Blabbermouth (A Brit Moran Mystery)

by Joel Travis

  She was referring to me. I wasn’t about to explain my attire, or lack thereof, to Crenshaw.

  “I told Barbara she could join us,” Sheila said. “I think she’ll be a major contributor to the team if given the opportunity.”

  “No way.”

  “Brit, we need all the manpower we can get.”

  “We don’t need her.”

  “We need anyone foolish enough to participate.”

  “Hey!” Ace said.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, Sheila, Barbara and I have an ongoing personality clash. Let’s not push it any further.”

  Sheila said, “If she’s not good enough, then I’m not good enough.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you saying you’ll resign as a partner if I don’t let her in?”

  “I would hope it wouldn’t come to that.”

  “It’s coming.”

  “Then I quit!”

  “Okay, she’s in,” I said. “But not as a full partner. She’ll be an associate partner until she proves she’s of any value.”

  “Is that okay with you, Barbara?” Sheila asked.

  The Stork nodded her head and the issue was settled to everyone’s satisfaction except mine. I would be keeping my eye on the Stork. One slip-up and I’d have her impeached.

  I had to blow off my opening speech, using the time to explain “The Case of the Missing Codger” to Crenshaw. As I was filling her in, I noticed she was staring at the bookshelves, then at the back of Ace’s head, then at her own feet. I was certain she was daydreaming, so I asked her to repeat what I had just said. She repeated every word in a near perfect imitation of my voice. Sheila thought it was hilarious and told her that she was a talented impersonator.

  The meeting deteriorated into a forum for Crenshaw to show off her impressions of Richard Nixon, Bugs Bunny, and many others. Then she went into a routine which featured my voice arguing with Bugs Bunny about whether Bugs should be a full partner or an associate. Ace and Sheila couldn’t stop laughing. Personally, I thought Crenshaw’s act was wearing thin. I left the room to put on shoes. A leader can’t have cold feet.

  I went back to the laundry room. While I put on my tennis shoes, I thought about a pattern of failure I had detected in my life. You may not have noticed, but I’ve been having trouble with women. First with Sheila in our disastrous marriage, then with Lori the safe-cracking stripper, next with that middle-aged woman in Vegas who turned me in to Security, followed by a few clashes with Crenshaw, and back full-circle to Sheila.

  I had to think back all the way to my freshman year in college to remember the last time I had so much trouble with women. Of course, in those days I was so shy, nervous, and inexperienced that I never spoke to any girl who didn’t speak to me first. I didn’t have much confidence, certainly no money. What I had was a dream.

  When you’re eighteen, every dream comes equipped with a dream girl. In my case it was Kelly Wickersham, a gorgeous blond in my American History class. Kelly and her friends sat near the front of the auditorium. I sat in the back, because I was routinely tardy. All I could see was the back of her head. However, when she turned to speak to a friend on either side, I could catch a glimpse of her profile. By blending her two perfect profiles together in my photographic memory, and factoring in the width of her head, I could visualize her whole face.

  By the time my junior year rolled around I had almost forgotten about Kelly. She was so far out of my league that my mind refused to keep the dream on file. I decided to try for an average-looking girl with big breasts. That’s when the fickle feet of fate stepped in. I was attending a barbecue cookout and you’ll never guess who I saw. Susan, my future sister-in-law! But I saw someone else, too. Marty! And I didn’t even know he was coming. Kelly Wickersham was there as well.

  I was helping my friend, Bob, cook the meat when Kelly walked up and stood right next to me. I was so nervous I could barely stand. Bob introduced us and left me to sweat out the situation alone. And sweat I did. It was a hot day to begin with, and the barbecue pit was a billion degrees. Add in the ungodly pressure of standing next to a goddess and you can understand why I was sweating like one of the pigs we were cooking.

  Yet I knew fate had brought her to me at last. If I could overcome my nerves long enough to make a favorable impression, I might be able to see her again. With a trembling hand, I poured some barbecue sauce onto the meat.

