The Thrill of the Chase (Mystery & Adventure)

by Jack Parker

  She stared hard at a spot just beyond my left shoulder. "I don't think… I don't think I ever once kissed him, Chance – my entire life, I don't even know if I told him I loved him. But… now he's dead, and I never got a chance to make amends with him. I never got a chance to, to ever get to know him."

  Jill lapsed into silence, dropping her gaze to our hands, which were still tied together on her knee.

  I licked my lips, choosing my words carefully. "Listen, Jill. I sorta kinda know what you went through – certainly not to the same extent you did, but I have a similar history with my father."

  Sighing heavily, I drew back and folded my arms on the back of the chair. "Well, comparing our situations might sound callous because you obviously had a harder time of things, but… Well, my father was the self–piteous type, which is why I'm that way, I guess. To make up for his personal problems, he neglected me, mocked me, generally considered me a failure – his failure. He didn't particularly treat my mother any better, although he did have a healthy fear of her temper. I'm not sure how neglecting us made him feel better, but…"

  I shook my head. "My mother loved me, though. She would always tell me that my father didn't mean what he was saying. I knew better – Pappy didn't want anything to do with me. When he died, I felt loss, but mine was more selfishness. I was sad that he'd never paid attention to me, never cared about me. He'd never even liked me. I guess I should have made more attempts to get to know him, but I was always afraid of him."

  "I'm sorry, I never knew," Jill said softly, fixing me with a tearful gaze. "I'm sorry I never asked."

  "I never asked you either," I pointed out in an offhand manner. I hoped it hadn't sounded insensitive; I hadn't meant it to be. "If I had, this conversation would be going a completely different route right now."

  Jill gave a sad smile. "I guess we're both alone now, huh?"

  "In a manner of speaking. But we both have our mothers, and we both have each other." I frowned, searching her eyes. "That's something, isn't it?"

  She dropped my gaze, busying her hands with the hem of her skirt. "But Chance, I feel so… so cold… I don't feel remorse or even regret. I mean, I'm mad at myself for never making an attempt to really love my father, but…"

  She looked up at me, looked me straight in the eye, and finally spilled the question that had been plaguing her ever since learning the news: "Does that make me a heartless person?"

  After a moment of hesitation, I took her hands gently in mine once more. "Of course not," I chided warmly. "If – heaven forbid – your mother died right now, would you miss her?"

  She frowned, not following my reasoning just yet. "Of course I would. I love my mother dearly."

  I smiled triumphantly. "There you have it, dear heart. The fact that you have love for your mother proves that you're not a callous person – you're just going through a rough time now. But you're sorry for your mother'sloss – after all, you said she had remained close to your father – and you're admitting your problem, so you're absolutely not being callous. You're right, of course – it is a shame that you and your father never got a chance to make amends, but I think that he probably understood how you felt before he went."

  She drew her lower lip into her mouth because it was trembling again. "Do you really think so?"

  I patted the back of her hand. "Certainly. One hundred percent. He had quite a few years to think about it, right? If I know anything about the human heart – which I probably don't – I'd say he was thinking about you as he was passing – thinking some of the same things you are now."

  Jill smiled at me, several last tears falling from her eyes. But they were no longer tears of self–remorse. "Thanks, Chance. I'm sorry to throw all that on you."

  "Think nothing of it." I let go of her hands for a second time – almost reluctantly – and stood. "I'm glad that I can help you out for once."

  She laughed weakly, then stood up too. For a long moment, she looked around the room as though she had never seen it before, and then sighed heavily. When she spoke, her voice was cracked and tired. "Do you want some coffee? I can make you some before it's time to go home."

  "Nah. You're right – I drink too much of that stuff." I folded the chair and leaned it back against the wall. "I'm going to make a phone call or two, then how 'bout we head out?"

  "Okay." She smiled and held my gaze for a moment, then turned and left the room.

  I watched her go, feeling elated and deflated at the same time. Success and exhaustion seemed like odd bedfellows, although I suppose it just goes hand–in–hand with a good day's labor.

  I guess that "D" I got in psychology wasn't definitive.

  Blowing out a breath, I wiped my hands on my pants, trying to remember what it was that I had been about to do. My memory returned presently, so I crossed to my desk and sat down behind it. After consulting the phone book, I grabbed the old receiver and dialed Rick Miles' phone number.

  He picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

  I chuckled, curling the phone cord around my fingers. "No strange name for me today?"

  "Is this Detective Stikup?" he asked, almost suspiciously.

  "The one and only. Listen, I was just calling to let you know that I have some good news: we might have made a tremendous breakthrough in the case."

  I could hear the surprise in Miles' voice. His words tripped over one another as each tried to be the first out of his mouth. "R–really? You're that close? Do you have any idea who did this to us?"

