by Randy Rawls
I mentally plugged my ears and looked around. A face caught my eye causing me to do a double take. A man leaning against the entrance doorframe looked familiar. I searched my memory, but no names came forth.
“Hello, cowboy, want some company?”
I turned to find Wanda standing behind me, a smile on her face.
“Why shore, ma’am.” I stood and held her chair. “Can I buy you a drink, at least a glass of scotch? It’s cheaper than water.”
She didn’t sit, but took my hand and led me to the dance floor. The band had finished its tribute to cacophony. The Second Time Around, or something close, filled the air. The lead singer would never be confused with Sinatra.
I slipped my arm around her waist. “I missed you. Don’t stay away so long next time.” I stepped on her toes.
“How long were you and Janice married?”
Damn. I filed it away to ask Chip if there was a bulldog in the family tree. She wasn’t turning loose without answers. “Three years. It was an amicable split. I haven’t heard from her in years.”
“How’d you become a Private Eye?”
I kissed her ear and, after she returned the favor, she said, “Hold it for later. You were telling me how you became a PI.”
“I was?”
“Yes, you were.”
“I spent ten years on the Dallas Police Force and thought I could do better as a loner. I cashed my retirement and opened my own shop. Since then, I’ve alternated between barely covering my bills and ducking my creditors. All in all, a fun, but not financially gratifying life.” The song ended. “Can we take a break? From dancing—and from your questions?”
Walking to our table, Wanda said, “One more. Who’s Terri Hart?”
That stopped me cold. I stared at Wanda. How did she know about Terri? Her image appeared in my head, and I stammered, “Uh, I’m going to the head.” I walked away, leaving Wanda standing at our table. As I crossed the room, I saw the guy in the doorway again. Still, no name came to mind.
Once in the restroom, I splashed water on my face and watched in the mirror as it dripped down my cheeks. “Get yourself together, Ace. You can’t go off half-cocked every time you hear her name. It’s okay to love her, but she’s gone.” I stood a moment longer, then sucked in a deep breath and again addressed the mirror. “Wanda’s a beautiful woman, the first that has interested you since Terri. Quit acting like an ass and get out there.”
Wanda stood as I neared the table, reached out, and placed her hand on my arm. “Sorry, Ace. Guess I went too far. I didn’t mean to tread on tender ground. I withdraw the question.”
“Thank you. Maybe someday…” The musicians kicked into a two-step, or three-step, something I didn’t know how to do. I looked at the band, then at Wanda. “A question for you.” I pointed. “Do you know that guy—the one leaning in the doorway?”
She looked in that direction. “Why?”
“Somehow, he looks familiar. I’ve seen him somewhere. Is he a local?”
“No, but he’s been around for a couple of weeks.” She stopped and appeared to reflect. “He says he’s a writer doing research for a book on the First Monday flea market in Canton. Hmmm, give me a moment.” She fell silent, apparently in deep thought. “He introduced himself as Randy. I don’t remember the last name.”
“Still looks familiar. Care to dance?”
We returned to the floor where she snuggled up close and resumed her assault on my neck and ear. Never has so little space been nibbled so ardently. I loved every nip.
At eleven o’clock, I suggested we leave. I said I had heavy investigative duties in the morning. You can guess my real reason. She countered with what a wonderful dancer I was, then lured me onto the floor again. We left at midnight. I don’t know what thoughts were in her mind, but mine were more carnal than fairies and sugarplums.
A voice interrupted my fantasies as we departed. “Good night, Ms. Jamison. I’d like to interview you soon about First Monday.” It was that Randy guy who had spent the night in the doorway. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Edwards.”
I still couldn’t place him, but before I could respond, he tipped his hat and walked away.
As we crossed the parking lot, I realized I’d had too much to drink and saw Wanda stagger slightly. I should have been thinking about a designated driver, but my mind had been one hundred percent occupied with Wanda.
When we reached the Chrysler, instead of opening her door, I leaned against the car and pulled her close. She stepped into me and snuggled against my chest. She felt wonderful, like she belonged there. She lifted her head, and I kissed her.
