Ballistic (7 page)

“People build up walls not to keep others out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.”

I call bullshit on that
, but whatever. In my opinion people who say shit like that are too stupid to realize they are getting fucked over. Then once they do, they cry foul. Guess what? You don’t get to cry foul, dumbass. Pay a-fucking-tention! There is always a line around the block of people waiting to screw you. Pass out the numbers like they do in the deli and tell each and every one to suck a dick. Works like a charm.

Can he not just give me five fucking minutes to myself? I take back what I said about him
being herpes. He’s not herpes, he’s worse. What’s worse than herpes? Christ, I don’t even fucking know. Unlocking the doors because he stands there looking like a lost puppy, he climbs in, grabs my smokes and lights one for each of us. Cracking my window while he cracks his, I inhale deep, holding it in as long as possible. Jules asked me why I smoke and I told her it’s because the poison feels good. It works through my system slowly giving me the buzz I need while soothing me at the same time. Yes, I’m aware it’s killing me and looking over at him, it’s safe to say I’ve found another poison. This one far deadlier than what I’m inhaling. Probably far more addicting too, as far as vices go. If I started inhaling him I’d never quit and I know it.

When I don’t initiate conversation
, he does it for me. One thing about him is he doesn’t like silence. He also doesn’t take hints well either. I’ve decided he’s a puppy with herpes. “Do you ever wonder what a victim’s last thoughts were?”

Closing my eyes
, I think on it. Odd he’d mention it, considering it’s a thought that plagues me daily. “I like to think their last thoughts were of someone they loved. Someone who loved them back, if they were lucky enough. That they were comforted by the fact that they knew love at all.”

“Love is powerful.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“You’ve never been in love?”

“Anthony,” I whisper, taking another hit. “Please go.”

“I can’t do that,” he says
, taking my hand despite my resistance. “The scene was tough for you, I see it. What can I do to help?”

Silently cursing myself because it would figure the one guy who has secrets he isn’t sharing, also appears to be the most honest
one in this truck right now, is fucking with my head. “Thanks for the offer, but you don’t have the skills to help me. Let’s just call it even with dinner.”

“You are not like any woman I have ever met,” he says
, taking his hand back and it bothers me that I miss the contact already. I mentally slap myself twice for being such a chick about it too. “You’ve built a fortress around yourself. I’m not sure there is a man alive strong enough gain entry.”

“After dinner I’ll start on your case,” I tell him
, turning away not wanting him to see how the truth of his words affected me. “The sooner we finish this the better for both of us.”

He continues on like I haven’t dismissed him. Like I said, herpes. “I believe the answer to destroying
the fortress is truth. I hope that when I prove myself by giving it to you, that you’ll see I’m the exception and treat me accordingly. I don’t need to be strong to do it Lina, I just have find another way in.”

As he climbs out and gets back into his own car
, I sit there devastated. He wants to destroy my walls, when walls are the only thing I have left. By destroying the walls I built, he’ll be, in essence, destroying me too. He called it a fortress, I called it self preservation.

I don’t know Anthony well, but I
do know determination when I see it. Herpes doesn’t just go away and apparently neither does he. Taking the long way back, I get fuel and a carton of cigarettes. I smoke a lot on a good day, but it seems it’s better to have too many that not enough, kind of like ammo, dental floss and tampons. While my truck is filling up my phone rings and it’s Jules.

“L
o.”

“Where are you?”

“Just finished at a scene, getting gas, then I’ve got dinner plans.”

“I like it,” she says
, laughing “Anyone I know?”

“Anthony Gallo,” I tell her casually
. “I’m working a few leads for him.”

“You know Max needs his help
. Lina this is dangerous.”

“Dinner and I’m out,
Red. This isn’t my first day on the job.”

“You’re good where you are
, then? You know I’ll get you out.”

“I’m good,” I tell her
. “I’ve got this.”

“You trust him?”

“I don’t know him Red. I just met the guy.”

“Oh.”

“So how’s the reunion?”

“He’s just a job.”

“You don’t even try to lie well,” I say, laughing and putting the nozzle back. “You don’t love him, Jules?”

“No,” she says
, with a smile in her voice. “I don’t love him. Not even a little bit.”

Disconnecting with her
, I smile to myself while I drive off. Jules loves Max to distraction. Always has, always will. After chain smoking all the way back to his place, I pull in his drive, grab my bag and head in. The house smells amazing and fuck me, but he’s wearing an apron.

This just gets better and better.

“I pretend to look around, but I was actually looking at you.”

