by Darcia Helle
Michael set two beers and the pizza on the table. Nicki came in wrapped in one of his towels. Her skin glistened. She said, “I didn’t have a bathing suit. My clothes are in your dryer, so all I have is this towel for now. I’ll be sure to keep it on. I was going to wash your clothes, too, but I didn’t know how you’d feel about me pawing through your stuff. Pizza smells great.”
Michael shook his head and laughed. Nicki narrowed her eyes and said, “What?”
Michael said, “Sometimes I have a hard time keeping up with your thought process.”
“But you have no problem keeping up with the rest of me,” Nicki said.
Choosing to ignore that statement, Michael said, “Help yourself to my t-shirts if you want something sloppy to hang out in. And, for the record, you can paw through my stuff anytime.”
“You just want me to do your laundry.”
“That too.”
After they’d eaten, Michael said, “I’ve got to go out tonight.”
“Okay,” Nicki replied.
Though her tone was perfectly pleasant, Michael felt the need to explain. “I’m meeting Isaac. He thinks I need to talk and, if I keep blowing him off, he’ll come looking for me.”
“Why does he think you need to talk?”
Michael sighed, ran a hand through his hair. With a shake of his head, he said, “My father’s dying.”
“Oh God,” Nicki said. “I’m so sorry.”
Michael waved her off. “It’s okay.”
“No. Here I am dumping my problems on you and you’ve got that going on. Geesh, I feel awful.”
“It’s okay,” Michael said again. He got up and washed his hands at the kitchen sink, hoping to end the subject there.
“Is he sick?” Nicki asked. “What happened?”
“Cancer.”
“Oh God. Your dad needs you.”
“Not much I can do.” Michael dried his hands, then turned back to Nicki. He said, “Let it go, okay?”
She held his eyes a moment but simply nodded. Michael grabbed his keys from the counter. “I shouldn’t be too late,” he said. “I brought you some magazines and the newspaper. In case you get bored.”
“Thank you.”
“Keep the doors locked. I’ll see you later.”
Chapter 29
Josh and his piercings were not tending bar this evening. The Rusty Anchor had hired a tall, thin, dark-haired young female with a tattoo fetish. Michael ordered a draft from her and sat in a booth to wait for Sean. Five minutes later Sean slid in across from him with a beer of his own. He motioned to the waitress and said, “From a distance she looks like a walking Bic pen. All that blue ink and no curves.”
“She’s got some red and green ink in there too,” Michael said.
“Great,” Sean muttered. “Maybe she lights up at Christmas time. She’d be all set, with that angel on her freakin’ cheek.”
“I think that’s a fairy.”
“A fairy?”
“Yeah,” Michael said, “You know, those little mythical creatures.”
Sean shook his head. “Who the hell wants a fairy on their face? And what’s with her arms? A tattoo here and there is fine. Even sexy. But, hell, I’d like to see some actual skin in there somewhere. That shit’s worse than reading a damn road map.”
“I saw a guy the other day,” Michael said, “every bit of skin showing had ink on it. He’d shaved his head and had those weird horn things implanted.”
Sean held his hands palm out, signaling Michael to stop. “I can’t take anymore,” he said. “And people think we’re the crazy ones.”
Michael sipped his beer and waited for Sean to settle in. After a moment, Sean spoke, his voice now low and serious. “Your damsel-in-distress. Nicki, right?”
“Yeah…” Michael slowly replied.
“I was out today. Asked around for you. Seems this guy, Lotto, he’s really pissed off at your girl. He’s put out an incentive for his friends to find her.”
“I heard about that,” Michael said. “Five grand.”
“Right. Which in itself isn’t such a big deal since the offer would likely die with him.”
“I sense a but.”
“Two of his wanna-be gangbangers are his cousins,” Sean said. “Long history of taking care of each other’s problems.”
“Shit.”
“I don’t know where that leaves you. The problem might or might not disappear with him.”
