No Such Thing as a Lost Cause (22 page)

“But Doyle was there the night Mario got beat up. Wasn’t he the one who’d threatened
to shoot him?”

“Yeah,” I conceded. “Only, from what I gather, he was just there to protect his other
interests.”

“Meaning Sherese?”

“Sherese and whatever other business dealings he had going with Mario and Donte. One
thing was clear. He was scared. Said if the boss found out, they’d all be dead. Which
begs the question, who’s the boss?”

Nick leaned across me and reached for the hand rolled cigarettes he kept in the drawer
of his bed stand. He put one to his lips and looked around for a match.

“I thought you’d quit.”

It was supposed to come out like a mild observation…y’know, no big deal, just wondering
.
Instead, it sounded the way I meant it.
Oh my god, you’re two puffs away from lung cancer!

“Being good is overrated. Everyone needs a vice, Darlin’.”

“Oh yeah?” I challenged. “So, what’s mine?”

“Me.”

“I considered this. “Well…” I took the unlit cigarette from his mouth and tossed it
back into the drawer. Pushing him onto his back, I straddled him. “In that case, I’m
about to be very, very bad.”

By the time we left the bed it was almost noon. “What are your plans for today?” Nick
asked. He was dressed in his workout clothes; a pair of loose fitting sweats and a
snug tee shirt. In his hands he held two demitasse cups of espresso. He gave me one
and took a sip from the other.

I thought about making something up. Something nice and safe like job hunting, or
going curtain shopping with Franny. But this was Nick, not Bobby. “I want to find
out more about Calvin Doyle…who he hung out with…stuff like that. All roads may lead
back to Donte Lewis, but I’m not convinced of that just yet. I’m going to start by
talking to that guard, Edie Wyncote. She worked with Doyle at the hospital.”

A look flickered across his face; brief, but all too familiar.

“Or maybe I’ll go curtain shopping with Franny.”

Nick finished his espresso and placed his cup in the sink. I walked him to the foyer
and waited while he gathered his keys, his sunglasses and his gun. When he was ready
to go he put his arms around my waist and hugged me to him. “Be careful curtain shopping,”
he murmured into my hair. “Call if you need me.”

*****

When I got to the hospital security desk, I saw two unfamiliar faces in place of Edie
and Calvin Doyle.

“Hi. I’m looking for Edie Wyncote. Is she working today?”

“Edie’s on a break,” one of them told me. “She usually brings her lunch and eats outside
in the garden on the third floor.”

I found her sitting with a group of co-workers, huddled under the shade of an aluminum
striped awning. She looked up in recognition as I walked toward her. “Hey, hi. You’re
back.”

“Hi, Edie.” “Listen, I was wondering if I could talk to you a minute.” I cut my eyes
toward her lunch mates and added, “It’s sort’ve personal.”

She shot me a quizzical look. “Sure.”

Edie got up and gathered the remains of her lunch and tossed it into the trash bin.
I followed her to the other side of the garden where she settled on a wooden bench.
I took a seat next to her.

“I’m here to talk to you about the guard I saw you with the other day. Calvin Doyle.”

“What about him?” Her tone was mildly curious.

The question caught me off guard. I’d thought the police would have interviewed the
hospital staff by now. Clearly, she didn’t know what had happened to him, and I didn’t
want to be the one to tell her. Unh! This just served as another illustration of why
I should plan ahead.

“How well do you know Calvin?” I asked.

“Not real well. He just works at the hospital part time, and sometimes we share a
shift.” Edie frowned. “Look. I’m not comfortable talking about Calvin behind his back.
Is he in some sort of trouble?”

Not anymore he’s not
. “Um, Edie. I have something to tell you.”

I tried to gloss over the details, alluding to the notion that I was working with
the police and wasn’t at liberty to divulge more than a cursory, “He’s dead and we’re
looking into it.”

“I can’t believe it,” Edie whispered. “He was a nice guy.” That seemed to be the general
consensus, unless you asked Mario, whose ass Cal had wanted to cap…and did. “Do the
police have any idea who killed him or why it happened?”

