The Twelfth Of Never: A suspense mystery romantic thriller

by Lillian Francken

  "Looks like we have a lot of work ahead of us," Jenny said.

  "I'm glad you showed up. Maybe we can get started on the reports."

  "When are they due?"

  "Wednesday, before two. But I have to prepare a preliminary report this afternoon for the Dean."

  "I'm already working on that." Jenny glanced at her watch, and then picked up one of the piles from her desk and handed it to Steve. "Your fair share." Jenny smiled.

  Steve reached over and took the pile from Jenny. This was a never-ending process that only seemed to get worse as state funding was cut. It meant getting money from other sources, and in a depressed economy that was becoming a difficult task. Steve glanced down at the folders in his arms. One way to save money was to cut staff, but it was an alternative he was not willing to undertake.

  "Do you have plans for this evening?" Steve asked.

  "Benjamin's taking me to Papa Joe's, but that won't be until late."

  "Think he would mind picking you up here?"

  "I'll call him at the studio," Jenny replied.

  Actually she wished Steve had asked her to cancel altogether. It would have given her the perfect excuse, but even then, Jenny knew Benjamin would not let her get out of it so easily.

  Steve walked to his desk with the pile of folders while Jenny made the call. Once she hung up, they busied themselves working on the report.

  * * *

  Rico was standing outside Delaney's room when Gideon made his presence known. There was still blood spattered on his suit from the morning's disaster. His unshaven face attested to the fact that the last few days had not gone well. The seven-hour nap did nothing to curtail the migraine that was only getting worse with time.

  "How's he doing?" Gideon asked.

  There was no concern in his voice. It would not have mattered to him one way or another what the answer would have been. Earlier that morning Gideon had saved Delaney's life, but that did not mean he cared anything for the man lying motionless on the bed inside that room. A world separated them from when they'd last met. Gideon knew Delaney had caused great pain to innocent men and their families, and Gideon was not about to embrace him as a prodigal son.

  "You okay?" Rico asked.

  "Yeah, you didn't answer me."

  "Don't know yet. The nurse said something about the next twenty-four hours being critical."

  "Anybody strange walking around the hospital?"

  Rico glanced at Gideon with a curious expression. The only strange person that afternoon was the man standing in front of him, but Rico said nothing, just shrugged his shoulders. Gideon looked down at himself. He had not realized what a mess he was in. "Looks like I should clean up." He shook his head, and then laughed.

  "I'll only be here another hour. My replacement will want to know who you are."

  "Gideon LaMont, that's all he needs to know."

  "Sure would be nice if I saw an ID."

  Gideon stared Rico down. It was clear he would not be waving his badge at anyone that day. Gideon was there at the scene that morning, it should have been obvious to all that he was not the one out to kill Delaney.

  "It's not necessary if you don't want to."

  Gideon walked away, but then quickly turned back to Rico. "When will the doctor make his rounds again?"

  "About six this evening."

  "I'll try to get back by then. Let your replacement know so I won't have any problem getting in to talk to Delaney."

  "Don't worry, we'll take care of it," Rico snickered. He glanced at his watch and was thankful he would not be there when Gideon returned.

  Gideon grinned. "Like you did this morning?"

  "Can't blame that one on us. We were only there for backup, nothing more." Rico's fist clenched as he said the words. Without waiting for Gideon to respond he continued, "Shielding someone from gunfire isn’t my idea of not getting in the way, but we did it and Wayne is alive because of it. I don't think it was our screwup."

  "I didn't mean to imply it was."

  "Who knew the old woman was a man?"

  "A Boy Scout could tell it wasn't an old lady under those garments."

  "So next time, have the Boy Scouts back you up."

  Gideon smiled he liked the spunk the young Puerto Rican showed. Most men cowered at his presence, but not Rico: he stood his ground.

  "Have you heard whether they have a make on the assassin yet?"

  "No. They're still working on him downstairs. Should have something soon," Rico replied, and then glanced nervously down at his watch again. "We've been stuck here since ten-thirty."

