by Joan Mauch
Being turned down was nothing new for Leon; he expected it. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was hurting for sex. He could have it whenever he wanted as long as there was “product” in the house.
When he saw her the following week looking toward the house as though she expected something or someone, he decided to take action. With the place to himself for a few days, there had been no risk of discovery, so he’d decided to chance it. What did he have to lose? Besides, with Jen gone, that old feeling of emptiness had set in accompanied by depression. Sometimes it was so debilitating he could scarcely get out of bed. Maybe he could stave it off by distracting himself with a beautiful woman. It was worth a try.
“Hey there Babe,” he’d called from the balcony. “You lookin’ for me?” If only. But then the most surprising thing happened. She’d smiled and waved. As she started to walk away, he’d called after her, “Why don’t you make a lonely guy happy and join me for a drink?”
As if he’d said the magic words, she stopped abruptly and retraced her steps. Looking up at him with eyes as big as saucers, she nodded and said, “All right. I’ll have a drink with you, but not in there.” She’d gestured with her head. “You come out here.”
Emotion, like an electric current spiked through Leon’s body. “Really? You’ll really go?” He could’ve kicked himself. What a pathetic thing to say. Maybe she hadn’t noticed. “Don’t move,” he’d called, “I’ll be right down.”
That was a week ago. Since then they’d met for drinks several times, gone to the beach together—he’d even let her come inside the house. It was taking a risk, that’s for darn sure, but there was no product around. So what could she discover?
It’s true she’d asked about the girl she saw several weeks back. She’d seen him yank Jennifer off the balcony during that parade, but he’d explained it away. Said his niece was visiting from up north and that she’d been something of a pain in the ass, wouldn’t do what she was told.
Said he’d had to get tough with her; that he was afraid she might do something crazy and then how would he explain it to his sister? Remember the girl in Aruba that disappeared over spring break? Well, he didn’t want something like that happening to his sister’s kid. No siree, not while she was under his roof.
He’d been so smooth, the way he’d explained it that she bought it. You could tell by the way she nodded and looked at him with something like respect. Nobody’d ever looked at him like that.
Seymour’d be so proud. Not that he’d tell the sonofabitch. If he did, the man would go off on him for striking up a friendship with anyone—let alone someone like Izzie. And if he ever found out she’d been inside the house, well, there’d be a bullet with Leon’s name on it—no doubt about it.
Chapter 18
Jackson stood next to his mom and brother as the priest said a final prayer over the casket. He’d arrived too late. His dad had died two hours before the plane landed.
Now, having helped with the wake and funeral, he felt numb, and somewhat conflicted. On the one hand, he’d truly wanted to help his father, even if it meant donating a portion of his liver. On the other, he was relieved it hadn’t gone that far.
He loved his dad, but watching him kill himself a little with every drink wore him down. Not to mention the guilt for having abandoned his mom to deal with it all. The effects were written like a map across her face, making her look older than her years.
As the casket was lowered into the ground, he wondered if, with Dad gone, she’d be able to find some peace. Or would Zac replace him as yet another burden for her to carry? Resolving to speak to her about it before returning to Tampa, Jackson went back to the car and got inside.
****
It was after six when the last of the neighbors finally departed. Every available space in the kitchen was covered with leftovers: casseroles, salads, sliced ham, chicken breasts, deviled eggs, soups and a variety of baked goods. There was more than enough food to feed them for a week, maybe longer.
Grief, in combination with the sickening array of food, nauseated Jackson. “What a mess.”
His mother, looking spent, started to pick up a dish.
“Mom, lie down. Me and Zac’ll clean up.” Jackson gave his brother a meaningful look.
Zac’s plate was piled high, his cheeks bulged. Unable to speak, he nodded, although his expression said he was none too pleased.
“You sure? Three sets of hands would make the work go faster.”
“We can handle it, Mom. You go lie down,” Jackson assured her. After she’d gone upstairs, he got to work wrapping leftovers and piling the dishes while his brother continued to stuff his face.
