Double Fake, Double Murder (A Carlos McCrary, Private Investigator, Mystery Thriller Series Book 2)

by Dallas Gorham

  “I don’t like Bill. And I sure as hell don’t like Clinton.”

  “Since President Clinton’s real name was William Jefferson Clinton, it would be an easy matter to change your name to that. Do you like Will or Jeff?”

  “What about Clint?” Sneakers said.

  “I like it. That’s a good masculine name.”

  “Clint. Clint. Clint Watkins.” He tried the name out. “Hello, my name is Clint Watkins. That sound pretty good.” He grinned and stuck out his hand. “How do you do? My name is Clint Watkins.”

  “Hello, Clint. My name is Chuck McCrary. I’m pleased to meet you.”

  They shook hands. They both had started a new adventure.

  #

  It took Chuck and Clint three trips to carry Clint’s new gear to the condo.

  Chuck taught him how to hang clothes in a closet, how to keep the pant creases sharp, how to separate pants, jackets, and shirts. He showed him how to sort underwear and socks in a drawer. Chuck had learned this basic stuff so early in childhood that he didn’t remember learning it. He had to re-think how to teach someone else.

  It opened his eyes about how far he and Clint needed to travel.

  Chuck snapped his fingers. “Damn. I forgot about sports coats, dress shirts, ties, and suits. And dress shoes. We’ll think about those tomorrow. Right now, let’s have lunch. I’ll grill us some burgers.”

  He showed Clint how to light the grill.

  Clint watched as Chuck prepared the meat patties and sprinkled the salt, pepper, and garlic powder on them. He made eight patties and put four of them in the fridge for another time. “I’m going to grill the burgers. Want to come?”

  “No, man. I’ll make the salad while you gone.”

  #

  When Chuck came back, lettuce scraps and tomato juice were scattered across the kitchen island and the floor. But Clint had a serviceable salad ready. And iced tea.

  After lunch, they cleaned up both the dishes and the mess Clint had made. They had a good laugh about it.

  “Okay, Clint. I have to meet a guy who may have a lead on a case I’m working on. Put on your workout clothes and I’ll take you to our gym on my way to work.”

  “What I gonna do there?”

  “You’re going to work out. Kennedy Carlson, the owner, will show you how. Ken is gay, and he’s one of my best friends. Don’t screw this up and piss him off.”

  Chapter 39

  Dan Murphy waited for Chuck at a table in Java Jenny’s, munching a giant chocolate chip cookie. “So did Jorge tell you about Ted Smoot?”

  Chuck pried off the lid to his coffee and added half-and-half. “Jorge and I had a revealing discussion sitting on a bench on the North Beach boardwalk. Pun intended.”

  He stirred his coffee.

  “Revealing?” Murphy laughed. “I get it. The topless beach, right? He always meets me there too. He must not get enough at home. Must be why he tomcats around.”

  “Jorge does that?” Chuck blew on his coffee.

  “Yeah, sure. Everybody likes a little strange once in a while. Why should Jorge be any different? What did he tell you about Smoot?” He popped the last bite of cookie in his mouth.

  “He didn’t know that Smoot was released from prison nine months ago.” Chuck sipped his coffee.

  “I didn’t know that either until a couple of weeks ago when another cop told me he’d seen him on the street.”

  “Man, that cookie looks good,” Chuck said.

  “Sure. I get one every time I’m here.”

  “Be right back. I have to get one.”

  Chuck walked to the counter and returned in a few minutes with two cookies. “Here, Dan. I wouldn’t want you to suffer.”

  Murphy grinned. “There’s always room for one more.”

  Chuck unwrapped his cookie. “When I was with Jorge, I Googled Armando Acevedo. Someone killed him in a hit-and-run after Smoot got out.”

  Murphy bit into the cookie. When he spoke, crumbs flew from his mouth. “Acevedo. That’s the politician who helped Jorge with the sting. I’d forgotten his name. He’s dead?”

