Monica reached us and smothered John in her oversized, milk-producing breasts. “John, it’s so good to see you!” Then, she threw her arms around me and repeated the process. “Brandy, I am so happy for you!”
Why? Did she think being on the shower decoration committee was such an honor she had to offer congratulations?
“When are you due?” She beamed and gave me a little pat on my stomach.
“Do what?” I asked, backing away slightly. I should’ve listened to John and bolted while we had the chance.
John broke out in a grin. “Are you holding out on me, Sunshine? Is there a baby Alexander on the way?”
“What? Oh my God, Monica, you think I’m pregnant?” I knew I’d been hitting the Tastykakes a little hard, lately, but did I really look like I was about to give birth?
“Oh,” Monica whispered, sagely. “It’s still early. I understand. I didn’t want to tell anyone either until I was past my first trimester.”
I had to shout to be heard over John’s convulsive laughter. “I am not pregnant! Where did you get an idea like that?”
Monica’s face fell. “You’re not?”
I shook my head emphatically. “No.”
John was still busy chuckling at my expense, so I didn’t bother to tell him that the toddler had taken the lollipop out of his mouth and was now rubbing it against the side of John’s pant leg.
“I was at the Ac-a-me,” Monica explained, adding an extra syllable, South Philly style, “and I ran across Mindy Rebowitz. She said she was at the DMV and she overheard your cousin talking about it.” She lowered her voice, and added, “It’s Bobby’s, isn’t it? I always knew you two would get back together.”
John giggled and I thumped him on the arm.
It took me twenty minutes to finally convince Monica that there were no babies on the way, Bobby’s or otherwise. Thank God I nipped it in the bud before any real damage was done.
My phone rang at that precise moment.
“Brandy?”
“Oh, hi, Mom. What’s—”
“I’m going to be a nonna!”
I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying. Oy.
It took another twenty minutes to convince my mother that there were no babies and, therefore, no “shotgun” wedding in my near future. But by that time, the store had closed so we decided to call it a day.
“I’m making stroganoff tonight,” John informed me, as he walked me to my car. “You want to come over?”
The offer was tempting, but I just wanted to get home. Ever since leaving Cynthia Mott’s office, I’d had a weird feeling that I was missing something, only I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“I’ve hit a wall trying to find that missing girl, John. I’ve got to work tonight.”
“I don’t get it,” John said, shaking his head. “Eric’s been offering to give you real assignments and you’ve turned them down. You said you needed time to recuperate from everything that’s happened to you lately, maybe get some skills under your belt. Why the sudden change of heart?”
I thought about it for a minute. “I guess that’s your answer right there. For all of her foul-mouthed attitude, Crystal got to my heart. She trusts me and I’m not going to let her down.”
John hugged me to him. “Did I ever tell you you’re my hero?”
“Oh man, you’re not going to start singing Wind Beneath My Wings, are you?” I said, turning beet red.
“You never could take a compliment, Sunshine.”
*****
As I pulled onto my street, I spied Mrs. Gentile out on our shared porch. She was standing on a step ladder running a hand vac over her screen door. I figured I should offer to help her, although I couldn’t see a speck of dirt and anyway she doesn’t like me. Still, it was the neighborly thing to do.
I climbed out of the car, calling to her from the sidewalk. “I’d be very happy to vacuum your screen door for you, Mrs. Gentile,” I offered, mustering up my somewhat meager enthusiasm.
She glared down at me from her step ladder. “I don’t thinks so, Missy,” she said all huffy. “You do a piddley little favor for me and the next thing you know you’ll be expecting me to babysit while you go out on the town.”
“Um, did I miss something here? Babysit who?”
“You and Bobby DiCarlo’s “love child,” she said, making a face and the universal sign for quotation marks.
I sighed. Neighborly or not, I wanted to push her down.
*****
Rocky, Adrian and I sat on the couch watching television. Well, technically, only the cat and the dog were watching. I was reading over my notes and checking for stray sounds in the house. Even with the alarm system reactivated and the extra patrol cars circling the neighborhood, I couldn’t shake the feeling that any moment now Bunny would come bursting into the house wielding a six-inch blade and skin me alive.
I tried concentrating on Star, resolving to check out Garner’s story in the morning, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the girl in the photograph on the bulletin board at New Beginnings. What had Cynthia Mott told me? She had been found with a hypodermic needle sticking out of her vein. Suddenly I knew why it sounded so familiar. Nurse Morrison had told me a similar story about a girl who had O.D.’d in Camden. That girl had been pregnant… like the girl I’d found in the alley. I picked up my pen and started writing.
Girl #1 (Sunny) was found approximately a year and a half ago. She was young, white, made her living by hooking and died of what appeared to be a self inflicted overdose.
Girl #2, according to Nurse Morrison, was found dead about a year ago. She was also young, white, had also overdosed and had recently given birth.
I sat back and strained my brain for another memory. Something to do with DiCarlo. In a moment I had it. I picked up the phone, disregarding the fact that it was after midnight and he was an early riser.
“Yeah?” he said into the phone, his voice groggy with sleep.
