“Okay!” I shouted, “Medea, have you been to a doctor about that mole under your left breast?”
Silence reigned for a minute before she shot back with, “There is only one way you could know that. How is that possible?”
“I don’t know, Medea, except to say that Richard told me.”
I heard sobbing. It was little-girl-lost type again—the exact kind that brings tears to my eyes. I gulped, grabbed my pen flashlight, and turned it on, all the while hoping I wouldn’t end up chewing on a bullet. “Medea, I’m over here. Follow my light. We need to talk.”
She came to me, a small, frightened human being that had experienced the most horrible thing that can happen to a wife—having a husband killed in a war.
“I’m here, Medea, I’m here for you, and I have a shoulder for you to cry on.”
She did for several moments. I heard her sobs, ragged tear jerking ones that got to me and moistened my eyes. As she hung onto me, I felt her body trembling from the icy coldness that comes with a broken heart. I heard myself whispering repeatedly, “How can I help this poor kid? How…?
As her sobs started becoming softer and not as often, I said, “Medea, let’s get out of here. Where’s your car?”
“I don’t have one,” she said between several sobs.
“What? Then how did you get here?”
“I took a bus. It has a stop-off several blocks from here.”
“Okay, come on, kid, we’re getting out of here. You and I need to talk.”
Chapter Five
I drove Medea to the nearest coffee shop. Inside the joint and taking a good look at her in the dim light, I saw that she was a pretty kid with blonde hair and blue eyes. The eyes were terrified. I’ve seen that same haunted look on other people when they don’t know what to do, or what’s going to happen to them next. It’s a look that inevitably tears at my heart—and it always asks me for help. At the moment, I didn’t know what to do to keep her alive. Somehow, I had to stop her from joining her husband.
I ordered coffee for us, found the nearest table, and we sat. We were the only customers. The owner, a short chubby guy with sleepy dark eyes and a bored expression on his face, poured coffee into cups that didn’t look too clean, and noisily set them on our table. He grunted a few words at us that were mostly unintelligible and left us to ourselves. The shop was so quiet we could hear each other swallow as we drank the coffee. It was good coffee in spite of the not too sanitary looking cups—hot and good. I ordered more. This time the owner poured and didn’t grunt.
“You’re a private detective,” Medea said, finally breaking the silence between us.
“Yeah, that’s been my profession for about ten years now.”
“It must be exciting. Is it?”
“Sometimes it is, when I’m dodging bullets.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shot at you.”
“Yes, you should have. I could have been a nutcase out to off you.”
“Off? What does that mean?”
I smiled. “It’s my way of saying kill.”
“Oh. Have you had to off?”
Congratulations, Blake you led her into that question. “Yeah, Medea, I have once. Look, that gun in your purse, would you hand it to me?”
She looked at me, sudden determination written all over her cute kid face. “No, I need it for something I’m going to do.”
Damn, now what do I say? Go for broke and quit beating around the bush? Yeah, tell her what you know. I took a deep breath and said, “Listen, kid, offing yourself is something Richard doesn’t want you to do.”
She started to cry in her coffee.
Nice going, Blake.
“I can’t bear the loneliness,” she sobbed while wiping tears from her eyes.
“Don’t you have a family to go to, or perhaps Richard’s family?”
“No, his family hates me. They told me I led their little boy astray and that they would never accept me as a family member. During his funeral, they wouldn’t even look in my direction. I had to fight with them over the flag I received. My mother and father died in a boating accident when I was twelve. I’m all alone.”
Now, I knew what to do. “No, you’re not alone, Medea. I know people who will prove to you that life is worth living. They’ll help you for as long as you need help.”
“You do? You actually know such people?”
“You bet I do. Now, about that gun in your purse… It’s something that you shouldn’t have.”
