Gavin English Thrillers

by Ken Lindsey

  Phin kept up his share of the load for the first three weeks after Sam came home with us. Then he went on the Internet in search of proof that letting a child cry herself back to sleep was good parenting. And ample proof he found. But when she wails I can’t resist. It’s Pavlovian.

  It was just after three in the morning when I lifted the baby from her crib; she hadn’t had the chance to get worked up yet. Sam cooed as I pulled her against my chest and she rested her soft, tiny cheek on my shoulder.

  “How was your sleep, Sammy? Hmmm? Are you ready for a new diaper?” I didn’t have to wait two or three years until she was old enough for a verbal reply; it only took one sniff. The air around her smelled so bad I’m surprised it wasn’t visible, like fog.

  After cleaning her up and getting her into some tiny polka-dotted PJs, Sam and I watched infomercials until she fell asleep in my arms. Without the full diaper, Samantha Adams was the best smelling thing that has ever existed on the planet. And it wasn’t just the mommy genes kicking in… Phin agrees with me.

  Somehow, half an hour later, I hadn’t bought any of the “must have” items from TV land, and Samantha was out. Quietly as I could, I carried her through the living room and laid her back in her crib. Her eyelashes fluttered as she dreamed, hopefully of something nice and cuddly, and her always pouting lips smacked at a non-existent nipple.

  I’m not the first mother to stand over her sleeping baby and stare, but knowing I was the first one to do it with Samantha made me feel pretty damn special.

  After getting my fill, I left her to sleep for another hour and wandered into the kitchen to get a drink and something to snack on. I’d been taking it easy since Sam came home, but that morning I had some business to handle, so I wouldn’t be getting any more sleep.

  Since getting pregnant, I found that Herb’s view on life was right; food really was the best way to pass the time.

  I made myself a turkey sandwich with dill pickles and a tall glass of chocolate milk, with a nice helping of baby back rib flavored potato chips on the side. If someone pressed it, I might have to admit that some of the weird pregnancy cravings were still clinging to me.

  I sat down at the kitchen counter to eat and think about my day. There was another private detective coming into town, a guy who knew somebody who knew someone else who Harry owed money to. Since Harry was going away for some “adult entertainment” convention, I was on the hook for the meet and greet.

  It didn’t sound like much fun. In fact, I hadn’t found any part of working in the private sector to be fun. But at least I was getting out of the house. And at least I didn’t have serial killers trying to kill me every five minutes.

  My time with Phin and Sam over the last few months had been amazing, maybe the best time of my life, but I was getting a little stir crazy. Phin knew it, too. But he’d made me promise I wouldn’t get into any situations involving fist fights, shootouts, or high speed chases until Sam was old enough to talk. So I’d been doing clerical work for McGlade, which I hated, but it kept my toe in the pool. Much as I loved being a stay-at-home mom, I wasn’t ready to retire. I’d had enough of the Chicago Police Department, but I still had the urge to hunt.

  Helping an out-of-towner find his way around Chicago would be an improvement over filing and billing. As long as Phin didn’t find out about it.

  I still wasn’t sure what the case was. Harry’s call yesterday hadn’t revealed much.

  “Need you to meet a guy for me, Jackie,” he’d said.

  “I can barely hear you, McGlade. What’s that buzzing sound?”

  “Oh. I’m at a booth selling vibrators. They’re giving a demonstration.”

  “It sounds like a jackhammer.”

  “That’s what it’s shaped like. But bigger. And pink.”

  “Remind me again why you’re at a porn convention.”

  “I told you this already. Our firm—where you are a junior partner—gets a lot of work from the adult entertainment industry. Someone has to help these poor, multi-talented, surgically enhanced porn stars with their private investigating needs. Like this unlucky woman standing right in front of me. Someone has obviously stolen all of her clothing. And her body hair.”

  “Are you offering your talents to male porn stars as well?”

  “There are men in porn?”

