The Complete Matt Jacob Series

by Klein, Zachary;

  “You don’t need me to make an ass out of yourself, child.” Vivian reached into her baggy, brown dress and emerged with a Lucky Strike. “I don’t usually smoke outside of my house, but around here ladylike doesn’t matter. Light this, will you please?” she asked waving the cigarette in front of my face.

  Vivian turned her attention back to Lauren. “You were a damn fool to let Paul get away. He’s someone you could count on,” she said, as if they had recently broken up. She took a long puff on her cigarette leaving a red stain on the filterless paper. “Not like the rest of your hit-and-runs.”

  Vivian swung her hat back to me. “Be a love and fetch a scotch and soda, emphasis on the former?” she winked, her mean magically gone.

  “Mom, you aren’t supposed to drink with your medicine.”

  “And you aren’t supposed to sleep with old men,” Vivian snapped. “Just stay where you are, sweetie, I’ll get my own.”

  She held out her rough hand and I shook it. “Nice meeting you Mrs...”

  “You just call me Viv, honey. Now what was your name?”

  Before I answered Viv dropped my hand, glanced toward Lou and Lauren, snorted, and pigeon-walked toward the bar.

  The party continued to swirl as Lou sputtered and I kept my eyes on the trembling floor. Lauren eventually shook her head, a smile tickling the corners of her mouth. “Doesn’t hesitate to speak her mind, does she?” the smile growing to a grin then into peals of genuine laughter. Lou stopped his huffing and tried to join. Me? I managed to nod.

  “Don’t let my crazy mother ruin your fun, Matthew. I should have warned you,” Lauren said, wiping tears from her eyes. “If she takes her medicine she’s a shit. If she doesn’t, she loses all track of reality. It’s a tough call, isn’t it?”

  “This was the worst I’ve seen,” Lou finally managed.

  “Well, she’s been drinking. We’re lucky she didn’t haul out the story about knocking her Navy man on his ass.” Lauren stifled another round of giggles while she grabbed Lou’s arm, “God, did you see her makeup?”

  “Now don’t be mean,” Lou said with a smile.

  “Speaking of drinks,” I said, “this one zipped right through. Where’s the bathroom?” Vivian’s explosion hadn’t cheered me up, and I needed a little down time. Just me, a fresh beer, and my smokeless dope pipe in a tiled New Jerusalem.

  “Take the backstairs,” Lauren said pointing, “then go up and into my bedroom. There’s a bathroom attached and you won’t have to wait.”

  I sauntered a couple of feet, glanced back, and saw the two of them huddled close, Lauren fighting to keep a grin off her face. I detoured to the bar, relieved that Vivian had already waddled away. I once again talked myself out of a bourbon and traded my empty for a full. When I dragged my eyes from the beer, the bartender was talking to a jaw dropping, full breasted, tube-topped, tangled-haired blonde. I felt my mouth Sahara as everything and everyone else faded to black.

  Though I stood on the far end of the long bar, the woman’s screaming sensuality seemed close enough to touch. Close enough to catch myself stroking the beer bottle. I downed another long swallow desperately hoping to unglue my mouth. It didn’t work nor did it matter. The blonde finished her conversation, momentarily captured my feverish eyes, then disappeared behind a clump of dancers.

  It was as if a bright light snapped shut leaving behind a flickering golden afterimage. Which I toted through the crowd, into the house, and all the way to Lauren’s bedroom.

  I hit the overhead and was whacked with a Pier One showroom. Wicker bed, dresser, desk and couch. Even a wicker television stand where a flat screen squatted like an electronic Buddha, perhaps a modern variation of Lauren’s spiritual searchings. Unfortunately, the TV reminded me of Boots so I quickly found the bathroom and locked myself inside.

  To hack the rest of the night I needed “now,” not “no.” Sucking hard on my smoke-free pipe slowed my anxiety, finally leaving me ready to face more people. But not ready enough when I came out of the bathroom to find two of ‘em hunched over the glass-topped wicker desk in Lauren’s bedroom.

  A lanky, olive skinned youngish man with stringy black hair chopped close around the ears and temples, swung quickly around in my direction. A dark Andy Warhol clone. Startled, he maneuvered his narrow linen ass to obscure my view. But his wiggle didn’t hide the tightly rolled dollar in his neatly tapered fingers.

