Provoked (4 page)

              “Then say yes. The rest is just paperwork. Do you think you can arrange to be here in a couple of weeks? That will give us a couple of weeks to get you adjusted into your new position.”

              Excitement raced through her.
A couple of weeks? Heck, I can be there tomorrow.

              “I can. I will. Yes, thank you, Lieutenant. I’m so ever grateful you have this confidence in me. I won’t let you down.”

              “Wonderful. I’ll see you soon. Let me know when you arrive.”

              Basia arrived in New York on Valentine’s Day. Lieutenant Matthews’ retirement happened at the end of the month. It would be a year in March since she’d left. So much had happened in the past year. She felt at home as she hailed a cab outside JFK Airport.

              “Where to, Miss?”

              Basia subleased her apartment when she left for Poland to a coworker, who was getting married in May. She decided to book a hotel for the next few months and then return once the sublease was up. Basia’s stomach growled after she settled in her room. She realized she hadn’t eaten since she left Poland. Once the plane took off she’d relaxed, she’d slept through most of the flight. She got away with murder; not that she was proud of the fact. Relief had set in as she left Poland and everything that had happened in the past year. She looked at her suitcases and figured she could unpack the next day. Basia wasn’t expected at the precinct for two days. She wanted to adjust to the time zone before she began her new job. For now, all she wanted was a good cup of coffee and food.

              She knew just the place. She found her way to the diner she’d loved. Basia hoped she’d run into Beth; a waitress at the diner who’d always been friendly to her. Basia remembered Beth confided before she left for Poland that her boyfriend abused her. She’d given Beth some pamphlets on abuse but knew most women were too scared or trapped to use the resources.  Basia remembered Beth’s friends; two other waitresses who lived in the same brownstone as Beth. Their boyfriends were recognized, small-time drug dealers and known to mistreat their girlfriends. After her abuse from Darek, she wanted to help these women escape their abusive relationships. The door chime rang as Basia entered the diner and Beth turned toward the door.

              “Basia, where have you been?”

              Beth offered her a cup of coffee. Basia thanked her. “Poland for family issues; how are you, Beth?”

              “Same.” Beth rolled her eyes, “Still with him and still trying to leave him.”

Basia reached out to touch Beth’s hand. “I’m thinking of starting a small group in the neighborhood for women who need someone to talk to. Are you interested?”

Beth set the coffeepot down on the table and slid into the booth.

“I don’t know, Basia. If he found out I was talking about him, about the...you know; it might only make things worse.”

Basia sensed her hesitation and her fear. She knew both only too well. She’d experienced those feelings with Darek.

“I assure you, it will be a small group and private. Nothing said in the group will leave the group. We can call it a book club or something. I want to help, Beth, emotionally and financially.”

Beth’s expression held hesitation but also a glimpse of hope. Basia knew Beth wanted out of her relationship. Basia smiled with her response.

“Okay. I know two friends need this too.”

Basia asked for Beth’s notepad and pen. She wrote down her cell number and handed it to Beth. “Call me and I’ll set it up. Bring your friends with you.”

Beth nodded. The sound of the diner’s door-chime took her attention to the front door. Beth reached for the coffeepot and rolled her eyes.

Basia heard sarcasm in Beth’s comment. “Adam, just what I need now.”

Beth thanked Basia and headed in his direction with the coffeepot. Basia remembered him; a regular at the diner and Beth’s landlord. She remembered Beth referred to him as quietly creepy. He never spoke to anyone in the diner, except Beth; and to order the same thing every time. Anyone could tell he definitely had a thing for Beth. 

Adam Crawford began his day:
Groundhog Day
as he always referred to it. He’d been the owner of the brownstone since he turned eighteen. He filled the bucket and grabbed the mop. Adam’s daily routine began. He’d lived on the narrow residential street of Centennial-era brownstones since his junior year of high school. After his mother’s death, his father took to the bottle and lost their home. The brownstone had been an investment his grandfather left Adam’s father. It became their home. The loss of Adam’s mother eventually killed his father. Within four years, his father’s drinking took him with a heart attack and Adam inherited the brownstone. Not that it was a great prize but it had become all Adam knew.

A New York neighborhood that continually called the police when the music was too loud and cars blocked the sidewalk. Adam learned, not long after he moved there, that the steady visitors dropped by probably to score drugs. They were young, sort of tough kids that came in and out of the brownstone constantly. The rough-looking men who lived in the building hung out on the front steps of the brownstone, working on their souped-up cars, which they parked on the sidewalk with blasting music rolling out of the windows.

Adam thought it would be cool to hang out with them, but when he’d mentioned it to his father; he got backhanded across the face. Adam rubbed his jaw. He remembered the sting. It’d had been the only time his father ever hit him. Adam learned quickly to listen to his father and never befriended the men, who were now his tenants. His father warned him they were no-good, lowlife drug dealers, and unless he wanted to end up in jail, he best keep his distance. His father told him not even to talk to them. Adam learned early on to clean and perform any maintenance early in the morning, when most of them slept. Adam wondered if his father had been scared of the men. Adam wasn’t. They were just a pain in his ass. Pains he’d do anything to get rid of, but until he could, their drug money paid the rent.

