No Such Thing as a Lost Cause

by Shelly Fredman

  “Uh, Carla, didn’t your Uncle Vito try to run him over with his Cadillac?”

  “His foot slipped. So, seven o’clock okay?”

  *****

  “Yo, Sis, Could I, like, uh, borrow Daisy?”

  I shifted my phone to my other ear and downed the espresso Nick handed me. I was sitting by the bay window in his living room, watching early morning joggers do laps around Rittenhouse Square. “Who’s Daisy?”

  My brother coughed. “Oh. I meant the puppy.”

  “But you called her Daisy. And I thought you were allergic.”

  “Yeah, well, I have to call her something.”

  “You’re getting attached, aren’t you?” I grinned into the phone.

  “Th-this is strictly for the purpose of m-meeting women,” Paul stuttered. “And you were right, by the way. This puppy is a chick magnet. I have a date tonight,” he announced. “So, if anybody asks, Daisy is mine.”

  “That could be arranged.”

  “L-let’s see how tonight goes, first.”

  “I’ll drop her off this afternoon,” I told him, hanging up.

  The dogs sat by my side, patiently awaiting the inevitable crumbs from my breakfast cannoli to fall onto the hardwood floor.

  “Daisy, you are so in!” I raised her arm and gave her a little paw to hand high five.

  Nick stood in the vestibule, strapping an ankle holster onto his leg. He looked up and noticed me watching him. I tried to remain impervious to the growing anxiety that welled up in me, but it was an uphill battle.

  He adjusted the cuff of his pants and walked over to me. “What’s on your agenda today, Angel?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” I said, eying his leg.

  “Business as usual.” He leaned over my shoulder and read from the notes I held in my lap. “Nothing turned up on Wade Stoller?”

  I shook my head. Vince had been good to his word and had checked him out. “Not so much as a parking ticket. Nick, I know he was lying about Calvin Doyle. And it was clear that he was uncomfortable with me hanging around K-Nine Security. I’m thinking of making a return visit.”

  If Nick wanted to object, he didn’t show it. Instead, he picked up his keys and bent down to kiss me. “I’m going on a short road trip, Angel, and I’m afraid you won’t be able to get in touch with me. If you can wait on this little excursion, I’d be happy to go with you. If not—” his mouth formed a wry smile— “take the gun. Leave the cannoli.”

  *****

  I’d planned on borrowing Nick’s truck to take the newly christened Daisy to my brother’s house. As I walked out of the security gate, I found the LeSabre sitting in the loading zone in front of the building. Crap. Nick’s mechanic must’ve dropped off the maroon whale early that morning.

  It’s not that I’m a car snob. I’m not. At sixteen, my first set of wheels was an ancient Volkswagen Beetle with a broken clutch and no back window. I loved that car. It was totally cool. But with temperatures climbing into the high eighties, I didn’t relish the idea of driving around town without a working air conditioner.

  There was a note on the dashboard. “Took the liberty of getting the air conditioning fixed. Hope you don’t mind.—Nick.”

  My heart fluttered at his thoughtfulness, and I pulled out my phone to thank him. And then I remembered he couldn’t be reached. So, instead, I ruminated (read: obsessed) about what kind of business Nick had that would render him incommunicado. I had to process this with someone, and, as luck would have it, Daisy was as good a listener as Adrian was. She sat in the back happily chewing on the seat belt, while I poured my worried heart out to her.

  “Nick and I are…complicated, Daisy. Look, I know it’s hard for you to understand, being what—four months old…and a dog. But, trust me, relationships are not easy.”

  Daisy stopped chewing and sat up. The strap, in tatters, dangled jauntily from her mouth. She dropped it onto the floor of the car and licked the back of my neck.

  “What are you trying to tell me, girl? That love conquers all? And that in order for our relationship to work, I’ll have to learn to accept Nick unconditionally, the way he accepts me?”

  Wisely, Daisy didn’t respond. She knew there were some things I’d just have to figure out on my own.

  *****

  My mom called just as I was leaving the firing range. “Your father’s worried about you. He says Jewish girls don’t own guns.”

