By the Balls

by Jim Pascoe

  In my experience, cops have a lot to do when they find a body, and sometimes they get sloppy. Usually that means they miss something. Not this time.

  As I left the room, a feeling nagged me: I knew this house hid something that I would find interesting. I resorted to an old Ben Drake trick—check out the bathroom. Over the years, I had found that you could learn a lot about a person that way.

  All the doors off the main hallway were shut. I ventured down a side hall that took me farther away from the stairs. At the far end I tried the last door. It opened into a bedroom, and from the slight feminine touches and the soft scent of flowers, I guessed that Sissy slept here.

  I felt like a frat boy crashing a sorority house. I saw a door at the other end of the room, almost definitely leading to a private bathroom, but I couldn’t resist walking over to her dresser.

  Like the rest of the house, the top of the dresser remained clean of clutter. I eyed the couple of pictures that rested there, but they showed nothing interesting.

  I opened the top drawer. Inside I found a wide assortment of brassieres and panties.

  I glanced over my shoulder. What I saw made me jump like a Mexican bean. Across the room, next to the large four-poster bed, an antique vanity’s large oval mirror cast my image back at me. I closed the drawer as quickly and quietly as I could and made for the bathroom while I was still lucky enough to be alone.

  The bathroom’s red-painted walls reflected brightly off the chrome fixtures. The red carpet screamed up at me. I felt like I was in the center of a volcano. Why would anyone decorate their bathroom like this? Nevertheless, I wished my john were this clean.

  Lotions and creams and various atomizers of perfume filled the medicine cabinet. No brown prescription bottles. No stray razors. Nothing suspicious.

  Before I left, I washed my hands with the yellow sun-shaped soap sitting on the marble counter next to the sink basin. The only other thing on this countertop was a small porcelain dish with a dainty lid.

  I dried my hands off, lifted the lid, and had a look inside the dish. I picked up the item and examined it in the light—a single cat’s-eye cuff link. A man’s cuff link. I put it back where I found it.

  The mirror above the sink caught the curl of my smile. I fixed my tie, straightened my hat, and winked at my reflection. Then I got out of there.

  * * *

  I walked into the Long Mile a little after six. The soft sounds of the Charles Mingus Quintet filled the air, putting a spring in my step as I strode toward the bar. I ranked this place as the best restaurant Testacy City had to offer. Not the classiest, but certainly the best: good portions, reasonable prices, and healthy servings of bourbon.

  The place was cozy. A low dividing wall running just off center split the smallish room in two. The dining area, which held a half-dozen tables and eight booths, each set for dinner, occupied the space on the left side of the partition. A set of steps at the far left led to a private dining room upstairs, while a swinging door right below allowed the waitresses easy access to the kitchen.

  My springing step carried me into the small bar, my second-favorite watering hole in the city, which took up the smaller area on the other side of the low wall.

  I surveyed the room. A single couple, a May-December arrangement, sat dining in the back corner booth. The rest of the tables remained vacant. The place usually kept pretty quiet until the dinner rush around seven.

  “Hey, Ben,” Tony, the joint’s regular bartender, greeted me with a broad smile. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

  He reached down, pulled out a bottle of Old Grand-Dad, and poured a comfortable amount into a glass. Two important things about Tony: he was an ex-con who had managed, with difficulty and the love of a good woman, to straighten himself out; and he never failed to pour me a good stiff drink.

  “Yeah, they’ve been running me pretty ragged the last few weeks.”

  With a drink in my hand I relaxed into the padded metal barstool. “So how about you?” I asked. “How’s the family?”

  Tony and his wife were the proud parents of two good kids, Tony Junior and Becky. In my opinion, these folks had done an admirable job of raising and keeping their little ones out of trouble in a town like Testacy City.

  “Good, real good, thanks for asking,” Tony rumbled in response, chest swelling a little. “TJ’s growing like a weed, gettin’ good grades in school . . . makes his old man proud, y’know?”

  “I’ll bet. Linda working tonight?”

