I left the bar and crossed the road to the donut place.
Back before the world ended it had been open twenty-four seven but now it closed at midnight. Even now, just after ten, the pickings would start to get slim. One night I didn't get there until half past eleven and the only things left were chocolate frosteds and some bear claws. The kid at the counter gave me three chocolate frosted when I only ordered one.
They were only going to get thrown away anyhow; at least, that's what he said.
I didn't go over because I wanted donuts, at least not every time I went over. It had become a habit back when Ani and I came to the bar on Wednesday. Dinner and bar games and maybe a few drinks then a dounut.
Now she was off wherever doing her thing, but I was still coming to the bar then eating donuts.
I'm not sure if her leaving town had hurt my heart, my liver, or my weight the most.
"Hey, Charlie, you're early. Tired of slim pickings." Daryl was working tonight. That means there was a good chance of him having held back a jelly for me.
"Nope still got his greatest hits in my CD player in the car." My answer was as rote as his holding back that jelly donut.
Daryl shook his head and reached up, pulling down two jellies and a glazed, and putting them in a box.
"That's why I don't see that blond come in with you anymore. Most folks might think it is a joke, but I know you still use CDs and listen to old country people like that. Probably drove her away with that Patsy chick." He rang up two glazed. "Regardless, that's $4.30."
"That's Patsy Cline, and any woman who would leave over a man loving Patsy Cline isn't a woman worth having. Besides, Ani and I were just friends. We worked together."
Despite Daryl's knowing nod as I handed him exact change and walked out with my donuts, it was the truth. Ani and I had worked together as security guards for Pinkerton. We'd both been taking classes looking for something better. I wanted my private investigator license. She wanted to get into skip tracing for bail bondsmen.
She wanted to travel. I think television had convinced she'd be heading to at least semi-exotic locales like Miami or New Orleans. This week she was picking a skip she'd tracked to Hoboken, New Jersey. Hoboken may be many things, but even mildly exotic isn't one of them.
It doesn't even have the mystique of northern New Jersey smells.
I walked back to the bar's parking lot and got in my car. I had just opened the pint of milk I'd pulled out of Daryl's cooler on the way out when my phone buzzed.
That is, my work phone buzzed.
On it was Ani's number.
"Christian," I said, putting it on speaker.
"Thank God you'd finally picked up, Charlie. I was wondering if you ever would." It was Ani, alright, but she wasn't happy to hear me. She wasn't mad I'd taken so long, either, but something had her keyed up enough she wasn't happy.
"Sorry, I was at the Blue Tile; left my phone in the car."
"Why am I not surprised you still go to that dive? Look, I'm in a bind, and I need a favor. Tonight."
"What, you need me to bail you out? Why not call your boss for that." I smiled at my own joke. Hey, you take what you can get.
"Cute, Charlie, real cute. Actually, if I don't get this settled, bail is what I'm going to need, for false imprisonment."
I sat up at that. For a skip trace, getting it wrong can be a big legal risk. It looked like Ani had gotten it wrong somehow but had a way out. I scrambled a bit on the passenger seat for my notebook and a pen. I opened a new page and titled it "Rescue Ani".
"Okay, I'm listening," I said, pen poised to write.
"I need you to get down to the Fulton Courthouse and pull a warrant for one Tommy Marr. They are saying nothing comes up in the system."
"Tommy Marr got it. Now, who is they, and why are they checking the system?" The phone was already in its dash holder, and I was starting the car. I missed the who as the phone switched from speaker to Bluetooth.
"...and Marr has some pull with them. He pressed a silent alarm button when I showed up to take him in. They arrested me for attempted kidnapping and are claiming the warrant I gave them is invalid, and the number doesn't come up on the computer system."
"Who is that? I missed that part."
"They're making me hang up. I've texted their fax number. I just need that warrant four hours ago."
The phone hung up with a click before I could respond or she could say goodbye.
As you might suspect, when one has been drinking at the bar until a little past ten then gone to get some donuts, the events occur outside of courthouse hours. Still, there is the night session for people the cops bring in during the evening, so a handful of clerks were working.
In theory, they aren't there for anyone but the night session of county courts, but like any bureaucracy, there is a regular business in favors. Any cop, security guard, or private investigator had an account running in the mind of at least one-night clerk of favors given and asked. Being one of those and having been another, I had some very complex accounts, including one with Benny Dixon, who was on shift tonight.