  Chuck nodded. “Mother Weiner reassigned the hit-and-run case to Kelly Contreras and Bigs Bigelow, since they’re in charge of Jorge’s case.”

  “You think Smoot murdered Acevedo?”

  “Who knows?” Chuck shrugged. “Anyway, Kelly and Bigs turned him inside out in interrogation. They got nothing and they had to let it drop.”

  “I didn’t know about Acevedo.” Murphy looked thoughtful. “Maybe I can help you with that.”

  “How?”

  He shook his head. “Let me think about it. I might have a surprise for you.”

  Chapter 40

  Snoop looked up from the table at Fat Tummy’s, a local greasy spoon restaurant. “You’re late, Chuck. I already ordered and I was afraid I was going to have to buy my own lunch.” He had already eaten half of a double-decker hamburger.

  Chuck laughed as he pulled out a chair. “That’ll be the day when you buy your own lunch. Besides this is the cheapest place in town. I don’t know why you always want to eat here when there are better places.”

  Snoop gestured at the half-eaten sandwich on his plate. “Other places don’t have the Heart-Stopper hamburger.”

  A server handed Chuck a menu. He didn’t even look at it. “I’ll have the Sweep-the-Floor Vegetarian Pizza on whole wheat crust and unsweetened iced tea. Thanks.” He handed the menu back and the server left.

  Snoop took a long drink of his beer. “What’s going on?”

  Chuck briefed Snoop on what he had learned about Ted Smoot. “I want to know where Smoot lives now. What does he do for a living? Does he have an office? Does he work alone or with somebody? What vehicles does he own? License plates, etc. You know the drill.”

  “Sure. But why not ask Kelly or Bigs?”

  “Acevedo is their case, and Smoot is a person of interest. I’m not a sworn LEO anymore. If they got involved with me on this, and I turned up something useful, maybe they couldn’t use it because of chain of evidence considerations, or unreasonable searches, or whatever. I don’t want to complicate their investigation. You sound almost like you don’t want the work.”

  Snoop blotted his mouth with a napkin. “I’m always looking for easy work. Especially work where I’m not likely to get shot at. Janet doesn’t like it when I get shot at.”

  Chapter 41

  “So how’s it going with Sneakers?” Terry took a bit of salad on her fork and sopped up dressing before she popped it in her mouth. “Mm, that’s good.”

  Chuck and Terry sat at a waterfront table at The Crazy Lobster. Chuck sensed clouds on the horizon in their relationship. He hoped to chase them away with a romantic dinner at their favorite restaurant.

  “He’s picked a new name. He’s now Clint Watkins.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “All on his own? Just like that?”

  “I explained to him that he needed a name that would command respect. We discussed a couple and he selected Clint.” Chuck munched on a slice of garlic toast.

  “It’s a good name.” She sipped her Pinot Grigio. “So Clint’s moved in with you?”

  “Yeah. Look, Queens, I know I’ve been neglecting you lately. It’s just that I’ve been getting Clint settled into his new routine. I’m sort of homeschooling him, mostly self-taught. I bought him a few age-appropriate books, which he’s reading. I taught him how to use a printed dictionary. I taught him how to look stuff up on the Internet.”

  “You’d better install some sort of porn filter.”

  “Already did. I remember what it’s like to be sixteen years old. And I’m teaching him social skills.”

  “King, your own social skills need a little work. You’ve been neglecting your main squeeze.”

  “I know, babe, and I’ll make it up to you. Clint won’t take this much time forever. He’s a lot smarter than I expected given his background, and he reads well.” Chuck sipped his Merlot.

  She frowned. �
�He took the guest room overlooking the beach?”

  “I let him pick. He told me he’d never had his own room before.”

  “Wow,” Terry said softly.

  “My sentiments exactly. Anyway, I thought it would make him feel better about the move into a new environment.”

  Terry twirled her wine glass stem between her thumb and forefinger. “I can see that Clint’s living there will put a major crimp in my sitting on your lap on the balcony while we watch the sunset.”

  “Is that what you call it? ‘Sitting on my lap?’” Chuck smiled. “We can still watch the sunset, just without the lap-sitting part.”

