“Oh, hi, Lindsay. I didn’t see you there.” I gave a quick nod to Bobby. “How’s Monica? Did she deliver yet?” Lindsay’s older sister Monica and I went to school together. She’s on, like, her eighth kid.
“Yesterday. Another boy. Are you eating here? Because there’s a wait—unless you guys want to share a table.”
“I, uh…” Bobby’s legs were stretched out under the table, resting on the seat opposite him. He moved his feet, allowing me access to the booth. I eyed his pizza. It was dripping with grease and calling my name. “You gonna eat that whole thing yourself?”
“I was planning on it. Want some?” He offered me up a slice.
I sat down and dug in. Bobby had a slice too and along with it another beer. He wasn’t drunk, but he wasn’t feeling any pain either. He had an air of resignation I’d never seen in him before and it scared me.
“Why are you sitting here alone, drinking and stuffing your face with pepperoni in the middle of the day?”
He pushed his plate away and belched. “She doesn’t want me hanging out at Eddie’s because Franny’s your friend. I can’t go to the gym because Frankie’s your uncle. The only thing I’m allowed to do is sit here and get fat. So that’s what I’m doin’. You got a problem with that?”
“Yes, I have a problem with that!” I gave his leg a swift kick under the table.
“Ow!”
“For Christ’s sake, Bobby, have you checked your pants lately, because you seem to be missing both your balls.” I might have said that last part a little too loud because the people in the next both over laughed. Bobby shot me a look that would have annihilated a weaker person. I lowered my voice and added, “Well, I’m sorry, but it’s true.”
“You’re all about the compassion, aren’t ya?” He stood up and threw some bills on the table.
“Oh, sure. Run away. That’s really going to solve it.”
Bobby stood there a minute, glaring at me. I didn’t know what else to do, so I kept on eating.
“Ah, shit,” he said, finally, slumping back into the booth. “I hate when you’re right.”
“I am?”
He nodded. “What am I going to do?”
I was pretty sure this last question was rhetorical, since he said it mostly into his beer.
I slid out from the booth, grabbing another slice of pizza along the way. “Bobby, all I know is if I dropped off the face of the earth, Marie would find someone else to fixate on. It’s never going to be any different until you take charge of your life again. Thanks for lunch.”
Paul thought it would be fun if I tried my hand at valet parking. “You get to drive really hot cars and there’s not a lot of customer interaction.”
“You’re just upset because of that guy at the bar,” I said. “Look, someone had to tell him girls don’t go for cheap tippers.”
Paul rubbed his goatee so hard it was in danger of falling off. “Ya know, c-come to think of it, I overstaffed for today. I’m g-gonna p-pay you anyway. It’s club policy.”
As I pulled out of the parking lot my cell phone rang. It was John. “Hey John. I was just going to call you. Turns out I don’t have to work, so I can let the dog out myself.”
“Actually, I’m at your house now…are you coming home soon?”
I pulled out into traffic and hung a left onto Market Street. “I’m on my way. You sound weird. Is there something wrong?”
“No…not wrong, exactly.” Fuck.
“Has anyone died in my house or general living vicinity?”
“Shut-uh-up. No one’s died. Just get your buns home, okay?”
“Eewww. What is that?” John and I sat hunched together on my back patio, staring down at a big gooey mess. I guess the raisins finally kicked in, because whatever had clogged up the dog had suddenly unclogged, along with the entire contents of his bowels. The culprit measured an inch and a half long, wrapped in a colorful bit of paper and held together with a rubber band. I ran back inside the house and returned a moment later with a pair of tweezers and some paper toweling.
“This is so gross,” I announced, poking around with the tweezers. I grabbed the mini package and laid it down on the towel.
“Now what?” John asked.
“Now somebody has to clean it off.” I waited a beat, but John didn’t volunteer. I didn’t really think he would. “Fine. I’ll do it. No big deal. It’s only digested food.”
“You keep telling yourself that, Sunshine,” he said and went back into the house.
