Stella, Get Your Man Page 11

I had stopped and was watching the two men in front of me. They stood blocking the steps leading up onto the boardwalk and while they weren’t openly menacing, they didn’t look friendly. This required a plan.

  I veered off to the left, trying to act as if I was studying the houses that lined the beach. I kept the cell phone out where the two men could see it and hoped I’d been imagining things.

  “What did your sister remember, Mia?”

  Damn. The two men hesitated, and then started following me, keeping their distance, but still bird-dogging me.

  “Well, it’s not so much what she remembered as what she found.”

  Mia seemed to enjoy doling out the information slowly, and I wasn’t about to indulge her by asking, so I waited. After a long moment, she continued.

  “Both of us have tried to find our brother. We’ve hired private investigators, tried to find adoption records, all that, but we never could get beyond the basics. We believe he was adopted by a family in Surfside Isle and that he grew up there.”

  Mia wasn’t telling me one new thing and I began to wonder if she’d only called to flirt with Jake. In the meantime, the two men had moved in closer. I looked ahead, trying to figure out my next move, and realized why they felt safe in closing the gap. A stone jetty poked out into the water a block away. The channel leading from the sound side of the island to the ocean lay just before me. I was running out of beach and would have no other option but to turn back.

  “I thought you said your sister remembered something new,” I said.

  Mia sighed. “A year or two earlier she received an anonymous letter. Inside was an old picture of a family standing in front of a beach house. Someone had written, Summer, 1967 on the back of it.”

  I held the phone away from my head and scowled at it. “And she just now told you this?” I asked.

  “Well, it’s not exactly like we were close or anything. After all, she didn’t find me until last month. I’d only talked to her on the phone. We didn’t even meet face-to-face until a week ago. Besides, she’s really sick. She doesn’t remember things well. I mean, she’s on dialysis, for God’s sake!” Mia sounded exasperated. “Do you want the picture or not?”

  “What if someone was playing a joke on her?”

  “At least you’ll have something to go on,” she said. “Show it around. Maybe someone will recognize one of the people in the picture. I’ll fax it to you. Where are you staying?”

  I gave Mia the address. “Overnight it,” I said. “It’s a little beach house. It doesn’t have a fax.”

  I was studying the boardwalk, praying for signs of life, witnesses, open businesses, but Surfside Isle was deserted. When I glanced over my shoulder I saw the two men had stopped and were staring up at a house, pointing and gesturing to something I couldn’t make out. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I can’t believe you don’t have a fax,” Mia said.

  “I don’t even know where there is one around here,” I said. “Everything’s closed up for the winter. I can’t imagine we’d need the picture before tomorrow anyway. If you think we do, you can either drive it or have it sent by courier, but that’ll cost you.”

  Mia paused, considering her options. I half thought she’d elect to drive, just so she’d see Jake, and was surprised when she said, “No, I’ll overnight it.”

  She hung up before I could say another word. I turned to walk back toward the boardwalk, scanned the beach and saw no sign of the two men.

  My attention strayed back to Mia’s call. Why would someone send an anonymous picture to Mia’s sister? Who knew she was looking for her family? Who would’ve known how to contact Mia’s sister anyway? Did she run an ad in the paper? Did she leave her name and address with someone? I just couldn’t get over the feeling that Mia wasn’t telling us the whole truth about her situation. I made a mental list of questions for Mia to answer for when we next spoke.

  I flipped open the phone and started to call Pete, then realized he hadn’t even gone into work yet. He wouldn’t be able to give me anything on Mia until well after midnight.

  I was walking faster now, intent on returning to the beach house and still checking for the two men who’d seemed to be following me. I almost missed the Victorian house that sat just a bit apart from the other oceanfront homes. I saw it and stopped, recognizing it as the house where Lloyd’s new friend might live.