It was nearly midnight when I got to the courthouse and found parking. Parking in downtown Atlanta is actually harder at midnight than at noon. Sure, there are a lot fewer cars, but many garages' commercial sides are closed, and while the street spots are open, you don't want to use a lot of them. Atlanta isn't LA or even Hoboken, for that matter, but some parts of downtown aren't safe for cars, not even the out-of-date car of a freelance private eye.
Now, if I'd been with an agency, not only would I have a nicer car, but a key card for the courthouse garage on the company's part.
Remind me again while I'm an independent.
Having parked in a spot where there was a reliable homeless guy who'd keep the riff-raff away for a five-dollar bill. I trotted across and down the street to the courthouse. I still had a jelly and the glazed in the box so I brought them with me.
Security waived me straight through the metal detector without bothering to x-ray my box. I collected my change and keys from the little plastic bucket and headed down the corridor beyond.
Walking into an office through an open door, I sat across a desk from a portly, balding man in his early thirties. As I sat, I eased my box of donuts onto the desk without speaking. Before I was even fully in the seat, a neatly manicured hand slipped the jelly donut out. I let the hand's owner sample his newly acquired treasure before speaking.
"Busy night Benny?" I had to ask. Small talk is always part of society, but especially when you're going to ask a favor and both you and the person you need the favor from are well aware that is the only reason for your visit.
Social niceties are most important when you're not being social.
"Not particularly. Tuesdays are usually easy. No hangover from the weekend like Mondays or workup for the next one like Thursday. Sometimes it gets slow enough to require a sugar hit to go with the coffee to keep you awake." Benny stood, jelly still in hand, and picked up his coffee cup. As asked without looking back as he headed to a Mr. Coffee along the back wall, "Need a cup? Two creamers but still bitter?"
"Yeah, that'd be great."
He fussed for a minute with the coffee. The jelly was gone as he returned to the desk. Sitting, he handed me my cup.
"Still trying to convince the boss to find money in the budget for a Keurig. We'd all appreciate it."
"Probably doesn't want to spring from the cups. He must get this preground pretty cheap." I sipped the caramel colored liquid. It was bitter, like gas station coffee used to be. QT and Racetrac might have caught up with fresh grinding and quality coffee, but the courthouse clerks were still very 1990s.
"Probably. I guess we could just spring for a cheap one and bring our own cups." I nodded non-committedly. This was probably a common remark to people in the favors game, letting us know the upcoming new currency.
It was clear the Keurig was already decided upon.
"So, who's your friend on tonight's docket?" That was Benny's offer to do the favor.
"No one tonight. I need a hard copy of an old warrant."
Benny was a bit puzzled by that statement. "Who needs a hardcopy backup of a warrant at eleven on a Tuesday. Why not come in during normal hours. I mean, I don't mind the company on a Tuesday, but it's odd."
I thought for a minute and decided honesty was the best policy.
"Ani's in a jam out of state. Locals are claiming there is no warrant and want a fax." Benny knew Ani from when we were both Pinkerton security and had to testify at the occasional night session.
"She had a hardcopy, didn't she."
I nodded, "They're claiming it's a forgery."
"What the actual fuck? Where is she?"
"Hoboken, New Jersey."
"There's her problem. What's a nice lady like Ani doing in New Jersey. Them Yankees hate the South and are racist fuckers in a way you never seen with someone from around here. That's two strikes against her before she even starts."
I nodded and sipped more coffee. Benny likes to rant against people from the Northeast. It was almost his religion.
"What's the warrant number?"
I brought up the text and handed him my phone.
"That's what she sent me. Must have been decent bail to make the expense of sending her that far with plane tickets. Curious as to what is myself." As I talked, Benny typed the number in and executed the search. The results took a while, longer than I expected.
When they finally appeared on the screen, Benny leaned back in his chair and whistled.
"Actually, stop being curious. And forget a hard copy."
I tilted my head to the left and looked at Benny.
"What's up?"
"The warrant doesn't exist." He said it easy, leaning forward to back up to the prior screen on his computer.
"Bullshit," I said, sitting up on the edge of my chair. "What's going on, Benny. No warrant you just tell me there isn't one or she got the number wrong. You don't tell me to stop being curious and back your screen up immediately."