For a long moment, she looked into my eyes as if she were looking for a sentence written on my eyeballs that said I could be trusted. She evidently did see something. Before I could blink, her gat was in my right hand. It was a small .32 caliber automatic. I’d classify it as a lady’s gun in that it can fit snugly into a purse, or pocket, or almost anywhere else on the human body. It’s accurate and deadly at short distances, which means Medea must be, like Richard said, one helluva good shot.
I levered out the clip from the gun butt then pulled its bolt back for the bullet that was in the chamber. I took all the bullets out of the clip, and put everything in my pocket. I figured I had just acquired another gun. I looked at her. “Do you have any bullets in your purse, or any other weapon?”
“No, that’s everything.”
“Okay. Care to talk? Talking about the wounds in your soul is often a great healer.”
Medea sighed, wiped the remaining tears from her eyes, and, as I ordered more coffee, she began talking.
“I met Richard three months ago and we instantly fell in love. Has that ever happened to you?”
“Once. It’s the most wonderful happening in the world.”
“Then you know exactly what I mean. We ran off, found the nearest church, and got married. The next day, he was shipped to Afghanistan.” She sighed.
She had no tears now, just a sadness that permeated the coffee joint like the winds from the North Pole. I felt the despair she was feeling and shuddered. She stared into my eyes. “You said Richard talked to you. How is that possible?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I just happened to be right where he was standing at the moment, and somehow my mind was open to him. He wants you to stay alive, finish out your life and get married again. Can you do that for him?”
She studied me for a while, before saying, “You’re trying to help me. Is that what private detectives do? Help people that need help?”
I smiled at her. “The good ones do. It goes a little further than that for me. Once in a while, everybody needs help. In this city, many people need a shoulder to lean on, somebody to talk to. I found that out when I was a teenager, a punk kid starting to go wrong. I skipped a lot of school, drove my mother frantic, and so on. One day, a street cop named Timothy O’Rourke bumped into me on purpose and began talking to me. He did that the next day. Before I knew it, I was running to meet him at what became our special corner. He’d buy hotdogs for us and we became friends that talked and shared our thoughts with each other. One day, I looked for him and he was nowhere to be found… except in the morgue. He was offed—a bullet in the heart by a street gang member who was eventually caught. I’ve never gotten over missing O’Rourke. He was born in Ireland and returned there to be buried. I decided to become like him, to stay in the city’s section that was his beat and help those that need help, just as he helped me. Usually, I can do that with my sleaze cases. Murder cases are different. Sometimes, I think I haven’t helped much. I may have harmed more.”
Medea smiled. She held my hand as she said, “You’re helping me. I’ll stay alive and finish out my life as Richard wants me to do.”
“Good for you. Let’s finish our coffee. There are people you’re going to see.”
Chapter Six
In the car on the way to Rumpott’s mansion, I told Medea about my drinking buddy and his harem of ladies. She started protesting.
“I was wrong about you. You’re not going to help me. You’re taking me into a house of prostitution! Let me out
of this car, now, or so help me, I’ll grab the steering wheel and wreck us.”
I smiled. I really liked her spunkiness. She definitely had all kinds of fight left in her. “Wait a minute, Medea! Let me explain. It’s not that kind of house. Rumpott is a helper. His ladies came to him for help.”
“Sure they did. What is he, hung like a horse?”
I couldn’t help laughing at that comment. Medea was really showing me she had enough sand in her spine to go on, to live out her life, just as she said she would. Richard had married a winner. I hoped he realized that. “Rumpott…hung like a horse? I don’t know, and neither do his ladies. He doesn’t help them that way. In fact, he’s never touched his ladies in an inappropriate way. They stay in his mansion because they like him and he likes them. They help each other as well as helping many people back to a normal life. That’s why I’m taking you there. His ladies are wonderful and I’ve never met a better group. The moment they see you, they will befriend you, and not just for a few days—for life if you so desire. You’ll become a younger sister to them before the night is over or maybe even sooner. You’re smart to think that maybe you’re being trapped into a prostitution ring. But believe me, I’m not a pimp, neither is Rumpott, and his ladies have never worked the streets.”