  "Before I get back, check it out and leave a message for me at the nurse's station. I need the information before I call Langley again."

  "Then you are CIA?" Rico stared at Gideon.

  "I don't want it advertised, do you understand?"

  "Sure, but I don't see what the problem is?"

  "You would, if you understood everything," Gideon added.

  "Okay, anything else you want done while you're gone?" Rico asked with sarcasm in his voice.

  Gideon had struck a raw nerve, and knew it. Both men were doing a job that morning. Rico's job was to observe what was going on and nothing more, his orders were explicit. Gideon on the other hand had come away with one man dead and two wounded, clearly not a successful operation.

  * * *

  Steve spent the better part of the day in meetings. Once he returned to the office, he and Jenny spent the late afternoon and early evening hours fine-tuning the report in preparation for another budget meeting first thing in the morning. The cleaning people had long since gone. It was the sound of footsteps down the hall coming closer that made both turn toward the door. Slowly the door opened.

  "You almost done?" Benjamin smiled as he walked in without waiting for an invitation.

  Jenny glanced at her watch. "Is it that late already?" She leaned back on her chair and rubbed her aching shoulders, she had not realized the time had slipped away so quickly.

  "Yeah, I saw the light on from the park and guessed you two were still at it."

  "Then you don't know if Trish is home yet?" Jenny asked.

  "No. She stopped at the studio earlier this afternoon so I could put the finishing touches on a piece I was working on. She left around four."

  "I really don't want to go out tonight."

  "No reneges," Benjamin quickly added. "We're going!"

  "I could go for Chinese," Jenny said without so much as looking up.

  "Nope, my mind is made up."

  "Jenny, it'll do you a world of good," Steve cut in, not giving her a chance to continue with lame excuses.

  "What I really could use is a hot bath and a good book."

  "Oh no!" Benjamin replied while shaking his head. "You're not going to get out of it this time." Benjamin walked over to the coat rack and grabbed Jenny's light beige jacket.

  "You better get her out of here before she thinks of something else."

  "Well, what do you say to that?" Benjamin smiled as he walked up to Jenny and put the jacket over her shoulders.

  "Is it cool out? Maybe we should go back to the apartment so I can get a warmer jacket."

  "No way. You aren't going to pull that one again." Benjamin smiled. He remembered last year. Once Jenny got to her apartment, there was no getting her to leave. He knew Jenny was at a disadvantage at the office and he was not taking any chances.

  "You didn't answer me, is it cool out?" Jenny asked again, feeling slightly harassed.

  "It's still in the seventies. You won't freeze."

  Papa Joe's was a popular pizza joint on campus. It was only a few blocks away, on the corner of Bleecker and Thompson. Its carry-out business soared when school was in session, with all the late night study groups who broke for a bite to eat. The restaurant itself was small by Italian standards. The walls were lined with booths; red checkered tablecloths covered circular tables scattered around the room. Antique wine bottles filled the shelves, along with photos of fam
ily, both here and in the old country. Each table had a large candle that was always lit and gave a romantic atmosphere to the quaint little room.

  As they walked in, Jenny's mouth watered thinking about the various Italian dishes she'd sampled there in the past. Papa Joe was the only one who ever came close to duplicating her mother's authentic Italian dishes, which were handed down from generation to generation.

  When Papa Joe saw Jenny, he quickly turned to the kitchen and yelled through the swinging doors. "Rosa, come quick."

  Jenny sighed deeply and then smiled. "Hi, Joe," she said sheepishly, now regretting her avoidance of the people and things that mattered.

  Joe's eyes were damp as he quickly pulled Jenny against his barrellike body. "Benjamin, you've brought our little Jenny back to us."

  "It wasn't easy," Benjamin said as he rolled his eyes.

  "Anything you want is on the house." Papa wiped away a tear.

  Papa Joe was short and plump and looked like he personally sampled each and every dish at the restaurant. He wore a big white chef's hat that covered a shiny bald head.

