I was just getting back to my hotel when I got a text from Dino.
Tweak isn’t going to be a problem for Angel anymore.
How do you figure? As long as he was in the Toledo area, Tweak was going to be a problem for Angel, unless I was lucky enough to get my hands on him.
The next message was a link to a news article in the Blade, showing that a body identified as Bernard Hopper had been recovered from the Maumee River, assumed to be a jumper from the High-Level Bridge downtown. That happened every once in a while. Sometimes people jumped from the bridge on a dare, most times people were jumping for a lot more depressing reasons. There was no way I thought Tweak made his way over the side of that suspension bridge without help from a second or third party.
And there were drugs in his system. Well no shit.
Chaz wants to assure you that your continued satisfaction with his service is of the utmost importance to him.
That was creepy on several levels, but in my line of work…okay, in my previous line of work, it would probably not be a bad thing to have a crime boss in your pocket. I didn’t like that he thought of me as his VIP customer, but if that got me favors in the future, maybe I would let it lie. I really didn’t want him advertising any more of his merchandise to me either, but maybe I would burn that bridge when I got to it.
I didn’t answer Dino, and he didn’t text me again. I wondered if Chaz even knew Dino had sent me that message. I still wasn’t sure what game Dino was playing, but as someone who had ties to this community, as well as the Federal Bureau of Investigations, I figured he had his own agenda. Part of how well we worked together revolved around us not sticking our noses into each other’s business. What would be would be, although I probably owed him a few favors for how he had saved Angel. A couple of times. I really hated owing Dino favors.
My flight didn’t leave until the next morning. There wasn’t much else to do. I was not a gambler, which was probably why I was able to hang on to my money a lot better than some other people. I also didn’t feel like going out and dealing with every high dollar hooker on the Boardwalk when all I wanted to do was go home and see Angel. It was the middle of the day, I didn’t want to bug her. Hopefully, she didn’t have a bad hangover from all of those margaritas yesterday and was able to get some work done, whatever it was that she did. Or clean that living room, holy shit.
I was lying on the bed flipping through the shitty hotel television channels, thinking about ordering room service for dinner, when the white plastic garbage bag poking out of my carry on caught my eye.
What the hell had the old lady been talking about, read a book? It aggravated me that she thought I didn’t know certain things about Angel. Sure, there was a huge chunk of time that had passed so I was sure there were a ton of things that would be new to me, but pink roses? No way. Angel had loved them since she was a little girl, and I knew how much she liked them because I had bought them for her for her birthdays and every special occasion. I knew they were her favorite, she told me so.
Out of simple curiosity, and not because some old lady told me to, I picked the first book of the series out of the bag and flipped to page one. Samantha Ice. Why did that name sound familiar? I don’t think I knew any Samanthas, but that last name was peculiar. Not as a surname, because I was pretty sure that was a pen name, but it jogged something else in my memory. It flirted just on the edges of my awareness, the answer so close I could almost touch it. One of those things that you couldn’t think of no matter how hard you tried, but the answer would wake you up at two in the morning without fail.
I started to read, and it was a really well written and humorous book. It was a romantic comedy for sure, but the beginning was kind of sad. I ended up staying up all night reading. I read all the way until it was time to leave for the airport the next day. I only made it through the first five books out of the eight, but it was the first one that stayed in my mind. The first one that answered any questions that I had about Angel, about what happened my senior year of high school. About what Jolene had tried to tell me in the hallway of The Washington Arms. I was so crammed full of information my stomach ached from it, and my eyes burned as I kept reading on my three and a half hour flight home.
I needed to see Angel. We needed to fucking talk.
19
Angel
Gallery B was exactly like I thought it would be, except smaller. I guess from all the press and the huge clientele lined up to see him, I thought Beck’s place would be a lot bigger inside than it looked from the outside. It was, in fact, even smaller than it looked from the outside, if that was at all possible. Even though we had called and made the arrangements over the phone, Jolene and Gerta wanted to come anyway, just to make sure the appointment exchange was okay with Beck.
I’d spoken to a woman named Chessie on the phone who had assured me it was okay. I had mentioned wanting something small so I didn’t even need to come in for a consult, which I thought was cool. And after thinking really hard about it, I did come up with something small, but meaningful to me. The question was whether or not Beck would actually do the artwork. From what I heard from Regina, he only did artwork he approved of. Hell, she told me he made her keep her eyes closed through the whole process. I didn’t know if I could do that myself.
It was a bit of a gamble, the work I wanted to get done, but it was pretty damn special to me and I was hoping that would translate when I tried to explain it to Beck. I could have drawn it out, or found something on the internet, but I also heard he liked to do things freestyle. When you get an appointment with an artistic genius, you work within his parameters. I’d been excited since Gerta and I had made the arrangements, now I was nervous as shit.
Sitting on the couch in the lobby of the tattoo shop I signed my life away filling out medical forms on a black tablet. They requested everything but a blood sample and my firstborn child. I mean, it was thorough as hell, but instead of being aggravated I was strangely relieved. Something was comforting about a company that wanted to make sure they were taking care of you properly. Good job, Beck.