  “Why are you calling me, McGlade?”

  “Oh yeah. We’re helping a fellow private eye on a case. Coming in from Vegas or Reno or someplace. Gavin English, his name is. Now that is impressive. Jack, you should see how many bananas this starlet can fit in her mouth. It’s supernatural.”

  “I can live without it.”

  “I can take a pic, text it to you. Maybe you could learn something. Phin would appreciate it.”

  “What does English want?”

  “Some adultery case, I think. Cheating spouse. Gotta run. There’s a demonstration about anal bleaching starting in five minutes.”

  “You made that up. There’s no such thing.”

  “Google it. And the meet is at Denny’s on Harlem, tomorrow at nine am. Remember to brush your hair. Since you had Sam, you’ve been skimping on the personal hygiene.”

  “You’re an asshole, McGlade.”

  “An asshole who has a coupon for a free anal bleaching. How cool is that?”

  GAVIN

  I stared out the window of our thirtieth floor hotel room as Kara finished up her shower. After a good ten hours of sleep, and some time off of the freeway, I was willing to admit that the Chicago skyline, with the morning light behind it, was almost gorgeous. It was lacking some of the neon flare you get from the gambling cities in Nevada, but it still had its own kind of charm.

  It was ten minutes after seven, and I had an appointment in an hour to meet a local PI who was gonna help me find my way through town. Typical babysitting job. I’ve been known to do the same for out-of-towners who came my way.

  All I knew was that his name was Jack Daniels, and he had been a cop in the city for years before retiring and going into business with Harry McGlade. McGlade was something of a legend in PI circles because he had a long running TV show based on his exploits. I’d never seen it. He was currently out of town, so we were meeting with his partner.

  Kara looked up Jack on the internet before we left for the airport, and shared that he had been involved in several high profile cases over the years.

  “You should really look at some of the stuff I found,” she told me, smiling like the Cheshire Cat at the computer monitor.

  “That’s what I have an assistant for.”

  “Well I’m not going to tell you everything, Gav. It would take too long.”

  “Fine. Give me the reader’s digest version.”

  And she had. Jack had his name attached to more than one serial killer, something about possible terrorists, and apparently being a cop was a family business. I knew Kara was still holding something big back, though, because she kept laughing whenever I mentioned him.

  He probably had a scar on his face, or maybe he was really fat. It didn’t matter, I was ready for any surprise the guy might throw at me.

  I turned from the window as the shower turned off, and lit up my first smoke for the day. Technically, smoking wasn’t allowed in the room, but after tasting the motel’s skanky excuse for coffee, I figured they owed me.

  “You’re already dressed?” asked Kara as she exited the bathroom. I didn’t bother looking away when I noticed she was only wearing a towel around her waist. I swear she does that kind of thing to mess with me, but I enjoy it too much to complain.

  “Yep. Some of us don’t need an hour long shower to prepare for the day.”

  She chuckled as she unzipped her suitcase and started rummaging through it. “You know this is your last chance to find out about this PI before you’re supposed to meet, right?”

  “It’ll be fine, Kara. Unless you take forever getting dressed and make me late.”

  She laughed and muttered something under her breath
. Then, “I’ll only be a few minutes and then we can head out.”

  True to her word, Kara was dressed and ready to go quick enough that we had time to stop next door and get real coffee on our way to meet Jack. I got twenty ounces of black gold, while she ordered something that sounded vaguely communist and reeked of cinnamon and black pepper.

  I downed my coffee before we made it to the rental car, and then we were on our way. The navigation lady, or Whoremouth as I had dubbed her the day before, led us through a maze of side streets and back alleys as we purposefully avoided the main roads and freeways.

  “Your destination is on the right,” Whoremouth said as we neared the Denny’s where we were scheduled to meet Jack.

  “I think I’m going to have waffles,” said Kara as we got out of the car and I lit up another pill.

  “I hope they have blueberry syrup.”

