When I enter, Doug is nursing a beer, his feet propped up on the coffee table, watching a movie. He looks over and mumbles a “hi” before turning back to the TV.
“Hey Doug.” As I go by him I glance at the TV and see an old John Wayne western, which I know he watched just last week. He’s taken creature of habit to a whole other level, which is why he and his wife aren’t together anymore. The guy’s…well…boring as hell, y’know? It’s a great quality for a roomie, but for a life partner?
My cell phone buzzes with a text as soon as I enter my bedroom. I smile seeing Amy’s name come up and read what she has to say.
Hi Adam. Heading into the mall with Jess. She says she needs a new pair of jeans but I’ve got the feeling the dumb-ass jock she’s totally hung up on will just happen to be there. No accounting for taste on her part. He’s totally stuck on himself!
The next text is a selfie of Amy, cross-eyed and tearing her hair out while her best friend, Jess, is in the background talking to a guy, hanging on his every word. The guy is vaguely familiar.
But it’s Amy who makes me smile. Even though she’s clowning around contorting her face, it can’t hide how cute she is, with the mop of blond curls and big blue eyes.
My thumbs fly sending a reply,
That’s Eric Cox’s younger brother, isn’t it? If he’s anything like Eric, yeah...Jess could do better. Sucks to be hanging out there I’m sure. From the look on Jess’s face, she probably wouldn’t know you were gone if you just left. I would.
Her reply pops up fast.
That’s your style not mine, Bro. Are you EVER coming home for a visit? Maybe I’ll talk Mom and Dad into letting me take a bus to Watertown. You could show me the sights.
Much as I’d love to see her, it’s still too soon. If and when I ever get a place of my own, maybe then. I type a quick reply,
There’s not all that much to see to endure the three hour bus ride getting here. Maybe when you’re finished school for the year, I’ll come home and we can hang out for a day. Say hi to Jess for me.
An hour later, freshly showered and fed, I leave the apartment on the prowl to my favorite watering hole. It’s the only place that didn’t card me when I first showed up plus it has the added bonus that a lot of pretty women tend to go there after watching a movie at the theatre next door.
When I enter the joint only a few tables are filled and there are a few empty spots at the gleaming oak bar. The bartender nods and then turns to pour a draft even before I slide onto the stool. I can’t decide if this familiar welcome is comforting or a harbinger of a serious drinking problem I’m developing. On the plus side, it helps me sleep, and there’s always the long shot that I won’t be sleeping alone.
A guy can always hope, right?
I nurse the cold beer glancing at the mirror behind the bar every time the door opening is reflected. And right on time the moviegoers trickle in for a few drinks before they call it a night. And just my good fortune, a couple of girls in their early twenties wander over to sit at the bar beside me.
The one next to me has long chestnut hair and when she settles the faint scent of her perfume drifts from her. She’s chatting with her friend who is a petite Asian. Her ruby lipstick is the same shade as her sweater and when she laughs relaying some comic scene in the movie, it reminds me of Amy’s laugh.
I turn slightly and smile. “Game Night. That’s the movie you guys saw, right? It was pretty funny, wasn’t it!”
Even though I haven’t seen it, I’m picking up snippets from Jane’s mind. And her friend Jasmine’s as well. I’ve never met these two girls, but their names flash in my mind, along with the fact that Jane has just finished a two-year relationship, and Jasmine is trying to cheer her up.
Jane grins at me, nodding. “Yeah! What a great movie! You saw it too, right?” She sits back a bit so that Jasmine can take part in the conversation.
“Nope. But I can tell you saw it and loved it.”
Her smile fades a bit, and her eyes narrow watching me. “It’s pretty popular. And it’s the only comedy playing right now.” She takes a sip of her rum and coke and then turns to her friend, dismissing me.
But this is what I do, so it’s not that easy to shake me off. I lean over the bar smiling at the Asian girl. “Last week you two went to see Black Panther and the week before you saw Jumanji. You like comedies rather than action movies.”
This time it’s Jasmine who answers and there’s no warmth in her voice, “Yeah. Are you stalking us or something?” She picks up her drink and is about to get up, signaling with a look to her friend, when I quickly add my ‘pièce de ’résistance’.
“I read minds, Jasmine.” I smile at Jane. “I’m not a stalker, let me assure you. It’s just something I do.”
Jane puts her hand on Jasmine’s arm, stilling her while leaning closer, peering at me. “Oh yeah? What did I have for dinner, if you can read minds?”
I chuckle. “C’mon. Make it something harder than that. I can even smell a bit of garlic on your breath from the shrimp you had.”
Jasmine pipes up, “He can’t read minds, Jane. He’s just saying that. It’s a new take on a pickup line. Let’s go sit at a table.”
But Jane isn’t convinced. Either that, or she’s not averse to being picked up. Of course that’s not mind reading—it’s wishful thinking.
“No, wait, Jas. Let me try another question.” She sits still, thinking hard, which of course I tune into.
I clear my throat and try my best to look innocent, like this isn’t something I do nightly. “Tell you what. Make it the hardest question you can think of. If I’m right, then you go home with me. If I’m wrong, I’ll buy you a drink.”