“Bobby, remember about three months ago when my parents were in town and my mom had everyone over for dinner?”
“I remember. In fact, I’m still trying to digest the meal. But why are you calling me about this now?”
I ignored the slur on my mother’s sub par culinary skills. “You had to leave early that night. Someone found a body in a dumpster. You told me later it was a teenage hooker and that she’d O.D.’d. Do you remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. Why?”
“Was she a white girl?”
“Brandy, what’s this all about?”
“The sooner you answer me the sooner you can go back to sleep.”
“Or, I’ve got an idea. I could just hang up.”
“Bobby, please.”
“Okay, yeah. She was white.”
“One more thing… could you tell if she’d recently given birth?”
I waited a beat but he didn’t answer. “Bobby?”
I could hear the rustling of sheets as he sat up in bed, the sleep gone from his voice. “What are you? Psychic?”
“So that’s a yes?” My mind scrambled to understand the possible implications of this news.
“Autoposy revealed she had recently given birth.”
“So what happened to the baby?”
“That’s the million dollar question. But you still haven’t answered mine. How did you know this girl had been pregnant? I never discussed that with you.”
“Believe it or not, it was a lucky guess. What was the official ruling on cause of death?”
“Drug overdose. Listen, you’re obviously onto something. What is it?”
“I’m not sure yet. Let me work it out a little more and I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“It is tomorrow.”
“Good point.” I hung up and went back to my notes.
Okay, so what do I have here? Four dead, white, teenage prostitutes, all within a span of approximately a year and a half. Three died of what was assumed to be self inflicted overdose. Two had recently given b
irth before their demise. One died of complications of a miscarriage, in which drugs were thought to be involved. All Jane Doe’s.
What was the common link in their lives… the something or someone that tied them together? They weren’t even all found in the same city. And even if they were, it’s a big city, and with the thousands of kids that run away each year, there’s bound to be some overlap in their personal stories.
I vowed to turn my notes over to Bobby and let him decide if I was on the right track or just making a mountain out of a molehill. In the mean time, my first priority was finding Star, and as much as I hated the thought, I had some unfinished business with an urban cowboy named Little Red.
*****
I woke up on the couch at 6:00 a.m., soaked in sweat, despite the living room air conditioner running full blast. My dreams were disjointed and frightening, filled with mixed metaphors; Bunny, wearing a cowboy hat and a red bandana, chasing me with a saber. Then Little Red appeared in Dr. Denton’s carrying a bucket of lye.
I called Fran as soon as it was reasonable. “Do you still have that dream interpretation book?” I asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“What does it mean if you dream about pimps wearing footie pajamas?”
“It means you’re seriously disturbed. And speaking of disturbing things, it’s my last La Maze class tonight. Are you available?”
“Absolutely.”
“Damn.”
“Franny, I said I’m totally available. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to go,” she whined.
“Why not?” I entered the bathroom and begin squirting toothpaste on my brush.
Fran heaved a gigantic sigh. “I have to do everything. I’ve been carting this baby around for almost nine months and do you think anyone’s offered to take her off my hands? Frankly, I’m sick of it. Can’t you just go for me tonight?”
“You do know you’re making absolutely no sense at all, right?”
“Humor me. I’m really scared, Bran.”
“I know you are, sweetie. I’ll pick you up at 7:00.”
*****
I was supposed to do a live spot at the zoo, but just as we set up, three orangutans escaped their habitat and one ran off with the camera, so that left me free for the rest of the day. Heading back to the car I crossed off “go to work” on my “to do” list and moved on to item number two. “Check up on Little Red.” Oy.
Some of that checking up entailed actual contact with the man. I skipped over that happy thought for the moment and concentrated on what I could do from a safe distance.
I sat in the car and punched in Mike’s number. For some reason, he didn’t sound that happy to hear from me.
“Do you think we’ll ever have a conversation that doesn’t begin with, ‘Yo, Mike, can you do me a favor?’” he grumbled.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. But as a matter of fact, I have two reasons for calling. Okay, so one is to ask you a favor, but the other is to tell you that I spoke to Janine, and she’d be happy to go out with you.”
“She would? Really?”
“Really. Do you have a pen? I’ll give you her number.”
“Wow. That’s great. So, what kind of stuff does she like to do?”
“Well, she’s into pole dancing and—”
“You’re kidding me,” he said, all excited.
“Yeah, I am. Sorry to disappoint you. Listen, Janine’s terrific. All you have to remember is she used to wait tables so she hates cheap tippers and you’re good to go. Now, about that other reason I called. There’s a pimp who goes by the name of Little Red. He got arrested the other day and taken to the South Street station.”
“I’m not even gonna touch how you know about this character,” Mike said. “What do you need?”
“Whatever you can tell me. His real name, for starters, any prior arrests, home address if you’ve got it.”
“You’re not planning on paying this guy a visit, are you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” my stock phrase meaning ‘you’re right on target.’
“And before you ask me if DiCarlo knows, I don’t need his permission to do my job… but it’s probably best not to mention it.”
I could tell he was grinning. Mike’s got the best smile around. “You are something else. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
Okay, then. Next stop South Street Gym.
