Last Call

by Matthew Nunes

  “Why?”

  “I have a daughter. I had a wife. Somebody should care.”

  Dennis thought about it. “I’m in, too, if you need me.”

  The shift went quickly, and I was tired to the soles of my feet, slowly walking out to my car.

  After Dana and rising early, and running around, and then working, I was draining my tank dry. The next day was Thursday, and I had the day free. I scribbled a note to call Dana, and DaSilva on the back of a deposit slip, when I stopped to deposit my tips in the bank’s ATM.

  I sent Mrs. Pina off to bed, and staggered to my own room, finally falling on top of the covers in my shorts. I pulled a sheet over for propriety’s sake, and fell and fell and fell.

  Chapter 17

  When I woke, I smelled coffee and English muffins, and scrambled eggs and bacon. It was eight-thirty. I grabbed one of the hotel’s robes and headed into the kitchen. Marisol was stirring scrambled eggs, and Dana was draining bacon drippings from a pan. I bolted for my room, just as they both turned to look at me. I heard laughter and knew I’d never live it down.

  I hopped and stumbled into a pair of jeans and dragged a shirt over my head, stopped in the bathroom, for a quick tooth brushing and tried to get my hair in some sort of order. By the time I made it back to the kitchen, a huge breakfast was ready. I sat down, and said, “Good morning.” Both of them broke up. “What’s so funny?” That only got them going, and it was contagious.

  “Daddy, Dana called while you were at work, and I invited her over for the day. I wanted to take a mental health day; is that okay?”

  “Honey, you can always invite friends over. It would be nice if I knew about it before I scare someone in the morning, though.” ‘Sol smiled.

  “Bet she wasn’t scared, Daddy. She has a gun.”

  “All the more reason, honey. Suppose she’d opened fire, thinking I was a mutant or something?”

  “We try not to use our guns, even on mutants.”

  “I feel better then,” I paused. Marisol was looking benevolently from one to the other of us. “I’m going to just dig in, here,” I said. “If you two want yours to get cold, it’s up to you.”

  They talked about who made what and I nodded and told them how good it was.

  ‘Sol walked to her room and I turned to Dana. “Glad you’re here. My daughter has excellent taste in friends.”

  She handed me some of the dishes from the table. “Serious for a second?”

  “I was serious.”

  “Okay, serious about something else,” she was grinning. Her tilted blue eyes were dancing. She was a woman, with a healthy woman’s artifice. “You aren’t thinking serious thoughts,” she said, wagging a finger at me.

  “Oh, not true. My thoughts were serious.”

  “The tap is still on your phone. It seems to be harder to get it off than it was to get it in the first place.”

  I remembered bureaucracy well, and that made as much sense as a lot of the problems I’d run into.

  “Dennis Pereira?” she asked.

  “An old friend, from way back.”

  “Anything to add?”

  “He knows people who know people.”

  “He’s a felon, on parole,” looking down as she said it.

  “Eagle scouts don’t know the kind of people I need.”

  “Find anything out?”

  “I can’t bring any of it to you or DaSilva, just yet. I made some promises, I was trusted.”

  “You’re on a quest.”

  “A little grand, but it’s kind of like that,” I answered.

  She smiled, and nodded.

  “In a day or two, I expect to be muddying the water even more, but it’s going to take some help from DaSilva.”

  “What about me?”

  “You get to be involved, DaSilva has to be committed.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  I gestured at the dishes. “Think of bacon and eggs. The chicken was involved, but the pig? The pig was committed. That’s tomorrow, though. I have to make a phone call, but that’s it. Today, we have some fun. Tomorrow is tomorrow’s problem.” She had a hand on my face, looking at me.

  I had a thought. “Dana?”

  “Yes?”

  “How much plotting and scheming went on behind my back to get me to the restaurant and then your place?”

  “Mrs. Pina has the soul of Mata Hari. Let’s just say that we had it under control.”

  “I’m out numbered.”

  “And surrounded.”

