37: A Thomas Ironcutter Novel

by David Achord

  Marti unexpectedly reached out and put her hand on my arm. “I’d love to learn how to play, maybe you can give me lessons some time.” She emphasized it with a flirty smile and I wasn’t sure if she was intentionally making a double entendre.

  “We’ll have to have an outing one day,” I said, smiling back. I caught Anna looking at me and then she casually reached for her phone. I knew she was about to text me.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” I said and went to the restroom. Sure enough, my phone buzzed within seconds.

  Careful, she knows you have money and is looking for a sugar daddy!

  I scoffed. Sugar daddy, right. Drying my hands, I stared at the mirror above the sink. The gray seemed to be a little more pronounced these days. I looked closer. Could anyone see those hints of sadness peeking out? Ever since Simone’s death, I was having a hard time keeping a positive mindset. I thought of her often and when I did, I’d become sad. A therapist would say I was experiencing grief and perhaps some unresolved issues from my past. Then said therapist would ask me how I felt about that statement while holding their notepad and pencil at the ready. The hell with therapy.

  “Work it out, Hoss,” I whispered to my reflection.

  I took a few slow, deep breaths, ran my fingers through my hair one more time, and straightened. I sighed at the thought of Marti. She was a looker, no denying it, but I knew immediately she was not for me. Nope, I was going to keep it in my pants for a change.

  Heading back to the bar, I wasn’t all that surprised to see Wally standing close beside Marti. He was laying it on thick.

  “As Mick and Thomas can tell you, I am a certified PGA pro instructor. If you want lessons, there is nobody better to teach you.”

  Mick scoffed and rolled his eyes. I squeezed past Wally and sat back on my stool. Wally continued with his sales pitch while Marti smiled in amusement.

  “Isn’t golf expensive?” she asked him.

  Wally’s grin widened. “I suppose it is with people who have a tight budget. With me, I play at all of the finest golf courses in the world. Nothing but the best for me.”

  “So, you live lavishly,” Marti remarked with a slight hint of a smirk.

  “That I do,” Wally replied, beaming, and then he tried to set the hook. “And, any lady who is in my company can expect the same.”

  “But, if you live such a lavish lifestyle, why do you buy your clothes at Walmart?”

  Mick howled in laughter as Wally’s grin faltered.

  “I don’t buy my clothes at Walmart,” he stammered.

  Marti giggled and then patted Wally on the arm. “Oh, I’m teasing you, Mister Wally. You’re a sweet old man. You remind me of my grandfather.”

  Whether she knew it or not, implying Wally was old enough to be her grandfather cut deeper than the crack about his clothes. He lingered there a moment longer, his brain trying to figure out whether or not she was interested. It would not have done any good for me to tell him any woman who was forty years his junior would not have any romantic interest in him. He finally gave her shoulder a rub.

  “We’ll talk later,” he said with a wink before going back to his bar stool. Anna and Marti looked at each other and rolled their eyes in unison. Anna then focused on me.

  “Guess what I did this morning?” she asked. She loved to play the “guess what” game, even when I gave smart-assed answers.

  I acted surprised. “You washed and waxed my cars?”

  “You wish,” Anna said in mock annoyance. “I had a meeting with Ms. Braxton. She wants to hire me to do some work.”

  Ah yes, Esther Braxton. She was what they called old money. Not too long ago, she hired me to prove her husband had fathered a child from another woman. I let Anna run with the case and she did splendidly. Ms. Braxton was pleased with her work and she’d been a partner in my PI business ever since.

  “Ms. Braxton, huh? What kind of work?” I asked.

  “She wants me to help her research her family tree.”

  “Oh, that sounds interesting,” I said. “I would have thought a woman of Ms. Braxton’s status would have done that already.”

  “She’s done some, but there are gaps she wants filled in. She says it needs some good old-fashioned legwork done and she wants to hire me to do it.”

