No Such Thing as a Free Ride

by Shelly Fredman

  I wasn’t really sure, seeing as I no idea what our jaunt to the Greater Northeast would entail. “You can never go wrong with ‘Business Casual,’” I decided. “See you in about twenty minutes.”

  There was something I’d forgotten to ask DiCarlo, so when I got to Janine’s I parked in front of her walk-up and punched in his number. He was still at the precinct.

  “How did the cops know where to look for Bunny if they didn’t even know who they were looking for?”

  DiCarlo let out a long suffering sigh. “You know I can’t discuss details of a case with you.”

  “Yeah, I know… so just give me a hint. Who was it?”

  “Brandy,” he said through gritted teeth, “I mean it. I’m not going to have this conversation.”

  “Ohhh, I get it. There’s someone there with you. That’s cool. Just give me the first and last initials… Bobby? Hellooo…” He hung up on me! Oh, fine.

  I rolled down the tinted windows and honked, and a few minutes later Janine appeared decked out in a cammo mini-skirt and high heel sandals. She made a face at the Le Sabre and climbed in.

  “What’s with the face?” I waited while she buckled up and then I put the car in gear.

  “I thought we’d be taking Nick’s truck. You know, drive around in style for a change.”

  “I gave the truck back.”

  “Oh.” Janine contemplated this for a minute. “You wanna talk about it?”

  I shook my head. “Nah. I’m good.”

  Janine glanced around. “This is way better than Nick’s truck anyway. I mean we don’t have to worry if we spill something on the seats, and if somebody’s stomach gets upset, nobody will notice cause of the—y’know—mildew smell.”

  “Yeah, it’s way better.”

  “So what’s the game plan?” she asked, settling into my, apparently, unbearably gross car.

  “Game plan? Oh my God, Neenie. I was so bent on finding out who owns the silver van, I totally spaced on what I’m going to say when I meet him. Jeez, I can’t exactly go up to him and say, ‘Yo, buddy, did you happen to pick up a fifteen year old hooker in your travels, and if so, do you remember where you put her when you were through?’”

  Janine took out her make up bag and extracted her eye liner. “Where are we going, anyway?” She pulled down the mirrored sun visor and glopped some on her eye lids.

  “Welsh Road… are you dressing up for this guy?”

  “You catch more flies with honey,” Janine said. “You might want to freshen up too.”

  Call me old fashioned, but I really didn’t feel like gussying up for a creep who spends his lunch break trolling for underage prostitutes.

  Following the directions that Glenda had printed out for me, we found ourselves cruising around a middle class housing development built in the late ‘70’s. Well-kept single-family homes dotted manicured streets with names like Lindy Lane and Bethany Drive, homage, no doubt, to the developer’s daughters.

  We parked across the street from a white, two-story wood and brick house. Mini American flags lined the walkway leading up to the front door. A couple of cars were parked out on the street; a dark green Saturn and a Toyota Camry. A silver van was parked in the driveway, the back end visible from the street. I scrunched up my eyes and read aloud. SMILEY 1. Bingo!

  Janine unhitched her seat belt, her hand on the door. “Let’s roll.”

  “Um, Janine, I’m gonna roll. You stay here and if you hear me scream call 911.”

  “That’s it?” She sat back, folding her arms across her chest. “I thought you brought me along to help you kick this guy’s ass.”

  “That’s really nice of you to offer, Neenie, and if it comes to that, feel free to jump right in. But for now I thought I’d just pretend I’m a realtor in case there’s a Mrs. James Garner.” I reached into my bag and produced a calling card. It was from Ricco Realty and had a picture of an Asian woman with long dark hair. Close enough.

  Janine dug into her bag and produced a card of her own. She had actually spent about a day and a half working at Tony Tan’s realty office and considered herself quite the housing expert. “Come on, Brandy. I won’t say a word. I’ll just be there to add a little authenticity.”

