Gavin English Thrillers

by Ken Lindsey

  "Black coffee, in a bucket. Biggest and darkest you can give me."

  "Sounds good, would you like a bagel or a pastry with that?"

  "No. How much?"

  "Biggest, darkest coffee is a dollar even."

  I threw a buck down and gave the girls in the back a cursory glance. Cute. Next time.

  Found a table by the window up front and took a seat. After a few minutes, the jock-itch called my order. I walked back to the counter and grabbed my joe. When I turned around, there was someone new sat at my table. Someone I did not want to see. Oh well, too late.

  "Hey there, partner," said Hank as I sat down. He used the word loosely. Business had been down a few months back, and he loaned me cash. Just a thousand or ten, but somehow, he thought that made us partners. "I've been trying to get hold of you. I got another job for you to do."

  It would be following his wife again. He cheated as easily as the rest of us breathe, and had done so even when we were in high school together, so he assumed she had to be as well. Five or six times now, he sent me out to follow her around and find out where she went and who she went there with. It's the same every time. She was a poor kid who married into money, and she's not dumb enough to lose it all to get her rocks off once or twice. But I owed him, and we settled by lowering my bill. I didn't have much choice.

  "I’m not sure, Hank. There’s something else coming up today, a missing person gig. The kind that helps me pay the bills so I don't need to borrow money from you."

  "That's good to hear, pal. Really, it's nice to know business is good. But you, you're a smart guy who can handle more than one iron in the fire, right? It'll be a night or two, no biggie."

  "Sure. But this time you take a thousand off my tab and let me come to the set for your next movie."

  "A thousand? That's reaching. And I can't have you jerking off in the background while my actors are trying to do a scene." "Actors," that was a joke. "Fine, five hundred, and I won't jerk off. I can control myself. I'm just curious, I wanna see how the magic happens. And I've always wondered what a fluffer does."

  "Now that's more reasonable," replied Hank with a sly smile. "Okay, buddy, I better take off. We're shooting a couple things this week, and I need to take the Ford to the shop again. Every single time I park downtown, the thing gets vandalized."

  "Shitty."

  "Shitty's right. Too many scumbags out there." Hank stood, his gut hanging halfway across the table, and I shook his hand. "Tell me when you want to come by the set."

  "When do you want me to tail the old lady?"

  "She's doing something tonight; said she's going to a spinning class at eight. Whatever that is. If you could hang at about seven-thirty, that would probably work."

  "All right."

  "I've got a good feeling about tonight. I think this is the time you get something."

  "That's not supposed to be a good thing, Crystal's your wife."

  "You know what I mean."

  Once Hank exited the building, I dumped the bucket of coffee into my empty travel mug, flashed a quick smile at the lady barista who had taken over at the counter, and walked out. I had a hope she would watch as I went out, but didn't look back to check. Rejection wouldn’t do anything to make the morning better.

  Outside, there were a few of those wrought-iron chairs and tables, with ash trays on them. I took a seat and lit up a cigarette. It was only Tuesday morning, so the streets of Reno were barren, just the way I liked them. The cigarette was good, and the coffee burned strong and rich down my throat. I felt better, almost ready to fake a smile, so I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I brought up the contact list, scrolled down to Rachel, and hit the green button.

  It didn't ring. Instead, a lady robot came on and introduced a shitty indie band that played keyboards and harmonicas and a steel guitar. Before she answered the phone, I prayed I had the wrong number.

  "Hello?" Her voice came through soft and a little scratchy, sultry even.

  "Rachel?"

  "Who's calling. please?"

  "My name is Gavin English. I'm calling about an email I received this morning."

  "Oh."

  "Is this Rachel?"

  "Are you the private detective, the one from Craigslist?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  She paused, perhaps a moment of regret. "I don't want to ask for help. I want to believe she's mad and she ran away and she's somewhere safe. I just don't."