  I hung a left out of the parking lot and ran smack into traffic. “You raised me Catholic,” I countered.

  “That’s very nice,” my mother replied, in a tone that said she didn’t think it was very nice at all. “My daughter is making jokes about carrying a lethal weapon in her purse.”

  Uh-oh. Here it comes. Wait for it, wait for it…

  “Didn’t we raise you better than that?”

  Ah, the age old question. “I guess not, Mom.”

  I knew my glib remark would cost me. It was met with stony silence. I would apologize, but first, I had to go back to Paul’s and kill him for running off at the mouth to my parents. Earlier, I’d made the mistake of asking him if he wanted to join me for target practice. I (apparently, mistakenly) thought that if I showed him how I’m learning to take care of myself, he’d stop worrying about me.

  “ I’m sorry, Mom. Since I’m in-between jobs, I thought I’d learn a new skill. Beef up the old resume.”

  “So, what’s wrong with accounting?”

  My dad chose that moment to jump into the conversation, thus saving me from a life of pocket protectors and nerd jokes. “Nah, accounting’s not for our girl. She’s a people person, like her old man. Aren’t ya, doll? Here, Lorraine, lemme have the phone.”

  My mother must have passed him the receiver, because, suddenly, my dad’s voice came in loud and clear. “How’re ya doin, hon? Everything all right?”

  “I’m fine, Dad.” A car stalled in the right hand lane. I swung around it and barely made the light.

  My father lowered his voice, a sign that he was about to say something sensitive. “You need a little cash to tide you over?”

  God, yes! “No, I’m good. But I appreciate you asking, Daddy.”

  “Okay, honey. Let me know if you change your mind. Listen, your mother’s chomping at the bit to get back on. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  I love my mom very much. And I know she loves me, too. But, there are times when I’m not sure that she really approves of me. This was one of those times.

  “Brandy,” she admonished, as she reclaimed control of the phone, “I’ve been hearing some very disturbing things about you, lately.”

  “Disturbing things? What things? From who?”

  “I can’t recall,” she sniffed. Once my mother proclaimed something, it became fact. End of discussion.

  “Mom, I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but everything is fine. Really.”

  “It’s that new man in your life, isn’t it?” she decided, ignoring my protestations. “The handsome one. I’ve heard he’s dangerous. Maybe you should talk to Father Vincenzo. I’m sure he’ll be able to advise you. He’s always been very fond of you.”

  In actuality, the man thinks I’m the devil incarnate, but I didn’t have time to argue, because, suddenly, there was a more pressing matter. A dark colored sedan with tinted windows had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, in my rear view mirror. It was two cars back in the next lane over and gaining on me. A chill scuttled up my spine. It was Donte Lewis’ car. I was sure of it. “Mom, I’ve gotta go.” She was in the middle of her signature sign-off, Call your brother, when I hung up on her.

  I felt something wet on my face and realized I had broken out in a massive sweat. My mouth got all watery, my breathing ragged, and I was pretty sure I was going to throw up. Fuck. A panic attack. Could it come at a less convenient time?

  I took a couple of deep cleansing breaths, like I learned at Franny’s LaMaze class, and cranked up the air conditioner full tilt. That helped a little, but
the added strain on the engine almost sent it into cardiac arrest. I flipped off the air conditioning and sat there battling dizziness and nausea.

  Traffic stalled at a red light. I grabbed the phone and punched in 911.

  The voice on the line was firm and reassuring. “This is 911. What is your emergency?”

  “I’m in my car and I’m being followed.”

  “Do you feel that you’re in immediate danger?”

  “Yes. I’m pretty sure they’re out to kill me. Could you send a squad car right away?”

  “Hold on, Ma’am. What makes you think they’re trying to kill you?”

  The light changed and we started moving again. I glanced in the side mirror. The sedan was now one car length behind. Traffic in the left lane was moving faster than the right, which meant at any moment they’d come sidling up next to me. I’d be ripe for the picking. Every nerve cell stood on end. I opened the glove compartment, reached in and took out my gun, and laid it on the seat beside me.

