No Such Thing as a Lost Cause (11 page)

I feel a weight around my arms; someone pulls me to an upright position. I scream
and struggle against him and feel soft lips and a soothing voice in my ear. “You’re
okay, Angel. It’s just a nightmare.” My heart rate slows as I breathe in the subtle,
yet irresistible essence that is Nick. I stop struggling and open my eyes.

I blinked and looked around. Nick’s gun rested on the coffee table. The front door
was open, a bag of Chinese take-out strewn across the entryway. Nick picked up his
gun and checked the safety and returned it to the table.

A neighbor poked his head in the door. He was in his late fifties, with a large, muscular
build and a South Philly accent that was so pronounced it couldn’t possibly be for
real. The guy looked beyond Nick to me.

“I heard some yelling. Everything all right?” Only it came out as “err’thing a’ite?”

I flushed with embarrassment. “Yes. Thank you. Everything’s fine. Just a bad dream,
that’s all.”

“A’ite.” If he saw Santiago’s gun it didn’t faze him. “My name’s Ed,” he told me.
“I’m just down the hall if you need me.” He pointed a warning finger at Nick who,
thankfully, looked more amused than annoyed, and retreated from the doorway.

“Seems you have a protector,” Nick observed.

“Oh my god, how loud was I?” I stretched and rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

“You may have broken the sound barrier. Must’ve been one hell of a dream.”

“I’ve had better.”

“Mario Lewis?” I nodded, happy not to have to spell it out.

Nick picked up the groceries he had abandoned on his way in and set them on the counter.
He put plates down and opened two Xinjiang Black Beers. Paul had told me they’re difficult
to find in America. I was impressed but not surprised.

Over steamed rice and Moo Shu Vegetable I filled Nick in on what I’d learned about
Mario Lewis’ death. “DiCarlo thinks he may be able to convince the D.A.’s office to
redo Lewis’ autopsy. But what if Donte gets wind of it and takes off? The cops aren’t
going to waste man power doing surveillance on the guy before it’s even proven that
his cousin was murdered.”

“I can arrange some private surveillance until the results come in.”

Nick believed in me, no questions asked. “Thank you,” I said, choking up. Guess a
noodle went down the wrong pipe.

Santiago finished his meal and took his beer over to the couch. I started to clean
up the dishes, but he asked me to sit down with him instead. “If I recall, we have
some things to talk over.”

His tone was so serious I broke out in a sweat. “Talking is overrated, Nick. Except
for the fact that people are trying to kill me, everything’s cool. Let’s talk about
you for a change. So, what’s with the army fatigues? Have you gone “military?” Y’know,
you’ve never really explained just what it is you do during those mysterious trips
you take. That would be a good topic of conversation…feel free to jump in at any time.”

Nick leaned over and kissed me. “We can have that conversation another time, Darlin’.
A few weeks ago you thought you might be pregnant, and your reaction to finding out
that you weren’t was—surprising. We need to talk about it.”

“Oh, that,” I said, as the Moo Shu Vegetable formed a basketball-sized lump in my
stomach. “It’s no big deal. I’m sure it was just the stress of the situation.”

Nick offered me a half smile. “I think there was a bit more to it than that.”

I couldn’t imagine what. No joke. I really couldn’t.

“Brandy,” he said, lifting my chin so that I had to return his gaze, “I believe that
a very small, but powerful part of you wished the pregnancy test had come out positive.”

“What? No! Why would you think that? I don’t even like babies, well, except for my
Goddaughter, but that’s because she’s the cutest baby in the entire history of the
world. No.” I shook my head emphatically. “I am relieved.”

“So,” he pressed, “in the darkest recesses of your mind, you never wished it might
be true.”

“Absolutely not.” I took a huge gulp of my beer.

Nick watched me with enormous patience. He seemed to be waiting for something, and
I squirmed in the silence.

“Okay,” I finally relented, “maybe for like—a nano second I might’ve wondered what
it would be like if—y’know—well, haven’t you ever thought about it?”

Nick looked at me steadily. “No, Angel, I haven’t.”

“Yeah. Me neither. So, you wanna watch the Phillies’ game?” I got up and made a big
show of searching for the remote. “Found it,” I shouted a little too loud and turned
on the television.

Nick took the remote from me and clicked off the TV. “I don’t think we’re quite finished
with this conversation.”