  The string-bean, who had been hidden by his shuffle, stepped out, a worried look on her chalk white face. White accented with black. Black long sleeved skirt and black leather knee-high boots. Her hip length hair was bottle black, her mascara heavy and black, lipstick and nail polish pale white. Thick dark eye-shadow covered her round eyes. The young lady gave no truck to the sticky, hot late summer night.

  “This is my mother’s bedroom,” the flop-top complained. “It’s off limits during parties, there’s a john downstairs.” He leaned his baggy silk shirt toward the door suggesting I leave.

  I ignored the invitation and stared at the rolled bill in his hand. “I was told to use this bathroom.”

  “By who?” he asked irritably. “My mother always keeps this floor to herself.”

  “If your mother is Lauren Rowe, she made an exception.”

  The tall man looked at me with a sudden flash of understanding. “You must be related to Lou. His son?”

  “Son-in-law.”

  “Geez,” the black and white anorexic said. “I don’t remember hearing anything about a daughter.”

  “She’s dead.”

  “I’m so sorry,” the girl said.

  “Yeah, me too,” I replied, instantly softening. It was tough to work up a mad toward someone floundering between waif attractive and Goth.

  “Son-in-law, huh?” the man asked caustically. “You don’t look the part.”

  This twit was a different day in the park. “What part is that?”

  “I heard you’re a detective.”

  “Private.”

  “I thought all cops wear thick leather shoes and get haircuts.” He kept trying to palm his homebrew coke tube so I decided to jerk his chain. I walked within reach and stuck out my right. “I like sneakers. Anyhow, I’m Matt Jacob, Lou’s son-in-law. You must be Stephen. Pleased to meet you.”

  I watched his face pucker with worry before I dropped my arm. “Don’t worry about the dope, I’m private, not the law.”

  If I thought my comment would tone him down I was mistaken.

  “That’s a relief,” he said sarcastically. “With Lauren and Lou hanging out, it might be difficult to bust me even if you were.” He did, however, shift his body from its awkward position against the desk.

  “Oh, Stephen,” Waif interjected. “Why are you always so hostile?” She turned to me, “Don’t mind his trip. I’m Heather Heywood, and he’s Stephen Brown. But I guess you already know that.” Heather frowned, “Our families are sort of, sort of...”

  “Overlapped,” I offered.

  “That’s a good word,” Heather said, her face brightening.

  “I guess you know all the gory details?” Stephen turned toward the desk to organize his cocaine kit.

  “Don’t put it away,” Heather exclaimed. “We were just getting started. Maybe Matt wants some. He looks cool. It’s okay to call you Matt, isn’t it?”

  I wondered how young Heather was, asking if it was all right to use my first name. Then I turned it around; it wasn’t her youth, it was my age.

  “Both sound fine.” I didn’t want to appear too eager and blow that cool.

  Stephen glanced at me then shrugged. “I shouldn’t be surprised, you look freaky enough.”

  “Nothing like a detective,” Heather earnestly concurred. “Or even someone related to Lou. You look more like a... a...”

  “Dropout,” Stephen supplied, chopping a chunk of ice into snow.

  “You got that right, I lied.” The repetitive flick of Stephen’s razor blade made me happy. Looking at the cocaine wet my lips and had
me thinking about Hendrix’s Foxy Lady. A blonde foxy lady.

  “Terrific, another Lauren,” Stephen muttered. “Maybe she belongs with you instead of your old man.”

  “How did you become a cop?” Heather interrupted quickly.

  “I’m not a cop,” I repeated patiently, though growing impatient with the time Stephen was taking to prepare the coke. There was some satisfaction watching sweat dampen the armholes of his light green silk.

  Stephen finally nudged Heather. “Here, do a couple lines.”

  “Let Matt go first, Stephen. He’s the new family member.”

  I shelved the second half of her remark as he reluctantly passed me the tightly rolled dollar. When I came up for air I saw a sardonic smile on Stephen’s face. “No virgin.”

  “Is it me, or are you always like this?” I asked, feeling the coke drain down the back of my throat.

