Where Fools Dare to Tread

by David William Pearce

  Mr. Jones pondered his options.

  Neither of us had been particularly open with the other. There were things I knew that I hadn’t shared. Like being asked to be circumspect by one of the most powerful lawyers in the city, a man who could have gotten the best in the investigative business, but instead gave it to me, a complete nobody. Why would he do that? We didn’t even discuss what I would be paid. I was simply going with the flow, nice and easy. Never mind it being the quickest way to end up in the canal face down and dead. Maybe that was the plan. And who would know or care?

  It didn’t make any sense.

  It didn’t add up to any number I recognized. Still, I walked into this mess. It was up to me to try and walk my way out.

  Really, that was my story?

  What choice did I have? I decided not to answer that.

  Mr. Jones pulled off the freeway and stopped alongside a small community park. Evidently, he had something to say.

  “I’m here to keep an eye on you, Buttman, that’s my gig.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they believe you know more than you let on.”

  “Who?”

  “You know who.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know. It has something to do with this Marshan woman, but I wasn’t given a lot of details. I was asked to do a job, to do a favor. I’ll be honest; this isn’t my thing. Personally, I’m trying to branch out into entertainment. I’ve always wanted to be a promoter, and after all these years of seeing how it works and what people do, I know it’s something I can do, but you need connections and you need money. Dulcimer has that. With the violence associated with some of my clients, Coretta wants me to find something safer, and you telling her about a killing didn’t help. So, in return for assisting you, Dulcimer promised to grease the wheels. He also intimated that there was money to be had if we found her, a lot more money than the twenty-five.”

  More money. I wondered if Jones had any idea how much.

  “I don’t understand. If they want to talk to her why don’t they just do that? Why do they need us? What’s the point? The cops didn’t have any trouble finding her?” I thought about that. That wasn’t right. “No, Mallory said she came to them. Once they bought her story she took off. I still don’t understand. Why us?”

  “I don’t understand either, but there must be something otherwise why rough you up?”

  “Yeah…” Images were floating across the inside of my eyes. Places, words on documents, faces. “And that Dahlia woman, as you say, she was roughed up too, right?”

  “Black eye and bruises; as far as I know she still wants to see you.”

  “Yeah, I wonder…” The sun was beginning to outstay its welcome. The urge to vomit was roiling in the back of my throat once more. I could feel my legs shaking. We needed to go. “I have a few ideas, and I know a guy I think can help, but I need to rest, my head is killing me.”

  “Alright, I’ll get you home.”

  I told Jones I’d see the woman Dahlia in a few days. He would set up the time and place. Meanwhile, I would take the car in for a checkup, talk to Bernie. He knew people who could help me. Fortunately, we were close to the bungalow. Jones helped me in. Someone, probably Joanie, had cleaned up the mess. I sat in my chair as Jones stood in the doorway. The light haloed around him obscuring his face.

  “Thanks for your help. It was kind of you.”

  “Sure. One more thing before I go.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Keep your phone charged; charger’s in the bag.”

  “Do I have to?”

  It’s possible he smiled, but I couldn’t tell in the light. I took the phone and the charger and went to the bedroom. I plugged it in, went to the bathroom to wash down another pill, and carefully laid down on the bed. It was soft and inviting. I closed my eyes. The light faded into darkness.

  I was home.

  The phone started ringing.

  It was the next day.

  17

  “Mr. Buttman?”

  It was my attorney, Ms. Lagenfelder.

  That triggered the answer.

  Money.

  The Lawyer’s voice brought the words I remembered reading suddenly into focus. Money, they say, is the means by which all men are corrupted. I could hear the old man preaching it to me as a kid. It made me think of Judith in her magnificent house. Judith, captive as anyone to her wealth, veiled it in languid ennui, and Martin, sullen obsessed Martin, stuck with a woman he loathed, pined after one who sulked and stewed.

  The papers he’s so angrily tossed about the living room were instruments of transfer. I sat there reading them as I waited for Bartholome. At the time I thought it might be a tax dodge. The wealthy always rail about the taxes they have to pay. If that were so, why would Dulcimer, or the people Benitez represented, care? I could see how Durant would be involved, even Boyer and his killer, but what of the others? They had been in contact with Martin. Or so Benitez said. Had they? Why?

  Money.

  A lot of money, overseas, had been hidden away. Now somebody wanted that money. No, many people wanted that money and I was a pawn in their game.

  “Yes, this is Monk Buttman.”

  “I’m calling to see if there’s a time we can meet to discuss your recent troubles. We were made aware of your assault recently, and Mr. Durant is concerned for your well-being.” My well-being? How thoughtful, and she emphasized the word, troubles. Touching.

  “I’m home now. I’m still pretty beat up. If you’d like you can meet me here.”

  “Would this afternoon be convenient, say two o’clock?”

  “This afternoon at two would be fine.”

  “I’ll see you then, Mr. Buttman. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye.”

  Company. I should get myself together.

