Reed Ferguson Short Stories

by Renee Pawlish

  “Let’s play another game,” Deuce said as he put down his beer.

  He and Ace were born pool players, but over the years I’d become a decent player myself. I still lost to them more times than not, but I liked hanging out at B 52s, a converted warehouse that’s decorated with old airplane propellers and advertisements from the 1940s and ’50s. And they play ’80s music, my favorite.

  “I can play another game and then I need to get home,” I said as I grabbed my pool cue.

  “Are you working on a case?” Ace asked as he cracked the balls.

  “Not right now,” I said.

  A short waitress came by and asked if we wanted more to drink, but we all declined.

  “Hey, guess what?” Deuce said to her. “I won the lottery.”

  “And you’re celebrating?” she said with an envious smile.

  “Nah, I still have to cash it in.” He patted his pocket again.

  “It’s a lot of money,” Ace said.

  “Uh-huh.” She nodded at the Goofballs and walked away.

  I moved around the table, where I could be closer to them. “I thought you weren’t going to tell anyone about the winning ticket,” I said in a low voice.

  Deuce blushed. “Oh, right.”

  I glanced at my watch. It was close to ten. “This has been fun, but I need to go.”

  “You want us to give you a ride home?” Deuce asked.

  “That’d be great, if you don’t mind leaving now.”

  Both brothers smiled. “Nah, we can go.”

  That was the Goofballs – good-natured and easygoing.

  Ace hit one final ball into a corner pocket, then they followed me through the main part of the bar. On our way to the door, I spotted Natalie Bowman behind the bar. She was a tall African-American woman who bartends and helps manage at B 52s while she goes to school – pre-med. She’s smart, straightforward, and incredibly nice. And she has a soft spot for the Goofballs.

  “I didn’t see you here earlier,” I said as I went over.

  She let out a big sigh. “It’s been really busy. Glad to hear about your lottery win,” she said to Deuce. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

  Good Lord, had he told everyone?

  Deuce blushed. “I won’t.”

  “You working a case?” Nat asked me.

  I shook my head. “No, it’s been a little slow. How’s school?”

  She began telling me about a difficult class, and Ace and Deuce shifted around, clearly bored with the conversation.

  “Why don’t I meet you at my truck?” Deuce interrupted.

  “Yeah, and I have to go to the bathroom,” Ace said.

  “I’ll only keep him a moment longer, hon,” Nat said. “Are we boring you?”

  “Uh-huh.” Deuce could be painfully honest sometimes.

  “I’ll be right out,” I said.

  Ace headed toward the men’s room, and Deuce laughed as he made his way through a throng of people to the bar entrance. Nat and I chatted for a minute longer, and then I headed outside. I waited for a car to pass, then crossed the street to the lot where Deuce’s truck was parked. I was surprised when I didn’t see him waiting behind the wheel. As I approached his car, I saw his body crumpled up on the ground near the driver’s side door. I called out to him as I ran over.

  “Deuce, are you okay?”

  I knelt down as he pushed himself into a sitting position. He sucked in some air, then shook his head and groaned.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Oh,” he groaned. He took a moment longer to catch his breath. “I was walking up to my truck and someone hit me from behind.” He gingerly put a hand on his head. “Ow. I got a bump there.”

  “Let me see.” I carefully examined his head. “You’re not bleeding, but you’ve got a huge lump already.” I looked at his face. His eyes were clear. “You’ve got a little scrape on your cheek, too.”

  Just then, Ace came running up. “What happened?”

  “Someone mugged him,” I said.

  “Oh, ow.” Deuce touched his cheek, and then his stomach. “After he hit me, I fell down, and he started to search my pockets. I tried to stop him, but he kicked me in the stomach and I couldn’t breathe.”

  I glanced around. “Was he trying to steal your truck?”

  He put a hand on his jeans. “No, he didn’t take my keys.” Then his jaw dropped. He shoved a hand into another pocket. “The lottery ticket’s gone!”

