by Nick Vellis
“Would you like something to drink Captain? The general will want iced tea when he’s through,” Norris said.
“Thanks Norris. I’ll take some iced tea too,” I replied.
I sat down under a red umbrella shading a glass top patio table and waited. The morning was young, but the sun was blazing. Ah, Florida in the summer, I thought.
Norris appeared moments later with two glasses of iced tea. A splash drew my attention back to the pool in time to see General Hunt finish his last lap. He swam to the side of the pool, and then he pressed himself out of the water in front of Norris who was there to hand him a thick beach towel.
I stood as he approached.
“Good morning Captain,” he said.
The man wasn’t exactly smiling.
“I see Norris has taken good care of you,” he said as he extended his hand in welcome. “Let’s get this business wrapped up.”
“Yes sir. I realize …”
He held up one of his hands to cut me off as Norris walked away. Then he said, “If you’re going to say you should continue, I disagree. The notes have stopped. I’ve spoken to my son on the phone and he thinks there’s nothing to it. He said he’d look into it when he gets home. I want to get on with my life.”
“As you like General, but there is negative information out there. Your daughter-in-law…”
“Innuendo only hurts politicians and I’ll never run for office,” he said firmly.
What I’d reported was more than innuendo.
“What about your son? Someone knows something, or thinks they do about you or your son. It could be the affair or it could be something else people are trying to squeeze you over. If I can find out about it, other people can too. You should…”
He cut me off again saying, “It’s been a week and I’ve heard nothing more. You’ve done a good job. I’m impressed, but I’ll work things out with my son when he returns. I have nothing to worry about.”
He’d made up his mind so there was no point in insisting. His attitude surprised me, but he was the boss. If he wanted to drop it, I’d drop it. The problem was something didn’t feel right. I could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t telling me the truth.
“I think this should take care of your time and expenses,” he said taking an envelope from a folder on the table. I opened it and my jaw dropped. It was a check for $35,000, four times my usual fee.
“Sir, I’ll hate myself later for saying this, but this is too much. I….”
“I’ll not hear it. You did exactly what you said you would and kept this crap quiet. You’ve done me a great service. Take the check and shut up, son.”
It was obvious he’d made up his mind again so I thanked him profusely and took my leave. A fat check didn’t feel right when I hadn’t actually learned anything and there was whatever he wasn’t telling me.
That was three weeks ago, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. I cashed the check and my balance was higher than ever before, but it did nothing but feed a nagging feeling in my gut. I’d missed something. He’d paid me too much. Nobody was as perfect as Cary Hunt appeared, and what was the story on his wife? What had changed the general’s mind about finding out what was going on?
The door buzzer jolted me out of my self-pity. I answered by pushing the button on my desk phone and said, “Yeah?”
A voice soft as butter and as sweet as peppermint said, “I’m looking for MacDonald Everett. Is this the right building?”
Damn kids must have stolen my sign again.
“You found him, come on up,” I said. “I’m on the second floor.” I pushed the button to unlock the street level door, sprang from my chair, and raced to the door. Looking around, I was pleased with myself for finally straightening up the joint. I posted myself at the head of the stairs while trying to pat down my hair. The silhouette, backlit by the open door, grabbed me by the throat and I blew out a low whistle. I watched her sway her way up the stairs like a dream. As she came into view, my eyes popped. It was the bikini babe from General Hunt’s pool.
I like women in all shapes and sizes, but if I had to build the perfect model, she was making her way up my stairs. She was long and lean, with tanned gams covered to mid thigh by a short navy skirt. She more than filled out her loose white sweater and her rack moved suggestively as she mounted the stairs. Her face was narrow with a tiny nose and apple cheeks. A pair of piercing pale green eyes framed by gently arching brows and a cascade of untamed blond hair completed the picture. When she reached the landing, her scent, flowery and subtle, made me breathe in deep. It was a clean, yet sophisticated.
