No Such Thing as a Free Lunch (No Such Thing As...: A Brandy Alexander Mystery)

by Shelly Fredman

  “I said, if I didn’t know you so well.” He reached out and pulled me roughly to him. “But I do know you, sweetheart. I know you’re so scared you can’t see straight. But what scares you more is giving in to the fear. So you pretend you’re fine and you push on. And the worse it gets the harder you push.”

  Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. He was right, of course. So I did what I do best. I pushed. I pushed him hard and he pushed me back. Right down onto the bed.

  I popped back up but Bobby loomed over me and forced me down again, pinning my arms to my sides and wedging a leg between my knees to make sure I stayed down.

  I struggled against him, my look mutinous. “Let me up,” I screamed.

  “Not until you admit I’m right.”

  “Fuck you, DiCarlo.” I drew my leg up and aimed for his crotch, but he moved deftly out of the way and pinned me harder.

  “Say it,” he demanded.

  “Tears of frustration streamed down my face. “I hate you,” I sobbed.

  “Say it!”

  “Okay, you’re right! So what do you want, a medal?”

  In an instant the anger drained from his body, to be replaced by something even scarier. “You know what I want,” he said, lowering himself on top of me.

  I did know. And God help me, I wanted it too.

  Bobby didn’t wait for permission. He just took what he wanted, his mouth hot on mine, searching, finding, savoring the taste of each other. He let go of my arms and tore at my shirt until it fell apart in his hands. Then he reached down and unzipped his jeans and kicked them off. I grabbed at his tee shirt and lifted it over his head and then we were skin to skin, his rock hard abs pressed against the fullness of my breasts, the heat coming off us threatening to set the bed on fire.

  I ran my finger along his form, tracing the body I had once known so well. He groaned at my touch and then swore and reached for a condom. I helped him slip it on and then, raising my hips and holding me tight, he thrust inside me.

  We tried to take it slowly but the need was too great. I wrapped my legs around him, my heart banging wildly against my chest as the pressure in my lower belly grew, hard and fast, and it rocked us both over the edge so quickly it left us out of breath and soaked in sweat. Afterwards, we lay there in stunned silence, awed by the magnitude of what we had done.

  Bobby rolled off me and collapsed onto the bed, panting. He was on his back, and as I lay next to him, watching the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing returned to normal, I had the sudden and perfect realization that what had just happened between us was inevitable. In that moment another truth became evident, and calmness washed over me.

  “Bobby?’

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you.”

  “I know you do,” he said without surprise. “I love you too.”

  “But we’re not right for each other, are we? Not now, anyway.”

  He was quiet for a beat. “Yeah,” he sighed, “I know that too.”

  He reached out and drew me to him and I curled up in his arms, feeling very safe and very loved.

  I woke up to the distant sound of my cell phone going off. I was alone in the bed. I looked at the clock on the dresser. It said 9:20 a.m. I’d been asleep for three hours, but it felt like three minutes.

  Bobby walked into the bedroom holding my phone. He was fully dressed and wearing a tie.

  “You look nice,” I said, feeling around under the covers for my underwear.

  Bobby grinned. “So do you.” He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead and then handed me the phone. “It’s your mother,” he said, checking the readout.

  “Oh jeez, I can’t talk to her now. I’m sitting naked in your bed. She’s going to know that. Mothers know these things!” I dropped the phone and wriggled into my panties.

  The phone stopped ringing and went to voicemail. “I should call her,” I groaned, as my conscience kicked in. “She’s probably heard about the shooting by now and she must be worried sick.”

  “It’s okay,” Bobby said. “I pulled some strings last night and managed to keep your name out of it— at least for a while. For the time being you’re just an ‘unidentified female.’ Now as far as where you spent the night, you’re on your own.”