  “Always, always, always,” Heather answered, lifting her head. “Don’t take it personally, Stephen has a big chip on his shoulder.”

  Her remark drew a smile from Warhol man. “Spend enough time with my family and you’ll need one too.”

  “I’ve known your family my whole life.” Heather carefully placed the tooter next to the mirror and stepped aside to let Stephen take her place. She made a sour face. “Twenty-seven and back living with my mother. Sheesh.”

  “Worse,” Stephen lifted his nose. “Living with my father.”

  “Lose your job?” I asked Heather sympathetically.

  “Not really. I broke up with my boyfriend.”

  “Living with him was a job, Heather,” Stephen said supportively, low-riding the desk. “A lousy one.”

  Heather smiled. “Well, he was no prize. Trouble is, now I’ll have to get a real one.”

  “It’s better than allowing that asshole to shit all over you. And better than hanging around the house having my father hound you. Trust me, Heather, Paul is big on other people’s Protestant Ethic.”

  “I’ve lived with him before, Stephen. I’m more worried about a job. Where will I get the time to paint?” Heather smiled at me, “My ex-boyfriend runs a small gallery and I helped out. It left plenty of time for my art.”

  I tried polite but Stephen interrupted with a wave of the bill. “Here, chat later. You want any more?”

  I nodded gratefully. Fuck my cool. While I lingered over the drugs, the two of them continued on about Stephen’s family and Heather’s money problems, their words melding with the noise outside. I hesitated before taking seconds, fourths, if I was counting nostrils. But a quick review of my night’s raging chemical intake convinced me not to count. Still, I wasn’t above rubbing some flakes onto my gums.

  “Stephen, I know what to expect,” Heather said.

  “I just hope you haven’t forgotten.”

  “Sometimes it’s better to forget,” she retorted. “I think you’re obsessed. You say you hate them but you keep coming around.”

  Stephen gathered his paraphernalia. “Him, not them. Anyway, I have as much right to use the Hacienda as anyone else in this damn family. Hell, if he can still come around I can too.”

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

  I’d grown bored. “I’ve been gone from the party for too long,” I interrupted. “Don’t want Lou or Lauren to think I ran off without saying goodbye. Listen, thanks for the sugar, it made my night.”

  And woke me up. Whatever misgivings I had about dropping off the wagon were brushed aside in the rush of coke induced, ego boosting energy.

  Heather spun in my direction. “Well it’s been a pleasure meeting you, Matt. I hope we see each other again.”

  “Let’s see how long the happy couple last before you add him to your Christmas list,” Stephen grunted.

  I forced a smile over my numb gums. “Don’t pay him any mind, Heather. You send me a card any time you want.”

  The marimba player was into showboating to the crowd while I vainly tried to locate Lou. Almost unconsciously, I stopped my search and scanned the deck for the looker. But no Lady Luck. Worse, my beer was still upstairs. I started toward the watering hole and nearly shed my skin when a hand snaked out and grabbed my arm. Hard.

  “This guy rescued Ian and brought him to the hospital. Might have saved his life.” The trembling fingers digging deep into my biceps belonged to Paul Brown.

  “Hey pal, didn’t mean to startle you,” Brown roared over the music, a sloppy grin on his thin, pale face. No question what he’d been doing since his fancy dance.

  “That’s okay, Paul. When you’re on your way for a drink everything else gets pushed aside,” I said, thinking about the coffee machine in the hospital as I pulled my arm away.

  Paul tilted his silver head deciding whether I was taunting before introducing me to a tired looking, short-haired woman with a pinched mouth, wary eyes, and little makeup. “Anne,” Paul said. “This is Matt Jacobs.”

  “Jacob. Without the s.”

  “Sorry with a capital S. Anne, this here is Matt Jacob, Ian’s savior. With a small s.”

  Anne’s mouth relaxed ever so slightly. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Jacob,” she said, her stern face softening.

  “Matt, please.”

  “Matt. We really appreciate what you did for Ian. Paul’s just had too much to drink.” Anne stopped speaking and stood looking blankly around the deck. “Can we leave yet?” she asked abruptly, turning toward Paul and placing a hand on his shoulder.

  Which he promptly shook off. “It’s not even eleven.”