  It appeared to have been abandoned. Sheets of plywood covered the doors and windows, making the house far more secure than if it had been closed for a seasonal shutdown. A metal For Sale sign was stuck into the sand by the front entrance, dangling loosely by one remaining screw. The place looked as if no one had lived there for quite a while. I thought I spotted movement beneath the porch, and squinted and studied a piece of loose latticework. Had I seen a flash of gray fur? The glint of wild wolf eyes?

  I kept my eyes trained on that one spot as I passed, wondering if the big dog was a stray who’d found shelter in the abandoned house. I couldn’t believe the house had been allowed to fall into such a state of disrepair. With fresh paint and a few repairs, it could’ve been a showplace. Beachfront property usually moved no matter what condition it was in, so why was this still on the market?

  As I started up the stairs, I looked back out at the ocean. Clouds had begun to move in, obscuring the sun and adding to the chill in the air. I shivered, pulling my coat tighter around my body, and turned away. I smelled snow and salt, not unpleasant but definitely unfamiliar.

  I started down the steps and stopped, frozen by the scene before me. Every tire on Aunt Lucy’s prize Buick had been flattened and red paint covered the windshield.

  “Shit!”

  I dug in my pocket for the cell phone as I moved down the stairs. Something caught my ankle and I felt myself pitch forward. I reached out to grab the railing and break my fall, missed, and hit every single sharp angle on my way down. But the pain from the fall was the least of my worries.

  Cauliflower Ear was waiting for me by the bottom step, and when I landed he reached down, snatched me up by the coat collar and dragged me effortlessly behind the steps, under the boardwalk.

  I opened my mouth to scream and Cauliflower slapped me hard across the mouth. I tasted blood and looked up at my two assailants. Hitting me had been the very best thing Cauliflower could’ve done. It made me mad, and anger was a very productive emotion.

  “Where is it?” Cauliflower’s partner asked me.

  “Up your ass, I suppose.”

  Cauliflower held me from behind and this time his partner hit me. The heavy nugget ring on his right finger connected with my cheekbone and I felt the skin split beneath my eye.

  I heard the sharp cry of pain escape my lips and tried to detach from it. I had an armed man standing in front of me and a hulk of muscle and steroids restraining me from behind. I had to welcome the pain if I wanted to live, not give in to it.

  I leaned forward as far as Cauliflower would allow and spit blood onto the gray sand at my feet. “What do you want?” I asked.

  “Don’t play games with us,” the short guy said. “You got something and Joey wants it back.”

  I straightened up, figuring that if he were to come one foot closer I could kick him in the groin.

  “Tell Mr. Spagnazi he’s barking up the wrong tree. We repossessed his sleigh and turned it over to Lifetime Novelty. Take it up with them.”

  For some reason this didn’t please my captors. The short guy looked at Cauliflower, took a cigarette out of his coat pocket and lit it.

  “Pin her,” he said.

  Cauliflower swung me around, pushed me up against a piling and held me there. The short guy approached, took a long, deep drag of his cigarette, and nodded to Cauliflower.

  I felt cold air hit the side of my neck as he ripped the coat away, exposing bare skin. When he pulled my shirt away, fabric tore, buttons popped, and I struggled to get away from the two madmen.

  “Last chance,” the short guy whispered. “Where is it?”


  Tobacco smoke stung my eyes, making tears stream down my face. When the red ember bit into the soft skin at the base of my neck I screamed again, unable to stop the terror from overtaking me.

  I heard something behind us, screamed again and this time heard the short man scream. Cauliflower dropped me and I sagged against the tar-stained post. The short man was screaming, terrified and in pain.

  I pushed myself away from the pole, turned and saw the wolf-dog sinking her fangs into my attacker. Cauliflower had vanished, his footsteps echoing across the parking lot as he fled. The dog held the smaller man down, gripping his forearm in her massive jaws, snarling and jerking the arm back and forth.

  “Help!” the man screamed. “Help me!”

  The cigarette lay on the ground a few feet away from my attacker; his gun had also fallen inches from his writhing body. He spotted it and was trying desperately to reach it.

  I leaned down, picked up the gun and stepped back.

  “Is this what you wanted?” I asked.

  “Help me, please.”