  Tony’s wife Linda, the best damn waitress who’d ever taken my order, also worked at the Long Mile.

  “Naw, she’s off with the kids. Little Becky’s in this Shakespeare deal at the school tonight—Hamlet or something—so she and TJ went to that.”

  “That’s great, Tony! Congratulations.”

  “Yeah, thanks . . .” He looked around and rubbed the dark shadow of stubble that grew along his jaw. He leaned in close and whispered: “Christ, Ben, I need to get out of the house for a while.”

  My brow furrowed with genuine concern. “Why’s that? Trouble?”

  “Naw, Ben, that ain’t it,” Tony sputtered waving a big paw about. “I love my wife and kids, you know that, but sometimes they just drive me crazy. I need to get out, flex my muscles. You know, get a little taste.”

  His eyes held big question marks as he raised his eyebrows and cocked his head at me. “So I guess what I’m asking, you got any work needs doin’?”

  Every so often I’d bring Tony out with me when I needed a spare set of muscles. Tony, the sort of guy you liked to have on your side, certainly fit that bill. He stood well over six feet tall and weighed in at 215 pounds, none of it fat.

  “I wish I could help, Tony, but I don’t have anything big going on. Just a lot of small stuff.” I hated to disappoint the guy, so I scrambled to think of something. “Tell you what. I’m meeting some folks here tonight. We’ll be having some dinner and chatting it up. The woman I’m not worried about, but the guy . . . he’s one of those big angry types that could easily get unhinged. You know what I mean?”

  Tony cracked his knuckles. “Oh, I know what you mean. So you want me to—”

  “Just watch my back. That’s all I need. Up for that?”

  “Hell, Ben, you don’t even have to ask. ’Course I’m up for that; I’m always up for that. But I was hoping for something a little more . . . meaty.”

  “As soon as I got something, Tony, you’ll be the first one I call. I promise.”

  He gave an earnest smile, then turned to help another customer. The place started to fill up about six thirty with people who liked to stop off for a belt after a long day of tedium. Soon enough Tony had his hands full slinging drinks for the regulars.

  I sat there and watched the people who liked to eat early, typically some of the older citizens of Testacy City, as they crowded into the dining room and enjoyed some of the finest steaks and chops the city had to offer.

  Before I knew it, the hands of the clock pointed to seven. Shortly after, Jasper and Sissy Hathaway strolled through the door.

  Jasper’s outfit hadn’t changed much since his visit to the Always Reddy offices: same cowboy boots, same jeans, even the same worn leather jacket. The only difference was his shirt, a crisp denim affair, topped off with a steer’s-head bolo tie. His face wore a heavy scowl.

  Sissy, however, looked completely different than the first time I had seen her. She had replaced her all-black attire with a long red gown and a tiny white wool half-jacket. A pair of white gloves covered her tiny hands, and without the black veil I could see the beauty in her face. The tiniest smile played across her red-painted lips as she noticed me at the bar. She headed my way, her smile growing brighter as Jasper’s scowl deepened.

  I had no defense against Sissy’s piercing green eyes, which shot right through me. As she got closer, I couldn’t help but admire her pert, upturned nose and softly colored cheeks.

  She looked stunning.

  “Thank
you so much for coming, Mr. Drake,” she cooed, taking my hand in hers like she had that morning. It sent a chill down my spine.

  “Please, call me Ben.”

  “Of course, Ben, but only if you call me Sissy.” She laughed lightly, then suddenly became serious. “Now I don’t mean any offense at this, but Jasper and I found it sort of . . . difficult . . . to talk to you in your office.”

  “Yeah, well, a lot of people do,” I assured her. “It can be pretty intimidating. We really don’t talk to many clients up there.”

  Truth be told, we almost never interviewed anyone about a case in the office. Almost everyone gets defensive when being questioned by cops or detectives—even more so in unfamiliar territory. I always thought it was better to talk with people on their own turf, someplace they felt comfortable. Besides, it’s much easier for them to slip up that way.

