Lemons 03 Stroke of Genius

by Grant Fieldgrove

  2.

  I was on the phone with my credit card company before we even hit the exit. Elise waited with me in my car while I was on hold, even though I told her several times she should go home and I would just see her in the morning at the office. She doesn’t listen, though. Truth is, I didn’t want to resort to a temper tantrum in front of her. Lord knows she’s seen me at my worst, but it’s still embarrassing. I hate the way I get in situations like this, but I’ve just had to learn how to deal. Elise, however, should have cut and run months ago. I’m glad she stuck with me.

  After ten minutes of sitting on hold and actually hearing my blood pressure rise, a friendly sounding voice came on the line, asking me for my account number even though I had just typed it in on the phone’s keypad mere minutes ago!

  I explained my situation and was told that my card was cancelled due to suspicious charges made on my account in Las Vegas. Stupid, stupid Las Vegas! It seems someone was trying to have a fun-filled weekend on my dime. Jerks! They caught it and apparently tried to contact me. I have a bad habit of not answering my cell when I’m working, then forgetting all about checking the voice mail. I took her word for it. When they didn’t hear back from me, they cancelled it. I was assured they would have a new card in my possession early next week. I thanked her and hung up.

  I pulled up the web browser on my phone and went to my bank’s mobile site. It was down. As usual. I swear to God I am changing banks. Nothing but trouble with these assholes. I conceded to my defeat, realizing there was nothing more that could be done tonight.

  I explained what happened to Elise and she leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek, “It’s okay. We’ll get it figured out tomorrow, okay? I promise.”

  “Yeah. I guess. Still just pisses me off. Did my bank cancel my card, too? I have no access to my money if they did. What if I need to buy something?”

  “It eleven o’clock and we’re going home. You don’t need to buy anything from now until morning.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “I’m always right,” she informs me as she opens up my car’s passenger door and steps out. “See ya in the morning?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Drive safe.”

  “Safely,” I correct her, all in good fun.

  “Drive SAFELY, then. Can I borrow a dollar? Oh wait.”

  “Funny. Get lost.”

  She flashes me another smile then closes the door. I wait for her to get into her car and start the engine before I put mine in reverse and begin to head home.

  Wrecker is there to greet me, as usual, when I walk in. I’ve had him on a diet for the past couple of months and we’ve been going on a lot more walks. We could both use it. His energy has gone up and he can now actually fit through his small dog door again. A feat that he has not been able to manage in a couple of years. It makes me happy seeing him so full of life. I need him around for a lot longer.

  I gave him a treat and he followed me to the sofa which has served as my bed since my wife died nearly two years ago. One day I’ll make my way back into the bedroom and try to live a normal life, but I’m just not sure when. Until then, the sofa will be fine.

  I fire up the DVD player and the first disk that begins is a Full House one that I’ve watched all the way through no less than five times this week. I press play and lay down on the sofa with Wrecker, covering us up with our blanket and doze off to sleep without even changing into pajamas or brushing my teeth, something that I never thought would happen. Just goes to show you how distracted I was with my current money situation.

  My alarm went off at seven thirty. It was time to go to work. I had some calls to make. Wrecker gets up and lets me roll off the sofa. I fold the blanket and rest it nicely on the back of the couch, then make sure all the pillows are put back, lined up and even. Now I can start my day.

  I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth since, judging by the taste in my mouth, if you took the Pepsi challenge with my breath and a bum’s butthole, you’d have a hard time telling which was which.

  I shower, get dressed and head to work. Elise has beaten me there…again.

  “Do you live here?” I ask as I walk into our office on the bottom floor of the city’s tallest building.

  “No, I’m just punctual. Something that you are not.”

  “Yeah yeah.”

  “You’d think with how obsessive you are over everything you would need to be on time for everything.”

  “Psh, yeah, you’d think. But nope.” I laughed and walked to the window to open the blinds. “Hell of a view, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  Our view is grass and a street.