I spread my hands out in front of me, a gesture meant to convey I wish I could tell
you, but I have to follow orders. “Edie, you said Cal only worked at the hospital
part time. Did he have another job?”

“Not that I know of. He didn’t talk much about his private life.”

I thought for a moment. “How about hobbies? Or friends? Did he ever mention anyone
he hung out with or anything like that?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Nothing comes to mind.” She glanced over at the table
under the awning where her friends had been seated. The table was empty. “My break
is up,” she announced, rising. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

I stood too. Scrounging around in my pocket book, I found an old Acme receipt. I tore
it in half and took down Edie’s number. Then, I scribbled my name and number on the
other half and handed it to her. “Edie, if you do happen to think of anything, could
you give me a call?”

“Sure thing.” She studied the slip of paper a moment. “Listen, I don’t know if this
is the kind of stuff you mean but, sometimes when Cal’s shift was over, someone would
come around in a van to pick him up.”

“Did Cal ever mention who it was?”

“No. But I remember the van, because there were words written on the side of it. You
know, like advertising for a business.”

“Can you recall what it said?”

“Wait.” She closed her eyes as if trying to conjure up an image. A minute later her
eyes popped open. “The sign said K-9 Security Services.”

“K-9 Security Services,” I repeated, committing it to memory. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Hey. Do me a favor. Let me know what you find out.”

“I will. And, thanks.”

I was just leaving the hospital when John called me. “Hey, Sunshine. I’m trying out
a new recipe I saw on the Food Network today. You want to come over for dinner?”

A real, home cooked meal sounded like heaven. Nick had scheduled some late training
sessions, which left me to fend for myself. My idea of fending is a bowl of corn flakes
and a stack of peanut butter crackers. “That’d be great. Will Garrett be there?”

John was immediately on guard. His voice pitched low. “Why?”

“No reason.” Actually, I had come up with a new strategy to win Garrett’s favor. I
figured I’d appeal to his love of culture and dazzle him with my extensive knowledge
of fine art and literature.

“I didn’t invite him. It’s just you and me.”

Crap. I memorized those Trivial Pursuit cards for nothing.

“Maybe we should make it for another time. I’ll bring Nick over, you ask Garrett,
and we could do a game night.”

“You hate games. And besides, you have the attention span of a flea. The last time
we played Monopoly you quit before we even finished setting up the board.” John began
to cackle.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was just picturing the four of us together. You and Garrett would be trying not
to strangle each other, while Santiago and I bonded over the fondue pot and a rousing
game of Yahtzee.”

I really love John, but sometimes I want to smack him. “Fine, John. Make your little
jokes.”

“Bran, why are you pushing this?”

“Because I want Nick to know my friends. And how is Garrett ever going to learn to
like me if we don’t spend any time together?”

“Will you stop obsessing about Garrett? It is what it is.”

“
It is what it is?
What does that even mean, John? Of course it is what it is. What else would it be?
What I want to know is how to change what it is.”

“You’re giving me a headache. I’ll see you at seven.”

I took a circuitous route back to Nick’s apartment, via my neighborhood. It’s not
that I didn’t love staying with him. Hell, I’d camp out in a tent on top of Mt. Saint
Helen’s as long as we could share a sleeping bag. But this was my home, and I missed
it.

As I turned onto my block, a sudden, intense, flash of anger surfaced and formed a
burning lump in my esophagus. At first, I’d thought my lunch was taking a walk down
memory lane. (I’d indulged in a couple of spicy shrimp tacos at a food truck in Powelton
Village. Maybe not the best idea, but who can resist Taco Tuesday!)

However, indigestion didn’t account for the clammy hands and palpitating heart. God
damn gang bangers. I hated being at anyone’s mercy. What I hated even more was being
afraid. Would I ever feel safe in this world? I pulled over to the curb in front of
my house and sat there feeling very sorry for myself. And the next thing I knew, the
tears were falling again.
Note to self: You cry too damn much. Look into hormone therapy.

*****

According to their website, (which featured pictures of big, scary looking dogs with
bared teeth and names like Zeus and Diablo) K-9 Security Services offered “a variety
of services for all of your commercial and residential protection needs.” What it
didn’t advertise is someone that worked there knew Calvin Doyle. Maybe they could
shed some light on who killed him.

