No Such Thing As a Good Blind Date: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) (22 page)

I flew off the bed and began chasing after her, a sick, tight feeling forming in my belly until I was sure I was going to heave. I stopped chasing the cat and sat back down on the bed, wondering what kind of a sick bastard would do such a thing. The saddest part was candidates were lined up around the block.

When she was through having her fun, Rocky dropped the head on the rug and curled up on the pillow. I pulled a tissue out of the box and gingerly picked up the missing body part, dropping it back into the envelope. Then I gathered up the rest in the same manner and put them back as well.

“I need to talk to Nick,” I thought. “But it’s two-thirty in the morning. What if he’s asleep? Or worse, what if he has company in there?” I picked up my cell phone and dialed.

He answered in two rings. “Yeah?”

“Hi. Are you up?” There was a brief pause, followed by a yawn.

“I am now.” He didn’t sound mad. Just tired.

“Are you alone?”

“Last time I checked. Where are you?”

“In the next room.”

“You’re calling me from the next room.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to bother you if you were—ya know—busy.”

“What time is it?”

“Late.”

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.” My voice faltered and a light went on under his door.

“Come on in,” he said. “And bring the pillow.”

When I walked into his room, Nick was sitting up in bed. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and from the way the covers hung low on his exposed belly, that’s not all he wasn’t wearing. I dragged my eyes away from his body and tossed the envelope onto the bed.

“Somebody left me a present today.”

Nick picked up the package and tipped the contents onto the sheets. He stared at it for a few minutes. “Some present,” he said, finally. “Did you touch it?”

I shook my head no. “Do you mind putting it away?” Rationally, I knew it was just a doll, but it was such a violent, vulgar, representation of me I was ashamed for Nick to see it.

With the edge of his bed sheet, he scooped everything back into the envelope and threw it onto his dresser. “How was this delivered to you?”

I told him it was left inside my screen door. “You think it could be some kid playing a prank?” I asked, although I was pretty sure of the answer.

“Afraid not, angel. I have a friend who can check it for prints. It may be faster than giving it to the cops.”

I nodded glad to have a plan. “Thanks. Listen, I’m sorry I woke you,” I said and began backing out the door. “Well, goodnight.”

“Come here.” His voice was a soft command.

As much as I wanted to go to him, I couldn’t bring myself to admit how vulnerable I felt. “Nick, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re a mess and you have every right to be. Come here,” he said again, more tenderly this time. He reached out a hand to me and I took it, allowing him to guide me to his bed. He turned out the light and pulled the sheets back so that I could climb in. Nick pulled me to him, spooning me, his warm, naked skin pressed against my back. I felt him grow hard, but he didn’t make a move to touch me, other than to enfold me in his arms. I lay there, protected from the world, breathing in the smell of him, memorizing the smoothness of his skin, the hardness of his body, falling asleep to the rhythm of his every breath.

Standing in Doris Gentile’s basement, armed with a flashlight, rattraps and a box of Cheez-its, which doubled as rodent bait
and
my breakfast, I couldn’t stop thinking about Nick. There must be something wrong with me. I mean I’ve got at least one hardcore psychopath sending me mutilated Barbies and trying to kill me, and yet the burning question in my mind is when is Nick going to kiss me again?

I’d awoken to the sound of running water and the realization that he was no longer in bed with me. A few minutes later, the shower stopped and I heard him re-enter the bedroom. I’d been faking sleep, just to see what he’d do. When nothing happened, I made a big show of stretching and opening my eyes. I was met with a grin as a semi-naked Nick pulled some jeans out of his closet.

“Good morning,” he said. “Feeling better?”

I nodded, my eyes glued to the towel at his waist, the towel that he was now casually unwrapping and tossing to the floor. I looked down automatically and suddenly my eyes grew wide and my mouth flew open, and before I could stop myself I blurted out,
“What is that?”

His eyes moved to where I was staring. “Wow, has it been that long for you?”

I felt myself go beet red. To make matters worse, the damn thing was starting to inflate.

“No, I mean—it looks—different.”

Nick’s grin widened as he stepped into his jeans. “I’m uncircumcised, darlin’.”

“Oh.” My face was so hot I’d thought I’d die of heat stroke.