  “Did you call the bank yet?”

  “Not yet. I was saving that excitement for the office. I meant to ask, have you heard anything else from Cinemax?”

  “Not a word. I just figured they’re going to screw us over.”

  “Well, of course they’re going to screw us over. I just wish they were polite enough to tell us about it.”

  Not this last summer but the one before it, Elise and I were involved in a really high-profile case involving the one and only Brad Jackson, actor extraordinaire (apparently). I witnessed him killing someone in Shell Beach. I reported it immediately to the local police, but as it turns out, in typical Lemon’s Luck, the same guy I reported it to was Brad’s accomplice and gay lover. Shit that could only happen to me, I swear. Anyway, on top of proving his guilt we also managed to prove the innocence of a woman wrongly imprisoned for killing Brad’s wife Annette. It was a fun filled summer. In fact, it had been a fun filled year. I’d been shot, tied up…twice (!) and narrowly escaped death…also twice. Elise once. On top of that, my wife was murdered in our house. This is going to be my second Christmas without her. I’m trying to fight through the sadness and push the thought out of my mind, but I know, every now and then, it seeps through the cracks of my facade.

  The Cinemax situation I was referring to earlier is; after that big Brad Jackson case, there was talk of a movie being made of the incidents. Kind of like all those terrible made-for-TV movies that come from major trials. Did we get a major network, NBC, ABC, CBS, Showtime? Hell no, we get Cinemax. I know for a fact the movie is in development but we haven’t heard word one since the initial meeting.

  Remember that one episode of The Simpsons when Bart gets involved in the mob and they end up making a movie out of it starring Doogie Howser and Homer is upset to learn that the studio changed the story just enough that they didn’t have to pay him a single cent? Yeah, I’ve got a funny feeling that is what’s going to be happening to us. Again, love that Lemon’s Luck!

  Not only that but it’ll probably involve horrible simulated sex and lots of fake boobies, judging from the network’s track record. Ugh!

  “Anyway,” I continue, “I guess it’s time to call this stupid bank of mine and see what the deal is. Then we’ll finish up our work from last night.”

  “Sounds good. I’m going to run out to the lobby and get a coffee. You want anything?”

  “Yeah, that’d be great, since I couldn’t stop and get anything on my way this morning. You know what I like.”

  “You really should carry a few bucks on ya at all times.”

  “Thanks mom. Take a hike.”

  “I’m going to punch you in your big, dumb face when I get back.”

  I take a seat in my plush and wonderful office chair that my wife bought me when I first started my business. “Yeah, you go ahead and try that.” I pick up the phone and begin to dial. “Thanks, E.”

  “You got it.”

  A recording answered right when the door shut, giving me all kinds of options. How about the option of talking to a goddamn human? Which number do I push for that?

  After fifteen minutes of smashing buttons on my office phone out of pure frustration after being told my available balance was ninety-six cents, a human finally came on the line. I swear to god I hate this effing computer automated bulls
hit!

  She asks for my name and account number, something that, again, I just supplied to the stupid recording proving that it actually does nothing except keep the caller occupied and made to feel like something is actually getting accomplished while he is on the phone.

  “What can I help you with, sir?” the woman on the line asks.

  “Well, for starters, I was just informed that my available balance is ninety-six cents.”

  “Yes sir, that is correct.”

  “Okay, well it’s most certainly NOT correct and that is why I’m calling. I should have several thousand dollars in there.”

  “Well, it says you have several pending charges that haven’t cleared yet.”

  “Okay, can you tell me what those charges are?” Anger was rising. How could she be so calm while my bank account sits in front of her with a balance of less than a goddamn dollar?

  “Well, the first charge is from the Myra Hotel in Las Vegas. That charge was for four-thousand and eighty-nine dollars. That was made on-‘

  “Woah woah woah!” I interrupted. “I haven’t been to Vegas and I certainly haven’t been to that hotel!”

  “So you’re saying this charge is fraudulent?”

