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At day’s end, after an exhausting and unproductive search for new homes for huge, five hundred pound cats, Kennedy let herself into her apartment, expecting to be greeted by SoSo. “Kitty? Where’s my pretty kitty cat?” The tidy apartment seemed quiet, as usual, but something felt off. She sniffed the air. Some sweet, insulting smell of burnt spice. Tobacco? Men’s cologne? Kreteks?
She hadn’t smelled that scent since Africa, but it was one that would stay in her memory banks forever. Iniko used to smoke them. Icy chills puckered her skin, but she willed herself to stay calm. She stuck her head into the hall for a moment and took another sniff. Despite repeated warnings, one of her neighbors smoked in the hall, but she didn’t think he smoked clove cigarettes. And doesn’t he wear some sort of aftershave? Deciding that must be the source of the smell, she stepped into her main living area. “SoSo? Kitty?” A slight panic pushed into her tummy. Don’t panic. Just keep looking. Maybe I shut him in the bathroom by mistake.
She wandered through the house, opening closet and cupboard doors, checking the bathroom, checking everywhere for signs of SoSo as her anxiety increased. When she got down on her hands and knees, certain she’d find his stiff body underneath a piece of furniture, relief flooded her as two bright yellow-green eyes looked out at her from underneath the couch. “Kitty! What are you doing down here? Come out.”
The cat looked past her, back to her face, and again at something beyond her shoulder. She turned, saw nothing, and tried to coax SoSo out. “Come on, kitty.” She scratched her fingernails on the rug, hoping to attract him. Nothing.
Cold dread washed over her. Was someone in my apartment? Nothing looks out of place. She got to her feet, strode to the tiny table where she placed her belongings when she entered and picked up her phone. You busy? Feeling ten types of stupid, she wished she could take the text back. She shouldn’t be leaning on Dante for support. She didn’t need another sponsor.
A few seconds later, he texted back, Washing makeup off face and combing hair into submission. What’s up?
Make-up???? Cross-dressing? She smiled as she sent the text.
Pictures. I have a stylist and a make-up artist. He sounded curt.
A stab of jealousy pricked her insides at the thought of a beautiful girl running her hands through Dante’s hair. I see.
Gay men, he added, as if in reassurance. What’s up?
She relaxed, thinking she’d better get a grip. Since Dante lived in the public eye, and like he’d told her, gorgeous women were a daily occurrence, she hoped she’d learn to feel more secure around him as time went on...assuming time went on with him, that is. It’s nothing. Sorry to interrupt. Talk later. She quickly silenced her phone, feeling like an idiot for barging in on his time. She stared at three text message icons, feeling proud for not looking at them. Since her phone didn’t have a blackout display, though, she couldn’t help but notice his picture when the phone lit up, indicating his call.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I’ll...we can talk later when I come over.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry. I hate putting makeup on my face, and gobs of product in my hair. I probably came off a bit short. Let me try again. What can I do for you, beautiful Kennedy? Dante Vega, at your service.”
She heard the smile in his voice. “I’m not sure. When I let myself into my apartment, I thought I smelled tobacco and aftershave. It could be my imagination, though. I have a neighbor who likes to defy non-smoking policies. But my kitty always greets me when I come home. Today he’s huddled under the couch. He won’t come out. It’s like he’s been spooked.”
His response came immediate and direct. “Stay with me. Stay at my house.”
“No, Dante. I’m probably making up a paranoid story.”
“Didn’t you say someone bad is here from Africa? That Iniko fellow?”
“I don’t know that, it’s where my mind leaped. I left a whole lot of misery in South Africa. I shouldn’t assume things.”
“Stay with me. Please. I’d feel better about it.”
“I have a kitty.”
“Is it striped, huge, with sharp claws and ginormous teeth?”
“No, he’s small and lovable.”
“I can deal with a cat. Call it a temporary stay. Until we know you’re safe. I’d feel so much better about it.”
“I think we’re both being paranoid. I don’t want to uproot my cat. I’m sorry I said anything.”
Dante sighed in her ear. “At least let me get your apartment checked. You know, for fingerprints or something. I’m sure my dad can call in a favor for me. He’s friends with the police chief.”