“Haven’t been with a lot of ethnic types, I take it.”

You could say that again. I was fascinated. It was scary and beautiful at the same time, and Christ I was horny. Sadly, he put it away and zipped up his pants.

“A lot of women find sex more pleasurable with an uncircumcised partner,” he told me and I believed him. “Maybe you’d like to try it some time.” Was he volunteering his services?
God, I hope so.
He leaned over the bed and brushed a hand against my cheek. “You sure you’re okay? You seem warm to me.” And then just when I thought things would get really interesting, the phone rang. It was Tanya. Note to self: Kill Tanya.

I’d just finished putting out two of the traps and was about to open the door to the storage area when I heard a soft, indistinct noise, something like a sneeze.
Holy Shit. I’m not just humoring an old lady. There really are rats down here.
I turned to go when I heard it again. It was coming from inside the utility closet. I shined a light under the door and saw a pair of shoes—size twelve, if I had to make a guess. Oh fuck.

Okay, don’t panic. I’m panicking. Just breathe. What do I do?
Part of me wanted to barge in and blast his big, goofy ass for going on the run. But another part of me said to get the hell out of the basement as fast as I could. I love Toodie, I really do, but just in case he
did
turn out to be a mass murderer, I got the hell out.

It was a little harder to convince Mrs. Gentile. “Here’s the thing,” I whispered when I reached the upstairs, “we need to get out of the house.”

“Did you find any rats?” she asked.

“Yeah, Mrs. Gentile, a big one. We need to leave. Now.”

“Why didn’t you kill it? What were you doing down there?” She cut me an accusatory glare, which didn’t look much different from her regular face. “Did you steal something? If you did I’ll know.”

“Oh my God, you old biddy, either you come with me right now, or I’m going to knock you into tomorrow.”

Boy, is my mother going to be hearing about this. But she did as I told her.

The police arrived within minutes. I couldn’t bear to watch Toodie being hauled away. I don’t even know if I’d have called the police, except I couldn’t take a chance that Toodie could hurt Mrs. Gentile. Had Toodie been hiding in her house the entire time? Ironically, the woman knows exactly what’s going on in everyone else’s home, but she didn’t have a clue about what was happening in her own.

I felt like the worst person in the world. And it didn’t help my mood, when three hours later I got a phone call from Toodie. I’d gone over to Uncle Frankie’s gym to let him know what was going on. I guess I needed someone who loved me to tell me I’d done the right thing, when in my heart I felt it was all wrong.

“You didn’t have a choice, sweetheart. What if he did do all the things he’s been accused of?” Frankie eyed me sympathetically. “Come on, Midget Brat. You look like you could use a good meal.”

“Carla’s not cooking again, is she?”

“I was thinking more of Woo’s Garden on Race Street.”

In my family, food is the great consoler. Have a fight with your boyfriend? Eat some lasagna. Bad credit report? Cheer up with pot roast. Squeal on your roommate? Break out the chopsticks. I was just digging into the sweet and sour pork, when my cell phone went off. I ignored it and kept on eating.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?”

“Nah.” It was either another reporter wanting an exclusive on “the ice-box killer,” or Keith Harrison, for the forty-millionth time today.

“It may be your mother.” All the more reason not to answer.

I peeked at the caller I.D. City jail. I’d been calling it so often I’d decided to put it in my phone book, for easier access. I thought it would be DiCarlo, or Mike Mahoe. I wasn’t prepared for the sound of my ex-roomie’s voice.

“Hey, Brandy. It’s me. Toodie.”

I almost choked on the chow mein. “Toodie, what are you doing calling me?”

“I’m in jail.”

“I know. I’m sorta the one who turned you in.”

“It’s okay. I figured you’d find me. You’re really smart.”

“Toodie, you should be talking to a lawyer. Why are you calling me?”

“You’re my friend.”
Oh jeez.
“Listen, Brandy, don’t feel bad. You did what you had to do. And anyway, I don’t think I could’ve stood another minute in that house. It smells like cat pee.”

The waiter came over and started to take my plate away and I nearly stabbed him with my chopstick. “Look, Toodie, I’m glad you’re not mad at me, but you need to talk to somebody who can help you.”

“You still believe I’m telling the truth, don’t you, Brandy?”

