No Such Thing as a Secret: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As...A Brandy Alexander Mystery) (25 page)

“Brandy?”

“I love ya, babe, but I’m with Janine on this one. I vote no on the ass bows.”

That just left Carla. “Well, I think they look great!” Carla enthused, unasked.

Franny sighed. If Carla thought they looked great, there was only one thing to do. She turned to Mama Mia. “Lose the ass bows.”

After the bridal shop we stopped by Victoria’s Secret, because Carla insisted it wouldn’t be a proper honeymoon unless it involved crotchless panties. Personally, I was never one to go in for kinky underwear. I get embarrassed just
looking
at thongs. Eeew! I’m more of a “military surplus underwear” kind of gal. Wholesome and modest and thoroughly boring.

I sighed, fingering some pale pink silk bikinis, and my thoughts began to drift to Nick. Decidedly unwholesome, immodest thoughts. And suddenly my old utilitarian underwear just wouldn’t do for a moment longer. While the rest of the crew was busy picking out slut wear for Franny’s big night, I sidled up to the counter surreptitiously holding three pair of very lacy French-cut bikinis, in black, mauve and beige. For the black ones I even threw in a matching bra.
No need to make a big announcement. Just buying some underwear. No big deal.
“Do you have any plain paper bags?” I whispered to the saleswoman, in hushed tones. She looked at me as if I were crazy, which I was. On impulse I’d just bought seventy-five dollars worth of panties because when I fantasized about having wild, unbridled sex with Nicholas Santiago, I wanted to look nice
. Like he’d ever see me naked. Chance!

Our last stop was Levi’s on Broad Street for lunch. Levi’s is the best Jewish deli this side of the Mississippi. It’s got foot-high sandwiches and killer matza ball soup. And they serve double fudge espresso cake that has been described as orgasmic, and not just by me. Each slice is the size of a football field.

No sooner had we settled into the big booth in the back when in walked Bobby, followed by another cop—a small, well muscled man who looked like a compact version of “The Hulk.” Bobby spotted us and sauntered over with Bruce Banner in tow.

“Yo,” Bobby grinned, leaving everyone at the booth a little damper in the panties. He bent down to kiss Franny, Janine, and Carla on their cheeks and then nodded to the rest of us. I would’ve pushed him down if he’d tried to include me in his little kiss-fest, but being lumped in with the second-string nodders felt even worse. Gina smiled up at him, all goo goo eyed and “Milanish.” I didn’t even know what that meant, but in my head it wasn’t a compliment. Bobby squeezed in next to Franny and gestured to his friend to pull up a chair. “Lou, this is everybody. Everybody, Lou.”

Lou grunted hello.

“Hey, Lou,” we all greeted him. It turned out to be Lou’s birthday so we ordered the chocolate cake first, because what’s a party without cake, I always say.

Franny moved her pocketbook to make more room for Bobby and inadvertently dumped it onto the floor. Out popped the Victoria’s Secret bag. Bobby scooped it up and began to examine its contents one by one. “So what’cha got here, Franny? A little present for Eddie?”

“Will ya give that back to me?” Franny reached over and tried to grab her newly purchased thong out of his hands, but he was too quick for her. He held it up to his face, giving it a thorough inspection.

“What is this? An eye patch?”

“You’re gonna need an eye patch when I’m through with you,” she hissed.

Lou reacted with a hearty guffaw and, God help me, I laughed too.

“I’m sorry, Fran,” Bobby said. Only he didn’t look one bit sorry. On the contrary, he was enjoying himself immensely, and I realized this was the first time since I’d been back that I’d seen Bobby playful and relaxed.

Franny stuffed her underwear back into the bag and turned to me. “And what were
you
laughing at? Don’t think I didn’t see you sneaking that sexy-assed underwear up to the counter.”

I stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Deny, deny, deny.

“Oh no?” In a flash she had my pocketbook upside down and out fell the panties.

Bobby’s eyes dilated at the sight of the skimpy lingerie.

“For your information I bought these for my mother.” Everyone busted up, even Gina of the limited vocab.
“I did!
It happens to be
her
birthday too.” I grabbed up the panties and deposited them back into the bag. “I think this concludes our discussion.”