I called the police station to give them the inside scoop on my investigation. That
resulted in a brief, but spirited conversation with a cop I mentally dubbed Officer
Crankypants, who, apparently, did not share my enthusiasm for working as a team. Duly
noted. I printed out the address and stuffed it in my pocket.

I’d taken the dogs on a long walk and was running late for John’s. No time now for
a shower, so I cheated and doubled up on deodorant. It left a white streak on my shirt,
which would bother John no end. I laughed just thinking about it.

Along the way I stopped to get some Ben & Jerry’s, in case John was on another health
food kick and mistook fruit for a real dessert. When he opened the door to his apartment,
I handed him the ice cream and then did a double take—the cartoon kind where the guy’s
head swivels all the way around in surprise and a big bubble appears above him with
the word YIKES written inside in capital letters.

“Oh, hey!” I said, with way too much enthusiasm. “You got your hair…done! Um, is that
a perm?”

“Garrett says they’re making a comeback. So, what do you think?”

“It’s uh…it’s…nice.”

John looked skeptical. “We tell each other the truth, remember? Here, I’ll start.
You’ve got deodorant on your shirt. Okay, your turn. And be honest.”

I sighed. “Honestly? It looks like you’re trying out for the lead in Annie!”

“Damn it, I knew this was a bad idea.”

“Then, why—”

“Garrett thought it might be fun for me to experiment with my style.” I’m not sure,
but I thought I detected a note of sarcasm in his voice. He walked into the kitchen
carrying the cartons of ice cream. I followed behind him, thinking.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “We can fix this. I mean, how many times have we watched
Legally Blonde
? Remember the way Elle solved the crime with cosmetological reasoning? You just need
to wash it out is all.”

John shook his head. The curls flounced around like they were spring loaded. “No good.
I already tried, but I waited too long.”

“So cut it all off. Bald is sexy.”

That got a laugh out of him. He paused. “Listen, Bran, thanks for not giving me a
hard time about this.”

I shrugged. “It’s only hair, John.”

“You know I’m not talking about the hair, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

Over Mario Batali’s recipe for Fettucine Bolognese I filled John in on Calvin Doyle.
He listened with growing agitation, his eyes wide, his fork poised in the air. When
I was finished, he waited a nano second before laying into me.

“All right, I tried not to say anything, because of you being so nice about my hair.
But I’ve got to be honest with you. I think you’re an adrenalin junkie.”

“Well, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know, addicted to dangerous situations. If you need excitement, why can’t you
just have sex in public places like normal people?”

“God, John. I know what it means. But do you honestly believe I enjoyed being shot
at? Or that I went looking to get trapped in a cellar with Barbeque Man? I’m not getting
some kind of sick thrill out of any of this. And just to set the record straight,
once and for all, I
don’t
have a death wish, and I’m not going off the deep end. Look, you weren’t there at
Sherese’s. Calvin Doyle wasn’t much, but he’s all she had. The least anyone can do
is to help her find out the truth about who killed him. Now, could we please just
shut up about it and move on?”

John raised his hands, palms up—a gesture—I believe, that was meant to convey,
you win, but only because I’m so damn fed up with you.
This was confirmed in his next breath.

“I don’t know why I bother. You’ve been this way since you were four. First day I
met you, you fell out of your grandmother’s tree, trying to rescue a cat—which turned
out to be a plastic bag.”

“Fine, so I didn’t rescue a cat. But I scored one for the environment. That bag could’ve
ended up in the ocean where a whale would mistake it for plankton and choke to death
on it. I will not apologize for being eco-friendly.”

“Now you’re just being purposely obtuse.”

“Is it working?” My phone rang. “Hello?” I said into the phone.

“Hey, Darlin’. Where are you?”

“I’m having dinner at John’s. Are you still at the studio?”

“Afraid so, and I only have a few minutes. But I’ve got some news. Based on the partial
plate and description you provided, the police were able to track down the owner of
the car that was involved in the shooting. It’s registered to Donte Lewis.”