“I’m Mac Everett,” I said.
She looked me up and down. "Mr. Everett, the detective?" she asked, offering her hand. Her perfectly manicured fingers were slender and cool. Everything about her was so effortlessly breathtaking.
“That’s me,” I replied. “Come in and tell me how I can help you.”
She breezed past me, went through the reception area without slowing and into my office. I followed and closed the door behind me. “Have a seat,” I said, offering her the only decent chair in the room.
She ignored me and began looking around the joint, perusing everything from floor to ceiling. The Carrier was pumping out its usual 72 degrees, but I was breaking a sweat.
With an appraising eye, she scanned the room then said, “Nice place. Not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” I said, walking to the desk. I grabbed pack of Camels, shook one free, and lit up as I took my seat.
Tall, beautiful, silent, she just stood there, taking it all in while I did the same thing.
“Do you have to do that?” she asked.
“What, this?” I said holding up the nail. “I don’t have to. Would you rather I didn’t?”
“Please.”
I stubbed the butt out in the overflowing ashtray. Something else I would have to change, I thought.
“What was this place before it was your office?” she said at last, looking at me over her shoulder.
“A magazine used the whole floor, all six offices. I have two of them, these two rooms are the office, and four more through there,” pointing to a door on my right, “are my apartment.”
“You live here too? Over a bar?” referring to the Drunk Monk on the ground floor.
“It’s part of the PI mystic.” She didn’t laugh or even crack a smile. “I work 80 hours a week to be this poor. This place is in the middle of everything,” I said. “I’m out working most nights, so the noise doesn’t bother me and…you didn’t come here to discuss my taste in accommodations or did you. What do you want from me?”
She ignored me again and turned to my vanity wall with its University of Miami diploma and my Army lieutenant and captain’s commissions. She looked at these things, then at me and turned back to plaques and frames. She moved on to my black and white still from the ‘The Maltese Falcon’ autographed by Bogart and two framed covers from True Detective and Mystery Magazine.
“You like the classics, Mr. Everett?” she said, looking over her shoulder at me. Her world-class ass and aloof air fascinated me, but business was business unless it was monkey business and I wasn’t getting that vibe. She acted like a door-to-door interior decorator.
“There’s a certain truth…Miss, ah, is there something I can do for you or are you overdue for your medication?” I said, tiring of the game she was playing.
“Call me Ashton,” she said. Her voice was smooth and soft, without that nasal sorority girl crap.
“Call me Mac. What do you want?”
“Mac” she seemed to think about the name for a moment, then smiled and lit up the room, “I need your help Mac. Can I count on you?”
“How did you hear about me?” I asked. If she was a referral, I’d listen to her, but if she was a loony off the street, I planned to kick her to the curb no matter how good she looked.
“I read about you in the newspaper. The woman killed by the skateboarder
a few months ago…”
Mrs. McGuffin was an eighty-six year old lady killed by a kid on a skateboard. The punk grabbed her purse as he whizzed by her. The old bat had held on for dear life and that’s what it cost her. The dirt bag drug her forty feet pumping the skateboard with a strong right leg holding on to the purse with both hands. The cops were none too swift and Mrs. McGuffin’s two grown kids wouldn’t wait for them to get off their asses.
That’s where I came in. Killing an old woman for no reason, well, it burned me up. It was just all wrong, a scumbag on the skateboard, two lazy flatfoots and that poor dead old lady. She hadn’t done anything but go to the dry cleaners that afternoon. A kid could kill an old lady like that and no one was doing anything about it? I took the case. It was special, a sort of personal crusade, and it worked out OK.
