Heat

by R. W. Clinger

  I took the remaining amount of money that she presented to me and said, “You won’t be pleased with my results. There is no easy way to tell you of my facts.”

  “I figured as much, if you want to know the truth. I’m sure I won’t be surprised at all with what you have to say, Mr. Dupree. A woman my age has a lot of experience in life and sometimes already knows what she intends to learn.”

  “Do explain,” I said, curious of her account that pertained to the case of her missing son. A glass of freshly squeezed orange juice sat in front of me, which I reached for, partially consumed, and placed back.

  She used two fingertips on the pearls that were tight against her neck, rolling the grainy orbs between their pads. She looked away from me, returned her view to me, and said, “I already know that Bobby doesn’t want to be found. I’m very much aware that you spoke to his father yesterday at The Drift.”

  “But Gregg isn’t his father.”

  “Nonsense!” she snipped at me and waved her free hand in my direction. “Gregg has been saying that for years. I know who my son’s father is. Gregg was the perfect father to Bobby, no matter what Bobby says. Gregg loved that boy growing up, and he still does. If I have to pay for a paternity test, I will, but that would be a waste of money.”

  “So Warrington High is not Bobby’s biological father?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Warrington couldn’t produce any sperm when I was sleeping with him. Of course, he’s not Bobby’s father. The man had always wanted to have children, but couldn’t.”

  I pounced to the point and asked, “Where do you think your son is, Margo?”

  A long span of quiet disconnected us as she thought about my question. Maybe I had crossed some undefined boundary that I didn’t understand and couldn’t. Whatever. Margo showed me that she could be an adult, and a strong woman. Ruthless critics had torn her apart throughout the years because of the fluff she had created. If she survived their insults without damage, she could survive my simple question.

  Our breakfasts were served. Eggs Benedict for her and a three-cheese omelet for me. Both of us had sliced fruit in bowls and twelve-grain slices of toast with raspberry preserves.

  “I have always known where Bobby was.”

  “Which is where?” I asked, pushing her to answer me.

  “The Sign Farm, of course.”

  “Do you mean Edgar Sign’s place in the Everglades?” I sounded absurd and redundant, but wanted the details to be crystal clear.

  Her eyes filled with fire. “Stop sounding like an interrogating police officer with me, Axle. Show me some respect. Don’t forget that I have paid you a lot of money in full for doing absolutely nothing for me. I’m not a criminal and wish you would not treat me as one.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, realizing her correctness. I still worked her for, though, at least for the time being, until our meeting ended. Until then, I had to be on my best behavior and not come across as being ignorant. “Tell me why you had me search for your son when you already knew where he was.”

  Truth told, I had already known why the woman had sent me on an absurd goose chase when there wasn’t a goose to chase or be had. Margo summed up that understanding during the next few comments.

  “I love Bobby with all my heart, even when he has been at his worst. Although he has broken me numerous times, I will always love him. Approximately two years ago, he learned the identity of his real father. Bobby had taken an interest in Underground Spectacle and decided to turn his back on me. My child wants nothing to do with me now, which baffles me. Part of me understands why, of course, because I have no limits in loving him. The other part doesn’t, though. I thought…”

  No longer having an appetite, I cut her off, finding it impossible not to. “You thought if you hired me, I could bring Bobby back to you, right?”

  Our waiter checked on us, asking if we were fine. Margo shooed him away with a wave of her right hand, beginning to tear up at the corners of her eyes. Then she nodded at me.

  “It was my last option. I was losing my son and didn’t want to. I would do anything in the world for him, which I hope he knows. To not have him close to me is breaking my heart. I can’t handle that and never will be able to.”

  “You knew I couldn’t mend your family, though. You knew from the start that I could only find people. The risk was always there for failure.”

  Again, she nodded. “I’m a fool. Some mothers are. But a mother who loves with all of her heart and soul will do just about anything to get her son back. Does that make any sense to you?”