  “We’ve been for hours already, and I didn’t want to come at all,” she said.

  “I could say ‘you never come,’ but I won’t,” he slurred.

  Anne jerked her head as if slapped. “You bastard,” she hissed walking away.

  I expected Paul to follow but he just grunted, “Lauren’s parties are always tough on her.”

  I shrugged and plotted an escape route, but it wasn’t going to be easy. Mister Nice Guy had my arm again.

  “Every year we go through the same fucking argument,” he said shaking his head. “You’d think after all this time she might loosen up.”

  I hoped he was talking about Lauren’s party and not their sex life.

  “You were on your way to the bar, weren’t you?” he asked his eyes suddenly opaque.

  I nodded glumly.

  “I’ll keep you company.”

  “Thanks.”

  I caught another look, but he wasn’t listening to his better instincts because he matched my steps across the weathered wood. At least he was quiet until we were served.

  “Just a beer? This is damn good scotch.”

  “You sound surprised,” I said. And generous with your ex-wife’s refreshments, I thought.

  “This year Lauren outdid herself. And without putting her hand into my pocket.” Paul grinned through his glare. “Your father-in-law must have some money.”

  “He does okay .” Maybe Paul had followed his instincts. I was forever a magnet for unhappy drunks. Had to do with growing up inside my father’s tavern. No matter how many years passed, I guess whiskey was still in my sweat. I felt my mouth water while I watched him drain his drink and signal for another. “Doesn’t sound like you enjoy contributing.”

  Paul shrugged. “What the hell, Lauren makes it her business to keep the family together. It would have been easy for everyone to go their separate ways.”

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “Shipping manager for a plastic company. You know, “Today’s Tupperware, Tomorrow’s Antique.” Wish they were worth something now. When you have children every penny flies. Not a big money job, but I have plenty of spare time.”

  “Your kids seem pretty old to be costing you.”

  An uncomfortable look crossed his face. “Kids always cost. Anne’s daughter Heather recently moved in with us. Can’t charge her room and board, can I?” Paul waved his hand dismissively. “I suppose it’s better than having them scattered across the cou
ntry.”

  I took a long draw from my bottle. “You do all right with this extended friends and family, don’t you?”

  Paul ran his hand through his tousled silver hair. “Like I said,” his eyes hardening, “it’s a way to keep everyone together.” A sour smile wrapped around the rim of his glass. “Anyway, I’m used to it.” He paused, “You find us difficult to understand, don’t you?” He stopped, rocked unsteadily on his feet, then added, “That reminds me, I owe you an apology for the night at the hospital. Wasn’t on my game. Lauren and I do better than that, much better.” He grit his teeth and reached out to grasp the table.

  “You want a chair?”

  “Nah. I need to find Anne and get the fuck home before I do something stupid. Let me tell you about kids, Jacob. Trouble never ends. Heather back in the house, Ian in the hospital.” Paul killed his drink and planted the glass on the bar. “The only one I count on is Alexis.”

  He hadn’t mentioned Stephen but I kept my mouth shut. Despite his sloppy self-pity, I almost felt sorry for him. He seemed like a guy who spent his entire life trying to catch up to the next paycheck. Three kids—four, if you included the Heywoods—meant a lot of hard running to keep from riding in reverse. Besides, a lifetime sniffing plastic ought to allow for bitter.

  I was about to offer to find his lady when the sky suddenly caught fire; my bare-bellied beauty was approaching our end of the bar. Paul noticed me staring over his shoulder, turned and, for the first time since we’d been together, grinned with genuine, unadulterated pleasure.

  “Allie, my girl, I was just talking about you. Matt, this is my daughter Alexis.”

  Unable to talk, I nodded my greeting and noticed her likeness to Lauren.

  “I’m surprised you can speak and stand at the same time, Dad.” Her voice was husky and affectionate.

  Alexis’s proximity dried my mouth and wet the rest of my skin. Asian eyes, high cheekbones, and a drop dead body. Inviting. The genetic best of each parent rolled into a whole greater than the sum of its parts.

  I felt like a teenager; her sensual, exotic beauty knocked my socks. For one quick moment the feeling reminded me of my first impression of Boots. A moment I instantly suppressed.