No Such Thing as a Free Ride (22 page)

“I imagine you’re very frustrated right now,” Nick stated. His simple affirmation of her feelings seemed to release some of the tension from her body.

“Crystal,” I said, after a bit, “I know you believe you’ve told us everything you can think of regarding Star, but sometimes the most insignificant seeming thing can turn out to be really valuable. Can you remember any interaction that you might have had concerning Star that may have slipped your mind?”

Crystal was quiet for a minute, thinking. “I’ll be right back,” she finally announced and disappeared down the hall. She returned a minute later, holding a small brown paper bag.

“Star took most of her stuff with her whenever she went anywhere, because she couldn’t trust it to be there when she got back. Everything she owned fit in a back pack anyway, so it was easy. Well, when she didn’t come home, I grabbed what little was left and saved it for her. I just thought she’d be mad if it was gone.”

She turned the bag upside down and a small pile of random items spilled onto the floor.

There was half a pack of matches, a pipe, two shiny stones and a motel business card. I picked up the card. “Lemon Tree Inn,” I read aloud. “Is this where Star goes when she’s working?”

Crystal glanced at the card and shook her head. “Little Red’s girls stay close to home. This place is too far north. Do you think it could mean something?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but I’d like to check it out. Do you mind if I take this stuff with me?”

Silently she handed me back the card. “I should have thought of this sooner,” she said, her voice breaking. “What if it’s too late—”

I was about to launch into a Tony Robbins style pep talk on the powers of positive thinking, when Nick locked eyes with Crystal, and I sat back, deferring to what I knew would be just the right words to soothe her.

To my surprise he remained silent and just listened while Crystal went through a litany of emotions. I took my cues from him and kept my mouth shut. It seemed to be just what she needed.

Afterwards, leaning up against my car, I asked him about it. “How did you know to stay quiet when Crystal started blaming herself, Nick?”

“Crystal didn’t want me to fix it for her, darlin’. Anything I’d say to reassure her would have been a lie anyway and she knew it. What she needed was to vent her feelings and know that she was being heard.”

He leaned in close and brushed a stray hair out of my face. “That was hard for you, wasn’t it?” he added with a gentle smile. “It goes completely against your nature to see someone in pain and not actively try to help them.”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “It was.”
But I’m learning that sometimes, less is more.

Nick knew a shortcut through the back roads to I 95, where we would then part ways; me back to my house and the new Disney Channel movie, and Nick, to whatever business he had that required him to go armed.

The route was windy and in desperate need of repair, and I was having a hard time keeping up with Nick. My phone rang, and rather than take my hands off the wheel, I let it go to voicemail. I rolled up my window part way to keep the dust out of my lungs.

I hadn’t seen many cars on the road, so it surprised me when a late model convertible, packed with a bunch of guys in their early 20’s began weaving down the road. By the look of their shaved heads, they were either neo Nazis or young army recruits from nearby Fort Dix. I thought about pulling over to let them pass, but the road was wide enough to get by and I didn’t want to lose Nick.

The convertible came up close behind me, and as I looked in my rear view mirror the driver tossed a beer can out of the car.

Oh great, I’ve got a drunken litter bug riding my butt.

Suddenly, he tromped on the gas, pulling his vehicle alongside mine. I slowed down to let him pass, when the passenger riding shotgun leaned out of the car holding what, literally, appeared to be some sort of sawed off rifle.
Oh shit.

Instinctively, I leaned on the horn, my body bracing itself for the worst. Something hit my side window and blood spattered everywhere.
Wow. He must’ve severed my spinal cord. I don’t feel a thing.

It took me a few seconds to realize the blood was actually red paint that had been fired from a paintball gun. The shooter had managed to hit just below the open window, spraying me and most of the front seat with what I hoped was a water soluble pellet.

Their laughter rang in my ears as the driver sped away from me. Unfortunately, he hadn’t counted on Nick witnessing the whole event.

He came up behind Nick and honked his horn in “boys will be boys” horseplay. Nick slowed down, seemingly, to let the convertible pass, only the minute he was in position, he rammed the back of the car in a perfect pit maneuver. The convertible spun out and came to a screeching halt.