  I said, “This barbecue sauce looks like blood.”

  I never saw her again.

  #

  I rejoined my team in the study. All was quiet. The Stork must have run out of impressions. I continued to brief her on the case. When I explained the part about the photos someone planted in my apartment, Sheila raised her hand.

  “Yes, Sheila?”

  “I told you I was innocent.”

  “You raised your hand to tell me again?”

  “Don’t you see? I’m not a suspect anymore. If the photos were put on your wall during the first two weeks of November, I have an airtight alibi. I was in Europe with Barbara.”

  It irked me that Sheila had a damn good alibi. She might decide to drop off the team, now that she had no need to prove her innocence. I kept thinking about it until I could almost hear the air leaking out of her airtight alibi.

  “Okay,” I said, “you have an alibi which proves you didn’t plant the photos. You could have paid someone to do it.”

  “I wouldn’t even know how to hire someone to do such a thing. You’re the one who knows all the shady people.”

  “Sadly enough, you remain a suspect. We were married at the time I lost the bet, so you’ve known about my alleged motive for a year, longer than any of the other suspects. The Codger’s possessions were buried in your garden. None of that has changed because you were touring Europe in early November. Nice try, though.”

  She mumbled something under her breath. Something about me rotting away in a prison cell, if I heard correctly.

  Crenshaw had her hand up.

  “Yes, Barbara?”

  “If I understand the case, we only have two legitimate suspects—the Hernandez brothers. You said Julio followed you to Vegas, which tells me that he’s involved. But if he is, he was probably working under Cesar’s orders.”

  If she only knew what I knew about Marty and the betbook.

  Maintaining eye contact with my audience, I propped the poster board up against the entertainment center.

  “Let’s start with this,” I said.

  Sheila giggled. “I left my junk in New Orleans.”

  Her remark made no sense to me until I turned around and saw that I had placed the poster facing wrong side up. “GARAGE SALE” it read in bold letters.

  I don’t know if you’ll ever have the opportunity to participate in an important murder investigation. If you do, don’t poke fun at the leader, even if he is wearing a bathrobe and tennis shoes and holding a broom. If he’s thoughtful enough to bring visual aids, don’t giggle like a first-grader if he doesn’t set them up correctly. Show some respect. Always remember that the leader can make your life a living hell when it comes time for him to hand out the assignments. When you discover just how vindictive the leader really is, you won’t be laughing.

  I flipped the poster over to reveal my diagram. I pointed the handle of my broom at one of the two large circles I’d drawn. Before I could say anything, Ace said the broomstick was blocking his view of the words inside the circle.

  “I’ll read it to you,” I said. “Inside this first circle it says ‘Cesar.’ The second circle says ‘Codger and Company.’”

  “Why?” Ace asked.

  “It’s simple, really,” I said. “And this is where Barbara’s analysis begins to look like the work of an associate partner with only a superficial understanding of the case. I agree with her assessment that Cesar is the prime suspect. That’s why he gets his own circle—he’s one of two focal points of our investigation. But Barbara left out the other focal point—the Codger’s
friends, family, and business associates. In addition to any helpful background information they can provide, they are suspects.”

  Sheila raised her hand. I nodded, granting permission to interrupt my incisive overview.

  “You’ve been saying all along that since the killer is trying to frame you, he must be someone who knew you owed Hedgeway a hundred grand. Someone who knew about the bet.”

  “Look at it this way,” I said. “Let’s say you’re the Codger. You lose eighty percent of your bets with Brit Moran. Finally, you win the biggest bet of your life. In your excitement, wouldn’t you tell someone about it? You’d need someone to celebrate with, right? If you mentioned my name when you told of your good fortune—”

  “Oh, I see,” Sheila said. “Whoever he told might have wanted to kill him for reasons of their own. After hearing about the hundred thousand dollar debt, that person would recognize an easy opportunity to pin the murder on a dupe like you.”

