Babes in Toyland II

by Aspen Mountain Press Authors

  He stopped talking and looked at me, a rueful—wistful—smile curving his lips. “You've mentioned that at times you have not been able to find me. Once a year I journey back to Vietnam to look for Lotus. I will find her, Thanet. I will find her."

  I shook my head, shocked at the revelation. “Rumpott, I don't know what to say."

  He smiled his King Vultan smile and I knew Rumpott was back to being Rumpott. “Say ‘let's get galvanized, mighty King Vultan'. Innkeeper! Bring more rum for our parched throats."

  We began collecting empty rum bottles by slowly emptying them down our parched throats. Although we did finish decorating the Christmas tree, I don't remember what we did with it.

  Chapter Five

  It took the entire next day for me to sober up. During that time I lived on coffee and Alka Seltzer. Evening darkened the sky as the sun kissed the horizon and my clock chimed seven times. At last I could focus my eyes on the list without feeling too much pain.

  The next person listed is one I've known all my life. She's my mother. Mother turned sixty last month—a very young sixty. Six inches over five feet, her demeanor and stature gives her the illusion of being taller. Commanding a perfect posture and an air of quiet authority, she is independently well-off due to my father's wealth as a result of his savvy in the stock market. She's a lady who takes nonsense from no one.

  After taking three more Alka Seltzer's, and some Tylenol Extra Strength, I hopped into my car and peeled some rubber through heavy traffic.

  It's only a short ten minute drive to her house; a comfortable and well-cared for Tudor brick building. Her sidewalk was clear of snow and ice, which meant the teenage boy who did the outside work for Mother had money in his wallet. Lucky bastard. As I opened her front door, I hoped the breath mint I was chewing masked the stink of booze Rumpott had forced me to guzzle. I also prepared myself to be called Sonny. If I live to be a century old and my mother is still among the living, I would still be Sonny to her. In the eyes of a mother, children never grow up. In a way that's wonderful.

  Although it is late, it is also Thursday. That meant that Mother's tea social ladies were still visiting her when I stepped into the warm homey atmosphere that was her living area. They were all seated around a blazing fireplace, eating chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream and, judging by the scent of it, sipping mint tea. I was immediately called Sonny by all six of them. I've been on a first-name basis with the ladies for almost ten years now. They are a likable group and are lovely to look at, especially today. All of them are dressed in green tea gowns decorated with effigies of Santa Claus and his reindeer. I noticed that one of the ladies, Gladys, had been crying. Her hair was disheveled, her mascara was where it shouldn't be and the handkerchief in her right hand was almost transparent with moisture.

  Mother placed her plate and tea cup on the coffee table in front of the ladies, stood up as she politely excused herself and, with a sad look on her wrinkle-free complexion, walked quickly over to me while maintaining a calm demeanor. Something was definitely wrong; Mother never does anything quickly. The other ladies stopped eating and chatting, stood in unison and walked to the piano in the corner. I guess they wanted to give us a little privacy. I don't know why, though. Those ladies will know every word that was said before the night is out. Mabel began playing Christmas tunes and the others sang. They sounded great.

  "Sonny, Gladys is having trouble with her husband."

  Her words startled me. Concern was written all over her face and in her blue eyes. No doubt she wanted me to solve Gladys’ problem.

  "What? I find that hard to believe. Even at seventy Gladys is a living doll. What's wrong with Clancy? Is he nuts?"

  "I would have to say yes, Sonny. Nuts and a little blue pill."

  "Oh no ... that's really too bad. Does this mean that Clancy is straying around?"

  Mother nodded. Oh boy, a sleaze case practically in my own backyard. I looked down at the living room's polished hardwood floor, a silent battle raging inside me. I wanted to wipe that look of concern from my mother's face and make everything right for her. To do that, I would need to straighten out Clancy. But that would mean putting Holiday Spirit to one side. The image of Jimmy MacWilliams’ tear-streaked face floated in front of my eyes. I made a promise to that little guy and I couldn't let him down. Being a private dick isn't easy.

