Our Little Secret (Jake Hancock Private Investigator Mystery series Book 5)

by Dan Taylor

  Without taking his eyes of the car, he says, “Okay…but what about the window and the taillight?”

  “They were like that before I hit the road too.”

  “You’re going to have to pay for those, sir.”

  “Can I interest you in a rifle?”

  I have to cough up for the damage to the car. I’ll send the bill on to Sheriff Constable, along with a thank you note for his hospitality.

  Next is walking to Greg’s car, which is still in the long-stay parking lot I left it in.

  I get changed into the pizza delivery boy outfit and park on Boulevard about a hundred yards away from my apartment building. In the trunk, Greg keeps a collection of empty pizza boxes. I grab one of those and tell Annabelle to wait ten or so minutes before she comes to the apartment. Or until she no longer feels safe waiting in the street.

  When I get into my apartment, I catch Greg watching Grey’s Anatomy while wearing my best pajamas.

  “At least tell me you’ve eaten carbs,” I say.

  “Shh, this is a good bit.”

  “And good evening to you too, Greg.” I go over to the fridge, putting the empty pizza box on a kitchen work surface, then look inside. “You haven’t even drunk the shitty beer.”

  He ignores me.

  I go back over to the living area.

  “As much as I’d love to sit and watch this and shed a few tears of poignancy with you, Greg, you’re going to have to make tracks.”

  Without taking his eyes away from the screen, he says, “Are you still going to pay me for the whole weekend?”

  “I will, but you’ll have to get the smell of white musk dry cleaned out of those silk pajamas.”

  He sighs. “Can you record this for me? It’s getting really good.”

  “As soon as your ass is in the bathroom, getting changed into your pizza delivery boy outfit, I’ll jump in a time machine and then pop a video in my VCR for you. How about that?”

  He rolls his eyes, says, “There’s this thing called TiVo.” But he gets up and makes his way to the bathroom, and gets changed.

  Greg nearly tries to take the pizza box with him. If he’s representative of the smarts of the next generation, I really fear for the great American economy.

  Before he leaves, I again make my argument for him growing a handlebar mustache: “Think Daniel Day-Lewis in Gangs of New York, but without the greasy hair.”

  “I’ll think about it, if it gets me a raise.”

  “Deal. Now get gone.”

  A couple minutes later, there’s a buzz at the intercom. I let Annabelle in.

  The first thing she says when I let her in is, “I just saw a guy on the way out who looks just like you did when you wore the fake beard.”

  “That’s Greg, my body double. The guy I told you about.”

  “So it’s true?”

  “I showed you my scar, but it took seeing Greg to convince you?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Never mind.”

  “He grunted when I said, ‘Hi, Jake. Why are you on your way out?’ And then he walked right past me.”

  I shake my head. “Take a seat in the living area while I get changed.”

  She does, then says, “Oh cool! Grey’s Anatomy. I love this episode!”

  I get changed in double time, and then Annabelle and I take a cab to the shitty bar. During the drive, I reiterate the plan to Annabelle.

  I’m waiting in a booth in a dark corner. Julius and Megan are standing at the bar, looking worse for wear. Ordering a drink, five or so feet away from them, looking a little nervous, is Annabelle.

  Any moment now…

  After she’s gotten her drink and taken a few sips, she starts making her way over. Megan has her arms draped over Julius’s shoulders, and they’re doing a slow dance to inappropriate music.

  Annabelle’s hesitant. She makes a few false starts, takes a deep breath, and then starts walking up to the happy couple. Bingo time!

  She approaches and taps Julius on the shoulder. He turns around, looks skeptically at her. Then says, “Do I know you?”

  Megan and Annabelle have spoken on the phone, so I asked Annabelle to put on an accent.

  “Julius, is this your girlfriend?” Annabelle says.

  Sounds just like Lady Di, nice!

  He looks at Megan, who’s taken her arms off his shoulders, and who’s positioned herself next to him. He shoots her a look that says I have no idea who this is.