  “That’s the other place, I don’t think Denny’s does the crazy syrups.”

  “Are you kidding me? Then why the hell didn’t we go there?”

  “I’m very sorry, Kara. When I was making these plans I clearly didn’t take into account that you are an angry syrup fetishist.”

  “Damn right, you’re sorry. Can I get a moon over my-hammy here?”

  “I think so.”

  “Sweet. Jack will be at the counter.”

  “Right. Any chance you’re gonna tell me what Jack looks like, or do I have to frisk everyone inside until I find a concealed weapon?”

  I dropped my half-smoked cigarette on the ground and crushed it with the toe of my Italian leather shoe. The pair had cost me almost six-hundred dollars, but I figured it was worth it to look good when representing myself in a strange city.

  Kara beat me to the door handle and pulled it open for me. “I’d love to see that, but I’ll give you a couple of hints. Jack has brown hair, and will most likely be wearing a suit as expensive as yours.”

  JACK

  A s the waitress dropped off a cup of coffee, I checked my phone again to make sure I hadn’t missed anything from Phin, which made me disgusted with myself. I hadn’t been away from Sam for an hour yet, and I was worrying every second. What if she gets a rash? What if she starts choking? What if she falls in love with a drug dealer and doesn’t go to college?

  Breathe, Jack. Get a grip. She’s an infant, not the least bit interested in boys yet. And it’s impossible to choke to death on formula. And we have plenty of rash cream, courtesy of McGlade, who gave us four cartons as a shower gift. Apparently he uses it a lot.

  The bell jangled as a couple walked into the restaurant. I smirked at the dirty look the guy gave his girl when she beat him to the door and made him walk through first. She laughed, he sulked. They were both attractive, maybe a bit older than half my age. The guy was dressed well. Very well. For a second I found myself being jealous of his Salvatore Ferragamo shoes, then I remembered that I was really attached to both of my kidneys, and not ready to sell one yet.

  I turned back to the counter and took a sip of coffee. I was about to reach for my phone to check my messages again when someone tapped my shoulder.

  “Jack Daniels?” the girl asked. The guy in the fancy shoes whispered something angry or dirty into her ear as I turned.

  “That’s me. And you are?”

  He recovered quickly and smiled, sticking out his hand, “It’s great to meet you, Jack. I’m Gavin English, and this is my assistant, Kara Parkes.”

  I stood up and shook both of their hands. Being closer, I could tell he had a few years on her, but he couldn’t have been more than mid-thirties.

  As we all sat down on our stools, I waved for the waitress to head our way. “So what brings you this far from home. Vegas, right?”

  “Reno,” answered Kara. She was good looking too. Young and tight and tan. I wondered if I could get an assistant from wherever she came from. Maybe one that looked like a young George Clooney.

  “It’s pretty simple,” Gavin jumped in. “Rich lady was screwing around with a younger guy behind her old man’s back. The kid took advantage for as long as he could, then when she had had enough, he stole her giant wedding ring while she was sleeping and split. We did some research and found that he’s got family out here.”

  “You came all the way across the country to recover a wedding ring? Is it because the ring is worth a lot? Or because she doesn’t want her husband to know it’s gone?”

  “Both. She wrote me a check big enough to sleep on, so here I am.”

  I couldn’t help myself, “Can I ask?”

  “Fifty grand.”

  I knew then and there that Harry and I needed to find a better class of clientele. “Jesus.”

  “Yep.”

  “Do you have to do anything else? Rough the guy up? Blow up his car?”

  “Just get the ring back.”

  “And you’re getting paid ten grand a day for that?”

  Gavin winked, in a cocksure way that I’m sure some women fell for. “I’m worth it.”

  “He’s not,” Kara said. “We got ridiculously lucky with this case.”

  I decided I liked them both.