The woman I had talked to on the phone, Chessie, was working the front desk along with a young man named Cody, who introduced himself as the piercer on staff. He was cute in a young kind of way, with artfully messy hair and a pierced lip in two places. It seemed a little excessive for me, but when he smiled and started talking I couldn’t see him any other way. He was a bit of a character and had started flirting with Gerta and Jolene right away.
“Ladies, how nice to see you again. Gerta, so boss of you to give your appointment time to our little tattoo virgin Angel today.” He nodded to me as I looked up from filling out my information in time to see him wink at Jolene. “Miss Jolene, when are we going to get you in for a tattoo? Or what about a piercing? I can do your eyebrow for you while you are waiting on Angel.” As he flashed that charming smile both women blushed and laughed at his attention. He certainly was a charmer, this Cody. I looked up at the receptionist desk, which sat against one of the walls completely covered in paintings done by local artists. This room was the “gallery” part of Gallery B. The receptionist was leaning on her elbow and watching Cody, a faint smile on her lips.
I knew a crush when I saw one and I silently sent good luck vibes Chessie’s way. Crushes are amazing, I should know, I had one. I had loved him fiercely when we were younger, with my whole heart and soul the way only an emotionally compromised teenage girl can. But this grown-up Gabe. This man, he was a completely different person, and I found the emotions I was experiencing new and exciting, even though they slipped and slid on the graves of the feelings I had harbored before.
Those feelings I had spent years compacting and burying in the bottom parts of my heart. Gabe was dancing on those. He was disturbing the dirt. I could very well be flirting with disaster, falling in love with Gabe again, but after listening to Gerta and seeing her tattoo, I couldn’t help but be optimistic, no matter what happened. Gerta’s dirt had been disturbe
d so many times, and she was still surviving, still capable of so much love. I wish I could be strong like her, and maybe after this tattoo, I could say I was trying. In my own way.
The black curtains lining the wall to the side of me parted, and Beck appeared as if he had just completed a magic trick. “Do I hear Jolene and Gerta?” his loud voice boomed through the small space.
“Hello, Beck,” said the two women in unison, and they both walked up to him and stood expectantly, waiting for a hug. He bent low and hugged both women gently as if he were bestowing upon them a gift. He kind of was. I mean, if I didn’t know he was about to become my friend Regina’s baby daddy I would be lining up for a squeeze, too. Beck was book boyfriend material, for sure, and I made a mental note to add someone with his physical description in my next book.
If I can ever manage to get any more words in.
Speaking of baby daddy, I wondered if Regina had managed to find a way to tell him yet?
“Hello, fresh meat,” Beck said, flashing me a wolfish grin. Whoa. Where had he been hiding that dimple? I was pretty sure that thing had destructive powers. “It must be pretty good, Angel, if you got Gerta to give up her spot for you. We’ll get you back in soon Gerta, you are my favorite.” And he winked in Gerta’s direction. She laughed and so did I. I bet Beck told everyone they were his favorite. By the way Chessie rolled her eyes and smiled I was willing to bet she thought the same thing.
“Unless you need us to stay and hold your hand, we are going to be at Nasta’s having a cocktail,” said Jolene, who was already halfway out the door and pulling Gerta behind her. I was glad she didn’t want to stay with me. I was struggling enough with showing Beck what I needed, I didn’t need my downstairs neighbors getting an eyeful too.
“It’s only three in the afternoon ladies,” Cody said with a knowing grin, obviously giving them a hard time because he knew them well enough. Did everyone know Jolene and Gerta? Did I live under a rock? As a writer, I did tend to live a solitary life, but I got out sometimes. I played at Nasta’s, I wasn’t a complete hermit.
Jolene didn’t hear him because she was already out the door, but Gerta paused in the doorway to straighten the sleeves of her lilac blouse and smooth away any invisible wrinkles that may have formed in her stylish white slacks. “A little cognac in the afternoon is good for your digestion,” she said primly and headed out to meet Jolene, her walk more of a slow shuffle than anything else.
For being old, those two sure get around.
“Are you ready?”
I jumped. Somehow Beck had snuck right up next to me and spoke right in my ear, which scared the shit out of me because I had been paying attention to Jolene and Gerta and not to him. I couldn’t wrap my brain around how someone that big could have been so silent next to me anyway.
“Yes,” I squeaked out and followed him behind the curtain he held open for me.
The tattoo area looked like a doctor’s office, it was that sterile. There was a little artwork on the walls, but nothing compared to what was on display up front. These pieces must not be for sale, I thought. This must be his personal collection.
One small canvas, probably about the size of a piece of paper, hung lower on the wall, closer to his workstation. It was a brightly colored picture of a woman sitting at a vanity, putting on her makeup. She was luminous and I recognized her immediately.
“Holy shit, Beck, is that Regina?” I asked on a hushed breath. “This is amazing, she looks amazing.”
“Well, I mean I am an artist,” Beck said, although he was clearly pleased with the compliment.
