by Bill Bernico
Gloria rolled her eyes and tried not to look embarrassed.
I pointed at Billy. “This Margaret told us that she thought Jack left because he was getting pressure from his boss,” I said. “She seemed to think that this boss was gay and was putting the moves on Jack and that’s why he left. Now, I know it’s none of my business, Mr. Gibson, but…”
“No,” Billy said emphatically, “I’m not gay, if that’s what you were about to ask. The only interest I have in any of my strippers is how much money they can make for me. Personally, I started this business because I realized that it would bring in a lot of women, if you catch my drift. Oh sure, a lot of the strippers are gay and they wouldn’t be any competition when it came to the clientele. I tell you, Mr. Cooper, I’ve got it made here. I’m like a little kid in a candy shop when this place is packed.”
I stood there at a loss for words. “Well,” I finally said. “Thank you for your candor and all this information. You may have saved us a lot of wild goose chasing. Good day, sir.”
“The offer still stands,” Billy said. “You find him for me and I’ll pay you both good money.”
“We’ll think about it, Mr. Gibson,” I said and walked out of the place with Gloria close behind me.
We climbed back into the car and just sat there dumbfounded. “It takes all kinds,” Gloria said.
“And out of all the P.I.s in the phone book, she had to pick us,” I said. “Aren’t we lucky?”
We made the short drive back to the office and rode the elevator to the third floor. As soon as we opened the door to our outer office I spotted her sitting there, waiting patiently for us.
“Why, Mrs. Holden,” Gloria said sarcastically. “Fancy meeting you here.” And then she just stared at the woman. It had no effect on Margaret Holden, or whatever her last name really was.
I unlocked the inner office door and held it open while Gloria and Margaret entered. I closed it behind them and took a seat at my desk. I was in no mood to deal with another nut case and decided to let Gloria handle her.
Gloria directed Margaret to her client’s chair and then sat behind her desk and waited for Margaret to start the conversation. They sat there in silence for a moment before Margaret finally spoke.
“So,” she said, like there was nothing wrong, “Did you find Jack?”
Gloria continued to stare but said nothing.
I tried watching them without turning my head. I had to keep up my facade of disinterest.
“Well?” Margaret said.
“Well, what?” Gloria said. “If you’re asking if we found your husband, the answer is no. There’s a slight technicality in play here. You first have to get married to have a husband.”
Margaret didn’t answer, but just kept looking at Gloria with something akin to insanity.
“Okay,” Gloria said, “Let’s try this from another angle. What’s your last name, Mrs. Holden?”
“Huh?” Margaret said.
“Your last name,” Gloria repeated. “What is it?”
“I told you,” Margaret said. “It’s Holden. Why?”
Gloria snapped her fingers and curled them toward her a few times. “Show me some I.D.,” she told Margaret.
“What’s with the hostility?” Margaret said. “You were both so gracious when I was here earlier.” She turned to look my way. I kept looking down at the paper I was reading.
“Well,” Gloria said, “We asked you to wait in the outer office for a minute and when we came out to get you, you disappeared. That’s just for starters. Secondly, we visited Billy Gibson and asked him about Jack’s wife and you can guess what he told us. Now, how about that I.D. I asked for? Either show me or leave. It’s that simple.”
Margaret wasn’t sure what to do at this point. Her eyes shifted this way and that before she finally rose from the chair and headed for the door.
“So that’s it?” Gloria said. “No explanation? Nothing?”
“I’m sorry to have been such a bother,” Margaret said. “I was just worried about Jack when he didn’t show up at Beefcakes for the last three nights. Surely you could understand that.”
“You might want to consider some professional help,” Gloria said, apparently to deaf ears because Margaret was already out the door and down the hall before Gloria had a chance to finish her sentence.
Gloria turned to me. “How do you like that?” she said, still not believing the exchange that had just taken place.
I turned to Gloria. “They don’t always develop into real cases,” I said. “Sometimes we get delusional people asking us to do strange things for them. That’s why sometimes we have to do a little preliminary work before we get involved and waste a lot more time chasing wild geese.”
“That’s one for the books,” Gloria said. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever find out who she really was, either.”
“Does it matter?” I said.
“I guess not,” Gloria said. “Now what?”
I didn’t answer, but instead crooked a finger at her. She approached slowly, probably thinking I was going to chew her out for the way she’d handled Margaret. When she got up next to my chair I grabbed her by the wrist, turned her around and pulled her down onto my lap. “Now where were we before that nut job showed up here this morning?” I said.
Gloria ran her fingers through my hair and kissed the rim of my ear. “I believe I was right about here,” she whispered. “Maybe you’d like to get up and do your act for me?”
“Huh?” I said.
“Your act,” Gloria repeated, “Elliott Nest.”
“Not in this lifetime,” I said. “Now you, on the other hand…”
“Me?” Gloria said. “How’d I get into this fantasy?”
“Well,” I said, “It’s traditionally been a female-dominated profession. Now what would we give you for a stage name? Let’s see. We’ll need some sort of gimmick.” I thought for a moment and then snapped my fingers. Your start out wearing a sexy blouse with six buttons when you come out on stage. In the background, the band is playing that old Shadows of Knight song from the sixties, ‘Gloria.’ When they get to that part where they spell out the name, you open one button for every letter.”
