The Twelfth Of Never: A suspense mystery romantic thriller (6 page)

When Papa Joe saw Jenny, he quickly turned to the kitchen and
yelled through the swinging doors. "Rosa, come quick."

Jenny sighed deeply and then smiled. "Hi, Joe," she
said sheepishly, now regretting her avoidance of the people and things that
mattered.

Joe's eyes were damp as he quickly pulled Jenny against his
barrellike body. "Benjamin, you've brought our little Jenny back to
us."

"It wasn't easy," Benjamin said as he rolled his
eyes.

"Anything you want is on the house." Papa wiped away
a tear.

Papa Joe was short and plump and looked like he personally
sampled each and every dish at the restaurant. He wore a big white chef's hat
that covered a shiny bald head.

Rosa peeked through the swinging kitchen door and waved at
Jenny before disappearing back to her stove.

"Your booth is open," Joe said pointing to the small
booth in the corner next to the back window.

It had been their table, John’s and hers. But as easy as it
was to walk into the restaurant that night, she still was not ready to forget
everything that had been so dear to her. Jenny was not sure if she would ever
be ready.

"That would be fine," Benjamin said, and then turned
to Jenny. "You don't mind, do you?"

A tear rolled down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away
before either man noticed. She was not going to let the evening bother her.
After all, Benjamin was only trying to help, but actually, he was just making
matters worse.

The whole night had a surreal effect to it. Everything they
did or said reminded her of that night six years ago. She knew it was a mistake
to let Benjamin bring her to Papa Joe's. When the meal was finally over they
started back to the apartment. Benjamin guided her through the park. Jenny
never could bring herself to walk through it alone at night and was relieved
when they reached Washington Square North and stood in front of the Admissions
Building.

"I'm sorry the evening was such a failure," Benjamin
said, breaking the long silence as they walked down the alley to their
apartment building.

"You meant well. It's just that I'm not ready to forget
completely."

"Promise you'll start trying."

"Okay, only if you promise to stop interfering."

They climbed the steps to the third floor. Jenny walked into
the darkened living room. Trish was out and would not get back until late so
Jenny still had some time to herself. She flipped on the switch for the lamps
and then reached over for the stereo and turned it on. Soft, warm melodies
filled the room. Jenny was drawn toward the sketches on the far wall. She
gently touched the one of John, and then ran the back of her hand along the
side and down the chin. The emptiness inside was almost unbearable. Jenny
stepped back and shut her eyes, swaying to the music and pretending she was
back in his arms. For a fleeting moment, she was happy again.

CHAPTER 5

Gideon took a taxi to Midtown to see Sylvester Bronk, Chief of
Detectives. Since the divorce, his ex-wife Beth's brother was the only source
Gideon had concerning how things were in the real world. That and the fact
Gideon did not have a permanent address, other than a PO Box he used for mail.
Whenever he stayed in town, Bronk extended the use of a safe house if one was
available, otherwise a hotel room had to do.

When Gideon's marriage to Beth started failing, Gideon almost
opted for the job Bronk offered, even though it was Beth who sought Bronk's
aid, not him. Gideon had seriously considered the offer nonetheless, hoping in
the end to salvage what was left of his marriage, but it was already too late.
Whatever love he and Beth had shared had long since cooled when the divorce
papers were served. That was over three years ago.

The cool September air felt good to Gideon after spending long
hours in the confines of the hospital. Bumper-to-bumper traffic was unnerving,
giving Gideon little time to reflect on the day's events. Nothing however,
could change the outcome. He only hoped Delaney would give him the information
promised so more people would not die.

When the yellow cab finally came to a halt, Gideon got out and
looked up at the graffiti-covered brick walls of the precinct. He quickly paid
the cabbie and then walked into the building. No one took notice of the blood
spatters on his sleeve or his wrinkled suit. It had been months since he'd
visited his brother-in-law at work. The green walls were still covered in filth
from decades of indifference. There was always a never-ending flow of criminals
being brought in for booking. Gideon swiftly passed them all. Dealing with this
on a daily basis was the one reason he could not accept the job years earlier.
Gideon took the stairway up, not touching anything. If the graffiti was an
indicator, then the last time anything was cleaned was during the Eisenhower
years, if not longer.

Once Gideon reached the third floor, he glanced around. Desks
were scattered throughout the room, with only a narrow path separating one from
the other. In the far corner, enclosed in glass, was a familiar figure. The
massive frame dwarfed the furniture in the room. Bronk's gray suit was wrinkled
from overwear and did nothing for a complexion that saw no sun except at crime
scenes. After a long moment of just staring at Gideon, Bronk waved him through.

Gideon walked down the narrow aisle to the glass enclosure.
Bronk was already pulling the blinds, shielding his small room from any
onlookers that passed. Before the door was even shut, Bronk turned on Gideon.