  Marisol came out, wearing jeans and a shirt over a bathing suit. I looked at Dana, and saw that her white tee shirt covered one, too. Out numbered. Surrounded. “I’ll go put on my suit.”

  I was rummaging around in the garage, looking for beach chairs, muttering curses, when Marisol came out. “Daddy, we’re waiting in the car. It’s packed already.” Females were thinking rings around me. I started the car and dropped the roof.

  Marisol and I had always liked the beaches in Middletown, so I had wangled a parking sticker. We pulled in to the rock and surfers’ end. That was the best part of the beach as far as we were concerned. I lugged chairs and a picnic basket and towels and a blanket, while ‘Sol and Dana walked onto the beach, looking beautiful.

  Marisol grabbed her boogie board and fins and took off for the water. The surf was moderate, and she was a strong swimmer. Dana and I sat in the chairs and watched her. We said little and held hands. ‘Sol came out of the water, shining, with strands of hair hanging to her shoulders. Her suit was a one-piece and from the distance, it was hard to tell whether she was eleven or twenty years old.

  ***

  When we got home, Mrs. Pina was waiting for us, with dinner made. I looked at ‘Sol, then Dana. Mrs. Pina had her back to me, but her whole posture suggested she was laughing “The soul of Mata Hari,” I said aloud.

  After dinner, it started to rain. I went to my room to change into work clothes. “I’m not ready to call it a day, Paul.”

  “I won’t be in until the wee hours.”

  “I’ll catch a nap, and we can talk when you come back.”

  “Talk?”

  “Your daughter is two rooms away.”

  “Talk is probably a good idea. “

  “Tardiness made Rome fall,” I said. She kissed me on the cheek, and I went to the garage.

  It was still raining, but I made it to the bar in time to watch Diane stride in. “Sorry, the boys made me late. I have to get my ass to work. I’m sorry if I started your night off the hard way.”

  “Diane, it’s a fine ass, and watching it work makes my whole night.”

  “Men are pigs.” She smiled and ignited her sex appeal for the night.

  Fine with me. I flipped a gin bottle and started an orange blossom.

  The rest of the shift went quietly. After our clean up, I walked Diane to her car.

  Dana was dozing in my favorite chair when I walked in. I tiptoed past her, and went to my room to change. The tuxedo shirt was a palette of colored stains from drinks. I changed into a pair of jeans and casual shirt, and turned to go back to her. She was standing in the doorway.

  “Hi, there,” she said in a Mae West imitation.

  “I was just coming to see you.”

  “I could save you the walk, but I’d guess you’d like to stay in the living room?”

  “Sorry, I wouldn’t want Marisol—” I answered.

  She nodded. “Me either. She’s an amazing girl, Paul. You’ve done wonders.”

  “Her mother, Mrs. Pina and lots of counselors, mostly.”

  “I’ve seen you two together enough to know better.”

  She carried on the Mae West thing, doing a huge hip swing from side to side as she walked. It was such a departure from her normal walk that I smiled, swinging my head to match her rhythm. She settled on the couch and patted the seat next to her. “’My Little Chickadee’ was on when I fell asleep,”

  “You do it well.”

  “High School dra
ma clubs. I got the part of Ophelia, because I could do accents and voices.”

  “I worked the stage crew one year, because I had a crush on one of the girls in the play.”

  “How’d that work out for you?”

  “She started dating the porky kid who could sing. I learned to run the light board.”

  “Ah, the arts.”

  I sat down next to her, and put an arm around her shoulders.

  After some time passed, I stiffened because I heard noises from Marisol’s room. She flinched and quickly drew her top up and skirt down. I felt an ache that I knew was going to turn into cramps. She seemed to read my mind, and gave me a small smile. “Adventures in Babysitting,” she said.

  I grinned and went in to check on ‘Sol.