Bobby and Lou had to get back to work so they ordered “to go”. When it was ready Bobby stood and made his goodbyes. Then he leaned into me and whispered, “Walk me to the counter.” I excused myself to go to the bathroom and followed him up to the cashier. While Lou paid for his order Bobby said, “I’ve got something to discuss with you. Can we meet later?”

“Can’t you tell me now?”

“No.” Bobby laughed at my impatience and nodded in Lou’s direction.

I thought quickly and shook my head. “I’m supposed to meet Frankie at the gym later on. I haven’t seen him in days and he thinks I’m trying to avoid him because I’ve gotten myself into some kind of trouble.”

“Imagine that.”

“Shut up.”

Lou turned around, his arms laden with “to go” food. Bobby held the door open for him and told him he’d meet him at the car. To me he said, “I’ll see you at the gym at six. I haven’t been there in a couple of weeks, what with all the shit with my wife.” He let his voice trail off and shrugged. “I could use a workout.”

I hated that he looked so bummed, but there wasn’t much I could do
. I
didn’t tell him to marry the bitch. Okay, God, strike that last thought. I really am trying to be a more compassionate person.
Honest.

He left me with an admonition to be careful, which was totally superfluous, because I was so damn paranoid I’d arranged every nano second of my day so that I’d be surrounded by friends and loved ones. No room for disembodied goat heads in my posse.

At ten till six I hung a left on South Street and pulled into the gym parking lot. South Street Boxing Gym is not exactly your upscale yuppie sports center. It’s pretty bare bones—no “spin” classes or Hatha yoga. But the club has turned out more than its fair share of heavyweight contenders, and if a person is serious about boxing, this is the place to be.

It was becoming second nature to me to look over my shoulder before I got out of the car. I took a good look around now. The parking lot was dark. Two street lamps were busted, the glass still littering the streets. When we were kids we used to pop them with bee bee guns. Good clean fun. I silently cursed the little brats who put these lights out of commission. It made it that much harder to locate the boogiemen. Taking a deep breath I swung open the car door and ran like hell through the lot and into the gym. Uncle Frankie was busy until six thirty, but this would give Bobby and me a chance to talk.

“Brandy, is that you, honey?” I looked up at the familiar smiling brown face of Danny Jenkins, one of the club’s night managers.

“Danny,” I cried, delighted. We extended arms in a complicated handshake we’d made up when I was a kid, and ended in a huge squishy hug. Danny must be in his seventies by now, but he has the body of a forty-year old and according to Frankie he’s still one of the best trainers around. He held me away from him, giving me a long appraising look. “You been sick?”

“No. Why?”

“Too skinny,” he concluded, shaking his head in disapproval.

“I’ll work on that,” I laughed. “Have you seen Frankie around?”

“He’s in the back office. Somebody else here you might want to see,” he added with a glint in his eye. “Bobby DiCarlo’s goin’ at it with the new kid, Chuckie T, but I don’t think you should distract him now. He’s got his hands full keepin’ up with Chuckie. And you
know
what a distraction you can be to that boy.”

I blushed from head to foot, remembering the time Danny had caught Bobby and me behind the dumpster doing the unmentionable. “That was a long time ago, Dan. Is it hot in here?”

I took off my jacket and edged my way past a group of men working out with weights, their toned bodies glistening with sweat. Although more and more women are entering the boxing arena it is still primarily a male dominated sport. I took a quick look around. At the moment I was the only female in the joint.

It was cold outside so I’d dressed warmly, but the heat inside the gym was stifling. I pulled off the next layer, a black turtleneck sweater, leaving just a tight fitting thermal undershirt in its place. The sweater was loaded with static electricity, which made my shirt rise up when I peeled off the sweater. That earned me a wolf whistle from one of the guys working out on a punching bag. I kept on walking, eager to find Bobby.

He was down at the end of the room, sparring with a guy about his height but who looked like he had about twenty-five pounds on him. Bobby is six foot one and weighs in at about one seventy-five. They were both wearing sweat pants and were naked from the waist up, which gave me a great view of Bobby’s abs. They were hard and tight, not an ounce of fat anywhere. I felt my own stomach muscles contract in response.

He looked up at me and nodded an acknowledgement. Danny was right. Chuckie T was giving him a rough time. Bobby’s eye was slightly swollen and he was dripping water, while Chuckie looked like he hadn’t even broken a sweat. He punched Bobby a good one and Bobby reeled back along the ropes. I winced and Chuckie T glanced my way.