  “It’s a long story, but you’ve got to trust me on this. The police are looking for the car that’s chasing me. Look, I don’t mean to rush you, but do you think you could speed it up a little?”

  “What’s your name, Ma’am?”

  “Brandy Alexander.”

  “What’s your location, Brandy? Be as specific as possible.”

  “I’m at 36th and Market, heading east. I’m driving a maroon LeSabre. The other car is charcoal grey with blacked out windows. I’m not sure, but I think it’s an Accura.”

  “If you can find a public place to pull over, do it. Lock your car and stay put. There’s a cruiser in the vicinity. It’s on the way.”

  Crown Fried Chicken was up ahead. I was going to park in their lot—safety in numbers and all that. But I knew from experience that whoever was driving that car would have no problem gunning me down in broad daylight and maybe take out a few innocent by-standers in the process. I couldn’t risk anyone else getting hurt.

  “It’s too dangerous. I’m going to keep driving. Please, hurry.”

  I eased the car into the left lane and watched in horror as the dark grey car veered into the right. It was one car back, almost parallel with mine. Steering one-handed, I reached for the gun with the other, wrapped my fingers around the handle and cocked the hammer. I did not want to shoot anyone. But better them than me.

  The car in front of the sedan hung a quick left. The sedan zoomed ahead, filling the gap next to my car. Without hesitation, I raised the gun and began to lower the passenger side window.

  Suddenly, there was a break in traffic in the right hand lane. I slowed down and edged over, tucking in behind a truck. The grey car tried to switch lanes again but got sandwiched between a bus and a Ford Expedition.

  Nearby, a police siren went off. I glanced in the side view mirror and spied a cruiser about half a block away threading its way through the congested street. Up ahead, two more squad cars darted out of a side street, their sirens screaming. Traffic snarled up as drivers scrambled to get out of the way. The cruisers converged on the grey car, forcing it to the curb. They’ve got you, you bastard.

  I pulled in several yards behind them and cut the engine. As my heartbeat slowed to a sprint, I realized I was still holding a loaded weapon. Carefully, I reset the hammer and stuffed it back in the glove compartment. Then, I leaned forward and waited for the scene in front of me to unfold. Nothing happened.

  Fear turned to curiosity, so I rolled down the window to get a better view. The cops were just sitting in their car. I guessed they were running a check on the license plate.

  After a few minutes, an officer emerged from the cruiser and approached the grey vehicle. He didn’t look particularly concerned for his safety. He didn’t even have his gun drawn. He motioned for the driver to roll down the window.

  A driver’s license exchanged hands. The cop looked at it and nodded his head a couple of times and then handed it back to the person inside the car. Suddenly, two small heads emerged from the rear window. The heads sported baseball caps. Adorable faces peeked out from under the caps.

  The driver’s side door opened and a woman in her late thirties climbed out of the car. She had on a white tee shirt with big red letters that said, “Proud Soccer Mom.” She looked seriously pissed off.

  I rolled up the window and turned on the air, letting the cool breeze dry my clammy skin. I shut my eyes and leaned back against the headrest.

  There was a tap on the window. My eyes flew open. A cop stood next to the car, his cheeks flushed from the staggering heat. I turned off the air conditioning and rolled down the window.

  His badge said Officer Smiley, a misnomer if ever there was one. Officer Smiley’s face brimmed with surly attitude. He jerked his head sideways toward the woman in the tee shirt, his voice dripping with unbridled sarcasm. “Why don’t you step out of the car, Ma’am? Councilwoman Claire Dobbs would like to meet you.”

  Turns out, I’d made a tiny error in identifying a city council member as my personal hitman. It was the tinted windows that threw me.

  It took over an hour (and a lot of fancy explaining) before the police and Soccer Mom agreed not to haul me down town for psychological testing.

  “Um, if you’d just give Vincent Giancola a call, at the D.A.’s office, I’m sure this would all be cleared up in a matter of minutes.”

  Vincent, albeit reluctantly, corroborated my story.