Jasmine rolls her eyes and grabs Jane’s arm. “Jane! You aren’t doing this! You don’t even know this guy!”
But Jasmine doesn’t know what I do about Jane. She’s kind of shocked and a little thrilled at my offer. The warm threads of red in her aura give her away, especially that they’re emanating from her lower half. It’s been a while since she was with her boyfriend, and she’s ready for some adventure. The fact I’m also a few years younger makes me safe—“controllable”—in her eyes. Or maybe she knows I’m harmless, no predator, just a horny nineteen-year-old guy. At any rate, she can tell I’m way younger than her.
There’s a twinkle in Jane’s eye, and her chin raises higher, challenging me with a smile. “Okay. You’ll never know this one. What was the name I gave to my first pet?”
Jasmine’s not the only one watching this playful exchange. The bartender, Sam, shakes his head smiling as he pours another draft. He knows how this will play out. But there’s someone else watching. I can feel a guy’s attention, but I’m too taken with Jane, with the soft curve of her smile, as well as the other curves of her totally rocking figure.
“You’re sure that’s the hardest question you can come up with? Don’t get me wrong; I’d give my eye teeth for a date with you, Jane, but I don’t want to be accused of taking advantage.” I look her in the eye; my smile sly.
“I’m going to enjoy that drink. What’s your name, Mr. Mind Reader?” There’s a flirty quality to her answer. She’s thinking either way it’s a win-win for her. I can barely keep myself from giving a fist bump to the universe!
“Adam Rafferty at your service, Miss Jane Elizabeth Montgomery.” Yeah, I’m showing off a little.
Her eyes widen, and she slaps my arm playfully, the smile on her face getting wider still.
“You had a gerbil named Fluffy. You wanted a kitten but your mom said no. You had to keep it in your room because your brother Tim is allergic to animal dander. You had Fluffy for almost nine months until you forgot to lock the cage and he escaped, never to be found again. You cried yourself to sleep for three nights after.”
“Oh my God! Fluffy! I haven’t thought of him in so long. How’d you know?”
“He’s right?” Jasmine looks like she’s about to have a stroke. “You can’t go home with him, Jane.”
I’m on a roll now. “You broke up with Eddie Benton two weeks ago. He was a loser who never appreciated you. He was also a lousy lover who never satisfied you. I’m not going into why that was, but I know your secret fantasy. It’s not sick or twisted like he’d have you think. It’s kinky, sure, but sick? Naw.”
The smile drips off her face like an ice cream in July, replaced by winter frost in her eyes. Shit! Why didn’t I stop at Fluffy? She even pulls back from me a little.
Sam puts the glass of draft in front of me. He’s seen me piss away a surefire bet too many times.
Jane rises and slaps a twenty on the bar. “Thanks for making me sound like a total perv in front of all these people. Have a drink and a laugh on me, Adam.” And with that she and Jasmine huff out of the bar.
Sam shakes his head and drifts down the bar leaving me cursing myself. For all my sensitivity, I never know when to quit while I’m ahead. I could be snuggling up against a hot girl tonight, but thanks to my motor mouth I’m having a cold beer.
Again. The Nineteen-Year-Old Virgin strikes out again. Damn.
I take a long pull on the beer while that older guy takes the stool that Jane vacated.
He cups a glass of whisky that from the look of his raspberry nose he’s indulged in too many times to count. There’s a faint odor of cigarettes and sweat from a tired sports jacket that’s hopeless at trying to contain his paunch belly. “You never give up, do ya kid?”
I look over at him, knowing he’s been the guy who I’ve sensed watching me from time to time. There’s no animosity or threat, only a feeling of frustration that I pick up on. And a sort of kindness even though it’s the last thing he’d ever admit, even to himself.
“What’s it to ya? It’s my time to waste, right?” I turn back to my drink, feeling my neck grow warm. It seems Sam isn’t the only one to witness me strike out every night.
“You said it, not me. But time’s not the only thing you’re wasting, kid. You have a gift that you squander for a few drinks. At least do yourself a favor and learn when to shut up. I get more action than you kid, and I’m in my fifties.” He made a quick smile. “Must be tough with raging hormones. Think you can lend me some of them? At my age they’re not so… abundant.” He laughs and downs some more whisky, signaling to Sam for another round.
“Maybe I should take lessons from you, ‘Lance Romance’. I can’t help rolling my eyes. I may not be Brad Pitt material, but this guy’s more like John Goodman than Harrison Ford. And he’s bragging about his sex life?
He chuckles and extends his hand. “Mike Drogan.”
I shake his beefy meat hook, and my mind is flooded with images. A cramped office where the phone rings less and less, a fact that worries him as he barely scraped together last month’s rent let alone the one due in a week’s time. The only cases he gets in his private investigator business is divorce work which reminds him of his own failed marriage. He retired as a detective from the police department four years ago and promptly lost half his pension when his marriage ended.
“Adam Rafferty. Unfortunate fortune teller at your service.”
