In the Nick of Time (90 page)

“H
as anyone seen
Vitale?!” Captain O’Sullivan called out, his brows bunched as he circled the man’s desk like a starved shark smelling blood in the water.

The phones rang off the damn hook, making him certain this day marked the beginning of a full moon. To make matters worse, they were short of staff; he needed all the help he could get. The mayhem had begun early, yet one chair remained untouched, colder than an unsolved mystery. He hated how anxiety stuck to him like a jockey upon a horse. The son of a bitch had him worried. In all of Nick’s time being an officer, his whereabouts had been seldom unknown while he was on the clock but now, the man was nowhere to be found.

“Hey! I asked a question! Anyone seen Vitale?!”

“No.” Officer Mike Moore stated, his back turned. “Not since this morning. He called and let me know he’d be running late.”

“This morning? You spoke to him this morning?”

“Yeah, I left you a message on your voicemail… He said he was coming in, just would be a little late is all.”

“Did he say why?”

“Nah, he didn’t say why.” Officer Moore quickly walked away, high stepping it like some soldier until he’d disappeared.

Where’s he running off to?

Captain O’Sullivan stood there, a hand on one hip and a file in the other, feeling clueless, exasperated, but more importantly, incensed.

He’s not answering his phone… he hasn’t been here today at all… no one knows where the hell he is. Jesus Christ, Vitale… If you’re drunk somewhere, strung out, so help me God, I’ll kill you!

All three bedroom
doors now stood open by force, exposing their wares like storefronts on a sunny summer day. The other two weren’t nearly as elaborate as the master, but the middle one featured an array of used make-up, the drawers stock full of it stored in tidy containers. He’d carefully picked out a few lipsticks, placed them inside of his pocket, and taken photos at each and every turn. He’d also gathered a silky pale pink ballet slipper here, a plastic white comb and brush set there…

Stealing… taking… pillaging along the way. With extreme care, he’d wrapped each item in a freshly plucked tissue, praying for the least amount of contamination possible. As he made his way back down the steps and into the living room, he paused.

Did I miss anything? There’s always more… there has to be more. Come on, dollhouse, what secrets do you keep? Show me, damn it…

Taking one more look around, he huffed in frustration until his sights fell on the ceiling, which seemed curved slightly higher at the corners…

He cocked his head to the side and gasped, his heart racing so hard, he feared he may pass out.

Fuck!

I can’t do it myself. I could blow the whole goddamn case if I make a move! Fine, I’ll take care of this another way… I got you, you son of a bitch, I got your ass!

He quickly burst free, raced to his car and jumped inside. The clock had gone from tick tock to turbo blast and he feared he may already be too late…

“Nick, where tha
hell have you—”

“I need a search warrant issued right fucking
now
!” He stormed past Captain O’Sullivan, yelling at the top of his lungs as he flung his jacket down and rummaged through his desk.

“For who?! What have you been doing?!” his boss angrily called out.

Sweat clung to his form, his hair slicked across his forehead as he placed each item on the captain’s desk from his journey to Queens. Returning to his desk, he looked over his shoulder to see the man almost running towards him, his face balled up, and his fists, too.

“I’m talking about the Brownsville Thirteen case! I’ve got him! But he’ll know I was there so we gotta hurry up, they’re inside! I have to go!” He raced past the big man once again, almost knocking him over as he grabbed at drawer after drawer, filtering through the damn things over and over again.

“Nick, you’re going to tell me what you’ve done right now damn it, ya hear?!” the big man’s voice boomed.

“I laid some stuff on your desk—evidence, just cause! Go see for yourself!”

“You’ve been following a suspect without being officially on a case?! Are you
crazy
?!”

“Two of the missing girls are twins.” He tossed a stack of papers haphazardly in the trash. “When they disappeared, they were last seen in green jackets… Those jackets are now documented.”

“Nick! For fuck’s sake! You broke into someone’s house? You know that’s not how we do things. The entire department could be sued! Jesus Christ!”

“I
know
what I’m talkin’ about!” he screamed. “Shit! I thought I had it in here… Doesn’t matter, look!” He paused, swiped sweat away from his eyes. “Can’t you just trust me one more time, please? Just
one
more time, Captain! I know I’m not a homicide detective, I know this, but you know damn well I should have been
years
ago!” A crowd began to form around the two men as his anger surged within him.

