Sophie’s Last Stand

by Nancy Bartholomew

  “Where to, boss?” he asked.

  Gray was starting to feel the effects of the shot Dr. Davis had given him. His eyes drooped and he had to work hard to focus on the mirror in front of him.

  “Sophie’s house,” he said. “I gotta watch out for her.”

  “You sure?” Wendell asked. “I don’t think you’ll be doing too much watching tonight, pal.”

  “I said, Sophie’s house!”

  Gray seemed confused but determined. Wendell noticed and took over. “Right, Sophie’s house.” His eyes shifted from Gray to me. “You all right with that?” he asked. “I can stick around and make sure nothing happens.”

  I shook my head, noting his own bloodshot eyes and the lines of fatigue that deepened his already worried expression.

  “We’ll be fine. I’ll call if I need you, and I’m sure my house is now one of the most patrolled homes in New Bern. Don’t worry about a thing.”

  Gray’s head slumped over onto my shoulder and he began to snore softly.

  “You party animal,” I whispered. “You hunka, hunka burning love. I’m going to throw you in my bed and take you like a wild animal.” I added this last part secure in the knowledge that he was out of it, smiling with the sheer relief of knowing that he was going to be all right.

  “I love it when you talk dirty,” he answered softly, and then collapsed back against me, this time asleep for good.

  I turned and stared out the window into the inky darkness. I hadn’t thought Nick would find me in New Bern, and now I was beginning to wonder how he had. “If I were Nick,” I breathed to myself, “how would I find me? Where would I be now?” That was really the key, to think like Nick.

  “Darlene,” I called softly.

  She turned around in her seat. “What?”

  “Tomorrow, can you call some of the family up north? I want to know if anybody saw Nick after he got out of jail. I want to know if he asked any of the relatives where I moved to or what I was doing now.”

  She smiled. “Good plan.”

  “I think we should start asking about Connie Bono, too. I want to know how long she was seeing him, how serious it was, all that.”

  Wendell appeared to be concentrating on his driving, but he was listening to us, too. “Let me know what y’all find out, all right?” he said.

  Darlene smiled knowingly and nodded. “So we’ll be your snitches then, huh?” she said.

  I closed my eyes and shook my head slowly back and forth. How did my sister manage to make her way in the world knowing as little as she did about reality?

  Wendell was spared a long explanation by our arrival at the house. The crime scene van was gone but traces of their presence lingered everywhere inside and out, in the swirls of graphite powder, the yellow crime scene tape and the detritus of yet another investigation of a crime at my house. Every light in the house was on and a marked squad car sat idling on the street in front of the house.

  Darlene and I raced ahead of Wendell to find fresh sheets and clean up my makeshift bedroom before he reached us with the semiconscious Gray in tow.

  “All right, buddy,” Wendell said, lowering Gray down onto the bed. “Let’s make you comfortable.”

  Gray sighed and smiled. “Comfortable. Okay.”

  Wendell pushed Gray gently back onto the bed and helped me undress him. By the time we’d finished, Gray was snoring softly.

  I walked Wendell and Darlene to the door and practically pushed them out. “Go home,” I said. “You both look exhausted and tomorrow’s another day.”

  When they’d left, I slipped into the dining room and stood in the semidarkness, waiting for my eyes to adjust. Gray slept in my old double bed, nestled under one of my grandmother’s quilts. His face was pale again and dark shadows rimmed his eyes. I tiptoed across the room, pulled a chair up next to the bed and settled in to watch him sleep. At some point, I fell asleep myself, awakening to the early morning sunlight filtering through the slats in the window blinds and the gentle sound of Gray’s even breathing. I had a crick in my neck. A thin line of drool had dried on one side of my chin, and I knew I’d been snoring. I could feel my hair sticking out at odd angles all over my head and I felt the distinct need for a shower.

  I walked into the living room, pulled back the curtains and surveyed the street in front of the house. The squad car that had been parked there was gone.

  “It’s not like I’m the president,” I muttered. “They can’t leave a car in front of the house at every citizen who has a little trouble. I can handle Nick Komassi or anyone else, for that matter.” I was talking louder now, as though actually having a conversation with someone.