  “Did you discuss the fee, or does she expect you to do this for free?” I asked. As rich as Ms. Braxton was, she’d make a penny bleed if she could.

  Anna’s expression tightened slightly. “We’ve worked out a salary.”

  I could have reminded her that she was now on my payroll and therefore needed to stick with the fixed rates, but I let it go.

  “Well, it’ll be an interesting learning process for you,” I said. “Is there any way you can put it on hold for a couple of months?”

  Anna blinked. “Um, I told her I’d get started on it right away, why?”

  “The Goldman firm has a job for us,” I said. “One of their attorneys is representing a kidney dialysis corporation in a lawsuit. I’m surprised William hasn’t mentioned it.”

  Her lips tightened slightly. “No, he hasn’t. What kind of case is it?”

  I paused a few seconds. Talking specifics in front of someone like Marti, while harmless, could be considered unprofessional. I decided to keep it rather vague.

  “A health insurance company is claiming their client has manipulated certain terms of the contract they have. The Goldman client contends everything has been above board and the management of the insurance company was well aware of the terms they are now disputing.”

  “Sounds complicated,” she said. “What will our job be? Conduct surveillance or something?”

  “Nothing like that. No, we’ve been hired to read through several thousand emails and look for specific correspondence that would validate the client’s claim.”

  Now, her eyes widened. “Thousands?”

  “Some are only a couple of sentences long, some are longer, much longer.” I let it sink in as I drank my beer. “And, this is a case where we charge by billable hours, which will have a cap. We will be tasked with reading these emails in a specific amount of time.”

  My phone buzzed during this discussion. It was Wally. Rather than speaking to me in person, he texted me, begging me to give his driver back. He agreed to pay up, so I went to the trunk of my car and came back inside with his driver. Wouldn’t you know it, he followed me back to the girls. I could tell by the look on his face he had regrouped and was now ready to throw out a fresh round of bullshit. He started as soon as he got within three feet of Anna and Marti.

  “Hey girls, check this out. Callaway gave this to me as a part of their sponsorship,” he said, holding up his driver.

  This immediately led into another one of his long-winded tales. Anna and Marti seemed amused, so I didn’t run him off. I tuned out his prattle and instead watched the first round of the NHL playoffs on one of the big screens that surrounded the bar.

  I finished my beer, and even though there was a pleasant crowd, I was not feeling sociable. When Simone and her daughter were murdered, I fell into a deep depression, exacerbated by self-medicating with copious amounts of alcohol.

  I’d been doing better; lots of exercise, eating healthy, drinking only in moderation, etcetera. But I still had bouts of melancholy and all of the associated side-effects to go along with it. So, before I slipped back into that previous lifestyle, I paid my tab and left.

  Tommy Boy was yammering for my attention as soon as I walked in the door, but before I could pet him, my phone began ringing.

  “Hi, it’s Debbie.”

  Ah, yes, Debbie Cart. I could almost close my eyes and imagine what she looked like without clothes. I focused and tried to keep the lust out of my voice.

  “Hi, Debbie. What are you up to?” I asked.

  “I was calling to see if you enjoyed your round of golf,” she said.

  “I did,” I replied. “That is a beautiful course. Kudos to the greenskeeper.” There was no need boring h
er by describing the antics of the three stooges and instead focused on the positive.

  I sat in my easy chair. Tommy Boy immediately jumped up on my lap and made himself comfortable.

  “Excellent, so I can sign you up,” she said with a lilting laugh. I laughed along with her.

  “I admit it’s a nice place but, I’m not completely sure it’s the venue for me.”

  “How so?” she asked.

  “I got the impression that it’s a family environment. As you know, I’m not married.”

  She gave another lighthearted laugh. “Oh, don’t be silly. There are members who are single. I tell you what. We have a get together once a month for our single and divorced members. The next one is Saturday. Why don’t you come with me? You can be my date.”

  I thought about it a long moment. So long, she thought I’d hung up on her.

  “Are you there?”