“I don’t know.” Kennedy began twirling a blond strand around her finger.
“It’s a compromise, sweetheart. I don’t get exactly what I want, you don’t get exactly what you want, but we meet in the middle. Do it for me, baby. I’m already worried.”
Remembering what Gia said about Dante carrying the world on his shoulders, she relented. “All right. We can meet in the middle. I’ll still feel foolish if there’s no sign of intrusion.”
“And I’ll be able to relax. Your feelings of foolishness can easily be dealt with by the Dante Vega Kiss Her Submissive method. I need the practice to perfect it.” Again, a smiling lilt accompanied his words.
She laughed. “Then, I accept.”
“Good. Gotta run. I’ll see you in a while.”
After she disconnected the phone, she spied SoSo sticking his head out from the couch, peering right and left.
“Come on, kitty. Out with you. Let’s get you some food.” She strode into her small kitchenette, retrieved his bowl, and got a can of cat food out of the cupboard. As she placed the bowl and canned food on the counter, she glanced in the stainless steel sink and froze. A trail of ashes, like someone had flicked his cigarette in the sink, tried to rinse it clean, and missed a spot, could be seen, clear as a bell. Her skin broke out in instant gooseflesh. “Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit,” she said. She dumped the food in the bowl and raced to get her phone.
Not wanting to alarm Dante again, she dialed Big Jim.
“Choty goty,” he said amicably.
“Jim,” she said, alarm evident in her voice.
“What is it? What’s the matter?”
“Someone’s been in my house.”
“Are you sure? How can you tell?”
“There are cigarette ashes in the sink. My cat’s freaked out, hiding under the sofa. I’m fucking freaked out, too. Terrified.”
“Calm down. Do you need me to come over?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. Maybe.” She paced from the bedroom back to the living area. “Dante’s sending someone over to check for signs of intrusion.”
“I’m coming over. I’m actually minutes away. I’ll be there before you know it.”
“Okay. All right. Thank you.”
Several minutes dragged by. SoSo finished his food and slunk under the couch once more. When a knock sounded on the door, Kennedy jumped. She hustled to answer it, and found a couple of police officers, standing near Big Jim.
“This guy a friend of yours?” one of the officers said. “He slipped through the door when a resident left the building.” He had his arm around Big Jim’s beefy upper arm.
Jim stood passively, his lips pressed in a tight line.
Racial profile much? “Yes. Let him go. We work together. And you are?”
Jim shook off the annoying arm grip, his usual calm demeanor in a ruffled twist.
“I’m Officer McGlasson, and this is Officer Norrick.” They both nodded curtly and flashed their badges. “Richard Vega asked us to stop by and check your home. Said you’ve had an intruder.”
“Yes, I believe I have. There were no signs of forced entry, but I found ashes in my sink. And it smelled like cigarettes and men’s cologne.”
“Okay. We’ll need you both out of the way while we do our job. Is there a place you can go to wait?”
“We’ll be down in the lobby.”
“Great. We’ll head down to let you know when we’re finished.”
“Please don’t let my kitty out. He’s already scared enough.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got cats at my house. Cats, kids, dogs and an aquarium,” McGlasson said.
“And a wife. Don’t forget her,” Norrick added.
They both chuckled, easing Kennedy’s nerves somewhat.
In the lobby, Big Jim wrapped his arms around her. She melted into his strength, taking comfort in his big body. A rap on the glass doors caught her attention.
Dante stood outside, peering through the glass, a scowl on his face.
She rushed to let him in. “Dante.”
He strode in, looking from her to Big Jim. “Hey,” he said to her friend, a note of challenge in his voice. “I thought you needed comfort, but I see you’ve got it covered.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt you,” she said. “It sounded like you had things to do.” Her stomach bunched into knots, fearing she’d upset him.
“This is important. Of course, you can interrupt me. Did the police arrive? As soon as I got off the phone, I called my father.”
“Yes, they’re here.” She stood stiffly between Jim and Dante, unsure where her allegiance should be placed.
“Jim Ballo.” Big Jim extended his hand. “I take it you’re the guy she’s dating?”
“Dante Vega.” Dante shook his hand. “Yep, that’s me.”