He stared back for what seemed like a good twenty minutes. It wasn't even one, but it had that look.
"Charlie, we're friends, right. Not just favor friends, you give me donuts and Keurig pods and I give you info, but we trust each other's read of the courthouse friends."
I frowned and brought my head straight.
"Yeah, I trust you when you give me the dope. What's up?"
"Warrant's sealed. One of the ADAs, and he's got a motion to drop in. The latter isn't odd, but it being sealed while such a motion is in...that's odd."
I sat for a moment.
"Another favor, a much more expensive one," I said.
Benny nodded. "That's my read."
"What about Ani? She's got locals who are probably also paying back a favor."
"The safest answer is to let them jail her overnight. They'll be a call down here to get the mistake fixed. She'll be home by Friday."
"You said that's the safest answer. For who?"
"All three of us, but mostly you. I'll get a question about why I brought it up, but I can make up something about mistyping. ADA can't risk getting a skip tracer busted. That gets bail bondsmen not willing to work with that ADA's cases which will get everyone from the public defender's office, including someone who used to be there and is at one of the big private firms, on his case."
Benny stopped. I watched him. I knew where he was going, but I wanted to say it out loud.
"Look, Chris, I like your donuts. I don't want to be in a position where I can't share a donut with you."
*You don't want to freeze me out,* is what I thought. I always tend to think of these arrangements as just transactional, but you transact with someone long enough, and you get invested.
"Thanks, Benny," I said as I stood up.
"Why, I didn't help."
"You did. You looked out for me. Means a lot. A lot more than any printout."
I walked out of the courthouse empty-handed. If anything, I had more questions now than when I got here.
As I approached my car, something felt off. I looked around and didn't see anyone. That's when it hit me. I didn't see anyone.
I'd paid Jack to watch my car. He'd usually be in this ratty old lawn chair he'd acquired somewhere next to it or if he had several cars, the best point on the sidewalk to watch them all.
If I was a PI on TV, this is where I'd get out my gun. Except, I normally didn't carry one, especially when not on the job, which I hadn't been an hour and a half ago.
What I did do was reach into my pocket and put my pocket knife into my left hand, thumb on the open lever. I had my keys in my right hand but did not beep the car to unlock it. Sure, if I was being set up for an ambush, they'd be watching, but why confirm anything.
As I stepped past the hood of the car behind mine, he stood up and put his hand on my keys, pressing the unlock button. I was so startled that a man stood up from exactly the spot I'd been checking that he pulled it off.
He immediately let me go and reached for the backdoor handle. I heard another door open and saw someone slide into my passenger seat. Neither said a word. If there isn't violence immediately, it's usually good to play along until there is, or at least until you have a better idea of what's going on.
I opened the door and slid into the front seat.
"Are we talking here, or do I need to drive someplace first?" I asked. I don't like small talk to begin with. In a situation like this, I don't even entertain it.
The guy in the passenger seat was average. That was his outstanding characteristic. He was average, to the point of being a gray man.
That was not a good sign. The guy was a pro.
"Straight to the point. I can respect that," Mr. Gray said. "Indicates a man who sees reason."
I nodded and put the keys into the ignition.
"Personally, I'd just explain it to you here, confident that you'd understand, and that would be that." He stopped.
"Your employer sees things differently," I said, filling in the pause. I started the engine. "Am I driving or getting blindfolded."
Mr. Gray chuckled. "You're driving. You probably don't need directions. You know the Lepard?"
"Strip joint in Midtown by that new NCR building. If we use valet parking, I expect your boss to cover the tip."
"Like I said, smart man. You know which part is more expensive. If she doesn't, I will"
I gave the valet my keys along with a Benjamin Mr. Gray handed me as we pulled up. The kid looked like he wasn't old enough to go inside the Lepard.
I think I trusted Jack more with my car. I'd check with Mr. Gray if he was okay. Hijacking me was one thing, but Jack was just doing his bit. I'd gotten directly involved in things, even if by accident, when I didn't know what things were.
We'd driven here in silence. We walked to the door the same way, Mr. Gray directing me away from the line straight to the door. The bouncer either recognized one of my escorts or was expecting us because he opened the door, and we went straight in.
