I rose to my feet, so as to tap him on the shoulder, and after accomplishing that task, said: “What are you doing in here?”
Craig was startled. Already an entire jar of pickles, butter and cheese, deli meat, and hanging from his mouth was an entire loaf of bread, basically whatever he could rummage, was filled in his arms. He was so startled that he almost dropped them, grunting: Whoa! He then took a look at his surroundings and presently added: “That’s weird.”
“You didn’t see the moving vans?”
“I must have fallen asleep. Where were you?”
“I was being interrogated downtown.”
He said, “I thought you were just going on a little walk.”
“You didn’t observe two detectives stopping by for a visit?”
“I must have fallen asleep. Do The Sisters know?”
“No, – No they don’t. And I’d like to keep it that way.”
“But they’ll find out when….”
“They won’t return until late Saturday evening. I’ll have everything put back in proper order before then.”
“Okay, if you say so.” He looked around a bit, still filled with unbelief, and shuffled with an armful of my food in the path of his Rec Room. “In the meantime, if you’re stuff shows up again, I’ll keep a look out.”
“You do that,” I said.
I closed the door.
c
I SLID DOWN NEXT TO MY GREAT-UNCLE and said: “What’s in the folder, Jack?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
Jack set the manila folder down on the floor. He drummed his fingers over it before sliding it to my thigh.
Coming from a career private investigator, I knew there were more likely photographs within its flaps than love letters. After all, I was intimate the work and was practically raised by the man.
But I asked anyhow. “What’s this about?”
“It’s that Bibeau girl you’re so fond of.”
“I have an affection for all of them, Jack, – which one?”
He bit his lower lip.
“I think you need to see it for yourself.”
The breath that had emptied from my lungs moments earlier, when I swung the Stable door open, wasn’t anywhere as drastic as what happened when I undressed the folder.
“Is she okay?”
“That depends on your definition of fine.”
They were photographs alright, exactly the kind that I suspected them to be, but why Jack Preacher was snapping photos of Desarae’s adulterous love affair was beyond me. Sex was displayed in its various awkward un-Hollywood-like positions. I’d seen enough of these as a former detective. Hell, I’d personally snapped more than I’d ever care to publically admit. But seeing a Bibeau sister in the ugly act of adultery, considering I’d yet to see any of them, Elise especially, in such an intimate position, was unbearable.
“Jack, what the hell is this?”
“You know what they are.”
“I most certainly do. Why were you following her?”
“I wasn’t following her.”
I shoved all seven or eight of the glossy photos back into the manila folder, closed its lips, and then slapped it down on the floor, though it belonged in the trash. “That would be a first.”
“Will you give me a chance to explain?”
There was a breath of heated air and then: “Okay, explain.”
“I was hired for a simple job….are you even listening?”
“Yes,” I said grudgingly, though not with conviction.
“It was a simple job, your run of the mill stuff. Wife suspects husband of cheating, hires a sleuth, uses evidence to clean him out in the divorce trial. You know how these things go.”
“All too well, – you can’t have these pictures.”
“These are copies, you know.”
“You can’t do this, Jack. I want the negatives, now.”
“My heart nearly exploded when I looked through the lens and saw with my own eyes that she was the other girl. I’m not going to use them. But you must understand, I was hired for a job, and I need to come up with something. I have a reputation to keep.”
“You’re seventy-eight years old. Nobody’s going to think poorly of your fifty-plus year service in the world of snooping.” I tucked the folder into my arms as I stood. “And you can’t use them.”
“That’s what I said, if you’ll stop and listen.” Jack stood too, but with greater effort. He grabbed my arm. “Come on, sit down on the floor and finish a beer with an old man. Let’s not be sore about it.”
I didn’t sit down. In fact, I was having trouble breathing.
He said, “Where are you going?”
“You should never have been involved in this.”
“Had I not been involved, some other sleuth would have taken those pictures, and they wouldn’t have come to you first about it. These things sometimes go public. I’m doing you a huge favor.”
He had a point, but I wasn’t in the mood to let him know it. “No offense, Jack, but you’re too old for this sort of thing.”
“Say that again to my face, dick-head.”
Jack looked as if he wanted to stand up, perhaps to punch my lights out. But he was too old and weak to defend his own argument, and my point remained, though I was sorry that I’d made it to begin with.
“You taught me everything that you know, old man, you and Joe and my grandfather and all of your brothers.” I gently touched him on the shoulder. “I’m very grateful for that.”
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he said.
With the manila folder tucked under one arm and my hand on the doorknob, I grinned: “I wouldn’t do anything that you wouldn’t.”
Jack sighed. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
c
MY FIRST ORDER OF BUSINESS, AND I CONFESS it was a rather unexpected and impromptu one, was to answer the red landline telephone enclosed under the dome of glass. It rang from the otherwise empty floor before I could grab my keys for the car. I picked it up and, wasting no time, spoke into the receiver: “Top Gun Airlines, where we feel the need – the need for speed. You’re speaking with Maverick.”
The voice said: “Are you Preacher?”
“If you’re one of those girls who’d rather speak with Iceman, he’s on the other line. You’ll have to hold.”
“Don’t you want to know who you’re speaking with?”
I said: “I’ve already read all about you in the Bible. To your followers you’re affectionately referred to as the Prince of Darkness. But to those of us who’ve read the book from beginning to end, we refer to you as a passing fart, or sometimes just Satan for short.”
“You’re not taking this seriously,” the voice said. “You didn’t take Sean Parker seriously either. Some people you don’t run from.”
“I’ve already dealt with two police detectives today, the entire Mancini family, and most terrifying of all, my lawyer on the matter. Please refer to any one of them.”
“Now you’re gonna deal with me, bitch.”
I hung up.
“That was civil,” Jack said.
The phone rang again, almost immediately. I waited several consecutive rings before picking it up and just as quickly slammed it down again. Then I held the receiver to my ear and pressed redial. When the person on the other end answered, he only breathed with contempt rather than speaking.
“It’s customary to say hello,” I said.
“I’m gonna mess you up for that.”
“Good, just so we’re both clear that you’ll show your face around here. That’s how I like to do business. In the meantime, be sure and stay close to the phone. I’ll be calling you soon about my things.”
“You don’t have a clue who you’re dealing with.”
“I get the feeling I will soon enough.”
I hung up.
c
I HADN’T YET ATTENDED TO MY SECOND order of business, which I’d probably improvise as I went
along, so turned to Great-Uncle Jack (the moment I hung up that phone), and said: “It’s going to be a long night. Don’t wait up.”
Noel J. Hadley is the author of several books of poetry and the Preacher series of serial novellas. As a nationwide photographer he has documented weddings in almost every single state of the country. A former native of Southern California, he currently resides with his wife, twin sons, and dogs in Charleston, South Carolina.
Preacher Serial Novellas
Some We Run From
The Sea Surrendered Her
Some We Run From (Preacher Book 2) Page 6