A Touch of Danger (Archie Lemons #2)

by Grant Fieldgrove

  "Brad Jackson hired you to find Daniel?" he asked her.

  "Yes. Thee Brad Jackson."

  "According to Daniel, him and Brad Jackson were total BFF. He sold a script to him a few years back. Is this what this is about?"

  "No sir,” she answered, “this is about a treatment. A treatment is different from a script. The old script, I believe it was a prison picture, is done and over with. I don't know if it ever got made or not, but studios often buy scripts that never see the light of day. The bottom line is that Mr. Mayweather missed an important meeting yesterday and we were hired to track him down as quickly as possible. We have already been to his house with no luck and this is the only other place that we know of to look before we have to really start digging. So, please, any information you could give us would be helpful to us and to Mr. Mayweather."

  When and how did Elise get more professional than me? I often get told to fuck myself, but her, never. I don't get it. This guy is obviously in to her, that has to be the only reason.

  "Well, Daniel is scheduled to work tonight," the bartender answered. "But, I wouldn't get your hopes up. He's missed his last two shifts."

  I interrupted. "He missed his shifts?"

  "Yeah, that’s what I just said."

  Man, first, he calls me handsome then he tells me to fuck myself and is rude to me. I shouldn't have told him that Elise was just my associate. Now he is totally going to belittle me and go in for the kill on her. Typical. Stupid attractive girls...Even stupider sexy, sweaty, shirtless men with abs I could grate cheese on. Ugh!

  The bartender turns around and put two dirty glasses into the sink. He has a tattoo on the small of his back. That’s funny; I've never seen a dude with a tramp stamp before.

  I shake my head and let out a little giggle. Hollywood, man. I tell ya. It’s a different breed of folk out here!

  He turns back around and faces us. I continue. "Has Mr. Mayweather ever missed a shift before?"

  "No. I mean, he has called in sick before, like everyone has, but never just outright missed shifts. We called his cell phone last night and the night before and got no answer. It went straight to voicemail both times. I guess he figures he's a big shot now and doesn't need to work here anymore."

  "Why would he think he was a big shot?" Elise asks.

  "Well, he's been talking about how fed up he was with being broke and that he knew he would be coming into a large windfall very soon. I assume that would be the script thing you are talking about."

  "I see," I said. Very interesting, especially since we just bullshitted our way in here with that treatment story. "You said he talked like he and Brad Jackson were best friends. Can you tell us any more? Did Mr. Jackson ever come in here?"

  "I don't think this is the kind of place Brad Jackson would want to be seen in."

  "Why not? Just because it's not the most high priced place in town doesn't mean it's a dive. This is a perfectly nice place to come and hang out for a while. Good music, too."

  As I finished my last remark, Salt N Pepa ended and a new song began. A song I never thought I would be able to hear again. A song so epic I didn't think human ears could withstand it anymore.

  "Shut up! Do you know who this is?!" I pointed up to the ceiling, even though I'm not sure why. "This is Hulk Hogan and The Wrestling Boot Band! Hulkster in Heaven! Oh my God!"

  "Yeah," the bartender said. "Anyway, like I was saying, this..."

  I held up my finger to cut him off. "Hold on"

  I sat and listened to the piano beat from the speaker and I vaguely heard the bartender say he'd be back as he walked off.

  Elise punched me in the arm. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

  "Hold on!"

  The Hulkster started to sing. "Sing."

  I read it in the papers

  I saw it on TV

  I guess there'll be one empty seat

  When I wrestle Wimbelee

  I used to tear my shirt

  But now you've torn my heart

  I knew you were a Hulkamaniac

  Right from the very start

  Beautiful. They don't make 'em like that anymore. I sat, to Elise's great annoyance, and enjoyed the whole song. When it was finished and Barry Manilow's Copa Cabana came on, the bartender returned.

  "Are you finished, Fruit Loop?" he said to me.

  "That seems unnecessary, but yes. Sorry. I'm good now. This song is so gay. Copa Cabana. Give me a break."

  "Yeah," he said, in a rather sarcastic tone. "It's the song that's gay..."

  "Anyway," I continued, "why do you think Brad Jackson wouldn't want to come here."

  Elise shot me another one of her patented evil looks and decided to take control of the conversation.

  "Look, we need all the information we can obtain in order to find him as quickly and easily as possible, on behalf of our client. You said he talked like he and Brad were best friends. Did you believe him?"

  "Sure I did. I mean, I'm sure he kinda embellished things a bit, but I had no doubt that he knew him. And he knew where he lived, too. He said he had been to his house on several occasions to talk business. Like you said, he sold a script a few years back. I don't know what happened with it though. I guess it never got made. I don't blame the company though. I read his scripts, I can't believe he's sold as many as he has."

  "How many has he sold? Do you know off hand?"

  "I just know he got screenwriting credit on a few low-budget, straight to video clunkers. One of them even starred Brad Jackson's wife. You know, the one that got..." He paused for effect, I guess. "Well, you know. So, that’s how I kinda figured he wasn't bullshitting about being friendly with the guy. But yeah. Other than that, and besides the script thing we're talking about, I can't think of any others."