  She had been stirring, and talking quietly in her sleep. There was a smile on her face, and she giggled, still asleep. I was smiling when I went back to the living room. Dana had fallen asleep on the couch. It was four in the morning, so I wasn’t surprised. I picked her up, got her into my bed, and covered her up. I went back to the couch. I was restless, aroused and sore at the same time. I popped a painkiller, and drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  The phone was ringing, and I was disoriented. I got up, stiff and aching, and finally found the handset. “’Lo?”

  “DaSilva, here, what’s up?”

  It took me a minute. “Paul, you awake?”

  “Yeah, I’m awake.” I remembered why I’d called him. “Listen, you need to get a warrant. The Congressman’s place, videos, photos and journals, personal documents, letters, and personal diaries.”

  “We were already there. Nothing.”

  “There’s a secret closet. I know how to get in, and I have written permission from the daughter.”

  Larry paused for a moment, “So? You’re an official P.I., licensed and all. Go ahead and look.”

  “Ever hear of ‘fruit of the poisoned tree?”

  “Nah, you’d need to be a lawyer or maybe a detective to know about that. I’m just—”

  “Sorry, but I think a defense attorney could have a real party with evidence provided by a suspect.”

  “You aren’t a suspect.”

  “I was, right?”

  “So, I’ll call my favorite judge. What about Agent Kilroy?”

  “I’ll make sure she meets us there.

  “Whyn’t you just bring her?”

  “Ever hear about knowing too much?”

  “Yup. Oh, and Petersen wants to press assault charges. Says you made a terroristic threat at a restaurant, in front of lots of witnesses. No battery, though. Braintree cops laughed at him. Told him he could have arrested you himself, but they have better things to do.”

  “Sweet.”

  “I’ll get back to you in a half hour about the warrant. I have to dream up some stuff about a confidential informant. That’d be you.”

  I turned, and Dana was behind me. “DaSilva,” I said. “He’s getting himself committed. We’ll know in a half hour or so if you get to be involved.”

  She nodded, and yawned, only covering her mouth with one hand when it was half way over. “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Keep these hours.”

  “Oh, that. Coffee and frustration help.” I went into the kitchen and started breakfast. She came in and put bread in the toaster, and Marisol walked in.

  “Good morning!” she said, bright as sunshine. “Daddy’s back must be sore from the couch.” She did a little pantomime of an old man straightening slowly, and groaning, it was a perfect imitation of the way I’d gotten up. She gave me a hug, and gave Dana one that made me smile.

  “I’m supposed to go over to Terri’s after school today,” she said. “Yes, her Mom and Dad will be home, and it’ll just be us. We’ll be going to the beach with her parents, and I’ll be home for supper. Did I forget anything?”

  “Nope.”

  “Oh, and there’s that note from Mr. Davis in the bill basket.”

  “Okay, honey. Is it a trip or anything?”

  “No, Daddy, and it isn’t a bad note. Just something that’s going to happen at school. Some guest or something. He won’t be talking about sex or anything interesting.”

  Dana broke up.

  I just looked at Marisol. “So, am I taking you to Terri’s or is she picking you up?”

  “Her mom will meet us at school.”

  “I’ll miss you.”

  “Miss you, too,” said into my midsection as she hugged me again.

  I dug out some cash, and packed a beach bag with towels and sunscreen, while she changed for school. She actually missed the bus, a first. DaSilva called to tell me he had the warrant, and that we should meet him at the Congressman’s house in an hour.

  We all piled into the Saab. I took a look at the sky, the switch didn’t work, so I used a piece of foil to jump the roof open. “That’s why I still smoke, honey,” I said.

  She gave me a sour look and we started moving.

  After I dropped ‘Sol at school, I pulled out a road atlas and picked a route to Morley’s house. I made one stop for coffee.

  “You’re getting a habit, aren’t you?” Dana asked.

  “Getting? You wondered how I kept the hours I do? This is my secret.”

  We pulled up and DaSilva got out of a marked police car. I handed him the card from Charlene Morley, and he held it with the warrant. We all went to the door together.

  We didn’t have to kick the door in since I had a key, and we only had to leave the warrant somewhere in the house, to cover DaSilva. He hung it on a corkboard in the kitchen.