  Rosa peeked through the swinging kitchen door and waved at Jenny before disappearing back to her stove.

  "Your booth is open," Joe said pointing to the small booth in the corner next to the back window.

  It had been their table, John’s and hers. But as easy as it was to walk into the restaurant that night, she still was not ready to forget everything that had been so dear to her. Jenny was not sure if she would ever be ready.

  "That would be fine," Benjamin said, and then turned to Jenny. "You don't mind, do you?"

  A tear rolled down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away before either man noticed. She was not going to let the evening bother her. After all, Benjamin was only trying to help, but actually, he was just making matters worse.

  The whole night had a surreal effect to it. Everything they did or said reminded her of that night six years ago. She knew it was a mistake to let Benjamin bring her to Papa Joe's. When the meal was finally over they started back to the apartment. Benjamin guided her through the park. Jenny never could bring herself to walk through it alone at night and was relieved when they reached Washington Square North and stood in front of the Admissions Building.

  "I'm sorry the evening was such a failure," Benjamin said, breaking the long silence as they walked down the alley to their apartment building.

  "You meant well. It's just that I'm not ready to forget completely."

  "Promise you'll start trying."

  "Okay, only if you promise to stop interfering."

  They climbed the steps to the third floor. Jenny walked into the darkened living room. Trish was out and would not get back until late so Jenny still had some time to herself. She flipped on the switch for the lamps and then reached over for the stereo and turned it on. Soft, warm melodies filled the room. Jenny was drawn toward the sketches on the far wall. She gently touched the one of John, and then ran the back of her hand along the side and down the chin. The emptiness inside was almost unbearable. Jenny stepped back and shut her eyes, swaying to the music and pretending she was back in his arms. For a fleeting moment, she was happy again.

  CHAPTER 5

  Gideon took a taxi to Midtown to see Sylvester Bronk, Chief of Detectives. Since the divorce, his ex-wife Beth's brother was the only source Gideon had concerning how things were in the real world. That and the fact Gideon did not have a permanent address, other than a PO Box he used for mail. Whenever he stayed in town, Bronk extended the use of a safe house if one was available, otherwise a hotel room had to do.

  When Gideon's marriage to Beth started failing, Gideon almost opted for the job Bronk offered, even though it was Beth who sought Bronk's aid, not him. Gideon had seriously considered the offer nonetheless, hoping in the end to salvage what was left of his marriage, but it was already too late. Whatever love he and Beth had shared had long since cooled when the divorce papers were served. That was over three years ago.

  The cool September air felt good to Gideon after spending long hours in the confines of the hospital. Bumper-to-bumper traffic was unnerving, giving Gideon little time to reflect on the day's events. Nothing however, could change the outcome. He only hoped Delaney would give him the information promised so more people would not die.

  When the yellow cab finally came to a halt, Gideon got out and looked up at the graffiti-covered brick walls of the precinct. He quickly paid the cabbie and then walked into the building. No one took notice of the blood spatters on his sleeve or his wrinkled suit. It had been months since he'd visited his brother-in-law at work. The green walls were still covered in filth from decades of indifference. There was always a never-ending flow of criminals being brought in for booking. Gideon swiftly passed them all. Dealing with this on a daily basis was the one reason he could not accept the job years earlier. Gideon took the stairway up, not touching anything. If the graffiti was an indicator, then the last time anything was cleaned was during the Eisenhower years, if not longer.

  Once Gideon reached the third floor, he glanced around. Desks were scattered throughout the room, with only a narrow path separating one from the other. In the far corner, enclosed in glass, was a familiar figure. The massive frame dwarfed the furniture in the room. Bronk's gray suit was wrinkled from overwear and did nothing for a complexion that saw no sun except at crime scenes. After a long moment of just staring at Gideon, Bronk waved him through.

  Gideon walked down the narrow aisle to the glass enclosure. Bronk was already pulling the blinds, shielding his small room from any onlookers that passed. Before the door was even shut, Bronk turned on Gideon.