  "But he seemed sure that he would be selling another one?"

  "He never specifically said he was selling another script. He just said he had a large windfall coming soon. That's why I was more pissed off than worried when he didn't show for work. He left us shorthanded. I thought he could have at least given us some warning, ya know."

  "I totally understand. Do you happen to know of any other place he may be? Did he have a...Was he in a relationship?"

  "Not that I know of. And I don't know where he could be. Like I said, I just work with the guy. I'm friendly with him while I'm here but we're not really friends outside of work, ya know? Look, do you think he's okay? I wasn't worried before, but now I kinda am."

  "I'm sure he's fine. Maybe everything is just miscommunication. Maybe he's just relaxing on the beach somewhere."

  "Yeah. Maybe. He did say he wanted to go to the beach actually." The bartender let out a nervous little laugh. You could tell we had worried him.

  "Well hey," Elise said. "We appreciate your help. I don't have a card on me, but let me write down my number for you."

  What a hussy!

  She reached into her purse, pulled out a pen, and scribbled her number on a cocktail napkin. I'm surprised she didn't fold it and kiss it before she handed it to him. Ugh, is this jealousy I am feeling? Dislike!

  "We really appreciate your help. If you hear anything, will you please give us a call? My real name is Elise, by the way. Not whatever ridiculous name he gave you."

  "Gotcha. Yeah, I can do that, I guess. If you find him, tell him to get back to work. I don't want to have to keep covering for him."

  "Will do. Thank you for your time."

  Elise stood up and grabbed my arm. I guess it was time to go.

  "You sure you don't want to grab a table and have a drink? Hang out for a while?"

  "Um, yes Archie. I am sure I don't want to do that."

  "Come on, how often do I ever want to be out in public? Especially at a bar? And our hotel is close..."

  "We are not staying here. We can grab a drink in the hotel bar if you want but we need to get out of here."

  Ricky Martin's Cup of Life came through the speaker
s.

  "We really need to go," she said.

  As we walked out into the night, I tell her that I cannot believe she gave that guy her number right in front of me.

  "Don't worry, Archie, something tells me he won't be calling me for anything other than business, if even that."

  "Whatever. Still don't see why we couldn't stay for a bit. It seemed like a fun atmosphere."

  Elise stopped in her tracks and faced me.

  "You realize this is a gay bar, right? Super-duper, one-hundred-percent gay!"

  "Come on, it wasn't that bad. I mean, the last couple songs were kinda lame, but that bar itself was fine."

  Elise tensed up. I saw her clench her fists and narrow her eyes. "God!"

  She let out another frustrated grunt and turned to walk back towards the car, leaving me standing there.

  "Fine," I call out to her. "It's totally gay. Whatever. My bad..."

  I just happened to glance down and notice we were standing on part of the Hollywood Walk Of Fame, and wouldn't you know it, I was standing on the star of none other than Hollywood super-legend Jim J. Bullock.

  I LOL-ed and said to myself, "He's so gay...Ha! Wait, why does Jim J. Bullock have a star on the..."

  I looked back up to notice Elise almost a block ahead of me and not looking back.

  "Hey, wait up..."

  26.

  Once in the car, Elise explained to me that she didn't think the bar was actually gay, but it was literally for gay people. I was shocked. My Gaydar usually picks right up on shit like that. I guess I was a little off my game tonight. How embarrassing for me.

  Haha, that bartender thought I was cute. Score one for me. There is no better compliment that being found attractive by a gay dude...at least I don't think so.

  We stopped off at the mall at Hollywood and Highland once again and bought another change of clothes, seeing as I was tired and didn't feel like driving back to the beach tonight, and the room was paid for through tomorrow anyway. One more night in LA would be okay. Ya never know, we could end up finding this asshole tomorrow...even though my hopes weren't very high. Oh well.

  We returned to the room less than one hour after leaving the GAY bar. Elise ordered up room service again while I searched for something to watch on TV. As luck would have it, I stumbled upon a rerun of Hunky Vampires of the Hollywood Hills. It was quite possibly the worst things my eyes have ever viewed. My Gaydar was going crazy. I would have switched right past it if Elise didn't yell out when she recognized it. Imagine me missing this. Thanks Elise. That was a little too close for comfort.

  Jesus, what is with the constant Jim J. and Too Close for Comfort references? Was my brain trying to tell me something? Maybe I should search out the DVDs of that crap. I know I have the first season somewhere at home.

  I'll worry about that later. Right now, I'm taking in the stupidity that is this show.

  "Hey look," I say. "There's our boy."

  "Yep, that’s him alright. You've never seen this show before?" Elise asks.

  "Man, I have never even heard of this shit before. It looks fucking terrible."

  "It pretty much is. It’s just an excuse for these guys to take their shirts off."

 

  "Sounds pretty gay."

  "But yet the gay bar we just attended wasn't gay? Nor was the shirtless man with the hard nipples...?"