  "Well, I'm sure I can do a little work to help ease your mind. At least find out for sure where she is even if you decide you want to let her be."

  Silence again, "Yeah. All right. How do we do it?"

  "Well, Rachel, when you have the time you should come down to my office. I need some recent pictures of... I'm sorry, what's your daughter's name?"

  "Jennifer."

  "Okay, yeah. I need pics of Jennifer, her social security number, bank info if she has any, and a list of friends who I can talk to."

  "She doesn't have a bank account, she's sixteen."

  "All right, but I need the rest."

  "Yeah. Okay. Where's your office?"

  I always hate this part. Nobody wants to take you seriously when your office is in a real "strip" mall. "Take 95 to Keystone and turn left. I'm on the left-hand side, right next to the big 'XXX' sign."

  Another hesitation. "You're next to the strip club?"

  "Yes, ma'am, prime real-estate for my line of work." It wasn't the truth, but I couldn't just say I'm too broke for anything else.

  "Because a lot of strippers go missing over there, or because you're a perv?"

  "You never know," I replied.

  "You're not making this easier for me. I need someone I can trust, this is important."

  "I get it, Rachel, I'm sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood."

  She growled and hesitated for almost a full minute, then "Okay. I'll be there in about an hour."

  "I'll be waiting."

  As I stuffed the phone back into my pocket, I caught a whiff of my shirt. I still smelled like the night before and I looked like a bar hopper, not a private detective. This called for a quick shower and a fresh button-down and a pair of slacks. I needed to hurry if I wanted to beat her to the office.

  Finishing the last of my coffee, I smashed another half-smoked butt into the plastic ashtray on the table. I ran to the parking lot next door, found the Jeep where I had left it, and jumped back onto the road.

  Chapter 3: Meet and Greet

  I hadn't been to the office in a few days, so when I got there I opened the window over my desk and turned on the air conditioner. It wasn't exactly hot, but definitely musty and smelled like old smoke. Nothing a little manufactured fresh air couldn't fix.

  I showered in record time, so I had some leeway before she should arrive. I straightened up my desk, emptied the old ashtray, and picked up a loose Jameson bottle and other litter off the floor. I made sure there were two clean glasses and fresh ice on the table by the door; you can never guess when a client might need a stiff drink. Once the room aired out, I sprayed my ninety-nine-cent air freshener, and hid the can.

  Before I knew it, the door buzzer rang out, and a woman walked in.

  When you talk to a woman who has a sixteen-year-old daughter, you get a certain picture in your mind. Crow's feet. Minivan. Mom butt.

  This woman did not meet the description. She had thick brown hair, with a tight cut and highlights that looked natural. She had curves, but only enough to make you take notice. Her legs were smooth and coiled all the way from the floor to her ass. She had a tattoo on her calf of something with wicked-looking wings that traveled past her knee and up into the hemline of her thigh-high skirt. Other than a look of panic in her eyes, she appeared cool and in charge.

  Love at first sight. Whatever that means.

  "Rachel?" I asked as I took my fedora off. Some people tell me the hat's too much for my line of work. I tell those people to eat dick. I like the hat.

  She nodded and stepped forward.
I walked out from behind my desk and shook her hand. Soft skin, cool but dry.

  "As I said on the phone, I'm Gavin English. I would say it's a pleasure to meet you, but under the circumstances..."

  "It's fine, Mr. English," she replied. "Everyone keeps telling me I'm crazy, but she's my daughter. I'm sure they're right, but I need more than assumptions." She had an accent I hadn't noticed over the phone.

  "Of course." I used one of the few gentlemanly moves I had and gestured to the chair in front of my desk. "Please, have a seat. You can call me Gavin."

  "Okay," she answered as she sat. "I brought the stuff you asked for," she said, laying a stack of papers on my desk.

  I sat across from her. "Where are you from?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Is that an East Coast accent? New England by chance?"

  "Boston. I can't believe you can hear it, I haven't been there since I was little."