  It did. More than she knew. Margo ended up broken without her little boy. Something dear had been missing from her life, completing her as a mother, and she did everything in her power to obtain a rejoining with her son. I felt bad for her, watching her cry. Tears ebbed out of her eyes and rolled down and over her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry.” I reached across the table for one of her hands. To my surprise, she allowed me to place my outstretched hand over one of hers, and I gave it a minimal squeeze. “This too shall pass, Margo. Give it time.”

  Chapter 42: Casey, Bothered

  Hurricane Bay Road

  Bungalow 16

  11:07 A.M.

  Casey wanted to confront me, ready to blast me with a pent load of anger when I returned to his bungalow. He sat on the rear patio among wild petunias, redring milkweed, and lilies with a cup of coffee, heavy on the cream and sugar, which was just how he liked it. Anger boiled in his face.. He studied the three-tier birdbath and a family of belted kingfish. Usually he locked eyes with me when I walked inside a room. That wasn’t the case following my meeting with Margo Pagino. Rather, he sat up straight, took a sip of his hot coffee, swallowed it down, and kept his view on the birds.

  “You’ve upset me, Axle.”

  “Should I sit down for this?” I asked, noticing the somber look on his face, which was somewhat dismal and uncomforting. “Or should I pack my bags and move out?”

  “The latter isn’t necessary,” he said. “But don’t think that I haven’t thought about it.”

  I sat down at the round table across from him, reached for his coffee, took a sip, and realized its overwhelming sweetness. I placed the mug on the table in front of him. “What’s bothering you, babe? Tell me. I want to know.”

  The day grew warm, distasteful. Bruce Martini, the meteorologist, forecasted a day of high humidity and a record-breaking heat index. For now, it was rather comfortable outside in the shade, a bit of sticky. The air hung heavy with confrontation.

  Casey finally looked at me. A frown showcased his face that I thought adorable. He shook his head and confessed, “Rebecca had a chat with me yesterday. Are you aware of that?”

  I shook my head. “She doesn’t tell me everything she does.”

  “As well as she shouldn’t.”

  “What was your chat about with her?”

  “What is your crazy-ass mind dreaming up these days?”

  “Is this about Bruno?”

  He nodded. “And following him and me around the city, attempting to catch us in a compromised situation that isn’t going to happen. What the hell, Axle?”

  “Shit,” I whispered. “Rebecca told you everything, didn’t she?”

  He nodded again. “Every scathing detail about your private eye work behind my back. You should be ashamed of yourself to think that I would fuck around with my intern, Axle. My career is important to me, and I wouldn’t jeopardize it like that. Plus, I wouldn’t put you in that position, risking our relationship. Don’t you know that I love you? And don’t you know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you? How can you possibly think that I want to be with Bruno?”

  How could I be blamed for loving him too much, watching his every move with Bruno? I cared deeply for the Casey and thought him my soul mate. Frankly, I didn’t want to argue my point with him, but felt it necessary to, only because maybe he wouldn’t understand my side and feelings if I didn’t. I huffed
and looked him square in the eyes.

  “In my defense, you spend a gazillion hours with the man. Sometimes I don’t even see you during an entire day. Of course, I’m going to think you’re sleeping with him. He’s glued to your hip, and the two of you are together all the time. If you were in my position, you’d think the same thing.”

  “I’m not sleeping with Bruno,” he said. “You’re the only man I will ever love. You’re half of me, Axle. Do you think I would go and fuck that up for me…or us?”

  “I get it now,” I said, meaning every word of it. “But you need to spend more time with me and less with Bruno. I realize both of your positions, but you can’t forget that you and I are lovers. Don’t rock our boat like that, Casey. Because when you do, it scares the hell out of me. I love you as much as you love me.”

  He smiled.

  I smiled.

  “Come here,” he said, pushing his chair away from the two-person table and rubbing his crotch. The comforting smile on his face only grew wider, blinding me with white teeth. “Sit on my lap, babe. I want to make you a happy man this morning.”