  I was still wearing the tracksuit Coretta had given me. The bungalow was quiet. I surveyed the room, more as a sense of belonging than as an exercise in whether it was presentable to guests. It appeared to be as it had always been. In the bedroom a twin bed, dresser, and nightstand. A good-sized window provided light and a small closet kept all my meager possessions requiring a hanger. On the wall were two rather delightful prints I bought at the second-hand store while shopping for clothes. Both colorful abstracts added just the right amount of panache to the room. The bathroom was a white tiled throwback to a time of clean lines and utilitarianism. To break up the whiteness, the walls were painted a soft blue. The lines of the sink and tub belied their art deco origins and I marveled that they still looked so good after so many decades.

  The mirror reflected my sad face as I washed it. I discarded the tracksuit for underwear, clean slacks, and a cotton shirt. My stomach was grumbling. Unfortunately, there was little in the kitchen to eat. My trip to the store had been interrupted by two thugs with their own agenda. Fortunately, there was enough bread for toast, and I had enough tea for a pot. I watched as the filaments charred the bread, the knife in my hand ready to spread the butter and jam. The teapot was whistling on the stove. My meal prepared, I sat in the sunlit glow of the kitchen examining the small table with its two chairs, another second-hand find. Other than the underwear, everything I owned was someone’s castoff or throwaway. And yet it was all such wonderful stuff. Forlornly passed off to the thrift stores, hoping for a man of my stature to rescue them, and bring them here to my little patch of second-hand heaven.

  The phone was ringing.

  I retrieved it from the bedroom. “Yes?”

  “Monk?” It was Agnes.

  “Yes, it’s me.” The night’s rest had s
oftened my anxieties. It was nice to hear her voice.

  “I thought I’d call and pester you. I was worried and what could be better than me annoying you on your new phone.”

  “I’m not annoyed.”

  “Are you still at Mr. Jones’s house?”

  I almost laughed, Mr. Jones; the name never came up in the Riley home. “No, I’m back at my place. Eating some toast, having a cup of tea.”

  I could hear Agnes’ mind whirring through the tinny speaker. I had awoken something in her and she was adamant in going after it.

  “If you’re up for it, maybe I could come over there, or if you wanted, you could come to my place. It’d be good to see you. It’s been kinda quiet around here and I kinda miss you, so what do you think?”

  “Well, I don’t look very good right now, and with my left eye still swollen, it’s probably not a good idea for me to drive, especially at night. You’re welcome to come over here, but I have to warn you I’m out of food, so you’d have to bring something or be seen in public with me which may or may not be a good thing. But other than that, I don’t think it would be such a bad thing to get together.”

  “So long as it’s not bad,” she laughed.

  “No, I don’t think it would be bad at all.”

  “Alright, I can be there around seven if that works.”

  “Seven works.”

  “Ok then.” I was certain I heard a big sigh of relief but it could have been my imagination. I gave her my address and told her anything for dinner, other than liver, was fine. I turned off the phone and smiled. Yeah, Agnes was going to be trouble, yet I was already looking forward to seeing her.

  I cleaned up the kitchen and made sure the living room was in respectable shape for my many lady callers of the day. I searched for the cards given to me by the police, Benitez, Ms. Lagenfelder, Agnes on behalf of Dulcimer, and of course, Mr. Jones. I put them in a pile and then duly added the info to the contact list on the phone. Next it was time to psych myself for the task at hand.

  No more being a sap!

  If I was indeed being played as a patsy, I was going to go out my way and if there were people out to harm me, like any good detective, I was going to strike first. That way I wouldn’t have any excuses the next time I got the shit kicked out of me. Yeah, time for Monk Buttman, hard-boiled private dick, to kick some ass!

  After I finished laughing, I returned to the matter at hand.

  I had a couple of hours before Ms. Lagenfelder was to arrive. It was time to flesh out the plan. I’d head over to Bernie’s tomorrow. He could help with finding the two guys who jumped me. I had an image of their faces and the Rosarita remark made me think of the riders. Bernie knew a guy, good with computers and the Internet, who might be able to find out who the riders were and where I could find them. I already knew Martin was one. I’d deal with him through Judith and maybe Ms. Lagenfelder. It was what to do with the people behind Benitez. I assumed they were big hitters and I’d have to be very, very careful in what I said or did as far as they were concerned. If the money I thought was in play involved the drug cartels, I could end up in a thousand pieces out in the desert.

  I didn’t want that.

  For the first time, in a long time, farming didn’t seem so bad. I’d always hated it, yet I worked at it for years with no definable purpose. It was where I was. It was what I did. I could claim to be progressive, that I was part of the farm to table movement; that what we grew was organic, although technically it was all-organic, to me it was still digging in the dirt. After Astral left me, I couldn’t get away fast enough. For the last few years, life had been a free-form existence. I’d created my own little cocoon. Just enough stuff and just enough money to survive the way I wanted. No real responsibilities, no real ties to anyone. Nothing new, nothing fancy, just a quiet invisible life. The only real fly in the ointment had been Joanie, and that was more me than her. I could see her smiling at me, calling to me…

  “Buttman!”