  “Okay. But promise me you’ll let me do all the talking.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  We opened the doors and climbed out. As we walked across the street I started to panic. I mean what if it’s all a giant misunderstanding and here’s this poor innocent guy who was—for all I knew—giving young girls rides to church services or something. The last thing I wanted to do was jump to any wrong conclusions. I’d just put it out there in a careful and non accusatory manner.

  One half of a double garage door was open and a man was working inside. His back toward us, he was bent over, sorting nails in a box. The room was filled with art canvases, some very large, stacked neatly against the wall. I glimpsed one of the paintings; an “abstract” that looked like it was created by a three-year old, but would probably sell for about a million dollars if you told people it was painted by someone famous. I guess I’m not high brow enough to appreciate shit like this. It just looked like bad art to me.

  The guy must have been expecting someone else, because he stood up now and turned toward us, smiling. “You’re home early, honey,” he said.

  Gazing at the two strangers standing before him, confusion registered in his eyes. At that exact moment, recognition registered in mine.

  “So, you’re James Garner, you son of a bitch.”

  Chapter Nine

  Janine snapped to attention. “Um, excuse my partner. She’s got allergies. We’re realtors and we’re just canvassing the neighborhood—”

  “Forget it Janine. I know this scumbag.”

  Garner paled. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but you’d better get the hell off my property before I call the police.” He took a step back and stumbled, and for the first time I noticed his foot was in a cast. Good. It must’ve happened when he was running blindly down the alley after beating Crystal to a bloody pulp.

  “I don’t think you’re going to want to do that. You don’t recognize me, do you? Maybe this will jog your memory.” I pulled out my can of pepper spray. He recoiled, and for a minute I thought he was going to pass out from shock.

  “How did you find me? Are you the police?”

  “You’re not in any position to ask questions, Mr. Garner.” (Impersonating a police officer is a federal crime, but I think it’s okay if you just allude to it.) “What you need to understand is we know who you are and we could make life very unpleasant for you unless you cooperate with us.”

  I didn’t know where I was getting this. It’s like I was channeling some B-movie thug, circa 1940.

  Garner dropped his voice to a dead whisper. “Hey, I know who you are. You’re a reporter, aren’t you? What? Are you in a ratings slump or something? Looking for a juicy story?” He gave a hard nod in Janine’s direction. “Well, whatever this street tramp told you is a lie. I’ve never seen her in my life.”

  It took me a beat to realize the impression he was under, and then another to swallow my surprised laughter. Janine, however, was not amused.

  “I ought to pop you one, you little weasel.” Her fist tightened and for a minute I thought she’d make good on her threat.

  “Janine, please. Look,” I said, turning back to Garner, “I’ll make this real easy to understand. I’ve got proof that you were a client of a young kid that goes by the name of Star. So, what are we looking at… statutory rape? But I digress,” I noted, pleased beyond belief that the bastard was sweating bullets. “Now, Star’s gone missing, and the last time anyone saw her, she was climbing into your car. Would you care to elaborate on that?”

  “I swear to God I didn’t hurt her. We went to a motel, she—did her thing and I dropped her off on a corner somewhere. I haven’t seen her since. I—I was looking for her the day you saw me—”

  “Saw you beating the shi
t out of another little girl?” I supplied, anger turning my voice hoarse.

  Suddenly he jerked his head up, straining to see over our shoulders. I didn’t think it possible for a person to turn any whiter, but the last ounce of blood drained from his face as we followed his gaze down the street. A couple of teenagers were walking toward the house. The girl looked to be about sixteen, slim, pretty and petite, the boy, a year or two older and a head taller and built like a Fullback.

  “Please,” he begged. “It’s my daughter and her boyfriend. You have to go.”

  My stomach churned. This sicko has a daughter?

  They turned onto the walkway and stopped at the garage entrance.

  “Hi Dad.” The girl stood on tiptoe to kiss Garner’s cheek before casting a puzzled glance in our direction. “Oh, I’m sorry. We’re interrupting.”