“How about you start washing dishes while I find some place to store this stuff?” Jackson said over his shoulder, as he pulled the refrigerator door open.
“When did you become the boss of me?” Zac swallowed his last bite of chicken.
“What? No. I didn’t mean to…” Jackson knew it was hopeless. Zac had been itching for a fight since he arrived. This was the first opportunity he had and it was clear he wasn’t about to let it pass.
“I know. You’re the hotshot cameraman, working for a big Florida TV station while I’m a loser. You don’t have to say it. I’ve heard every day from Mom and Dad how I, as the older brother, should’ve made something of myself and what an embarrassment I am. Oh really? What about Dad?”
When Jackson didn’t take the bait, Zac thumped him on the back causing him to spill a bowl of baked beans on the floor.
“Watta slob. Didn’t they teach you nothing down in Flor-ee-day, lil’ bro?” He took another pull on the beer bottle and let out a loud belch. “Well, sonny boy, you offered to clean up this pigsty, so have at it. I’ve gonna take me a little nap.” With that he left the room.
While there was a lot of cleaning to do, Jackson was relieved. A big fight with Zac was the last thing he wanted. Grabbing a roll of paper towels and the trash can, he began cleaning up the gooey mess.
****
“Mom, how about going back to Tampa with me?” Jackson sat in the family room watching the news with his mother. Zac had gone out—whereabouts unknown.
After a few moments of silence, she said, “Oh honey, how thoughtful of you to ask, but as much as I’d dearly love to go, I can’t. There’s too much to do here, plus I have my job and all.” She paused, then added, “Say, I have an idea. Why don’t you ask Zac? He could use a change of scenery, and it’d give the two of you a chance to spend some time together. What do you think?”
She hadn’t come right out and said it, but Jackson could read between the lines: It would give her a badly needed break.
Before he had a chance to protest that he couldn’t afford to pay his brother’s airfare, she interjected, “I have some money saved up—enough for his airline ticket, food and a little left over for fun. What do you say?”
What could he say? Jackson nodded with a sense of dread that nearly choked him.
“I can’t wait till your brother gets home.” She fairly bubbled over with excitement. “He’ll be thrilled.”
Chapter 19
“Son of a bitch! Why’d she have to go and ruin everything?” Leon slammed his fist on the table, making dishes jump and splashing coffee onto his clean shirt. “Damnit,” he shouted, glancing furtively around the room for Tiny, who’d wisely made himself scarce. “Now what’m I gonna do?”
Leon couldn’t say he hadn’t been warned. Seymour’d told him more than once not to go messing with the “locals”; that considering the “business” they were in, it was too risky. And had he listened? No-o-o, Leon knew better than his scumbag of a boss. Sure he did—and look where it’d gotten him—in a big fat mess, that’s where.
Everything had been going along just fine. He and Izzie were hitting it off. He couldn’t believe his good fortune: Walking on the beach with a beautiful girl at his side made him feel like a real man—not just some hood who’d spent his life doing things he was ashamed of.
Izzie was a woman wh
o made you want to straighten up and fly right, as his old man used to say. She made him want things other people took for granted: a home, maybe even some rug rats running around. How about that? Well, why not? It wasn’t so farfetched. Guys with less going for them managed to do that. Yes, he had to admit he’d begun to dream of a future for himself, even started trying to figure out how to get out from under Seymour and his cronies. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was possible—or so he’d begun to think, until the next shipment arrived and Izzie began to ask questions.
At first he’d simply changed the subject and kept her away from the house. That worked until the day she showed up unexpectedly and saw the latest product—a young girl from out west who was in the middle of a meltdown. Tiny was barking and the brat was demanding that he let her go. He had his hands full trying to control the situation. Then Izzie had put in an appearance and all hell broke loose.
Chapter 20
Zac was sprawled out on the couch watching a NASCAR race when Jackson walked in, balancing several bags of groceries in his arms.
“Oh, hey bro,” Zac said, his eyes still glued to the screen.