My buddy Roscoe and I staked out the shops those kids frequent and the city’s skateboard parks. The cops assigned to the case, Logan and Deeds, could have done the same thing, but they couldn’t be bothered. It took Roscoe and me ten days, but the kid finally showed up at one of the parks. When I saw the other dirt bags backslapping him and giving him high fives I suspected it was him. When Roscoe went after him and he tried to run, I knew we had the right punk. I jumped in my car, peeled out of the parking lot, drove down two blocks, and cut over one east. I only had to wait a moment. I heard that damn skateboard coming. I pulled out from an alley and he vaulted over the hood of my Honda. He landed flat on his back on the far side of my car and didn’t move. The kid wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box. Logan and Deeds didn’t even say thanks.
“Yeah, that one worked out all right,” I said. “But what’s that got to do with you?”
“You were out for justice, Mr. Everett, ah Mac, and you didn’t let the inaction of the police get in your way,” she responded. Her face flushed as she spoke. Something was on her mind. I just couldn’t tell what, yet. As she began to pace in front of me the polite façade and sweet smile fell away, replaced by worry and despair.
“The police have limited resources Ashton.” I didn’t like some of the local detectives, but most of them are good cops with too few resources and too many crimes to solve. One of the locals used to be my best friend, hell I spent time as a local cop. “They do their best,” I said, not sure if I believed it myself.
“I know you worked hard for that lady’s family, to find justice for her,” she responded. “That’s what I need now, someone who will try hard even though it seems hopeless.” She began to cry. I came around the desk and handed her a tissue. Ashton reached out and clutched me as she sobbed. She really had my attention now. My brain was screaming as I tried to resist the firmness of her breasts against me, the suppleness of her body in my hands. I didn’t reciprocate her clinch, but it took all my willpower, No, I didn’t embrace her or steal a kiss. Instead, I said, “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what’s wrong,” as I gently pushed her away.
She took another tissue from me and slumped into the client’s chair. She took a few moments to compose herself then looked up, forced a smile, crossed her tanned legs, and said, “I’m sorry. The last week has been a nightmare. I need your help.”
“What’s so serious?” I said not taking my eyes off those long legs.
She sobbed for a few more minutes and when the water works slowed, I repeated my question.
“What’s so serious?”
“It’s my brother; he’s been arrested for murder. I know he didn’t do it,” she said as she began to sob. “He’s my twin,” she said, “and I know him better than any living person. He couldn’t do this. He loved his wife.”
“Relationships make people do funny things. You never know …”
“I know,” Ashton insisted. “The police and his lawyer won’t listen to me. They’ve made up their minds, but a twin knows. That’s why I need you.”
“When did this happen?” I asked taking out my notebook.
“They found Stephanie about ten days ago. He’d been out of town and they arrested him a few days after he flew back.”
“What’s your brother’s name,” I said taking out my notebook.
“Cary, Cary Hunt, they say he stabbed his wife. I know you worked for my father, but I assumed…”
Damn, General Hunt’s daughter. Crap. I never imagined she was his daughter.
I don’t follow the news. I figure if something happens I need to know about, someone, usually Roscoe, will tell me, but I’d screwed the pooch by missing this little current event. I wondered why General Hunt hadn’t called me. Cary Hunt, the guy maybe having an affair and maybe being blackmailed had turned into Cary Hunt arrested for murder.
“You’re General Hunt’s daughter? Why didn’t you say so?” I demanded. “Why didn’t he call me? Did he send you?”
“He didn’t send me exactly, but please, you have to help,” the desperation in her voice dripped like dew on a muggy morning.
“OK, OK, I get it.” I held up one hand to stop her. “I’ll take the case.”
She reached down to her tan bag on the floor and took out a folded manila envelope. She held it by one end and tossed it on the desk.
I picked it up, hefting the weight. It was cash, a lot of cash. “I can’t guarantee the results Ashton,” I said with my hand on top of the envelope. “I follow the evidence and facts are the facts. If he’s guilty…”
“But he’s not,” she interrupted.
I held up one hand and continued firmly, “but if he’s guilty I’m not going to make something up to get him off. You have to understand, I don’t work that way.”