  On a heavy sigh I looked up at my mother. “I'm looking for Holiday Spirit. He's missing. According to the Assumption Church records, he's been seeing you on a regular basis. Mother, do you know anything that might lead me to him?"

  "Do you think he's in trouble?"

  I nodded. “It's starting to look that way."

  Mother sighed. The worry in her eyes deepened. “But Sonny, he's such a friendly person. Since the beginning of November he has had milk and cookies with us every Thursday. This is the first social gathering he has missed."

  "Has he ever, at anytime during his visits, said anything out of the ordinary? Did he ever indicate that he may have been followed, argued with someone or been in a hostile situation?"

  "No, he's never mentioned anything like that. We told him about Clancy and he said he would talk to him. However, Gladys doesn't think he did."

  "Maybe whatever happened to him happened before he had a chance to."

  "Sonny, can you do something about Clancy?"

  I was right. She's asking. “Like what, Mother?"

  "I don't know ... maybe talk to him in your hardboiled, detective way."

  I glanced around the room. The Christmas tree was profusely decorated with lights and homemade Christmas balls. It was undoubtedly the social ladies project for this Friday. Every year mother and I make a new Christmas ornament together. It's a wonderful family tradition with us. The ladies were singing Hark the Herald Angels Sing. Gladys was off tune and crying at the same time. Yeah, I had to do something about Clancy.

  "Okay, Mother. But I have to warn you, some of my ways can be pretty harsh."

  Mother smiled and quietly laughed. She clenched her delicate hands into fists and said, “Good. The harsher you are with him, the better. It would certainly serve the old fossilized fool right."

  "All right then; I'll remember you said that. Clancy is going to get a lesson he won't forget. And if luck is with me, he might have some information I need about Holiday Spirit. So tell me, is Mr. Wandering-Around-Looking-For-Greener-Pastures Clancy at home right now?"

  A disgusted looked slashed my mother's face. “No, Gladys told me he's at—"

  "Yeah, I know the place."

  Mother looked at me with her mouth open. Her expression brought a smile to my face. “Shame on you, Mother, for thinking what you're thinking about my sex life."

  She smiled in return. “And shame on you for thinking I was thinking that about your sex life. Don't forget all the holiday parties I've scheduled. You are to be at every one of them. After all, this year you're going to be our Santa Claus."

  I nodded and gave her a goodbye kiss on the cheek. “Sounds great. I've always wanted to play Santa Claus."

  Chapter Six

  When I found Clancy, he was three seconds away from doing the bouncing act with a plump blonde whose eyes stared at nothing. There was no doubt in my mind she was doped up higher than a kite. Clancy stopped climbing on her the moment cold gun steel rammed against his ass and heard my voice. “You forgot your rubbers, Clancy."

  "What the hell! Who said that? Quit freezing my butt. You're destroying my joy stick."

  Clancy was tough. He kept sniffing the blonde as he said all four sentences without turning around to see who poked his ass. The blonde said nothing. She was too busy devouring an apple. What was left of it appeared to be a Delicious.

  "The party pooper is here, Clancy. Thanet Blake. Get off the blonde, tell your three-inch brain to go limp, and put on your clothes."

  He finally craned his neck to look at me. He was red-hot angry. “I've got more than three inches, you bastard. Go straight to hell, Blake! Get t
hat unloaded gun you always pack off my ass and get out of here before I decide to improve your wise-guy face."

  I put a slug in the nearest wall to convince him that my having an unloaded gun was now only a page in the book of Thanet Blake mythology. The noise of my .45 finally made the blonde realize Clancy and she were not alone. I have to give her credit; she was tough. She flinched once, didn't scream, shrugged her shoulders, and then grabbed another apple from the bowl on the nightstand next to the bed. It was my favorite kind, a Jonagold. “The next one will go in your balls, Clancy, if you don't get dressed in sixty seconds."

  He was fully clothed in fifty-five. “Pay the lady."

  "But I never had a chance to do anything."

  I shoved my .45 into his crotch and slowly cocked its hammer. “I said pay her, Clancy, and give her an extra dollar."

  "What for?"

  "She has one Jonagold left, and I'm hungry."

