Forbidden Birth

by William Rubin

  Marone and Fitzpatrick glanced at each other, their expressions revealing nothing.

  “So what happened when you left work tonight?” the freckled-face Fitzpatrick said in a forceful manner.

  “I’m not sure. I was walking to my car and I think somebody grabbed me and knocked me out somehow.”

  Fitzpatrick, losing his patience, came at her hard. “The doc said you’ve got nothing but superficial injuries. Nobody coulda knocked you out without leaving a real nice bruise or two on your head, and all you have is that shiner on you cheek. What really happened? Were you turning tricks, lassie? Something kinky, maybe some drugs you don’t want to tell us about, huh?” Fitzpatrick said as he slammed his fist on the table and then shouted, “Come out with it! We’re not interested in nailing you for any of that! We just want to find out the real story!”

  Marone sat still, eyes fixed on April, trying to read her. He couldn’t.

  “I’m telling you the truth,” April shrieked. “There’s nothing more to it! Am I under arrest or can I get out of here?” April said as her voice cracked.

  Marone looked at Fitzpatrick, jerking his head towards the conference room door as he rose and moved towards it. “We’ll be back,” he said.

  Outside the room Marone spoke first. “I don’t like it. She’s covering for something or somebody. What do you make of it, kid?”

  “I think you’re dead on. She’s got the scared little girl routine down a little too well fer my taste. But without any evidence and with her unable to ID her attackers on ’counta the blindfold, not much we can do with her, eh?”

  “No there isn’t. We’ll have to cut her loose. Get her address and hail a cab for her. We’ll run a background on her and follow-up at the hospital. In the meantime I’ll get a move on the paperwork,” Marone said with exasperation. “I have a feeling we’re in for a long night.”

  Chapter 9

  Rakel Ingi leaned forward and pocketed her tip with one hand as she ran a damp cloth over the table with the other. It was a slow night at the diner on 44th Street and 10th Avenue in Manhattan. New Yorkers had already begun their summer exodus out of the city, traveling to the Jersey shore, Eastern Long Island, and points in between.

  Everyone called the diminutive outgoing waitress by her American nickname, Erika. She was five feet two inches tall and one hundred pounds soaking wet, with rocks stuffed in her pockets. Her straight, blonde hair extended just to the top of her breasts. The bland gray uniform she wore hugged her cute Icelandic ass and showed off her muscular, tanned thighs. But it was her warm smile, surrounded on both sides by dimples and the mischievous glint in her eyes that won over friends and customers alike.

  Slow nights like this one got Erika a little homesick. Her mind drifted to thoughts about her sisters, parents, and the family dog, Zot, a black Labrador.

  A well-dressed gentleman seated at the table next to Erika called out to her, interrupting her daydreaming. “Excuse me, miss. May I have a menu?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t see you. Have you been waiting long?” Erika said, blushing with embarrassment.

  “Quite all right, my dear. For you I would wait an eternity.” The man responded with a warm smile and a soft chuckle as he bowed his head and swept his hand across the table, inviting Erika over.

  Still flustered, her pen poised over her order pad. “What can I get you?”

  “Well, uh…that menu would still be nice, though the opportunity to take in your beauty a little longer more than makes up for the delay.”

  “Oh gosh. Sorry. How stupid of me!” Erika said with embarrassment before regaining her composure and flashing a radiant smile and eager-to-please eyes. She continued demurely, “Here’s the menu. You can have anything you like,” Erika said while maintaining steady eye contact with the customer.

  The flirting and innuendo continued for the next twenty-five minutes, lightening the mood at the diner considerably. In the end, the attractive gentleman parted with a smile, a bow, and a kiss of Erika’s hand. In his place he left a tip twice as large as his check.

  “Very, very nice, hon. I’d say someone has an admirer,” Jeanne, the sixty-four-year-old gray-haired cashier said to Erika.

  “I’ll say. I thought he was gonna sweep ya off ya feet and disappear into the night with ya,” laughed Earl, the short-order cook.