“What’s to finish? We’re on the same page. No babies.”

“Brandy,” Nick said, taking my hand in his, “I believe the reason you reacted so strongly
to the news that you weren’t pregnant is because a part of you wanted it to be true.
A baby is symbolic. It implies a future together. But that’s not something I can guarantee.”

“I’m not asking for a guarantee.” I was lying and we both knew it. “Look, let’s just
forget it, okay?”

“It’s not that simple, Angel.”

“Yes, it is,” I said, panic rising in my belly, “…unless you’ve changed your mind
about me…oh my God, that’s it, isn’t it?”
Just like Mr. Sheffield.

“This isn’t just a matter of how we feel about each other,” he said, quietly. “The
reality is our relationship makes you a target. There are a lot of people out there—”

“Oh, puh-leeze.”

I jumped to my feet, one hand on my hip, the other waggling my index finger in his
face, channeling Queen Latifah before she went all mainstream. “Spare me the Turner
Classic movie spiel. ‘I’m no good for ya, kid. You’re better off with me.’ You said
you love me. Are you trying to take it back? Because there are no take backs. You
said it and I get to keep it.”

“I do love you.”

“Then, there’s no problem. Look, you want to slow things down? Fine. I’m not asking
for an engagement ring or your Letterman’s jacket. I don’t want to change you and
I sure as hell don’t want you to change me. All I want is for you to give us a fair
shake. And then if you want to walk, I won’t stop you.”

Nick studied me for a beat and then deftly pulled me down onto his lap. “Has anyone
ever told you that you’re a piece of work?”

“Let’s just say you’re not the first.”

We let the discussion drop for the time being, and I settled back in his arms and
tried to ignore the creeping anxiety that curdled my stomach. But my mind would not
let go of the very real possibility that I could lose Nick before we’d ever even gotten
started.

I turned the game back on. It was the bottom of the ninth and the Phils were trailing
six-nothing.

“Get a hit,” I prayed. It was a long shot.

“What’s the puppy’s name?”

“It doesn’t have a name. If I name it, I’ll have to keep it.”

Janine lifted Rocky’s cat carrier off her futon and onto the floor, gathered her shoulder
length auburn hair into a pony tail and flopped down on the bed that doubled as her
couch/dining room table.

“Makes perfect sense. I feel the same way about the guys I’ve gone out with lately,”
she said, shoving a slice of mushroom pizza into her mouth.

I’d arrived at the door of Janine’s walk-up studio apartment with Rocky, Adrian, and
Little No-name in tow. She asked me if I was okay and did I want to talk about it.
I answered “yes” and “no” respectively and she hugged me and moved on.

It would take another two days until the glass company could replace my windows and
I didn’t want to outstay my welcome at Nick’s. Not that he was giving me the boot
or anything. In fact, he’d begged me to stay.

“Don’t go, my angel. Never leave my side.”

Okay, what he’d actually said was, “You’re welcome here for as long as you want,”
which was a generous offer but, for all my Big Girl sensible spiel about taking things
one day at a time, my feelings were hurt by the lukewarm invitation. I guess it’s
my fault for saying, “No, no, no. I couldn’t possibly impose,” when what I meant was,
“Please, insist!” But that’s the trouble with Nick. He treats me like an adult and
takes me at my word.

“Thanks for letting me crash here tonight, Neenie. Fran offered me her extra bedroom,
but she’s got enough going on already with Eddie and the baby.”

Janine stretched across the bed and snatched her pillow from Adrian who had been happily
gnawing at it like it was prime rib. “What are you thanking me for? This is fun. We
haven’t hung out together in ages.”

That’s Janine, God bless her. Only she could take a life and death situation as an
opportunity to catch up on girl talk
.

“Hey, so how’s Mike?” she inquired. “When you saw him did he happen to mention me?”

Mike met Janine a little while back and he really liked her. We all heaved a collective
sigh of relief when she expressed an interest in going out with him.

“Uh, your name didn’t come up. But don’t take it personally. We were a little busy.”

“Oh. Well, how about you call Bobby and ask him if Mike’s going to ask me out.”

“Good idea, Janine, and then I’ll ask him what he got on his history test and who
he’s taking to the big dance on Friday night!”

“Just call him, okay? It’ll get your mind off your problems.”

