by Chill, David
"Why do you want to see me?"
Freeman shifted his bulky frame nervously. Clearly, he was more accustomed to being the one who asked the questions.
"I think you know why," he finally said.
"Mind reading isn't one of my specialties. You'll have to do better than that."
Freeman sighed. Now we were getting somewhere. A little humility never hurt anyone. "I understand my son Norman hired you to look into why someone shot at his car last week. You're a private investigator."
"That's correct," I nodded.
"And I also understand he terminated you after you began to look into what happened to... to Robbie," he managed, his voice lowering just a bit when he mentioned his younger son's name.
"Again, correct."
Freeman took a long breath. "Norman is good at doing what he's told. He's been a very obedient son. I couldn't have asked for a nicer kid. But sometimes... well, sometimes he just doesn't think straight."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning he never should have discharged you. I have some doubts about what my younger boy was up to. I knew he drank, didn't take school very seriously. I hear things. But I simply can not believe he fell off that balcony on his own. I want to know what happened."
"Have you put any pressure on the police to continue their investigation?"
Freeman rolled his eyes. "The police," he said with the same grimace one makes when tasting something unpleasant. "They even had a DVD of the party and couldn't discover anything. If you ask me it was that pimp, the one who brought those girls. But they said he was accounted for. I don't know, something just isn't sitting proper with me."
I nodded. Time to play devil's advocate. "Norman didn't think there was anything more to find out. And his girlfriend seemed to think everyone should all get on with their lives."
Freeman snorted. "That figures. Do you have children, Mr. Burnside?"
I told him I did not.
"When you have children, and you put your life into raising them, and then something happens and they're gone... well, you want more than just the standard, there's nothing more that can be done. Man, I want something done!" he growled, his puffy face reddening. "Now! I want to know everything that happened at that party. No stone unturned! I'll pay whatever your fee is to find out for absolute certainty what happened that night."
"I'm not sure I can determine anything with absolute certainty," I said, "but I think I can give you more than you have now."
"Fine. Tell me what you normally charge."
"Your son already paid me a three thousand dollar retainer for one week. I barely put in two days. I still owe you folks something."
Freeman drew out a checkbook and wrote a check for six thousand dollars. "Here's payment for two more weeks. I want you to stay on this case and find out everything you can."
Looking at the check, I reached up and felt the lump that was forming on my temple. It stung when I applied the slightest pressure.
"It's no problem to stay on the case," I said. "The fact is, I never left it."
Chapter 7
As I drove off, my stomach reminded me I hadn't bothered to eat anything since breakfast. I stopped off at the Apple Pan, a place that had been around since the time motorized transportation was invented. The food was wonderful though, pungent smells of hamburgers wafting from the grill and apple pies from the steaming ovens. My stomach happily embraced the two hickory burgers, washed down with a few cups of decaf. My days of drinking coffee late in the day and sleeping soundly that night had long since ended. Sweet bird of youth, wherever did you go.
Rent on both my apartment and my office were due next week, so the windfall from Harrison Freeman came at a most propitious time. At one point I had been four months behind in my office rent, and only through the good fortune of solving an insurance case quickly did I escape the humbling experience of being summarily evicted. A pair of roommates had claimed that a burglary wiped out all of their possessions, including some highly sophisticated stereo equipment. A quick probe of a few audio stores uncovered the fact that one of their sisters was a store employee and had access to blank invoices. This was one of a number of insurance companies they had swindled, and the bonus I received was enough to pay off my debts and make me solvent for a good long while. Some days are indeed better than others.
After cashing Freeman's check and delving into some paperwork, I drove over to Danielle's apartment. Her building was on a quiet, tree lined street containing both private and apartment houses, apparently developed at a time when such zoning incongruence was not deemed important. It was nearly six-thirty and people were arriving home from work, looking exhausted from either the job or the heat. Maybe both.
Danielle buzzed me through the security door and I climbed up two flights of a narrow white stairwell. Her apartment door had a yellow smile sticker pasted underneath the peep hole. I rapped lightly and the door opened quickly.
"Hi," she said, a tinge of nervousness in her voice. "Come in."
She was dressed in a white undershirt that allowed a significant amount of cleavage to be revealed, and a pair of cut-offs that didn't hide much either. Her brown hair was wavy and loose and tumbled halfway down her back. For the first time I noticed her eyes, light blue and clear. As we walked in she picked up a blue denim shirt and put it on, a casual attempt at being demure. It made no difference to me. I had seen everything last week at the party.
"After what happened this afternoon I was wondering if you'd even be here," I commented as I followed her into the apartment.
She shook her head. "There's a fight in there every other day. It's really a scuzball place. This wasn't the first time I've seen a gun pulled out. Do you want anything to drink?"
The sudden shift in topics surprised me, although considering her age it really shouldn't have. I told her no, but was impressed she'd at least had asked. There was something sincerely innocent about this girl. She was young and involved in a rather unsavory profession, but still had the presence of mind to show decent manners.