              “Morning, Adam,” Mrs. Clarke greeted Adam with a warm smile, as she passed by the laundry room on the first floor. Adam returned the gesture and kept about his business.  Mrs. Clarke, his eldest and longest tenant, had more energy at eighty-two than some of the tenants that were in their thirties. She’d been there over thirty years, fifteen longer than Adam. Adam’s father always referred to her as the sweetest little old lady you could meet. She always treated Adam as the son she’d never had. He respected Mrs. Clarke. His father taught him to be helpful with her bags upon her return from the shops. Mrs. Clarke—part of Adam’s Groundhog Day.  She was the only tenant he liked and actually spoke to; except for Beth, he had a soft spot for her.

              After he mopped the laundry room and lobby area, he went next door to the convenience store, as he did every morning for his paper and a coffee.

              “Morning, Sir,” Adam politely greeted the store owner, as he did every morning. Adam had known him for fifteen years but couldn’t remember his name. He’d been too embarrassed after so many years to ask him. The store owner always called Adam by his first name, which made him feel worse. He hoped the older gentleman appreciated the respectful greeting of ‘Sir.’ That was the extent of their conversations over fifteen years.

              Adam took the stairs to his third floor apartment. The first door stopped him in his tracks. He just posted the vacancy sign for it. He remembered the young woman who lived there…Beth. Adam filed the missing person’s report six weeks ago. He never heard from the police, but at least with the filed report he could list the apartment for rent. Then he remembered the asshole of a boyfriend she claimed to love. Adam was happy he was dead.
The jerk deserved nothing less
. He heard Andy had been shot in a drug deal gone bad. The same night he’d last seen Beth.

              Adam tried many times to evict Andy O’Donnell, as he’d tried with Andy’s brother. Peter O’Donnell had been a pain in Adam’s ass for years, with his drug deals, until his death a few months back. Peter’s girlfriend left suddenly after Peter’s death. The O’Donnell brothers were trouble, but Adam had a business to run. Adam remembered the day he’d asked Andy in the elevator, not long after Peter’s death.

              “Can you clear out the contents of Peter’s apartment? I have tenants that want the apartment.”

              “You cold-hearted, fucking prick; my brother just died.”

              “If rent isn’t paid, then someone will have to empty the apartment.”

Adam ignored Andy’s foul mouth. He could care less about the idiot or his brother. Peter’s girlfriend, on the other hand, had always been nice to Adam at the diner. She worked with Beth.

              “Then I guess that someone is you. You’re the fucking landlord. I’ve already collected my brother’s personal items.”

              Andy brushed Adam’s arm with his shoulder as he stepped out of the elevator on the third floor. Beth turned to Adam before she followed Andy. “I’ll stop by tonight and collect any personal items left. Whatever’s left can be donated or tossed.” Beth’s kindness touched Adam’s heart. Adam nodded and continued down the corridor to his apartment. He’d always felt sorry for Beth. She didn’t deserve the asshole she lived with. At least with both brothers dead, Beth and Lisa were rid of the abusive lives they’d lived.

              Adam hoped Peter’s drug operation would have died with him, but Andy and another tenant kept the operation going. Another asshole who created more domestic dispute calls to the police. Adam could tell he had his wife, Kris, addicted to so many drugs that she didn’t know better. He referred to her as Crazy Kris. At times she’d run through the halls screaming, sometimes half-naked. She worked at the diner with Beth and Lisa, too. As Adam’s luck had it, he couldn’t evict any of them. Their drug business always paid the rent, so he couldn’t get them on nonpayment. The continuous domestic violence calls to the police only infuriated him because their girlfriends never pressed charges. The only thing he hoped to help evict them; their illegal drug operation, but Adam needed proof to get the cops involved. The one reason why Adam didn’t like cops: they never seemed interested with small-time drug dealers; or so he thought. Adam didn’t want to spend the money to put in cameras if the cops wouldn’t do anything to help him.

Adam knew how Andy’s operation worked. He’d watched one night from his cleaning closet across from the elevator. The buyer would get in the elevator, the door would close but it didn’t go anywhere. A couple of minutes later, the door opened and the person left the brownstone. Then he’d notice the elevator door close and head to the third floor. He waited. The elevator stayed on the third floor until Adam called it back to the lobby. So he decided to investigate. The next time he noticed the buyer enter the elevator, Adam took the stairs to the third floor and stayed in the staircase. From the corner, he could see through the small glass window of the stairwell door. Andy came out of his apartment and went in to the elevator. He reached up into the ceiling tiles and pulled out an envelope. Andy took money from the envelope and replaced it with what Adam believed to be a small plastic bag—probably drugs. Adam figured out how the operation worked. When he reported it to the police, they told him they needed proof this was happening. That meant Adam had to spend the money and put cameras in, or hire security, but that didn’t guarantee the outcome he’d want. Adam laughed at that thought. He’d given up fixing the security buzzer because the damn tenants continued to break the lock, so the door would remain slightly open for them.