  "Jennifer never lived there? No one on the East Coast she might be hiding out with?"

  "No, she's lived in Nevada her entire life."

  I flipped through the papers. I had a list of phone numbers and names, a birth certificate, a school picture and a few others that were more candid, and even medical records. This woman wanted answers. Some parents just want to be sure they won’t get in trouble for the stupid things their kids might do on their own, but not her. Her voice trembled and her eyes shown with genuine worry for her daughter.

  "I hate to ask, but where's her father?"

  "Prison."

  "For?"

  "Why does it matter?"

  "It might not, but I can't be sure if you don't tell me."

  She looked away from me for the first time. At the wall. At the desk. Her daughter's picture. "You need to understand, Mr. English. He was a good guy, but a gambler. He got drunk one night and held up a gas station."

  "I see. Probably not important, but it's good to know. Are you still married?" It wasn't pertinent to the case, but a little extra information never hurt. Especially where beautiful women were concerned.

  "We never were."

  "All right." I fought back a smile and turned my attention to the papers. "I'm guessing that some people on your contact list are under eighteen?"

  "Yeah, I'll talk to their parents if I need to."

  "That'd help out a lot. Tell them I might be calling. Try not to freak them out."

  She looked confused for a moment. When it passed, "Yeah, all right."

  "Are all of her boyfriends on there, like all of them?"

  "Yeah," she replied. "I'm not an idiot."

  "I have to check, Rachel. Some parents don’t want the truth about what their kids are doing while they're growing up. You want a drink?"

  "No." She crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair. Back in control. "Now I guess we talk about your fee."

  I got up and poured myself a drink. Her looks could kill, but I had bills. I needed to be fair, but to get info on Jenny's social life and find out if anyone on her list had a record, I was going to pay. She turned in the seat and looked at me as I took a drink. I swallowed too hard, coughed.

  "I'm gonna need a thousand for the week."

  She turned away. "Yeah, maybe I will have a drink."

  "Rocks?"

  "Please."

  I poured her two fingers over a couple of ice cubes and bought myself some time walking back to my seat. "There are costs involved. I'm not a cop anymore. I have to pay folks to pull reports and files."

  "It's fine," she lied. We both knew it. She downed the glass without flinching and I stared as she licked the moisture from her lips. "I can give you five hundred now, so you can start. I'll pay the rest at the end of the week."

  How could I say "no" after she went through all the trouble of wearing her shortest skirt and brightest lipstick? I must have sounded hard up over the phone.

  "I don't normally do that, but I want to help you out."

  "Thank you, Gavin."

  Three fucking hells, the eyes she gave me then... Could she blush like that on command? As my heart got softer, the rest of me stiffened up.

  "No problem."

  She took the cash out of her bra. Her bra! Five hundred, right there. She didn't even look at it before handing it over. Jesus, was I so transparent that she pegged me over the phone?

  I laughed. The corner of her mouth lifted in what might have been a smirk. I had no chance and that was just fine by me.

  Chapter 4: The Rail

  I threw Rachel’s paperwork into a manila envelope and locked the door. Morning was long gone by the time she left and I only had a few hours before I needed to get on Crystal's tail. Goddamn Hank. I tossed the envelope in through the window of the Jeep and lit a smoke to help me think.

  David Reeves was the only detective who would run files for me. A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, David and I were partners. We got along well, and he even testified on my behalf once, before I left the department.

  Now, though, I owed him money. Oh well. I would have to pay him. Then he could run Jennifer's social, see if she popped up in any schools or even on a credit check. I would give him the names on the list too, see if we had any violent records or anything else that might ring a bell.

  Once I finished my cigarette, I flicked it under the Jeep and climbed in behind the wheel. I tried to think of anything but those legs, those lips, that ass. Reaching out to David was the first thing on my list. I needed to get him the info and go home for a drink and a nap. It was destined to be another long night.

  I pulled out my phone and dialed David's number.