In the dim light of my glowing dashboard and the street lights we passed, I knew she was looking at me, trying to size me up as to whether I looked evil, or fatherly, while all the while more than likely thinking about what I just said. She was right in doing so. It told me she was a smart kid, a fighter that the world needs.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll believe you for now. But if I find out differently, believe me when I say I know how to raise hell.”
I laughed. “I believe you, kid.”
Arriving at Rumpott’s, I received the surprise of my life. Selena Deering answered the door. Shock took her face and eyes, and I’m sure my face and eyes mimicked hers. I managed to speak before she did. “Selena, what are you doing here?”
Oh, boy, now wasn’t that an intelligent question? Maybe I should have my IQ checked. It might be lower than I think it is.
“I’m visiting Rumpott’s ladies, Thanet. They’re all friends of mine. Now, it’s my turn to ask, what are you doing here?” She looked carefully at Medea, saw the kid’s scared look, disheveled hair, and puffy eyes, and never waited for me to answer her question. “Well, stop standing in the doorway you two and come in. And introductions are in order.”
I introduced Medea to Selena and Selena to Medea. Rumpott’s girls were gathering around us so more introductions were necessary. I let them introduce themselves. I then said, “Medea why don’t you go with the ladies. Ladies, how’s the cake and ice cream?”
They were all talking at once as they held on to Medea and led her away to the kitchen. I turned to Selena. “Let’s find chairs. I’ve got things to tell you.”
It took a while, along with a few tears from Selena. She’s a social worker and a damn good one. When it comes to doing her job of helping people, she packs her heart on her left wrist, exposed to the world. Medea was in good hands.
“I’ll work with Medea, Thanet. I’ll see that she has a full life. I’ve also been working with Jennifer. I’ll introduce Medea to her. I feel quite certain they could help each other. Now, Thanet, let’s talk about you. Jennifer tells me she hasn’t seen you for over two weeks. You’re still feeling guilty about her, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I’m responsible for what happened to her. If only I hadn’t asked her for computer help, her mother and father wouldn’t have been murdered. And she…what happened to her was worse…”
Selena leaned close. She held my hands. Hers were soft, wonderful, compelling. Her scent was sensuous, accentuated with an overtone of unforgettable perfume that has locked itself into my soul. I wanted her in my arms and elsewhere. Still, Dru was always on my mind, keeping me from Selena. I looked at my wedding ring.
“Thanet, you’re not to blame for the insane maniacs running around in this city. Somehow, they should be stopped permanently and I intend to help do that. I’m determined to make a difference, anyway that I can, to see that the people that do such terrible acts get what they deserve. They gave no mercy to their victims and so they should get no mercy in return.” She sighed and quickly changed the subject. “Would you like to join us ladies for a while? We make a great pot of coffee.”
“Sorry, I’m on my way to meet with Rumpott and some Marines at Paskanouto’s Coffee Joint.”
Before I knew what was happening, Selena leaned forward and kissed my lips. I kissed back. It was long, wonderfully sensuous, and groin surging.
She broke away from me. “What about us, Thanet? You know we should be an item.”
“Yeah, I know it.”
Chapter Seven
Paskanouto’s Coffee Joint was close to being rocked off its foundation. I opened the door and a wave of singing vibrated my eardrums. Rumpott and four Marines were singing military songs and so was half the crowd. Everybody saw me, and right in the middle of the Marine’s Hymn, they stopped singing. I know there is an expression about somebody’s face stopping a clock. I guess mine stops music.
Rumpott saw me, got up from his chair, and ran to meet me. “Thanet, it’s about time your presence festooned this wonderful domicile that serves the delicious ambrosia known as coffee. I’ve spent hours telling my friends about you.”
“Find a private place to sit, Rumpott. I’ve got a story to tell you.”