"You have some nerve showing up like this!"

"It's business."

"Beth called me yesterday. The girls waited for
you."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't tell me, tell them."

"It couldn't be helped," Gideon argued, but it was
no use. There was not an excuse in the world that would justify his actions to
the girls, or to Beth either for that matter. "I thought I made that clear
yesterday."

"No. What you made clear was that you needed backup in
the park. Oh yeah, that reminds me, you could have gotten my men killed!"

"How was I to know the Feds would take a break just when
everything was about to come down?"

Bronk slammed his fist on the desk while Gideon just stared
and watched the veins in Bronk's neck protrude as his face turned several
shades of red.

"The least you could have done was call her."

Gideon realized Bronk was more upset because of his missed
visit with the girls than the fiasco that morning in the park.

"How bad is it?" Gideon asked running his hand
across his chin. It was a nervous habit of his, that and rubbing his temple.

"Arthur is pressuring her for termination of parental
rights."

"He can’t do that."

"Gideon, you keep missing visitations." Bronk walked
away from his desk, went over to the door, and like a caged cat turned back
around and pointed his finger. "When was the last time you saw the
girls?"

Gideon sat dejected in the chair next to the desk. He looked
down at his shoes, as if searching for the answer. Then he feebly replied,
"July?" It was more of a question than an answer.

"I'll tell you. The second weekend in June—that was three
months ago to be precise."

"There's been a lot going on," Gideon replied.

"Don't give me that crap. You don't know what a day off
is. Look at yourself, man. You've aged ten years in the last three." Bronk
shook his head. "You can't keep going at this pace."

"Colby needs me."

"Shit he does, your daughters need you more. If things
don't change, I'm afraid nothing I do or say will change Beth's thinking about
you."

"She must really be ticked off this time."

"Yes!" Bronk snapped. "It never changes with
you two."

Bronk walked over to his desk. He plopped himself down in the
overstuffed chair, then opened the center drawer.

"What are you going to do?" Gideon asked.

"Nothing." He tossed Gideon the keys. "You need
a place to hang your hat for a few days. Isn't that why you came?" Bronk
paused for a moment, looked down at the pile of folders on his desk, and then
glanced up at Gideon again as he leaned forward. "Gideon, you look like
shit."

"Gee, thanks," Gideon rolled the keys around in his
fingers and stared blankly at the address on the tag.

"Now what's the problem?" Bronk asked.

"Bedford, isn't that in the Village?"

"It's not good enough?"

"Don't you have something closer?"

"No," Bronk replied, shrugging his shoulders.
"Distance was never a problem before."

"I don't have a car." Gideon glanced up
pathetically.

Bronk shook his head. "Sometimes, Gideon, I wonder how
you ever find your way out of bed in the morning."

Bronk reached in his pocket and tossed Gideon a second set of
keys. Gideon recognized the key ring: it was once his. Beth had given his red
Corvette Stingray to her brother. She fought fiercely for it in the divorce.
Gideon did not have it in him to fight her for anything. In the end, all he
walked away with were the clothes on his back.

"Like old home week," Gideon said nervously, and
then put the keys in his pocket.

"Beth didn't really want it. All she wanted was to hurt
you."

"She did a good job of that."

"I'm sorry it turned out like it did," Bronk said.

"So am I," Gideon replied, standing up on stiff
knees, and then walking to the door.

Bronk followed behind him, putting his hand on Gideon's
shoulder in a brotherly way. "It's parked out back."

"Thanks." Gideon turned and looked up while forcing
a smile.

Gideon walked out into the back lot of the precinct. He stood
on the concrete walk and leaned on the rail as the door swung shut behind him.
The little sports car that once represented his youth and freedom was parked
way at the back end of the lot.

In the end, his marriage was reduced to a court battle over
who could hurt the other more. His hands shook as he walked up to his old
friend, a symbol of a time in his life when things were uncomplicated.

Once he got in, it was as if no time had elapsed since their
last meeting. He turned the key, the finely tuned engine purred. Gideon leaned
back, looking up at the third floor window at the shadowy figure that was
watching him. Gideon raised his hand in salute, and then quickly put the car in
gear. He took the express out to Kennedy to get his bags before his trip into
the Village.

It took a while, but he finally found Bedford. It was one of
those short, slanting streets in the Village that went nowhere and ended before
it began. Gideon was not happy about the distance from the hospital, but it was
all that was available in the way of safe houses, and Gideon was thankful to
even have it. But if it was anything like the other places he used, he would
not feel at home; he never did. Home had ended for him three years earlier. The
safe house was a second story flat that faced the street. When Gideon opened
the door, a cold dampness welcomed his arrival. He walked over to the register,
turned the dial, and listened as it clanked and clamored while announcing the
arrival of heat. Gideon went to the little kitchenette off the corner and
opened the door to the fridge to see what his options were. The stench of sour
milk reached out to grab him, along with something else he did not care to get
too close to. Quickly, he took the carton and poured the curdled contents down
the drain. It definitely wasn't one of Bronk's better safe houses, but it did
not really matter. He just needed a place to shower and shave.

