by David Stever
“Last night was uneventful, and you can’t stay mad at me. What other employer allows you to take a suntan and drink beer in the middle of the day?”
“Not complaining. I just want to advance my career.”
“How about we advance to the window and finish so I can paint and be done?”
“Fine.”
Her mood lightened when I showed her how to connect the nail gun to the compressor and gave her a quick lesson. There were two windows that faced out to the deck that needed new trim. I held the new boards while she went along with the gun.
“What a turn-on. Gives me a tingle every time I pull the trigger.”
I should have snapped her picture. A tall blonde in a black bikini, wearing safety goggles, firing a nail into the woodwork. She could have made the cover of Home Handyman magazine.
“Concentrate, please. You’ll be the first female PI who can also rehab a house.”
“I want to live out here. Me and my friend Mandy for the summer.”
“No.”
“Why not? It would be cool to stay at the beach.”
“Parties. I don’t want any parties in my house.”
“Johnny, c’mon. We won’t party.”
“You’re twenty-four—you will. Plus, I want to use the house on the weekends if Mike doesn’t need help. And you work the weekends anyhow. So, no.” We finished the trim on the second window. “You are welcome to use the house any time you are not on the clock.”
“Two bedrooms—you have yours and Mandy and I could share one. Although, she does think you’re cute. For an old guy.”
“Nice try.”
Her cell chirped and she answered. “Mike,” she mouthed to me. “He’s right here…you mean the car dealer? Wow…Buy your car the Shelton way, at Stan Shelton Chevrolet.” She sang the jingle. “Sorry.” She listened for a second, then said to me, “He says Stan Shelton is in the bar and wants to hire you. Us.”
“Oh yeah?”
She went back and forth between me and Mike. “Stan can come back at two.” I nodded; she confirmed it and hung up. “Wow, the car dealer. This might be interesting.”
“Change your clothes. We’ll head back in.”
“I am def working this job.”
She changed while I gathered up my tools, the nail gun, compressor, and the extra wood, and put everything inside the cottage. I had to admit, Stan Shelton needing a private investigator piqued my curiosity.
We got into my Z4 and she started with the jingle again. “Buy your car the Shelton way, at Stan Shelton Chevrolet.”
“You’re not going to sing that the entire way back, are you?”
“Kind of catchy—and now stuck in my head.”
“By the way, I am not old. Only forty-eight.”
“Uh huh.”
2
Katie and I parked the car in my garage behind the bar and came in through the kitchen and stood in amazement. Lunch time at McNally’s Irish Pub was never too busy. A few regulars made it worth being open, but this day was a definite exception.
“Now there is a hot-looking old guy,” Katie said, instinctively fixing her hair.
Stan Shelton held court in the center of the bar, surrounded by star-struck patrons who could not soak up enough of his glory days on the football field—and he did not disappoint. A born storyteller, he went from his three years as the starting quarterback at Central Catholic High School, to taking Notre Dame to two bowl games—winning one on a miracle Hail Mary—to being drafted in the third round by the San Diego Chargers. He was well over six feet, broad shoulders, a million-dollar smile, and a few gray streaks added character to a full head of slicked-back black hair. And unlike most ex-athletes, he managed to keep his muscles from moving south to his waistline.
“My dad would be out of his mind right now,” she said. “He was one of his heroes. How do you guys know him?”
“He and Mike played together in high school.”
“Cool. Can’t wait to find out why he wants to hire us.”
“Me either.”
She snaked her way through the crowd and took over for my tall, barrel-chested, red-haired Irishman of a partner.
Mike spotted me leaning against my booth in the back and walked over. “The king holding court.”
“Still larger than life, isn’t he?”
“Right where he belongs. In a bar, talking football to a bunch of fans.”
“We need to bring him in every day.”
Mike shook his head. “He’ll want a commission.”
He glad-handed and passed out business cards after every story. “Put you in a sweet ride for a price you’ll love. Stop in and see me.”
The gag was Stan never sold a car in his life. He was the front man, and everyone bought in. Like many ex-athletes, he came back home and invested some dough into a car dealership. The partners stuck his name on the building and in less than eight years, they had three dealerships in Port City. In reality, he played golf four times a week—Port City in the summer, West Palm Beach in the winter—and showed up at the dealership once a month to film a new TV commercial.
I’m not knocking it.
He broke up the fan-fest after another ten minutes and came back to the booth with his hand extended. “Johnny, handsome as ever, man!” He pumped my hand up and down. “Good to see you. How long’s it been?”
“Too long. Sit.”
I sat opposite and Mike slid in beside me.
“You are right, too long. I need to do this more often. I love it here. This is what I need to be doing. Run a cool bar, have the games on TV, pour drinks all day. Mike, you got it made. You want a partner? Let me buy in.”
Mike jerked a thumb toward me. “He’s my partner.”
“Johnny? You part owner here?”
“Bought half when the Irishman here needed to pay for his divorce.”