“Hey Baby, you’re looking mighty fine. You want some a Chuckie T?” He pulled one gloved hand down to his crotch, thrusting his hips forward in a rotating motion.

“No, thank you.”

Bobby tensed, taking it all in.

“What’sa matter, bitch? Ya think you’re too good for Chuckie T?”

I didn’t get a chance to tell him that yes, I did, in fact, think that very thing, for at that moment Bobby came charging towards him, swinging for all he was worth. He caught Chuckie square in the mouth and blood spurted everywhere. Chuckie responded with a right upper cut but Bobby deflected this and renewed his attack on the larger man. He pinned Chuckie against the ropes and pummeled the crap out of him. This was not skill at work. This was pure rage.

While I stood there open-mouthed, a small circle of on-lookers had begun to form, among them my Uncle Frankie. He jumped into the ring and pulled Bobby off of Chuckie. “Okay boys, that’s enough.” Still holding on to Bobby he suggested that Chuckie’s workout was over for the day. Chuckie raised one gloved hand to his mouth, wiping away the blood that was now trickling down his chin.

“You’re crazy, man,” he spat at Bobby.

Bobby tried to charge him again but Frankie held him tight. “If you ever even look in her general direction again I will make sure you regret it,” Bobby growled low in his throat.

Chuckie grabbed his towel and stormed off. Frankie signaled me over. “Do me a favor and watch him for me.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Frankie,” Bobby fumed.

“Ya coulda fooled me.” Frankie let go of Bobby and climbed out of the ring. I wasn’t sure how I felt about what I’d just witnessed, but I think it fell somewhere between flattered and pissed off.

“Was that really necessary?” I asked him.

“Probably not.” Bobby shook his head, and tiny beads of sweat flew off his hair.

“Then why—”

He cut me off. “He had it coming.”

I waited in Frankie’s office while Bobby changed into his street clothes. Frankie closed the door behind me. “He’s a walking time bomb,” he said, shaking his head. “This thing with his kid is really getting to him.”

I nodded in agreement, but I knew there was more to it than that, only it was nothing I wanted to articulate.

Bobby emerged from the locker room a few minutes later, a sheepish grin plastered on his face.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah. Sorry about before. I know you could have handled it.”

I wasn’t quite so confident but I’m glad he thought so.

Frankie still had some paperwork to take care of and he didn’t think Bobby should be left alone, so he gave me a raincheck on dinner. That left Bobby and me on our own for the evening. I wasn’t sure how good an idea that was, but curiosity got the better of me and I suggested we go somewhere so we could talk.

Half an hour later we found ourselves sitting across from each other in a booth, chugging long-necked Buds at DiVinci’s Pizza. DiVinci’s is your basic dump. Scarred brown wooden booths, paintings of cigar smoking dogs playing poker on velvet backgrounds, lights low so that you don’t notice the cockroaches as they shuffle their way across the floor. It’s popular with the college crowd. We were lucky to find seating.

“So, do you want to tell me your big news? I think I’ve been patient long enough,” I said, pulling on my beer.

“I went to see Philip Gruber today.”

“You what?” I choked, doing a classic spritz all over the table. “You friggin’ went to see him without me?” I slammed my beer down and regretted it immediately, when it began to foam all over the table and onto my lap. “Unhh!” I began mopping up the mess.

“Let’s get this straight here, sweetheart. I’m a cop. I don’t need to report to Suzie Citizen before doing my job. Now if you want to know what happened, I suggest you shut up before I change my mind about telling you.”

I opened my mouth for a snappy and very rude comeback and then thought better of it. “Tell me,” I said, instead.

Bobby visited Gruber’s house in the early morning, wanting to catch him off guard. Gruber lives alone in a two-story house on the Main Line, a very posh section of Philadelphia. Gruber was very cooperative with Bobby. Gracious, even. He invited him in, offered him a cold drink and took him for a tour of his home.

“The guy is a total egomaniac, if you ask me. He’s got an entire wall of his office devoted to pictures of himself with famous people at charity events and stuff like that. And there are a bunch of shots of him and the mayor at groundbreaking ceremonies. Oh, and get this, he’s got a ‘trophy room’.”

“You mean like bowling and tennis trophies?”

Bobby shook his head and took a healthy swig of beer. When he put it down on the table, I picked it up and took a hit too. My beer was in my lap, soaking into my jeans.