A silver Audi was parked across the street. Melinda walked over to the car. I stopped, kneeled, and pretended I had a shoelace to tie. I am so clever.
Melinda opened the door of the Audi’s passenger side and entered the car. Crap, if they drove off I was going to lose her unless I could get to my Dodge Ram fast enough. Unfortunately, being fast and weighing 300 pounds don’t exactly go hand in hand. I decided to protect myself from a heart attack and memorize the license plate instead. I could find out later who the car belonged to.
The Audi drove past me. I managed to sneak a look at the driver. It was a guy about Bagley’s age but with a better tan. He was wearing what looked to be pretty expensive designer shades. He was the perfect example of a midlife crisis. What his connection to Melinda was I had no idea. The peck she gave him on the cheek while they drove past could have been one of those you give a friendly uncle. It could also have been the kind of kiss I didn’t want to think about.
*****
I’d managed to lose my target in the first fifteen minutes of surveillance. Old Man Jackson was spinning in his grave for sure. Memorizing the license plate seemed like a great idea at the time. I even managed to remember it long enough to get back in my Dodge Ram and jot it down on the back of a copy of Revolver Magazine with a red marker. What I didn’t think about was the fact I didn’t have the connections at DMV Old Man Jackson had or the databases he subscribed to. That’s what you get from running a business just a bit too part-time.
I thought about calling Bagley to ask if he knew a guy that fit the Audi driver’s description. I decided against it, realizing it would make me look like an amateur if he realized I’d lost his girl almost the minute I started to follow her.
I needed some help from an investigator that did know what he was doing. Or rather, what she was doing. I decided to crank up the sound of the Biohazard CD I was playing and drive to the other side of the city for a visit to an old friend.
*****
Baby Jackson has a real office with a reception desk and everything. A plush waiting room with free coffee and magazines that offered something a little more current than the fall of the Berlin Wall. She inherited her dad’s business when he passed away and continued its success.
The girl at the reception desk, a Latina with dyed hair and enough make-up to sign up with Kiss, gave me a disapproving look. I get those a lot at reception desks. Maybe I should have worn loafers instead of my Vans All-Stars.
“You are?” she asked. She sounded like she’d just taken a bite of bad pizza.
“Lenny Parker, and old friend of Miss Jackson.” I extended a hand over the counter. She just stared at it.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but she’ll be happy to see me.”
The receptionist sighed. “If you say so.” She grabbed the phone and told the person on the other end of the line that a certain Mr. Parker was there to see her. It was quite an experience to clearly hear your name but to get the feeling that the Kiss-wannabe was talking about a leper.
A door behind the reception desk opened and out came a young black woman wearing designer jeans, a sleeveless purple shirt, and a disgusted expression. Her bare arms were muscular and she wore cornrows. She accessorized with a shoulder holster that carried a big ass revolver. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“Nice to see you too, Baby.” I didn’t even know her real name. Everybody just used to call her Baby to distinguish her from her dad, Old Man Jackson.
“I really don’t have a lot of time to waste with you,” she said.
“Won’t take much. I just need a license plate checked.”
“And you couldn’t just ask me on the phone?”
I shrugged. “I was pretty sure you’d hang up on me.”
“So you aren’t as stupid as you look,” she said.
“Come on, play nice. We used to work together. That should give me some credits with you,” I pleaded.
“I had a stronger bond with the turd I flushed this morning,” Baby told me. The receptionist guffawed.
“That’s really mean. That hurts.” I made a gesture resembling being stabbed in the heart. If I started to suck as much at being a roadie as I did as a PI, maybe I could become a mime.
Baby turned around and walked to the door. “Just fuck off, clown.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay. If you’re short on time right now I’ll just have a seat in the waiting room until you can fit me in.”
I sat on the couch and made myself comfortable, putting my feet on it and laying back. I picked up a copy of Time Magazine. “Don’t you have some comic books?”
Baby turned around, arms crossed. “Most of my clients can read,” she said. “Come the fuck in.”
I jumped off the couch with remarkable agility for a man of my girth and followed her through the door behind the reception desk. I stuck out my tongue at the receptionist before the door closed.
THREE
There was a large framed picture of Old Man Jackson in Baby’s office. Man, did he look tough. Big afro, goatee, wide shoulders in an expensive suit, arms crossed and glaring at the camera. He made Shaft look like a pussy. As much as he used to fuck with me, I missed him. He was a good, honest guy. Tough as jerky. A role model if you will. He also thought I was a constant disappointment, botching up most of the cases I worked on. That’s why he usually didn’t use me a lot aside from gopher duties. You know, making copies of stuff, getting lunch or fetching coffee.
“So how have you been?” I asked Baby.
She groaned. “Just tell me what you want and skip the social talk. I’m busy.”
“All right, all right. Just being civil.” Then I told her what I needed.
She laughed. “You managed to lose her after fifteen minutes? You’re an even lousier investigator than I thought.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Don’t rub it in. So, can you help me?”