“You gotta earn that! It’s not just given to you because you feel like you deserve it!”

“Oh, really? I earned it
years
ago!” He pointed away at nothing in particular. “Because I was unpredictable, a bit hot under the collar, you didn’t let it happen. You wanted to give me a chance, right? But you knew your reputation was on the damn line. Don’t worry.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I got it all figured out.”

“No you don’t, Nick… no you don’t.” Captain O’Sullivan huffed and looked at him sadly, as if he were just plain pitiful.

“Oh, trust me.” Nick smiled wide as he placed his hand across his heart. “I do. You saw me like a son…yeah, you did, but you didn’t trust me, not as far as you could throw me, Captain.”

The man turned away for a spell, the truth written all over his face.

“You liked me, but you sure as hell didn’t know what to make of me. And… I know why. You weren’t sure what my deal was, but you knew
something
was off, something that made you a little uneasy—apprehensive—because you’re a real good judge of character; you’re known for it…”

The man’s stern expression softened somewhat. He seemed to stand there wrestling with sorrow and anger. Which emotion won, Nick wasn’t sure, but in the grand scheme of things, it all came out in the wash.

“It was the goddamn drinking, Captain.” He smiled grimly, swallowed, shook his head in shame. But he had to make the man see, to wake him up right then and there.

“My head wasn’t always completely in the game. I understand your hesitation, Captain… but sometimes we gotta crawl on our bellies so we can appreciate what it feels like to stand on two feet. As messed up as I was, I still worked circles around most of these motherfuckers!” he shouted, the room drawing quiet, void of other chatter. “Captain, I’ve been doing homicide cases this entire goddamn time! Now what?!”

The seat was
still empty…

Taryn turned away from the thing and warmed her arms with her trembling hands.

Nick! Where are you?!

The seats in the audience filled up fast, and though they’d had an incredible turnout, it felt to her as if no one had come at all. Something told her when she looked at her man that morning, the way he made a mess of their closet and almost bust his head wide open as he hopped about getting on his pants—whatever had set him ablaze would cause a fire in her heart, too.

She danced between infuriation and sadness as she reflected on how his phone continuously went to voicemail.

And then, there were the questions about dolls… such strange, bewildering questions…

Startling her out of her thoughts, Parish, one of the models, bounced towards her and tapped her shoulder.

“The show is about to start and I can’t find my red and cream bustier.”

“Oh, um, I know where it is.” She sniffed and hightailed it towards the dressing room. The place lit up with chatter, and the M.C. got ready to take the stage. “Shawty is a Ten” by The Dream began to blast through the large speakers…

Jules approached her, looking like a damn vision from Heaven in his white suit and silver cane. He nodded her way, winked, and sailed on past just as cool as he pleased.

“Parish, here you go, honey.” She handed the lady the bra and paced nervously from side to side, then picked up one of the flyers of the show:

SWEET WARRIOR LINGERIE PRESENTS

Pink Ribbon in the Sky Productions

TARYN A. JONES – Designer

of the ‘LIVING DOLLS’ Collection…

She gripped the flyer so damn hard, it crumpled in her hand as she marched back out front to watch everything she’d worked so hard for in action.

Nick! Damn you! I don’t ask you for much, and you abandon me on the night of my show! One of the most important nights of my life!

She seethed with anger, her mind going around and around as she made herself comfortable in a front row seat, her long, sparkling white gown shimmering under the lights.

When I get my hands on you, Lord help you!

“Nick, chill out…
calm down,” someone called out—he couldn’t tell who.

“Chill out? Don’t tell me to fuckin’ calm down! Someone’s gotta give a damn around here, get some serious work done! I’ll chill out when I’m dead, okay?!” he barked, wanting everyone to hear every damn thing he had to say. The volcano he’d become had finally erupted, an act of Nature long overdue. “I’ve been drunk doing a better job than some guys and they know it!” He pointed around the precinct, looking into the eyes of all the men and women dressed in navy blue, their badges sparkling under the ceiling lights.