  “Not at all,” I said, extending my hand to her. “My name’s Kim and this is my partner, Mary Beth. We’re realtors and we wanted to introduce ourselves to the neighborhood.”

  “I’m Caitlin,” she told me, her eyes glued to Janine, “and this is my boyfriend, Ben.”

  Ben gave a quick nod in our direction and began thumbing through the paintings. “Mr. Garner, I’ll get these out of your way soon. I had them stored in my dad’s sound studio out back, but I’ve been using that space while they’re away. I’m working on cleaning it out, though. Even though he doesn’t record music anymore, he still likes to go in there, y’know to get away from my mom sometimes.”

  Garner forced a laugh. “No rush, Ben. When will your folks be back from Europe?”

  “Another week.”

  “Honey,” Garner said, “I’m just finishing up with these ladies. Why don’t you go inside? I’ll be there in a few minutes and I can help you guys put together that slide show you were working on.”

  “We could just wait for you,” she said. “Hey, you’re not thinking of selling the house, are you, Dad? We haven’t even unpacked all of our boxes yet.”

  “Caitlin, sweetheart, I assure you we’re not moving. You guys go inside and I’ll be there in a minute. Your mother will be home soon and we can all go to that new restaurant you’ve been talking about for dinner.”

  My head reeled. Who was this guy? Loving dad or sexual predator? Clearly, the answer was “both.”

  Caitlin shot one last glance at Janine and dragged herself into the house.

  “Let’s get this over with,” he whispered. “What do you want from me? Money? Just name your price.”

  “You really don’t get it, do you? My concern right now, besides for that sweet kid who has the misfortune of being your daughter, is finding Star. So, for starters, I need you to tell me exactly when was the last time you saw her. Time and date.”

  “Look,” he said, “Do we have to do this now? Caitlin’s waiting for me.”

  “She’s going to have to wait a hell of a lot longer if your ass ends up in jail.”

  Garner leaned up against the van, shifting his weight to his good foot. His polo shirt was soaked with perspiration. The creep was trapped between a rock and two very pissed off South Philly girls and he didn’t much like it.

  “Okay,” he said finally. “It was the afternoon of the 15th. I had an appointment down town—”

  “Where did you take her?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Let me explain how this works, Garner. We’re going to find out one way or another, and I guarantee you that if we have to work for this information we’re going to make sure it’s real embarrassing for you.”

  “Oh, Christ. I swear to God I don’t remember the name of the motel. We used to get together maybe twice a week at some dump near the corner she worked. We didn’t go to the usual place that day. She was acting kind of funny, and she finally told me she was afraid of running into her pimp. I didn’t ask questions. We just drove around until we found another motel. Look, I know what you must think of me, but I treated that kid right.”

  “Did you now? She’s fifteen years old. If it were your kid out there, would you still feel like she was being treated right?”

  I let the thought sink in for a minute, then, “What time did you drop her back off?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe three p.m.?”

  “Hmm. My witness says it was at night.”

  “That’s impossible. I left town early that evening. I was gone for over a week. I just got back a few days ago.”

  “Where did you go?”

  He looked like he wanted to rip me a new one, but he answered my question. “L.A. I had business there. I can prove it.”

  “Who else has access to driving your car?”

  “My wife. But you can’t possibly imagine… look,” he said, “I’m trying to cooperate, but if my wife finds out about this, it will kill her. My wife and daughter mean the world to me,” he continued, choking up. “They’re the innocent victims here. Please don’t involve them in this. I don’t know who took my car. Maybe someone from the repair shop I take it to. It’s in there all the time. Damn air conditioning. Somebody could’ve made an extra set of keys and taken it joyriding while my wife was out that night.”

  “And just coincidentally picked up the exact same girl you’ve been having sex with? Listen carefully you freakin’ perv. I’m watching you. And I have friends in the mafia in case you were thinking of leaving town. And they’re watching you too… not to mention the police—and the FBI.” I would have added the Boy Scouts of America, but that would have been overkill.

