No Such Thing as a Lost Cause (14 page)

“Seven. How come you didn’t pick up?”

“I’m in the middle of a photo shoot.”

“So who are you shooting? Maybe I could come down and help you.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve gotta go,” he said, and hung up.

I’ll bet he wouldn’t have hung up Garrett.

I walked into the living room. The puppy had made up a new game called “Give the Cat
a Heart Attack.” I wasn’t real sure of the rules, but they seemed to include lying
in wait for Rocky to come down the stairs and then chasing her back up again. I decided
to cut the cat a break and take the dogs for a walk.

On the way back, I ran across my neighbor, Heather, and her pug, Mr. Wiggles. Mr.
Wiggles and I have an adversarial relationship. Several months ago, he peed on my
shoe. On purpose. Heather says it’s a sign of affection, but I have my doubts.

“Ooh,” said Heather, bending to scratch the puppy behind her ear. “You have a new
dog. She’s sweet.”

“Yeah, thanks. You want her?”

Heather laughed like I couldn’t possibly be serious.

“No, really, Heather, you want her, she’s yours. Look, Mr. Wiggles really seems to
like her!” In truth, Mr. Wiggles was actively ignoring her, the pint-sized, pedigreed
snob.

Heather looked skyward. Dark clouds were gathering and the air buzzed with negative
ions. We were in for a whopper of a summer storm.

“She needs a rain coat,” Heather decided. “I’ll make her one with room to grow.” “Listen,
you’re sure you don’t want another dog?”

“Ha ha. Good one, Bran. Well, see ya later.”

I sighed. “See ya, Heather.”

It was lunch time so I decided to go visit Paul at the club. His best server was on
vacation, and I figured he could use my help…or I could use the tips. One or the other.

Paul was behind the bar taking “to go” orders. “Hey, Sis. I was just about to call
you.” He hung up the phone and I followed him to his office.

“So, how come you’re not at work? Don’t you have to do the mid-day traffic report?
By the way, you make a way better Godfrey than the other guy did. You really make
traffic come alive.”

“I got fired.”

“Oh. So, uh, do you need some m-money to tide you over?” He reached into his drawer
and pulled out a wad of cash.

“Paulie, that’s really sweet of you, but I didn’t come here looking for a handout.
I thought maybe I could work it off.”

Paul winced. “Bran, couldn’t you just take the handout?”

“Just give me a chance, will ya, Paul? I’ve really been brushing up on my people skills.
Here, watch this.” I gave him a big, friendly smile and pantomimed taking a plate
off a serving tray and placing it on the top of his desk. “Can I get you anything
else this evening? The apple pie is to die for.”

“Um, you p-probably don’t want to m-m-mention our food and d-dying in the same b-b-breath.
It’s k-kind of a turn off.”

“Duly noted. So, when do I start?”

Half an hour later we were back in Paul’s office. “Are you sure you don’t want to
take this?” he asked, waving a wad of money at me.

“I’m good, Paulie. And just for the record, I didn’t tell that woman that a 25% tip
is customary. I said, ‘25% of our customers marry.’”

“Come back tonight,” Paul said, too polite to choke on his words in front of me. “We
can try you out parking cars again.”

“Love you, bro.”

“Love you, too.”

*****

I woke up the next morning with a dog on either side of me and a cat on my head. The
thermostat said 90 degrees, and I was swimming in sweat, which I thought would burn
off the cheesesteak calories, but I guess sweating only counts as a calorie burner
if it hurts while you’re doing it.

I hopped in the shower and got dressed and then went downstairs and turned on WINN.
Godfrey the Traffic Dog had officially retired. He’d been replaced by something that
looked like a hedgehog, but I couldn’t be sure. I also couldn’t figure out the tie-in
with traffic, unless there were numerous hedgehog-related deaths during high-density
traffic hours on I-95.

The dog fight bust had barely gotten a mention in the news. Granted, it was small
potatoes compared to high profile, celebrity busts with millions of dollars on the
line, but it still felt disrespectful, to say the least, to the dogs that suffered
at the hands of these people.

The lack of press infuriated me, and I spent the next several hours in a rage-infused
web search frenzy learning all I could about dog fighting and the moral degenerates
who engaged in it. Turns out the lure of the money, the excitement of the fight, the
sick thrill of torturing another living thing crosses all cultural, economic, and
political boundaries.

