by Graeme Hurry
So—anyway—let me tell you my tale, because—if I do say so myself—it’s a good one and it deserves to be told, see, because—the one time—the very one time that I get a real case I just about came as close as I ever have—and as any man would have—to losing my life.
I actually got the case because of my assistant Anthony, everybody calls him Ant, as much because of the fact that he is only 5’4” tall and 125-pounds and not just as a shortening of his first name. Anyway—Ant—he comes to me and tells me that his dad wants to see us about a cold-case file that he keeps getting calls on from the son of the murder victim. It seems that the son has been saying for thirty years that he knew who the murderer was but—see—the thing is the son of the murder victim is a millionaire who has derived the majority of his wealth from his deceased father—the same father who was the murder victim and the deceased son’s claim—for the past thirty years—that he knows who the murderer is has long ago been discounted by the local police—the reason being—because the murderer that the son keeps identifying is his very own mother—the very same mother who had inherited—fifty million smackeroos—the bulk of her husband’s fortune and—being their only child—fifty million bucks that he—Hiram Q. Love II, would stand to inherit and—thereby—add to his portfolio, which had included ten million in liquid cash, a ton of stocks and three car dealerships but that now—in the summer of 2011—was down to just one struggling, stagnating, suffering car dealership, which was now merely symbolic of what he once was—because—on the outside—you could see only the shiny, vast array of an inventory of 500 vehicles, 300 new, shiny Ford cars and trucks and 200 used vehicles, but on the inside, where his accountants struggled in vain to shift the numbers around they couldn’t quite change the deadly, blood-red to the ever-increasingly beautiful black that all businesses strive for but that very few—in 2011—could actualize. Anyway—to get back to it—Ant tells me that his dad—who is a lieutenant on the local police force—has been handed a dozen cold cases and that the Love case is on the top of the pile because it is—supposedly—the easiest case to close, because of the above facts—but see Ant’s dad—Lt. Anthony J. Carpone Sr.—by the way—who stands 6’4” in height and weighs almost 300-pounds, keeps getting these daily calls from Hiram Q. Love Jr., calls for him to investigate his cold-blooded mother who he says at—in 2011—60-years old, is prime to confess. He tells Ant’s dad this because he says that she has confessed to him and if they will just send a contingent of cops over to Sandy Isles, about 200-miles east of Tampa, she will confess to them. Ant’s dad sent a contingent of one cop—a 27-year-old female psychologist with the rank of Detective Sergeant—who came back with exactly nothing but denials from the mother, but Ant’s dad wanted to put this case to rest once and for all and so he told Ant that he wanted us, he knew Ant worked for me, to finish the case off—once and for all. It seemed also that Ant’s dad had accepted a large discount on some cars that the police department had purchased from Love Ford, so that there was now a multitude of reasons to finish this case off—once and for all. It was a murder but there had never been any real suspects because Hiram Q. Love Seniors body had been found in a sewer drain in Tampa with a .357 slug in his brain and his body had been almost a week old.
I told Ant to check things out, which meant he would do some snooping around the streets of the town that Mrs. Loretta Love—which was the name she still used—lived in and see what he could come up with. Ant—who has a bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice, is only 21, and who is in his first year of law school—always has had a sixth sense about getting at the truth of what’s going on and can sniff out the facts quicker than a hound dog underneath a treed bobcat. He reported back to me that Mrs. Lo-Love a.k.a. the Love-bug woman, was rumored to be slightly nuts but that she also was very friendly and ate in a local restaurant—the Love Bug— that she also owned, regularly and that she talked about her long-ago deceased husband all the time. Ant had talked to her and thought she was a little weird but also thought it was a 50-50 call if she had actually killed her husband and the population of the town seemed to be split at about that rate also, and all those people over the age of about 40 in the small town still remembered the case. I still remember Ant’s call: “Yeah, boss,” he said, “she’s a little nuts-soid but man she’s a looker too—know uh I’m sayin’?” Ant was intelligent—like I said he’s in law school— but he has this slang term “know what I’m saying” that actually sounds like: “know uh I’m sayin’” and he ends just about every sentence with it. He has also called me boss since the very first job he did for me and, although I never liked the term—from anyone else—from Ant it was always cool because he used it just like he would use your name and my first name, being Julius, well, you can understand my gratitude. Ant also has a habit of making up words: like “nut-soid” but, being a slang-user myself I liked him all the more for not trying to change as his higher education pressed him to, now and in his up-coming future.
“A looker,” I said, “c’mon she’s gotta be in her sixties or seventies by now. This …” I glanced at the file I had on my desk, “this happened in … in eighty … eighty-one … she was … she was—lemme see— thirty, man she’s sixty-years old Ant?
“She’s a looker boss, believe me, she ain’t the beautiful-ess woman but she got curves like Dolly Parton man—know uh I’m sayin’?
“Yeah Ant,” I said, “I do and I’ll be down there tomorrow.
“Yeah, you want me to wait here for you then boss? I mean, I gotta class tomorrow in the mornin’?