  “How happy?” I asked, knowing that we were about to have some heavy duty makeup sex.

  “Lots of happy.” He winked at me, patting his lap. “Less chat and more lap, Axle. Let me confirm to you how much I love you.”

  “I’m game.” I stood, moved around the table to his side, and straddled him, compressing our chests and mouths together.

  Chapter 43: Rebecca Shares

  Catalina Bay

  728 Meridian Blue Way

  12:05 P.M.

  Rebecca demanded my attention just as Casey had, but in a different way and means. Following my sexual romp with the man of my dreams, the guy I considered my knight in shining armor, I received a text from Rebecca Rexx.

  Need to chat. Come to my place as soon as you can.

  I arrived at the dame’s abode half an hour later, plopped my ass in a soft seat inside her living room, craved a bottle of water to drink, and said, “What are we chatting about?”

  Decorated in a white tennis outfit with pearls on her earlobes, a matching bracelet on her right wrist, and an apple martini in her left hand, she crossed her legs like a lady and replied, “My life, of course.”

  “Of course,” I said, being snotty, but also providing her with a smile. “What about your life?”

  “Remind me again how many times I’ve been married?”

  “Three times. And none of them were positive experiences.”

  “And how much money do I have?”

  Oh, how she loved to brag about her money. If she could bathe in the green bills, she would. Rebecca wasn’t shy about letting everyone around her know of her pile of cash, including me.

  “Two trillion pennies, plus a few dimes. You’re poor as a church mouse.”

  “I could buy this town three times over, Axle. How grounded do you think I am here in Hurricane Bay?”

  “You have strong roots. I don’t see you going anywhere anytime soon. Your life is here. Everything about this town screams you.”

  She sighed, swallowed a portion of her drink, and uncrossed her legs. “This is my problem.”

  “What problem?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “I believe I’m going to uproot myself.”

  Nothing about her really surprised me, of course. Our bond felt far too old and dense to allow shock anymore. The poetry of our lives together had died. Reality and getting to the point of things mattered more than anything else.

  “And how will you uproot yourself, Rebecca? Does this have everything to do with the cowboy?”

  She nodded. “Why wouldn’t it have everything to do with him? He’s turned my life upside down. The sex is good. He’s kind and sweet. He treats me like a princess. Plus, he’s rugged as hell and knows how to wear a pair of jeans and a Stetson.”

  Still unaffected by her comments, I replied rather flatly, “You’ve fallen for this guy, haven’t you?”

  She cocked her head to the right. “He has a name.”

  “We all have names, Rebecca. Tell me how and why you have fallen in love with Clifton Monigal.”

  Now she shook her head and spilled in a hurry. “I can’t. There’s no reason for my behavior. I haven’t had control of my emotions since he arrived at Hurricane Bay.”

  “Make yourself another martini, my love. You’ll feel better while discussing this matter with me when you’re drunk. I propose you leave no detail spared and keep the martinis flowing.”

  She listened. A bottle of apple-flavored vodka sat on the table. Beside the bottle were vermouth and a shaker. She concocted her cocktail, took a sip, and smiled.

  “This is magical, darling. Would you like for me to make you one?”

  “I’m good,” I said, knowing that one strong afternoon beverage with Rebecca could easily turn into ten for the both of us. The last thing I wanted to do was sleep the evening away on her sofa from an afternoon of binging.

  She took two more sips of her drink, waved a finger at me, and admitted, “There’s more to my crisis, sweets.”

  “I wouldn’t call falling in love a crisis. On the contrary, it should be considered magical, just like your martinis and our time spent together.”

  “Hush,” she scolded. “Don’t mock me. I won’t tolerate your games.”

  “I will do no such thing, Rebecca. You know me better than that. Now tell me what other concerns you have with your crisis.”

  She took a long sip of her drink this time, closed her eyes for a brief moment, opened them, and pursed her lips. “I believe I’m moving to Stockton County, Oklahoma. Clifton knows that I’m loaded and has suggested I open a theatre there. I can put on plays and musicals there.”

