No Such Thing as a Lost Cause (25 page)

“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.”

“Uh, Carla, didn’t your Uncle Vito try to run him over with his Cadillac?”

“His foot slipped. So, seven o’clock okay?”

*****

“Yo, Sis, Could I, like, uh, borrow Daisy?”

I shifted my phone to my other ear and downed the espresso Nick handed me. I was sitting
by the bay window in his living room, watching early morning joggers do laps around
Rittenhouse Square. “Who’s Daisy?”

My brother coughed. “Oh. I meant the puppy.”

“But you called her Daisy. And I thought you were allergic.”

“Yeah, well, I have to call her something.”

“You’re getting attached, aren’t you?” I grinned into the phone.

“Th-this is strictly for the purpose of m-meeting women,” Paul stuttered. “And you
were right, by the way. This puppy is a chick magnet. I have a date tonight,” he announced.
“So, if anybody asks, Daisy is mine.”

“That could be arranged.”

“L-let’s see how tonight goes, first.”

“I’ll drop her off this afternoon,” I told him, hanging up.

The dogs sat by my side, patiently awaiting the inevitable crumbs from my breakfast
cannoli to fall onto the hardwood floor.

“Daisy, you are so in!” I raised her arm and gave her a little paw to hand high five.

Nick stood in the vestibule, strapping an ankle holster onto his leg. He looked up
and noticed me watching him. I tried to remain impervious to the growing anxiety that
welled up in me, but it was an uphill battle.

He adjusted the cuff of his pants and walked over to me. “What’s on your agenda today,
Angel?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” I said, eying his leg.

“Business as usual.” He leaned over my shoulder and read from the notes I held in
my lap. “Nothing turned up on Wade Stoller?”

I shook my head. Vince had been good to his word and had checked him out. “Not so
much as a parking ticket. Nick, I know he was lying about Calvin Doyle. And it was
clear that he was uncomfortable with me hanging around K-Nine Security. I’m thinking
of making a return visit.”

If Nick wanted to object, he didn’t show it. Instead, he picked up his keys and bent
down to kiss me. “I’m going on a short road trip, Angel, and I’m afraid you won’t
be able to get in touch with me. If you can wait on this little excursion, I’d be
happy to go with you. If not—” his mouth formed a wry smile— “take the gun. Leave
the cannoli.”

*****

I’d planned on borrowing Nick’s truck to take the newly christened Daisy to my brother’s
house. As I walked out of the security gate, I found the LeSabre sitting in the loading
zone in front of the building. Crap. Nick’s mechanic must’ve dropped off the maroon
whale early that morning.

It’s not that I’m a car snob. I’m not. At sixteen, my first set of wheels was an ancient
Volkswagen Beetle with a broken clutch and no back window. I loved that car. It was
totally cool. But with temperatures climbing into the high eighties, I didn’t relish
the idea of driving around town without a working air conditioner.

There was a note on the dashboard. “Took the liberty of getting the air conditioning
fixed. Hope you don’t mind.—Nick.”

My heart fluttered at his thoughtfulness, and I pulled out my phone to thank him.
And then I remembered he couldn’t be reached. So, instead, I ruminated (read: obsessed)
about what kind of business Nick had that would render him incommunicado. I had to
process this with someone, and, as luck would have it, Daisy was as good a listener
as Adrian was. She sat in the back happily chewing on the seat belt, while I poured
my worried heart out to her.

“Nick and I are…complicated, Daisy. Look, I know it’s hard for you to understand,
being what—four months old…and a dog. But, trust me, relationships are not easy.”

Daisy stopped chewing and sat up. The strap, in tatters, dangled jauntily from her
mouth. She dropped it onto the floor of the car and licked the back of my neck.

“What are you trying to tell me, girl? That love conquers all? And that in order for
our relationship to work, I’ll have to learn to accept Nick unconditionally, the way
he accepts me?”

Wisely, Daisy didn’t respond. She knew there were some things I’d just have to figure
out on my own.

*****

My mom called just as I was leaving the firing range. “Your father’s worried about
you. He says Jewish girls don’t own guns.”

I hung a left out of the parking lot and ran smack into traffic. “You raised me Catholic,”
I countered.

“That’s very nice,” my mother replied, in a tone that said she didn’t think it was
very nice at all. “My daughter is making jokes about carrying a lethal weapon in her
purse.”

Uh-oh. Here it comes.
Wait for it, wait for it…

“Didn’t we raise you better than that?”

Ah, the age old question.
“I guess not, Mom.”

I knew my glib remark would cost me. It was met with stony silence. I would apologize,
but first, I had to go back to Paul’s and kill him for running off at the mouth to
my parents. Earlier, I’d made the mistake of asking him if he wanted to join me for
target practice. I (apparently, mistakenly) thought that if I showed him how I’m learning
to take care of myself, he’d stop worrying about me.

“ I’m sorry, Mom. Since I’m in-between jobs, I thought I’d learn a new skill. Beef
up the old resume.”

“So, what’s wrong with accounting?”

My dad chose that moment to jump into the conversation, thus saving me from a life
of pocket protectors and nerd jokes. “Nah, accounting’s not for our girl. She’s a
people person, like her old man. Aren’t ya, doll? Here, Lorraine, lemme have the phone.”

My mother must have passed him the receiver, because, suddenly, my dad’s voice came
in loud and clear. “How’re ya doin, hon? Everything all right?”

“I’m fine, Dad.” A car stalled in the right hand lane. I swung around it and barely
made the light.

My father lowered his voice, a sign that he was about to say something sensitive
.
“You need a little cash to tide you over?”

God, yes!
“No, I’m good. But I appreciate you asking, Daddy.”

“Okay, honey. Let me know if you change your mind. Listen, your mother’s chomping
at the bit to get back on. I’ll talk to you soon.”

I love my mom very much. And I know she loves me, too. But, there are times when I’m
not sure that she really approves of me. This was one of those times.

“Brandy,” she admonished, as she reclaimed control of the phone, “I’ve been hearing
some very disturbing things about you, lately.”

“Disturbing things? What things? From who?”

“I can’t recall,” she sniffed. Once my mother proclaimed something, it became fact.
End of discussion.

“Mom, I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but everything is fine. Really.”