As I pulled into the lot I spied DiCarlo’s Mustang parked under the shade of an ancient Maple tree. What’s he doing here in the middle of a work day? He must be buffing up for his big date on Saturday night. The thought depressed me. Then the guilt set in. Why am I acting like this? I should be happy for Bobby. He deserves some fun in his life. I am a terrible person.
I was really getting down on myself. I needed some unconditional mother’s love. I fished out my phone and called Carla.
“I’m a jealous, bratty bitch,” I announced, hoping she would contradict me.
“Eh, it’s part of your charm.”
Total acceptance. Even better. “Love you, Carla.”
“Love you too, Hon.”
It was hotter inside the gym than it was outside. Massive fans blew the fetid air around but did nothing to cool things off. Bobby sat shirtless in the corner of a ring, sweat glistening off his perfect abs. I recognized his sparring partner, Gordie Hankins. Gordie’s a cop who used to work out of the same precinct as Bobby, until he was transferred out. He was at the South Street police station the day I got hauled in.
I made a u-turn a hair too late. “Yo, Brandy,” DiCarlo yelled. “Wait up. I want to talk to you.”
“Forgot my gym bag in the car,” I mumbled, not looking up.
“It’s in your hand. C’mere.”
Gordie climbed out of the ring and approached me. “You look familiar. Have we met?”
“I’m very famous. You’ve seen me on tv.” Head bent, I started to walk toward Bobby. Gordie put out a hand to stop me.
“Nah, that’s not it. I mean I’ve seen you in person. Recently.” Suddenly, recognition lit up his eyes and he grinned like he’d just won the Lottery.
“Long story,” I told him. “I was working undercover that day. I’m a reporter. Honest!”
Thankfully, Gordie got a call which saved me from further explanation.
Jimmy the Rat was nowhere in sight so Bobby offered to spar with me. We worked out mostly in silence with Bobby giving me the occasional tip. I was serious about learning how to defend myself and according to DiCarlo it showed.
“You’ve improved,” he said, afterwards. “You’re anticipating moves and you’re packing some real muscle with your punches now.”
“Thanks. Listen, Bobby. I have a favor to ask you.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“I need to find out if someone got on a flight from Philly to L.A. and if they caught the return flight as well. I’m following a lead on that girl, Star and, well, it would really help me out if you could do this for me.”
“Sure.”
“Just like that? No lecture? No argument?”
“Look, Bran, I know I haven’t said it, but I think what you’re doing for this kid is pretty terrific. So I’ll do what I can to help you out.”
“Wow. Thanks,” I said, handing him the flight information.
I waited while he showered and changed, emerging from the lockers ten minutes later, wearing ragged jeans and an old beat up tee shirt, but still managing to appear like he’d just stepped off a Gucci billboard.
“Bran, I want to finish our conversation, but I just got a call from Sophia’s daycare and I’ve got to go pick her up. Seems she ate some crayons and the burnt orange didn’t agree with her.”
“That’s okay. I’ll catch you later.” I watched him as he swung his gym bag over this shoulder.
“You’re staring at me, Sweetheart. How come?”
“You’re a dad, Bobby. Does that ever like totally freak you out?”
“Every day of my life.” He flashed me a grin. “But she’s worth every freakin’ minute of it.”
On my way out of the gym, Mike called me back. “I got the info you wanted. Are you sure you want to mess with this dude? He’s got a rap sheet a “Lifer” would be proud of.”
My stomach dropped. “I don’t think we’ll be dating any time soon.”
“Man, Brandy, I don’t feel good about this. Why do you need to get in touch with this scumbag, anyway?”
“I have a network marketing opportunity he may be interested in. C’mon, Mike. Just give me an address and we can put this conversation behind us. Oh, and if you could email me a copy of his rap sheet, I’d appreciate it.”
“Anything else?” he said, only I don’t think the offer was all that sincere, because he was talking through his teeth.
“No, that should do it.”
“Henry Michael Lyons,” Mike read aloud. “Last known address is 3700 North Camac Street. Look, be careful. He’s been busted on everything from weapons charges to voluntary manslaughter. And he’s slicker than a greased pig. A lot of the major charges don’t end up sticking. Witnesses tend to disappear.”
“I’ll be careful, Mike. Thanks.”
Okay, so now what? Do I come clean with Little Red? Tell him I’m a reporter and that he’s my number one suspect in the case of the missing teenage hooker… Maybe I could get away with that if I was Geraldo Rivera. Oh well, I’ll think up a plan on the fly. I work better under pressure anyway.
I got out my map book and checked the address. Then I took out my phone. If I was descending into Hell, I wanted someone who knew his way around to be my tour guide.
“Alphonso?” I said when he picked up. “It’s Brandy. Are you busy?”
Chapter Ten
He told me to meet him outside of Ming’s Pool Hall, located in one of the dicier neighborhoods on Kensington Av enue. “Don’t get out of the car. Keep your doors and windows locked. Call me when you get here and if you happen to catch anybody on the street in the middle of a business transaction, don’t make eye contact!”
“Isn’t there like a Starbucks we could meet at or something?”
No Such Thing as a Free Ride Page 14