  Then Annabelle says, “Oh God! I can’t believe you don’t recognize me. How long’s it been? Like a week?”

  “Like never,” Julius says, then he turns to Megan. “I have no idea who this girl is.”

  During the conversation that follows, Megan watches calmly, not giving anything away in her facial expression.

  Annabelle: “Don’t be silly, cutie. Last weekend. It was a blast.”

  Julius: “Last weekend I was otherwise engaged, darling.”

  “Ooh, bad choice of words, Julius. Is that a ring I see on her finger?”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Stop with the games, sweetie. We both know where you were last weekend.”

  “We most certainly do not. And stop calling me sweetie, honey!”

  “Right back at you, pumpkin pie!”

  “Drop the honey, angel!”

  “Quit calling me angel, juniper berry.”

  At this point, Megan says, “Will you two both stop?”

  They do, looking like scolded school children.

  Megan addresses Annabelle, “Are you implying that my boyfriend was with you last weekend?”

  Annabelle says, “Yes. That’s where he was. Sorry to have to tell you this.”

  “Okay, that’s all I needed to hear.” She starts looking around, then says, “Jake Hancock! Jake, where are you?”

  I duck down, but it’s no good. She spots me.

  I stand up, playing it cool. Acting as though I’ve just spotted them.

  Megan shakes her head as I jog over.

  “So here you guys are. I’ve been looking all over for you,” I say.

  “And the first place you looked was over in the corner there?” Megan asks.

  “I looked around, and then figured you weren’t here. So I sat in the corner, waiting…for you guys…to show up.”

  “Really convincing story, Jake. Do you want to tell me why what sounds like the girl from your car doing a British accent telling me—unconvincingly, I might add—that she was having an affair with Julius last weekend?”

  The game’s up. “Because I sent her over here.” I look at Annabelle. “Can you wait in the corner for me, Annabelle?” She goes, uttering an almost inaudible sorry to Megan in her regular accent. Then I say, “Megan, I’ve got something to tell you, and you’re not going to like it.”

  38.

  MEGAN AND I are sitting in one of the booths. Julius insisted on coming with us, but Megan told him she’d speak to him tomorrow. She didn’t look at him when she said it, but down at her engagement ring instead, spinning it on her finger. I think Julius understood the gravity of the situation. He looked like a man that had been busted, and he made no counterargument for why he should be around to hear what I say. Who can blame him?

  I’ve been preparing Megan for what she’s about to hear the last couple minutes, telling her that no matter what, she shouldn’t think any less of herself because of what Julius has done, and she shouldn’t shed even one tear for that jerk.

  “So, are you ready?” I finish with.

  “Just tell me, Jake.”

  I open my mouth to tell her, but hesitate. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to a quieter place? Maybe do this back at my apartment?”

  She sighs. “Just put me out of my misery already.”

  “Okay, here goes. I know what Julius was doing in Hickston last weekend, and it wasn’t visiting a female friend.”

  “Sure, I figured out that much.”

  “Megan…” I pause. “Megan, Julius
was visiting a man last weekend. And not a friend, but more than a friend, which is to say, not that there’s anything wrong with it. Wait, let me reword that. There definitely is something wrong with it, because he was in a relationship with you, but—”

  “So Julius was having a homosexual affair in Hickston?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh.”

  I wait for it. Tears. Maybe some violent outburst, where I’m inexplicably the object of Megan’s hatred and aggression. I’d have to grab her by the wrists, maybe have to shout to the steroidal door supervisor for help if things got really heavy. I sit there cringing, watching her think about what I said.

  What I don’t expect her to say is, “What a relief!”

  “It is?”

  I’m not fully convinced. Mount Vesuvius took centuries of pressure buildup before it finally blew. I’m still cringing, thinking about taking her cocktail glass away from her. I also wonder if she’s wearing stiletto heels.

  “Totally. I thought you were going to tell me Julius had an affair with another woman.”

  “So it’s better this way, with another dude?”