“Hey,” Jackson grunted. He set the bags on the pass-through counter and went back to the car to retrieve the rest. Annoyance wormed its way into his psyche. So this is what he had to look forward to for the next few weeks: his brother lying around while he did all the work. No surprise there. Mom had put up with Zac for years.
By now Jackson’s anger had reached a boiling point. Mom had paid for Zac’s trip, even giving him money for food. Jackson provided a place for him to stay. And Zac? He just lay there like a damned lump.
When he got back to the third-floor apartment and saw that the grocery bags remained on the counter with Zac glued to the TV, Jackson could no longer contain his anger.
Setting the remaining sacks down, he turned and said, “So I guess it didn’t occur to you to put the food away?”
Zac looked up as if awaking from a dream. “I’m sorry bro. If you wanted me to do that you should have asked.” With that he leapt to his feet and began to pull items from the bags, setting them down willy-nilly. “Wanna tell me where you want this stuff or should I just guess?”
The kitchen in Jackson’s apartment was galley-style leaving little room for more than one person in the space at a time. With Zac next to him, neither could move, much less carry cans and boxes of food from the counter to its intended spot.
Zac stared Jackson in the face awaiting his answer.
“That’s all right,” Jackson said. “I’ll do it.”
“No, you wanted help, so I’m helping.”
Jackson could see the determination in his brother’s face. He knew that expression: It said, “You wanna rumble? Let’s have at it.”
Chapter 21
Monday morning couldn’t come fast enough for Jackson. Three days of Zac’s laying around and complaining was three too many as far as he was concerned.
“So you’re gonna leave me stranded with no way to get around?”
Zac’s voice startled him. He’d assumed his brother was still asleep on the couch.
“What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean? What am I supposed to do around here all day with no wheels?”
“I don’t know, Zac. Maybe watch TV?” Hoping Zac wouldn’t hear, he added under his breath, “Like you’ve been doing since you got here.”
“Seriously, how about you let me use your car? I’ll drop you off and you can get a ride home with one of your fancy reporter friends.”
Jackson’s blood began to boil. Was there no end to Zac’s demands? He comes here on Mom’s dime, lays around doing absolutely nothing, gets argumentative if he’s asked to do even the slightest thing and now has the nerve to suggest Jackson loan him his car and find his own way home from work.
“Look, buses will take you most anywhere you want to go, or, hey, I have an idea: walk. The exercise’ll do you good.”
Zac threw his arms up. “Fine. You don’t have to go all postal. I’ll figure it out myself.”
Jackson looked at the wall clock. “I gotta get going or I’ll be late. See you tonight.”
****
“Oh, good, you’re back.” Morris Stone looked up from a document he was reading. “Sorry about your dad. How’s your mom holding up?”
Jackson nodded and swallowed as emotion unexpectedly surged, making speech difficult. “She’ll be all right.” He was going to add that Zac had come back with him, but thought better of it. The man didn’t look especially interested in his personal life.
“By the way, you’ll be on your own today.”
Jackson’s forehead crinkled. On his own? “Izzie taking the day off?”
“Days off, you mean. We haven’t seen or heard from her since the middle of last week. It’s a damned shame. That girl had potential, if she coulda got her mouth under control.”
At first, Morris’ words confused Jackson. As he took in their meaning, he was stunned. “Are you saying Izzie’s been fired?”
“Well, duh. What do you suppose we should do with a reporter who fails to report for work? Doesn’t even give us the courtesy of a phone call to tell us whether she’s sick or quit. We’re not running a day-care center here, you know, and it’s not too much to expect our people to act like professionals. Wouldn’t you agree?” He squinted at Jackson.
“Yes, but did anyone check to see if she’s all right?”
“Of course. Look, don’t worry about it. Snotty girl like that? Thinks the world owes her a living. I see it all the time. Pretty girl thinks she’s going to be a movie star or a news anchor. Never occurs to her she’s a dime a dozen. I’m not wasting any tears on her—and neither should you. Now get to work. The stories are pretty routine. All we really need is some footage. I’ll pair you up with somebody in a few days. Oh, and Jackson, glad to have you back.”