  “Moving…theatre…Oklahoma.” I sounded like someone with brain damage. “What are you saying? The cowboy wants you to move your life from Florida to the Midwest?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. And I’m not saying no to the theatre idea as of yet. I would love to teach young adults how to act, and put on plays or musicals.”

  “You’re out of your mind, young lady. What are you thinking? You barely know this guy. Plus, we don’t even know that he’s a real cowboy.”

  She laughed at me, waving a hand. “Trust me, I know he’s a real cowboy. He doesn’t sleep over at my place just for the bed.”

  “That is way too much information, Rebecca. Stop before you embarrass yourself.” Frankly, I didn’t mind at all hearing about her sexy boyfriend, Clifton Monigal, since the man turned my head with his good looks and studly behavior. What queer man didn’t want to hear about his moves in the bedroom? “When is this move taking place?”

  She looked at the string of pearls around her wrist and started playing with them, perhaps showing a sign of nervousness. It reminded me of how Margo played with her pearls around her neck just that morning. Then Rebecca lifted her head and sort of blushed.

  “This evening.”

  “So soon?” My tone raised three octaves.

  “Calm down, my love. We’re flying out tonight and staying a week in Stockton County. Clifton wants to see if I can be a cowgirl.”

  “Can you?” I doubted that she could. Rebecca liked the sweet things of life, like expensive coffee, dress shops, and fast cars. Something told me she wasn’t going to be into rodeos, dust bowls, and spitting cowboys on ranches in the middle of nowhere.

  “Sweetheart, I can do whatever I put my mind to.” She was right, of course. Rebecca could do whatever she wanted and accomplish great things while doing it.

  “So you feel confident about this move and the man you intend to do it with?”

  She downed the rest of her martini and licked her lips. It did nothing for me, although some men would have loved to watch her do that. “I do. It’s only a week. What can happen in a week?”

  I laughed. “You’ve obviously never been to Fire Island in July.”

  “I’ll be fine, darling. Just fine. You worry too much.” />
  Indeed, I did. How couldn’t I, since I considered her my best girlfriend? We kissed and hugged it out, and I started to cry. Rebecca squeezed me against her, digging her fingertips into my side and back, and soothed me.

  “It’s one week, sweetie. It’s only one week.”

  But both of us knew that it really comprised of more than just one week.

  Chapter 44: Officer Cane Bishop

  Downtown Hurricane Bay

  Precinct 12

  54 South Bay Road

  1:33 P.M.

  Officer Cane Bishop demanded to see me in his office. Through glass double doors and up three steps, I met Officer Blaine Chandler at a pec-high desk while he manned the phones. Big in size, adorable with deep dimples, Chandler should have been in Hollywood films or gay porn. His dimples screamed sexy as hell, and black curls over matching eyes were dappled with a sheen of expensive gel. Our ages were similar, and he dated a Marine named Tony Espalda, Officer August in Precinct 12’s annual Officer of the Month Calendar, which always sold out.

  “Look what cuteness the city cat dragged in,” he said, licking his plump lips.

  “Chandler, let me remind you that you have a boyfriend,” I said, staying on my side of the desk. “Keep your pecker in your officer pants.”

  “Tony and I have an understanding about flirting. We can say what we want to other guys. We just can’t touch, kiss, lick, or fuck them.”

  “How’s that working out for your relationship?” I asked, pleased with his honesty.

  “We undress, compare notes, and bang each other like porn stars. It’s quite the adventure, if you want to know the truth. Both of us get off on the tales.”

  “That sounds fun,” I said, making a note to bring the sex game up to Casey.

  “What, the compared notes or the banging?”

  “All of the above.”

  To the left of the tall desk stretched a very long hallway comprised of walnut wood and vintage tile. Yellow globes hung down from the ceiling, begging to be cleaned and coated with cobwebs. Officer Bishop popped his head out of his office, finding me.