Grab

by Jeff Elkins

  She slid to the end of the bed and rubbed behind his ears. His tail beat furiously on the floor. She heard her coffee maker begin to brew in the kitchen. The sound gave her a second surge of energy. Popping out of bed, she grabbed the sweatshirt she’d worn the night before from off the floor and pulled it on. Dancing and singing along with Stevie Wonder as she moved from the bedroom, down the stairs and to the kitchen.

  Stepping onto the tile floor, Moe froze. She glared at the crack between the stove and the floor. She could feel the brick in her hand, again. She could see Sea Shell Blue. She missed Marge. “Come on out,” she whispered.

  Bosley nudged her leg, calling Moe back to reality.

  “Sorry, boy,” she said, trying to shake the memory. She listened and caught the faint sound of Stevie from upstairs. Holding it in her mind, she began to sing and dance again. Leaving the kitchen for the living room, she found Bosley’s leash, clipped it onto his collar, and took him out the front door.

  The song continued to play in Moe’s head as she followed Bosley from one tree to the next. She wished he’d hurry up and pick a spot. She would never understand what made a spot unworthy of his pee. Finally, after five different pauses, Bosley picked a small patch of grass under a sapling and let loose what his bladder had been holding all night.

  “Good boy,” Moe said, which made her laugh. She felt the need to say it, but telling an animal it was good for going to the bathroom was absurd.

  Turning, they walked back to the two-story rowhome Moneta called home, but before they could reach the door, Moe heard a relieved voice call. “Oh, thank God.”

  Moe looked across the street to see her next door neighbor, Stacie Howe, coming toward her. Stacie’s black heels clicked loudly on the sidewalk as she walked. Her blond hair was disheveled, her eyeliner was slightly smeared at the corner of her eye, and her slinky black dress had a stain in the middle of it. “Looks like you had a fun night,” Moe said.

  “I guess,” Stacie said. “Maybe? Who knows? I sure don’t.”

  “Well, welcome home,” Moe said with a grin. Despite Stacie’s often questionable choices, Moneta liked her neighbor. She was easy to talk to. Plus, Stacie never turned down an adventure.

  “You look chipper this morning,” Stacie said, sitting down on her front stoop. Moe joined her, as Bosley nuzzled Stacie’s leg. Stacie rolled her eyes and apathetically rubbed his head.

  “It’s a beautiful morning,” Moe said.

  “No. That’s not it,” Stacie said, looking at the bright spring morning with disdain, but then, glancing at Moe’s face, she added, “You’ve got a new case, don’t you?”

  “Maybe?” Moe said, unable to hold her smile back. “I’m meeting with a potential client in an hour. What are you up to today? Any auditions?” Moe knew that Stacie hadn’t had an audition for years because Stacie couldn’t find anything she liked, but Moe kept hoping she would lower her standards from blockbuster action film to theater in Baltimore. If for no other reason, to give Stacie something more to do than hang out at bars and drink too much.

  “Nothing today. Maybe something later this month. I don’t know. I just keep waiting for the right part to come along,” Stacie said.

  “Well, a day of rest might be a good idea,” Moe said, trying to sound optimistic.

  “I guess,” Stacie said.

  Moe looked at her friend. They’d lived next door to one another since Moe started renting the house three years ago. They’d spent a lot of time chatting on Stacie’s roof deck or sipping coffee on this stoop. Stacie was smart and funny. She just needed someone to give her a chance. Moe looked at her laces, smiled at their bright color, and made her decision.

  “How about you tag along with me? I could use a partner. And you could think of it as field research, if you ever audition for a part as a private detective,” Moe said.

  “You want me to work a case with you?” Stacie said, surprised.

  “Yeah, I think it’ll be fun. Watkins and Howe. On the case,” Moe said.

  “I love it. You do the detectiving, and I’ll give them some of my Howe charm. You said we have a client meeting? Let me change real quick and I’ll be ready to go,” Stacie said.