“You call that a gimmick?” Gloria said, climbing off my lap and standing before me.
“And her name is G,” I sang, and waited. Nothing happened. “And her name is G,” I repeated and then gestured toward Gloria’s blouse. She got the hint and unbuttoned the first button. “L,” I sang, and the second button popped open. “O,” I sang as I sat upright now, leaning in toward her. The third button opened as she swayed her hips in time to my pseudo music. I sang out the last three letters and her blouse was fully unbuttoned now.
“G-L-O-R-I-A, Gloria” I sang. “At this point in the show you have the entire audience going wild, singing along.”
We’d gotten so wrapped up in the fantasy that we hadn’t heard the office door open. Dad stood there looking at us like we were from some distant planet.
“Should I come back later?” he said.
Gloria quickly closed her blouse and hurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
“What are you doing here?” I said, trying to change the subject.
“I got bored hanging around the house,” Dad said and just thought I’d stop by and see how the business was going. Apparently it’s a little slow today, by the looks of things.”
Just then Gloria emerged from the bathroom, her blouse fully buttoned again and her face looking like she’d just applied lots of reddish makeup. She hurried past Dad and took a seat behind her desk.
I waved his comment off. “We were just…”
“Yes,” Clay Cooper said. “I could see what you were just…”
“No really, Dad,” I said. “We’d just come off a case involving a stripper, we got to talking about it and we just got a little silly. That’s all.”
“Sure,” Dad said, dismissing my explanation.
“No really,” I said a little
more insistently now. “We had this woman named Margaret in here this morning and she…”
Dad laughed. “Not Margaret Lewis,” Dad said. “Has she been back again?”
“Huh?” I said.
“She’s been to almost every P.I. in town at one time or another,” Dad said. “I got her a couple of years ago. She came in here claiming to be married to some famous actor. I don’t remember which one she said it was, but she told me that he hadn’t come home for a couple of nights and wanted me to find him for her.”
“Yeah,” Gloria said from behind her desk. “She told us that she was married to some male stripper who took off and she wanted us to find him, too.”
“You think it’s the same woman?” I said to Dad.
“A short red-head?” Dad said. “Probably forty by now, a little on the goofy side?”
“A little?” Gloria said. “She was a few crayons short of a box.”
“That’s her,” Dad said. “You’d be wise just to steer clear of her.”
“That’s pretty much what we’ve already decided,” I said. “So, Dad, how are you doing? You’re not overdoing it are you?”
“I’m fine,” Clay said. “I even drove myself here. I just couldn’t stand being cooped up in the house another day. I had to get out for a while.”
“Would you like some coffee?” I said.
“That would be nice,” Dad said.
I turned around and saw that the coffee maker had not even been plugged in this morning. I turned back to Dad. “Let me just run to the corner for a couple of cups,” I said.
“Since when do you drink coffee?” Clay said.
“Not for me,” I said. “For you and Gloria. Have a seat. It won’t take but a couple of minutes. Make yourself at home.” I hurried out the door and down the hall.
Clay sidled over to Gloria’s desk and looked down at her. She had trouble meeting his gaze. Clay pulled up the client’s chair next to Gloria’s. “Look,” he said. “You don’t owe me any explanations. We both agreed it was the best thing for both of us.”
“I know, Clay,” Gloria said, “But that doesn’t make it any easier. And this whole thing is really awkward, you know, because of Elliott. I didn’t plan for any of this to happen. It just happened, like it did with you and me.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Clay said. “As long as you’re happy and as long as Elliott’s happy. Isn’t that all that really matters?”
Gloria hung her head. “I know,” she said. “But it’s still a strange feeling being in the same room with the two of you.”
“Do you love him?” Clay said.
“Huh?” Gloria said, caught off balance by the question.
“I’m sorry,” Clay said. “I shouldn’t have asked that.”
Gloria mulled it over for a moment and then looked up at Clay. “I really do,” she said. “I think we have something special here. Not that you and I didn’t, but this is different. I don’t know how to explain it exactly.”
“You don’t have to, Gloria,” Clay said. “Just follow your heart and you can’t go wrong.”
Gloria placed her hand on top of Clay’s and looked into his eyes. “Thank you, Clay.”
“For what?” he said.
“For this,” she said. “It’s been eating away at me ever since we split.”
“Hey,” Clay said. “It was the best thing for both of us. If we hadn’t made that decision, I might be dead and this conversation would be a moot point.”
Gloria leaned over and kissed Clay’s forehead.
Clay leaned back quickly, laying his hand over his heart. “Careful,” he said, jokingly. “You wouldn’t want to send me back to intensive care now, would you?” He got up and pulled Gloria’s client chair back into its original position. Clay stepped over to Elliott’s desk, taking a seat behind it, just as Elliott came through the door carrying two cups of coffee. Elliott set one cup down on Gloria’s desk, gave the other to his dad and took a seat in his client’s chair, facing Clay.
“So,” I said. “Do you have any other plans for today?”