Nick called just as I was taking a break. Since I started seriously working out at
the gym (well, visiting it occasionally, anyway) I’ve tried to cut down on my chocolate
cupcake habit. I was down to two a day, and only the icing off of three more.

I got a pang of yearning at the sound of his voice. “Are you back from your errand
for Sal?” I asked.

“Safe and sound, Darlin’. I wanted to pass along a bit of news. Kenzo lost track of
Lewis. He hasn’t seen him since the morning of the dog fight. My guess is he heard
about the new autopsy and split the state.”

“Unh! If the police had just listened to me in the first place, the man would be behind
bars by now.”

“I think you might be forgetting about due process, but I understand your frustration.”

“So, what are the chances that I’ll get to see you?”

Did that sound too needy? Oy. Now I’d spend the rest of the day wishing I could take
it back. Low self esteem is exhausting.

“I’ve got a late training session set for tonight, but I’ll be through by ten.”

“I’ll be over then.” Love has no pride.

*****

“Brandy, where are you? Carla and I have been waiting outside Freddy’s for half an
hour.”

Yikes. I’d told Janine and Carla I’d meet them for Happy Hour at a local bar and grill.
It was our way of economizing, since Janine’s been out of steady work for almost a
year, and I, apparently, was unemployable. I’d spent the afternoon alternating between
job hunting off Craig’s List and playing on-line Scrabble. The job pickin’s were slim.
A parochial school in my neighborhood was looking for a P.E. coach, and the Acme needed
baggers. It was a toss-up as to which occupation I was less suited for.

“Oh, Neenie, I’m sorry. You guys go on in and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Well, hurry up. The Buffalo wings go fast, and you always complain about the fish
sticks.”

“Set some aside for me. I’m on my way.”

Twenty minutes later I found Carla and Janine seated at a booth in the back of the
bar. They were drinking Mojitos and Carla was arguing with the server. They had stockpiled
the wings for me, a definite no-no in Happy Hour etiquette.

“I can’t keep bringing you free appetizers until you finish the ones you have.”

“These are for our friend,” Carla explained to the server and half the restaurant.
She’s depressed, and, by God, if Buffalo wings make her happy, I will see to it that
she has them.”

There was no hole for me to crawl into so I waited for the server to leave before
slinking into the booth.

“I’m not depressed,” I said, stuffing a wing into my mouth. I washed it down with
a Bud Light.

Carla and Janine exchanged a look, complete with eyeball rolls.

“
I’m not depressed.
Okay, so I’m out of work, but so are you, Janine…no offense.”

“None taken,” Janine said with a cheerful Mojito glow. “I’m just better at it than
you are. Brandy, you can’t sit still for a minute. This must be killing you.”

“I’ve been keeping busy. Just yesterday I painted Adrian’s toe nails (my dog really
wants to explore his feminine side) and I promised Mrs. Gentile I’d paint the interior
of her house in exchange for her dropping the petition against me.”

That spurred another round of eyeball rolls.

“I’m right here, you guys.”

Carla fixed me with a stare. “Brandy, honey,” she said, invoking her right as a slightly
older friend to impart parental wisdom to me, “You’re probably smarter than Janine
and me put together—no offense, Janine—”

“None taken.”

“—and yet, you’ve been knocking around in a job that’s beneath you for years now.
It’s time you figured out what really matters to you and go for it.”

Carla was right about my needing to find a job I cared about, but she was dead wrong
on at least one count. In her own, dipsy way, she was one of the wisest people I knew.

Janine’s phone rang some time into her third Mojito. “It’s Mike,” she mouthed. “How
do I look?”

Oh, jeez. This could be a disaster.
I pulled the phone out of her hand.

“Mike, it’s Brandy. Janine is um, indisposed at the moment. Can I relay a message…she’d
love to…no, I don’t have to ask her….Saturday night is fine…she’s looking forward
to it too.”

I clicked off and handed the phone back to Janine. “He’s taking you to that new Sushi
place on Market, followed by some foreign film whose name I can’t pronounce. Listen,
Neenie, Mike’s a really nice guy, so don’t break his heart or anything, okay?”