It was the kind of kiss that plants an indelible mark on your memory, sweet and clinging with many promises. As we embraced, my right brain interfered, calling for my attention. I tried to ignore it, but it refused to go away.
Something is sticking in the back of your leg, dummy. I acknowledged the thought, feeling a nudging against my calf through my jeans—something that shouldn’t be there since my leg rested against my right rear tire.
EIGHT
I unscrewed my lips from Wanda’s and looked down. In the dark, I couldn’t see what jabbed me, so I knelt.
“What’re you doing?” Wanda asked. “I always have a strong affect on men, but you’re the first I dropped to his knees.”
“There’s something here. I need a flashlight.” I opened the car door and took one from the glove box. I pointed it at the tire. “Some son-of-a-bitch—”
“What is it? It looks like a piece of paper stuck on your tire.”
“It is. And it’s anchored with an ice pick.”
Wanda gasped as I used choice words I don’t normally use in the presence of a lady—or a woman of any ilk.
What had me cussing a blue streak was visible in the flashlight beam. An ice pick anchoring a note stuck from the tread of my tire. My first instinct was to jerk it out so I could read the note, but common sense intervened. “I saw Dub inside when we were dancing,” I said. “See if he’s still there and ask him to come out. We have a case of vandalism here. I want him to see it before I start raising hell.”
Wanda shot me a quizzical look, but moved toward the bar.
I examined around the tire. The gravel was disturbed, but that was expected with cars going in and out and people walking the area. Nothing stood out. Thanks to modern technology, my tire had not lost inflation. The ice pick sealed the hole it made. I didn’t know what would happen when I pulled it out. I remembered the old adage, If you get a nail in your tire, leave it there until you get to a tire shop, or something like that. Somehow though, I couldn’t picture driving with an ice pick spinning along the sidewall.
“He’ll be here in a few minutes,” Wanda said, walking up with the writer guy, Randy, following her.
“Hmmm, that’s interesting?” Randy said. “Nailing a note to a tire with an ice pick. That’s good enough to use in a book. May I use your flashlight?”
Without thinking, I handed it to him.
He pulled out a small notebook. “Yep, I have to remember this,” he muttered. “I can write a whole scene around it.”
I felt inclined to give him some X-rated comments he could use in his scene, but Dub arrived in time to stop my mouth.
“Hey, Ace. Wanda said somebody ice-picked you.” Dub must have spent his whole paycheck on water inside the Robin Hood. He sounded sober.
I showed him the tire, then walked with him as he looked for clues. He didn’t find anything either.
“Well, whaddaya want me to do?” he asked. “What’s on the note?” With a quick jerk, he removed the ice pick.
I hoped the hole would seal the way they do on TV.
He held the paper up, still impaled on the ice pick. “Go home. That jackass must die.” He scratched his chin. “That’s all it says. Seems like somebody don’t want you here. Whatcha gonna do?”
I took the ice pick and the note. “I’m doing what Chip hired me to do. But here’s what I want you to do. Go i
nside and ask if anyone knows anything about this. Announce that I’m hopping mad and won’t leave the area until I prove Joseph innocent, and find the bastard that did my tire.” I hesitated, thinking. “Tell the crowd I’m offering a hundred dollar reward if somebody’ll tell me who did this.”
“Shit, Ace. Ain’t nobody gonna talk for a hundred dollars. That just ain’t—”
“Make it five-hundred dollars,” Wanda said. “And tell them Chip and I don’t like it when somebody picks on our guests.”
Dub headed toward the bar. Randy, who’d stood by, gave me a thumbs up and followed Dub.
I took my time driving home. I didn’t have much trust in the tire, in spite of the million dollar commercials. And anger consumed me. The tire did hold up, and my ire subsided. Wanda was a big help as she rubbed her fingernails along my inner thigh, producing wild videos in my head. My right ear lobe might never recover from the severe nibbling she gave it, but who cared. At the front of the house I eased over and parked. I could feel a Cheshire cat grin spread across my face when I saw the house dimly lit. I assumed that was to keep the bogeyman away. My watch read one-thirty.