Clay sipped from his coffee, set it down and said, “You know, I never realized how stressful this job and sometimes everyday life was. And now that I’m out of it, somewhat, I’m finding out that I really can relax. I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve never even been to our own zoo. Well, today I’m finally going to take my time and give it a good look. Maybe I’ll sit in the park and throw peanuts to the pigeons. Or maybe I’ll just take a seat at some bus stop and just people watch for an hour or so. The show is free, you know.”
Dad took me by surprise with that phrase. I’d heard it before but couldn’t remember where. Then it came to me. Gloria had said that to me during a ride back to Hollywood after we’d visited the Burbank Police Department. She was telling me about a photographer she’d met on Hollywood Boulevard years ago who would take photos of interesting people he came across on the boulevard. His plan was to collect enough interesting photos for a book and call it, ‘The Show Is Free.’ Gloria must have mentioned her encounter with the photographer to Dad some time ago.
“Maybe I’ll pay Dean a visit,” Dad said. “There’s always something interesting going on at the twelfth precinct.”
“Maybe he’ll take the day off and go with you to the zoo,” I said, poking a little fun at Dad.
“Yeah, right,” Dad said. “And he can buy me some cotton candy and tie my shoe for me and…”
I held up one hand. “Don’t get all defensive,” I said. “I’m just having a little fun with you.”
“Yeah, well I think I’ve had my quota of fun for today,” Dad said. “I’d better get out of here and let you get back to whatever you were doing.” He looked at me and then over at Gloria, who blushed.
“Yeah, Dad, you do that,” I said, and walked him to the door. I gave him a pat on the back before he left and told him to call me in the next couple of days. He promised he would and left.
Gloria looked at me. “Maybe that’ll teach you to lock the office door next time you get any bright ideas.”
“And her name is G,” I sang.
“Knock it off, Elliott,” Gloria said. “Don’t we have any real work to do?”
I smiled and raised both eyebrows, looking somewhat like Groucho Marx.
“I’m serious,” Gloria said.
“So am I, little goil,” I said, flicking an imaginary cigar in front of me.
Gloria pointed to her computer screen. “While you were talking with Clay I was looking up information on Margaret Lewis. Yahoo and Google didn’t come up with any hits, but the court access site sure did. Look at this,” she said, pointing to the screen.
There were no fewer than a dozen references to Margaret Lewis, most of them referring to restraining orders from men. I recognized at least three of the names on the list as being someone in the entertainment business. The last name on the list was for Jack Holden.
“Jack the Stripper,” I said. “Well whaddya know? Billy Gibson was right. She is a stalker.”
“And look at the date of that restraining order,” Gloria said. “Four days ago, one day before Jack Holden left Beefcakes, Unlimited. My guess is that she violated the restraining order and Jack had finally had enough and just split.”
“I wonder why he didn’t just tell the police about her,” Gloria said.
“How do you know he didn’t?” I said. “Restraining orders don’t mean much to people like Margaret Lewis. They just have to be close to the objects of their obsession and they don’t give a damn about the consequences.”
“You know,” Gloria said, “We can always take Billy Gibson up on his offer to find Jack. It would mean income for us and maybe peace of mind for Jack.”
“You read my mind,” I said. “How about if we pay Mr. Gibson another call?”
I took my car this time and parked in front of Beefcakes, Unlimited. The front door wasn’t locked so we let ourselves in again and found the circular bar. There was no bartende
r wiping glasses this time and the place was as quiet as a library.
“Hello?” I said. “Is there anyone here?” There was no response. I leaned over the bar and looked toward the curtain where I’d first seen Billy Gibson earlier today. There was a sliver of light shining from the one inch space at the bottom of the curtain. “Hello,” I repeated, louder this time. There was still no answer.
I lifted the hinged section of the bar and let myself in, easing the bar down behind me. I turned to Gloria. “Keep an eye out. I’m going back there.”
I pulled the curtain aside and walked into the back area. It resembled a small office with a simple desk and chair, probably the place where Gibson counted his receipts. The room was empty. On the right wall was a closed door. I reached for the door knob and then withdrew my hand. I pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket and used it to grab the door knob, twisting and pulling at the same time. The door fell open with the weight of the body on the other side.
The body flopped down onto the floor and landed at my feet. It sprawled out on its back, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. It was Billy Gibson and he sported a fresh bullet hole just above his right eyebrow. The skin around the hole had turned purple and very little blood had trickled down from it. The back of his head showed no exit wound, so I could assume the bullet was still inside his skull, probably a .22 caliber.
I called out to the bar area. “Gloria,” I yelled. “Come on back here.”
Gloria lifted the bar section and let herself in. When she came into the back office, her eyes fixed on the corpse on the floor and then she looked up at me. “Gibson?” she said, knowing full well that it was.
I nodded. “He took one at close range,” I said. “Look at the powder burns around the hole. Someone was standing less than a foot from him when they shot him.”
“Do you have your cell phone handy?” I said to Gloria.
She pulled it out of her pocket and held it up.
“Call Dean at the twelfth precinct,” I said. “He won’t be happy if we keep something like this from him.”