  Moe smiled. Stacie reeked of alcohol and smoke, and there were large bags under her eyes. “I think you just need to go to bed for a while,” Moe said, rubbing her friend’s back softly.

  “Yeah,” Stacie said with a yawn. “You’re probably right.” Standing, she fished her keys out the small black and gold purse slung over her arm. “Before your meeting, you think you could do something for me?”

  “What?” Moe said, suspiciously.

  Stacie held out her hand for Moe to take. “Tell me what I did last night,” she said with a whine.

  Moneta laughed. Holding her hands up defensively, she said, “Not a chance. Whatever you did last night, I do not need in my head.”

  Stacie burped. “Yeah, probably better that way.”

  “I’ll text you later. Maybe dinner at the Thirsty Horse?”

  As she unlocked her door, Stacie yawned and said, “Keep me posted. And Moe,” Stacie added, looking down at Moe and Bosley.

  Moe looked up at her and raised her eyebrows.

  “Put on some adult clothes. No t-shirts with pictures of old movies or weird sayings, please. Promise me?” Stacie said.

  “Promise,” Moe said.

  After grabbing a coffee and a bagel, Moe showered and dressed, deciding today was a blue-jeans-and-Green-Lantern-t-shirt day.

  Looking in the mirror, she said to Bosley, who was now laying at the end of her bed, “We’ve got time to make this work this morning, right?” While the dog did not respond, her phone transitioned from her classics playlist to Alicia Keys. As Superwoman rang through the house, Moe removed the scarf holding her hair up. She moved and sang to the music as she mixed her leave-in conditioner and her restorative butter in her hand, sectioned out her hair, and worked the product through it in sections, adding touches of gel as she went. Using her fingers and a brush, she created a part on the left side of her head and directed the majority of her curls to fall to the right. She fussed with the curls at the part and whipped her hair around a few times to give it back its bounce. She turned, looking at her hair from every angle. It wasn’t perfect, she was happy.

  Feeling confident in her appearance, Moe took the final step of her routine. She looked to the top right corner of her mirror where a picture of her mother, father, and four brothers was taped. Touching the picture, Moe read the mantra typed at the bottom of it, “Your name is Moneta Watkins. Daughter of Amar and Rashida. Sister to Robert, Joseph, Calvin, and Lance. You grew up happy and strong. Remember the love. Remember the joy. Because no matter what is in your head, this is your story.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  What Moe loved most about her 1985 Toyota Corolla hatchback was its faded blue color. What she loved second to most was how the tiny car could fit into almost any parking spot in the city. It wasn’t fast, or pretty, or vintage in a cool way, but as she swung it into a parallel parking spot, Moe celebrated its size.

  Finding a spot on Charles Street wasn’t easy, especially in the midst of morning rush-hour. Getting a spot this close was a huge win. Moe decided to take it as a sign that this case was going to be an eight out of ten.

  Moe’s ranking system was based on a combination of money and altruism. A ten was a case that paid well and changed the world for a better. She hadn’t gotten any of those yet. A seven was a case that made life better for others and paid for her time. A five helped people and covered her expenses. A three did good in the world, even if it didn’t pay. Cases that didn’t do good things for others, even if they paid well, were ones. She had to take some level one cases to stay in business, but she didn’t enjoy them.

  The offices of Kingsington Life were located on the twenty-fourth floor of the South Charles Center. As Moe stepped through the double glass doors, an impossibly thin woman in high heels welcomed her. “Hello Ms. Watkins,
” the woman said. “Mrs. Kingsington-Ring is waiting for you.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry if I’m late,” Moe said, retrieving her phone from her back pocket to check the time. She was seven minutes early.

  “It’s not a problem,” the woman said. Motioning to the right of the reception desk she said, “Right this way.”

  Moe followed the woman through an open area full of workstations, then down a hallway of closed doors, until they came to two decoratively carved double doors. It seemed the woman and Mrs. Kingsington-Ring were the only employees at work this early in the morning. Pushing one of the doors open, the woman in heels peaked inside. Looking back at Moneta, she pushed one of the doors open and said, “Mrs. Kingsington-Ring will see you now.”