  "His nipples were all long and weird looking."

  "Jesus."

  "Seriously, they were so big they started to droop." I laughed like an idiot. "They looked like Gonzo's nose!"

  This caused Elise to choke on the sip of water she just took. She quickly brought her hand up to her face to cover it but I'm pretty sure I saw some of that very same water come shooting out of her nose before she was able to cover it up.

  "Anyway!" She says. "This is the show. Our boy right there plays Freddie. He is a vampire."

  "They named the vampire Freddie? Really? The world already has a kick ass villain named Freddie. Why couldn't they come up with another name?"

  "Oh," Elise says, "he is no villain. He's a good guy."

  "The fucking vampire is a good guy?"

  "Yep. And he's in love with this human girl named Beatrice. And they're both involved in this love triangle with a werewolf, but the werewolf and Freddie hate each other."

  "Wow, this sounds like the worst pile of shit I have ever heard of. People watch this crap?"

  "They used to. It was huge. I can't believe you never heard of this."

  "Believe me, Elise. I wish I still hadn't ever heard of it."

  I changed the channel. I had had enough. I was lucky, though. It turns out Nick @ Nite was having an Urkel marathon. Things were finally coming up Milhouse!

  "The vampire show is gay and retarded," Elise says, "but Urkel is the greatest thing ever?"

  "Ya goddamn right, girlfriend," I answer as I chucked the remote onto the other bed, making changing the channel damn near impossible for her, unless she were to actually get up. I was hoping she was as lazy as I was.

  "Anyway," I add, "even though that place was a gay bar, my money is on Daniel not being gay himself. I'm sure straight dudes work in gay bars all the time. Money is money, right?"

  "And why do you think that?"

  "Well, I peaked in his bedroom and saw some women's clothes on the floor in there. The room was a mess but I saw them plain as day."

  "So, what? You think he's got a girlfriend?"

  "That's what I'm thinking. It would be nice to find her, and even nicer, seeing as I don't know her, if she were the goddamn murder victim."

  "That's terrible!" Elise says and she throws a pillow straight at my head.

  "Well! Shit, dude. We need a victim here and she's a girl and her boyfriend is involved somehow, in a murder of a girl, so, unless she turns up somewhere, I'm thinking our best bet is to assume the dead woman is Daniel Mayweather's girlfriend. Hopefully."

  "Okay, well then where do we go from here? We have absolutely no idea who this girl is, what her name is or anything. How do we locate someone without knowing who it is?"

  "Good question. Ugh, I feel so off my game, lately. Ever since I started back on that stupid medication, I haven't felt like myself. I feel like I'm doing a shitty job."

  "Don't say that. We've closed every single case we've gotten."

  "I know, but I still feel off."

  "Archie, you found a missing girl just by being in her bedroom for thirty seconds. You call that being off?"

  "That was easy. This one, though...this is bothering me. I'm positive of what I saw, but yet, can find nothing to support it. No wonder the Pismo Police laughed at me. I have absolutely nothing except some guy’s car in some other guy’s garage." As I said this I giggled like a child. Parkin' in some other guys garage. How gay. Ha!

  "What's so funny?"

  "Oh, ya know, nothin'. I'm just being stupid. Anyway, like I was saying, I know what I saw but have no way of proving it. Our only lead is in the wind and our victim pulled a total H.F. Saint and vanished with no trace and with no one seeming to miss her. No wait, that’s not fair. I miss H.F. Saint. I would totally love a sequel to Memoirs of an Invisible Man, actually."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Nothing. Forget it. Sorry." Yeah, that joke doesn’t exactly play to a very broad audience.

  "And you're wrong. Our lead isn't in the wind. He's just not at his home. You haven't even thought of the most logical answer."

  "Which is what?"

  "That he is still in Shell Beach. If he's not at his home, and his car is at the beach, wouldn't it stand to reason that he, too, would be at the beach."

  "Yeah, but I saw no sign of him anywhere. When we broke into the house, only Brad left, yet no one was in the house. Shell Beach isn't very big. No one with a car available would walk to Pismo or any other beach. I just don't think he is there."

  "Well, let’s go back and stake it
out some more."

  "Are you joking? He knows we're on to him, remember. He filed a complaint against me...."

  "Oh stop, we'll think of something. We're two smart people here. We can figure this out, no problem. Let’s leave first thing in the morning."

  "You're forgetting one thing. I still want to go back and see Emma Ricks. I want to make sure this is the same guy she saw leaving Brad's Hollywood house and in the courtroom."

  "Man, you must really feel off your game. We don't have a picture of him, remember?"

  "Shit!"

  ***

  Brad Jackson was getting very frustrated as he sat on one of the beds in the motel room of Archie Lemons. After finally figuring out which room was the right one, (a painstakingly boring process of sitting out of sight for hours and watching people enter and exit every room except one. His amazing math skills, along with his brilliant sleuthing mind deduced that the only room left would be Archie’s.) Now to break in and start phase one of Operation: Badass, as he had dubbed it.