  Erika, her face displaying a self-satisfied look, responded, “Well he was nice wasn’t he—and generous too.” She held the twenty dollar bill up for Jeanne and Earl to see. “I hope he comes back.”

  “Oh, he’ll be back, honey. Take it from someone with experience,” Jeanne said breathlessly while batting her false eyelashes and resting her hand on her chest. She looked back at Erika and laughed before saying, “Wild horses won’t keep your prince charming away.”

  “Yeah. Romance ain’t dead yet, huh?” Earl said with enthusiasm and with a wink to Jeanne. “You deserve something nice, kid, after all ya been through the last couple of months.”

  “Thanks Earl, I hope you’re right. Wow, it’s getting late,” Erika said as she glanced at the clock on the wall above Earl’s head. “Why don’t you and Jeanne take off? I’ll close up.”

  “Ya sure, kiddo? Ain’t no problem for us to stick around,” Earl said as he pulled off his greasy and stained white apron, and hung it on a peg next to the stove. He strolled over to Jeanne and put his arm around her.

  “Yeah, really, Erika. We’re happy to keep you company,” Jeanne said with sincerity.

  “I know, but that’s okay. You two lovebirds should head out. You’re back early in the morning, and I have the next couple of days off. I’ll be fine closing up by myself,” Erika said as she leaned over a table, wiped it down with a cloth, and straightened the napkin dispenser and salt and pepper shakers.

  Earl and Jeanne looked at each other and shrugged. Jeanne said, “Okay. Have a great weekend, honey. We’ll see you on Monday.” Earl and Jeanne left the diner hand-in-hand, Jeanne winking and waving at Erika as they went through the door.

  Erika spent the next fifteen minutes tidying up and thinking about the last five months. Life in America as an au pair had been fun, and the kids were great, but she made the only decision she really could have when she broke her contract with the Kimballs. The situation there had become unbearable. Thanks to the love and support of her friends, she landed on her feet. They had been real lifesavers since she first began having problems with Mr. Kimball. Her friends even hooked her up with the job waitressing at the diner, and they took turns letting her crash on their couches. It was a good thing too, because she couldn’t go back to Iceland in her present state. It would be a disgrace to her and her family.

  Erika took a look around the diner, happy with its appearance and proud of herself for toughing it out these last few months. Life had been hard, but she was sure it would improve soon, rewarding her for hanging in there. She had a good feeling about herself for the first time in a long time as she turned out the lights, locked up, and headed out.

  As she walked across the small, beaten up parking lot, which was littered with wrappers, empty soda cans, and beer bottles, Erika enjoyed the warm breeze as it blew across her skin, hinting at a great summer to come.

  Unfortunately for Erika, that breeze was the last pleasant thing she would ever feel.

  Chapter 10

  Sunlight stabbed at April through the blinds in her bedroom, tearing her from a fitful night’s sleep. Her throbbing head and aching body reminded her how terrible her life had become. Out of sorts and disconnected, she lay in bed, wishing her life was a nightmare she would soon wake up from. Pain drove her out of bed, into the adjoining master bathroom. She flipped open the medicine cabinet, her eyes scanning over several shelves of painkillers, including aspirin, ibuprofen, acetaminophen, Percocet, and Darvan. She downed four ibuprofen tablets and a Percocet before climbing in the shower. A half hour later when she emerged, her headache and soreness had subsided. April put her long, brown hair into a po
nytail, dressed, applied makeup, and descended the short flight of stairs in her split-level rental house. She prayed to God today would be better. She needed a quiet, uneventful day so she could begin to get her life back in order.

  April opened the front door and picked up the newspaper that lay on the concrete stoop. She knew the paper wasn’t too far from the trashy gossip magazines she saw in the grocery store, but it was one of the few things she had time to read. Without glancing at the headline, she went into the kitchen, and laid the paper down on the table before heading over to the stove. She fixed herself a hearty meal: turkey bacon, two eggs sunny side up, two pieces of toast with raspberry jam, and a tall glass of orange juice. It wasn’t a typical meal for the dancer, who watched her weight closely, but she was famished and couldn’t resist the splurge.