“I’ll have to send a message that they’re better off staying out of this,” Michael said.
“Or eliminate them from the equation.”
Michael shook his head, though he couldn’t help but smile. “I’m not doing them all, Sean.”
Sean shrugged. “Don’t see why not. They’re all trash.”
Michael was about to respond when Sean’s cell phone rang. After a brief conversation, Sean snapped his phone shut. “I gotta go,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Michael finished off his beer in silence. A part of him wished he could be more like Sean. Eliminating Lott, as well as his four loser friends, appeared to be the easiest way to handle this dilemma.
***
Nicki had gotten one of Michael’s old t-shirts and slipped it on. The soft cotton was oddly comforting. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn a man’s clothing. Maybe she never had.
She’d already checked the 500 or so channels on Michael’s TV. Nothing interested her. She’d lingered over the stack of magazines for as long as she could and even read the ridiculous How To Please Your Man article. Now she sat, curled up on the couch, flipping through the newspaper. Lots of drama in these pages. Never anything uplifting.
She was scanning the local section when she saw it. Tears immediately sprang to her eyes. “No,” she murmured. “Oh God.”
Nicki read through the short article twice. Then she hugged her knees to her chest and cried.
***
“I’d like to stop by and see your dad,” Isaac said. He rubbed chalk on the end of his cue stick. “Do you think he’d mind? I mean, I haven’t seen him in more than a year. I don’t want him to think it’s some sort of pity visit.”
“Well wouldn’t it be?” Michael asked. His voice held no anger or accusation. He looked at Isaac and shrugged. “You wouldn’t be going to see him if he wasn’t dying.”
“Yeah. So that would make this a pity visit. And it makes me a prick. But ignoring him isn’t right, either. I just don’t want to offend the guy and make things worse.”
“Pity visit or not,” Michael said, “I’m sure he’d appreciate the gesture. And the company.”
Isaac nodded. “I’ll stop by his house next week.” He fell silent as he lined up his shot. The five ball hit the corner of the side pocket, then spiraled slowly away. “Shit,” Isaac muttered.
“I thought you were going to kick my ass tonight,” Michael said.
Isaac grabbed his beer and said, “Doesn’t feel right to kick you when you’re down.”
“Uh-huh.” Michael sank three shots in a row, then reached for his own beer. After a long swallow, he said, “You should bring Nadine by to meet my father.”
“You think he’d be up for that?”
“He probably won’t make the wedding,” Michael said. “I’m sure he’d like to meet her.”
“Who said anything about a wedding?”
“I’ve known you forever. You don’t have to say it.”
“Nadine and I haven’t discussed marriage,” Isaac protested.
“Okay, so you’re telling me this is just a fling?”
“It doesn’t have to be either or. And what about you? I hear you had a visitor today.”
“Jesus,” Michael groaned. “Your mother is like the town crier.”
“You want to tell me about her?”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“She just a fling?”
“I’m not the one getting married,” Michael said.
Isaac scow
led. “Neither am I.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Screw you.”
***
During their second game, Michael noticed Isaac had gotten quiet. He said, “Something on your mind?”
Isaac shrugged. “I caught a new case. Bad scene.”
“What happened?”
“A woman. Young. Someone had beaten her bad. Broke her jaw. Knocked her teeth out. Then strangled her. Up close and personal kind of thing.”
“Damn…” Michael muttered.
“I see stuff like that and it makes me think of Gwen and Christina.” Isaac shrugged, swallowed a mouthful of beer. “You know.”
“Yeah,” Michael said. “I do.” He paused, trying not to let the vision of Christina’s dead body creep up on him. “Any leads?”
“Not yet. Hopefully the autopsy will come up with some evidence we can use.”
Michael nodded. Isaac lined up his next shot. He missed, cursed, and reached for his beer. Laughing, Michael said, “We’ll chalk this loss up to work distractions.”
