No Such Thing as a Lost Cause by Shelly Fredman

signaled
     the server for the check.
    “Well?” I prompted when I couldn’t stand it anymore.
    “You make a good case.”
    “Yes!” I shouted, pumping my fist in the air.
    “Okay, Brandy, don’t go nuts here. Even if I agree with you, this isn’t my investigation.
     And it’s going to be a hard sell to get the D.A.’s office to agree to another autopsy.”
    “But you’ll talk to Vince?”
    “I’ll talk to Vince.”
    *****
    After leaving Tortelli’s (minus the “hair bow”) I was still hungry, so I swung by
     Paul’s club. The place is closed from 3-6 p.m. in order to get ready for the dinner
     and late night crowds, but I knew he’d be there, regardless. My brother is a little
     on the obsessive side. Some people say it runs in the family but, personally, I don’t
     see it.
    I pulled in next to his 1972 Alpha Romeo, (a gift from me back in the days when I
     was a contributing member of society) and went in through the side entrance. Paul
     sat in the back booth eating a roast beef sandwich and going over the receipts.
    “Hey, Paulie.” I sat down opposite him and helped myself to the side of slaw. Paul
     held up an index finger. “Hey, Sis. Hang on a minute,” he said and went back to his
     accounting.
    “Um, okay.” To tell the truth I’d expected a lot better reception, given the fact
     that I could’ve been killed the night before. But Paul never even called to see how
     I was doing.
    After a bit he closed his laptop. “So, how’re you doing?”
    “Fine.”
    “Great.” A grin began to spread across his face. “So, Mom tells me you’ve got plans
     for the entire month of August and you won’t be able to go to Cousin Marlene’s daughter’s
     wedding.”
    And something snapped. “Paul, I can’t believe this. Our childhood home was practically
     blown to bits by a gunman’s bullets and you’re mad because I sleazed out of Cousin
     Marlene’s kid’s wedding?”
    Paul choked on his roast beef. “What?” Wh-wh-what?”
    “You didn’t know?” What was I thinking? Of course he didn’t know. He would have called
     me. Jeez, doesn’t anyone watch the news anymore?
    “I’m sorry, Paulie. I thought you knew,” I said, and filled him in as best I could.
    Paul swung around to my side of the booth and wrapped his arms around me. “Th-thank
     God you’re okay. Jesus, Brandy, how could you believe I knew and just didn’t care?”
    “I don’t know. I guess I figured that violence has become such a part of the norm
     for me that even you’ve become immune to worrying about me.”
    “Yeah, like that could happen. I guess I’ve been a little too wrapped up in the club,
     lately,” he added. “How can I make it up to you?”
    “Well, there’s this puppy—”
    “How else can I make it up to you?”
    “Well, someone has to go to Cousin Marlene’s daughter’s wedding—”
    “I’ll take the puppy.”
    *****
    On the way back to Nick’s I cruised by my house. The yellow crime scene tape had been
     taken down, but the boarded up windows served as a reminder of everything that had
     gone wrong lately, and it depressed the hell out of me. On the up side, I guess I
     still had at least one friend in the neighborhood. On the front step beneath the words,
     “Bitch-ho” someone had spray painted a huge arrow pointing directly at Mrs. Gentile’s
     house. Karmically speaking I shouldn’t have thought it was funny. I thought it was
     hilarious.
    It was a little after four when I got to Nick’s. Adrian and the puppy greeted me at
     the door trailing brown crumbs and bits of orange peel. Although they only stood three
     and a half feet between them, somehow they’d managed to reach the croissants I’d accidentally
     left out on the kitchen counter and had helped themselves to a Continental Breakfast.
     The puppy yawned revealing a chunk of orange pulp that was lodged between her teeth.
    “I hold you responsible for this mess,” I told Adrian. “You’re the oldest.”
    He