  "Well, according to regulations, I can't divulge information yet. I just want you to know that it will only be a matter of time before I do make an arrest. Once that's taken care of, we'll make the necessary bank transfers to get you your money back, and we'll recover your personal documents." I coughed into my hand. "I don't actually have your money… apparently the thieves passed it on to a higher power, but… Well, let me put it to you this way: the moment I get the green light, I'll be leaping into action."

  Miles was still stammering with excitement. "This… This is amazing! So – so shortly after the theft, too!"

  Seven days did have to be a record or something. Momentarily I wondered if Scarlotti had ever managed it and made a mental note to ask Slyder.

  As for Miles, I took satisfaction in his obvious gratitude. "You're very welcome," I said presumptuously. "I'll give you a call the moment I've pulled out the handcuffs."

  "Thank you, Detective!" Miles said, and then hung up without another word.

  I replaced the phone on the receiver and sank back in my seat, steepling my fingers and feeling truly self–satisfied, perhaps for the first time in my life. Now I just had to wait until SPD found out whose fingerprints were on the note. Once that was done, I could wrap up Miles' case and from there move on to closing Mendoza's.

  You are one smart cookie, Chance Stikup, I told myself, putting my hands behind my head.

  The amusing thing was that I had no idea whom I was about to arrest. Once the fingerprints were identified, everything would be clear of course, but for the time being I was still in the dark. Actually, I was still in the dark physically too, so – taking advantage of the gloom – I closed my eyes and put my feet up on the desk. The fire was warm and romantic, but I wasn't interested in dozing off just yet.

  To refresh my memory, I began laying out the facts in my mind.

  Okay, I thought, eyes still closed. I've nabbed the first group of thieves – the ones that hit Miles. The other group that hit Mendoza I still don't know squat about, but I will as soon as we've brought their boss into custody, and we already know that his fingerprints are all over the paper.

  Perhaps it had been a little premature to call Miles, especially when I wasn't entirely sure of all the facts myself. But what the hell? It would give the poor guy something to smile about for a change.

  All things considered, the case had been fairly simple, all local and with few twists in the plot. It'd really just been a lot of police work with relatively little sleuthing on th
e side. I guess it's true what they say about all those cop shows: real crimes are committed by idiots, but on TV, the criminals are all masterminds.

  I didn't realize how long I had been musing until Jill came in, already wearing her coat. She came to stand before the desk. "Was that you talking to yourself?" she asked with a smile. She looked better now, although her eyes were still bloodshot.

  "Oh, I always talk to myself. If no one's around, I hold whole conversations." I checked my watch, found it to be 5:00 on the dot, so I sat up, replacing my feet on the floor. "I think we both need a good night's rest. I think we both deserve a good night's rest."

  "Sounds good to me." Jill smoothed the front of her skirt with her hands. "I already closed up my office."

  I slapped my hands on the desk top and stood. "Let me just extinguish the fire so we'll still have a building tomorrow."

  It took about ten minutes to turn off the lights, put out the fire, clear away some of the major cases of clutter, and lock all the doors. Jill waited for me, patient despite my OCD, and we walked out to our cars together. The absence of any new snowfall within the last few days had left the walkway unusually clear, and we didn't have to fight through layers of snow and ice to get to our vehicles. The sun was just setting, and the oncoming dusk promised to be chilly.

  Jill opened the door to her Toyota, but instead of getting in, turned to face me. "Thanks for listening, Chance. It really means a lot to me."

  "Think nothing of it." I shrugged modestly, casting my gaze uncomfortably to the snow. "I'm just happy to be able to help you out occasionally."

  "Thanks," she repeated, catching my eye with that beautiful smile.

  I returned it sloppily, thrusting my hands into my coat pockets. "See you tomorrow, Jilly."

  She smiled at the pet name and climbed into the driver's seat before slamming the door shut behind her. I doffed a wave, then got into the Anglia and started the engine. While I waited for the car to warm up, I sat back and smiled, thinking absolutely nothing.

  And what's more, it felt so good.

  I shifted the Anglia into gear and was ready to pull out when someone tapped on the driver's window. For a moment, I sat there stupidly, then – recovering myself – quickly rolled down the window and looked up at my secretary.

  "What's the matter?" I asked.

  She shivered in the cold, drawing the collar of her coat tighter around her neck. "My car won't start. I don't think there was enough antifreeze left in there – I never had it winterized."

  I shifted the Anglia back into park – left it running so as to keep it warm – then climbed out and went over to Jill's car. "Handyman Stikup to the rescue. I'm not gonna lie, I don't know much about cars, Jill."

  She blew out a breath of mist as she followed me. "Makes two of us."

  I stood next to the Toyota for a moment, then climbed in and tried to start it. When the engine didn't catch, I tried jiggling the transmission – since the Anglia could be temperamental that way, tried one last time, then concluded that the problem couldn't be solved that way. The carburetor was most likely flooded from repeated attempts already.