  The office was the size of the entire first floor of Moneta's house. There was a large conference table surrounded by rolling leather chairs, a fully-stocked bar, bookcases filled with old and important looking books, and, at the far end, a large desk. Behind the desk, reading through a file of documents was a blonde woman in a white blouse. She wore black reading glasses and her hair was in a tight bun. She did not look up to acknowledge Moneta.

  Moe crossed the room. Coming to the desk, she said, “Hello. Mrs. Kingsington-Ring?”

  The woman looked up, motioned for Moneta to take a seat, and then went back to her reading. She appeared to be editing something. The paper she was working on was filled with strike-throughs and notes in the margin. Moe looked at the ceiling. The tiles looked like they were made of wood. Every third one had a recessed light in it. Moe wondered if the wood was real or just an illusion of paint.

  The woman behind her desk closed the folder in front of her and folded her hands on the desk. “You come very highly recommend, Ms. Watkins,” she said.

  “That’s good to know. And, you can call me, Moe,” Moneta said with a smile. She was surprised when the woman didn’t offer her first name as well.

  “Discretion is of the utmost importance to me. No one must discover what I’ve hired you to do,” the woman said.

  “As the contract, I sent you stated, all of my work for you will be confidential. Working as an extension of your lawyer will allow me to fall under her attorney-client privilege,” Moe said with an assuring nod.

  “It is crucial that all details of what you see remain strictly between us,” she said again, not seeming to have heard what Moe said.

  “Of course, Mrs. Kingsington-Ring,” Moe said.

  “That, of course, is why I’ve brought you in so early. Only my personal assistant, Caroline, has seen you, and I’d like it to remain that way.”

  Moe was surprised by the woman’s impassiveness. The request of confidentiality was typical, but usually, the client would fiddle with a pen or avoid eye-contact. Mrs. Kingsington-Ring sat perfectly still and looked Moneta in the eye the entire time.

  “What exactly is it I’ll be doing for you, Mrs. Kingsington-Ring?” Moe asked.

  “I need you to follow my husband,” she said.

  Moe nodded, hoping more details would come.

  Mrs. Kingsington-Ring stood and walked across the room to the bar where she poured herself a glass of water. Moe was struck by how beautiful she was. Tall and thin, she had the figure of a model. Her black pants were pristinely pressed and heels were without a scuff.

  Moe stood and followed her. “Is there something, in particular, you would like for me to look for?” she asked.

  Mrs. Kingsington-Ring took a drink of her water and then said, “My mother started this company here in Baltimore. When she passed it to me, we had only expanded to a few cities. Now, we supply highly trained and qualified nannies to every major city on the East Coast.”

  Moe nodded.

  “Our nannies are models of restraint. They don’t drink. They don’t cause problems in the home. They are completely devoted to the children. They are perfect.” Mrs. Kingsington-Ring paused to take another drink. “And my husband isn’t about to take what I’ve built from me.”

  “You believe he is planning to divorce you?” Moneta asked.

  “No, I’m planning to divorce him,” Mrs. Kingsington-Ring corrected.

  Moe nodded again, trying to keep her face as blank as possible, so no facial expression might be mistakenly perceived as judgment.

  Mrs. Kingsington-Ring took another sip of her water. “The conditions of our prenuptial agreement state that if I initiate divorce, he will be given 15% of my assets. But, if he is caught in infidelity, he gets nothing.”

  “And you want me to catch him,” Moe said.

  “I know he is meeting with someone. I need photographic evidence. I want to know who she is,” Mrs. Kingsington-Ring clarified.

  “Easy enough,” Moe said. While she kept her face professional, inside she was disappointed. Catching a cheating spouse so his wife could divorce him without giving him any money? This case was a two at best.

  “I’m leaving tonight and will be out of town all day tomorrow,” Mrs. Kingsington-Ring said, as she walked toward the door. “I’m checking on our new offices in Boston. I have no doubt he will try to make a move while I’m gone. I’ll expect a full report the morning I return.”