  “You’re kidding!” Ace frowned. “How did anyone know you had it?”

  I cocked an eyebrow at him, but he was clueless. “Did he take anything else?” I asked Deuce.

  He checked. “I still have my wallet.”

  “Do you know who it was?”

  “Just some guy.” He shook his head, then grimaced.

  “You sure it was a guy?” Ace asked.

  “Pretty sure. It was a tall dude.” He scrunched up his face, thinking. “I didn’t see his face. His sleeves were pushed up, and he had a tattoo on his arm.”

  “Which arm?”

  Deuce looked at his own arms for a moment. “The left one. It looked like a bow and arrow.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Nope.”

  I sat back on my haunches and looked at him. It was my private-eye nature to ask all the questions, but I doubted they would lead anywhere. I finally stood up and looked around. The parking lot was dark and quiet. Whoever had stolen Deuce’s lottery ticket was long gone, and I figured we’d never see him again.

  I was wrong.

  Chapter Two

  I helped Deuce to his feet.

  He groaned as he brushed himself off. “I can’t believe I lost the lottery ticket.”

  “Are you okay?” Ace asked him.

  He nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  I put my hands on my hips, not yet ready to give up on finding who’d done this to him.

  “Let’s go back in the bar,” I said. “Maybe they have security cameras and we can see if we can figure out who did this to you.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  Deuce was spry on his feet, and it appeared the bump on his head wasn’t too serious. By the time we’d entered B 52s again, he was mad – or as mad as an easygoing Goofball can get – about what had happened. Cyndi Lauper was singing as we walked up to the bar. I signaled to Nat and she came over. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Deuce.

  “You okay, hon?” she asked him.

  “Someone mugged me and tried to knock me out.” He pushed his shoulders back, acting tough. “But it’s just a little scrape.”

  “But they stole his lottery ticket,” Ace said.

  “Oh, no!” She frowned. “That’s terrible. Who would do such a thing?”

  “Reed’s going to help me find the guy,” Deuce announced.

  “Well,” I said. “I’m going to try.” I turned to Nat. “Does the bar have any security cameras on the street?”

  “We do,” Nat replied. “Let’s see if we can see who did that to our poor Deuce.”

  Deuce turned as red as the T-shirt he wore. Nat gestured for us to follow her. She came around the end of the bar and led us down a short hallway to a small office stuffed with an old oak desk, a file cabinet, and more vintage posters that I loved so much. She sat down at the desk, logged onto a computer, and began moving the mouse around.

  “Here’s the video feed,” she said after a moment.

  Ace, Deuce, and I crowded around the desk and looked over her shoulder at the monitor.

  She clicked on an icon. “Let me get the last ten minutes or so.”

  We watched as a video of the street filled the screen. A streetlight did little to illuminate the sidewalks and the people that came and went. After a few minutes, Deuce pointed at the screen.

  “That’s me.”

  “Yep,” Ace agreed in his languid voice.

  I quickly identified Deuce’s easy walk as he crossed the street. It was hard to see much in the parking lot, but yo
u could see Deuce meander between some cars toward his truck. Then a figure approached from the other side of the lot. He wore a dark hoodie, and he sneaked up behind Deuce and raised his arm. Something – a board, maybe – was in his hand. Just as the figure struck, Deuce ducked, and the blow didn’t appear to do as much damage as it could have. Deuce dropped to the ground, hidden by cars.

  I glanced at Deuce. “Did you hear him approach?”

  “I guess so.”

  “It’s a good thing,” Nat said. “If that guy had hit you square on the head, you might be hurting a lot worse.”

  We turned back to the video. The figure bent down and we couldn’t see either of them. Then the figure appeared again, ran to the far side of the lot, and vanished.

  “Huh,” Deuce said.

  We watched for a bit longer, until I came on the scene. Then Nat stopped the video.

  She sat back. “Sorry, that’s all there is.”