  "You have some nerve showing up like this!"

  "It's business."

  "Beth called me yesterday. The girls waited for you."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Don't tell me, tell them."

  "It couldn't be helped," Gideon argued, but it was no use. There was not an excuse in the world that would justify his actions to the girls, or to Beth either for that matter. "I thought I made that clear yesterday."

  "No. What you made clear was that you needed backup in the park. Oh yeah, that reminds me, you could have gotten my men killed!"

  "How was I to know the Feds would take a break just when everything was about to come down?"

  Bronk slammed his fist on the desk while Gideon just stared and watched the veins in Bronk's neck protrude as his face turned several shades of red.

  "The least you could have done was call her."

  Gideon realized Bronk was more upset because of his missed visit with the girls than the fiasco that morning in the park.

  "How bad is it?" Gideon asked running his hand across his chin. It was a nervous habit of his, that and rubbing his temple.

  "Arthur is pressuring her for termination of parental rights."

  "He can’t do that."

  "Gideon, you keep missing visitations." Bronk walked away from his desk, went over to the door, and like a caged cat turned back around and pointed his finger. "When was the last time you saw the girls?"

  Gideon sat dejected in the chair next to the desk. He looked down at his shoes, as if searching for the answer. Then he feebly replied, "July?" It was more of a question than an answer.

  "I'll tell you. The second weekend in June—that was three months ago to be precise."

  "There's been a lot going on," Gideon replied.

  "Don't give me that crap. You don't know what a day off is. Look at yourself, man. You've aged ten years in the last three." Bronk shook his head. "You can't keep going at this pace."

  "Colby needs me."

  "Shit he does, your daughters need you more. If things don't change, I'm afraid nothing I do or say will change Beth's thinking about you."

  "She must really be ticked off this time."

  "Yes!" Bronk snapped. "It never changes with you two."

  Bronk walked over to his desk. He plopped himself down in the overstuffed chair, then opened the cent
er drawer.

  "What are you going to do?" Gideon asked.

  "Nothing." He tossed Gideon the keys. "You need a place to hang your hat for a few days. Isn't that why you came?" Bronk paused for a moment, looked down at the pile of folders on his desk, and then glanced up at Gideon again as he leaned forward. "Gideon, you look like shit."

  "Gee, thanks," Gideon rolled the keys around in his fingers and stared blankly at the address on the tag.

  "Now what's the problem?" Bronk asked.

  "Bedford, isn't that in the Village?"

  "It's not good enough?"

  "Don't you have something closer?"

  "No," Bronk replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Distance was never a problem before."

  "I don't have a car." Gideon glanced up pathetically.

  Bronk shook his head. "Sometimes, Gideon, I wonder how you ever find your way out of bed in the morning."

  Bronk reached in his pocket and tossed Gideon a second set of keys. Gideon recognized the key ring: it was once his. Beth had given his red Corvette Stingray to her brother. She fought fiercely for it in the divorce. Gideon did not have it in him to fight her for anything. In the end, all he walked away with were the clothes on his back.

  "Like old home week," Gideon said nervously, and then put the keys in his pocket.

  "Beth didn't really want it. All she wanted was to hurt you."

  "She did a good job of that."

  "I'm sorry it turned out like it did," Bronk said.

  "So am I," Gideon replied, standing up on stiff knees, and then walking to the door.

  Bronk followed behind him, putting his hand on Gideon's shoulder in a brotherly way. "It's parked out back."

  "Thanks." Gideon turned and looked up while forcing a smile.

  Gideon walked out into the back lot of the precinct. He stood on the concrete walk and leaned on the rail as the door swung shut behind him. The little sports car that once represented his youth and freedom was parked way at the back end of the lot.

  In the end, his marriage was reduced to a court battle over who could hurt the other more. His hands shook as he walked up to his old friend, a symbol of a time in his life when things were uncomplicated.