“Thank you for treating her right.” Jim smiled warmly.
Dante relaxed. “I’m glad she’s giving me a chance. She’s spoken highly of you. I can see you mean a lot to her.”
Kennedy relaxed, too, glad a truce of understanding had been initiated. “I found ashes in my sink. I panicked and called Jim, not wanting to bother you.”
“Baby. I get a little intense when I’m at work. My responsibilities are huge. But I’ll always make time for you if you really need it. My work is important. But my family, the people I care for, are at the core of my responsibilities.”
At this statement of care, she stepped toward him, grateful. She slipped her arms around his chest and relaxed into his embrace. “Thank you,” she murmured into his shirt. “Thank you both for caring,” she said, loud enough for Jim to hear.
The three of them waited, conversing little, tension filling Kennedy’s belly, making it hard to focus on anything other than her apartment. After about thirty minutes, the two officers tromped down the stairs.
“Did you find anything?” Kennedy asked, anxiously.
“No fingerprints. It looks like a pretty clean job. Yes, to the ashes. None of you smoke?”
She, Jim and Dante shook their heads.
“How could they break in? I have a deadbolt,” Kennedy asked.
“A skilled burglar isn’t deterred by a simple deadbolt. I can recommend a better lock.” McGlasson scanned his notes. “We found a couple impressions from a large shoe. Either of you two enter her kitchen or bathroom lately?”
“No,” Jim said. “Haven’t been here for several weeks.”
“Nope,” Dante said.
“The bathroom? The perp had to take a leak? In my house?” Kennedy seemed perplexed.
“Creepers creep. We don’t know why he was in the apartment. Might someone you know be after you?”
Chills washed up and down Kennedy’s spine. She reached for Dante’s hand, despite her best efforts to convey strength and independence.
He gave her hand a squeeze, offering comfort.
“Maybe. I have a few enemies from South Africa.”
“South Africa?” Officer McGlasson’s passive face revealed a flash of interest.
“It’s such a long story.” Kennedy sighed.
“We’ll need to take a statement,” Officer Norrick advised.
“It figures.” Kennedy wanted to hide under her couch with her cat.
Nancy’s wisdom echoed in her head. Deal with things. Face your life head-on. That’s the way you won’t use again.
“We can do it here, or you can come down to the station. Your choice.” McGlasson pasted on a smile.
“Uh huh. I see. May as well get this over with.” She looked to Jim and Dante. “Thanks for coming over. I mean it.”
“I want to stay.” Dante’s face appeared fraught with anxiety.
“Same here,” Jim added.
“I’m sure the good policemen want to interview me in private,” Kennedy said, with a wan smile, not wishing to reveal details of her sordid story to Dante.
“I’ll head out, then. Call me if you need anything,” Jim said.
“I’ll be back in thirty. I’ll wait downstairs if you’re not finished,” Dante said.
“Okay,” she said, in a wooden, flat voice. She turned without saying good-bye and headed toward the elevator, assuming the police followed.
Once in her apartment, they grilled her the way they no doubt interrogated a person of interest. She told them everything. Of her love affair with a royal prince. Of his untimely death. Of Iniko’s blood diamond trade and behaviors. About her work with tigers. Of her addiction and subsequent recovery, certain that topic tied a neat little bow on her status as a lunatic loser...someone not to be trusted.
In the end, they didn’t arrest her. They said they’d look into it and get back to her. She wasn’t led from her apartment in handcuffs. She felt filthy, dirty, however, like the stains on her soul had leaked out onto her skin like a cancerous blight. She wandered to the small cupboard in the bathroom, to retrieve a towel to dry herself, after an attempt at scrubbing herself clean in the shower. There, underneath a bleached white towel, rested a small, white paper bag, the kind you got when you left the pharmacy with a prescription refill.
With shaking fingers, she lifted it off the terrycloth. She opened it and poured the contents into her palm. One see-through, white-capped orange vial fell out, with a white prescription label, describing the drug. OxyCodone. The kind of pills Iniko used to obtain for her. High dosage. Maximum strength. Her drug of choice. The one that had been hell to recover from, and heaven to ingest.
