A Mighty Fortress (4 page)

She chuckled. “Are we
married
?”

“Just making sure, ’cause I don’t go for married women.” I stepped toward her with my arms at my sides.
 

“Do I look like the marrying type to you?” She took a step, too. Sure enough, there was no ring on her finger. We were about a foot apart now. Her head was hovering near my face.

“I can imagine a few men who’d like to marry you,” I said. Gratification immediately glowed on her face. “So, do you live here?” I asked.

She shook her head no, that mischievous grin growing on her face. “I’m actually homeless, would you believe that?”

I didn’t comment on that. Regardless, if she wasn’t Scalzo’s spouse and didn’t reside there, I was wasting my time unless I could get some information about his whereabouts. I put my hands on her shoulders. It was really to stop her from coming closer, but I rubbed them lightly to feign interest. “When will he be home today?”

“He’s not coming home.”

“At all?”

She shook her head. “He’s flying out for business tomorrow, and I’ll have the place all to myself.” She grinned playfully. “I get to stay here all week, all by myself.” Her shoulders were moving in circles now with my caresses. I couldn’t deny what it was doing to me. Her hands were on my chest and moving down slowly. “I hope I don’t get lonely.”

I smiled. “Can you at least tell me your name?”

“Most people call me Angie.” She was rubbing my stomach now.

“That’s your real name?”

She shrugged. “Close enough.” I was feeling warm. “You know, I got this gift,” she said. “Can I tell you about it?”

I glanced at the clock on the stove and swallowed hard.

“I have this uncanny ability, you see, to guess a lot about a guy,” she nodded toward my midriff, “just from how he carries himself. So if I guess yours now,” she held the sentence, moved her eyes toward me.

“Yes?” I gulped.

“Then you’ll have to prove whether I’m right.”

I took her hands and returned them to her sides again, too forcefully this time. But she seemed to like it. “You’re strong,” she said. “And shy? Don’t worry, I had you pegged pretty well, but I won’t judge you if I’m wrong.”

I couldn’t play the game much longer, or I was going to risk losing my license—among other things. Good thing I’d already gotten about all I was going to get from her. I held her arms steady. She thought it was still a game. “Are you going to see Scalzo anytime today?”

“What’s with all the questions? Don’t worry about Chad.”

“When will you see him next?”

“Not till tonight. He’s taking us to dinner. A very special occasion.” She closed her eyes, like she was waiting for me to kiss her.

“You don’t say. So where does a special girl like you like to go to dinner?”

She opened her eyes, suspicion welling in her eyes. “I don’t know. It’s a surprise.”

Just then, the front door slammed open, and we both turned in unison. In walked a burly man with black hair slicked back. He was stubby, panting, and clearly in a rush. “Are you ready?” he barked at Angie. Then he looked at me as if an afterthought. “Who the hell is he?”

“Ready for what?” Angie said.

“What do you think?” he asked. “Your eleven o’clock.”

“I thought it was here,” she said and looked at me. “Him?”

He shook his head. “It’s across town, dumbass. I’m driving you there.” He looked at the vodka on the counter. “For crying out loud, you drunk already?”

My time here was obviously coming to an end. “Excuse me, sir, are you Chad Scalzo?”

She laughed at my question, and he just turned, annoyed. “Do I look like Chad Scalzo?” He looked to Angie again. “I’m asking you one more time, who the hell is this guy?”

She shrugged and downed her drink. “I don’t know, Kiki, I thought he was my date. He just walked in here. I assumed he had a VIP key.”

“Kiki?” I said. “Is that like kiwi?”

“What’s it to you?” Kiki was trying to act tough, but everything he did reeked of fear.
 

I handed him my card. “I’m looking for Mr. Scalzo. I got something really important for him. Please have him give me a call.”

Kiki read my card. “Porter Investigations and Process?” He raised his finger. “You get the hell out of here before I have you arrested.”

“No problem,” I said. “I’m running late anyways.”

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Angie was starting to register what had just happened, and perhaps the fact that she’d come on to a guy who’d rejected her. She didn’t look happy about that. “You’re an investigator?” There was no hiding the southern twang now.