  “Yes, that is exactly what I’m saying. What other charges are there?”

  “Well sir,” (I swear to god, if she calls me sir one more goddamn time I’m going to lose it,) “there are several other charges from the Las Vegas area and one charge from a 7-11 on Stockdale Highway here in town.”

  “And no one down there could figure out that I didn’t teleport from Las Vegas to Bakersfield to buy an energy drink then teleport back to Vegas to buy some more shit?”

  “No sir.” (Gahhhh!!!) “The card was declined when your money ran out.”

  No shit!

  “Well,” I said, “the charges are still pending, right? Can you just cancel them?”

  “No, I’m afraid we can’t do that, sir. What you need to do is wait for the charges to clear then come into a branch and file a fraud complaint.”

  “Are you serious? I have to sit here and wait,” Elise walked back in holding her coffee and a sugar free Rockstar for me. I reached out and did the gimme-gimme signal with my hand. She passed it to me and I mouthed I LOVE YOU to her. She responded with I KNOW then turned and went back out to her desk.

  “Sir?” the woman on the line had noticed my sudden silence.

  I continued, “I have to sit here and wait for my money to be stolen before I can do anything about it? Just cancel the goddamn transactions!”

  “Sir, there is no need to use foul language towards me, I am only explain-‘

  “You’re explaining to me that I have ninety-six cents in my account and all my money is stolen and I’m supposed to sit back and wait for these assholes to finish the theft.”

  “That’s just the way it works. Feel free to walk into a branch once the charges clear and see what they can do for you. We are done here. Thank you for calling.”

  She hung up.

  AHHH!!!

  3.

  I slammed my phone down in exasperation then took a few deep breaths to calm myself before going out and talking with Elise. It didn’t really seem to work, so I dropped the idea all together and exited the office anyway.

  “You will not believe this, E.” I said.

  “Oh god,” she responded, “what’s wrong?”

  “Well, someone had themselves a fun-filled weekend in Las Vegas, on my dime.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “And here’s the best part! The charges are all still pending. Technically the money is still in my account but my fabulous bank just told me I have to wait for the charges to clear before I can do anything about it!”

  “What? That’s so stupid! So you have to wait and watch your money get stolen before they’ll do anything about it?”

  “Yeah! That’s exactly what I said! So stupid! I swear to god I am switching banks! Up yours, Kern Educators Credit Union! You suck!”

  “So what are you going to do? How much money do you have left?”

  “Yeah, um, I have ninety-six cents.”

  “You owe me three bucks for that Rockstar.”

  “What a jerk.”

  ***

  I tried to push my anger and aggravation aside. The fact was we had good news for a client and that always improved whatever mood I happened to be in. I called the parents of the beaten up sack-of-ass and told them we had proof of London’s access to funds and pictures of him purchasing alcohol and consuming it. The family was very pleased. They agreed to be at my office within an hour for final payment and to collect the pictures to be taken to the judge. Promptly, I assumed.

  I removed the memory card from my camera and inserted it into my printer. When the photos were ready I put them in an envelope and set them on my desk, ready for pickup. I polished off the rest of my drink then lounged back into my chair, allowing my brain to wander to a daydream of me finding the asshole that ripped me off. Apparently, in this daydream I had mad fighting skills and wore tuxedos. I heard the phone ring vaguely but I ignored it. I assumed Elise picked it up and I continued beating the living crap out of some douche in a fancy Las Vegas casino.

  After replaying the beating several times in my head, each one with the most minor of differences, Elise barged in and broke my reverie.

  “I know what will cheer you up!” she said, excitedly.

  “Twenty three thousand, nine-hundred ninety-nine dollars and four cents?”

  “Close! A new case!”

  “Okay, that’s good I guess. Am I missing something…?” I ask.

  “Yep! It involves a dead body…”

  “Okay…?”

  “But, it’s not just any dead body.”

  “I’m listening…”

  “This dead body happened to become dead while…You ready?”