  “That’s certainly good to know,” she said. “After we left, we both sort of felt, well, guilty. Didn’t we, Jasper?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.” He moved closer to her side. “Can’t we continue this talking at the table? I’m hungry. Her and I had a long day.”

  “Relax, Jasper,” Sissy scolded. She moved closer to me and placed her hand on my lapel, smoothing the fabric of my suit coat. “Jasper’s been meaning to try the coulotte steak here. He tells me there’s only two per cow, you know.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” he said.

  At just the right time, the hostess came over and told Sissy our table was ready. As we walked across the room, Tony looked over at me. I gave him a little nod and followed Jasper to our table.

  Normally I’d be upset that all the booths had people in them; I like to relax when I eat. But tonight wasn’t about relaxation; it was about work. Without being too obvious, I managed to situate myself on the far side of the table the hostess led us to. I could see the entire room from that side, and I wanted to be able to signal Tony in case of trouble.

  Jasper sat facing me. Sissy took the seat to my left.

  An uncomfortable quiet passed momentarily over our table. Then at the same time both Sissy and I said to each other: “So, how was your day?”

  “Jinx,” she giggled. “That means you have to buy me a drink—a real drink. Coke’s for kids.” She moved an auburn strand of hair that had fallen across her face back behind her ear. “My day was fine but long,” she said. “After I left your office, I had to deal with a bunch of . . . formalities. Now how about you?”

  I blew out a big breath of air, more for effect than exasperation. “Pretty rough, actually. I didn’t get too far on the case—”

  “What the hell are we paying you for, then?” Jasper fired off.

  Sissy glared at him.

  “No, it’s all right,” I said. “I’m getting close, though. Real close.”

  Jasper just snorted as our waitress came over to take our drink orders. Sissy asked for a glass of red wine. I stuck with Old Grand-Dad. Jasper followed my lead.

  Sissy unfolded her napkin from the place setting and then refolded it over her lap. “So, why don’t you tell us a little about yourself, Ben?”

  “Me? I’m just a detective, Sissy.”

  “Come now,” she played. “You must have a better story than that—you know: where you come from, why you do what you do.”

  The waitress came back with our drinks and took our orders for dinner. Sissy selected the Cobb salad. I remained true to form and selected the chicken fried steak with garlic mashed potatoes and gravy—better known as Wednesday’s special. Jasper, as expected, ordered the coulotte steak, one of the restaurant’s specialties. I had to give him credit for his taste.

  He also ordered another glass of bourbon, after having sucked down the first one in almost record time.

  I picked up the conversation: “I don’t know what kind of answers you’re looking—”

  “I’m not looking for any one kind of answer,” she interrupted by patting my elbow resting on the table. “I’m just interested in what makes you tick.”

  “It’s like this: I don’t fight the good fight for some greater glory. I don’t chase criminals to impress the woman of my dreams. I certainly don’t do it for the tiny paycheck and long hours. I do what I do because I’m a detective. Plain and simple.”

  For the first time I heard Jasper let out a small laugh. “Plain and simple,” he said.

  Sissy raised her glass and clinked it against mine without making a toast. I watched the wine flow past her pouting lips.

  Soon our waitress carried in our dinners. As I expected, Sissy ate her meal daintily. I couldn’t say I had any idea what proper dinner etiquette entailed, but it looked like Sissy had it down pretty good. Jasper, though, only understood the etiquette of alcohol.

  Sissy did most of the talking while we ate. Not surprisingly, she revealed precious little about her life. Not once did she mention her late husband or his death. I had to get closer to addressing the suspicion I’d been harboring since exploring her bathroom.

  “Tell me, Sissy, do you have any friends—any male friends—that you’ve been able to turn to in your time of mourning?”

  “What are ya trying to get at, Drake?” Jasper choked on the anger he spat out.

  “Come on, I’m not ‘trying to get at’ anything.”

  “Jasper, please,” she said through a tight smile. “We can’t expect results with that kind of attitude. Now what exactly do you want to know, Mr. Drake?”

  “Hold on, you two. I didn’t mean to come off aggressive or accusatory. I’m just trying to see the big picture, to see if there are any other leads I could follow to find the killer and put him behind bars.”

