Face to face, she told me that her husband was a prince of a guy. I’d always wanted the best for her and she deserved it. But in the way she said it, I figured the husband who wouldn’t see her off at the airport must have been a real dick. A few years later, I’d learn that I was right in thinking it.
We stayed at the Barcelona place for a few days with Tony’s wife. He’d married a pretty gal from Jersey and done real good for himself. Our friend left behind a big spread there in the hills of Pennsylvania and plenty of insurance money for his family.
After the funeral, my flight left Philly for Los Angeles—a direct flight. I made sure that Vicky had a ticket to Columbus and wished her well. I somehow knew that we’d never see each other again. She reached up putting her hands on my shoulders and kissed me goodbye—an unnoticed tear streaming down her soft cheek.
“We’ll do it again sweetie,” I said starting down the jet-way. But, I knew better. Don’t ask me how.
Life got back to normal for me and I forgot all about Tony Barcelona and Vicky Brocato and Pennsylvania altogether. I’d worked hard, had a nice home and two boys that took every minute of my time.
About two years later, I start getting letters from Vicky again. She’d finally gotten brave enough to stand up for herself and was granted a divorce. She was planning a trip out to California and asked if we could meet somewhere. After talking it over with my wife, I agreed that she and her sons could stay with us for as long as they liked.
One night the phone rings and its Vicky on the other end, she’s excited and I listen mostly. Marzano was finally put away for killing the Columbian, Juan Soriano. Behind bars, someone had shanked the guy. In the hospital, Marzano came clean as far as his wife was concerned.
They had had an argument as they drove through the woods that night. The limo stopped at an intersection and the woman got out. Marzano had the driver continue on to let her cool off and stopped for a beer in the next town “Four hours we looked for that woman,” Marzano said on his death bed in a prison hospital. “Only thing we saw was two kids kissing behind a hotrod Dodge at the side of the road. It was black with chrome wheels, a real beauty,” he said.
Vicky said the law had been asking around town and someone had remembered that she used to hang out with a boy who had a car matching the description. She was scared, nervous that somehow she would be indicted for the murder of Mrs. Marzano all of those years ago.
“Look Vicky,” I said over the phone, “That was a long, long time ago and no one can prove anything. Tell them that yes, you hung out with some kids who raced their cars behind the airport, but nothing more. They haven’t found that woman in fifteen years honey and if they do, they can’t pin it on us…right?”
She agreed with what I was saying, but I could tell that it was eating at her like a hungry dog would a thick bone.
I knew that would be the last time that Vicky Brocato and I would talk and it was. I got word sometime later that Vicky had ended her short life. Now, I alone know Vicky’s Secret.
End
Other Stories by Christopher Davis
Walking to Babylon
Meet Me in Tulsa
Going Back to Dallas
Cinnamon Girl
Crossfire
Find Out More @ www.christopherdaviswrites.com
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Vicky's Secret Page 4