“Feel for you, Irish Mike. I went through it with wife number one. She was a sweetheart but couldn’t handle all the attention. Women paying attention to me, that is. I had no business getting married. We’d go on the road and the hotel would be filled with football groupie pussy. I lost my mind every away game. Then I would come home and be the perfect husband during the week. Until some reporter in Miami did a story about how I liked to party the night before every game. Ended my marriage. First one, anyhow. In the old days, the press would turn their backs. Except for the one self-righteous prick who was mad he couldn’t get laid on his own.”
“Didn’t he have an unfortunate accident after the story came out?” I asked with a wink.
He shrugged. “I heard he broke his hand in a fall down a flight of steps at his apartment building. Freakish thing.”
Mike jumped up. “We need to drink to that. Stan, still Scotch?”
“Damn right.”
Mike went to the bar and Stan leaned across the table. “Truth is, I’m no better of a man than I was then. I need your help.”
“Whatever I can do.”
“Someplace we can talk? Too many people around.”
“Sure, my place upstairs, but first we drink.”
Mike came back with a Scotch, two bourbons, and Katie.
“Stan, meet Katie Pitts, my research assistant, plus she helps out here.”
Stan, taken aback by all that was Katie, grabbed her hand and pulled her beside him in the booth. “Pleasure to meet you. I hope these two are doing right by you. Because if they don’t, you can come work for me anytime.”
She blushed. “Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Shelton.”
“Call me Stan, please.”
She slid a sheet of paper and a pen in front of him. “An autograph? For my dad? He’s a huge fan.”
“Of course, darling.”
“Make it out to Richard.”
Stan scribbled a sentiment.
“Thank you, I appreciate it.”
He put his arm around her and she looked at me. “My pleasure. You ever want the real stories about these two, call me.” He flicked a business card from hi
s pocket. “I have all the dirt on their sordid past.” He followed with a wink and a squeeze of her shoulder.
He crossed the line faster than a wide receiver on a touchdown run. I knew my Katie and she was about to throw a penalty flag on his forward pass. She slid out from under his arm, got out of the booth, and held up the autograph. “Thank you. My dad will love it.” She scurried back to the bar.
“A joke, right? She couldn’t possibly work for you guys?” He pointed a finger at us. “Which one of you is the sugar daddy?”
“Neither, Stan the man. All business,” Mike said. “We don’t have the Shelton charm.”
“Hell, if she worked for me, I wouldn’t last three days without getting sued for harassment.”
“Johnny rescued her from a kidnapping about six months ago and she showed up a few days later, wanting to be a PI. We didn’t take her seriously at first, but now, she does a bang-up job. Working on her PI license. Not saying we don’t like the eye candy, but she can hold her own. We’re proud of her.”
“No shit. Impressive. Can’t begin to count the number of assistants who quit on me or I had to pay to keep quiet.”
“Hey, you’re Stan Shelton. A toast,” Mike said, and we lifted our glasses. “King of the gridiron, lover of women, friend to all men.” We threw back our shots. “As long as they are buying a car.”
“The Shelton way.”
“C’mon, let’s go talk,” I said. “Tell me how I can help.”
“Let’s just say it’s fourth and long, and the clock is running out.”
3
Abottle of Scotch went with us to my fourth-floor condo. Bourbon was more my drink of choice, but I wanted to indulge my potential client a bit.
Stan took a quick scan around my small one-bedroom place, and settled on the sofa. “This is perfect,” he said. “Small place, no giant mortgage…do what you want, when you want. I am envious. Me, I have to be everywhere on a schedule. Need the big house, cars, lifestyle. Not complaining, but every so often I’d give anything for a minute to myself.”
“Price of fame, huh?” I fixed us both a drink.
“Careful what you wish for.”
“You can’t make your own schedule? Build in some time for you and your wife?”
“You would think. The problem is Nikki loves the lifestyle. Plays tennis twice a week, is on the board of the country club, theater tickets, benefits, fundraisers. She wants to make sure we are involved in Port City society. She says we must maintain our status within the community.”
“Seems you enjoy it.”
“I can turn it on. Play the part when I need to. Not denying the celebrity status does wonders for the ego, but it gets old.”
I sat down beside him. “Why are you here?”
“Johnny. I’m embarrassed. I did a stupid thing. In a long line of stupid things, but this one has me worried. I was approached by some people, a woman actually, and I’m scared.”
“Start at the top.” I poured another finger of Scotch in his glass.
“No secret. When it comes to women, I have no self-control. I did things I am not proud of. My first marriage, for example. I can’t help myself.” He downed the slug of whiskey. “Ever since high school. Hell, senior year, I even cheated on my prom date while we were at the prom.”
“Save that story for another time. What is the stupid thing you did?”
“In my infinite wisdom, I decide fooling around with women I meet is too risky, so I checked out the escort services. Money is no problem. Plus no fuss, no muss. I see this one site online, Fantasy, ‘we indulge your every desire.’” He made air quotes. “So, I set up a date. This amazing girl shows up, everything works out, and I think I am a genius.”
“Where did you meet her?”
“I own a building downtown. One of those lofts buildings. Retail on the ground floor with apartments and offices above. The new, cool, hip office space the millennials want. Lots of windows and ferns. I kept one office for myself in case I wanted to hold meetings there. Never did, so when I got the escort service idea, I converted the office into an apartment. The girls met me there and when they laid eyes on the cash I laid down, they were more than happy to spend the evening with old Stan. Plus all my equipment works—no little blue pill for me—so no complaints. They are all smoking hot, too. I don’t know where they come from, but when I die, I hope I go there.”