The Leopard wants to be those classy strip joints you see in movies. The problem is those places never exist outside of movies. The girls are never that good-looking because women with movie stripper looks who want to trade on their looks become actresses or working girls so expensive they qualify as courtesans. Only one of the three on stage stood out. She'd taken where she worked a bit too seriously and had leopard spots tattooed over her left shoulder and down her left upper arm and shoulder blade.
I got a good look at The Leopard herself as we walked passed the lobe of the stage she was working to one of the champagne rooms where we were again recognized and immediately admitted.
The normal chairs were arranged around a card table, probably brought in for this meeting. The table wasn't the strangest thing, though. It was who was sitting at the table.
A tall, heavy-set black woman sat across from the chair Mr. Gray motioned me to take. He and his buddy stood behind me. I kept staring at the woman because I knew I knew the face but could not put a name to it.
"Don't remember, do you?" she said after giving me a couple of minutes to puzzle it out. "That's better for both of us and not uncommon. I can't avoid the TV, but I do stand in the background."
I nodded.
"I don't want to remember who you are at this point. Seems risky."
"I knew you were smart." Mr. Gray said behind me.
"I hope you're right, Wormold," she said to the gentleman I had been calling Mr. Gray. She turned back to me. "You have been making unwelcome inquires about a case about to be dismissed by the DA."
"I did request a hard copy of the warrant as a favor for a friend."
"Seems like an odd favor for nearly midnight on a Tuesday. Why would he want it? Who is this friend?"
"She wanted it to clear up some confusion while retrieving a bail jumper." I emphasized the 'she'. Maybe the whole sisterhood thing is a bad stereotype perpetuated by rich white women with little knowledge of the rest of the world, but here I had someone who could help Ani out. I wasn't about to let any possible advantage go. "As is obvious, she's a skip tracer."
"So, a bounty hunter. Why should you care about a bounty hunter? More importantly, why should I care about one."
"I don't like that term. She's a respectable person doing an honest job for hire."
My sparring partner seemed mildly taken aback by my comment. Her face tightened at the edges before relaxing.
"I'm not here to argue semantics Mr. Christian. I'm here to make sure you, and now her, are not a problem for me. But, out of respect for your professionalism to this point, I'll reframe my question. You answered the first, she is clearly a friend or very close colleague and that's why you care."
She stopped for a moment and then placed her hands on the table. She leaned in very close and said, "But why should I care about a random skip tracer, even if she is your friend?"
Once she was done she leaned back into a very relaxed position.
I took a moment to formulate the clearest version of what I'd told Benny, tailoring it to the person who would decide Ani's and my fate.
"You like not being noticed. A skip tracer getting arrested and thrown in jail in another state, even if it is just for one night, is going to get around the courthouse." I paused. She nodded.
"That matters to you because people will talk about how she flew up with a valid warrant that suddenly not only got withdrawn but flagged somehow as fake while it was being withdrawn. People will get mad about Ani being left out to dry. The ADA behind it will lose the ability to find bail bondsmen for the people he prosecutes. Sure, that's not his job. It's the defense attorney's job, but people will wonder what happened. Public defenders will start looking for him to be removed as it prejudices part of the legal system against their client. Will they win? Not always, but it'll just make him more and more the talk of the courthouse."
I took a breath. I was going for a Hail Mary and wanted to suck the defenders in close before launching it.
She blitzed instead.
"And if the ADA I have worked with on this and possibly prior entanglements becomes a topic of conversation, I risk becoming one as well."
I nodded and sat back. I'd been cut off, but I tried to make the best relaxed poker face I could.
"Mr. Christian, you may have a point. And I might be able to help." She turned back to look at Mr. Gray. "Wormold, that thing you were originally going to do tonight when you leave, explain it to Mr. Christian. He'll do it for you."
"Yes, Ma'am. He can do it. I'm confident."
"His friend best hope you are right." She turned back to me. "I can make a call and end your friend's problems, but first, you're going to retrieve an item for me."
"She's waiting now to avoid lockup."
"I can make a call that will get her to a nice hotel room for the evening. I'll even order her room service as an advance apology. But, come seven am, I best have my item, or the police will retrieve her from that hotel and it will be more than a night in jail."
She stood.
"Good evening, gentlemen," she said and walked out the rear door of the champagne room.