  I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “I didn’t think we’d be able to see much, with it being dark, but it was worth a try. Thanks.”

  “Sure thing, hon,” she said. She studied Deuce. “You going to be okay?”

  He nodded. “I’m bummed out about losing my lottery ticket.”

  “Tell you what. The next time you’re in here, I’ll buy you a beer.”

  That seemed to perk him up some. “Okay, thanks.”

  “I guess we should go home,” I said.

  We thanked Nat and headed back out of the bar. Ace drove us home, and I was quiet.

  “What’re you thinking about?” Deuce asked.

  “I was thinking about a film noir movie called Duel Alibi. It’s about twin acrobats who buy a winning lottery ticket, and then the girlfriend of one of the twins steals it from them.”

  “Oh, that film noir stuff again,” Deuce said.

  The Goofballs knew how much I loved film noir, dark movies with noir heroes who always come out on the short end of the stick, and femme fatales who use their beauty and feminine wiles to take advantage of the hero.

  “But neither one of us has a girlfriend,” Ace observed.

  “Right,” I agreed. “But it’s still a great movie, a B classic, but well worth watching. The twins eventually seek revenge on the people who stole the ticket from them, and–”

  “I’d never seek revenge on anyone,” Deuce said. “I just want my ticket back.”

  I nodded. “I know. I was just talking about the movie.”

  I kept talking about the movie, but I realized the Goofballs had tuned me out. Ace was soon parking Deuce’s truck on the side of our building, and we walked to their condo on the first floor.

  “Thanks for helping,” Deuce said as he opened his door.

  “No problem.”

  “What a bummer that Deuce lost the ticket,” Ace said.

  “Yeah.” Deuce showed his empty pocket. “I’ll have to tell Bob we don’t need to go turn in the ticket.”

  Ace looked at me. “Since you’re not working on a case, maybe you can find the guy.”

  “I’m not,” I said. “But I’m not sure what else I can do.” I looked at Deuce. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but who all knew that you had a winning ticket?”

  He thought about that. “I told some people at the bar, and some guys at work. And Nat.”

  “He told Bob and me,” Ace said.

  I suppressed a grin. “I think that’s okay. We don’t need to worry about you two stealing from Deuce.”

  Ace nodded seriously. “That’s right.”

  “You told some people where you worked?” I went on.

  “Yes.”

  Deuce worked at a construction site, where he was a good carpenter.

  “How many?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I was kinda excited, so it might’ve been a lot.”

  The poor guy. He’d been so happy about his win, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. And who knows how many people he’d told?

  “Unfortunately it sounds like a lot of people knew about your ticket,” I said. “I think it’s gone, buddy.”

  He sighed. “I guess you win some, you lose some.”

  I smiled. “That’s a good attitude to have.”

  He nodded.

  “Take care of that head of yours,” I instructed.

  “Yeah. I’m going to take some aspirin and go to bed.”

  “That sounds like a good plan.”

  I felt bad for Deuce, but there wasn’t anything else I could do. As I let myself out, Ace was peppering Deuce with ways they could find the lottery ticket. None of the ideas seemed promising. I headed across the porch and around the side of the building, where stairs led to my condo.

  I didn’t know whether Willie was home yet. My bride – real name Willimena – is an ER admissions nurse, and she sometimes works irregular hours.

  “Hello?” I called out.

  I went down the hall toward our bedroom. I stepped into the room just as she emerged from the bathroom wearing a long T-shirt. She was toweling dry her hair and she didn’t see me at first. I leaned against the door jamb and watched her. She finished and flung her hair back, then saw me.

  “Oh! You startled me.”

  “Sorry. I liked the view.”

  She grinned. “How was pool?”

  “Not so good.” I told her about Deuce’s lottery ticket.

  “That’s too bad.” She was genuinely worried about Deuce. “Are you sure he’s okay?”

  I nodded. “Just a bump on the head.”