“But this is beyond.” I bent over low to get closer to the painting, for its size the detail was astonishing. “Does it have a name?” I asked. I didn’t know if artists even still named paintings anymore, or maybe just the big ones. I didn't know shit about visual art, but I did know pretty things and this painting was gorgeous. She was sitting sideways on a stool in front of a vanity made from some sort of dark wood. Her skin glowed with an inner light and her diaphanous gown seemed to float on her body. It was a timeless portrait, and the closer I looked at the dress the more I wondered if this was something she would actually own—or wear in real life.
"Where in the hell did she get that dress?" I whispered, mostly to myself because I didn't expect Beck to know, much less care.
"Oh, I just thought she would look beautiful in a dress like that, she wasn't actually wearing one." Beck chimed in from across the small room as he busied himself grabbing supplies out of a cart and wheeling it to the center of the room.
"Wasn't wearing the dress or wasn't wearing anything at all, Beck?" I asked the question slyly, as a joke, but that damn dimple popped out right before he gave me a toothy grin.
"Don't tell her I told you, she'll be embarrassed."
What was it with people and sharing their secrets with me? Did I look that trustworthy? Oh well, since I was keeping a pretty big one for Regina she didn't get to be mad that I knew about this. And I assumed, because he didn't say anything to me about it, that he still didn't know Regina was pregnant. Although, with all that hot/cold, eat, barf nonsense, I don't know how he could miss it. I bet he was going to be the type of guy who made her take monthly belly pictures for his scrapbook or something. It was so mushy I kind of wanted to cry about it a little. What they had...it was nice. I wished I could have something like that.
"While I'm checking stock on supplies why don't you tell me what you came here for, Angel? I can only assume it has something to do with the issues you were talking about at Regina's the other day?" He was right, and I took a deep breath before I gave my explanation, hoping against hope he wouldn't think it was stupid. It might have been a decision made on the fly, but the feelings behind it were real. I kind of needed this, for some weird reason I couldn't quite explain, even to myself.
Beck didn't think it was stupid. He just sat there and listened while I used too many words to explain what I wanted and why, and when I finally wound down and stopped rambling he took a deep inhale in and let it go in one long breath.
"I love it," he said, wheeling his cart over to what looked like a massage table. Slapping one large palm on the black cushion, he gestured for me to have a seat. "Assume the position," he said ominously, but I was used to his theatrics by now and got up on the table, which had me lying flat on my back while he washed his hands at a small sink in the corner. My pocket began to tingle and I pulled my cell phone out.
Handsome Devil.
He wasn't texting, he was calling. Oh God, I should probably take this. What had he found out about Melody? Did he get his money back? I wasn’t kidding when I told Gabe I had forgotten about her. He had completely consumed my thoughts since the moment I saw him again. Jesus, what kind of bad shape was I in that I was able to space out the entire reason for that to begin with? I don't know why I was so nervous in answering the phone, but suddenly my palms were sweaty and the phone threatened to slip from my hands.
"Hello?" I answered, and damn my voice for trembling.
"Are you at home right now?" His voice was hard, he sounded pissed.
"No, I'm not. What's going on? Did you find Melody? You sound upset." I sat upright on the bench as Beck wheeled a small stool over and sat down, still fiddling with instruments on the cart.
"Yeah, I found her, but the money is a dead end. Sorry, Angel, looks like you aren't getting out of my debt anytime soon." I don't know why those words shot a thrill through me, but they did, and I would pick apart what that said about me as a person later.
"Looks like you are stuck with me for a while, then." God, I was sick. This was not the relationship I wanted to have with him, and I know he wouldn't hold that over me. I know he wouldn't. Part of the privilege of being filthy rich was not getting bent over losing six hundred grand. Some people lost that much money gambling. As far as I knew, Gabe didn't gamble unless you counted him spending time with me. That seemed pretty risky right about now, at least to me.
Gabe sighed on
the other end of the phone, and after a pregnant pause where I wasn’t sure if he was done with the conversation or not he continued.
“Actually, that Melody is a garbage human being, and I left her to rot in jail. The only good thing about that woman was she was indirectly responsible for putting you in my life again. Other than that, anything that happens to her is a direct result of her shitty life choices. I should have never even went to Atlantic City. I thought I was doing it so you could get some closure, but realistically it was probably just my need to solve a puzzle. She was a loose end and the investigator in me just couldn’t let it go until I figured her out. That was selfish of me.”
I was so shocked at Gabe’s words I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t know much about Gabe’s life between the time he joined the service and the time he took over Anderson Investments. I mean, I knew his mom bragged about him but it was clear he loved what he did. How long would he be happy as a civilian? Albeit a filthy rich civilian.
“You were probably thinking it was about the money, even though I told you it was never about recovering the money.” He was right. I totally thought his flying out to Atlantic City was about the money.
“I never thought that,” I lied.
“Liar,” he laughed. Then the laughter died abruptly like he physically stopped himself mid laugh. “I have something else I need to tell you.”
Jesus, why did he sound like he was giving me terrible news? I squirmed on the massage table while Beck continued to arrange his tools.
“Tweak is dead.”
What? Holy shit that was big news.
Gabe Page 14