I pulled Wanda to me. As I maneuvered into the perfect position to plant a kiss that would curl her toenails and insure a night of delight, I heard a voice and Wanda’s door opened.
“Good evening, Ms. Jamison, Mr. Edwards. Mr. Edwards, Mr. Jamison is in the Texas Room. Ms. Jamison, he said it won’t be necessary for you to wait up.”
The videotape in my head snapped and the cassette exploded as I stared into Frank’s eyes. He still wore that drugstore-cowboy getup.
“This way, Mr. Edwards,” Annie said from the front porch. “I’ll escort you to the Texas Room.”
I shrugged at Wanda, who returned my gesture with an enigmatic smile. I wanted to scream, “Don’t you people sleep?” but I said, “Please put the top up before you park it.” Hey, I had to say something, and it couldn’t be what I thought.
In the foyer, I grasped Wanda by the shoulders ready to give her a goodnight kiss, which I was sure she wanted, but yeah, you guessed it. “Excuse me, Mr. Edwards.” Chip didn’t need a watchdog for the house, or a chastity belt for Wanda. He had Frank and Annie. No wonder Wanda had been married three times—only way she could be alone with a man.
Wanda climbed the stairs while Annie led me to the Texas Room where Chip sat amid a case of longneck beer bottles—all empty. “Hey, Ace. How was the club? Did you and my baby sister have a good time?”
As you can imagine, I had an answer to his second question I yearned to spout, however, after studying his face, I said, “Yes, quite nice.” I expected to see him gloating, however he looked innocent. I decided to keep the tire incident to myself.
“Wonderful. I have some intelligence that will assist us greatly in our contest of wills with the malevolent evil forces that abducted Joseph.” His slurred words and vocabulary led me to believe he’d emptied all the beer bottles sitting around him while watching Mr. Spock on Star Trek.
“Chip, are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to take this up in the morning?” I still had visions of sampling the goodies Wanda appeared to promise.
“No, I haven’t had that much to drink. Bob called with the latest tonight after you and Wanda left. He said Dub told him you asked about the dead man. He’s pretty sure it’s Peter Boynton, an ex-con that goes by the nickname of Peanut. They’re checking every dentist in the county and the state pen to find x-rays. Most of the civilian dentists have answered, and said they never treated him.”
He stopped and chuckled. “Maybe that proves the value of socialized dentistry. If we had more Democrats in Congress, we’d have records of everyone’s mouth.”
He laughed at his joke. “Bob’s sure he’ll get something from the state pen in Huntsville. They took prints from the left hand, the one holding the rope tied to Joseph. They tried the right, but it was too busted up. He looked like he was dragged through some pretty rough country, and you know what that can do to a man. Also, he must have tried to protect himself with his right arm and hand. They were in no condition for anything. Bob shipped the prints off to the state, and hopes for an answer in about a week.”
“What about the dentals? How long on those?” Chip had gained my attention.
“If there’s anything in the records in Huntsville, a couple of days. They can fax down enough for the medical examiner to make a preliminary comparison.”
“Okay, so where does that leave us? That seems to wrap it for the day.” I stood to leave.
“Nope, one more thing, and it’s dead serious.” Chip’s tone dropped me into my chair. “Peanut had a daughter. Nobody knew it until today, but one showed up. She hired a lawyer.”
“A lawyer? What the hell? That’s no big deal. What does he want?”
Chip groaned. “Not a he, a she.” He hesitated, a defeatist expression growing on his face. “And that’s not the worst of it. She hired Candi Maliday. Do you know her?”
“Never heard of her. Is she good?”
“Yeah, that’s one way to look at it—if she’s your lawyer. If not, she’s your worst nightmare. Bob told me she’s snooping around. She told him if the dead man is Peanut, she’ll take me to the cleaners.” Chip let out a worried sigh. “She scares the hell out of me. She hates me from a long time ago.”
“What do you mean, she hates you? Do you two have a history?”
