In the Nick of Time (66 page)

Walking straight, erect like a solemn London soldier, he approached the doorman, his chin high and his confidence higher… even if he had to fake it.

“Hi, my name is Nick Vitale. I am here to see Mr. and Mrs. Jones in apartment, I mean…” He slicked a white, folded piece of paper out of his pocket and referred to it, “Number 1750.”

“Of course, they’re expecting you!” the kindly, older gentleman exclaimed, his green eyes full of life and his pale, weathered flesh thin from time and vocational exertion. “Go right in. The elevators in the back of the lobby will take you right up.” He buzzed the door open, allowing him to step forward and be immediately baptized in the mellow and alluring lights of the lobby entrance.

Nick looked above, feeling the presence of something large, hefty, possibly even dangerous from out of the corner of his eye. Upon catching the cause of the distraction, he winced, almost blinded by the light of a dazzling chandelier the size of his entire damn bedroom. He casually looked away from the thing and continued his stride as he buttoned his jacket, enjoying the discerning pairs of eyes that looked his way.

A stranger… Oh my…

His baby told him to be there for brunch at 11; it was 10:46 and he sure as hell hoped they didn’t mind. He finally reached the elevator, stepped inside, and looked about the mirrored enclosure. Searching the panel of buttons, he selected the 18
^th
floor and the strong scent of cherry cigars filled the space when the doors closed. Cocking his head to the side, he rested his shoulder against the corner and relaxed a bit on the long ride up, accompanied by a jazzy rendition of Whitney Houston’s, ‘Dance with Somebody.’ His brain collected thoughts, wove them together like a seamstress in some sweat shop. Some of his deliberations were rather silly, such as imagining himself bursting through the door and doing a fast paced tap dance, equipped with a smile and exclaiming, ‘Cha Cha Cha!’ Others proved more sinister, such as Mr. Jones glaring at him and saying,
“I’m sorry you came all this way. You can leave now.”
And him responding,
“I’m sorry you’re such an uptight asshole, but you can fuck off now…’

He knew when the man had laid eyes on him at Firststone, he didn’t care for him; matter of fact, there was a man-to-man thing going on that neither Mrs. Brown nor Taryn were the least bit privy to. For he’d seen the look before—a conversation had occurred in those fleeting seconds and if the man were able to speak his mind at that moment, he would have said something to the effect of,
‘I know you’re messing around with my daughter. Leave her alone or I’ll kill you, you fucking loser.
’ Yet, he hadn’t rebutted; he’d kept his peace…but the words were communicated to him, regardless of the fact that the man’s mouth didn’t move to utter them aloud. The message had been smeared all over the bastard’s face and his posture. Nick knew better than any goddamn body that the human form tells stories, dead or alive, and they’re
always
the truth. Such truth always manifested in the eyes, in the way the body moved and reacted, or simply remained still, without one tendon or muscle twitching below the fragile human flesh.

The elevator doors opened, shoving him away from his thoughts. Like curtains pushed aside, they revealed another breathtaking view. As he navigated past the golden hallway vases and décor, smaller scale chandeliers and lavish sitting areas in emerald green and rich ivory fit for royalty, he paced himself, figuring his way through, sorting everything out during these final seconds to the moment of reckoning.

Do I turn left right here? Yeah… these are even numbers…

He looked to and fro as he gained his bearings and approached the double walnut doors. After leisurely rapping on the thing, he stood there, looking around with his hands in his pockets, feeling dry lint and a rouge dime that had escaped his clutches the other day to feed the face of a greedy meter. Strong aromas drifted to him, hinting at delicious food on the other side. The scent rolled out from under the doorway, an invisible hand ushering him closer, teasing him so. Suddenly, one of the vast doors swung open, startling him a hair. Rather than being met by a butler or maid, Taryn appeared in front of him. He immediately broke out in a smile, relieved to set his eyes upon her.

“What took you so long?” she teased as she grabbed his hand, free and easy as she was, a breeze with long, gorgeous legs. She led him inside. The woman was now wearing black flared pleated pants and a pale golden top with a rather dainty, ultra feminine collar. She’d been working on his fashion sense as of late, though he pretended to resist and not be interested in her sartorial advice.