  Turns out my mother was calling to ask where I kept the furniture polish. I told her I didn’t have furniture polish. She uttered a horrified squeal and ran right out to correct the situation. I half expected my failing to be the lead story on the morning news. “This just in! An ‘unidentified female’ has admitted to using her shirt sleeve to remove dust from the tv screen. Her mother is devastated and could not be reached for comment. More on this story as it unfolds.”

  I got dressed and went downstairs. Bobby was in the kitchen eating breakfast. He poured me a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats and joined me at the table. “I figured you could use the sugar rush,” he told me. “You didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night.”

  Just as I shoved the first spoonful into my mouth, my phone rang. “Hullo?”

  It was Nick. My first instinct was to tell Bobby it was a telemarketer and hang up, but we turned a corner last night in our relationship and I wanted to test out our newfound honesty. “Nick” I mouthed to him. Bobby rolled his eyes, but he didn’t throw his bowl of cereal at the wall or anything, so I figured we were cool.

  “Hey,” I said softly into the phone, battling the shyness that always seemed to overtake me whenever I was around Nick… or heard his voice… or thought about him in passing. “Listen, I never really thanked you for what you did for me last night.”

  Bobby made a face and walked his bowl over to the sink. Okay, so he’s not quite ready to drink from the cup of friendship. I put my bowl in the sink as well and walked out into the living room.

  “Easy stuff darlin’,” Nick told me. “So are you still up for visiting LaShawna Mitchell today?”

  “Absolutely. But hey, you really have done enough for me, so I’ll understand if you can’t make it tonight. I should be fine alone.” I don’t know why I say these things. Nick learned early on it was utter bullshit.

  “Actually, I’ve got some business to take care of over in that neighborhood, this morning, which works out well seeing as LaShawna had to move up the meeting time. I’ll pick you up. How soon can you be ready?”

  That all depended on how soon Bobby would be leaving the house. Even though we’d reached an understanding, it was stretching it to think he’d welcome Nick into his home with open arms. “Um, Nick, can I call you back in just a minute?”

  “Not necessary, sweetheart.” Bobby walked into the living room. His shoulder holster was strapped to his chest and I suspected there was another at his ankle. “Finish your conversation. I’m shoving off now.” He bent down and gave me a quick, brotherly kiss on the cheek. “Shut the door when you leave and be careful.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Let me talk to Santiago for a minute.”

  I handed him the phone. “You hurt her, I’ll kill you.” He handed the phone back to me. “Yep, that’s it.”

  “You look nervous, darlin’.” It was noon and Nick and I were driving along Indiana Avenue in the heart of “the Badlands.” The name conjured up images of the old west—gun slingers, saloon brawls, shoot outs at the O.K. corral—all of which seemed like good, wholesome fun compared to the city scene laid out before me.

  Entire blocks of buildings were boarded up, but that didn’t stop people from living in them. Junkies, boasting the purest heroin in the country hung out on street corners making open trades. Prostitutes, some as young as eleven, lined up in full force, peddling their wares in the grey, mid-winter afternoon. This was urban blight at its very worst.

  Nick was at the wheel of a Mercedes truck. I didn’t know how good an idea it was to drive a fancy car in this neighborhood, but he seemed unconcerned.

  “Uh, Nick, you did say you had business around here, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “A
re you a drug lord, by any chance?”

  He cast me a sideways smile. “No.”

  “Pimp?”

  His grin got wider. “Why? Are you looking for representation?”

  That left “gun trafficker” and I really didn’t want to go there.

  “So,” he said, throwing a casual arm over the back seat of the truck, “how did your reunion with DiCarlo go last night?”

  “My reunion?”

  “You did spend the night, didn’t you? I was just wondering if he’s officially reclaimed the palace.”

  My face went beet red. “If that means what I think it means I—uh—y’know, that’s none of your business!”

  “As I recall, I was given a rather stern warning by the detective this morning. That kind of makes it my business.”

  “Oh. That.” I was not prepared for this conversation. “Listen, do I go around asking you about every palace you’ve reclaimed? No, I do not.” Mostly because it would depress the hell out of me to know how many there were. “And why are you laughing?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “No, you’re not. You just want to make fun of me.”