“Naw, you go ahead and go back to Tampa Ant, I’ll take it from here.
“How many hours boss …? Know uh I’m sayin’?
“Shhh … it … as many as we can stretch it out Ant … remember our motto don’t jah ….?
“Shee-it boss, if its department money the day is gonna be sunny … know uh I’m sayin’?
“Yeah, I know what you’re saying and I think I’ll drive up there tonight too Ant.
“Wha’ … why you comin’ so quick boss … shee-it, ‘at’s at least a three-ah-four-hour drive from Tampa to Sandy Isles man, dependin’ on traffic, shee-it, gotta go through all those small towns and all the lights and all—know uh I’m sayin’ boss?
“I know what you mean Ant but you told me that Missus Love always ate dinner at the Love Bug Restaurant on Fridays?
“She does boss-she sure does—she owns it too—know uh I’m sayin’?
“Well, see, I really want to see what Dolly Parton looks like—up close I mean?
Ant laughed heartily and I began packing a suitcase. Sandy Isles claimed their skies were always sunny and their beaches always sandy and besides I was on the clock and it was department money—payback—not the exact same department and not the same authority but a little bit was better than none and anyway I felt—for the first time in 11-years—like a cop again.
- 2 -
The Case
It is dangerous to follow the truth too near, lest she should kick out our teeth.
—Sir Walter Raleigh (1554-1618)
I got to Sandy Isles at 5:45 p.m. that evening and pulled in to the Love-Bug restaurant, where I had just gotten off the phone with Ant—who was already there—and so I knew that Mrs. Love wasn’t there yet and that her usual arrival time was around 6:00 p.m. I got a space close to the front entrance as someone was just pulling out and the parking lot was packed. I walked into the restaurant and saw Ant immediately—he was sitting at a booth that backed up to a large corner in the left-center of the restaurant—a great pick—and Ant had picked it well, it had a perfect view of anyone who came through the front door, the perfect seat for a criminal on the run or the cop—‘ne private detective—that was chasing him—‘ne her.
“Hey boss, nice place huh—I mean, I know it’s unusual but nice too man—and they got some really good chow—know uh I’m sayin’.”
“Yeah—I figured that out—I mean the parkin’ lots packed and there’s at least a dozen
people waitin’ for a table.
“Yeah I tol’ jew boss, I tol’ jew so—I mean the Tuna, Grouper, Marlin ‘nin Swordfish, man you name it—it’s all right outta the blue water boss—fresh man—top-shelf boss—know uh I’m sayin’?”
“Sounds good, first time I ever ate inside a big love-bug, y’know Ant?”
“Yeah, I know man—like, I wanna tell you boss this Lo’ Love she …”
“Low-love Ant?”
“Yeah boss—that’s what she goes by—that and Loretta—and I talked to her and told her you was a food editor and wanted to interview her and she just smiled at me. She got like this crazy-lookin’ smile man.”
“I know man—you tol’ me—and you also said she’s a looker right?”
“Yeah, she is dat boss but also she’s a little nutsoid—like she really has ah-num like a thing about love-bugs boss—know uh I’m sayin’?”
It was August 10, and the love-bug season in this area was in full swing. Love-bugs are nothing but a nuisance and they were out in full force. They came in the mornings and when you drove your car they could be so thick that you literally couldn’t see to drive—and so people were forced to drive in the late afternoon or night. I nodded at Ant and was just about to ask him what he was talking about when a loud murmuring drew my attention to the front entrance and I looked up to see Dolly Parton’s body-double coming through the front door. She nodded at several people, as they crowded around her and she glad-handed a few of them. She looked up and our eyes met, even as mine lowered to her heaving bosoms and I couldn’t help but stare. She smiled at me and—to my absolute surprise—headed straight towards our table. “Ant … wha’ the hell … she’s comin’ diz way … wha’ …”
“Anthony sweetheart how are you this evening?” she gushed at Ant and he smiled at her and nodded.
“Fine Miz Love ah, just fine and yah’se’f …?” Ant replied, as he took her dainty, milky-white hand in his. I could see her slender fingernails were painted a glaring pink and that she had a ring on every digit—on both hands—including her thumbs.
“Oh, well, and who is your friend Anthony?”
“Oh this is Mr. Dickens he’s the food editor I tol’ jew about.”
“Hello Missus Love. I’m the food editor for the Tampa Digest … ah and I was hoping maybe to do a story on you—uh-er, I mean the Love Bug and the focus, of course, on the menu?”
Her demeanor showed me that, although it didn’t come as a complete surprise to her, she had yet to make up her mind. I had done a ton of research on her and knew she had been interviewed after her husband’s death—some three decades in the past—and several times since—over the years—and I knew from reading all of these interviews that she had disdained them all—all except one, an interview in 2008 that was done by a female reporter and centered primarily around her successful businesses, primarily focusing on her three restaurants, all named after Plecia nearctica—more commonly referred to as the Love Bug. “I don’t usually do interviews … you must have been under the wrong impression J.D.,” she said and I couldn’t help staring at her cleavage as she bent over to shake my hand, which she now quickly released.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that Miz Love, see because I was really impressed with your Love Bug restaurant in Orlando. I spoke to Angela there and …”
“Oh, really Mr. Dickens … well … I know you’re not one of those reporters wishing to dredge up old memories of things I have long forgotten, are you?”