Gideon checked out the bedroom. The flashing of green neon
outside the window would be bothersome in the night, but that was not a concern
of his as yet. It was adequate enough in all other respects, giving him only
the creature comforts, but nothing more.

He tossed the worn leather bag onto the bed, and then unzipped
the flap. There, staring at him, was the picture of his little girls. Gideon
picked up the old antique frame he purchased in Brussels a few years back. He
set the delicately laced pewter frame on the dresser. Gideon stared at the two
lovely girls he had helped bring into the world. Three months, he thought. That
had meant he'd missed the last six visitations with them because of work. He
had not even had time to call Beth this last time. If Bronk was any indicator,
he knew she was mad.

Gideon glanced at his watch. It was still early. He quickly
showered and shaved. Once he was dressed, he hopped in the car and drove up to
Manhattan.

It was eight when he reached Beth's apartment building. Gideon
double-parked, and then slowly got out and glanced up. Beth and the girls lived
on the twentieth floor with Beth's new husband, Arthur Chadwich. Arthur was in
commodities and came from old money so Gideon knew the girls were
well-taken-care of. But the guilt was always there because he was unable to see
them as often as he should.

"You here to see someone?" the doorman asked, while
standing in front of the entrance, effectively halting Gideon's approach.

The starched blue uniform was perfectly pressed and matched
the gold-trimmed hat the young man wore proudly. It was impressive even for
that part of town. The brass nametag pinned to his lapel, with Jamieson
engraved on it, told Gideon who the young man was. Gideon thought he did not
look at all the Jamieson type, more like a Jimmy playing dress-up games.

"I would like to see Beth LaMont.... Chadwich."
Gideon corrected.

"Is Mrs. Chadwich expecting you?" Jamieson asked,
with emphasis on the
Mrs
.

"No," Gideon snapped, angry at having to ask a
stranger if he could see his ex-wife.

"Please wait out here. I'll call to see if she will
receive you." He turned to Gideon, eyed the wrinkled gray suit he wore
with the bulge under his left shoulder. "Whom should I say is
calling?" Jamieson asked with an air of authority.

"Gideon LaMont, her ex. I really just want to see my
daughters."

"It will only take a minute," Jamieson said,
indifferent to any explanation Gideon chose to give.

Gideon watched Jamieson reach for the phone and dial the
number. He could tell Jamieson was having reservations about announcing his
visit. Gideon did not belong with this class of people and was uncomfortable
being scrutinized by their watchdog. His trained eyes watched the young man
make the call and by the look on Jamieson's face, Gideon knew he was getting an
earful. Beth always had a way of drawing people into her circle of pity. When
Jamieson finally hung up the phone he turned to Gideon. He stared a moment
before strolling lazily back to where Gideon stood.

"She will be down to talk to you," he said, looking
at Gideon more cautiously than before.

"Did you tell her I wanted to see the girls?" Gideon
asked, but he could tell by the expression on Jamieson's face that he did not
care anything about Gideon's reason for being there.

Gideon glanced at his watch. It was late; he should never have
come. He stood there for nearly fifteen minutes, waiting for Beth. It was the
elevator bell ringing that caused him to turn in time to see the striking
blonde figure of his ex-wife stepping out. Even three years after the divorce,
Gideon still caught his breath. The young doorman took notice too as he licked
his lips.

Beth always liked the finer things in life, and Gideon
wondered if she purposely wore the floor-length silver fox to impress him. But
it was neither here nor there. What he felt for her died a long time ago
through no fault of hers. Gideon took full blame for the breakup of their
marriage.

"Thanks, Jamieson," Beth said ever so sweetly, and
then turned to Gideon. "I'll talk to you in the alcove."

It was a fancy name for a waiting room. Gideon did not say
anything, just played along with her game. He followed her silently. Once they
reached the overstuffed furniture in the small room off the lobby, Beth turned
to him.

The venom in her eyes was unmistakable. "You missed your
weekend visit again," she said sharply under her breath so Jamieson could
not hear her tone.

"Something came up."

"It always does," Beth snapped. It was an argument
they had on many occasions, one that she always won.

"I came to see the girls, not argue."

"You should have been here Friday. Do you realize it's
Monday?" Beth then glanced at her watch. "And might I add, after
eight. Tomorrow is a school day."

Gideon's mind was not on Beth or the girls. He should have
been back at the hospital. The doctor had long since made his rounds, new men
would be on guard outside Delaney's door, and it had been nearly five hours
since checking in with Colby last. But Beth had him by the jugular and was not
letting go.