“You know I can kick your ass,” Isaac said. “I’m just waiting for the right time.”
“Uh-huh.”
Chapter 30
Michael noticed the flickering of the TV through the front window as he pulled into his garage. He heard nothing when he came into the house. The sound had been muted. A weather map displayed satellite images of clouds. The storm it showed had been rumbling around outside for the past hour or so.
Nicki sat on one end of the couch, her legs tucked under her, wearing one of his old white t-shirts. Michael’s first thought was how sexy she looked sitting there that way. Then she glanced up at him with red-rimmed eyes and an expression of pure sadness. He had a brief tangle with his libido, which was still stuck on how sexy she looked, before he sat beside her. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Isabel’s dead.”
“Shit.” Michael brushed a chunk of hair from Nicki’s face. “I’m so sorry.”
“He killed her. Just like he said he would.”
“How do you know she’s dead?”
Nicki motioned to the newspaper that was lying on the coffee table. “A tiny article buried in there. I’ve been watching the news but they haven’t mentioned her. I guess she wasn’t important enough.”
“Did the article say Lott was involved?”
“No. But I know he did it.”
Michael drew Nicki close. As she rested her head on his shoulder, he remembered what Isaac had told him earlier that evening. He said, “Was she found in an alley? Badly beaten, broken jaw?”
Nicki pulled away and met his gaze. “How did you know?”
“Isaac caught the case. He told me about it tonight.”
“Do they know it was Lott? Are they going to arrest him?”
“They’re investigating. I don’t know whether they’ll have enough evidence to arrest Lott.”
“The bastard,” Nicki sputtered. “He called my cell phone a couple of times tonight. I didn’t answer.”
“Good. Don’t.”
Fresh tears welled up in Nicki’s eyes. “I should have done more to help her.”
“You couldn’t. It was her choice to go back to him.”
“She didn’t deserve to die.”
For a few moments they were both silent. He held her close, stroking her hair. With a heavy sigh, Nicki pushed away and met Michael’s eyes. She said, “I should talk to the cops. Tell them what I know.”
“You could…” Michael said slowly.
Nicki watched him, waiting. When he didn’t say more, she said, “But?”
Michael shrugged. “I wouldn’t advise it.”
“Didn’t you want me to go to the cops at the start of all this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“So why not now? I could help put him in prison.”
Michael shrugged again. “Technically I guess that’s true. But the guy already wants you dead. Your name has a reward attached. He’s got family in his little gang looking for you. If they find out you’re working with the cops, you’ll have to stay hidden for a very long time.”
Nicki sank back against the couch and rubbed her swollen eyes. “I don’t believe this is happening.”
“Once you go to the cops, there’s not much I can do to help you. The cops will be in charge.”
“Your friend is a cop.”
“That he is.”
“You don’t trust him to keep me safe?”
“Him, yes,” Michael said. “The system, no.”
“And Lott going to prison isn’t going to solve my problem now, is it?” Nicki asked.
“I don’t think so. No.”
“What am I going to do?”
“Nothing.”
Nicki started to protest. Michael held a finger lightly against her lips to stop her. He said, “Do you trust me?”
She held his gaze for a long moment. Finally she said, “Absolutely.”
“Then let me handle it.”
Chapter 31
The bass from an assortment of gansta rap vibrated throughout the room. Lotto was kicked back in the recliner, sucking on a bottle of Budweiser and looking around the living room with a sadness masked as disgust. He said, “Her shit’s gotta go.”
Wiz, Lotto’s best friend since childhood, said, “Wouldn’t look right to the cops if you junked it all too soon. You know they’ll be doing the surprise visit thing, looking to nail you.”
Lotto lit a Newport, muttered, “Yeah,” through the smoke.
“Seems weird here without her,” Darius, Lotto’s cousin, said.
Lotto glared at Darius. “I don’t wanna hear it.”