“I wasn’t planning on it. Bran, are you all right?”

“Fine. Great. Why do you ask?”

Janine and Carla exchanged another look, this time, minus the eye exercises.

“What? I’m fine, you guys. I’m just looking out for Mike is all. So if you don’t want
the same things in life, you’d better tell him now, because he could fall in love
with you and end up really getting hurt.”

Nobody said anything for a minute. Then, Carla waved her hand in the air, signaling
the server. “Another round of Buffalo wings for our friend, here. And keep ‘em comin’.”

The sun was just disappearing over the Schuylkill as I set out for Nick’s studio.
I wasn’t supposed to be there until 10:00 p.m., but I took a detour to Paulie’s to
drop off Adrian and Little No Name. My brother is a soft touch, and I figured some
bonding time might score the puppy a new home. Plus, I didn’t want to have to worry
about them being left alone if I got invited to my own sleepover.

“Now, d-don’t get any ideas that I’m going to keep her,” Paul warned, in between bouts
of wheezing. “I’m n-not a dog person.”

“I won’t,” I lied. “Thanks for babysitting. I’ll be back tomorrow to pick them up.
Oh, and you might want to take them over to the park in the morning. Puppies are total
chick magnets. Be good for Uncle Paul, you guys.”

Once the dogs were safely ensconced at Paul’s I still had some time to kill. And,
since I was only about forty minutes away, (practically around the corner) I thought
I’d drive by Donte Lewis’ place—because that’s the spontaneous kind of gal I am! I
just wanted to see where he lived, is all. I promised myself I wouldn’t even get out
of the car, and I knew that I wouldn’t because I always keep my promises.

North Philadelphia touts some of the oldest Victorian houses in the city, as well
as beautiful murals that depict a rich cultural history. Unfortunately, none of that
was evident on the street where Donte Lewis resided. His block was ugly, stark and
mean. One side of the street had been taken over by government-subsidized apartments
built in the hideously boxy style of the mid-sixties. On the other were ramshackle
row homes, circa 1940. Their owners had obviously given up the fight against natural
erosion and gang graffiti.

Donte lived in a side by side duplex located at the end of the block. An unlit alley
snaked around behind it like the River Styx. His was the only house with any semblance
of livability. The other half of his duplex was a boarded up abomination with trash
strewn all over the porch, and a dead patch of lawn out front.

The next unit over looked like an abandoned fortress with metal bars covering glassless
windows. The stucco siding was riddled with bullet holes.

There were no lights on at Donte’s. I parked across the street from the duplex, cut
the engine, and sat there, thinking.

“Okay, you’ve seen it,” said Sensible Me. “Now move along. On your way.”

“Yeah, but Lewis is gone,” tempted Compulsive Me. “It’s safe to get out and look around
a little.”

“
Excuse me
,” Sensible Me butt in. “Not to be a Debbie Downer, but these things rarely turn out
well for you. If memory serves me right, you usually get caught in the act of snooping.”

“Perfect timing,” reasoned Compulsive Me. “The odds of not getting caught are in your
favor now. And who knows, you might find evidence to tie him to his cousin’s murder.
C’mon. You know you want to.”

I honestly did not want to. But there is something wrong with me. I just
had
to go take a look. I grabbed my cell phone, mace, and brass knuckles and climbed
out of the car.

The heat of the day lingered on the pavement as I made a mad dash across the street.
It was doubtful that anyone would have noticed me, anyway. There wasn’t a soul in
sight.

I walked up the sidewalk and headed toward the alley. A six-foot high cinder block
wall ran along the perimeter of the property, with a rusted iron gate that led into
a small back yard. In the dark I could barely make out the broken padlock that hung
from the latch.

The gate had been left partially open, so I squeezed on through into the yard. Tiptoeing
up to the back door of the apartment, I tried to peer in but it was too dark to see
anything. I thought about jiggling the door handle, when common sense made an overdue
appearance and reminded me that Breaking & Entering is still considered a crime in
Philadelphia, no matter how many times I’ve gotten away with it. Besides which I’d
started to feel seriously creeped out, so I let go of the knob and turned to leave.
Just a hair too late.

My body snapped to attention at the sound of a car rolling down the alley. It stopped
just on the other side of the cement wall, the engine idling.