“Nothing I want to talk about, but it proves I need you.” Chip’s voice had a funereal tone to it. “You’ll stay, won’t you?”
“Maybe, but first, tell me what you expect of me. You hired me to find Joseph. He’s been found. What do I do to earn my money?” I needed the cash, but I wanted Chip to be clear on what he expected.
His chin dropped onto his chest, and he appeared deep inside himself. About the time I thought he’d fallen asleep, and I might yet make it with Wanda, he raised his head and looked at me. His eyes were red-rimmed, from fighting tears or all the beer, I couldn’t tell.
“I want you to prove Joseph innocent. He didn’t kill anyone. I know he didn’t.” He leaned back in his chair and again retreated inside himself. A moment later, he leaned forward and with sober intensity, said, “If he did, he was either protecting the herd or defending himself.”
His last words left me uncertain about Joseph’s part in the death. I had to assume Chip wasn’t as positive as he wanted to be. It was my moment to be reflective, and I took advantage of it. First, I pride myself on not helping killers get off. I don’t have a law degree. I can afford to be honest. I wondered if it was different when the accused has four legs.
Then, I thought of all the honest reasons I shouldn’t take Chip’s money, and all the personal reasons I needed it. The personal side won, but I vowed to earn every penny.
“Okay Chip, I’ll stay. I don’t know how long I’ll need here, so I’ll head for Dallas tomorrow to take care of my cats. It might take most of the day because I have to find kennel. They’re rather particular about where they stay.” I stood. “I’m going to get some sleep. I suppose you expect me up before the sun again.”
“Hold it a minute, I’ve heard of your cats.” His eyes were clear and alert. “Jake said they helped solve his case.” He chuckled. “Jake laughed when he said it, but I can believe it. After all, I know Joseph. I know animals are a lot smarter than folks give them credit for.”
Chip thought for a moment, then continued. “I’ve got a fishing hut down by the pond, about a half-mile from the main house. It’s not the greatest, but it might do for the three of you. You could bring the cats out here. Wouldn’t you feel better having them close?”
I hesitated for a few seconds. The offer was too good to pass up. “That would work. They’re never thrilled about being farmed out. Even when I put them in the Cat Hotel with their own private attendants, a chef, concierge, bellhops and all the trimmings, they’re ungrateful.”
He slapped the arm of his chair. “Great, let’s do it. While you’re picking them up, I
’ll get the place cleaned up. Frank can pick up food. I assume you buy the best.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth, so I ignored the comment. “I’ll leave early and should be back by mid-afternoon.” As I said it, I remembered the ice pick in my tire and hoped it would get me to Dallas where I could take it to a friend who’d sell me a used tire—cheap.
With that, I stumbled to bed and to sleep. It was not a peaceful night. My dreams featured Wanda and me in tight clenches. Every time I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her panties, another scene interrupted. A female lawyer interrogated Joseph, saying, “Confess, and maybe I’ll let you go. Ace is too bullshit dumb to help you. Besides, it’s Chip’s money I want.”
Wanda’s panties stayed on.
NINE
The next morning, Annie rousted me before sunup again. Chip and I dined without Wanda. When Chip asked, Annie said a lady needs her beauty sleep. Chip shrugged, but I envied Wanda. I might never be beautiful, but the sleep part sounded good.
As I wolfed down breakfast, I considered that Annie might be less fond of me than yesterday. I attributed it to the early hour.
When I headed for the car, worrying about the tire, Frank met me halfway. “I had your tire replaced, Mr. Edwards. Annie told me what happened so I had a new one put on while you had breakfast.”
“Annie?”
“Wanda told her about the evening. They sat up most of the night.”
I reflected for a moment, hoping she hadn’t told Annie everything. Then I thanked him and did what any red-blooded American male would do. I kicked the tire. Seemed fine.
Headed for Dallas with the top down, I planned a trip to my athletic club. After two of Annie’s breakfasts, I needed it. I have never considered stale burnt toast as diet food, but it came closer than the high calorie, high cholesterol, super-yummy, damn-I-wish-I-had-it-everyday food Annie laid out.