In truth, I was happy to have an excuse to call. I’d been trying to wait it out until
DiCarlo called me with Vince’s decision about the new autopsy, because I didn’t want
to appear pushy. Plus, I’d already called twice today and he’d threatened to stop
taking my calls if I didn’t knock it off. I pulled out my phone and hit speed dial.

Bobby waited until the fifth ring to answer. “Yes?” He sounded a tad exasperated.
I chose not to take it personally, even though it probably was personal.

“You busy?”

“Up to my ass. But that’s okay. Actually, I was just going to call you.”

“Did you hear from Vince? What did he say?”

“It’s a go.”

“Whoo hoo!”

“Yeah, and that’s not all. I just got word they’ve arrested someone in connection
with the shooting at your place.”

“Oh, Bobby, that’s great news.” Maybe now my life would get back to some semblance
of normal. “Who is he?”

“Name’s Anthony Gibbons. He’s a fringe member of the Junk Town Gang. It’s gonna be
a long haul. He’s not talking. Listen, Brandy,” DiCarlo added, as if he’d read my
mind, “just because they’ve got someone in custody doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.
Until Lewis’ death has officially been deemed a homicide, you’re still number one
on their dance card. And even then, they may not be so forgiving.”

“But why? Once it’s proven—and don’t say it, Bobby, I know I’m right, that Lewis was
murdered, won’t they want to go after the person who really killed him?”

“Sweetheart, when you took Lewis down you humiliated the entire gang. And that viral
video didn’t help. They have to avenge their honor or lose their street cred.” His
voice tensed. “I’d like you to at least consider getting out of town for a while.”

Or, I could find out who killed Lewis and maybe that will be enough to get them to
back off.

Janine pinched me and gave me the rolling hand sign for “hurry up and get to the point.”

“So, Bobby, speaking of Mike Mahoe,” which was the worst transition ever, since we
hadn’t mentioned Mike’s name once in the entire conversation, “Janine was wondering
if he was going to ask her out.”

I could almost feel the vein in Bobby’s temple pounding against the phone.

“Have you heard anything I said?”

“I did, Bobby. Every word. Look, this isn’t about me being brave, or stubborn or stupid.
And I promise I’ll think about your suggestion, but—just for tonight—I want to pretend
everything’s all right.” My voice broke. “I need this.”

He waited a beat, then, “Tell Janine Mike’s gonna call her.”

*****

“So, Garrett, John tells me that you hail from Minnesota and that since you moved
to Philadelphia, you’ve been working on anti-smoking bans in all public areas. How
did you find your way to our fair city?”

I was seated opposite John and Garrett at the super trendy,
Café L’Orange,
in Roxborough, where everyone pretends to like opera and truffle soup. We ended up
there because Garrett had been “dying to try their veal scaloppini,” and I went along
with it just to show him it’s not
always about me
, but really, what kind of a person orders veal? I guess Garrett’s obsession with
political correctness doesn’t extend to his palette.

I dabbed at the corners of my mouth and was about to fire off another round of questions
when I felt a sharp pain in my shin. I looked over at John and winced.

“Brandy, isn’t that Mrs. Krababappel over near the door?” he said, standing up.

“Who?”

“You know, our fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Krababappel. We really have to say hello.
Excuse us for a minute, will you, Garrett?”

John practically dragged me to my feet and hauled me outside.

“What are you doing? You’ve been asking Garrett questions since the minute we got
here.”

“It’s called showing an interest, John. The world doesn’t revolve around me you know.”

“Since when? And what’s with the British accent? You sound like you’re interviewing
him for the BBC.”

“It’s called using proper diction, John.”

“Yeah? Well, knock it off. It’s weird. Just be yourself, okay?”

“All right, fine,” I sulked. “But let’s be honest here. We both know that being myself
didn’t exactly wow him, so I thought I’d try a different approach.”

John’s Adam’s apple did a little wiggle dance, a sure sign that I’d hit a nerve. “How
did you—I mean—Garrett just needs time to get to know you. Trust me, he’s going love
you.”

“Yeah? Well, what if he doesn’t?”

“He will. C’mon, Bran, Garrett’s the first guy I’ve met in God knows how long who
actually has something to offer. He’s got a real job, his own apartment, he’s worldly.
He knows about wine and art and…and…the capitals of all the European countries. Remember
Pete? I dated him for two months last year. He lived in his mother’s basement and
he smelled like bug spray.”