  “I’m planning on checking out your story, so I’m going to need your flight info, the name of the hotel you stayed at in L.A. and a contact number… unless you want me calling your home phone.”

  “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

  “Great,” I said, cheerfully. “Oh, there is one more thing.”

  “I’ve told you everything. What else could you possibly want?”

  “Just this.” I raised my leg and stomped on his bum foot with every ounce of strength I had.

  Garner doubled over and Janine lunged at him. “And this is for calling me a hooker,” she growled, hammering her spiked heel deep into his other foot.

  The pain must have been excruciating, made worse by the fact that he had to suffer in silence or explain to his daughter why the nice lady realtors went wack-o.

  “Take care,” I told him. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Janine and I high-fived it all the way back to the car.

  “Man,” Janine said, buckling herself into her seat. “We should’ve cut off his nuts while we had the chance. Think we should we go back and finish the job?”

  “Don’t think I didn’t consider it.” I buckled up, too, and started the engine.

  “Brandy, you’re talking about a child molester. As far as I’m concerned, that’s all the permission we need to beat the living shit out of him. And, oh yeah, did you notice how his kid kept staring at me? That was a little weird.”

  “Eh. She’s probably just never seen a realtor that was so fashionably dressed. Hey, thanks for coming with me, Neenie. Sometimes I get tired of facing the dregs of the earth alone.”

  “I spent five minutes with the guy and I feel like I have to take a shower. I am used to bottom dwellers—I’ve dated more than my fair share. But that guy really takes the cake. And the worst part is he looked so normal.”

  No, the worst part is if he wasn’t going after someone else’s kid, he’d be doing it to his own.

  *****

  “And then he basically shoved me into the elevator and that was that. I’m telling you, John, there was something about that box that really upset him.”

  I’d gone directly from the Garners to meet John at Party On, a local party planning store. We were joint-heads of the shower decoration committee; John, because he had more taste than the rest of us put together and me, because, well, nobody else would partner up with me. (They say I’m too “controlling.” Well, somebody has to take charge.)

  John picked up
a gigantic inflatable baby bottle and inspected it. “$19.95. Who buys this crap?”

  “We do.” I took the bottle out of his hands and threw it in the cart.

  “So what do you think, John?” I asked, heading down the invitation aisle.

  “I think this place is tacky. We should start Eddie and Fran’s kid off right with something elegant. Let’s head over to Tiffany’s and pick up some silver baby spoons.”

  I gave him a major eye roll. “I meant what do you think about Nick?”

  “I know what you meant, but I was hoping to change the subject. Okay, since you asked, and you know I won’t mince words with you, I think you’re looking for things that just aren’t there. You need some mysterious reason for Nick to keep his distance from you, because you’ve never been able to accept ‘no’ for an answer. He flat out told you he doesn’t love you, Sunshine. You want my advice? Cut your losses and move on.”

  “Jeez, John, it wouldn’t kill you to mince them a little bit.”

  “Sorry, sweetie, that’s not what we’re about.”

  I started to give him an argument but was interrupted by a high pitched squeal loud enough to shatter glass.

  “Omigod, Bran-deeee!”

  The greeting emanated from Monica Winiki, formerly, Monica Sargenti, our old high school classmate. She made her way toward us, pushing a double wide stroller down the length of the aisle. Inside the stroller sat an infant and a disgruntled looking toddler, sucking on a lollipop.

  “Brandy,” Monica yelled again, stopping to retrieve the items her two-year old had grabbed off the racks along the way. “Stop that, Billy, or Mommy’s not going to get you ice cream.”

  “Oh no,” John groaned. “The last time I ran into Monica she gave me a blow by blow description of her C-section. Then she went and showed me the scar.” He shuddered. “Come on, let’s act like we didn’t see her and sneak out the back entrance.”

  “No, this will be fun,” I told him, still a little ticked off from his remarks about Nick. “Hey, Monica, I heard you had a C-section.”