I nodded, and told her it was good to meet her. “I had a great time.”

As confused as ever, she glanced at Kiki and then stared me down again. “Where are you going?” she asked, as though my answer might somehow explain what had just happened between us.

I picked up my pace and smiled politely. “Sorry, but I’m late for church.”

I found a seat in the back of the sanctuary, almost ten minutes after the hour. I was late because I’d driven by Rico’s to see if I might catch him at home and avoid coming here in the first place. I spent a good five minutes knocking on the door. You could never tell if Rico was home because he didn’t own a car. He lived within walking distance of his gym, which was closed on Sundays, and his church, Seminole Heights Church of the Redeemer, which was not. Rico didn’t answer, so I made the short drive to the church.

The pew creaked when I sat down in the back row. Whatever wood it was made from was rigid—excellent for lumbar support if that was your thing, but not so much if you had a tender rump or had attempted an 800-pound deadlift the day before. It had been a while since I’d sat in this church, or any other for that matter. I was hoping to get in and out unseen—not only because of the Scalzo job, but also because I had neglected to return a few calls recently from the church’s pastor, James Evans, inquiring about my prolonged absence. I was sure Pastor Evans had already seen me as he addressed the congregation that morning. It’s hard to hide when you’re my size and sport a beard larger than the average human head.

I scanned the sanctuary for Rico, who would also stand out in this crowd. I started first to the right of the aisle where he usually sat, and then worked my way westward. Rico was nowhere to be seen. A few of the parishioners turned and looked at me. I nodded back to them as Pastor Evans led the congregation through the liturgy. He would speak, and then they would respond in unison. I didn’t have a bulletin, so I couldn’t follow along.

I was certain Rico wasn’t there, but since he wasn’t known for his punctuality—his gym was rarely open on time, and he missed the bus the last time his powerlifting team had a meet—I decided to wait a bit longer to see if he showed. I hadn’t heard from him in days. All I knew was something wasn’t right between us, and I hoped the good news about paying the bank off would repair whatever our rift was.

I was dozing off, staring at the pew Bible in front of me, when the congregants stood in unison. I stood up, too. Then a blast of the pipe organ shook the sanctuary windows, not to mention my eardrums. I would have reached for the hymnal, but I didn’t hear the page number. I tried glancing at my neighbor’s hymnal, but the elderly woman with purple hair was keeping a safe distance from me. I had never heard this hymn before, but the congregation seemed to know it well, as they sang it with majesty and passion. The harmony was actually rather catchy, like an anthem you might hear sung at a ball game. I couldn’t follow the lyrics, but I caught something about a mighty fortress and a bulwark never ending, and again I thought of Rico, and his nickname for me:
Fortress
.

I liked the song, but I don’t care much for crowds, and I realized I’d been in this one now for nearly fifteen minutes. That’s how it starts. Just a little realization that you might be feeling anxious. The heart beats faster, and your mind tries pulling you back down. And just like that, you’re on your back struggling for air. But only you’re standing, and no one knows what’s going on inside. I took a few deep breaths. I counted and heard Dr. J’s instruction in the back of my mind. It helped some, but the music was getting louder. Now they sang something about devils and the Prince of Darkness and battles. I didn’t want any more battles, and I didn’t care for a religion that seemed to be preparing itself for the final battle, the final slaughter—Armageddon.
 

See what I’ve seen, and you’d be just as content to go to the grave and slumber.

I stepped outside for air. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a panic attack. I didn’t have one that day; it was just another tremor, the kind that reminds you the fault line is there, and you better be prepared for the big one. I stood outside breathing the humid air while the arcane melody inside continued, rattling the stained-glass windows along the wall. It was approaching noon and the upper nineties. You could feel it most days at noon and make a good guess whether it would storm that night. Though the sky was still blue, today felt like a stormy afternoon lay ahead.

The music stopped, which meant it wouldn’t be long until the sermon started. So I was surprised to turn and see Pastor Evans approaching me from the entrance to the narthex. “Shouldn’t you be in there?” I asked.