I had stood as she did. Now I turned to my new boss.
"Wormold. Did your parents not like you?"
He smiled in a way that was as chill as most people were warm.
"Personal joke. I use it as my working name."
I nodded. I didn't get the joke, and an explanation didn't seem forthcoming. He motioned to the door and went through it back to the club.
His partner did not follow us.
"Drive me back to my car. I'll explain the job along the way."
"You think I'm going to do it."
He gave me a sharp look and nodded.
"You're smart. You are also loyal. You'll do the math and decide loyalty towards your friend is worth more than the guilt of some minor B&E for a file folder full of papers."
I sat in my car at the Krispy Cream on Ponce. It had just reopened after the fire that had occurred at the same time the Eagle across the street had closed. While it wasn't my kind of bar, I was sad to see the Eagle close. It was an Atlanta institution like the Underground or Mary Macs.
We'd lost too many of those of late.
I drank my pint of milk to wash down a donut so fresh the glaze was still melty.
I had a choice to make.
I could complete the job I had been given or let Ani rot. As soon as Mr. Gray was out of my car, I called Ani on the way to Krispy Kreme. She was in a fairly nice hotel room already. She was going through the room service menu, having been told, "whatever you want, sky's the limit".
That meant the Madam's word was true. Yes, I'd taken to thinking of her as the Madam. I didn't want a real name, and before it became slang for a female pimp, a Madam was a woman running things.
But if her word was true on getting Ani relief, then her word on how Ani would pay should I fail in the job, and to her refusing would be failing, of that, I had no doubt.
Still, Mr. Grey was quite clear. I would be committing breaking and entering. I was given the barest outline of what I was to steal, a file folder named Leviathan. These were actual, physical files, not computer files. That alone was odd. What would it matter if I got physical files? It would be clear they were missing, and the owner could print them out anyway.
I didn't ask Mr. Gray any of this because I knew he'd told me all he would. I suspect it was all he could tell me. All my interactions made it clear he knew and told as little as possible but was ruthless about doing things right. Any info he had would be passed on so I could do the job as efficiently as possible.
I popped the last bit of donut into my mouth and washed it down with the last of the milk.
"Do you care more about saving Ani from bad people or your own purity?" I asked aloud.
"You avoided police work and got out of security as soon as possible to avoid situations where you couldn't walk away from choosing one evil over the other."
I was talking to myself out loud on both sides. But the voice that chose to answer outside was telling the truth. I know all cops aren't dirty, but there are dirty cops, and you wind up exactly where I was now, loyal and dirty or clean and a traitor. Security had little compromises, like covering a guy taking an extra cigarette break or something, but I hadn't run into worse.
Security also didn't pay very well, or at least wouldn't for a while.
I'd gotten into private eye work because I always had a walk away. That's why I never worked for an agency after I finished my apprenticeship. You can be disloyal to a law-breaking client, and with no partners, you don't have to worry about loyalty to them period.
If I thought about it, that's why Ani became a bail enforcement agent. It's why I rankled when the Madam called her a bounty hunter. Sure, same job, but one carried assumptions about lax moral attitudes the other did not.
What would Ani think if she found out her fancy hotel with room service and then released home was bought by an act of burglary. I wouldn't tell her, although she might consider that omission disloyal.
"It doesn't matter. She's one of my people, and my people don't rot in jail for doing nothing wrong."
As I announced my decision to the world, I realized I was passing through the light at North Avenue and West Peachtree on my way to my target. I'd been heading there for at least five minutes.
I dimmed the lights as I turned onto Golden Ridge Lane. The street was pretty well-lit, but the car lights might wake up someone with the change in brightness. I cruised by the designated house. There was a security firm sign on the lawn, but I knew the firm. I had worked there for ten years. I could probably disarm the alarm from the outside with the kit in my trunk.
Yes, I had a kit to get in. It was a holdover from my security days and was convenient for some surveillance duties. I rounded the cul-de-sac at the end of the road. I parked in a park about a half mile with the most hidden space when viewed from the main road. Google maps made it look like the house's lot backed up to the park.
I took the kit out of the trunk. I eyed my boots for a moment, but the night was dry, and once in the house, my sneakers were more likely to be quiet than work boots. They'd be more comfortable in the walk there and back. Despite the park, I wouldn't be on easy ground.