“There’s $10,000 there and more if you need it. I know you’ll do what’s right. You did for that lady and you will for Cary too,” she said. She was calmer but still riled up.
I swallowed hard. Ten large was more than I’d pulled down on one case, except for the general, that is. I had my hand on more of the old man’s cash. I wondered if she’d look as flushed in bed, but let the thought pass. “Who’s his lawyer,” I asked as I started to take notes.
I asked questions for about thirty minutes. She gave me the skinny on the case and a rundown on her brother’s mouthpiece. She looked drained and finally said, “I’m sorry I just don’t know any more.”
“That’s OK I’ll check things out. Call me if you think of anything else. Sometimes it's the little, seemingly unimportant things that make a difference,” I offered. I waited to see if my words had broken through. “Here’s my card,” I said taking one from the holder on my desk. “If you think of anything or if something happens, call me. Call me at any time. Do you understand? Oh, is it all right if I call your father? I feel I owe him.”
She took the card and looked at it as if it was made of gold. She nodded and said, “I understand. Yes, call him. Thank you Mr. Everett…aha…Mac.”
I hoped I could come through for this kid. Kid, an hour ago I’d been watching her come up the steps wondering if I could score. Based on the way she went into the clinch and the dew in her eyes, I knew I could, but now I was feeling paternalistic. Well done, Mac.
“What’s the best way to reach you?” I asked.
“I’m staying at a friend’s condo when I’m not at my dad’s, here’s my private cell number,” she said as she jotted the number on a business card of her own. “Use this number.”
She handed me her card and I was impressed. It read Ashton Hunt, Senior Associate Leopold & Leopold New York City.
“A New York lawyer?”
“Don’t be all that impressed. It just means I make a lot of money and live in the world’s most expensive city.”
“I’m not impressed, just disappointed that I can’t use my lawyer jokes on you.”
“Thanks for trying to cheer me up.”
“Sure, sure Ashton.”
Oh, that was smooth, I thought.
“Mac, do you think there’s any hope?” she asked, finally looking up from my card.
“I don’t know. We have to answer some basic questio
ns. Why was his wife killed? Who would benefit? Is there a way to show it wasn’t a crime of passion? We'll figure it out together, you and me.”
I smiled my most sincere smile trying to comfort her, but I suspected it wasn’t nearly enough. Her twin brother’s life was on the line and they obviously had a connection. She rose, composed once again. I came around the desk and offered my hand. She looked at it for a moment then stepped forward to embrace me.
“My brother’s life is in your hands.” She whispered into my chest. “Thank you, Mac.”
I caught her eyes and looked deep. There was no guile there, only worry and pain, but she was hiding something. I ignored the thought as I returned the embrace tentatively, trying not to break my rule about getting involved with clients, but damn. With her head buried in my chest I said, “Try not to worry. We’ll work things out.”
She held me a moment longer and when she lifted her head I could see the tears moistening those pale green eyes. Damn she was beautiful and she was waiting for my kiss. I stepped back and then around her to the door. I felt the pulse pounding in my temples and much lower as I said good-bye and told her I would be in touch. She left without another word.
Her perfume lingered long after she was gone. The thoughts I’d had gave me pause and made me shudder, but I went straight to work. I made a quick list of calls and questions. First on my list was General Hunt. Norris said the general was out on the lake for the day. He promised to have the general call when he returned.
My next call was to Warden Barber Esq. I didn’t know Mr. Barber personally, but his reputation as lawyer to the elite, was common knowledge. The general had hired the best money could buy. I hoped their choice of PIs was as well calculated.
“Law Offices, may I help you,” the efficient sounding receptionist said in a honey dipped southern drawl.
I explained who I was and that Cary Hunt’s sister had hired me to look into the case. The woman politely put me on hold. While I listened to classical piano music, I looked at Barber’s website. His list of clients was impressive. It included politicians, celebrities, and businessmen from several states. I was about to hang up when a young sounding man came on the line.