“I’m always fashionably late,” he joked, causing her to laugh lightly and toss him a perfectly timed wink from over her shoulder. At that, he caught sight of her earrings. They swung as she bounced about, each step joyous and full of all the shit happiness is made of… Busy bee, at your service…

“They’ll be out in a second. My brother isn’t here right now but he’ll be by in a minute.” She pointed lazily ahead as she led him to a long, white contemporary couch. The thing looked like something created for Heaven, and placed inside of the condo for the Browns to borrow. He smirked at his silly notions as they both took their seats.

“I like your hair… The stylist do that?” He ran his fingers through the front, unable to resist reaching for her like his old cigarette habit.

“Yeah, they blow dried it out. Can you believe that? My hair can
actually
be blown dry.” She cackled as she scratched the back of her tapered neck, looked down into her lap for a spell. “I had tried so many times to grow it out, you know? Then, it fell right back out.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m surprised it’s not doing any more peek a boo bullshit. I had the most difficult time with it… Hopefully it’s here to stay. If not, I might just smear some seeds on there with a tiny spatula and see if I can be a human Chia pet.”

They both burst out laughing. After they’d settled, and their fingers touched, his heart opened a bit further, causing a damn chain reaction.

“You know I had grown out my hair for you in treatment.”

She cocked her head to the side, bewilderment on her face. “I’ve heard of people shaving their heads for others that have undergone cancer treatment, you know, chemotherapy, but not
growing
it out.” She intertwined their fingers, turning his hand just so.

“Yeah, well, that wasn’t it. I had a little something different in mind. As soon as I graduated from Firststone, I went and got it cut before I came to see you.”

“…And it looked nice.” She smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but to smile back.

“Thanks. I’d started growing it out after I fell in love with you… decided it would be a good idea.” He looked away for a moment, collecting himself as those old feelings of watching her sleep on his tiny twin bed after the first time they’d made love flooded back into his psyche. “It’s now being made into a wig for some kid…”

Gasping, Taryn placed her hands to her lips, covering one of his most favorite parts of her. Her eyes glossed over like a brand new baby doll’s, fresh out of the package. Reaching over, he pulled her back to him and kissed the top of her head. However, he simply couldn’t stop there. He then stole a kiss on the side of her neck, which was simply too fucking pretty to resist.

“Come on, baby. Don’t cry now.” He smiled. “It was supposed to make you happy, not turn on the waterworks.” The woman said nothing, only gripped two fistfuls of his jacket in her palms, twisting and turning the leather. He gently ran his hand up and down her back, suddenly wishing they were alone. Could he snap his fingers and make the world disappear? Perhaps if he were still a thief, and could steal the hands of time…

No, it was far too late for that. Commanding steps soon approached from the near distance along the glossy walnut floors. He didn’t look, but he could tell by the gait the person was tall, heavy, and reserved. He’d spent too many seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, and years watching people move. He’d watched them when he was stealing, lifting expensive wares from a department store or from a shelf way in the back of a refrigerator filled with ice-cold beer in a bodega.

Later in life, he watched people when predicting if a perp was going to take off running, cause him to get his daily dose of a heart pounding workout. He watched them when he was privy to an investigation, getting his bearings for what he sought, a key inside the world he wanted to enter. He’d even lent his own advice on how to deal with certain suspects that were not involved in any of his cases. Yes, all people were different, but the way the body moved under times of stress, anger, and happiness was easy to peg. Drifting away from his reflections, he heard a clicking noise. Suddenly, the cream colored solar shades opened, exposing the sun’s obscenely graceful light show for all to eat up and warm to.

“Hello,” came the masculine voice, glazed in a monotone pitch, obvious from simply one word uttered. Nick released his flower and looked to his right, then got to his feet. The two simply looked at one another, a smirk on their faces. Breaking the eye lock, he studied the man before him, who stood wearing deep burgundy pants and shiny dark brown shoes of an indeterminate brand that, no doubt, cost a pretty penny. Navigating his way back to the eyes, he did what came naturally—extended his hand.

“Hello, Mr. Jones. It’s nice to see you again.”