  I got back out of the car and turned to Jill. "Tell you what. I'm not going to risk breaking things, so why don't we have Eddie down the street look at it? He can tow it if it won't start for him. And in the meantime, I'll give you a ride home."

  Jill was nodding to accept, so I quickly added: "That is, if you can stand the clutter for more than ten minutes."

  She laughed and smacked my arm.

  After locking all the doors, we dropped heavily into the old Ford's bucket seats. I quickly threw several maps, a pair of worn out gloves, and an empty Coke can into the back seat to make room for Jill to sit.

  "It takes a few minutes for the heat to come on," I warned, rubbing frozen hands together as I shifted back into drive. "It's a little chilly in here."

  "We'll manage," she replied simply.

  "That's a sport," I said, pulling away from the curb.

  Jill lived in Logan – a township over from Swedesboro – across the street from a three–star hotel. The neighborhood was relatively busy, as her apartment complex was located on Township Line, close to the freeway. Cars went by night and day, generally speaking, but tonight the roads were empty – and relatively clear of snow. A few random pedestrians and the occasional jaywalker were the only people around.

  I pulled the Anglia up in front of Jill's apartment and killed the engine, intending to walk her in.

  It was a clear, starry night. There were clouds off in the distance: white cotton lumped together against the purple sky, indicating that it would begin to snow again soon. But for now the stars were shining. The cold of the evening was driving and bitter, but somehow I found that it didn't bother me any. It was probably because of the fact that I had just "solved" my first big case, but I preferred to think that it was because the prettiest girl in New Jersey was in my company.

  We stopped before the salty, ice–encrusted steps to the building and turned to face each other.

  This is where there will be an awkward pause, then we'll say goodnight, go on our way, and regret not saying everything that we wanted to say.

  At least, that's how it would go down for me. It hadn't been a date or anything, but somehow it felt like that type of cinematic encounter – the moment before the big, sloppy kiss and the rolling credits.

  Pay attention, stupid, I thought at myself.

  "You sure you're okay after all that?" I asked, speaking first. The smile I offered was tentative, because I couldn't gauge her reaction. "That was a lot to go through."

  "I'm fine, Chance," she replied softly. She didn't smile in return, but that was okay. "Thank you so much for listening to me ramble."

  "Returning the favor," I said evasively. I didn't have time to really think about it, but maybe I'd offered the same stupid excuse earlier. "Remember, you listen to my nonsensical psycho–babble day in and day out."

  It thrilled my heart to hear her laugh and made it easy for me to smile again.

  "If you need anything," I said softly, "you know my number."

  "I do." She drew her lower lip into her mouth, those bright green eyes searching mine – as though there was something there she was trying to find.

  Maybe there is.

  My mind instantly began screaming a million and one suggestions at me – suggestions of how best to delicately approach the mutual–interest situation. If it even was mutual. Maybe I was being stupid. Maybe I was denying myself the truth for fear of hurting myself and others again. Maybe I was just goddamn blind.

  Robert Mendoza's words chose that moment to pop into my brain, thought–provoking and ambiguous: "What if you had asked her? What if she had said 'yes'? I wouldn't want to live the rest of my life asking those questions."

  Tell her like it is, I thought at myself. Be honest – be direct. Tell her you like her, but you wanna play it slow. Tell her you think she's pretty – that's always a good start. Always worked in high school.

  I swallowed hard, knowing that the awkward pause was stretching onward without signs of ceasing. I was also keenly aware of the fact that Jill was waiting, easily recognizing that there was something on my mind. Maybe the silence wasn't awkward for her because she didn't have an inner monologue running through her head.

  Just tell her that you're interested, I growled inside my head. Just tell her that and go from there.

  Her gorgeous eyes were expectant; she was still waiting for me to say something.

  Something. Anything, dammitt.

  So I said, businesslike: "Well, I don't wanna keep you. I guess I'll see you in the morning, right?"

  Although her face didn't display her disappointment, her eyes did. I almost winced at the change – I definitely cringed internally. The hopeful twinkle was gone, and she simply looked sad and miserable again: the radiant daughter of a dead man who simply hadn't given a damn. She was crushed for the second time that night, disappointed, lost.

&
nbsp; It broke my heart.

  "Okay," she said, breathing the word out in a sigh of steam. Slowly, she turned and began mounting the steps to the front door. Over her shoulder, she said, "I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Stikup."

  And there was that title again, like a goddamn barrier between us – the Berlin Wall, for all intents and purposes. My stupid fascistic mind just wouldn't let those poor romantic thoughts escape westward to freedom.

  "Goodnight, babe," I said to her back – sadly, softly enough that she most likely couldn't hear. I waved when she turned to give me one last parting smile, and then turned slowly to get back in my car as she closed the door against the cold.

  I kicked at a patch of ice in frustration, grinding my teeth. Goddamn you, Stikup.