His eyes squinted from the sun and made his red cheeks look even fatter than usual as he smiled. “We have a guest preacher today. I just introduced him for the sermon.” He studied me closely. “You okay, Milo?”

“I’m just getting some fresh air.” I tried to hide the fact I wasn’t breathing well.
 

“He’s preaching on the Parable of the Lost Sheep. You know it?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Pastor. Honestly, I was here hoping to see Rico. I’m a bit worried about him.”

“He told me about the problems he was having. His gym’s being foreclosed?”

I nodded. “It’s not that bad yet, but he’s behind.”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you come inside? I think you’ll like our guest. He’s from Virginia, and has a lot of experience working with vets. He’s a vet himself. Afghanistan and Iraq.” He waited for my response.

I tried peeking into the sanctuary, but the stained glass prevented that. I could hear the echo of a man’s voice inside but couldn’t understand a word he was saying. “I wish I could stay,” I lied. “I took a job that needs to get done today, and the day’s slipping away.”

He nodded in agreement. “So, when can we get together for a beer? I hear they’re serving good stuff at that place you told me about down the street.”

I knew the place he was talking about, right there in Seminole Heights—Southern Brewing, a supply store that sells everything a home brewer needs, with a bar featuring their own brews. I told him that would be great, and I’d give him a call soon. I really committed to doing it, but I still doubted it would happen.
 

He nodded. “I hope to hear from you.”

I watched him walk back to the front of the church. I felt like I should follow him, but he disappeared.

The line for brunch at the Refinery was already winding around the century-old bungalow and onto Florida Avenue. No parking spaces were open, so I exited the parking lot, made a right, and parked along a lawn down the side street.
 

Seminole Heights, which for at least a decade had been heralded as the up-and-coming neighborhood in Tampa, had many of the same Craftsman homes you’d find down in South Tampa for about half the price. While a few of its streets were well preserved, many others, including the one where Rico lived, were not. And while the real estate market in Seminole Heights may have disappointed locals who were hoping to see more aggressive appreciation of home values, its restaurants and bars had not. The Refinery was one that led the charge, and still served a Sunday brunch that was hard to beat.
 

Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to wait, or to sit down for that matter, so I bypassed the line and entered the packed dining room. A few waitresses scurried around carrying plates of French toast and shrimp and grits. My stomach growled, but I didn’t have time to pay it much attention. I didn’t notice any familiar faces, but apparently one noticed me: “What’s up, Milo?”
 

I turned and saw a blonde in a black V-neck and tight jeans; her arms, like those of most of the waitresses here, sported some of Tampa’s finest skin art. I recognized the face now, but no name came to mind. “You looking for Val?” she asked.

“Is she working?”

She nodded toward the stairs. “Rooftop.”

I finally remembered her name. “Thanks, Lydia.”

She smiled you’re welcome, and I made my way up the rickety stairs, wooden steps that smelled and creaked like the church pews. Upstairs, the bar looked kind of lonely. A couple was sitting there with no drinks, probably waiting for a rooftop table to open up.

The bartender asked if he could help me. I wasn’t ready for another beer, so I ordered a sweet tea with extra lemon, which he served in a Mason jar.
 

I was sipping my drink when Val entered the barroom. The door to the dining deck closed behind her, and a light sweat glistened on her brow. She gave me a quick smile and a wink before she dropped off an order at the bar. Her brown hair was tied in a tight ponytail. I wanted to reach over and squeeze her, but she was too busy and sweaty. “What are you up to today?” she asked me.

“Just working.”

“On a Sunday?” She shrugged and quickly topped off a few water glasses while she waited for the bartender. She didn’t seem content with my answer. “So what’s up?”

“I’ve been looking for Rico.”

She set a serving tray on the bar. “Have you ever seen Rico here?”

“I’ve seen his sister here. And I haven’t seen Rico all week.”

“Yeah, well.”

“Well, what?”

She was loading the tray with an assortment of pints and mixed drinks in Mason jars. “Well, he’s kind of upset with you.”

“I thought so.”

She hoisted the tray onto her shoulder and said she’d be right back.