I gave him the details and when I had finished, he looked at me for all of a minute. I could damn nearly see the thought gears turning in his oversized cranium. He finally spoke.
“You certainly did right by turning the fair lady over to my harem. They will be wonderful company for her, as well as showing her that life is indeed worth going on in spite of the terrible thing that has happened to her.” He paused for a moment before carefully saying, “Thanet, why do you find it hard to believe that Richard contacted you, even though you are fully aware that he actually did?”
“I don’t know, Rumpott. It’s just that I’ve never believed in ghosts. I thought people who said they saw them were just making up stories. Hollywood thrives on them, where the ghosts are always deadly ones who are out to kill everybody in a thousand different blood-saturated ways. Lord, you know how rotten most Hollywood movies can be. People go to see them all the time and maybe that’s why they believe in ghosts. Oh, Hell! All right, so one named Richard contacted me. I’m not ready to be committed, am I? Tell me I’m not!”
Rumpott laughed. “Not unless there’s a straitjacket also waiting for me. I hope they put us together in the same room. I enjoy talking to you. Now, relax and be quiet. I’ve got something to say, too. You’re really quite wise for your age, but you haven’t seen it all, nor have you experienced it all. Neither have I. But I am old enough to be your father, and I’ve seen things you haven’t.”
“Like what, Rumpott?”
“Like dead soldiers walking on a battlefield…I didn’t believe in ghosts, either, until I saw them with my own eyes. A military man is a very special person. I think when he dies in battle his duty doesn’t end unless he wants it to end. He continues to fight for his country.”
Rumpott was able to stop the conversation and start the thinking. Before I could blink, he smacked my left shoulder with his huge right hand and said, “I need coffee and conversation with my four friends sitting at yon table. Come along, Thanet. You are about to meet four great Marines. They are all family men who are about to deploy to Afghanistan in thirty days. Tonight, we shall give them a grand pre-sendoff.”
Jack, Mike, Pete, and Mason shook my hand. Each had a grip that damn nearly made me yelp with pain. Later, I actually put my hand under the table and flexed each of my fingers while checking for pulverized bones. Happily, they all seemed to be in working order.
They decided we should sing military songs. I said I didn’t know the words. They looked at me and said,
“You will sing.”
We sang, with the help of a large part of the audience that had gathered around us, Anchors Aweigh, Ballad of the Green Berets, The Caissons Go Rolling Along, The Marines Hymn, and Off We Go In to the Wild Blue Yonder. You know, we sounded pretty good.
Mike, raised by grandparents who were born in Ireland, naturally wanted to sing Danny Boy for us that is a beautiful, but sad song and always got tears from me. I wasn’t the only one. I saw tears on the faces of the small crowd that had gathered around us and also ones that remained at their tables.
Mike’s singing voice was outstanding—an exact duplicate of Dennis Day, the tenor from the 1940’s and ‘50’s that was so popular. Our audience hummed ever so softly. Men held hands with their ladies. They hugged one another and no one talked. Paskanouto moved rhythmically to Mike’s, singing from table to table, filling cups with coffee.
I looked at the four Marines. Their faces were glowing with energy and the toughness it takes to be a member of the military. I glanced upward at the ceiling and silently asked you know who to watch over them, to see that they wouldn’t become battle statistics but to bring them home safely to their families.
Mike finished. The crowd cheered as they wiped their eyes.
“We shook hands, wished one another well, and we left Paskanouto’s. I went home.
It was late, I wasn’t sleepy. I needed rye.
I was sitting on my couch-bed and finishing a third shot when a voice told me I wasn’t alone.
“It just occurred to me, Blake. I’ve got no way to pay you for your services.”
“That’s okay, Richard, quite a few of my clients tell me the same thing. In fact, that’s exactly how I got my new gun. And by the way, I’ve got that little one your wife was packing. I intend to keep it.”
Memorial Day Page 4