  See? I’m not really crazy or some kind of sick prankster. Rather, my emergency 911 call was a stress-induced aberration from an otherwise perfectly upstanding citizen. I was just lucky they hadn’t seen me waving that gun around like a flag on the Fourth of July, or it would have been a very different outcome.

  After Councilwoman Dobbs informed me that I’d be hearing from her lawyer, I was allowed me to leave. I ran back to my car and called Vince. “Thanks for bailing me out, Vince. I really owe you one.”

  “I’ve lost count on what you owe me.” He hesitated, his voice going uncharacteristically soft. “I’ve gotta tell you, kiddo, I’m worried about you.”

  “I know. I’m worried about me, too.”

  Under the watchful eye of Officer Smiley, I eased my way out of the parking spot and took off. I was completely unnerved. My life had gotten so out of control, I’d come this close to shooting an innocent woman. In front of her kids! This was not good.

  My hands began to shake so hard I could barely steer the car. Great. Not only did I look mentally unstable but drunk as well. I gripped the wheel tighter and got off the main road.

  I wanted to talk to Nick. He wouldn’t freak out, and he wouldn’t judge me. But Nick had already left for parts unknown. “Would it always be this way?” I wondered. Note to self: Check Santiago’s availability before scheduling next emotional breakdown.

  My pity party had just gotten underway when I spotted DiCarlo’s Mustang parked in DiVinci’s lot. Hello Kitty was perched on top of his antennae, a gift from his three-year old daughter, Sophia.

  I found a spot on the street and hopped out of the car. Bobby would definitely freak out and judge me plenty when I told him what happened. But, for some weird reason, I needed to hear him say it.

  My eyes took a few minutes to dial up from intense sunlight mode to the dimness of the restaurant. Sanford, the owner, calls it mood lighting. The locals suspect it’s to hide the fact that he hasn’t redecorated since 1982.

  For once, I wasn’t even remotely tempted by the smell of pepperoni pizza and fried calzones wafting through the air. I just wanted to find Bobby and unburden my conscience. The restaurant was jammed with diners taking advantage of the lunchtime special. I scanned the room but couldn’t locate him, so I headed for the bar and ordered a coke.

  Someone in a corner booth called my name. I looked up and immediately regretted it. The voice belonged to my longtime frienemy, Mindy Rebowitz. Unhh.

  It was too late to pretend I didn’t hear her. I gave her a half-hearted wave and got very busy inspecting the snack bo
wl. Well, someone had to make sure there was just the right balance of Chex Mix and Spanish Peanuts.

  I felt a nudge at my side as Mindy’s elbow found its way into my personal space.

  “Brandy,” she crooned, in that annoying sing-song way of hers. “How are you?”

  Before I could rustle up a decent lie, she continued, “I was sooooo sorry to hear you got fired.” She tilted her head; a gesture meant to convey sympathy. “You must feel so humiliated.”

  I stopped sorting rye chips and looked up. “Actually, Mindy, I’m good. In fact, it’s opened up a world of opportunities for me. I’m thinking of starting a blog…or trying out for The Next Food Network Star. So many options, so little time.” I finished off the Coke and threw some cash on the counter. “Speaking of time, I’ve got to run. It was great seeing you. Really great!”

  I slid off the stool and exited the side door. By this time, I was desperate to talk to Bobby, so I pulled out my phone to call him. That’s when I spotted him at the far end of the parking lot. He was slouched against a green Ford Focus, talking to Lauren. I started to wave to catch his attention. Only, just then, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close, and gave her what had to be the longest lip-lock in the history of the universe.

  I slipped back through the side door and left by the front entrance.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next morning, John met me for coffee at Gleaner’s Cafe on Ninth Street.

  Gleaner’s is a favorite of mine for many reasons, not the least of which is the complimentary Hershey’s Kisses that come with the meal. Since I’d brought Adrian along with me, I grabbed a table outside. Without Daisy to keep him company, he’d just been moping around the apartment. I thought an outing might lift his spirits.

  John was wearing a Phillies’ cap, which surprised the heck out of me. He says that baseball caps are the lazy man’s attempt at fashion, and he takes pride in his appearance.