  April flipped open The Daily and the headline screamed out at her. “STRIPPER SURVIVES DOUBLE ASSAULT.” Horrified, April recoiled, staring at her yearbook picture from senior year at Upper Arlington High School. The photo took up the bulk of the front page below the headline. The accompanying article quoted an unidentified police source. He confirmed that April Cassidy, a stripper at the Golden Garter club on 138th Street in the Bronx, was abducted yesterday morning as she left the club and assaulted at an unidentified locale. Later she was dumped off farther north in the Bronx, where she was assaulted a second time by unrelated attackers.

  Eight minutes passed before April had cried the last of her tears and lifted her head off the table. Her face and hair were a disaster. Her eyelids were swollen and red. April trudged off to the bathroom to get herself back together. When she returned, she stared blankly at The Daily. After a few minutes, her curiosity somehow overcame her revulsion; she picked up the tear-soaked paper and continued reading the front-page story.

  The article’s author wrote with a suspicious tone about the evening’s events: April leaving the hospital and her unwillingness to provide the police with details about her attackers. The article described April’s wholesome Midwest upbringing in a suburb of Columbus, Ohio. It also talked about her early and extensive training in all forms of dance: ballet, tap, jazz, modern, and her more recent escapades at the Golden Garter with pole and lap dancing. In typical tabloid style journalism, the story concluded by second-guessing April Cassidy’s actions the day of the attacks. It even went so far as to suggest the stripper might be hiding important information from the police and the media.

  Numb to it all, April stared in disbelief at the article. Many minutes passed before any emotions stirred within her. Eventually, her face became flush, first with embarrassment, then anger. Her family was bound to find out, even though they lived nearly six hundred miles away. April knew that after she left home so abruptly, her mother trolled the internet daily for any information on her daughter. April would deal with her mother as needed. Right now the fallout at work would be more immediate; her next shift began in only three hours.

  April began to realize that secrets, whether salacious or mundane, were hard to keep in the media capital of the world. Feeling depressed, alone, and God-awful tired, she rose again to go to the bathroom. Perhaps the sick feeling she had would pass after a bout of vomiting—that approach had served her well many times in the past.

  §

  Twitching nervously, April tried in vain to keep her hands still as she steered her car southbound on Park Avenue. She was a complete wreck: anxiety and fear consumed her. As she passed Lincoln Hospital, where she had spent a few evenings being treated for “co-worker related injuries,” she looked back at the black car behind her. Was she being paranoid? Had the car been tailing her? Get yourself together girl, April thought as her car approached the entrance of the Golden Garter. You have bigger things to worry about now.

  April parked on 138th Street and walked back towards the Garter’s fenced-in VIP parking area. She trembled as she passed the chain link fence with its circular razor wire trim. She approached the club’s main entrance with trepidation and took a long, slow, deep breath as she looked up at the gaudy, red neon Golden Garter sign just above the doorway. As she entered the club, she said hi to the day shift bouncers and walked, head down, past the manager’s office.

  “Not so fast, honey. Nice to see a celebrity reporting to work on time,” Lou Ringo said with sarcasm as he stepped into the hallway, a newspaper in his left hand. Ringo, five foot ten inches and in his early sixties, was the longtime club manager of the Golden Garter. His receding hairline of slicked-back, black hair was highlighted by prominent gray streaks that ran along each side of his weathered face. A bulbous nose stood out beneath small, dark eyes.

  “Oh, hi Lou, darling. How are ya doing?” April replied with a nervous smile.

  “Been better, been worse. What’s up with The Daily article?” he said as he shook the paper in front of her. “You know we like to keep a low profile ’round here. Something bad happens to you, you let me know. We’re a family.” Lou came up to the dancer, draped his arm around her shoulders, and looked her in the eyes. “We don’t like outsiders sniffing around where they shouldn’t be. Capece?”