“Does the pope shit in the woods?” Baby quipped. “This is easy-peazy stuff. Sit down. It’ll only take a few seconds.” She took a seat behind her desk; I sat down on the guest chair across the desk. She fired up her laptop and tapped a few keys. I was a whiz with a Playstation. Laptops weren’t my specialty. But hey, no way Baby was able to tune a Gibson or plug in a Marshall amplifier.
“Found it. Car belongs to a guy called Norman Becker. Let me see what I can find about him.” Some more key-tapping. “Good credit-card history. No rap sheet. Married, two kids. Owns several convenience stores all over Southern California.”
“He owns convenience stores?” I asked Baby which ones. My suspicions were confirmed.
“You look worried.” Baby was a crack detective.
“I think Norman might be having an affair with one of his employees. An underage one.”
“Becker is this Melinda kid’s boss?”
“Yeah. Seems like it.”
“Any chance he was just driving her home as a favor? And that kiss was just a friendly hello?” Baby playing devil’s advocate.
“How many bosses have you kissed…I mean besides your dad? And why didn’t they just leave the store together? Why did he pick her up around the corner like that?
“There might be hope for you as an investigator yet. Sounds like Norman Becker is a creep.”
I stroked my goatee. “Now how the hell am I going to tell this to Bagley?”
Baby shrugged. “Not my problem. I got you the information you wanted. Let me print it out for you and you can be on your merry fucking way.”
She handed me the print-outs and ushered me out the door. “Don’t stay in touch!”
I felt a little bewildered when I found myself at the reception desk again, papers in hand, bad news to tell to my client. Bewildered was a state I was quite familiar with. But that didn’t mean I liked it.
The receptionist gave me a look. “You look even dumber than when you came in. Didn’t expect that to be possible.”
“Fuck you,” I said and left the building.
; FOUR
I met Bagley at the restaurant again. I had a Singha, he drank a Coke. I suggested that he might want to drink something a little stronger. He gave me a quizzical look.
I didn’t know how to break the news to him gently, so I just gave it to him straight.
“Bullshit,” he said after I’d finished my story.
“Think about,” I said. “It explains the extra money. Becker has been playing sugar-daddy, buying Melinda expensive gifts.”
“Nonsense. You’re making my daughter sound like a whore!” His face reddened.
“I’m sorry, but I know what I saw.”
“You didn’t see shit. You fucking lost her in fifteen minutes. What did you see exactly? Just that my daughter got in the car with her boss. That means jackshit.”
I held up my hands. “Slow down, partner. I just told you that I think Becker is taking advantage of her. He’s the one you should be pissed at.”
“Fuck you, Parker. I’ll pay your fucking bill, and then I never want to see you again.”
“I don’t need your money.” Actually, I needed it pretty badly, but this was one of those matters of principle that all the tough guys in my favorite pulps hold in such high regard. “I just want to protect your daughter from that creep.”
“I know Norman Becker personally. He’s a good guy. Happily married. Suggesting he’s a lecherous kind of… of… pedophile is just ludicrous.”
I shook my head. “It just didn’t look all that innocent to me. I think Becker’s a dirtbag.”
“Enough!” Bagley stood. He left a few bucks on the table to cover the drinks and walked out.
I watched him leave. There wasn’t much else I could do.
Mr. Janpong walked by. “Another satisfied customer, yes?”
“Just bring me another beer,” I told him.
I wasn’t going to walk away from this. Not just like that. I was sure Becker was up to no good. He didn’t seem to be holding a gun against Melinda’s head, but still, she was underage. He was her boss, and that put him in a position of power no different than a teacher or a cop. This couldn’t be good for the girl. I’d only seen her a few minutes up-close, but that Brady Bunch innocence had to be protected. Lord knows I’m not a superhero or anything, but walking away from a wrong like this wasn’t the way I was raised and not the way I was going to lead me life.
Now I just had to think about how I was going to handle this. Maybe I’d think of something after a few more beers…
FIVE
I visited the convenience store where Melinda worked. I browsed the racks, settling for a six-pack of Corona and walked over to the cash register. Melinda was behind the counter. “Is that all, sir?”
That’s right. I’d come up with a plan. Wasn’t sure it was a good one, but I was going to give it a try. “Hi,” I said.
She told me how much the six-pack cost. I took out my wallet and asked her why she didn’t card me.
She laughed. “I’m pretty sure you’re of legal age.”
“I’m hurt,” I said.
She laughed again. “Sorry.”
“Say, have you been working here for a long time?”
“Huh? Why?”
“I was wondering if maybe I should apply for a job here. I’m looking for work.”
“Oh. Right.”
“How do you like it here?”
“Fine. I’ve been working here for a year or something. Pay is okay, work is easy.”
“What about the boss? I bet he’s a really nice guy too, then?”
Her pasty white skin flushed a deep red. She shrugged. “Er… Yeah, I guess. Sure.”
“You seem to really like him,” I said.
“What do you mean?” I had her worried.
“You blushed. Like a kid infatuated with her teacher or something.”
“Please, pay for the beer and leave.”
“Melinda, maybe it would be good if we had a little talk.”
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Her skin almost matched her hair.
“I’m Lenny. Your dad was a worried about you and hired me. I know all about you and Mr. Beck.”