They shook hands heartily, and though the man had a slight smile, he knew that shit was manufactured from some toy shop inside of the guy—plastic, fake, mass produced, and in need of batteries for the rest of its short life.

“Dad.” The flower in the room broke the tension by dropping one of her petals, better known as her alluring voice, and let it drift close to their listening ears. “Nick did the most
amazing
thing.” She sniffed, sucked back happy tears as a grin grew impossibly wider across her face. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” She suddenly grew angry and gave him a gentle punch against the shoulder as they stood side by side, like some team.

Shit, we are a team, right? It’s me and you against the world…

Nick grinned and nonchalantly shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t going to say anything but when you started talking about hair growth, I just kind of blurted it out.”

“What’s this all about?” the man inquired, crossing his arms over his chest and looking rather serious, slamming on the brakes of the ‘feel good’ festival that played out before him.

“Dad,” she said, pushing herself in front of him. “Nick had grown his hair out in rehab. I didn’t know why at the time; he never told me and I didn’t question it,” she explained. “I figured he was just going for a new look. Anyway, come to find out, he did it for
me
.” She shot him a glance then turned back to her father. “He was growing it out so that he could donate it to a child that lost their hair due to illness.”

“Well, isn’t that nice,” the man said insincerely, his lip lifted in a rascally grin. Nick simply stared into his eyes and nodded, refusing to let the guy get the best of him. “Where’d you donate it?” the man asked as he pointed back towards the couch, an invitation for them to all sit down.

“Locks of Love. They’re based in Florida, so the stylist braided it up and mailed it off.” Taryn took her seat, still smiling wide.

“How thoughtful of you. Wow, a police officer, a good Samaritan, and now this!” The man said all the right things, but his tone…yes, that tone was haughty, pompous, and spiked with the bitter flavor of sarcasm-laced judgment.

It’s cool… I expected this. You’re kinda predictable, Mr. Jones… and how boring that is…

“Where’s Mom at? Mom!” Taryn called out, breaking into the conversation like a robber thrusting a rock through a damn window. She sat up a bit, her body language screaming,
‘Mayday! Mayday!’
He knew his sweetheart could feel the thick tension that piled up high like a 1960’s bouffant. And, being her typical self, she sought to protect him, bring out interference, push a pin in the mess, make it deflate and go the hell away.

“Here I am, baby!” her mother called out. The attractive middle-aged woman appeared before them in a black, slightly above the knee form fitting skirt. The light caught the silky material of her ivory shirt, granting her the right touch of elegance and sex appeal. She was a real siren, and it was evident where Taryn had gotten her unparalleled good looks from. The woman paused, crossed her ankles in a dainty sort of way, and tipped her head to the side, causing a salt and pepper cascade of hair to fall over one heavily made up eye.

“So we meet again.” She clasped her hands together and gave him a quick once over, clearly taking him in. Nick immediately got back on his feet. He extended his hand as the woman approached him, meeting at the crossroads. Instead of shaking it, she looked down at the thing as if he’d just finished scratching the crack of his ass good ’nd hard.

“Oh no, that’ll never do,” she chastised before she grabbed him in a strong embrace and pressed him close to her petite body. Her strong perfume assailed his nostrils, an expensive scent with which she’d doused herself quite liberally. Inside, he chuckled at how she held him so close. A wide grin snaked across his face as his chin hung over her shoulder, his face away from observant eyes, shrouding his uncontrollable amusement.

“Mom,” Taryn said dryly. “Is brunch ready?”

The woman finally released him, and cast a look at her daughter as if she’d been awaken from a long slumber. “Yes, I made it myself, too.”

“What?!” Taryn burst out laughing and slapped her knee in sheer amusement. “You rarely cook any more…wow! Nick, you’re in for a real treat then.” She got to her feet, took him by the hand, and led him to the gray and white kitchen lounge area with state of the art stainless steel appliances. Red electronic buttons gleamed from them, and it was more than evident they were programmed to take commands. He’d always fantasized of having a refrigerator that would select his beer for him, and hell, serve it, too. Now, those fantasizes had to be twisted, chopped and screwed, replaced with a desire for chilled juices or iced coffee. He continued to survey the place, duly impressed.