  “Come on,” I told myself. “Let’s get some coffee and go to work.” I walked through the dining room, past the softly snoring Gray, and on into the kitchen. I fumbled around making coffee, then pulled my old address book out of a drawer and flipped it open to the F page. I was going to start hunting Nick the same way he appeared to be hunting me.

  I picked up the cordless phone, stepped out onto the back porch so I wouldn’t awaken Gray, and punched in Gina Foucci’s number. On the fourth ring a breathless voice said “Hello?” and panted into the receiver. Gina was fresh from the treadmill, if I knew her.

  “Gina,” I said. “Guess who?”

  There was the briefest pause, then, “Oh my God, Sophie! Are you back?”

  I smiled and took a deep breath. Gina, the girl voted “Most Likely to Tell All” in my neighborhood, was open for business. Anything I said could and would be used against me in the court of public opinion and gossip. Gina Foucci was the presiding judge, and everyone else in South Philly would be the jury.

  “Listen,” I said, “I need your help. You’re the only one I can turn to.”

  I heard the slight anticipatory intake of breath as Gina paused, ready to receive the holy sacrament of new dirt. She didn’t even question why I’d suddenly want to talk after avoiding her like the black plague for months.

  “Well, Sophie, you know I’d do anything within my power to help,” she said, her voice thick honey. “You’ve been through just the most awful time. I tried to call you after Nick got, well, you know, but I guess you weren’t up to taking calls. I mean, what a shock!”

  “Exactly,” I said. I pictured Gina, frosted blond locks pouffed up into a tousled mass of wild bed hair, clutching her cordless phone and pacing around her tiny row house in neon-pink workout clothes. I could imagine her reaching for a cigarette and a Diet Coke.

  I gave her what I knew she wanted. “It was awful, Gina,” I said. “I just couldn’t talk about it for the longest time. I mean, I had no idea about the things Nick was doing!”

  “I know,” she said. “To think that man was skulking around, looking through all our windows at night, taking pictures and posting them on the Internet! Selling videos of all kind of lewd acts, too! I don’t know how I escaped becoming one of his victims!” The distinct tone of regret was unmistakable. “I’m just so thankful he didn’t post any pictures of me, naked and exposed for all the world to see.”

  That couldn’t have been further from the truth. Gina would’ve loved the drama. It was probably her secret fantasy to appear in the centerfold of Playboy magazine. She exercised, tanned and oiled her body like a machine. Her nails were manicured once a week. Her clothes, mainly spandex numbers, left nothing to the imagination. Gina was a natural born exhibitionist.

  “You are so absolutely right,” I said, trying to interrupt her train of thought. “Gina, did you know he actually hired prostitutes as models and, well, actresses in his porno flicks?” I didn’t give her the chance to answer. “Worst of all, Nick was actually dating one of them! Some girl named Connie Bono.”

  Gina sighed heavily. “Sophie, that’s old news. You poor, poor thing, you didn’t know about Connie? Why, he was seeing her and a couple of other girls long before he got arrested.”

  “I didn’t know,” I said, waiting for Gina to enlighten me.

  “Sophi
e, Nick’s out of prison, you know that, right?” She took a long drag on her cigarette. “He moved in with her and her two roommates. She’s in this retro, all-girl punk band. She lives with a couple of the other group members.”

  “Punk band?” I echoed. “I thought punk went out in the eighties?”

  “Oh, honey, believe me, Nick’s gone way downhill. You should see them. Those girls are tattooed, pierced, pale-skinned skeletons. I’m just sure they’re all using drugs.” Her voice dropped lower. “Connie strips in this sleazy bar, too. I’ve heard all those girls turn tricks. Sophie, you’re just lucky he got busted when he did. Imagine the diseases you could have gotten.”

  Gina stopped here, the question unasked, waiting for me to confirm or deny my health status.

  “Oh my God, Gina,” I breathed, trying to sound as innocent as possible. “You mean the whole time he was in prison, Nick was still in contact with that girl?”