  She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Of course. I’d hate to think that I’d driven my boyfriend to having an affair with some whore. He was probably gay all along, and was using me so his skeptical dad would finalize the appropriation of his estate in his will or some shit.”

  “And that’s a good thing?”

  “Of course.”

  “So you’re not questioning your femininity, maybe thinking you turned Julius gay?”

  That look again, like she just caught me putting my hand in my diaper after I’d made poopy. “Why the hell would I think that?”

  “No reason.”

  Megan looks almost too happy. And I regard what she says next with the greatest of skepticism: “Let’s order a bottle of champagne to celebrate.”

  “I don’t know. Those things are really heavy.” I pause. “Megan, don’t take this the wrong way, but I expected to be wiping your spit out of my eye right now from you calling Julius names that would make even my sister blush. What’s the deal?”

  “The deal is, Jake Hancock, you beautiful but oh-so-dumb man, is that you just gave me the perfect out. To tell you the truth, I’ve been regretting getting engaged to Julius all day. I said yes because, you know, it would’ve gotten really awkward had I not. But yay! Another man! This is the best result.” She leans over and kisses me smack on the lips. I glance over at Annabelle while this is happening to me. She folds her arms over her chest and scowls, refusing to make eye contact with me.

  Megan returns to her normal sitting position. We sit in silence a couple seconds, during which Megan looks around the bar, her eyes shining from imagining what the future holds without waxed-chested yuppie Julius in her life.

  Then Megan says, “I began to doubt my decision after he started discussing ‘Wedding Plan A’ with me. It sounded like he had formulated it around the age it was getting awkward for his parents that he was still serving his dolls cups of imaginary tea.”

  “I’m glad I could be of service. But what I don’t get, is why you didn’t just break it off with him anyway? Without the excuse I provided you.”

  “Oh, I was going to. I even have the draft of the text I was going to send him saved on my phone. But it’s better this way. I figure I won’t have to deal with him phoning up drunk in a couple months’ time, professing his undying love for me. He’ll be so ashamed, I’ll never hear from him again, I reckon.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  We sit in silence ten seconds or so.

  Then she says, “Did I say eek earlier?”

  “You did, and in a deafening octave, and with four or five additional Es.”

  “Did I sound convincing?”

  “I did wonder why you bought all that bullshit about Julius having visited a female friend, and why you were acting like you’d just been asked to the high school prom.”

  “I suppose I was just trying to convince myself I was happy, and I didn’t totally buy it.” She thinks a second. “And I think I remember you saying ‘eek’ back.”

  “It was a sacrifice I was willing to make for your moment of false happiness until I got solid evidence that Julius wears both a backpack and fanny pack.”

  “Why thank you, Jake. Now, are you gonna tell me what the college-age hitchhiker you picked up is doing here with you in Hollywood?”

  “In my defense, she practically lives here. I was just driving her back to campus.”

  “And the reason she came up to us and said she had an affair with Julius?”

  “She was doing me a favor.”

  “Oh, now I get it. Jake Hancock was trying to protect me from ‘questioning my femininity.’”

  “He was.”

  “And what was he hoping to get out of it?” She raises a suggestive eyebrow.

  “Well, I guess he was just being a good guy for once.”

  She looks skeptical. “Are you sure there’s nothing he wants?”

  “Right now, it would be kinda cool if he and his friend stopped referring to him in the third person.”

  She sighs and rolls her eyes at the same time. What an actress. Then says, “Jake, I was trying to offer you sex, not as payment, because, well, I’m not a hooker. I’d like to, for old time’s sake.”

  “I know you were. I was just trying to make you work for it. Don’t mention it to Annabelle. I think she has a thing for me.”

  I glance over at Annabelle. She makes fleeting eye contact then flips me the bird.

  Megan says, “I think I can manage not blurting out to some stranger that we’re going to have sex tonight.”

  “Thanks. Now I better invite Annabelle over here. She’s one tender moment away from writing a disparaging remark about me on Twitter. Do you promise to play nice?”