I followed him in and stuck the paper towel in the kitchen sink. There was a pair of disposable gloves under the sink. I pulled them on and sprayed some Windex on the mini package. Then I wiped it thoroughly with fresh paper towels. It didn’t smell anymore so I decided it was safe to touch. Finally, the mystery behind the poor little guy’s stomach problems would be solved. I tore off the paper.
“What is it?”
“I have no idea.”
John came over and took a look. “Hmm. It looks like a thumb drive.”
“A what?” I washed my hands and reached into the cabinet for a TastyKake. I was all out, so I went to plan B and took a frozen Milky Way out of the freezer.
“A thumb drive. It’s a computer device for storing information. Kind of a new age floppy. It plugs into your computer’s USB port.”
“That came out of him? It’s a miracle. Hey, can we see what’s on it?”
“I’ve got to go,” John said. “I’ve got a date.”
“With who?” I dug into the back of the freezer and retrieved another Milky Way.
“Friend of Richard’s. I haven’t met him yet.” Richard is a performance artist. His idea of a good time is sticking pins through his cheek and peeing on the audience.
“A blind date? I don’t know, John. Mine haven’t worked out all that well.”
“Maybe Richard knows someone for you too.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
After John left I took out my laptop and booted it up. There was a ton of junk mail and a letter from my friend Michelle, from L.A. She told me how the new reporter they hired to replace me on the Early Edition News (a former Olympic shot putter) was doing a piece on Go Carts, only once she climbed into the cart she got wedged between the seat and the steering wheel and they had to use the “Jaws of Life” to pry her loose. I felt bad for her, but it was comforting to know there’s a job out there that’s more humiliating than having none at all.
The thumb drive was still sitting on the kitchen table. Where did it come from and how did the dog end up swallowing it? I was dying to know what was on the disk, but it seemed impolite to just open some stranger’s files. Unless… it wasn’t a stranger’s. Maybe the disk belonged to Keith. When I looked back on his interactions with the dog, Keith’s only real interest was in its bowel movements. Now I understood why he’d kept asking me if the dog had gone to the bathroom. He had to get the dog back before it pooped out the disk! There was only one way to test this theory. I had to open the files.
Seeing as all I really know how to do on the computer is surf the Internet and cut and paste, I spent about fifteen minutes poking around, trying to figure out how to access the information. Finally I gave up and called John.
“Hi. It’s me. I need to know how to plug the thumb drive in.”
“Can I help you with this later?”
“But I really need to do it now.”
“I’m on a date,” he hissed.
“Yeah, I know. It’s really rude to keep him waiting, so if you’ll just tell me how to plug this thing in, you can hang up and get back to your date.”
“Or, I can just hang up.”
Oh fine. I left messages for Franny and Janine to call me, and then I made myself a tuna melt, which I shared with Rocky because the dog ate her cat crunchies.
I sat in front of the television, eating my tuna melt and watching Dr. Phil. The topic was obsessive-compulsive personalities. I changed the channel, because I just couldn’t relate. My thoughts turne
d to the scene in the restaurant, when Keith was wheeled out on the gurney. Maybe it was an irate mugger who had inflicted all that damage, but my gut instincts told me otherwise. Could it be possible that someone else was after the disk too and thought Keith had it on him?
I picked up the phone and punched in the police station; the number was burned into my brain by now. I asked to speak to Mike Mahoe. Luckily, he was there.
“Hi Mike, it’s Brandy Alexander.”
“Hey. How’re ya doing?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Listen, I was wondering if the police have had any luck finding the mugger who beat up that guy at La Boheme.”
“How’d you hear about that?”
I figured I might as well tell him, because he’d find out about it anyway.
“I was sort of his date.”
Mike stifled a laugh.
“It’s not funny.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Then stop laughing.”
Mike took a deep, calming breath and exhaled slowly. “Okay. It’s just that I’ve never run across anyone with your track record for ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time.” The man had a point.
“It’s an art form. So have they arrested anyone?”