  Terry didn’t smile back. “And Clint will surely enjoy it with us.”

  “We’ll move the chaise to the master bedroom balcony.”

  “I know you. You wouldn’t feel right shutting Clint out, and neither would I. We’d both be racked with guilt.” She set her wine glass down, dabbed her lips with a napkin.

  She was right, so Chuck said nothing. He reached over and rubbed the back of her hand.

  She took a bite of crab cake. “And I won’t be able to lay my head on your lap on the couch in front of the TV anymore.”

  “If I remember correctly—and I have several vivid memories of us on that couch—you don’t exactly lay your head on my lap.” He smiled again.

  She pulled her hand away. “Whatever I do, or you do, or we do, we can’t do it in the living room anymore.”

  Also true. Chuck waited for the rest.

  “And we can’t wash clothes in the nude anymore. And I can’t sit on the washing machine while it runs.”

  “Queens, we’ll make adjustments. Couples have done that for thousands of years when they have kids. There’s always the bedroom.”

  She set her fork down. “Chuck, he’s not a kid; he’s a project.” She placed her hands flat on either side of her place setting. “And he’s not our kid. Even if he were, he’s your project, not mine.”

  She was right again: Chuck had thrust this whole Clint thing right in the middle of their relationship. He worried it wouldn’t survive the strain.

  “Chuck, when people have kids, they do it by choice. This wasn’t my choice; it was yours.” She picked up her fork and shoved her food around on the plate. “And the kids start out as babies. Then the couple adjusts gradually to the new relationships.” She shook her head. “This is like straightening teeth with a hammer.”

  Chuck put a hand on hers. “What do you want me to do, throw him to the wolves?”

  “No, of course not.” She pulled her hand away. “Chuck, I don’t know what I want, but I know it’s not this. I have to think about it.”

  Chapter 42

  Chuck opened the front door to find Dan Murphy standing there with a briefcase. He hadn’t expected company, but when the building receptionist had called, he remembered that Murphy had said he might be able to help with the Smoot investigation. Maybe this was the surprise he had mentioned.

  “Come in, Dan.” Chuck led him to the living room. “Want a beer?”

  “I never say ‘no.’”

  “Tell you what, it’s such a nice day, I’ll bring the beers out to the balcony.” He pointed. “The door’s open.”

  “Sounds great.”

  Chuck went to the kitchen and brought two beers to the glass-topped table.

  Murphy took a long pull on his bottle.

  Chuck sat in a deck chair. “You got something for me?”

  Murphy laid his hand on the briefcase. “I copied the entire Smoot file.”

  Chuck waited for Murphy to open the briefcase and hand over the file, but he didn’t. Of course, Dan didn’t say that he would give me the file. Maybe he expects me to read it and give it back. Chuck didn’t know Murphy well enough to be pushy. After all, Murphy was doing Chuck a favor.

  Murphy set down his beer. “I heard you’ve taken in a street kid.”

  “Yeah, he’s in school right now.”

  “I thought school was out for the summer.”

  “It is. I take Clint to remedial tutoring at Port City Preparatory School every day.”

  Chuck and Murphy talked for a while about kids. Murphy didn’t have any but wanted some. He and Jessica had been married twelve years and it didn’t look like it was going to happen. They talked about life and sports and women. All the regular guy stuff.

  Two beers later, Murphy looked back inside the apartment. “I need to make a pit stop, buddy.”

  “End of the hallway.”

  “Why don’t you read the file while I’m gone. See if you have any questions.” Murphy took the file from his briefcase, slid it across to Chuck, and went inside.

  Chuck had read half of the file when Murphy returned. The file confirmed the information Snoop had already obtained, plus it had Kelly and Bigs’ investigation notes.

  “Sorry I took so long. I had spicy Thai for lunch. It always affects me that way.” He laughed.

  “I can relate.”

  Chuck finished reading the file while Murphy finished his third beer. He wrote some vital stats on a notepad and shoved the folder back toward Murphy. “Thanks for this, Dan.”