  She glanced at her phone. “Should I call and go check on him?”

  “He said he was going to bed.”

  “Then I’ll go tomorrow.” She thought for a second. “I can see him getting excited about his ticket, but if he told a bunch of people, who knows who they told.”

  “Right.”

  “How much was the ticket worth?”

  I laughed. “He’s never said. It wasn’t the jackpot, but he said it was a lot.”

  “I can’t believe someone would do that to him.”

  I nodded, then walked over to her and gave her a kiss. “And I can’t believe you could look so sexy in a T-shirt.”

  She kissed me harder, then stepped back. “I look even better with it off.”

  I had to agree, she did.

  Chapter Three

  I didn’t hear anything from Deuce for a few days. Then, on Thursday afternoon, I was running some errands when Humphry Bogart interrupted me.

  “Oh, it’s not always easy to know what to do.”

  It was my ringtone. I’m a huge Bogie fan, and longed for the day I would be like him. He made private eye Sam Spade look so cool. I glanced at the phone screen. It was Deuce.

  “Hey, De–”

  “I found the guy!” he interrupted.

  “Who?”

  “The guy with the bow-and-arrow tattoo.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know. He works at the same construction site that I do, but I guess he’s new, ’cause I haven’t seen him around before. I saw him at lunch, and I saw the tattoo on his arm!”

  “What does he look like?”

  “He’s tall, and he has dark hair. Oh, and he’s wearing tinted sunglasses so I couldn’t see his eyes.”

  The description fit a lot of guys, except for the tattoo.

  “Did you get his name?” I repeated.

  “I asked around, but I was careful so it wouldn’t sound suspicious.”

  “That was smart.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I waited, then said again, “Did you get his name?”

  “Oh yeah. Max. I don’t know his last name.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “How would he have known about my lottery ticket?”

  “Maybe somebody you talked to about it told him.”

  “Oh, yeah. Would you ask him about it? I don’t want revenge, like that guy in the movie you were talking about.”

  “Duel Alibi.”

  “Right. I jus
t want my ticket back, but I’m kind of scared to talk to him. What if he lies to me?”

  Which the guy probably would.

  “When do you get off work?” I asked.

  “At four.”

  I glanced at my watch. Not quite three o’clock. “Where’s your construction site?”

  “Near C-470 and Sixth Avenue.”

  That was on the west side of town. I was downtown at my bank.

  “I can be there in about twenty minutes,” I said. “We’ll wait until he gets off work, and then I’ll talk to him.”

  “That’d be great.”

  He gave me detailed directions to the construction site, near interstate C-470 and Sixth Avenue.

  “I’ll head there now. I’ll park nearby, and when you get off work, look for me. Then you can point out this guy.”

  “Okay, see you in a while.”

  I ended the call and headed out of the bank.

  The project at the site was a large apartment complex on a hill with good views of downtown Denver, but right now it was still in the early phase. I drove up a winding road and parked down the street from the entrance to the site, then rolled down my window and waited. There were so many trucks and cars on the street that no one noticed me.

  At four o’clock, workers started coming out of the site. It didn’t take long before I spotted Deuce. He glanced up and down the street, then saw my 4-Runner and hurried over.

  “Hey, Reed,” he said as he approached.

  “Has Max left yet?” I asked as I gestured to the passenger side of my car.

  He took off his hard hat, brushed himself off, and opened the door. “I don’t think so.”

  “Get in and we’ll wait.”

  A faint odor of sawdust filled the car as he slid onto the seat. We listened to the Psychedelic Furs while we watched the entrance. More people trickled out, and then Deuce pointed excitedly.

  “That’s him!”

  A tall man with curly dark hair emerged from the site. I started to get out of the car, but he went straight to a beat-up green truck right across from the entrance, hopped in, and started the engine.

  “You going to talk to him?” Deuce asked.

  “Too late now.” I got back in the 4-Runner. “I’ll follow him.”