“Oh-no-no, I really liked your restaurant in Orlando and Angela; and when Angela said that the Sandy Isles Love Bug had the freshest fish in Florida, right out of the blue water, well, I just had to make the trip. And, so far, I would rate this Love Bug at five stars.”
“Well, that is so-oh very nice of you Mr. Dickens—do you have a favorite?”
“Call me Jay-Dee, and, well, I really like tuna a lot but then—”
“Well—Jay-Dee—and you can call me Loretta—we have fresh bluefin Tuna … delicious … oh Maria …”
Ant looked at me and smiled laconically—I had called him to tell her I was a food editor looking for an interview—which he had done— but he knew I was still out on a limb but he also knew I had done such things before and that Angela had to be the manager of the Orlando Love Bug restaurant—which she was—and that I had probably gone there and talked to her, which I hadn’t—I had talked to her on the phone. Loretta Love was talking to a waitress telling her to bring us the bluefin tuna and to take special care of us. I smiled at her and couldn’t seem to take my eyes off of her … her—well—you know … her tee-shirt, yeah, it had a picture of a love-bug on the front and it covered the entire shirt, actually, it was two love bugs stuck onto each other, you know, how they stick to one another. One of them was much bigger than the other but there was no doubt about the size of what was underneath of her tee-shirt or their size—obviously—extra large. “Well, I shall be inside my office for about twenty minutes Mr. Dic … ah J.D. and then I shall be free if you wish to interview me then—why—I shall make myself available.”
“Ah-num-er-rum-ah, yeah, I mean yes ma … ah Loretta, yes I ah would like that, I ah-num, very much then ah-er-num-ah—Loretta.”
As soon as she wiggled her way out of sight, Ant leaned in towards me. “Day-yum boss, I never seen you so flustered before—know uh I’m sayin’?” he rasped, with a big smile on his face.
“Yeah, she sure-ore-ah don’t look sixty either, know what I’m sayin’?”
“Yeah boss I can see that and you don’t look fifty—know uh I’m sayin’?”
Ant knew I had just turned fifty a week ago and I nodded and smiled. “C’mon man, I’m losin’ my hair and its half gray.”
“Yeah boss but you’re in great shape, you workin’ out three times a week,, shee-it, and you beat me one-on-one in bee-ball and—well—women get all that plastic surgery stuff and dye their hair—know uh I’m sayin’?”
“Yeah-uh, I know Ant but if that’s what they look like at sixty, man-oh-man, gimme more sixty-year olds y’know?”
“Yeah boss, look lemme leave you here wid her alone I gotta boogey, gotta class at eight a.m. tomorrow—know uh I’m sayin’?”
“Yeah, go ahead and take off Ant, got jah down for fifty hours already this week.”
“Alright boss and hey good luck—know uh I’m sayin’?” Ant winked and laughed heartily, as he walked out of the restaurant.
The waitress brought me a glass of iced water and gave me a long smiling stare.
“What?” I said and she nodded towards the menu I had in front of me but had yet to open. “You get two sides with your bluefin tuna sir, the first page, yes right there and what would you like to drink?”
I ordered sweet potato fries, green beans and a large glass of Sweet Tea and the waitress nodded and hurried away towards the kitchen. The Love Bug Restaurant—from a distance actually glowed but only at night, as I was to see when I left that evening, with by the way the restaurant’s owner—yeah—I know—you’re thinking I got lucky huh? Well, I did but the story ain’t finished—yet. The restaurant was painted ¾ black and ¼ red, just like real love-bugs. One about forty feet long was stuck into one about sixty feet long, as they wound around a corner for another twenty feet. They had painted them with red and black fluorescent paint and it was a weird combination, the black didn’t glow at night very well but they had added strings of Christmas lights and they went on as soon as it turned dark and it was really a sight to see—unique—to say the least. The waitress brought me my Sweet Tea and the glass was just the way I like them—extra large, I wouldn’t need too many refills with this one—it was almost a quart of liquid and ice. I was sipping the tea through a straw when Loretta Love walked up to my table, which was a large circular booth that would seat five or six people easily. She slid into the booth and gave me a large smile that showed a mouthful of glistening, ivory-white teeth, that I just knew were capped. This woman radiated body-heat like you wouldn’t believe and I al
most blushed—this would be astonishing—but remember I said almost, when she sat down next to me and her legs brushed up against mine. “Well sugar,” she said, “would you like to interview me now?” It was at this moment that the waitress brought my tray of food and when Loretta Love saw it she beamed. “Ah—yes eat—eat and enjoy and you can judge our food which is the best in this town, as you will soon see.”