Mike sits back and sighs, “Now that... that’s what I mean about you, kid. You’re a self-fulfilling prophesy. I’ve seen you work. You have a genuine gift, and yet you sabotage yourself even though you target the low-hanging fruit. But what is a real mortal sin is that you’re wasting your talent. You could be doing some good with it or even making serious money.”
The last thing I need is a lecture from a has-been detective. I heard enough of that sort of crap from my parents, and they had actually accomplished something in life, with good jobs and a nice home and a good marriage. I look over at him and force a smile. “I’m happy with what I do.”
“Are you?” His beady, gray eyes skewer me and he holds the probing stare. I may have a gift of reading people but so does he. It’s called life. He’s seen a lot, and his mind is a steel trap where every kernel of wisdom is snared.
My reply bristles, “Is anyone ever really happy? Are you? Forgive me if I’m skeptical of your answer.” I turn back to my drink, anxious to end this train wreck of a conversation.
He leans closer. “I know you know all about me. Know that I’m losing business to the slick outfits with the flash but no substance. But at least I’m honest with myself. I try, and sometimes there’s a case that gives me a good feeling. Like finding a runaway teen or a lost child. They’re the cases I get out of bed every morning for.” He’s silent for a few beats. “What gets you up each day?”
“My alarm clock.” But even though I try to be flip, his words have struck a chord that I don’t want to hear.
“Ever think about making more money? I could use someone like you working with me.” He takes a sip of his whisky trying to act casual, but this is the real reason he sat next to me. There’s some altruism for sure, but he’s primarily looking after his own interests.
I turn in my seat and look at him. “Maybe you’re right about making more money. But what’s stopping me from setting myself up on my own? I don’t have to work for you. With my gift, I’d have to turn clients away.” I’m teasing, but he doesn’t have to know that.
The guffaw that bursts from his throat makes me grin despite myself. “You?” His eyes slide over me. “You’re not even of legal drinking age! A teenage private investigator? I’ve found runaways your age! You wouldn’t be taken seriously, kid.” He’s still smiling when he adds, “Team up with me. I give legitimacy, and you are the seer who will solve the cases.”
It’s not anything that I ever considered before even though I love police crime drama. And if I could help find a missing kid, save them from predators, it would certainly make me happier than devising the most efficient delivery route. I could try it part time and still keep my job which pays the bills. Mike couldn’t pay me... at least not yet.
“So we’d be partners? Fifty fifty?” I watch his face light up for a moment.
“Sixty forty. You get the forty since I’ve got the name and reputation. We’ll see how it works out and talk later about the cut.” He extends that meat hook again and we shake.
Adam Rafferty, P.I. It has a nice ring to it. I can’t wait to tell Amy!
THREE
THE NEXT MORNING I WALK DOWN SLATER STREET checking the building numbers as I go. It’s a quiet area in the downtown where residential brick buildings are losing ground to the encroachment of office and commercial establishments. At number 152, I pause looking up at the large bay windows of a converted Victorian mansion before a small plaque with the name Drogan Investigations catches my eye. An arrow under the letters point to a set of steps leading down to the basement level where his office is located. You’d miss the sign and his office if you weren’t looking.
I go down and open the door. A waiting room with a line of metal chairs against one wall and a coffee table scattered with out-of-date magazines greet me. There’s also an empty desk where once there was a secretary typing and answering the phone. The door beside opens and Mike fills the frame, a big grin on his face.
“You decided to give it a try, huh?” He nods his head to the side inviting me into the inner sanctum where he works.
“Yeah. But I’m not quitting my delivery job. Not yet anyway.” So far, I’m not impressed with what I’m seeing. Inside his office there’s an ancient wooden desk with a laptop, and a heap of file folders stacked neatly next to it. A bank of metal cabinets flank his leather chair while a printer sits waiting in the corner. I take a seat in the chair across the desk from him.
“Not a bad idea. What’s your hours there?” He slides a file folder across to me.
“Noon to eight most days. When they’re busy, I sometimes have to go in earlier.” I reach for the folder but his paw anchors it.
Holding up a separate sheet of paper, he says, “Before we start I need you to sign a privacy disclosure form. Not that you will have much interaction with clients without me being there, but I have to get formal assurance to pr
otect my clients.” Again, his eyes examine me closely.
And I check him out as well. Remembering Mike through the yellow haze of the dimly lit bar last night, I can tell he is a straight shooter. He works hard when he works, and while he may push some boundaries he’s got his principles. And don’t ever try to bullshit him because his BS detector is like sonar. It’s all there in front of me.
“Sure. That’s not a problem.” I sign the form without even reading it. I sit back and wait.
“There’s this case I’m working on. A partner in the law firm Wilson, Pratt and Cooke. He’s in his fifties. His wife suspects that he may be having an affair. Her sister Mona was recently dumped for a trophy wife, and I’ve got my suspicions that she may be blowing smoke up Sheila’s ass.” He makes a small wave with one hand dismissively. “You know, the whole misery loves company kind of thing.”
Something doesn’t add up. This sounds pretty straightforward. Why would he need my help? “So you’ve followed him, right? And is there another woman? It would help if I could touch an article of his clothing or an object close to him. Is that what you need from me?”
Haunted By The Succubus Page 2