All these weeks of pretending to be out walking, looking in windows, staying out of her way and now if she shows
, she’d be allowing me to cook for her. This surpassed even my own expectations. I had hoped I could win her help, but now I want to win her heart. I want to win all of her. This was a game I refused to lose. I also feared it was a game she refused to play.

A
cting like I do this all the time, I wipe my hands on my apron and take her bag. She’s staring like she’s never seen a man in an apron before, but at least she looks entertained by it. Men wearing aprons probably isn’t popular, but I am a messy cook so I went this route instead of ruining my clothes. My mother loved my father in an apron, maybe she will too. Leaning in to kiss her rosy cheek, I inhale her again. This time she smells like fresh air and cigarettes. Fucking beautiful.

“
I’ll go fix my lipstick, I won’t be gone long, Killer. I’ll call you Killer ‘cause you slay me.” she says, laughing at her own joke, thinking I don’t get it.

“And I’m calling you Bellevue,” I deliver in my best Ralph Kramden voice
. “Cause you’re nuts!”

She blinks
, but doesn’t laugh. Oh shit! I just called her nuts. “Lina, I didn’t mean it to sound---”

“You know
‘The Honeymooner’s’?” she asks in a quiet voice.

“My parent’s loved the reruns,” I tell her in my own quiet voice. Then in an instant the look of wonder leaves her face, replaced by the concrete walls of her fortress.

Kicking her shoes off, she sets them by the back door, opens the refrigerator, grabs a bottle of wine and works on opening it, pouring it and taking a seat. She’s comfortable enough at least to feel at ease in my kitchen, that is a start. Who am I kidding? She’s probably only here for the alcohol, but I’ll take it.

“What’s cookin?”

“Just your typical spaghetti, meatballs and French bread.”

“There is nothing typical about what you’ve got going on here,” she says
, coming over to look. Putting some sauce on a spoon for a taste, I offer it to her. She takes it by closing her eyes to savor it. “Oh god, Anthony, that’s nirvana. Whoever taught you to cook loved you
a lot
.” When I don’t answer because I’m too busy hoping my cock isn’t busting out from beneath the apron and soaking up her praise, she tries getting my attention again. “Anthony?”

“Sorry,” I say
, stirring the sauce again. “I’ve never had a woman here. I’m just taking you in.”

“You’re telling the truth,” she says
, surprised by it, although, why would I lie about something like that? “Thank you.”

“You’re thanking me for telling you the truth?” I ask
, filling our bowls and serving her. I’ve never served a woman dinner either and found it slightly alarming that I wanted to do it again.

“I
take the truth where I can find it.”

“I think truth may be the most powerful force on the planet,” I tell
, her sipping the wine she poured, watching her do the same. She considers me before answering and I like that too.

“I thought you believed love was?”

“I said it’s powerful, but I’ve never been in love to say for certain but, it’s right up there with the truth.” When I look up, I see her glass is frozen in her hand.

“Do you think lies are powerful?”

“I do,” I tell her, reaching for her hand. “But they still don’t trump the truth, Lina. Nothing can do that.”

“They can if you believe them,” she whispers
. “If you convince yourself that a lie is the truth, it becomes the truth for you. People don’t buy magazines to read truth. They want to get lost in the lies by believing them. They like to feel better about their own lives so they immerse themselves in the misery of others. Oh look, JLo is on her third marriage, I’m only on my second. Therefore, I’m not as fucked up as JLo. Only, you are because she makes millions and you make excuses on why you couldn’t work out today or get your husband to look at you again. He doesn’t want to because all you do is bitch, plus you haven’t combed your hair in three days, whereas every morning his secretary compliments him and inflates his broken ego and she isn’t even pretty.”

“I’m not exactly sure where this is going
, Lina.”

“Really? I thought that was right on point. Anyway,
I’m saying it starts with you. People lie to make themselves look better, feel better, make others feel worse or even because it’s easy. Take that stellar JLo analogy and apply it to everything. Nobody cares that maybe she’s had her heart broken. They don’t ask if she’s okay. They don’t know why something unpleasant happened to her. They’re just glad
it did
. People think because she’s in the public eye, it’s okay to use her problems as the reason not to fix their own. You know, because clearly everything in print is true. Lies are a disease that infect us. Most don’t even want the cure, Anthony, because they lie so much it’s become who they are. In most situations a lie
is
more palatable than the truth. No one wants to step up and take a look at themselves because they fear not liking what they see.”

Seeing that I’ve unraveled another layer to her
and the fact that it hit too close to home, I decide to change the subject. “Halina Tomek,” I start, “Russian and Polish?”

“
Subtle subject change. Czech and Polish actually,” she says, smiling. “Anthony Gallo, pure breed Italian?”