  “Getting back to my diagram, you can see that I’ve drawn some crisscrossing lines with arrowheads, leading from the two big circles to these empty boxes at the bottom. Why do you think I did that?”

  Ace said, “To make the diagram seem more complex than it really is?”

  “The lines represent clues we’ll be collecting in our investigation. Those clues will lead us to new suspects. We can fill their names in the boxes when we know who they are.”

  “I was right!” Ace said.

  I realized he was right. The unlabeled lines and empty boxes contributed nothing.

  Sheila picked up her handbag and rose from her seat. I asked her where she was going.

  “Shopping. I told you we had to be at the Galleria by nine. When’s our next meeting?”

  “We can’t have the next one until this one’s over.”

  “It’s your fault for oversleeping,” she said. “Susan’s waiting for us. Let’s go, Barbara.”

  The women departed. Ace remained seated on the floor, like a pupil who’d been kept after class.

  “What are you doing tonight, Ace?”

  “Nothing. What have you got in mind?”

  “A plan. You might call it a fund-raiser.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a fun Friday night.”

  “Would it be fun to make two hundred dollars while you’re drinking beer?”

  “You thinking of a poker game?” Ace asked.

  “There aren’t fifty naked women at a poker game.”

  “The only place I know where there are fifty naked women is a strip club. I won’t be making any two hundred dollars there.”

  “Yes you will.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll tell you tonight,” I said. “In the meantime, have a little faith in the mastermind.”

  #

  I had lunch with Marty. Leftover turkey at the kitchen table.

  “Forest called last night while you guys were at the movie,” I said. “When I answered, he said he’d have to call me back. I thought it was strange—”

  “You have to understand that you’ve put Forest in the middle of your mess. Unless you’re willing to come in for questioning, he doesn’t want to talk to you. He doesn’t even want to know where you are, because it puts him in a tight spot if the homicide detectives ask him for help in tracking you down. He’s already told them that they’re wasting their time pursuing you as their prime suspect. If it wasn’t for Forest, they’d have brought you in for questioning by now. He says they’ll bring you in sooner or later, but they want to strengthen their case against you so they can tear you to shreds during the interrogation.”

  Except for the part about tearing me to shreds, it sounded like good news. Forest was doing his best to help me. Yet I wondered how much of what Marty had told me was true. Probably all of it. If he lied about anything Forest said, it could come out later and he’d owe both of us an explanation.

  Of course, Marty might be omitting some information to lull me into a false sense of security. If that was his plan, he might want to think it through again, because I was wise to it. If that wasn’t his plan, then I had no idea what his plan could be, and I was the one who needed to do more thinking.

  Chapter 11

  “It’s perfectly legal, Ace,” I said.

  “Man, I don’t think so. It couldn’t be.”

  “It’s all a matter of how it’s presented.”

  Ace and I were having a discussion on our way to Lori’s topless club where we would execute my plan to recover the money she had stolen from me in Vegas. I had called ahead and confirmed that Ecstasy was working the night shift. All Ace had to do was sit quietly, drink beer, and watch strippers. If he did so, my plan would work. And if my plan worked, he would earn two hundred bucks. You wouldn’t think he’d have a problem with it.

  “I think we should turn around and go back,” Ace said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, we’re already here. Pull into that space at the end.”

  We were lucky to find that space, for it was Friday night at the strip club and the asphalt lot was packed with poorly parked cars and trucks. You didn’t have to be clairvoyant to foresee that several fender-benders would occur after closing time when two hundred drunken patrons simultaneously backed their vehicles out of the spaces at every conceivable angle. None of the accidents would be reported to insurance companies; those involved would settle up on the spot with cash, fists, or a favorite weapon.

  “All right, Ace, go into the club. I’ll be waiting out here.”