  I walked over to the entertainment center and opened a drawer, pulling out a remote control, marked “VCR.”

  “Cellar stairs over here,” called Dana. The lights came on as soon as we opened the door.

  It looked like a basement. No manacles or trapeze bars, just shelves and paint, and boxes. Water heater in the corner, furnace next to it. Off to one side was a metal shelving unit. Something that looked like a motion sensor for a burglar alarm faced us from above the shelves.

  I pointed the remote at it and pressed “rewind.” There was a click and the shelves shifted towards us on one side. DaSilva grabbed the shelves and pulled. A door opened in the wall, slightly uneven, matching the pattern of blocks that made up most of the wall. When the door opened, a light came on in the closet. DaSilva whistled softly. Imelda Marcos had a closet just like it for her shoes. This one was lined with shelves and a dehumidifier hummed softly.

  One wall was filled with books, another with videos, DVD’s and small cases for flash drives. The back wall facing the door was filled with accountant’s journals. The titles on the cases were professionally printed. Some had artwork. They were alphabetically arranged. Some of the women’s names had roman numerals afterwards, as if they were sequels.

  “Nobody touches anything else. Back out, and remember what you touched,” said DaSilva. There were missing videos. I guessed that they were the ones Charlene Morley had mentioned. There were four of Camille, his wife. Charlene had left them there.

  DaSilva called in for help. Dana put in a similar call. I helped to set up a card table with some chairs in the basement. An FBI agent sat at one side with a Newport cop across from him, logging in each video, journal, book and magazine. Two red spots appeared high on the cop’s cheekbones, as he looked at the magazine covers. I thought it said nice things about him. He could be embarrassed. Probably he even liked dogs and small children.

  A technician wearing white cotton gloves opened one of the accounting journals. “It’s a diary,” he said. Each book had a year printed on the cover. They dated back fifteen years. “It has the names of women, dates, and places, times, and what they did.” He closed it and put it into a paper bag, and sealed the bag.

  It was the technician who collected evidence at the hotel when the congressman was killed. He’d complained the whole time. This time he was no different. “Sick motherfucke
r, twisted bastard, Christ on a crutch, it feels like I should take a shower. Sick motherfucker,” he was saying under his breath, over and over. “Book lists what videos to look at, too. I’m not sure which is worse.”

  “Let’s break,” said DaSilva. “Agent Kilroy, you can witness me closing the door, and sealing the last evidence out in bags, then we’ll all go and get some air.”

  Chapter 18

  It was hours later when we finished. Dana and I were quiet on the way back to the house. We were quiet after we got back to the house, while I made coffee.

  I handed her a mug and sat next to her. “I should get back to Boston, and make out some reports and maybe catch some sleep,” she finally said. “Besides, I need to return the car, and get some clean clothes.”

  “How about a quick shower to get the cellar off before you go?”

  “A shower sounds good right now. I want to catch whoever killed Morley, but I don’t, you know?”

  “Yes you do. You‘re a cop. Murderers shouldn’t be loose.”

  She nodded. “Join me? It’s a shame to waste the hot water.”

  I found some liquid soap, and climbed into the shower. It was already running, and Dana was gleaming with water. I squirted some of the soap onto my hands and worked it up into a creamy lather. Her head was leaned backwards, her eyes were closed and I drew both hands together from her throat, down, between her breasts and straight down. I crouched to work the lather into her legs, sliding my palms upwards. She gasped and jerked her head down to look at me, as I looked up at her. From the low perspective, she was beautiful in a whole new way. It was like seeing her for the first time.

  There was a time where we were distant from the world in steam, hot water, soap and flesh.

  The moment ended and we drifted back. I dried her back, and she did mine. We kissed occasionally, and parted for me to go and get my clothes on.

  She came out, wearing a towel, and sent me to her car for an overnight bag. My room served as a dressing room for her. “I wish you were staying,” I said.

  Finally, she made it to her car. “Paul, when are you off again?”