  “Oh, yeah. I was just trying to think if I had any previous plans, but I don’t and I’d love to be your date,” I said.

  I thought it was a nice recovery. To be honest, I was not sure whether or not I was emotionally ready to go out on a date. We talked some more before she told me she couldn’t wait to see me Saturday before hanging up. I’d debated on if I wanted another beer when my phone rang again.

  “Mister Ironcutter, this is Joseph Belew.”

  “Hi, Joseph. How are you?” I asked.

  “I’m okay. Listen, I hope I didn’t call too late,” he said.

  “Not at all. What’s on your mind?”

  “I’ve talked it over with my mother and girlfriend, and I want to hire you.”

  I thought for a moment. “I’ll be glad to take on the case, but I want to tell you now, there is probably not a lot I can do that the police have not already done.”

  “I still want to hire you, and I have your fee ready.”

  The mention of money caused my expression to light up. “Okay. Well then, if you’re certain about this, we need to meet and sign a contract.”

  We agreed to meet in the morning. After hanging up, I got on the internet and typed in Jason’s name. Other than a link to his Facebook page, I received zero hits. Same with his brother, Joseph.

  I decided against another beer and fixed a large glass of ice water before logging onto Jason’s page. There was nothing remarkable about it, other than the fact that there was no mention of a girlfriend, or boyfriend. He had several friends, but there was no mention of any type of romance. There was no grand proclamation of him coming out as gay either. There were a few pictures of friends, a few pics of him in a karate Gi, but again, nothing special.

  Since Joseph had not heard anything from his brother and there was a police report on file, I assumed he was not in jail somewhere. Even so, I checked with the Davidson County Sheriff’s Department. There was nobody named Jason Belew currently in their jail.

  I pulled out an A4 pad and jotted down some of the questions I was going to ask Joseph, including employment, cell number, and any bank accounts or credit cards. I then created a new file, named it Joseph LeClaire Belew, and copied everything from his Facebook Page.

  I also found an Instagram account, but like his Facebook account, there was nothing remarkable on it. I knew there were many other types of social media accounts that were popular among younger people, but I was done searching and would go over it with Joseph tomorrow.

  Jotting a few more notes, I finished with it and changed locations to my bedroom. I made myself comfortable, turned off the overhead, and turned on the lamp on my nightstand. I then settled into a book I’d been reading. Tommy Boy meandered in, sat on the floor, and stared up at me.

  “What? This is what old single men do for excitement.”

  He stared a moment longer and then began licking himself.

  Chapter 5

  I met with Joseph at ten the next morning in the lobby of the Davidson Hills Country Club. We shook hands and I followed him to the kitchen and through a back door which led outdoors where there was a picnic table and a few folding chairs, all hidden from view by untrimmed hedges. A five-gallon plastic bucket was sitting beside the table, filled with sand and cigarette butts.

  “This is our designated break area,” he explained. “We’re not allowed to loiter anywhere the members might be hanging out.”

  I nodded in understanding as I set my briefcase on the table.

  “Do you enjoy working here?” I asked. “I’m thinking of joining as a member.”

  He shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess. We’re shorthanded, we’re always shorthanded, and so I’ve been putting in a lot of hours. It gets old but I need the money.”

  A girl walked out and joined us. I recognized her as our waitress from yesterday. “This is my girlfriend, Jenna.”

  “Hi,” she said with an outstretched hand. “I’m Jenna Copeland.”

  She was the same age as Joseph, a little plump around the middle but cute. “Would you like some coffee or something?” she asked.

  “It’s too hot for coffee, but if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, a glass of iced tea would be wonderful,” I said.

  “We have iced coffee, if you’d like some,” she suggested.

  I scoffed. “Iced tea, please. No self-respecting southern man puts ice in his coffee.”

  She gave a patient smile and disappeared through the door as I sat and opened my briefcase. A moment later, she returned with a glass and sat beside Joseph. The two of them gazed at me expectantly. I got a sense they were not sure how to proceed, so I started it off.