  I opened my eyes, the right more than the left, to see her beautiful face looking down at me. I must have dozed off.

  “Joanie?”

  “No, it’s Mildred. Why are you home?”

  “Because I live here?” I didn’t understand the question.

  “No, I mean why aren’t you with the big black guy, Jones?”

  “Because I live here and I didn’t have anything to wear. Besides, I’m all right, chilling, hanging loose. How are you?”

  She was trying hard to be mad at me, but I could tell the fury was contrived. I found it deeply comforting.

  “I’m fine, and you, you look terrible.”

  “Thanks, it was the look I was going for.”

  Yes, very funny. Do you have anything to eat around here? Can you drive? Can you take care of yourself?”

  “Jeez! I’m not an invalid! I can probably drive, and while there’s not much to eat around here, I was planning a trip to the store. Of course if you’re worried, I wouldn’t object to your helping me with that, but I know you’re busy so I won’t impose.”

  “Uh-huh.” She stood there with her arms crossed.

  “But we have to be back by two, so I can see my lawyer. She’s coming by to see me.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  As a further affront to my ability to organize my own affairs, Joanie methodically inventoried my pantry, which included a number of unnecessary comments about its contents before gathering me up for our trip to the grocery store. “You know, for a guy who knows how to cook, you have very little in the art of cooking, spices, herbs, anything.”

  “Well, after you broke my heart there was no reason to care about such things.”

  “Oh brother, I don’t buy that for a minute.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “Such is my lot in life, I suppose.”

  “Alright, sad sack, let’s go. I wouldn’t want you to be late for your appointment with your lawyer.”

  “Thanks, but I think that sad sack remark was rather hurtful.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  And to think I wanted to marry this woman.

  At the market I was the main attraction, or distraction, to those plodding through the drudgery of buying groceries. Everyone looked at the guy with the puffy, disfigured face, no doubt admiring the many shades of putrescent color on display. Kids stared while the older folks utilized their well-honed ability to look without being obvious about it.

  The store was one of those remodeled affairs, light and airy, bustling and intimate; meant to recreate the feel of the old time mom and pop store that no one our age could ever remember. I followed Joanie and dutifully answered her questions about what I wanted and what I could legitimately eat with my stiff sore jaw. Apparently, tough and chewy would not be on the menu. The checkout lines were full, filled with exasperated old people, tired moms with their unruly children, and a few sunglass-clad hipsters clutching their organic produce.

  “So, how was San Fran?” I needed something to take my mind off the bug-eyed kid in the cart in front of us. He was transfixed by the contours of my face.

  “It was a very nice couple of days.”

  “Yeah?”

  She smiled a little. “Yeah. The gig went really well. They want me to perform regularly which would be a good mix with the gig at Ballinger’s. Add a little more money to the Joanie needs a retirement fund. Plus, out of nowhere, Mikal showed up. It was so good to see him. Had a chance to talk through some stuff. You know, have a little together time. Boy, did I need that. So yeah, it was a nice couple of days.”

  “Well good.” It was important for me to be suppor
tive even if I didn’t want her to be with the guy.

  “It was, but it went by so quickly. Now he’s off to Asia for a month. Apparently, they’ll be doing some session work along with the shows while they’re there. He says it’ll go fast. Then we can get back to normal. I sometimes wonder if that’ll ever happen, normal. I guess we’ll see. I’m hopeful.”

  “I’m sure it will, for all of us.”

  Our turn at the register finally came and we dutifully paid for our items. The drive back was quiet. I helped, as much as I could, with putting the groceries away and we had sandwiches for lunch. The kitchen was filled with light and we sat there lost in our thoughts. I assumed hers concerned Mikal. Mine wandered from door to door looking for whatever was there. I let my eyes drift on towards Joanie. I watched as she absent-mindedly brushed the hair out of her face. I almost said something when I heard a knock on the front door.

  It was one-thirty.

  Ms. Lagenfelder was early.

  18

  There in all her glory stood Judith Delashay. Her hair, soft and luxurious, was pulled back exposing her exquisite neck. A tasteful gold chain accentuated that beautiful neck. As usual, the dress she wore artfully defined her figure without being too revealing. I had a crazy impulse to kiss and run my hands along that figure, to make mad passionate love to her. Judith, alluring exotic Judith! Loving her might also cause me to end up in a thousand pieces in the desert. I realized I was smiling, perhaps overly so. She, on the other hand, had the oddest expression, as she looked me over.

  “Oh my, Monk, you must have had quite an experience lately.”

  That made me laugh. Experience! “It was a moment to treasure.”

  Joanie silently moved next to me, amazed I think to find such an elegant woman at my door. I don’t think she was smiling.

  “Joanie, this is Judith. Judith, this is Joanie, my neighbor. She’s been kind enough to make sure I’m not falling into disrepair.” Joanie shook her head.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Judith.”