The apartment was sparsely decorated, but it was clean and the walls had the appearance of a fresh coat of paint. No pictures were hung, and the only furniture was a fairly new white couch and a laptop computer sitting open on the kitchen table. She sat down on the couch, and invited me to join her.
"So you're a detective."
"Private investigator. I've been hired by the family to look into what happened at the bachelor party."
"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "Why did you want to speak to me?"
"I'm speaking with everyone who was at the party. Danielle, if there was anything you saw or heard, it would really help me. And as I said, I can probably help you."
"Can you help me get... a normal job, with, like, normal people?" she asked.
"I'll do whatever I can," I said, sensing a déjà vu. She even looked a little like Judy Atkin. And she had those glistening blue eyes. "Did something happen that the police aren't aware of?"
"I think so," she said, looking up at the ceiling. "I didn't see it, but I know something happened."
"How's that?"
"Tiffany saw it. We were playing this... this game at the time. I was, like, on top of her, fiddling around with the thing. Y'know?"
"The dildo?" I suggested.
"Yeah, that's it."
"I get the picture."
"Anyway, she's under me and all of a sudden she gets real tense like. I asked her if she was okay and she whispers that something just went off the balcony. I said maybe it was some garbage. They do that at some parties. Throw stuff out the window. Some people get drunk and can’t control themselves, I guess. And she says no, no, it's too big. She thinks it's a body."
"And..."
"And then some guy tells us to knock off the chatter and start screwing. So we did."
"Did you talk about it later?"
"I tried, but Tiffany just shut right up. Wouldn't say word one. So I didn't bother asking any more. "
"Uh-uh. They just told me to describe what I saw personally. And I personally didn't see anything. But I think that guy may have been pushed. The whole thing's really weird."
I looked at Danielle and the strings around my heart began to twist. She was so young and delicate, and had yet to acquire the gritty toughness that an experienced pro gains after a short while. Clearly, this was all new to her and perhaps there was hope. I wanted to reach out and put my arm around her but my better judgment blocked my path, telling me to not get so involved. Not like last time, although two years ago I certainly had more to lose.
"Do you think Curt had anything to do with this?" I asked.
She frowned and thought. "He seemed really nervous. He told me and Tiffany to say nothing to the cops. From the way he was acting, you'd have thought he had pushed that guy off. But I'm positive he didn't."
"How do you know?"
"Well, I don't quite know for a fact, but right before Tiffany's body tensed up, some guy reached over and grabbed my butt. That goes on a lot at these kinds of parties. Curt came over and smacked his hand away. Then it happened. Curt couldn't have done it."
She sniffled and a few tears began to fall. I reached over and stroked her hair and she began to cry all the harder. After a few minutes, I got up and fetched some tissues. She blew her nose a few times and gained some semblance of composure. I asked her where Tiffany lived and she wrote down an address for me.
"Can you help me?" she sobbed. "I really hate this business but I don't know what else I can do to make money. I mean I can't go home to Montana. I just can't. My stepfather's too weird. I came out here to start a new life, start fresh. But I think this is worse than what I left behind."
"I'll help," I said, wondering if I'd somehow regret it again. "But you really have to want to make things better. You can't just say you do and then go back to your old habits when you have a couple of rough days and need some easy cash."
She nodded eagerly. "I really do."
I turned to leave but something made me stop. "How old are you?" I asked.
"Nineteen," she sniffled. "Is that too old to start over?"
The question was asked with a face that was somber and pensive and reached out for an answer. Her cheeks shined through the streaks of tears and her blue eyes had grown wide. I smiled at her and said no, it wasn't.
*
It was a thirty-five minute drive to Tiffany's place in West Hollywood. Unlike Danielle's security building, this one was an open, U-shaped building with a small patio in the middle. It almost looked like a motel. I knocked on the door of apartment G, and a slim woman with short, wispy brown hair opened it. She wore white pants and a black t-shirt that advertised the most recent Green Day tour. Tiffany had yet to arrive and the woman rapidly gave the impression that a pile of dog droppings would be a more welcome sight at her door. I asked if I could wait and after suggesting I do so on the sidewalk, she slammed the door in my face.
I vaguely thought of packing it in for the night but decided to scan the news on my iPhone and give Tiffany an hour. After becoming fully versed on a city councilman caught with his hand in the till, the possibility of the Dodgers making the playoffs and the effects the broiling heat would have on local energy supplies, I finally saw Tiffany arrive.
Like most everyone else tonight, she was dressed to beat the heat. Unlike everyone else, her outfit reeked of sex appeal. Black halter top, bare midriff and neon green short shorts accented her long, teased blonde hair. Her face had no special allure, but that body was chiseled in Playboy heaven. She skipped up the steps carrying a bag of groceries, wiped some sweat from her brow, and walked inside her apartment.
I scooted out of my Pathfinder, strode quickly inside the gate and rapped on her door. The roommate answered again. My lucky night.
"I thought I told you to get lost," she said with the trace of a whine. "Creep!"
"I need to be told nicely. You hurt my feelings."
"Look ya sonuvabitch, I ain't playin' with you."