  “Oh, you can keep it.”

  Chapter 43

  Chuck and Clint finished their workouts at Jerry’s Gym. Clint did the same exercises as Chuck, just not as many repetitions or with as much weight. Ken and Chuck both told him that the amount of weight was not nearly as important as the number of repetitions, but Clint obsessed about bench pressing over two hundred pounds and curling over seventy-five pounds. Chuck figured he’d ease off on the weight once he hit those goals.

  Clint had gained ten pounds, all muscle. And he ran two miles a day.

  He and Chuck walked across the street to Java Jenny’s for iced coffee.

  Clint said, “Can I have a chocolate chip cookie?”

  Chuck handed him a twenty. “Go crazy. Get me one too.”

  Clint returned to the table and handed Chuck his change. “Thanks.”

  Clint added a spoon of sugar to his coffee. “Why you be a detective?”

  Chuck waited.

  Clint smiled. “Excuse me. Why did you choose to become a police detective?” He pronounced it PO-lice.

  “I wanted to make the world a better place. Removing bad guys from the world seemed like a good place to start.” Chuck unwrapped his cookie.

  “Why you start with the cops? Everybody hate the cops.”

  “Not everybody. Maybe you don’t know the right people.”

  “You got that right.” Clint bit off a chunk of cookie.

  “I also needed a certain amount of qualifying experience to get a PI license. The police job qualified.” Chuck took a pull of coffee and looked at Clint. “You given any thought to what you want to do with your life?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe I be a private investigator too.” Clint laughed and drank his coffee.

  “I was your age when I decided to become a PI.”

  “No shi—no fooling?”

  Chuck nodded. “I was a sophomore at Theodore Roosevelt High School in Adams Creek, Texas. The guidance counselor asked me what I wanted for a career. I’d never thought about it, but as soon as she asked me the question, I knew the answer.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her I would be a PI, like Spenser.”

  “Like who?” Another bite of cookie, sip of coffee.

  “Spenser. He’s a fictional PI. I’ll get you some books. These cookies are good, aren’t they?”

  “More books? You already give me a lifetime supply of books.”

  “I’ve already given you a lifetime supply.”

  “Sorry. You’ve already given me a lifetime supply. But back to the real question: Why’d you tell the guidance counselor the truth?”

  “Why not?”

  Clint dropped his eyes. “She might laugh at you, or somethin’.”

  Was this a clue to Clint’s personality? “As a matter of fact, she did laugh at me.”

&n
bsp; Clint nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “You want to know how I felt?” Chuck set down his iced coffee and put both fists on the table.

  Clint nodded again. “Yeah.”

  “I hated it.” He smacked the table for emphasis. “She made me feel smaller as a person, as a…a human being. Like, if she wasn’t going to respect my answer, why did she bother to ask?”

  Clint frowned. “You got that right.”

  “When I got home, I discussed it with my parents.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “Dad asked me if she would’ve laughed if I’d wanted to be a farmer like him or a veterinarian like my mom. I said, no, she wouldn’t have laughed. Then Dad asked me if she would’ve laughed if I’d said an accountant or an auto mechanic or something more conventional. I said, no, she wouldn’t have laughed.”

  Chuck watched Clint’s eyes.

  He was following every word.

  “Dad said, ‘Maybe she was trying to manipulate you by laughing if you didn’t answer right.’”

  “You got that right.”

  Chuck leaned back in his chair. “The funny thing was, she didn’t know she was trying to manipulate me. She was a good person. She wanted what was best for me. It was just ingrained in her mind that people needed to be what everyone expected them to be.”

  Clint broke a piece of his cookie. “So what did you do?”

  “Do? I didn’t do anything. I didn’t need her help. My parents were my real guidance counselors. That’s what parents are supposed to do. That’s what you’ll do someday when you have kids.”

  “What you mean?”

  “You’ll help guide your children in the right direction. Help them make good decisions. My parents helped me research the private investigation field and select the right high school courses to prepare me for the future.”