I hesitated a beat. “You know they found Ilene’s head in your granny’s winter squash garden, right?”

“I swear on my granny’s life, I didn’t do it.” Toodie began to cry. Oh shit.

“Don’t cry, Toodie. I believe you.”

Uncle Frankie lectured me all the way back to the gym. Then he made me take a boxing lesson and he threw in some self-defense moves for good measure.

“Look, it’s not like I baked the guy a cake with a sawedoff shot gun in it. I just told him I’d check out a few things for him, that’s all.”

Uncle Frankie answered me in Italian, and there were a lot of hand gestures involved. But once he calmed down, he promised not to mention anything to my mother.

The Diamond Casino on the Boardwalk, near Delaware Avenue is a mid-sized hotel-casino, with an Asian décor. According to my Internet research, it’s a family owned operation, the Ellenbergs having purchased it from the Chans, back in nineteen ninety- two. In ninety-seven they were investigated for hiring illegals, but the Feds couldn’t make it stick. The place looked like it had fallen on hard times. There was something really depressing about the worn carpeting, garish lighting and fake pagodas.

Fran and I played a couple of slot machines and mingled among the mostly Asian crowd. There was a group of elderly white folks at the craps table, who’d come down en masse from Philly on the Gray Panther Special, and a sprinkling of guys in polo shirts, trying their luck at Poker. I cast my eye around the room. Something was out of place, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. And then it came to me. All the “worker bees”—the low level employees, were Asian, while the pit bosses and “suits” were white.

We moved to the bar and ordered a couple of cokes. Franny leaned over and whispered loud enough for the people in the next casino to hear, “This place is a dump.”

The bartender snorted back a laugh. “What can I get you ladies?” He was a middle-aged Asian, Chinese, I think, with a thick accent.

I smiled and whipped out the picture of Keith that I’d taken off the Internet. “Excuse me, but I was wondering if you’ve seen this man in here before.”

The bartender barely glanced at the photo. “No, sorry.”

“If you could just take a look—”

“I told you, I don’t know him,” he muttered, stalking off.

“Is there some Chinese taboo against showing pictures of men around in a bar? Did I just commit the ultimate Asian faux pas?”

“I don’t know,” Fran said. “Let’s ask this guy.” She grabbed the photo from me and called to the other bartender, a stunning young man with long, jet-black hair pulled into a ponytail.

“What can I get you?” His accent was less pronounced than the other guy, but you could tell English was not his first language either.

Franny held up the photo and flashed him a smile that could melt rocks. “I was wondering if you’ve seen this guy around here?”

He returned Franny’s smile with one of his own, doubling the wattage. “He’s not your husband, I hope.” Oh jeez, he’s flirting with her.

“Listen,” I said, grabbing the picture back, “do you recognize him or not?”

“Yeah, I know him. Not by name, but he used to come in here, two, three times a week.”

“Are you sure?” It’s a real schlep from Philly to the Jersey shore.

“I remember because he used to run a weekly tab, but the last time he was in I was told to turn him down. He owed big time and they cut him off.”

There was movement at the other end of the bar and then the older bartender appeared and barked at him in Chinese. The younger one shook his head. “What they gonna do? Fire me?” He laughed, but there was genuine anger behind his words. That and something else. When I tried to engage him again, he said he had things to do and went back to the other end of the bar.

The older guy refilled our glasses, on the house. “Sorry, but it’s house policy not to talk about our clientele. He’s new here.”

“Hmm,” I said, after he left.

“Hmm, what?” Franny reached over and grabbed a handful of wasabi nuts out of the bowl on the counter top.

“I was just thinking of the bartender’s reaction when the other one started yelling at him. I mean he acted all cocky and everything, but underneath it, he seemed kind of scared.”

“Maybe he really needs this job and was worried about getting fired.”

“Yeah, but then why would he say, ‘what are they gonna do, fire me?’ To me, he didn’t seem all that concerned about the possibility of losing his job, but something scared him. I just don’t know what.”

“There you go again, reading all kinds of stuff into things that aren’t really there.”

“When have I ever done that, Franny? I’ll bet you can’t even name
one
time.”
Okay, she could name about a thousand, but this wasn’t necessarily one of them.