  “Sure Lou. I don’t know how they got hold of that. I kept things real quiet at the hospital and with the cops. I know you don’t like unwanted attention,” April said sheepishly. She cringed and avoided anything more than momentary eye contact with Ringo.

  “You got that right, honey. The powers that be don’t want us under any sort of microscope as we conduct our business and entertain our clientele. Now, how ya feeling?” Lou pulled April in close. “Did they hurt you bad?”

  “Nah, I’m okay,” April replied with false bravado. She turned her head away from Lou so he couldn’t see the shiner on her face.

  “Good. You’re a nice piece of ass, one of my best house girls. I gotta make sure it stays that way,” Lou said as he squeezed April’s backside and kissed her cheek. He then leaned back and pointed his index finger at her face. “Now don’t let nothing like this happen again or I’ll need to toss you the fuck outta here.”

  Pecking him on the cheek, April said, “You got it boss. I’m all low profile from here on out. I’m gonna get myself together in the back. The show must go on, right?” April said with a bright smile. Lou dismissed her with a smack on her backside and a lustful leer. “You got that right, baby.”

  §

  April stared at herself as she sat in front of the dressing room mirror. She was a nice piece of ass, but at the moment she was feeling anything but sexy. She turned her head to the side to look at her swollen cheek. She had covered it up with makeup before she left her house but she couldn’t hide the swelling. She applied more concealer and generous amounts of blush. The stage lights always bleached her out if she didn’t, and the patrons liked their girls rosy-cheeked and glowing.

  “Hope I’m not interrupting?” a voice said as the tall, ruggedly handsome man stuck his head through the narrow doorway. “How ya doing, April?” April’s body tensed as she heard Johnny’s voice. She’d have to be careful what she said to her ex-boyfriend or risk setting him off again.

  “I’ve been worse, Johnny. How ’bout you?” Johnny “Knuckles” Briganti, a bouncer at the Golden Garter, was an intimidating combination of brains and brawn. Charming at times, Briganti had a notoriously short fuse.

  “Can’t complain—nobody would listen anyway,” Briganti replied with a laugh and a smile as he entered the dressing room and closed the door. Johnny’s face suddenly turned somber “Lou showed me the paper. How ya holding up, sugar?”

  “A little sore all over, but hanging in there.”

  Johnny came closer, held April’s chin, and turned her head to examine the puffiness in her right cheek. It was hard to hide anything from Johnny. “That don’t look so good.”

  April pulled her head away. “It’s nothing. It’ll be fine,” she said as she reapplied makeup that didn’t need reapplying.

  “Say, you didn’t tell the cops nothing about us or anything, did you?” he said, crossing his a
rms and leaning on her dressing table.

  “Of course not. Your secret, our little secret, is safe—Johnny. I’m going to take care of it.”

  “You better,” Briganti said as his powerful right hand sprung forward and squeezed and twisted her left arm. His left hand grabbed her face on each side of her mouth and turned it so he was looking down into her eyes. “Things been going real good for me. Everybody’s happy with my work. I ain’t letting nothing or nobody stand in my way. Don’t you forget that, Cassidy—nothing or nobody.”

  Briganti released his grip and leaned back. “Lou s’pecs you out there in fifteen minutes. Make sure you don’t disappoint any of us.” Johnny was out the door before she could utter another word.

  Chapter 11

  The Giver sipped his morning coffee and chewed on the corner of his French toast as he read through The Daily’s lead story. Narrow beams of sunlight entered through the dining room blinds and stretched across the paper. Car horns and commotion rose up from 2nd Avenue and pierced the room as he focused on the article. The Giver’s neck veins bulged on each side of his windpipe. He felt his blood pulse with intensity as he ground his teeth together. His forearms and hands tensed, strangling the paper that lay before him.

  There could be NO mistakes, NO screw-ups. His mission would not allow it. His string of perfect crimes had just resumed, and despite this article, none were the wiser for it. “I thought killing her would cause more of a stir, bring more police attention, but perhaps I miscalculated.”