Darius slunk back onto the couch. His brother, Marcus, had the same dark good looks and lean, muscular frame. But that was where the similarities ended. While Darius tended to brood and get emotional, Marcus had a cold, detached approach to all of life. Marcus had been lying on the floor doing crunches. Now he grabbed his beer from the battered coffee table and said, “She made her own choices. Dug her own grave.”
Lotto grunted in agreement. He said, “She knew better than to talk to anybody about us.”
Pete, a longtime friend, stayed out of the conversation. Unless it pertained to business, Pete didn’t get involved. He stood by the window, drinking his beer in silence. Marcus joined him there. Glancing down at the darkened street, Marcus said, “Any idea where that bitch is hiding?”
“No,” Lotto replied. “But we’ll find her. She can’t hide forever.”
“You really think Isabel told her?” Darius asked.
“What the fuck else you think happened?” Lotto said. “The bitch is a social worker. Or counselor. Some such shit. It’s their job to get people to spill their guts.”
“But isn’t it privileged information?” Darius asked. “You know, like with your lawyer?”
“Fucking bleeding heart,” Lotto muttered.
Wiz said, “Nothing’s ever privileged.”
Lotto nodded. “That’s why you keep your fucking mouth shut.” Then, to Pete, he said, “You get that wrapped up today?”
The sudden shift to business got Pete’s attention. He said, “Sold the last of that bunch.”
“Good,” Lotto said.
“We laying low for awhile?” Wiz asked.
“Probably better that way,” Lotto replied.
The five men fell silent. The thumping of the music filled the room. Lotto stared at the statue of an angel that Isabel had put on the shelf when she’d first moved in. To protect him, she’d said. He would never admit it to anyone but he would miss her. That counselor bitch, Nicki somebody, she would pay for meddling in his life.
Chapter 32
Michael dragged himself out of bed at 8:30. Thankfully it was Saturday and he wouldn’t have to bluff his way through another workday. On the other hand, he’d have to spend his day figuring out what to do about Lott and his gang. The prospects weren’t looking good.
He took a quick shower a
nd shaved. Feeling somewhat human, he emerged from his room to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Having Nicki staying with him definitely had its advantages.
Nicki was not in the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee and went in search of her. The house was quiet, so the first place he checked was out back. The pool remained still. No early morning swim.
The second bathroom was empty. Her bedroom door stood ajar. He knocked lightly. “C’mon in,” she said.
Nicki uncoiled herself from some crazy pretzel position. She said, “I was just stretching.”
Michael grimaced. “No stretch I’ve ever seen looks like that.”
“It’s good for you. You should try it.”
“You’d have to dismember me first.”
Nicki laughed. “I think that would defeat the purpose.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Now I need coffee,” Nicki said as she strolled past him.
“It tastes great.”
“Your brand. Your machine. All I did was spoon it in.”
“More than I would’ve done this morning.”
After pouring herself a cup, Nicki leaned back against the counter and met Michael’s eyes. She said, “I’ve come to a decision.”
Michael studied her for a moment. He said, “And I’m not going to like it.”
“Probably not.”
“Okay. So fill me in.”
“This whole mess has gotten way too complicated,” Nicki said. “And I value our friendship too much. I can’t ask you to fix this.”
“Nicki -”
“I’m not arguing. I’ve made my decision. I’m leaving town for awhile. Hopefully the cops will nail Lott, stick him in prison forever. His friends will forget about me, as long as I don’t testify.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I knew you wouldn’t.”
Michael shook his head. “Even if the cops manage to build the perfect case and Lott gets taken off the streets, you’re probably talking months before that happens. It could be years. And he’s already got his friends after you. They won’t give up that easily.”
“I know.” Nicki refused to meet Michael’s eyes. Staring down into her coffee, she said, “I also know these bastards aren’t going to be searching across the country for me. So it’s better for both of us if I disappear.”
“I can settle this for you. I just need a little more time.”