I followed a long route around the open grass that stayed hidden in the trees. I lost my bearings once or twice when I wandered too far from the tree line, but I eventually made the white-washed brick wall that surrounded the house the Leviathan file had choosen for a home.
"This is it," I told myself. Once I passed this wall, I would be trespassing with intent to commit a felony. A private investigator might trespass a bit for a photo, but nothing this blatant.
"Ani, you owe me. What, I don't know."
With that, I walked along the wall looking for the gate I knew would open to the park. I found it within five minutes. The gate was wrought iron and locked with a padlock blackened so as not to stand out from the gate itself. It didn't hide the lock to make it more difficult to break in, but that wasn't its intent. It was coated so that it would be a vulgar display of silver against the wrought iron.
Yeah, it was that kind of neighborhood. Appearances were more important than anything. The lock was less about excluding burglars like myself, for that is what I was about to become, but just to signal that only approved people entered regardless of intent.
I'll own up to that attitude made me a little less concerned about robbing the son of a bitch who owned the place. I've got nothing against a man with money. I've got a lot against a man who thinks money, or other trivial things, make him better than me.
I made a quick inspection of the gate and didn't see anything keyed to the famous company's alarm system. It wasn't that I expected it, but if you're committing a felony, it is time to be careful to not be detected. Assured nothing electronic would trigger when I opened the alarm or the gate, I pulled out the pick gun from my entry kit and opened the gate. I opened it all the way and pocketed the lock.
I hoped kids ran over all his precious backyard come daylight.
The lawn was relatively long and open. There were bushes on each side along the wall, but it was three in the morning. The odds of someone watching out the windows for a burglar in the backyard were slim.
It was also a felony, so I took the long way around. Instead of a quick minute or so dart to the house, I walked a ten-minute course in the shadow of the bushes. The wall joined the side of the house where the garage was, and, as I'd hoped, a door into the garage was present.
Now, there were three possibilities here. The external garage door could be alarmed, the inner door from garage to house could be alarmed, or both could be. There was no obvious panel by the door, but you would not normally enter the backyard with an alarmed door. I pulled a thin butter knife with a tiny bend at the tip, less than an eighth of an inch, and ran it through the door channel. A well-installed system would have the contacts on the flat of the frame so you couldn't easily put in a jumper, but some guys were in a hurry to get installs done and cut corners.
Garage side doors in the backyard were a great place to save five minutes without being caught.
The knife hummed with a tiny current roughly where the deadbolt was.
Of course.
Working the deadbolt with the pick gun, I got the door open and moving. I slid the knife as the door opened to keep the contacts together. Once I could reach both, I put two EKG pads on the contacts and snapped a four-foot or so wire between them.
Pocketing the knife, I held the wire up and stepped under it. I closed the door as much as possible without removing the wire.
It would make exitting easier.
The inner door was alarmed and disarmed in a similar way, although it was not locked.
The kitchen off the garage entrance was probably as big as the kitchen at the bar. What I needed was the study. Mr. Grey had been quite clear about the location. It was in the locked center drawer of the large desk in the study. He'd spoken as though he'd seen it.
He probably had in the kind of meeting you see in gangster movies and are convinced aren't real.
They probably aren't for gangsters, but I was dealing with politics, show businessness for the unattractive, so it was probably true.
Moonlight and streetlight blended through the windows. I walked to the far side of the kitchen into a hallway. The study door was open, and I stepped in. The drawer lock didn't require anything more complex than a screwdriver.
The folder marked Leviathan was on top and was so thick a quarter-inch wide rubber band was holding it closed. I pulled it out and closed the drawer.
"So you're Wormwold's man. Did he hire you just for this job?"
My head flew up. There was an older man in the doorway, with graying hair, wearing slacks and a golf shirt. It wasn't a polo shirt, although he probably owned those two.
But he knew the difference. He had the larger, tanned arms I expected from a golfer.
What he didn't have was a weapon.
I began to walk towards him without answering.
"Do you know what you're stealing?"
"Nope."
"Then why steal it? How do you know it isn't nuclear secrets Wormwold will sell to Putin?"
I was at the door, which he still blocked. I saw no sign of a weapon.
"Because nuclear secrets aren't in the top drawer of a political fixer's desk. It's blackmail material and probably something you shouldn't have." I pushed passed him as I answered.