  “…yeah?”

  “Masturbating!”

  “Score!”

  ***

  Elise filled me in on the semi-vague details she had just received via her brief phone call. A dude named Vincent Maxwell has a friend, sorry, HAD a friend named Balthazar August, (seriously) who cashed in, shall we say, with a smile on his face. Here’s the best part, he died in Las Vegas! And not only did he die in Las Vegas, he died in the same hotel where some asshole just spent all my money. The coincidence was amazing and I started to get excited about the possibilities of where this case may take us.

  A maid at the hotel entered the room during her usual cleaning rounds to discover Mr. August dead in the closet, pants down with a belt wrapped around his neck, hanging from a hook. The maid calmly phoned hotel security to inform them that she found another dead body, her ninth this year.

  The LVPD we’re called to the scene and eventually came up with an accidental death ruling. But, Balthazar’s friend, with whom he was vacationing, thinks things didn’t add up. They were roommates together here in town and went to Vegas for a quick weekend getaway to celebrate the selling of their latest script. Get this, they write low-level, soft core booby movies for Cinemax! This case was going to be great!

  Anyway, the friend who called us, Vincent, isn’t happy with the ruling. He said he had known the deceased for years and he never showed any sign of being interested in choking himself while…choking himself. Even with the massive amount of alcohol involved during their Vegas weekend, he still couldn’t see it happening like that. He suspected foul play. He didn’t say why on the phone. He would explain when he arrived at the office late this afternoon.

  As for now, our previous clients were just arriving. They would be happy to see us.

  4.

  I checked my bank account again later that afternoon and lucky for me, all my money had been stolen! Hooray, now I could finally do something about it. Thanks crappy credit union!

  I wanted to get to the bank before they closed today but we were still waiting on Vincent to arrive. Looks like it would have to wait until tomorrow morning.

 
Vincent showed up thirty minutes later. I asked Elise to join us in my office to hear this awesome story.

  I invited Vincent to take a seat. He obliged.

  “So, Mr. Maxwell…”

  “Just call me Vince,” he said.

  “Great. I have a friend named Maxwell.”

  “Good to know,” he said and he gave Elise a quick glance. What’s that all about?

  “Anyway, Vince,” I say “Tell us what happened and why you need our services.”

  “Well, we decided to go to Vegas last week. We had just finished some work and were in the mood to do some drinking and some gambling. We usually get over there about twice a year or so. We have fun.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “So, anyway, we’re having a good time, playing some blackjack, drinking some really expensive free drinks, enjoying the scenery, if you know what I mean…” He added a little nod, making sure I knew what he meant, I guess. I didn’t.

  “Nope.”

  “Ya know, the ass, man.”

  “The Assman?”

  He turned to Elise again. “Is this guy for real?”

  “I get asked that a lot,” she answered. “Please continue, Mr. Maxwell.”

  He smirked then went on. “Anyway, Balls hit a bit of a losing streak and decided to head back up to the room to cool off for a minute and grab some more cash. He said he’d be back in a little bit and would text me if I wasn’t still at the table. He never came back. That was the last time I saw him alive.”

  “I’m sorry; Balls?” I ask.

  “Yeah, that’s just what I called him. Just a joke, since-‘

  “Okay,” Elise chimed in, “you said earlier that the maid found his body. I’m confused about the timeline. How long had he been gone before he was found dead?”

  “Not too long. Maybe a little over two hours or so? We had been up all night. When he left the table it had to have been after 6am. The hotel said the maids start their rounds at 8am.”

  “Okay. So why do you think it wasn’t an accident?”

  “Because I’ve known the guy for years. We were roommates. I think I would know if he was a pervert.”

  I interrupted, “So, what you’re saying is; your friend wasn’t known for masturbating…INXS?” I looked around the room, trying hard not to giggle at my clever, and rather hilarious, joke, seeing if anyone else got it. Apparently they did not. Alright then. “I heard you guys write Skinemax flicks. Is this true?”