Chapter 22
Dragging his feet as though attached to a fifty-pound weight, Jackson inserted his key in the door and heaved a sigh of relief. The day was over and he could kick back with a cold beer. Then he remembered: he wasn’t alone. Zac was staying with him and it had been like pulling teeth from the get-go. Oh well, maybe he’d go out for the evening.
“Well, hey, bro. You’re home.” Zac’s voice boomed out.
No such luck. The man was back from wherever he’d spent the day. Feeling like he’d been punched in the gut, Jackson managed a wan smile.
“Oh, hey, Zac. How was your day?” From the look of the apartment his brother had spent a fair amount of it parked right where he was. Clothes were strewn about, dirty dishes piled on the cocktail table amidst partially empty beer cans. The place reeked of garbage and body odor. Swallowing the urge to snap at him, Jackson said. “What’d you do?” As if it wasn’t obvious.
“Not a whole hell of a lot. I gotta get the lay of the land before I venture forth,” Zac grinned as if his choice of words would make up for having trashed Jackson’s place. “You look bushed. Have a hard day chasing the bad guys with your little camera?”
When Jackson didn’t pull a face or throw a sarcastic retort in his direction, Zac followed up with, “Seriously, is something the matter? I mean besides all this? I’ll clean it up, in fact, sit down and I’ll cook supper, how’s that?”
It sounded great. “Okay, I’ll shower and have a quick nap.” No one had cooked a meal for Jackson since he’d left home. It might be exactly the thing to snap me out of my funk.
He’d asked around and no one seemed to know—or care—what had become of Izzie. He’d called her cell and emailed her, all to no avail. She seemed to have simply vanished. Did it have anything to do with the guy she’d been seeing? Had something happened to her?
His co-workers weren’t aware of her relationship with a man who may or may not be dangerous. At least he didn’t think she’d told anyone. Besides, as far as he knew, she didn’t have any close friends at the station. She’d been so rude no one liked her.
H
e stepped into the shower and, with hot water splashing over him, his muscles began to relax despite the hold Izzie continued to have on his thoughts. Why couldn’t he get her off his mind? She’d lost her job and that was that. There was nothing he could do. Still, he should check to make sure she was all right. Tomorrow if he was still without a reporter, he’d swing by her apartment, then when he was satisfied she was all right, he’d put her out of his mind once and for all.
Jackson had to admit Zac had done a yeoman’s job of fixing dinner. They had stuffed pork chops, baked potatoes, a green bean casserole and apple pie for dessert. The kitchen was a mess, but the food was so delicious, he hardly noticed.
“Wow. Where’d you learn to cook like that?”
Zac’s face brightened. “I took some cooking classes a couple years back. Thought I’d be a chef.” The hint of a smile faded. “That was until Dad… Never mind, so you really liked it?”
“Liked it? Oh my gosh, yes, it was terrific.” Jackson’s eyes fell on the disaster in the kitchen. It appeared that every pan he owned had been used. With the food now caked and drying, it’d take hours to clean up. Having grown up with Zac, he knew the drill, there was no point getting into a fight over it: whenever Zac cooked—which wasn’t all that often—Jackson cleaned up, that’s just the way it was. It seemed fair enough until you consider most cooks clean up as they go, so at the end, there isn’t much to do.
Jackson stood up and started to clear the table.
“I’ve got it,” Zac said. “You go in and take it easy.”
If you’d told Jackson that he won the lottery he couldn’t have been more surprised—or pleased. He went into the living room, switched on the television and ten minutes later was sound asleep.
Chapter 23
After work the following day, Jackson drove by Izzie’s place in the off chance that she was home. She lived in a gated community off Bay Pointe Drive. It pissed off Jackson to realize that despite being younger and far less experienced, she obviously made more money than he did.