  “That’s what I want too, Ben.” Sissy rubbed her forehead and looked away from me. “I want the truth to come out . . . I want to find out what really happened.”

  She turned back to me. “Go ahead, ask me anything. I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  “Ah, keep quiet and stop acting like a baby.” Jasper pointed his dirty fork at her as he spoke. “Can’t you see this guy is playin’ us just like he did at the office? I told ya he’d do that again. We should get rid of this crumb. He’s coverin’ up for the fact that he ain’t got no leads.” He put his fork down. Jasper had finished his steak; now he was going to chew on me. “Ain’t that right, dick?”

  “Not the way I see it. I got some leads all right.”

  “Weren’t you going to visit with Norman Gneiss this afternoon?” Sissy asked.

  Jasper shook his head and loudly complained, “Sissy!” He lapped up some more bourbon.

  “Yeah, I went over there and talked with him and his assistant.”

  “So,” Jasper sneered, then turned his bleary gaze my way, “what did they have to say?”

  “Well, they both have an alibi for Monday night, but—”

  “That don’t mean nothin’! If this were Wyoming, I’d for sure be takin’ care of those two.”

  “Jasper, what are you talking about?” Sissy said, trying to calm him down. “This isn’t Wyoming, and Ben knows the rules of this city. If he thinks—”

  “Shut up!” Jasper howled at her. The entire restaurant fell silent as everyone in the place looked over at us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tony heading our way. I motioned for him to stay.

  “Jasper, it might be best for you to keep that sort of thought to yourself,” I cautioned.

  His head whipped around. “Why? You all outta leads so you gonna turn me in?”

  “I’m not saying that at all, Jasper.” I spoke in calm, soothing tones, as if trying to tame a wild dog. “All I’m saying is that if Gneiss ends up dead—”

  “This is crazy talk!” Sissy’s eyes started getting heavy with tears.

  “Thought I told you to shut up, slut!” Jasper shouted, baleful eyes burning into Sissy. He tilted his glass and poured his latest helping of booze down his throat. He mostly missed, and the alcohol trickled across his cheek, down his neck, and under the collar of his shirt. He slammed his gl
ass on the table so hard the silverware danced. “Goddamnit!”

  I rose to my feet. Before I could say anything, Jasper’s next words had already come out of his mouth.

  “I gotta take a piss.” He shoved himself away from the table and stumbled off toward the restroom.

  I sat back down and gave Sissy a hard look, one that was meant to make her say something. When she didn’t, I prompted her a bit.

  “Sissy . . .”

  “I’m worried, Ben,” she whispered. “He’s becoming more and more violent, and all day he asked me for money.”

  “How much money?”

  “A lot of money.”

  “How much?”

  “A hundred thousand dollars.” She shivered as she uttered the figure. “What’s it mean?”

  Sums of that size could mean any number of things, but in Testacy City they meant trouble. Putting Jasper together with that kind of trouble was like dropping a match in a barrel of gunpowder. It made the little hairs on the back of my neck bristle.

  “I don’t know exactly, Sissy.” I chewed the inside of my lower lip as my mind raced with possibilities. “Do you think he’d hurt you?”

  “No, I don’t think so, but—”

  “You two talking about me?” Jasper suddenly appeared back at the table. In the space of a minute or two he’d become completely disheveled. His hair stuck out at wild angles from his head, his bolo tie no longer hung from his neck, and his eyes glowed with a crazy shine.

  He thumped down in his chair, pulling out a pack of filterless cigarettes and a matchbook the color of a neon grape. He lit up and blew a cloud of smoke right at me.

  “I’ve always been a fast pisser,” he proclaimed, grinning like a madman.

  Something about that pack of matches made my mind tingle. I pulled out my own smokes and slipped one between my lips. I patted my pockets pretending that I couldn’t find a light.

  “So what now, detective man?” Jasper asked.

  “How about you give me some flame?”

  He tossed me the matches. I lit up.

  “So what now?” he asked again.