  When the waitress finally got there, Gavin ordered a pot of coffee and Kara and I had waffles. I was momentarily stunned when I found out they didn’t have all the different flavored syrups. We had clearly chosen the wrong place to meet for breakfast. To compensate, I asked for apple, strawberry, and blueberry compote. Kara seconded the choice.

  We ate and talked, and Kara gave me the list of names and places they needed to check out. Giving time for interviews and missed connections, I told them they would need a good three days in town to get through the list. Or maybe they’d get lucky and find who they were looking for right away.

  Right. Like that would happen. During my limited time as a private investigator, I learned luck was as rare as a six legged cat, and just as fleeting.

  “Listen,” started Gavin as he polished off his fourth cup of coffee, “the navigation system in our rental car works for shit, and I think it hates me. Is there any chance you’d be willing to guide us around while we’re here?”

  “Sorry, but no. I’ve got a baby at home and I’m supposed to be taking time off. I only agreed to do this because my partner apparently owed one of your friends a favor.”

  “Do you have pictures?” Kara asked.

  “Of my partner?” I dead panned.

  “Of your baby, silly.”

  I whipped out my iPhone and accessed the app. “This is Samantha.”

  “Oh. My. God. She’s adorable.”

  Kara took my phone and began flipping through the photos. “And this is her dad? He’s a hottie.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So you were a bigshot cop,” Gavin said. “And you don’t look near retirement age. Why’d you hang up the badge?”

  “Because psychos kept trying to kill me and those I cared about. Working with Harry is much less dangerous. I haven’t drawn my gun in months.”

  “Don’t you miss the excitement?”

  I dodged the question and said, “I prefer being a mom to getting shot at. By a longshot.”

  “What if we could pay you ten grand for three days’ work?” he smiled.

  I felt myself smile back. Ten grand would pay for a lot of diapers.

  I meant to say, “I’ll need to run this by my family, make sure my fella is okay with it.”

  Instead, I said, “I’m in.”

  Some wise man, or probably a woman, once said it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission. I was really gonna put that to the test when I got home.

  GAVIN

  Y ou are a shit.”

  Kara laughed again as we pulled out of the parking lot, “I told you to look at some of her stuff. It’s not my fault you’re lazy.”

  “It is exactly your fault that I’m lazy. I hired you so I could be lazy.”

  “It was funny, don’t let your panties get all twisted about it. She didn’t notice anything.”

  “That�
��s because I’m a professional, Kara.”

  She laughed and started fiddling with the radio through static and Jesus chatter until she found something angsty and full of synthesizers.

  “Speed limit decreases in one point five miles. Prepare to slow.”

  “Shut up, Whoremouth,” I replied.

  “I’m glad you got her to agree to take us around the city,” Kara said. “We didn’t get the insurance on this car and I’m pretty sure it would cost a lot of money if you wound up shooting the dashboard.”

  “Oh, but it would be worth it.”

  JACK

  A re you kidding me?” Phin said through clenched teeth. “We had a deal.”

  He was angry, but the baby was sleeping so the volume of his fury was dialed way down.

  “It isn’t fieldwork. I’m just playing tour guide.”

  “But you can’t come home and talk to me about it? Call? Send a damn text? This isn’t Jack’s lonely hearts club anymore. You have a family.”

  “It’s who I am, Phin. It’s the reason you’re with me.”

  “You quit being a cop because it hurt you, and those you cared about. Now you have one more person to care about, and you’re going down that same long, dark road.”

  Phin pulled out his cell.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m calling McGlade, telling him to fire you.”

  “He won’t. He thinks we’re related.”

  “I’ll disabuse him of that notion.”

  “He’s not going to listen to you.”

  “Are you kidding? Harry and I are buds. He just texted me a picture of some naked girl with her mouth full of bananas.”

  Samantha’s soft cry echoed from down the hall. She was awake, and she needed her mommy.

  She needed her mommy.

  I’m her mommy.

  She needs me.

  I hated losing arguments to Phin, but it seemed to be happening more and more these days.