"Good," I said. "You're not who I want to play with."
"Tiff don't want to have nothing to do with no rent-a-cop!"
"Let her tell me," I said and jammed my foot inside just before she could close it. With a little push from my shoulder I forced my way into their cramped, old apartment. Tiffany was unloading groceries and gave a little yelp as I barreled my way past her sentry.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she screamed.
"You and I have something to discuss," I said, panting from both the heat and the sudden exercise.
"Oh, and what's that?" she demanded.
"Robbie Freeman," I said, and before I could say anything more, I felt something slam into my back. I pitched forward and grabbed Tiffany to steady myself. She quickly slid away. Turning, I saw her roommate coming at me with a kitchen chair. She brought it over her head, but I reached up and grabbed it at the apex before it could smash down on me with any velocity. I wrenched it out of her hands and threw it across the room, hearing it splinter against the far wall.
"You're gonna get hurt," she said, and before I could laugh she leaped forward and kicked me square in the chest. I hit the floor hard and was a little surprised as she quickly came at me again. Instead of hitting me though, she grabbed my shirt and commanded me to leave. I answered by swinging my leg around and knocking her feet out from under her.
I scrambled up and we squared off against each other, her looking fiercely angry and me feeling mildly foolish. I was six-foot-even and two hundred pounds, she was five-five and maybe one fifteen. I had never come across a woman who had seriously wanted to fight me. For me it was a lose-lose proposition. If I won, I lost, and if I lost, I lost big.
Her body was poised in a karate stance, crouched and cagey. She had no qualms about taking the initiative, which took me aback at first. I blocked a couple of kicks, and when she tried to punch me I grabbed her arm and yanked it behind her back in a hammer lock. I put an arm around her throat and told her to knock it off. She finally said okay but when I released my grip she threw an elbow into my ribs and tried another punch. I ducked out of the way and then backhanded her but good across the chops with my right hand. I winced immediately, remembering my encounter at Neary's all too well. She landed on her back, shook her head slightly and looked up at me, chest heaving.
"Had enough?" I asked, panting a bit myself. "Or is this going to be two out of three falls?"
She responded by taking a deep breath and kicking out at my groin. Her aim was off by a few inches and I caught the brunt of her blow with my inner thigh, which was not a delicious feeling either. I decided the inequitable bout would have to end. Grabbing the back of her hair with one hand, I reached down and took her by the seat of her pants with my other hand. In one motion, I jerked her body forward, slamming her face first into the refrigerator. She collapsed to the floor in a heap. I put my hands on my hips and looked at her, my own chest heaving, wondering what the hell that was all about.
In a corner stood Tiffany, her hands covering her mouth in a frightened pose. I walked towards her slowly, not entirely sure of what to expect. She didn't take her eyes off me.
"I've never seen anyone do that to her," she finally whispered. "She's a black belt. She's beaten men in matches."
"She's good," I said. "But this wasn't a match. No points are scored in real life. What's her problem?"
"She's not real crazy about men. Neither am I for that matter." She looked down at her roommate and up at me. "What do you want?"
Hallelujah. All that fighting could have been avoided with just a little communication. I could have cared less whether they preferred women to men, but certain folks just had chips on their shoulder. Lord, what some people put themselves through.
"I'm investigating the death of Robbie Freeman. Tiffany, I need your help. From what I can gather, you may be the only person who can prove that his death was not an accident."
"Wh
at do you mean? I didn't see anybody kill him. I was in the other room. With everyone else. We were a little busy in case you didn't know."
"I know," I said, not particularly wanting to get into the details of who was on top. "But I have reason to believe you may have seen Robbie pushed off the balcony."
"Look I'm on parole and I'm not going back to jail for anything. The guys at the party were cool. We asked them to just say we danced around and didn't really do anything, so no great law was violated. What's the big deal? The kid's dead and you're not going to bring him back. Let it be."
"There's something which separates our society from the animal kingdom," I explained to her. "We have a system of justice. When a person commits a crime, they have to be punished. If they aren't and enough people believe the system won't work, we become nothing more than animals."
"We ain't much more than that now," she said with a rueful look at her friend who was beginning to stir. "Believe me, I've seen a lot, and the one thing I've learned is you gotta take care of yourself in this world. Nobody's gonna do it for you."
"I need your help Tiffany."
"No."
"Did Curt tell you to keep quiet?"
She said nothing but her eyes spoke volumes.
"I can handle that greaseball," I said. "But I really need your help."
She gave me a look that said she had other considerations and judging by what I knew of Curt that did count for something. She was scared but unlike Danielle, she had been in the business too long and had seen too much. There was no going back to school or to Montana or to anywhere else. This was real life, baby. Got to take care of numero uno.
"At least you can tell me if he was pushed," I said, moving a little closer. She had amber colored eyes that actually seemed soft in the stark kitchen light. "Nobody's going to make you testify if you don't want to."
"How will that help you?"
"It will tell me that I'm not completely wasting my time."
She diverted her eyes and took a long breath. "He wasn't pushed off that balcony," she finally said.