  “After speaking with you last night, I went ahead and worked up a contract. The language is pretty standard. It outlines the work I will do for your money and the standard disclaimer clauses.”

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “I specifically notate that I am not going to do anything illegal, nor do I guarantee I will be able to locate your brother. There are also clauses written in that are designed for your benefit. Why don’t you read it over? If you find any issues, we can work it out, okay? Also, if you want to add something, we can certainly do so.”

  I slid the contract across the table. Joseph looked at it like it was written in a foreign language. I took pity.

  “Why don’t I go over it with you two,” I suggested, retrieved the contract, and read it aloud to them. I explained each clause as simplistically as I could, which took all of three minutes to go over. When I was finished, they looked at each other and then at me.

  “Any questions?” I asked.

  “No, sir, I guess you’ve got everything covered,” Joseph said.

  Satisfied he understood the terms of the contract, we took turns signing and Jenna acted as the witness. Before I could say anything, Joseph reached into his pocket and counted out a thousand in twenty-dollar bills.

  We spent the next thirty minutes talking about Jason. I didn’t need his life story, but Joseph told me anyway. That was okay; it gave me an idea of who Jason was. I’ve always been a good listener, mostly because of my childhood. If my father thought I wasn’t paying attention whenever he spoke, I’d get a smack with his calloused hand. Sometimes it was only hard enough to sting, sometimes he drew blood. I don’t know what B.F. Skinner thought about this form of behavior modification, but it certainly worked on me. I listened attentively and waited until he was finished before speaking.

  “Alright, tell me about Jason’s drug use,” I said offhandedly.

  Joseph was momentarily taken aback and then vigorously shook his head. “No, sir. Jason doesn’t do drugs. Not any. He doesn’t even drink or smoke.” He gestured back and forth to Jenna and himself. “We drink, and we smoke weed, but that’s it. Jason has it in his head he wants to get into professional fighting one day, so he doesn’t do any of that.”

  I noted that he referred to his brother in the present tense, which indicated a sense of hope. I kept pushing it.

  “Does he sell?” I asked.

  “No, sir. He never has,” he said.

  “Who are h
is enemies?”

  This time, Joseph slowly shook his head. “I’ve thought long and hard over that question, and as far as I know, he doesn’t have any. His friends say the same thing. Like I told you before, he recently came out. We have mostly the same friends. Most of them were cool with it, some weren’t, but there wasn’t any bad blood.”

  I asked a few more questions, and then had him jot down Jason’s bank account information, along with all of his social media info. Eventually, I closed my briefcase and stood.

  “Alright, I’m going to give the detective a call and see if he’ll meet with me.”

  “Do you think he will?” Joseph asked.

  I shrugged. “I’ll give it a try.”

  Some detectives will accommodate to PIs poking into their case, some won’t. Those that won’t could either be pleasant in their refusal or they could be assholes. I had to deal with one such asshole not long ago in which he had incorrectly ruled a homicide as a suicide. He was an arrogant, lazy man and honestly had no business in law enforcement.

  We spoke a minute more before shaking hands and parting company. As I headed to my car, someone called out to me.

  “Thomas!”

  I turned to the voice. It was Debbie. She walked across the parking lot with her usual radiant smile and a bounce in her step which reverberated all the way up to her breasts. She was wearing high-heeled shoes, a plaid skirt that showed a lot of leg, and a white blouse. Her dark hair flowed down over it, like it had been freshly brushed.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi,” I replied. “You look nice.”

  “I’m trying for the naughty Catholic schoolgirl look.”

  I smiled, which probably looked more like a lecherous leer. “I’d say you nailed it.”

  “Are you looking the place over some more?” she asked.

  “Actually, one of the employees hired me and I was meeting with him.”

  “Ooh, it sounds like some juicy gossip. Tell me all about it,” she said.

  I gave another smile, not so lascivious this time. “I’m afraid it’s confidential.”