  He paid her. Minutes later, when we were outside, I was chomping on my apple. “Did Holiday Spirit talk to you?"

  "Yeah, just about."

  "Damnit, Clancy. What the hell do you mean by that?"

  "I mean four days ago I was out front here when his gold taxi pulled up to the curb and parked. Gladys had warned me that Holiday Spirit was looking for me and that he was going to give me a lecture about the evils of adultery. Well, it never happened. Another car pulled up behind his taxi and God, what a car. It was solid, green, a genuine hearse-type from the 1920's with a pug-ugly thug look-alike driving it. An old sonofabitch, the size of a mountain, crawled out of its backseat an inch at a time. I heard the old cuss holler ‘I'm going to shoot the bastard who forgot my wheelchair'. Anyway, he eventually got into the gold taxicab and the next thing I know, the cab drives off, taking him and Holiday Spirit to God knows where."

  "Are you sure about that?"

  "Of course I am. Why would you doubt me?"

  "Because you're a lying, stupid fool. Those little blue pills have scrambled what's in your skull to where you can't think worth shit or even see right. They have you believing you're a nineteen-year-old super stud with a seventeen inch perpetual erection. I don't believe one word you've told me. Get in your car and go home to your gorgeous and understanding wife, who should whack you with an iron skillet the moment your stinking frame walks through the front door. If I hear of you doing this again, of you trying to play bouncy-bouncy with any female other than your lovely wife, I promise I'll come and shoot your balls off."

  Clancy's face blanched at the threat, so I put my arm around his shoulders and whispered into his left ear, “I'm a rotten shot. That means you just might end up minus your short coming."

  Clancy turned even whiter, if that was at all possible.

  "Y-y-you're b-b-bluffing, aren't y-y-you? W-w-we've been f-f-friends for years. Y-y-you wouldn't do that to a f-f-friend, would you?"

  I smiled as I once again shoved my gun into his balls and cocked the trigger. “I'll engrave your name on a bullet and save it for the occasion. Think about it, Clancy. Gladys could become a widow. As sexy as she is, think about all the men who would be dying to bounce with her. Would you want that to happen?"

  He ran for his car and peeled rubber. I had no doubt he would be a proper husband from now on.

  Chapter Seven

  I was reluctant to meet the next person on my list. I really didn't want to see her ... well, actually, maybe I did. Yeah, I did. But things were getting complicated. Rumpott said she loved me. After seeing her only once, plus a lonely sounding phone call when I told her to stay away from me because when I'm on a murder case people around me end up dead, how could she love me? I guess when you have it, you have it.

  Selena Deering is a tall, graceful goddess with blue eyes and an alabaster complexion. Her hair is black, flawlessly combed and quite short. She is lovely to look at, wears Evening in Paris perfume—a very sensuous scent—and a wonderful woman to talk to. I met her at Rumpott's Flash Gordon-Buck Rogers party. I immediately liked her and I have to admit I still do, despite the fact I'm married. Although my wife was murdered, I still consider myself married to her. That means I shouldn't be around Selena, or have any feelings toward her.

  Normally I make sure that wherever she is, I'm not. Unfortunately, this time I have to see her because she knows Holiday Spirit. The prospect of being close to her made my legs all rubbery and my fingers tremble. I took a quick swig from my hip flask to fortify myself, glanced at my wedding ring, touched Dru's on the chain around my neck, and forced myself to stop trembling.

  A phone call to Social Services, where she works, informed me she was helping out at the local soup kitchen.

  The place was crowded. Christmas decorations were up and creating a festive air to an otherwise drab environment. To my eyes, heart and soul, it was a beautiful sight to behold. People down on their luck were patiently standing in line, waiting to be fed by a group of people ladling out servings of turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and corn on the cob. Selena was one of them. When she saw me, her smile lit up her lovely face and added a sparkle to her sensual blue eyes. She handed her serving utensil to the lady behind her and with quick, agile steps, made her way through the crowd to be by my side almost before I could blink. She smelled of morning shower and Dial soap.

  "Thanet! This is a pleasant surprise. I'm so glad to see you."