  “Honestly, that’s not it. You just constantly surprise me, that’s all.”

  “Oh. I don’t mean to.”

  “I know,” he said, suddenly serious. “That’s what makes it all the more charming.”

  Well, that shut me up. I mean how can you yell at a guy who thinks you’re charming?

  Nick pulled up in front of an old, Catholic church and parked. Gang graffiti decorated the crumbling exterior of the building and the front doors. Four Hispanic guys, about twenty years old or so gathered in the doorway smoking crack. They looked up when Nick cut the engine. One had a six inch buck knife hanging off his belt. He raised his eyebrows and said something to the others. They laughed, showing an impressive amount of gold teeth.

  Nick pulled an oblong package from the glove compartment and opened the driver’s side door. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

  I panicked. “Couldn’t I come with you? I haven’t been to confession in ages!”

  He cut his eyes to the guys who were now openly ogling me. “Sure, but stay close.”

  “What’s in the package?” I asked, trotting alongside him.

  “Something for the collection plate.” He was smiling, but his eyes never left the men blocking the doorway. He took my hand and brushed past them, giving a slight nod as they scattered to let us through. What was it about Nick that let them know without him ever raising a finger that he was the alpha male?

  A priest greeted us at the door and ushered us inside. He looked to be in his late thirties, with the wide, flat nose of a boxer and soft brown eyes. “Nicholas,” he said, embracing him with easy familiarity. Smiling he added, “And who is this?”

  “Sal, this is Brandy Alexander. Brandy, Father Salvador Domingo, also known as The Beast of Bourbon Street.”

  “Those days are long gone, Nicky, but I can still beat your sorry butt. It’s nice to meet you,” he said, reaching out to shake my hand. There was a warm, easy going air about the guy and I liked him immediately.

  “You guys go back a long way, I take it.”

  “Ah, good times, eh Nick?” But the look between them was bittersweet. I filed this under “ask him later,” knowing it would probably be a fruitless effort. Nick never talked about his past.

  Nick handed Father Sal the package. “This should do the trick,” he said.

  The priest took it and stuck it between the folds of his robe. “Nicky, I don’t know how to thank you. “This will help so many people.” The two lapsed into Spanish after that, losing me after “gracias.” I think that was the idea.

  Our crack smoking pals were gone by the time we got back to the truck. I climbed in and buckled up. “Nick,” I said slowly. I knew I was treading in deep water, but I had to ask. “Whatever was in that package you gave the priest—it wasn’t legal, was it?”

  “Does it matter, Angel? The legal choice is not always the moral one.” He gave me a quick smile. “But you know that.” And there you had it.

  LaShawna Mitchell lived in a one bedroom walk-up on Manola Avenue. She shared this space with her three young children, a large pit bull, and, from what I saw crawling out from under the stove, a shit load of cockroaches.

  We were seated at the table in her kitchenette. The Pit Bull lounged at Nick’s feet gazing up at him adoringly. I hoped I didn’t look at Nick with the same love-sick expression, but I suspected I might.

  With the exception of the creepy crawlers, LaShawna’s home was immaculate.

  “Sorry about the roaches,” she apologized, reaching under the sink for a can of Raid. “I’ve been trying to get the damn landlord to do something about them, but he’s too cheap to hire a fumigation service.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it,” I said, as I watched a roach sashaying across my shoe. “We didn’t even notice them.” I discreetly shook it off and pulled my feet up under my legs. Then I took out a pad and pencil and began.

  According to LaShawna, Anthony lived with her and the kids until he left the state suddenly, four years ago. He knew David Dwayne Harmon from the neighborhood. They hung out together on occasion and had a casual friendship.

  “Were you surprised when your brother testified against Harmon at the trial?” I asked.

  “I was shocked. In this neighborhood, people don’t get involved in other people’s business. It’s too risky. I asked him why he did it and he just said he had his reasons and anyway I shouldn’t worry because he wasn’t planning on sticking around. Said he had some travel plans.”