  My new friend, Fang, stood still, her eyes on me, the man’s arm still firmly clenched between her jaws.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think you’ve been a good boy. Maybe you need to be taught a lesson. Maybe the dog’s hungry.”

  The pain from the burn on my neck was almost unbearable. It joined in with my other cuts and bruises in an overwhelming abundance of painful sensation. The brief temptation to shoot the guy hit me and I gripped the butt of the gun hard to keep from squeezing the trigger.

  I looked at the dog, saw her watching me, and tried to smile.

  “Good puppy,” I said softly. “Good, good puppy.”

  Her prisoner moaned. Blood was soaking the ground beneath his arm and I realized that calling the police might not be my best option. The cops would ask questions I didn’t want to answer. Besides, what would they do with Fang? What if she hadn’t had her shots? What if they put her down? They could do that, even though Fang had been defending me.

  I looked down at Fang and her prisoner and had another thought. This man could tell Joey Smack that I didn’t have whatever he wanted. He could be my messenger. Maybe Joey would get off my back. I very slowly knelt to Fang’s level. “Fang, release him.” I held my breath, hoping Fang might recognize the command. Her eyes met mine, soft, liquid and pleading. She whined.

  “Fang, release him.”

  The dog’s jaws dropped open; my attacker jerked his bleeding arm away, and scrambled up into a half-crouching position.

  “Tell Joey Smack I don’t have anything of his. I have no idea what he’s after. Tell him he tries a stupid stunt like this again and we’ll deal with him on a very personal and up-front manner,” I said.

  The man took off running without another word. Fang watched him leave, snarling and barking viciously at his retreating figure.

  I sank onto the sand, suddenly weak, and felt my body begin to shake. Fang’s attention turned to me and the giant dog took a few hesitant steps in my direction, sniffing the air around my body cautiously.

  “It’s all right,” I murmured. “I’m Lloyd’s mother. I won’t hurt you, baby.”

  I slowly stretched out my hand, offering Fang the opportunity to check me out for herself. When she did, I very carefully stroked the fur beneath her bloodstained muzzle.

  “I don’t know who you are,” I whispered, “but I’m mighty glad you decided to come along.”

  The dog licked my finger and whined softly.

  “I called you Fang,” I said softly, “because I don’t know your name, not because you’re, well… What I’m trying to say is, I hope you don’t mind.”

  I felt my energy dropping off into exhaustion and knew I needed to get someplace warm and safe before I passed out and succumbed to hypothermia. Jake was wrong about the weather, I thought idly. The temperature wouldn’t come anywhere near fifty degrees. I peered out at the lowering skyline. It looked like snow.

  I switched the gun to my left hand and dug deep into my coat pocket for the cell phone. I punched in Jake’s cell number and rested my head against Fang’s soft furry shoulder.

  “Wanna come home to my house?” I asked her. “I bet it beats living underneath a porch.”

  She whined and licked the side of my face.

  “You’re just a sweetheart,” I said.

  “Thank you,” Jake’s voice said in my ear. “All this time I thought you were sort of ambivalent.”

  “Not you. Fang.”

  “Who’s Fang?” he asked. “Even better, where are you? I thought you were going to drop the girls off and come right back. Didn’t we just talk about…”

  I buried my head back against Fang’s soft fur. “Jake, I need you to come get me.”

  My tone must’ve alarmed him.

  “What happened? Where are you?”

  “Don’t tell Aunt Lucy,” I said. “The car is in a parking lot at the end of Forty-first Street or somewhere close to that. I wasn’t paying much attention at the time.”

  “Where are you?” His voice was slow and deliberate.

  “Under the boardwalk. I don’t think I want to try walking out just yet.”

  “On my way,” he said, and broke the connection.

  He made it to me in less than three minutes. Fang bristled when she heard the car door slam, the hackles rising on her neck as Jake ran toward us.

  “Fang,” I said, “it’s all right.”

  Jake appeared, saw the dog and stopped, assessing the situation. A muscle in his jaw twitched and his hand slowly crept to his jacket pocket.