  “I’m nervous. I’m not sure I remember all the details you rattled off so fast.”

  I thought he was stalling, but just in case I gave him a quick quiz.

  “What’s her stage name?”

  “Ecstasy.”

  “And what does she look like?”

  “Petite blond with blue eyes.”

  “What about her boobs?”

  “Enormous.”

  “See there, Ace, you remembered everything.”

  He nodded feebly and turned to leave. I watched him pause under the crooked, wooden “Topless” sign. He looked back doubtfully and entered the club. I leaned against the car, mentally rehearsing my lines. Twenty minutes later, Ace stuck his skinny neck out and motioned for me to join him inside, which meant that Ecstasy had taken center stage. Even if she saw me enter the club, Lori would be stuck on stage, unable to flee to the dressing room.

  I paid my cover charge and followed Ace inside. He sat down at a table next to Stage 2. I located an empty table closer to the main stage. I approached the table at the same time as a dime store cowboy wearing an oversized black hat. To avoid any potential dispute which might draw Lori’s attention, I gestured for him to take the table. He tipped his hat in appreciation and invited me to join him.

  The young cowboy’s name was Carson. I introduced myself. He tipped his hat again. Before he could do any more hat-tipping, a tall stripper with long, black hair snatched the hat from his head and tossed it on stage to Lori. This sort of nonsense goes on all the time, because strippers love to incorporate hats into their acts. Lori began to play peek-a-boob, hiding one of her breasts under the hat, her erect nipple serving as a makeshift hat rack. Carson beamed with pride, though his exposed bald head added ten years to his age.

  Lori tossed the hat back to its rightful owner, missing him by several feet. It landed in my lap. The effect of the errant toss was to draw every eyeball in the place to me, including Lori’s. Her fake stripper smile dissolved as she strutted off the stage to deafening applause.

  Needless to say, any element of surprise I had hoped for had vanished at the drop of a hat. My plan was still in play, however, as long as Ace didn’t do anything foolish. I turned around to see how he was making out and saw that he was literally making out with a black stripper. He must have felt my eyes boring into him, for he brought the disgraceful display to a halt by picking the stripper up and depositing her on another man’s lap.

  Carson ordered me a beer. I left our table to visit Stage 2.
I waited patiently for Lori to receive several tips from other customers until it was my turn. She gazed at me warily. I set her mind at ease by silently tipping her a couple of dollars and returning to my seat.

  I drank my beer as Lori proceeded to stages 3 and 4. I endured Carson’s insipid conversation concerning the ranch he hoped to own someday if his new telemarketing job turned out to be the gold mine his supervisor had described during the interview. He was explaining the finer points of telephone sales when I noticed that Lori had ascended Stage 5. I excused myself to tip her. Again I said nothing, only smiling as I placed two more dollars in her G-string. This time she returned my smile. I knew then that my plan had every chance of success.

  I decided to make use of Carson, as long as he was taking up space at my table. I handed him a five dollar bill, instructing him to tip Ecstasy on her last stage and deliver a message for me. The young cowboy returned with a broad smile on his face, bringing word that Ecstasy would visit our table as soon as she did a few table dances she had promised other tippers.

  Carson bought me another beer. I had to think of a way to get rid of him before Lori came to my table. I was spared having to resort to anything devious when the tall stripper with the long, black hair who’d snatched Carson’s cowboy hat dropped onto his lap and captured his rapt attention. Four table dances later, he rose from his seat and announced that he was “plum broke.” We shook hands and he departed as Lori cautiously approached the chair Carson had vacated. I called a waitress to our table.

  “What would you like?” I asked Lori.

  “Last time we did shots, remember?”

  “Okay, bring us two shots of the lady’s preference,” I said to the waitress. As she took Lori’s order, I looked over my shoulder to confirm that Ace was still in place.

  “Lori, I just want to say that I’m sorry about the way things turned out in Vegas. I can understand why you took the money.”