“I just started my shift, but I’ll check it out and get back to you.”
“Thanks, Mike. I really appreciate it. By the way, have they gotten any leads on the guy who broke into my house?” I hoped I sounded more casual than I felt. The truth is, I’ve been really creeped out about staying alone since the whole thing happened.
“There was another break-in yesterday afternoon, a few miles from your place. The guy made off with some jewelry and a wad of cash. I guess you were lucky.”
“I guess so.”
I was feeling restless and bored and all my friends were busy. John was on a date—he’d made it abundantly clear he was incommunicado. Fran was eating dinner at her in-laws’, Paul was at the club—I thought about heading over there but I figured he deserved the night off from me—and Frankie and Carla were at the Flyers’ game.
I took out a pad of paper and a pen and stretched out on the couch. At the top of the page I wrote “THINGS TO DO.” Underneath that I put: #1—Make more friends. I couldn’t think of anything else for my “TO DO” list, so I decided to watch a movie.
John had bought me the “Rocky” DVD for a house-warming gift. I made a bowl of microwave popcorn, melted the last frozen Milky Way on top of it and settled back onto the couch. The dog was snuggled next to me, none the worse for wear from his enormous dump. I was actually happy to be alone now, because I always cry at the end of this movie. It’s highly embarrassing, but there you go.
“Adrienne! Adrienne!” The water works were in full swing as Rocky’s beloved battled her way through the crowd to get to her man. Just as Adrienne fell into Rocky’s waiting arms, the dog bolted upright and hopped off the couch. He ran around in circles and squatted directly in front of the TV, his water fountain tail thumping a mile a minute.
“Here boy.” I tried calling him back to the couch, but he only had eyes for Rocky. I tried again. “Yo, Adrienne.” He whipped his shaggy head around to me, and I swear he was smiling. I think we have a winner. I’d have to change the spelling to the male equivalent, but at least now I could quit calling him “the dog”.
It was only 10:30 p.m.; too early to go to bed, so I decided to get into my jammies and read. I was closing the bedroom blinds when I happened to look out onto the street and noticed an unfamiliar, dark colored sedan parked across from my house. It had been there hours earlier when I had taken out the trash. There was someone in it and he seemed to be looking directly into my bedroom. Panic overtook me. I grabbed the phone and dialed 911.
Five minutes later a patrol car cruised to a stop in front of the sedan. The officer got out and went around to the window side of the car. The guy in the sedan rolled down his window. I couldn’t see real well, but it looked like he was showing the cop his I.D. Then he rolled up the window and the cop walked across the street and rang my bell. I flew down the stairs, Adrian at my heels.
“It’s okay,” he said. “He’s a cop.”
“A cop? What’s he doing here?”
He shrugged. “Somebody thought you needed looking after.”
I picked up the phone and punched in a number. “I don’t need a baby sitter, DiCarlo. Get rid of him.”
“Just doin’ my job, sweetheart. Ventura was spotted in the area. Makes perfect sense that he might try to contact you. Maybe even kill you.”
“Bobby! That’s just plain mean. What is your problem?” I could feel that vein in his temple throbbing right through the phone.
“My problem?” His voice dropped to a deadly calm. “You’re in a restaurant and your date gets beaten within an inch of his life, and then you walk in on a burglary in progress and nearly get yourself killed, and where do I hear about all this? Down at the station, because you never bothered to tell me yourself. That’s bullshit.”
“Oh, sorry. I left a message with Marie. Thought she’d pass it on.” My sarcasm was met with a stony silence. “Sorry,” I said again, so close to tears I could taste it. “Look, Bobby, I didn’t mean it. I don’t want it to be this way between us.”
“Neither do I.” The frustration in his voice was palpable.
“It’s just that you’re mad at me for something that’s not my fault.”
“I know. Jesus, Brandy, I’ve known you since you were fourteen years old. How am I supposed to stop caring about what happens to you?”
“Listen, I know you’re concerned about me. Frankly, I’m concerned about me too. And it’s not that I don’t appreciate it, because I do. But I think Marie needs some time to adjust to the idea of me being around. So—maybe we ought to give her that time.”