  “To the lying whore who said she slept with my boyfriend—”

  I sigh.

  “You didn’t let me finish. I was going to say, ‘…who said she slept with my boyfriend for the kindest possible reason?’”

  “It’s a start, but it might be a good thing if you dropped the whole lying whore thing.”

  I wave Annabelle over.

  She takes her time getting here. And when she does, she sits next to Megan, but keeps a good distance. It’s obvious she’s pretending Megan doesn’t exist. Megan does likewise.

  Time for Old Hancock to play diplomat. “Now ladies, it’s Saturday night. I’d usually be drunk and stuffing ones under some Russian stripper’s tooth floss-thin G-string. As an act of kindness, and because I enjoy the company of both of you, I’m willing to invite you two along on my little excursion to my favorite titty bar, Jingle Jangles, but under one condition.”

  They ask at the same time, “What’s that?”

  “That you two ladies put your differences aside for one night and that you don’t giggle every time a stripper stumbles while walking in high heels. Deal?”

  They both smile begrudgingly at each other. Then Annabelle says, “I like your hair, Megan. What conditioner do you use?”

  Megan says, “Thank you, Annabelle. And I don’t use conditioner. My hair’s naturally like this.”

  “Cool!”

  “I like yours too. What’s your secret? Coconut oil?”

  “No, just an apple cider vinegar rinse.”

  “I’ve heard great things about that. And by the condition of your hair, I’d say it’s working.”

  Annabelle beams. “Thanks, Megan, I’ll have to give you the recipe.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mission accomplished.

  39.

  MEGAN AND ANNABELLE get on well. Too well. An hour into our visit to Hollywood’s premier titty bar, Megan and Annabelle are getting on like sisters, with Megan taking the big sister role. It’s totally fucked up the possibility of them kissing later on. You can’t win them all.

  The two ladies keep their other promise. A newbie, probably a girl on a t
rial run, falls flat on her face, and Megan and Annabelle pretend to be sympathetic. I’m really proud of those two ladies.

  The rest of the night’s a blast. When it’s over, Annabelle takes a cab back to the campus, and Megan and I grab a cab to my apartment.

  Megan and I do some more catching up, I dissuade her from making her ultimate phone call to Julius while she’s blind drunk, and then we finally make it to the bedroom. As you know, Megan and I are a little worse for wear, so the sex is like two silverback gorillas doing a drunken tango.

  As Megan’s falling asleep, I contemplate what I’ve learned today. I started the weekend with contemplating my shrink’s insistence that I need more friends. As I listen to Megan start to snore, I think I get it now. In a funny way, helping Megan find out her boyfriend likes to order both steak and a side salad and helping Annabelle uncover the cover up of her rape allegation elucidated the necessity of friendship for me. Maybe it was what my investigating coincidentally led to: seeing how the friendship of Annabelle and Megan enriched one another’s lives and beauty regime. Maybe it’s that I just had the best fuck-buddy sex a man can ask for, without the danger of my sexual partner developing feelings for me. Or maybe it’s just because I’m drunk and in a contemplative mood.

  For tomorrow, I had planned on getting some me time, but I think I’ll persevere with heeding my shrink’s advice, despite the disastrous start on Friday.

  Tomorrow, I’ll need friends to get stoned and watch SpongeBob SquarePants with me. And I think I know just the people.

  40.

  “ANNABELLE, YOU HAVE to put your mouth around it and then suck.”

  “Oh, I thought I was doing it right.”

  “You were blowing. You need to suck.”

  “Is this right?”

  She tries again, a practice run.

  “It is, and when you think you can’t suck any longer, you need to pull your thumb out of the hole.”

  “Like this?”

  “That’s perfect. Now, are you ready to do it for real this time?”

  “I think so. But I don’t want to waste any of it.”

  It’s the morning, and Megan comes out of the bathroom. She comes and sits on the sofa chair. Annabelle and I are on the sofa.