  Gina snorted. “Yeah, and not just her. Connie’s band was Nick’s little harem. The way I hear it, he was doing them all. Of course, he was paying the rent, so I guess they wanted to keep him happy. I mean, yeah, they talked like they were one big family, like they were all in love, but who would believe a bunch of crap like that?”

  I didn’t have to pretend I felt sickened by what Gina was telling me. My stomach lurched, rolling and heaving toward my throat. Nick was much sicker than even I had imagined.

  “You mean he was supporting them from prison?”

  Gina coughed lightly, choking on her Diet Coke, I guessed. “Oh, absolutely,” she said. “What? Don’t tell me you didn’t get anything in the divorce settlement. That slug! Honey, that ex-husband of yours diversified. He went from porn to drugs to gambling. At least, that’s the word on the street. Of course, I never gossip, so I only hear these things in passing.”

  “Gina,” I said, striving to sound earnest, “I think Nick’s followed me to North Carolina.”

  I waited for her response. The “You mean Nick followed you to New Bern?” told me all I needed to know. If Gina Foucci knew I’d moved to New Bern, it was all over South Philly. I don’t know why this surprised me.

  “Well, I’m not positive it’s him,” I said.

  “It’s him, all right,” Gina said. “And don’t you fall for it, either.”

  “Fall for what, Gina?”

  She sighed. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Sophie, but if Nick shows up and says he loves you or he’s a new man and wants you back, he’s lying. He’s looking for a place to hide.”

  “What, prison wasn’t good enough?” I asked. I glanced up at the clock over the sink. Nine-thirty. Pa and the old guys would be arriving soon.

  “Sophie,” Gina said, “Nick’s made a lot of enemies up here. People are hunting for him. In fact, the list of people looking to pay him back is so long it would be easier to list the one or two who don’t want a piece of him. Now, what I really want to know is…who are they? Do you know?”

  The questions were starting, which meant she was out of information and looking for more. “What?” I said, loudly. “Gina, speak up. I can’t hear you.” I took the phone and banged it against the counter, whacking it hard. “Gina?” I called. I opened the refrigerator, shoved the phone into the bucket of ice cubes and twirled it around. “Gina?”

  I heard her faint voice calling my name. “Sophie, there’s something wrong with the connection.”

  “Damn it!” I cried, opening and closing the freezer door quickly. “Gina, I’m losing you. Wait, I’ll call you back.”

  I left Gina in the freezer for a few more minutes, then retrieved the frozen phone and returned it to the hook.

  “Not bad,” I said to the empty kitchen. “I could be a detective. There’s nothing to it.”

  Feeling full of myself, I poured a tall mug of coffee, slipped past the still sleeping detective in the dining room and headed upstairs to take a well-deserved shower. Twenty minutes later I was still standing in the shower, the water now lukewarm, raining down on my shoulders. Beyond the opaque white curtain, Bruce Springsteen sang “Thunder Road,” his gritty voice booming and echoing off the white tile walls.

  I was working on a plan. It was time to lure Nick out of his hiding place and into broad daylight. I had to figure out a way to let him know that I wouldn’t kill him on sight. I had to make him believe that I’d had a change of heart and would be willing to hand over whatever it was he wanted from me. Now how was I going to accomplish that?

  I stood in the shower thinking and still didn’t have a solid plan when the warm water ran out. It would come to me, I felt certain. Perhaps after I investigated the health and well-being of the man sleeping downstairs in my bed I would feel further inspired. I let my thoughts turn to Gray as I dried my hair and carefully applied just enough makeup to look as if I wore none at all.

  I replayed the memory of his kiss over and over in my head, wondering if there might be a repeat when I went downstairs to make breakfast. It was a tantalizing escape from my current Nick reality, and before long I was rushing into my clothes in order to pursue the sweet, new fantasy.

  I hurried down the steps, practically running in my haste to get to Gray. But when I reached the dining room, the bed was empty. A note lay on his pillow. “I got a page and had to go. Thank you, Sophie. I’ll check in later. G.”

  “Oh, isn’t that just great!” I said to the empty room. “I’m up all night and what do I get? How’s that for a one-nighter, eh?”

  “I didn’t figure you’d be too happy about it,” a female voice answered.