“What are you saying?”
“I think you should ask to be taken off the case.”
“Is that what you want?”
“That’s what I want.”
Chapter Seven
“Why are your eyes so puffy?”
“They’re not puffy.”
“Yeah, they are.”
“Will you quit staring at me and keep your eyes on the road?”
It was Saturday morning and I was riding shotgun in Franny’s new Chevy mini van, a gift from Eddie to the “mother to be.” We were on our way to pick up Janine for an undisclosed adventure. Fran’s been a little weird lately.
“I shoulda gotten the T-Bird,” she said. “It’s more my style.” Oh yeah, baby drool and crushed up Cheerios really say T-Bird to me. “So,” she continued, “do you want to tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to beat it out of you?”
“I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Let’s start with why you’ve been crying.”
By the time we reached Janine’s, Franny knew everything and she wasn’t thrilled.
“How the hell am I supposed to keep my mouth shut when your life could be in danger? I can understand not wanting to involve Bobby. I can even understand not wanting to go to the cops. There is that little matter of you withholding evidence, but for Christ’s sake, Brandy, stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. If Toodie’s innocent, the police will sort it out. Now,” she ended, briskly, “what can I do to help?”
Janine was standing on the corner waiting for us, wearing a black mini skirt and fishnet stockings. It was twenty-six degrees out. Franny pulled up beside her and Janine climbed into the back seat. “So, where’re we going?”
“You’ll see,” said Fran. “And you’re going to love it!”
“I gotta tell you, Fran, so far, I’m not lovin’ it.”
“No?”
“Not so much.”
“Me neither,” Janine chimed in.
We were parked in front of Philadelphia Eddie’s, the premiere tattoo parlor on the east coast. For some reason, fathomable only to pregnant women whose hormones have gone kablooy, Franny thought we should all get tattoos�
� each one reflecting our inner selves.
“Which one says you’re a crazy pregnant lady who’s so afraid of change she has to get a tattoo in order to reaffirm she’s still young and desirable, even though she’s married with a baby on the way?” Janine asked.
“I think the dagger.”
Franny glared at the two of us. “Screw both of you. You have no idea what it’s like to put your life on hold because suddenly you’re responsible for another human being.”
“I’m sorry, Fran,” I said.
“Me too,” added Janine. “But it’s not like anything’s really going to change. This is the twenty-first century. You don’t have to alter your lifestyle just because you’re pregnant.”
I was about to jump in with my own reassurances, when a husky, bald headed guy wearing a drab olive green army jacket exited the hoagie shop across the street. He was chomping on a twelve-inch sandwich. “Holy cow! That’s him!” I scrambled to unbuckle my seat belt and flung open the car door.
“Who?” Janine shouted from the back seat.
“Th-the burglar! The guy who broke into my house.” As I propelled myself out of the car, my foot caught in the seat belt and I fell flat on my face on the curb.”
“Are you all right?” Franny asked, leaning over to get a better look.
“I’m fine,” I yelled. Blood was streaming out of my nose and dripping all over my jacket. “Janine, quick. He’s getting away. Franny, call the police!” I began sprinting across the street, cutting a diagonal path against the oncoming traffic. Janine, in fishnets and heels whipped open her door and followed me into the street.
“Why do I have to be the one to call the police?” Franny shouted from the car. “Why can’t I give chase and one of you sit here and call the cops?”
“What are you nuts?” Janine called over her shoulder. “You’re pregnant.”
“Nothing’s gonna change, huh?” Franny sulked.
“Franny, not now.” I was breathing so hard I almost heaved. “Just-call-the-cops!”
By the time we caught up with him, my burglar was four blocks down on a deserted side street. My face was a bloody mess, my lungs were burning so bad I thought they’d spontaneously combust and clutched in my hand was the only weapon I could find on such short notice—a Bic pen.
No Such Thing As a Good Blind Date: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) Page 10