“Gallo was my mother’s name,
. My father was Polish. After their deaths, I changed it for obvious reasons. My given name is Gryza. I’m afraid Anthony is universal. My mother’s name was Vera, my father Anthony, which makes me a junior.”

“
Named you after your father then, that’s beautiful,” she says quietly then winces like she hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Recovering, she moves on. “Cases fuck with my head. Every case, no exceptions. Each case takes something from me. My head isn’t right in the first place so while I’m working there will be times I’m distant. I just wanted to prepare you for that and ask that you to allow me the space I need to work through it.”

“It’s that emotional for you?”

“Not always,” she admits, taking a bite of spaghetti. Then she considers me again. “When I’m in the field, yes because I have to
see
it. When I’m at a desk, I get lost in the evidence letting it take me where it needs to go. Jules calls it floating and I have yet to find a word that is more fitting. I get caught up, pulled under and turned around. Sometimes, it just gets the best of me.”

“If at any time it becomes too much
, you just have to say so,” I tell her, filling her glass. “I mean it Lina, had I known your ability affects you like this, I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Thank
s.”

“For what?”

“Being honest,” she says. “I’ll be fine. I always find my way back eventually.”

“I’m not going to lie to you
, Lina. Please stop thanking me.”

“We’ll see.”

Sitting there watching her eat, I had to ask myself if she is lying or does she really believe she would come out fine on the other side. Needing to switch to a lighter subject I ask her about her parents, only that didn’t go as planned either. Judging by the remote look on her face, the woman hasn’t known much happiness and in her case it started at home.

“What to say about
Aron and Ana? I imagine they’re well, doing what empty nesters do although, I haven’t bothered to check since the day I left.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Senior year of high school.”

“You left your parents’ home in high school?
It was that bad?”

“Let’s see,” she says
, resting her head on one hand. “They stopped speaking to me outside of giving orders when I was in third grade. I may have outted my mother by calling her a liar in front of my father. Grocery shopping my ass, she was fucking her chiropractor which is cute because we didn’t have insurance. I outted my father about his gambling debts too thinking it evened things out. Anyway, I didn’t know I was doing anything wrong. So instead of divorcing or whatever it is married people who hate each other do, they teamed up. They weren’t in the wrong, I was. I suppose if they denied what I could do they could deny what they were doing to each other.” Switching positions she continues. “I didn’t have friends, I wasn’t allowed to. I was left home alone while they travelled, dined out, went to games and for the most part, they pretty much forget about me. I met the girls when I switched schools, crashed between houses, though mostly ran the streets with Jules and focused on graduating. College was my ticket out. This knack I have for getting the truth led me to where I am now. Even as much as I hate it sometimes, it’s still all I’ve got. It’s what I can count on. So as far as those two go, I suppose they’re happy, at least I hope they are.”

“You hope they’re
happy
? Lina, these are your parents.”

“
Listen,” she says, grabbing a smoke for both of us. “You had parents that loved you. I didn’t. As a kid if anyone lied, I called them out on it because I thought I was supposed to. It was compulsory for me, still is, although I can curb it some now. When you were growing up, you were rewarded for telling the truth. I wasn’t rewarded, I was beaten. If getting rid of me made them happy then yeah, I hope they are happy because, no one was happier I left than I was.”

“How old were you when you left?”

“Just shy of seventeen,” she says with a laugh. “Jules and I had an impressive rap sheet even before we graduated. No one gave a shit what happened to us. Funny how times change though. Back then the good captain was someone I thought I could trust. He was still a detective hoping to climb the ranks, saw my antics as an opportunity and used me to close cases for him in exchange for my freedom. I used to think he did it to keep me off the streets because he cared about me, but it wasn’t for my benefit. It was for his.”

“He knows the depth of your
skills. I see why he rejects having you around now that the department’s that fucked up.”

“He should,” she says
, inhaling “He’s the biggest liar of them all.”

“Explain.”

“Not yet,” she says, inhaling again. “But soon.”

“Lina, if you know something you have to tell me.”

“Uh, no I don’t. I have theories Anthony nothing more, until I have something I keep it to myself, that’s how this works. Dinner was amazing,” she says, taking her dish to the sink to rinse it off. “I’m not tired yet so, I think I’m going to start working, care to join me? You can tell me about your parents while I set up.”

Jumping out of my chair to follow
, I don’t even care that we left the dishes in the sink. Growing up we never left dishes dirty, but the urge to clean them isn’t there. Every second I spend in her company has the rope around my neck getting tighter. This one could strangle me to death and I wouldn’t complain.

She
has a grip so tight, my biggest concern is that she didn’t notice for one or care in the other.