  “Don’t,” I said. “She’s the one who saved me.”

  Jake relaxed, took his hand from his pocket and stepped slowly forward. “It’s all right, girl,” he murmured. “I’m one of the good guys.”

  Fang growled low in her throat and backed away from me.

  “Come here, puppy. It’s okay.”

  Fang looked from me to Jake and back again, deciding for herself. A moment later she turned and trotted off, leaving the underbelly of the boardwalk and loping away in the direction of the beach house.

  Jake knelt by my side and gently stretched out a finger to touch the swelling skin on the right side of my face.

  “Hate to see the other guy,” he said softly.

  He was smiling, giving it the nonchalant, no-big-deal treatment, but his eyes were another story. Jake Carpenter’s eyes were dark with unexpressed anger.

  “Help me up, would you?”

  I struggled to stand, unable to hide the effort and the pain it took to move. When Jake slid his arm around my waist to support me, he noticed the burn.

  “What happened, Stella?”

  I bit down on my lip. I wanted to cry but wasn’t about to let him see me weaker than I already felt.

  “Oh, you know, I was tired of you getting all the attention with that gunshot wound, so I ran across a couple of guys who said they’d kick my ass for free, so I let them.”

  We were up and moving now, emerging into the parking lot where Aunt Lucy’s car sat resting on its rims.

  “Stella!”

  So I told him while we waited for the wrecker to come for the Buick. I tried to gloss over the details, like how scared I’d been, or how badly the two men had hurt me, but it was no use. Jake had a way of looking at me and reading every unspoken nuance.

  We sat in his car, engine running, heat on high, and talked, or rather I talked and he asked question after question.

  When the tow truck arrived and carried Aunt Lucy’s car to the nearest auto-body shop, Jake drove me back to the beach house. He pulled up into the gravel driveway, cut the engine and was preparing to open the door when I stopped him.

  “Jake.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think we should be straight up with Aunt Lucy and the others about what happened. I mean, they need to be careful, especially if Joey Smack’s looking to make trouble. But I don’t want my aunt knowing how rough it got o
ut there, okay? She’d worry.”

  Jake raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think she’ll take one look at you and know something happened?”

  I tried to shrug but stopped as a searing pain ran up my arm and radiated out across my shoulders.

  “Sure, she’ll know they tripped me and I fell, but she doesn’t need to know about the thing with the cigarette, or any of the gory details, okay?” I reached into my pocket, pulled out the short guy’s gun and handed it to Jake. “Put this somewhere, okay?”

  He nodded and stuck the gun in a jacket pocket. We locked the truck and started inside to face Aunt Lucy. My aunt was a sharp cookie and I knew it wasn’t going to be easy to tell her a story and have her not read between the lines.

  The evidence of this lay on the kitchen counter beside her when we entered the house. A Colt 45–caliber revolver rested next to a pan of lasagna. Aunt Lucy didn’t often rely on others to take care of her. She didn’t have to.

  She looked up from her Bunsen burner, saw me, and immediately went into the role of nurse and surrogate mother.

  “What happened to you, car accident?”

  She asked this as she pulled the ice bin from the freezer and began loading small plastic bags with ice.

  “Among other things,” I answered.

  “Sit down at the table,” she instructed. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  She reached into a paper grocery sack, pulled out an unmarked silver tube and headed toward me.

  “Joey Spagnazi do this?” she asked.

  Jake and I nodded.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” I said.

  Aunt Lucy unscrewed the cap on her silver tube, squeezed a dab of clear cream onto her finger and began gently applying it to my cheek.

  “This should bring the swelling down,” she murmured. “He did this to you?”

  “Indirectly. One of his goons tripped me as I was coming down the boardwalk steps. I hit my cheek on the steps.”

  Aunt Lucy inspected the cut carefully. “Hmm. Those steps burn your neck, too?”

  I reached up and realized my collar hadn’t quite covered the mark on my neck. Damn.

  “It probably looks worse than it is.”