I pulled my car over to the side of the road, stopping about 20 yards from the others. Four sets of arms and legs piled out of the convertible. They converged on the Jaguar, the driver screaming at the top of his drunken lungs.

“What the fuck, dude! You tryin’ to kill us? We were just havin’ some fun.”

Nick climbed out of the car, his gaze fixed on the shooter. The remaining three formed a protective circle around their friend, hands raised in classic fight mode. “Come and get us, asshole,” they taunted.

That was a mistake.

In a blink Nick was upon them, kicking out his leg and catching the guy nearest him under the chin. He fell to the ground, yelping in agony, half his jaw bone poking through his skin. Without losing a step, Nick grabbed the shooter around the neck and began choking the life out of him.

In the time that I’ve known Nick, I’ve watched him snap a man’s arm in half (for the best of reasons) and then calmly claim it’s the price of doing business. I have seen him coolly dispatch someone, with a well placed bullet right between the eyes, (again, not without provocation) and not even break a sweat. But in all that time, I’d never seen him lose control… until now.

I raced over to the Jaguar just as Alphonso emerged from the passenger seat. “Alphonso, do something! He’s going to kill that guy.”

“Don’t move,” Alphonso barked at the two men left standing. They didn’t seem inclined to run to their friend’s defense. In fact, they looked like they’d rather go home and forget the whole thing.

“Nick.” Alphonso yelled, trying to pry his hands loose. “Slow down, man. She’s okay. It’s all cool.”

“This bastard needs a lesson on how to treat a woman.”

And with a sudden, gut wrenching clarity I knew I wasn’t the woman he was thinking about.

I ran over to Nick and placed my hand on his arm. “Nick.
Please.
Let him go.”

The fear in my eyes must’ve snapped him out of whatever alternate universe he’d drifted off to. He loosened his grip and the guy collapsed, gasping for air. His friends ran forward and grabbed him and took off running.

We watched them pile into the convertible and peel out, screaming obscenities at us from the safe confines of the car, their voices slowly fading as they turned a corner in the road.

“Are you okay?” Nick asked.

I nodded, afraid to verbalize the lie. The entire episode was over in a heartbeat, but the effects were chilling.

Alphonso cut me a look. He felt it too—an invisible current of energy that emanated from Santiago and threatened to choke us all. It was the unmitigated power of barely contained rage.

To Alphonso he said, “Change of plans. I’m sure Brandy won’t mind you hitching a ride with her.” Not waiting for an answer, he took off without a backward glance.

“What just happened?” I whispered, even though Nick was long gone.

Alphonso scratched his head. “Fuck if I know.”

Even ultra cool Alphonso “I mind my own business” Jackson couldn’t help but speculate on Nick’s recent behavior.

“I’ve known Santiago for five years and I’ve never seen him lose it before. Something’s been eating that guy ever since he got back from—” he stopped short, finishing out the sentence in a memo to himself. “Keep your big mouth shut, Jackson.”

“Alphonso,” I said, trying my best to sound therapeutic rather than nosy, “it’s not good to keep things bottled up. You’ll feel better if you get this off your chest. So, you were saying, since he got back from—”

Nick’s right hand man raised his eyebrows at me. “I’m not sayin’ nuthin’. And don’t you go ridin’my ass for information neither. If Nick wanted you to know he’d tell you up close and personal.”

“But—”

“End of subject.”

“
Oh, fine.
You probably don’t know anything anyway,” I said, hoping he’d take the bait.

Alphonso shot me a look that screamed “amateur.” Then he folded his arms across his chest, slumped down in his seat and closed his eyes. And that really was the end of the subject. Half an hour later, I dropped him off at his car and headed home.

*****

To look at Robert DiCarlo’s living room, one would never guess it housed one of the most testosterone-driven males in the city. Every square foot of available space with dominated by the miniature world of a toddler.

“You sit here,” Sophia directed in that adorably bossy way only a three year-old can get away with. (I know, I’ve tried.)

I’d been sitting on the couch with Janine and Carla, dissecting my latest encounter with Nick, while Bobby’s daughter orchestrated an elaborate tea party with her stuffed animals. Growing tired of providing all the dialogue for her inanimate guests, she was now demanding human participation. When I’d agreed to babysit, I had no idea it would be so exhaustingly interactive.