  I was worried if I said anything, my sentence might come out of my mouth backwards. Although it was great seeing her, I had forgotten how being in close proximity to her easily churned my insides into mush. It was bad enough that her scent alone filled my soul with desire.

  "Yeah, I'm glad to see you too, Selena.” I looked down at my feet and realized my mumbled greeting could now qualify me for a dumb ass position in society. So try to make your next sentence sound intelligent, Blake. And don't forget to look at your wedding ring. “Uh ... I'd like to visit a little, but I'm actually here to ask you about Holiday Spirit."

  I looked up in time to see Selena's lovely face cloud over with disappointment. I silently cussed myself. “I'm sorry Selena.” I really was sorry. I was acting like a teenage boy on his first date and I couldn't help it. I made a half-assed attempt to smooth things over. “I really am glad to see you. Honest. But Holiday Spirit is missing and I've been hired to find him."

  Her disappointment was immediately replaced with concern. “Oh Lord no, Thanet. Without him ... why, there just wouldn't be any Christmas. You've got to find him."

  "I know. Do you know anything that could help me?"

  She bit her lip as she searched through her memory, then shook her head. “No, not really. I know he visited with some very rough individuals in the dangerous areas of this city, but he refused to disclose any information let alone tell me who and where. A social worker friend did tell me she saw him walking Railroad Avenue one time."

  "Welcome to Crime Street, USA. That's not good. He should not have gone within ten blocks of that particular avenue. Oh boy. Are you certain there weren't any names he might have let slip?"

  Selena sighed and shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. I do know he was seeing Godfather, but that's only because I also visit him once in a while, just to ask how he's doing. I've been his caseworker for years. He told me how much he liked Holiday Spirit, though I'm not sure how the two met."

  I smiled. “Be careful of that guy, Selena. Godfather's young at heart."

  Her laughter was a joy to hear. “You wouldn't by any chance happen to be jealous of him, Thanet?"

  I couldn't answer that. Well, Blake, are you? I looked at my wedding ring in an attempt to remember my eternal love for my dead wife. I couldn't allow that to happen. I won't! No woman will ever replace Dru.

  Before I realized what was happening, Selena had led me into a back room. We were standing in the middle of the room. “Look up at the ceiling, Thanet."

  I looked up. Mistletoe hung above us and before I could say ‘oh, oh', I was being thoroughly kissed. I have to admit I enjoyed it. Selena's
mouth was warm, yielding, and incredibly sensuous. A warmth stirred in my loins. My body wanted more from the lady named Selena.

  She finally broke off the kiss and gently held my hands. “Take that with you. And do try to remember that I'm listed in the phone book."

  Chapter Eight

  I mentioned in the previous chapter that I'm bad luck. Tommy Thomas is a case in point. In my first murder case, Who Is Offing the Collectors?, I stopped by his newsstand because he was a collector who was being pressured to sell his comic book collection to the King of Memorabilia, Monroe Ferguson. As a result of my being there, he was offed while saving my life. Tommy had knocked me down to the newsstand's floor, jumped on top of me, and took the full force of the grenade that blew him away. His newsstand was nothing more than a pile of kindling.

  The newsstand still lives on, in spite of its destruction. It has been completely rebuilt. And because somebody was crazy enough to invite me, I was at the Grand Reopening a month ago. It is now run by Tommy's identical twin nephews. Now, whenever the nephews see me lurking about in an area that's anywhere near the vicinity of the newsstand, they delight in closing it down until yours truly, Thanet ‘Undertaker’ Blake, goes away.

  "Hold it guys!” I hollered as they made frantic grabs for donuts, magazines, chewing gum, smokes, and a gold-colored espresso machine. “There's no need to run off. This isn't a murder case I'm on. Well, at least I don't think it is. So far it's a missing person's case. I've been hired to find Holiday Spirit."

  The two blond, despicably handsome, ex-high school football players stopped packing things away and stared at me. In their late twenties, they were a towering four inches above six feet.

  "You're kidding me, Blake,” said Irving, the twin on my right. “A missing person's case? Who are you trying to shit? You just came here for free donuts and coffee."