  “Did he ever indicate to you whether his testimony was true?”

  “I didn’t ask. I figured what was done was done.” LaShawna lowered her eyes. “Anyway, I always suspected someone paid him to testify at that trial.”

  “Why is that?” Nick interjected softly.

  “Because Anthony wouldn’t have come forward on his own. Money was a powerful incentive for my brother. Right before the trial started, Anthony began bragging that he was about to come into some big bucks. I told him he was dreaming. He worked at a car wash, how was he gonna come into money. He just laughed and said he met all kinds of interesting people at his job. I told him don’t hold your breath, but damn if he didn’t walk in one day with a wad of cash the size of your head. He knew I was hurting financially and he wanted to help me out. I told him I wouldn’t take no drug money.

  That’s when he told me it wasn’t like that. He’d met some rich guy through a friend of his, and he did him a favor, so now he was just reaping the rewards.”

  “I don’t suppose he told you what the favor was.”

  “I asked, but Anthony told me it wasn’t my business.”

  “But you think it had something to do with his testimony. Did that rich guy have a name?” I asked.

  LaShawna shook her head.

  “You said Anthony was working at a car wash during this time. Do you happen to remember the name of it?” If I was lucky, maybe someone there would still remember him and be able to shed some light on this favor he did.

  “Sure do,” LaShawna said. “It’s the Wash N Wax on the northeast corner of Germantown and Belmont.” Which just happened to be located directly across the street from Ditto’s Car Repair where Zach Meyers worked.

  “LaShawna, does the name Zach Meyers mean anything to you?”

  “Yeah. He used to call here sometimes. I remember because he was one rude bastard.” LaShawna put her hand to her mouth, stifling a big yawn. “I’m sorry. I was up half the night with a sick baby.”

  “You’ve been really helpful,” I said. “I’ve just got one more question. When was the last time you spoke to your brother?”

  “About four months ago. He called here asking how I was and I told him not so good. I’d had my heart set on going to nursing school, but my funding fell through and I was pretty depressed about it. About an hour later Anthony called back an
d said he thinks he can get me the money, but he didn’t want to say any more until he knew for sure.

  “That was the last I heard from him, until three weeks ago when the cops called to say they’d found his body. The report said he’d been mainlining heroin and he overdosed. But if you knew my brother, you’d know he’d never do that. He was completely phobic about needles. They only found the one set of tracks on him. I tried to tell the authorities, but nobody would listen to me. That’s why I’m talking to you. Maybe you can find out what really happened to him.”

  We stood and walked back into the living room. “Wait here a minute,” LaShawna said. She disappeared into the bedroom and came out holding a framed photo in her hand. “That’s me and Anthony. It was taken four years ago at the Red Lobster. He took me there for my birthday.”

  The family resemblance was strong. Boner had his arm around LaShawna and they were both smiling into the camera. “It’s a nice picture,” I told her.

  She nodded, her eyes welling up. “I know what they said about Anthony out on the street and I’m not saying it wasn’t true. But he was a good brother. He took care of me.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You did good today, Brandy Alexander.”

  We were sitting at the counter at Melrose Diner, having made a pit stop on the way back from LaShawna’s. I ordered the meatloaf and mashed potato platter. And some fried chicken fingers… and a slab of apple pie… I’m a stress eater. Nick contented himself with a cup of coffee and some buttered toast.

  “It’s just so sad, Nick. Boner may not have contributed much to the rest of the world, but LaShawna really loved him. He looked out for her, and now she’s on her own with three kids to raise… are you gonna eat that toast?”

  Nick laughed and slid the plate over to me. “Don’t worry about LaShawna. She’s a strong person and she’s got goals. It may take her a while to get there, but I think she’ll be okay.”

  “Nick,” I said, after a moment’s pause, “I feel really bad asking for a favor after everything you’ve already done for me, but I was wondering if you’d lend me the truck.”