"I've seen your face. I'll call the police." He was following me as I stepped into the kitchen.
I stopped dead just at the door to the garage. I pulled out my phone and held it out to him.
"Go ahead. You can explain possessing what's in this folder, I'm sure."
He didn't take the phone. We stood in the moonlight. No light from the streets penetrated the kitchen, staring at each other.
"I'm sure we can make an arrangement. What is Wormold paying you?"
This man was as much a fixer as the Madam. He could just as easily take care of Ani.
There was one difference. The Madam may have offered me a deal I couldn't refuse, but she made it one that allowed me to be loyal. She knew I valued loyalty and, with her upfront care of Ani, had offered it in return.
This fixer was asking me to go back on an agreement. He was willing to pay me to be disloyal.
"Basic respect," I said and walked out the door.
I'd be lying if I said my heart wasn't pounding as I walked across the garage and retrieved my snapped cable. Let the dishonest man clean the sticky EKG pads off his door.
Who was I kidding? He'd have some lesser person, some help, do it.
When I got to my car, Wormold had somehow found it and was waiting. I handed over the folder, and he handed me a very thin envelope. The exchange was completely silent. He walked to his car. He swung in and just before he closed the door, he called out, "I went back and found Jack. Paid him a full bill in fives. Said it was from you."
I didn't open the envelope until I saw his tail lights disappear. Inside was a printout of a first-class itinerary for one Ani Lemons from Newark Liberty International Airport to Hartsfield Jackson International Airport on Delta, arriving at 8:31 am.
The baggage claim at Hartsfield-Jackson is always a zoo, but the Delta side is calmer than “the everyone else but Delta and American” side. American has a basement area that is the quickest of all.
I ignored luggage and headed straight to the arrival escalators. Arriving passengers came up escalators from the tunnel connecting all the terminals.
I saw Ani mount one. She had that washed out, "sure I slept but mostly on a plane after getting up early to get to the airport anyway" look. She had the zombie stare to go with it. She hadn't been expecting me and didn't even notice me until I stepped directly in front of her.
"No baggage?"
"Nope, and no prisoner, but I had a voicemail waiting when I landed from Jake. Said not to bother, the case is getting dropped, and bond has been refunded."
I just nodded.
"I don't know what you did, but I need to thank you twice. First for getting me out of this and second for arranging for first-class treatement."
I doffed an invisible hat.
She laughed. "Do I want to know how you pulled that off?"
I just smiled and said, "I met with a couple of people at the Leopard."
Hard boiled private eye. "Back before the world ended" to me means before covid. I thought here you'd have something supernatural.
Yes, I knew "Patsy" was going to be Patsy Cline. Husband's a fan. I'm not, but she's okay.
You're leaving the relationship between narrator and Ani deliberately vague. Her being gone hurts his heart, but she's "just a friend." Maybe she's not a love interest, but she's clearly more than "just" a friend.
The voice of the hard-boiled detective is perfect. You've nailed the comments like "Social niceties are most important when you're not being social." They don't just give atmosphere, they give character.
Little clues about loyalty and wanting to do the right thing add some real tension about that file. And I liked the way you set up and used "Mr. Gray" as a marker for "this is really dangerous."
I hate that Charles had to pick the lesser of two evils again. What an awful situation: "corrupt and loyal" vs "pure and traitorous". You had me wondering if Charles would actually betray Ani to avoid doing something illegal, that would possibly be even worse for other people than whatever would happen to Ani.
You set up the tension well. The stakes seemed to be raised higher and higher, and now I want to know what's in that file. And I don't want Charles to be further compromised. I was more interested in Ani at the beginning than by the end. By the end, I was most interested in Charles, then Madam, then the old man in the golf shirt.
The detail about getting into the house was somewhat interesting. I'm beginning to realize that I have a lot of trouble picturing the inside floorplan. I had the same trouble with your other stories, but since this one is a whodunit, I worked harder at keeping it straight. It's probably me -- maybe I'm too used to seeing maps all the time?
Which is fascinating, since I don't have any trouble with your descriptions of indoor or outdoor objects or scenery -- which normally is difficult for me. I usually just skip descriptions of scenery or details in stories. The problem I'm having here is the spatial relationship of objects. Hmm.