“Please leave,” she pleaded.
“Is this guy bothering you?” a deep voice sounded behind me.
I turned around and looked into the eyes of a muscular black man in the same uniform as Melinda.
“I’m not bothering her at all. I’m just looking for a job and was asking her some stuff about her work.”
He crossed his arms. Those were muscular arms. “Don’t seem like it to me. Get the fuck out of here.”
“Relax,” I said.
“Wasn’t I clear enough?” The black man grabbed me by my Volbeat T-shirt. I read the name tag on his uniform. His name was Will.
He pushed me all the way to the door. With a final shove I was out the door and on my ass. The door closed. Through the glass of the closed door he mouthed for me to stay the hell out.
I got up, brushed off my jeans. The beer was still inside the store. I debated going in to get it. Then I thought how easily Will had me outside on my fat ass and decided that might not be the best of ideas. Just as bad an idea as confronting Melinda had been. Still, her reaction was clear enough. There was something going on between her and Beck. Too bad she didn’t seem open to talking about it. Maybe I should just let it rest. If Melinda was okay with it, and her dad didn’t want me to get involved, who was I to interfere?
Maybe I should just get together with the guys from my band, slap some bass and get drunk.
SIX
I play bass in a lousy metal band called the Necromantic Poets. We practice infrequently and perform even less frequently. I always like hanging out with the guys, though. We jam in our vocalist’s garage.
Mikey Taylor, our vocalist, is a good looking guy with long brown hair. Our guitarist is a wiry guy with a Mohawk, that’s what we call him as well. Our drummer is a lesbian chick named Casey. She wears her hair in a different color every week and sports more tattoos on her arms than I do.
We were trying out a new song called Leatherface Please Kill Bieber when I fucked up the bass line once again.
“What the fuck, Lenny?” Casey said. “Where’s your head at?”
“Sorry babe, it’s about this case I’ve been working on. Can’t get it out of my head.”
“Spill it,” Casey said and put down her sticks.
I told her about Melinda, Beck and her dad.
“That’s kids for you,” Casey said. “Don’t know what’s good for them. Used to be just like that.”
“Used to?” Mohawk said, retuning his guitar.
Casey threw a stick at him, which he barely avoided. “Shut up, fuckhead.”
“I just don’t know what to do. I mean, I’m not hired anymore. The kid doesn’t want me involved. Still, I can’t let it rest. I just can’t. It’s wrong and I should do something about it.”
“Why don’t you just go to the cops?” Mikey asked and threw me a can of Coors.
I caught the can and popped the tab. “I can’t prove anything. It will be my word against all the others.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Sucks.” Mikey opened up a can of beer for himself and drank it.
I took another slug of beer, and a light bulb—a very dim light bulb, like maybe five watts—went off over my head. “Maybe I should make sure I’ve got the evidence to back up my accusations,” I said. “And you guys might be able to help me out with that…”
SEVEN
I had my Dodge Ram parked a few blocks from the convenience store. Mikey had agreed to stake out the store from his Chevy. Casey was around the corner in her Mini Cooper. Since Melissa knew what I looked like, I figured it would be best if people she didn’t know kept an eye on her. My friends are great.
My cell phone played a riff of Black Sabbath’s Iron Man. I answered it. Casey told me Melissa had just been picked up by a man that fit Beck’s description.
“Good,” I said. “I’ll ask Mikey to follow
them.”
“Okay, see you around. Good luck with the case.”
I called Mikey and told him what I expected.
“Already on it, Lenny,” Mikey answered. “I’m right behind them.”
A few minutes later I saw Mikey’s Chevy pass. He was right behind Beck’s Audi. I started my car and drove away, keeping a few cars behind Mikey. Old Man Jackson would have been proud.
Every now and then I slowed down a little. Sometimes I parked the car for a few minutes. After a while, Mohawk picked up the tail from Mikey and gave me a call on their location.
Not long after, Mikey called again to tell me that Beck and Melissa had parked their car at a fleabag motel in Culver City.
I drove over there. Mikey was still in his Chevy, parked in front of the motel. I parked next to his car and got out. Mike opened the passenger door of his Chevy and I sat next to him.
“Thanks for doing this, dude,” I told him.
“Sure, no problem. I enjoy this stuff. Makes me feel like I’m Spenser for Hire or something. Besides, if that dude is boffing that chick, he needs to go down.”
“Yeah. So they went in there how long ago?”
“Fifteen minutes I guess. Going into a no-tell motel room together sound like enough evidence for you?”
I thought about that. “Guess not. I’m not sure how her dad’s going to explain it, but he’s so dead-set against the idea he’s probably going to find a way. I figure I need to get better proof.”
“Sounds like you’re planning on catching them in the act.”
“That might be the only way, yeah.”
“So, what’s the plan? Are you going to ninja your way to their room’s window and snap a few pictures?”
I patted my stomach. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I lack the physique to ninja much. I thought I might take a more direct approach.”
Mikey ran his fingers through his hair and looked up. “Not sure I like that idea, Lenny. Sounds like you’re planning to get yourself in trouble.”
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