Frank left the veterinary clinic and headed back to his trailer. Who, he wondered, would put a poisonous snake in his trailer? Who was trying to scare him? He thought of the enemies he left behind in Syracuse. They were much more direct in their methods and would not be content to just scare him. This little trick had a definite local flavor to it. As he pulled in toward his trailer, he nearly hit the Jacksonville Police Department cruiser that was in his spot. Every JPD cruiser bore the initials and surname of the office that drove it. This one had the familiar name of Lt. W.R. Drake in dark blue letters across the front left side of the car. Sitting in the driver's seat, spitting his tobacco juice into a recommissioned diet soda bottle was Lieutenant William Robert Drake. Drake was not a fan of Frank or his associates and was likely not here to sell him raffle tickets. Upon seeing Frank, Drake opened the cruiser door and stepped out to greet him.
"Lieutenant Drake, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Don't get smart with me my eye-talian friend. This ain't no social call. Sounds like you've been a busy boy along with your hippie friend Jones."
"I'm not sure what you mean, Lieutenant. Jonesy and I play together in a band, but I didn't take you for the type that listens to jazz."
"I'm not talkin' about no beatnik, long-haired music group. I'm talkin' about Maggie Bullock."
The other cops called William Robert Blake "Billy Bob" behind his back. He despised being called by that name, even though he clearly lived up to the image it evoked.
"Wow, news travels fast. Yes, we are talking with the Bullocks about her disappearance."
"She ran away, pure and simple. Plus, it's a police matter. You know a private eye isn't supposed to get involved with an active police case."
"Active. I've seen dead armadillos on I-95 that are more active than the police activity on this case. Your department has made the assumption that she ran away. This perfect student and perfect daughter just snapped overnight and ran away? Based on what evidence?" Frank responded, the stress of the day diminishing his tolerance for this giant moron in uniform with an equally giant gun.
"I don't answer to you Rozzani, but if you must know, our conclusion is based on the fact that there is no evidence that she didn't run away."
"Well that settles it. So, if I follow that logic, Bigfoot must exist because there is no evidence that he doesn't."
"What did I say about getting smart with me Mr. Private Eye-Talian? You and your hippie friend need to back off and stop botherin' the Pastor and his people."
Frank realized that Jonesy must have made it to CT. He hid this realization as he addressed Drake.
"We were hired by the Bullocks, Lieutenant. They must not have a high level of confidence in your police work. I would suggest that you let us investigate so I don't have to let Mr. Bullock know that you tried to threaten us into stopping."
"You watch your step Rozzani. You're steppin' on the wrong toes. I could have you brought in for interfering."
"I will behave if you will, big guy."
"I'm just warnin' you Rozzani."
Drake got back into his cruiser, spit some tobacco juice into the bottle, and backed onto the path to the road.
Frank shook his head. Jonesy must have had an impact at the mega-church. They were shaking the trees and the fruit was starting to fall which was evident from his visit from Billy Bob Drake who resented Frank from almost the moment he arrived in Jacksonville. Frank had mopped up a botched armed robbery case during which the mighty JPD had locked up the wrong person in connection with a shooting during the robbery. The mother of the wrongfully accused teen appealed to Frank to help her son. Frank discovered that the wrong teen had been incarcerated. Because both teens were black, the mistaken identity, once made public, made the JPD look like bungling, bigoted idiots. Frank had been on Drake's hit list ever since. Frank didn't entirely fault the police. They did what they could with whatever resources they had. Some of them were quite sharp, but recent budget cuts and rising unemployment had depleted resources while the crime rate increased. Drake himself was a victim of a flawed system. His qualifications for moving up the ladder to lieutenant mostly stemmed from his influential connections. Drake came from a long line of cops and politicians that were deeply ensconced in the Jacksonville community. Just his last name and family connections were enough to push him up the ladder past other deserving candidates. Drake left a trail of unsolved and incorrectly solved cases in his wake.
The news that Frank and Jonesy had taken the case had obviously leaked out before they had a chance to formally accept it from Mr. Bullock. After talking to these people, he and Jonesy had racked up one nervous mega-church pastor, one riled up cop, and one special delivery snake. These factors added up to a case worth pursuing. It was only 3:30 and the day had been quite full already.
Frank cautiously entered the trailer and quickly disposed of the dead snake after once again poking it to be certain it hadn't become a zombie snake ready to munch on his brain. Before cleaning the blood from the kitchen, he heard his Buddy Rich Big Band ring tone indicating that Jonesy was calling him.
"Jonesy, what's the word from the good pastor."
"Not all that good apparently. While I was gone, someone decided to launch a brick through the surf shop window. It had a note wrapped around it saying 'Let it go'. I wonder what that was referring to."
"Not to try to outdo you, Jonesy, but I've had a fun couple of hours also."
Frank then relayed the events of his day since their chat with the Bullocks.
"Man, I hope Lucy is OK. You know that no one would talk to you if it weren't for that sweet dog."
"Well, it looks like we have a case. That is if you're willing to risk life, limb, and glass to work on it."
"Sure, it's been kind of boring lately. I need something to get the adrenaline going. I'm going to start some digging on Pastor Rick and the mega church."
"I've got to call Bullock and officially accept the case so we can get paid. Then it looks like I've got some teenage poetry to read before our gig tonight. We're only playing from nine to eleven. Fat Sam has one of his special guests playing the 11-1 shift."
In the past, Fat Sam's "special guests" had included Al Hirt, Pete Fountain, Aaron Neville, Harry Connick, Jr., Dr. John, and more Marsalis brothers than you could shake a stick at. These members of New Orleans music royalty always played under fake names. It was fun to watch the realization sinking in across the crowd.
"Why don't we catch some dinner at the Sun Dog at around 7:30 and see where we are?" Frank asked.
"Sounds good, see you then."
CHAPTER SIX
Frankly Speaking - A Frank Rozzani Detective Novel (#1) Page 6