Not long after Peter died, there was another reported death at the brownstone. Andy’s new partner in crime, Rick; his death was reported as an overdose. Adam was more than pleased when he heard of Andy’s death. He remembered when the police came to the brownstone to question Andy’s girlfriend, Beth. Adam took them to the apartment and after a knock or two on the door, Adam let them in. He mentioned he saw Beth the day before when she’d come home sick from work. He mentioned to the police that maybe she returned to work. He gave them her work address but he never heard back. Two days later, Adam reported her missing. With a missing person’s report, he knew he could post a vacancy sign within a certain time frame.

Adam didn’t report Lisa missing when Peter died in April. Though she left suddenly and didn’t empty the contents of her apartment, she wasn’t listed on the lease. The cops didn’t question Peter’s heart attack. In fact, Adam remembered they hadn’t even asked about anyone living with him. It had been Adam who reported the death. That permitted him to list the apartment as vacant. By June, Adam posted another vacancy. Crazy Kris gave him notice she was moving after her boyfriend died of an overdose. Two of Adam’s three problems had been solved. When Andy’s death was reported, the drug operation in Adam’s building had been eliminated.

Adam never bothered much with his other tenants. As long as they paid the rent—he didn’t bother them. His father had taught him that. He never worried if he didn’t see them after the rent was collected, except for Mrs. Clarke whom he liked to see daily. Deaths and missing persons didn’t bother Adam. His concern was how long he had to wait to post a vacancy sign. Except for Beth, she’d left an ache in his heart.

Adam didn’t find it unusual that the cops were not that interested. They never had much interest in the people in this area, who were mostly low-income drug dealers and users. Most of Adam’s tenants, over the years, had a criminal record. Mostly of misdemeanors and drug possession, and a prostitute Adam remembered, but drugs eventually took her life too. Adam thought nothing of his tenants. He just collected the rent. He usually made his decision of a new tenant by the cash in their hand.

Adam entered his bachelor apartment at the end of the third hallway. It was a small apartment and unkempt. Adam took care of the general cleaning and maintenance but never painted or changed the carpets since his father died. He felt it wasn’t worth it. The tenants were mostly low-income and he barely increased their rent. They paid.
Why fix what isn’t broken?
Another lesson from his father he remembered.

He’d never married. He never had a serious relationship either. Adam’s heart had been stolen by the girl he knew back in Manhattan. His broken heart never healed. She had been the only one to capture his attention, until Beth. Adam was a loner. He didn’t get out much; given the fact that he lived and worked in the same building, but he liked it that way. He enjoyed living a solitary life and had been used to it. After his parents died, his contact with the world consisted of his tenants, the store owner next door, and his visits to the diner around the corner. It was close by and the food was cheap. Unfortunately, his tenants worked there but they never seem to bother him. He knew they referred to him as the creepy superintendent. He knew they laughed and made jokes about him. He just ignored them and kept to himself.

              Adam opened the door to the small terrace off his main living area. The cool autumn breeze filled the room quickly. He walked onto the balcony and set his coffee on the small iron patio table. He unfolded his paper as he sat down. The view from his third floor displayed a busy New York street of people heading to work. Adam watched the bustling rush of the morning. Sometimes he just sat and imagined what everyone was up to. His dream to be a published writer kept him watching and kept him writing every afternoon. He looked down to notice the autumn leaves had begun to fill the small yard at the front of the brownstone. Adam made a mental note to go out and rake up the leaves that had fallen from the big oak, which sat at the edge of the sidewalk and his property. Being outside, the fresh air always helped clear his thoughts whenever he experienced writer’s block. He then opened the paper, to the headlines of the day, to read about any recent homicidal activity in New York. This was his daily routine in hopes of obtaining an incident to help provoke more writing. Adam had finished a psychological thriller but still hashed through it with edit after edit. He called it a work-in-progress and didn’t want to rush it. He wanted it perfect so it would be a bestseller.

              His phone rang as he had grabbed his jacket, ready to head out and tackle those leaves.

              “Crawford Property,” he answered by the third ring.

              Great. Just what I need.

              Adam told the detective he’d be at the brownstone all day. Not that he knew anymore about Beth’s disappearance than he’d already told the cops. He figured after six weeks, with no news and the missing person’s report, he could rent the apartment. Adam cursed under his breath as walked down the corridor of the third floor. He glanced at the door at the end of the hallway before he entered the staircase. He wondered if they’d find Beth’s body. 

Adam liked Beth. She reminded him of Sara. The girl he lived next-door to in Manhattan, the same girl who broke his heart when she betrayed their friendship and his love for her.               That same night, he’d arrived home to a police car in his driveway. His mom had been killed in a car accident. He found his devastated father in tears. Since that night, Adam was alone and lost with no one to talk to. His father began to drink heavily and lost his job. Within months, the bank foreclosed on their home, and they were forced to leave Manhattan and move into the dingy little apartment at the brownstone.