  Two rings, "What now?"

  "David! I was just thinking about you and remembered that I owed you a little money."

  "Is that so?" his tone lightened up a bit. "Does that mean you're going to pay me for once?"

  "That's the plan, buddy."

  "All right then, want to meet up for a drink, your treat?"

  "Sure thing. I've got a little something to toss your way anyhow."

  "Of course you do," another tone change. Why are people always eager to be in a shitty mood? "No more promises. If you want me to run your files, you pay first."

  "No problem. Why don't you meet me at The Rail at 6pm?"

  "Fine, but if you're passed out under another stripper, I'm going to take my money from your wallet and leave you there."

  "Ha-ha, no worries, I have to work tonight. It's a two-drink limit for me."

  "Sure," then he hung up.

  I drove home, had a drink, and slept until a quarter after five. I have no idea what I dreamed about, but I woke up thinking of Rachel. Another glass of Jameson. Made a quick call to remind David to meet me and got his voicemail. Got back in my jeans and threw on a hoodie for the long night. At the gas station, I grabbed another pack of smokes and broke a few twenties down to singles.

  The traffic was shit. I arrived at a quarter after six and the bouncer charged me twenty dollars to get in. Arguing the price crossed my mind, but the guy wore a frown uglier than Hitler's mustache, and he had to have had at least a hundred pounds on me. I paid with a smile and an Andrew Jackson and walked past as quickly as possible. When I found David at the bar, he had two drinks in front of him.

  "You owe her thirty dollars," he said, pointing to the brunette behind the bar.

  "No problem," I said as I sat down and picked up the glass closest to me.

  "And you have my one-fifty, right?"

  I took a sip as I imagined the little cash I had disappearing before it even had a chance to warm my wallet. "Sure do, plus another hundred for the new stuff."

  "That's good," he replied, smiling at me for the first time in quite a while. I knew David liked me, but he was good at pretending otherwise. He polished off his drink in one gulp and waved the bartender over.

  "You still owe for that one," she yelled over the stage music. She had several piercings in one ear, one in her eyebrow, and two in her nose. I wondered what she would be like in the sack.


  "My friend is paying," David hollered back.

  She looked at me and held out her hand. I gave her three twenties, "That's for these two, and one more for him. The change is yours."

  She smiled, "Thanks!" She took his empty and replaced it.

  "What have you got for me?" David asked after she walked away.

  "Missing teenager." I grabbed the cash, and the list of names, from my pocket with Jennifer's social security number written at the bottom. "Your department ruled her a runaway, but the mom wants to be sure the girl's alive."

  David took the list, glanced at it, and shoved it in his pocket. "I'm sure we ran all of this."

  "I know. It never hurts to double check."

  "I'll get on it first thing in the morning. You want another drink?"

  My glass looked sad and empty, but my wallet sat sadder and emptier in my pocket. "Can't afford it. I gotta work tonight anyway."

  "Come on, Gavin. I'll buy the next round."

  Who could say no to that?

  Three rounds later, David flicked my ear to get my attention from the stripper in my lap. "Don't you have to work?" He laughed.

  "Three sons of half a dozen bitches!"

  "Don't go, cutie," said Ginger as she gyrated her hips against my hard-working zipper.

  She had a valid point; I am cute as hell. I knew Crystal had nothing to hide. That damn Hank just wanted to clear his conscience by catching her doing something. There's no way he could tell if I didn't actually make it out. The story was the same every time, I was just going stick to it.

  "You gonna buy one more round, David?"

  "At least!" He laughed again.

  I looked Ginger right in the nipples, "I'll be here for a while longer, beautiful."

  "Yay!" She clapped and bounced around long enough for me to forget what we had been talking about.

  Chapter 5: Hungover

  The sunlight flooding in through David's living room window split my head open like an axe. I kept my eyes closed, but the light turned my eyelids yellow and pink. The Sun is an inconsiderate bastard..