  Moe followed her to the door. “Before I go, I’d like to settle on a fee.”

  “I’m willing to offer five thousand to be your only client for the next 48 hours.”

  Moe was shocked by the absurd amount. For following this guy around, she was thinking more like five or six hundred bucks. “That sounds fair,” she said, smiling and extending her hand to Mrs. Kingsington-Ring.

  They shook on it and Mrs. Kingsington-Ring said, “Thank you. If you need anything while I’m gone, you can coordinate with my assistant.” She then motioned toward the door and returned to her desk.

  In the hallway, Moe found Caroline the assistant waiting for her. She passed Moe a brown envelope. Looking inside, Moe found several typed documents and a stack of bills. “The advance is for expenses,” Caroline said. “Inside you will also find Mr. Ring’s, itinerary, a list of his friends and addresses of his most frequented spots.”

  “Thanks,” Moe said.

  As she rode the elevator down, she looked through the papers. They seemed to know where Mr. Ring would be at every minute of the day. This was either going to be the easiest case Moe had ever accepted, or there was more to this than there appeared to be.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Moe sipped her beer and watched the other patrons from her table in the back corner of the Thirsty Horse Bar and Grill. The room was crowded for a Tuesday night. Lots of couples were talking quietly in booths, or were not talking and staring at their phones. Moneta eyed plates as they went by, trying to decide what to order. She watched an elderly couple share a pizza as they both read paperbacks. A little boy caught her staring and glared at her, so she stuck her tongue out at him, and they both laughed. After being cooped up in her office all day researching Mrs. Kingsington-Ring and her husband, it was nice to be out and around people.

  “Moe, I thought we agreed that you would not wear a t-shirt today,” Stacie said, as she took a seat at the table.

  “You said no t-shirts with pictures of old movies or weird quotes. This t-shirt has the Green Lantern logo. And not just any Green Lantern logo. This is the John Stewart logo, because he is the best Lantern in the canon, without question,” Moe replied, and took another sip of her beer.

  “I don’t understand any of that,” Stacie said, as she waved to a passing waitress. “I just want you to dress nicely for work meetings is all.”

  Moe rolled her eyes. “They’re not paying me to dress nice,” she said with a grin.

  The waitress arrived at the table with pen and pad in hand. “Y’all ready to order?” she asked with a slight southern twang. Her eyes passed over Stacie to Moe and then, went back to Stacie. The waitress stared at her as if she knew her but couldn’t place her.

  Moe finished her beer and then said, “I’ll get the cowboy burger and another beer.”

  �
�How do you want that cooked?” the waitress said, not taking her eyes off of Stacie.

  “Medium rare,” Moe said, passing her menu to the waitress.

  “I’ll have the house salad with the vinaigrette dressing, but on the side. And no carrot shavings, please. I’ll also have a side of steamed broccoli and a martini. Clean, wet, straight up, stirred. And tell Mike I want Beefeater, not that well shit,” Stacie said, holding out her menu.

  “Oh my gosh! You’re her!” the waitress said, finally making the connection.

  “Here we go,” Stacie said under her breath to Moe.

  “You’re Kim. From the Sweet Adventures of Lizzy and Kim. I used to love your show. I watched it every day after school,” the waitress said.

  “That was me,” Stacie said.

  “Wow. This is so great. I can’t believe you’re at my table,” the waitress said.

  “Yep. Here I am. Ordering food,” Stacie said.

  “Wow,” the waitress said, putting her hand on her hip and looking Stacie up and down.

  “So, did you get my order, or do you need me to repeat it?” Stacie asked.

  The waitress waved dismissively. “Oh, I totally got it. So, what was that line you used to say?”

  “That was a long time ago,” Stacie said.

  “But there was that one line. What was it?” the waitress said, biting the end of her pen in thought.

  “It’s not really important,” Stacie said.

  “Oh no, Lizzy. How will we ever get out of this pickle?” Moe said, in a voice that was half worried and half whiny and one-hundred percent overly dramatic.

  “That’s it!” the waitress declared with glee.