“Stay focused.”
“A week ago I get a call from a man who says he wants me to be a spokesman for their product and do a series of commercials. I tell him to call my agent, but he says they prefer to meet with me first. I agree, and we schedule a meeting at the North Shore dealership. Two days ago. No guy shows up, but this woman walks in, sits down and tells me she knows all about me hiring call girls and how bad it would be for me if that information was made public.”
“Blackmail.”
“Yes, and I was livid and ready to throw her out of the office but kept telling myself to stay calm. Says the price tag is one hundred thousand or my business with Fantasy is leaked.”
“Extortion. You recognize her?”
“Nope.”
“What did she look like?” I took out my pad and began jotting notes. I wrote Fantasy Escorts at the top of the page.
“White chick, long blonde hair, freckles all over her face. Mid-thirties, I guess. Slim, beautiful, dressed in a blue business suit. Acted all tough and confident but she fidgeted with her purse the whole time.”
“How did she leave it?”
He took a business card from his pocket. “Handed me this and gave me one week.” A phone number was printed on the card which I wrote on my paper. “I was in a panic and then thought about you and Mike.”
“Cops?”
“Do you know how long it would take for this to leak out if I went to the cops?”
I nodded. “About two seconds. I’m glad you came here. Go back to the beginning. How many girls did you hire?”
“Four, but the fourth one, Dee Dee, six times now. Incredible, amazing, I can’t get enough. Not just sex either. A woman never affected me this way.”
“Feelings for her?”
He nodded. “Crazy things in my head. Like dumping my marriage crazy things. Any idea what that would cost me? This Dee Dee has me out of my mind. She has curly brown hair, unbelievable body, and sexy brown eyes. I would do anything for her. Then the woman with the blonde hair shows up at the dealership and all is ruined. A dagger in my heart would hurt less.”
“Dee Dee her real name?”
“I thought. Not sure, now.”
“Last name?”
“Daniels.”
“She tell you anything about herself?”
“Yeah, lots.”
“Believe her?”
He looked at me, and I could feel his disappointment. Suddenly he was no longer larger than life. He became a guy on my sofa with a pile of problems. Not everyday headaches like the rest of us, but problems just the same. My gut was my best friend when I worked a case, and now, my gut told me old Stan was being played.
“I do believe her. No doubt the blackmailer chick is someone involved with the Fantasy site—how else would they know about it, right? But yeah, Johnny, I believe Dee Dee.”
“Or, Dee Dee told someone else and they decided to set themselves up for an easy payday.”
“How could I be so stupid?”
“Stan, I have seen worse. You are not the first.”
He nodded. “It’s just…Dee Dee was special.” He sunk further into the sofa.
“She could be innocent. You can never tell with these things.”
“I hope.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Get me clear of this? Figure out a payoff or something? Hell, this can’t blow up in my face. It will cost me much more than a hundred grand.”
“I understand. Not much to go on, but we start with the website and Dee Dee. We can dig online, find out who owns the site, that sort of thing. When do you me
et her again?”
“Tonight at my apartment.”
I gave him the notepad. “Write down the address and the time. Your phone number. What else do you know about her? Where she lives? Anything?”
“Said she was from Port City, family moved around, came from nothing. Told me she didn’t want to complicate things with her personal past. I asked plenty of times, but she always said she wanted to enjoy the moment, concentrate on the future and how amazing we would be together.”
“Did you still pay her?”
He nodded. “Like I said, an idiot. You know, in a weird way, I felt like I was helping those girls. Dee Dee especially. As if I was rescuing them from a destructive lifestyle. I always tipped way more than I needed. Sounds stupid. Overpay the hookers to justify my behavior.”
I almost felt sorry for the guy. He got himself sucked in deep. “Hey, shake it off. You made a bad play, but it is now first and ten again. A new set of downs. Give me a day or so. Don’t breathe a word about this.”
“What about the woman? Five days left.”
“First things first. I will call you.”
We stood and shook hands. “Thanks, Johnny. I appreciate this. Whatever it costs.”
I walked with him down to the alley where he had parked his brand-new, royal-blue, Corvette Stingray.
“Now this is the way to go,” I said.
“Midlife crisis written all over it. I’ll send one over for you, whenever you want. One for Mike, too.”
“Tempting, but I’m good for now.”
He opened the car door. “You think I’m in trouble.”
“Can’t tell yet, but don’t worry. We’ll figure it out. The Shelton way.”
He smiled and winked. “Damn right.”
4
The Harbor Lofts building was part of a new collection of high-end retail shops, restaurants, offices, and apartment/condos all designed to revitalize the Port City Harbor area. The mayor and city leaders debated the merits of the development for years, but once the new Harbor Walk opened to great success, real estate values skyrocketed in the surrounding neighborhoods, and the mayor took full credit. Two celebrity chefs opened restaurants and the area became the hot nightlife destination for both locals and tourists.
