Page 4

Fancy

“Talk to us, what’s wrong,” Rico says as he approaches from across the room.

“Hmm, let me think. I witnessed the beating then murder of a dear friend. Ran for my life from a mobster. Got fake married to two total strangers. Don’t dare go back to my job.

Now I’m in a hotel with a potential price on my head with the same total strangers.

What do you think could possibly be wrong? ”

“I didn’t mean it quite like that.” He has the grace to look sheepish. He hands me a flute. I stare at his proffered hand. “Orange juice with just a splash of vodka. Not trying to get you drunk, just want you to relax a bit. If you don’t trust me, you can make your own.”

When I still stare at him, he drinks half the glass and holds it out again.

Oddly enough, I do trust him, them. Their tactics are bizarre, but they did get me quietly and discreetly away.

I take the glass. He puts an unopened bottle of water in front of Kade, then pulls two wallets from his shirt pocket and hands them to me.

“We’re asking you to trust us, but we need to trust you aren’t going to out us as well. ”

I flip the wallets open and scan their credentials. Two slightly younger, yet familiar men stare up at me. I hand them back.

“You knew the man who was murdered?” he asks.

I nod. “He was a friend. I’ve known him most of my life.”

“Tell us about Phil,” Rico asks.

“I—Phil was a good man. A little into the booze, but a good guy. But then his drinking was my mother’s fault.”

“How so?”

“She was going to marry him then changed her mind at the last minute.”

“How long have you known him?” Rico asks.

“I remember him from about the time I was four. That’s when she, Mom, started bringing guys home and locking me in my room. I don’t really remember anyone from before then. Something he said once made me think she knew him before I was born. So, twenty or twenty-one years.”

“Bringing them home?” Rico asks.

“Mom was a stripper and would occasionally bring guys home for fun or extra cash. Phil was the only one who ever hung around for long. In the beginning I hoped maybe they’d stay together but Mom was never good at exclusivity.

They’d be a thing for a few months, and he’d come around a couple nights a week.

Then she’d find someone new. She kept going back to him because he let her.

I’m sure he gave her extras besides money.

“For as long as I’ve known Phil he was a bookkeeper for the DeStefano family restaurants. Hard worker. Honest. When I was older, I asked why he put up with Mom. He shrugged and said he had to. He loved her. Sharing her was better than never having her.”

“Where’s your mom now?”

“She died in a drunken car accident eleven months ago. The bank wanted to have me kicked out. Something about a second mortgage. Phil went and talked to them. He said there was a misunderstanding, accounts got messed up and the house was paid for and in my name. After her death, he started drinking heavier. The poker machine he played for years had a video image of a woman that looked a lot like Mom.”

Rico cocks his head. “Yeah, she looks a little like you, too. That’s where I met Phil. I was playing the machine next to him.”

“How long ago?” I ask. “I—I thought he was looking better the last few weeks.”

“I met him for the first time about a month ago. He was always at that same machine starting about the same time each night. We struck up a conversation. About a week in, I thought he seemed less drunk, too. The next week he asked me what I was really doing. Two days after that he gave me my first real lead. He’d pass me what he could every night or so. ”

“You got him killed. You had him doing your job for you!” I stumble off Kade’s lap and confront Rico. “This is your fault.”

Rico stands. I try to ignore the anguish on his face.

“I never asked for his help, never told him what I really do, and I specifically told him to stop. I told him it was none of his business and what he was doing was too dangerous.”

“He texted me earlier today. Said he had important information I needed to have and that it was the last thing he could give me. He told me to meet him on the rooftop by the AC unit. We had just gotten there when we heard a commotion in the alley and looked down. We saw them kill him.”

I rub my forehead. “It’s not your fault. I—Phil always did what he was going to do. And if he was drinking you couldn’t always reason with him.”

“Enough for tonight. You need some sleep.” Kade stands and with his hand on the middle of my back leads me to a partially closed door.

Pushing it open, he nods toward the right.

“The bathroom is behind that door. There are extra toothbrushes, towels. The basics. Not a lot of feminine stuff but we can get that tomorrow. Take a shower, bath, whatever you need. I’ll put one of our T-shirts on the bed for you to sleep in and we’ll be in the other room when you’re done.

“If you need or want anything, just call out.” He pauses. “You’re safe here, Fancy. We’ll watch over you.”

I stand under the waterfall shower head and let the tears fall.

Phil was good to me. Even when Mom treated him like shit.

Of all the men she’d bring home he was the only one that even tried to interact with me.

He’d bring me little gifts when he came to visit.

There was a two-year period where I thought maybe they’d get married, but Mom blew that going after a bigger fish.

I’d talked to him earlier this evening. He seemed sober, not as blurry eyed. He even said he’d been doing better. Found a new purpose. He said he’d take me to dinner next week. He said he loved me.

Covering my mouth to muffle the sobs, I lean my head against the shower wall and cry.

I’m so tired of this town. Of working so hard to get nowhere.

Knowing how much Phil loved Mom somehow kept her alive in my own heart and life.

Now they’re both gone and I have nothing. My mind keeps replaying his death.

This damn town has taken everything from me.

I don’t realize the water has gone cold until someone reaches around me to shut it off and wraps me in an over-sized towel then carries me from the room.

A deep voice croons words I can’t comprehend but give me comfort.

Lost in my grief I don’t struggle when they dry me and dress me in a soft shirt and shorts.

I’m settled on a lap wrapped in strong arms while my hair is being dried and gently brushed.

Then I’m stretched out in the middle of a bed, snuggled under blankets.

Someone is rubbing my back, and my hands are clasped against a hard chest.

“Sleep, Fancy. Just sleep. We’ll be here when you wake.”