Propelling myself off the couch I walked over to the tiny table and grabbed a handful of the cookies we’d made earlier with her Easy Bake Oven. Sophia had even graciously offered to let me lick the bowl. It was a real treat for me, as I still haven’t forgiven my mom for giving away
my
Easy Bake Oven. (The fact that I was 22 at the time did not lessen the sting of the loss.)

Frankie glanced over at me and snickered. Sophia smiled and sidled over to him. My uncle had been flying under the radar, sitting in the corner watching the Phillies battle the Mets in New York. The Phils were leading in the ninth, but the Mets were up with two outs and bases loaded.

“You sit here, too,” she said, tugging at his sleeve.

“In a minute, sweetheart,” Frankie said, absently eyeing the television.

Sophia stood in front of him, her lower lip quivering like the proverbial bowl full of jelly.

Carla looked up from her Sudoku puzzle. “Frankie, she’s just a baby. You’re making her cry. You can watch baseball any time.”

“But it’s bases loaded,” he grumbled.

I could totally see his point. It was, however, lost on Sophia, who began to sob, producing copious amounts of huge, heartbroken tears.

Frankie panicked. “Oh, no, sweetheart, everything’s okay. You don’t have to cry.” He got up and walked over to the tiny chair and sat down. He drew his knees to his chest, one butt cheek hanging off the side. At that exact moment, the Mets drove in three runs to win the game. Frankie let out a groan.

Sophia got up close and peered into my uncle’s face. “You’re too big to cry,” she decided. “Only little girls can.”

It was 10:30 p.m. but the kid refused to go to sleep.

“Her bed time is at 7:00,” Bobby had informed me, looking sharp in khaki pants and a new polo shirt. He’d even shaved. I briefly entertained the thought of Tina reaping the benefits of such meticulous grooming and then went into denial mode instead. Life is much more pleasant when you pretend to have control over it.

“She may want you to read her a story and she’ll probably fall asleep in the middle of it. Thanks again for watching her, Bran.”

“No problem,” I told him. She’d be asleep inside of an hour and then Carla, Frankie and Janine would be over to watch the Phillies game. Ah, the best laid plans…

*****

“… and then Prince Nicholas said, “I have banished all the bimbos from my kingdom. I love you, Princess Angel. Please be my bride.”

“What’s a bimbo?”

Sophia was curled up next to me on the couch, holding her blankie and playing with my hair. Carla, Frankie and Janine were gone and Bobby would be back soon and I still hadn’t managed to get his little girl to go to sleep. I gave up any illusion of competence and let her run the show.

“A bimbo is another word for… dog.”
Well, technically that’s true. Some bimbos are real bitches.

Sofa thought for a minute. “Why did Prince Nicholas make all the bimbos go away? Doesn’t he like dogs?”

“He’s allergic.”

“You’re silly.”

I sighed. “I know.”

Bobby found us passed out on the couch. “Yo,” he said, gently shaking me awake.

I’d been in the middle of a dream about a lizard wearing a red bandana, singing the National Anthem at Citizens Bank Park. He got a standing ovation even though he’d forgotten most of the words. I think I mixed up the ball game with an old Geico commercial.

“Hey, how’d it go?” I asked, sitting up. I was sweating and my hair was stuck to the side of my face. I tried combing it with my fingers but Sophia had tangled it up pretty good in her effort to give me braids.

“It was okay.”

I moved over to give him room on the couch. “Just okay?”

“Yeah, I don’t think we’re exactly made for each other.” He didn’t elaborate. Instead, he leaned over and kissed me on the mouth. He tasted faintly of beer and hot dogs.

“Relationships are hard,” he said. “From now on I’m sticking to fighting crime and other manly endeavors. So how’d it go with you?” he added, picking cookie dough out of my hair.

“I think it went really well. We made cookies in her Easy Bake Oven and Sophia let me lick the bowl.”

“Hey, remember when your mom gave yours away without even asking?”

“Yeah, don’t do that with your kid, okay?”

I picked up my bag and grabbed a few more cookies and Bobby walked me to the door.

“Thanks again for tonight, Sweetheart. I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me a thing. It was fun.” I looked back over my shoulder to the little girl asleep on the couch. “You do good work, DiCarlo.”