STS. Must be the prospective client.
Bob drove around the cul-de-sac and waved at her as he sped off.
Bob is so nice. Wonder what it would be like to go home with Bob? Come on, Trish, You’re a married woman, for heaven’s sake.
Trish hurried up the stairs and fumbled with her keychain, promptly dropping it in a puddle. Crap. One more thing to add to today’s list of crap. Consciously slowing down, she finally inserted her key. What the hell? I’m already drenched. She kicked off her shoes and pushed the remnants of her last hair appointment out of her eyes. The hall closet was so full she didn’t try to wedge in her coat. Besides it was wet, so she dropped it on the floor and trudged down the hall dripping splotches of water in a trail behind her.
Okay, let’s get this over with. She felt like she was heading to the firing squad. Her pulse quickened as she tried not to think about how Jim might mete out punishment for her latest transgressions. Conversation came from the library so she peeked in.
“Ah, there she is. This is my sweetheart I was telling you about. Trish, meet Mr. Marciano. Sal, this is my wife.”
Trish’s breath caught in her chest Oh my God! The name of the guy on the DVD. She fought the urge to gasp out loud. Is he related or is it some bizarre coincidence?
A robust man of thirty-something struggled out of one of the leather easy chairs and reached for her hand. “So pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. M. Jim has done nothing but brag on you all night long.” His thickly curled black hair was plastered in place with an ample amount of gel, and he smelled of expensive cologne.
“I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Marciano.” She quickly looked at Jim. “I’m sorry for my lateness, dear. I was held up. Well not literally, of course.” She giggled nervously. How stupid was that? I’m suddenly a ditz. “Is there anything I can get for you gentlemen?” She had to get out of there.
Each shook his head.
“We’re fine.” Jim came over and took her arm. He squeezed hard. “You go up and change your clothes. You’re soaking wet. We’ll be a while. We have some business to attend to.”
Trish smiled through gritted teeth and subtly twisted her arm away. It was all she could do not to wince. “Fine, I’ll see you later then. So nice to meet you, Mr. Marciano. Excuse me.” She made a hasty exit and rushed upstairs. Could that man be connected to the mob guy? What’s he doing with Jim?
She took a quick shower and changed into her flannel pajamas. Plopping dow
n on her side of the bed, she rubbed her arm and made a vow. There’s only so much I can take. I’m out of here tomorrow. She opened her door and listened. The murmur of voices continued downstairs.
She went to her closet and pulled out her large and mid-sized suitcases. She quickly gathered essentials, and then looked at the emergency stash under the mattress, where she’d been hoarding what little money she could. It totaled $212. Not much to begin a new life. Well, it would have to do. Funny, I don’t feel sad, more relieved.
Her hands shook as she stuck the money in a side pocket of her smaller case and looked around her bedroom of six years. Huh, what do I want to take to remind me of this life? Got to take my family Bible. Nothing here is really mine. Sis has all the family heirlooms. She remembered Jim saying he wouldn’t have her family’s “junk” lying around his house.
Everything else in the room had been Jim’s idea or done with his insistence. Gentle insistence at first, then without even consulting her. The décor was masculine. Nothing feminine. Ships were the theme in the paintings. A heavy four-poster bed with the firm mattress Jim preferred. Pictures on the dresser were of Jim’s family, except for the one of her parents she would grab in the morning. Should she call her father? No, he had not approved of her marriage. How right he was. Why couldn’t I see it? Blind love, I guess. How could I be so damn gullible?
Her mother had looked so healthy in that photo. Only two short months later, cancer had claimed another victim. Tears rolled down Trish’s cheeks. My life is a mess. A failed marriage, having conversations with a murderer, unfulfilling job, and now the C word. Thoughts of the doctor visit clouded her mind. She heard the doctor’s words but not much registered. The medical terms were some of the same ones explained to her mother. Trish seemed to be reliving those dreadful days all over again. Trish nodded acknowlegment in all the right places but left that office in a daze.
Was she to suffer her mother’s fate? She had never felt so alone. So very alone.
Trish sighed and prepared for bed. But first she stashed the suitcases into the back of the closet where they normally sat empty.