  I looked up, shocked to find anyone in the house, and saw Della leaning in the doorway, coffee mug in hand.

  “I saw that note, heard your shower running and thought, damn, now that would piss me off but good!”

  I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but no words came out.

  Della shook her head. “You know, I think you must have bad-picker genes. I mean, I can’t help but hear what your family says about that ex-husband of yours and well, this note sure sounds like you struck out again. You know what I mean?”

  Pa, Joey, Emily, Mort and the rest of the crew arrived then, interrupting us and saving me from saying “What in the hell were you doing in my house, reading my note?”

  Della, trapped by the entrance of the others, turned back into the sullen, guarded girl the others knew, and did her best to become invisible.

  Pete walked right up to her, smiling and touching her shoulder. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, “you ready for a day of dirt digging and manure slinging?”

  Della had to look up then. She gave the tiniest hint of a smile and nodded softly. “Sure,” she said, and followed him through the crowd to the backyard.

  “She’s shy,” Emily said, looking after her.

  Takes one to know one, I thought, and nodded. Joey was watching me from across the room. He was pretending to listen to Frank give instructions about sanding the floors, but I could tell his mind was elsewhere. I knew as soon as he found a way, he’d be on me about whatever it was that was bothering him.

  Pa and Mort cornered me as I was attempting to slip out of the kitchen.

  “Sophie,” Pa said, grabbing my elbow and propelling me forward. “Come in the living room a minute. Mort and me got something to say.”

  It wasn’t as if I had a choice in the matter. The two of them had me pinned between them and they didn’t ease up until I was sitting on the sofa and they were standing in front of me.

  “Now,” Pa said, “we’ve got a problem.” He glanced at Mort. “I don’t want this getting back to Darlene or your mother. I told Wendell, but I want you to know about this, too.” He looked over his shoulder, like he was checking for eavesdroppers. “Mort, here, works up at the security hut, you know, at the front gate to the neighborhood?”

  I nodded and smiled at Mort. Cute. Old guys on patrol, watching the neighborhood and protecting their own, as if they could really stop an armed intruder.

  “Well, for
the past couple of mornings, early, around 6:00 a.m., Mort here has seen the same beat-up blue Ford sitting in the same spot off Bounty Court. The first day, he says he didn’t think nothing of it, thought the guy was fishing the canal. But yesterday, Mort notices the guy’s got a pair of binoculars and from where he’s sitting, Mort thinks he’s watching our house.”

  Mort nodded, like Pa was doing a fine job of speaking for him.

  “Now I ain’t taking no chances, Sophie, so I show Mort a couple of pictures of Nick, from back when you two was together. Mort thinks the guy in the car is Nick.”

  “That’s right,” Mort said. “I can’t be positive, but I’m pretty certain it’s your ex-husband.”

  Pa nodded his head in Mort’s direction. “He’s former ATF, you know. If anybody should be able to make an identification on a suspect, it would be him.”

  I looked back at Mort, figuring him to be closing in on eighty, and tried to imagine him bringing down dangerous fugitives in the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. He was wearing khaki shorts, white crew socks and standard issue sneakers. His white hair stood in rumpled shocks that, along with his mustache, made him look more like Einstein than Elliot Ness.

  Then I looked closer. Mort was packing heat. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt over his white T-shirt, and unless I was imagining things, he had a black gun strapped to his belt, almost hidden because it was positioned so far toward his back.

  “Mort,” I said, “is that a gun you’re wearing?”

  Mort beamed. “Standard issue Glock 9 mm, semiautomatic,” he said. “Some scumball makes a move on you or your family here, and I’ll ventilate him.”

  I felt my eyebrows go up and knew my mouth was hanging open. I looked at Pa. “You’re not carrying, are you?” I asked.

  Pa shook his head and the regret was unmistakable. “They got a waiting period. I won’t have mine for two weeks,” he said.

  “But, Pa, you don’t even know how to shoot a gun, do you?”

  He frowned at me. “Sophie, I was in the service for four years. What do you think?”

  “Pa, you were in the Coast Guard. What would they do with guns?”