by Mike Faricy
I hadn’t noticed it before but then I’d been otherwise engaged making careful notes as to her physical characteristics.
“Oh, sorry,” she said as she snapped the handbag closed with an audible click and then reached into her front pocket. She pulled out a small wad of hundred-dollar bills. I was actually more amazed there was room for anything thicker than a dime in her pocket. The jeans looked to have been sprayed on over her perfect thighs.
“Here is five hundred dollars I can get you more if you need it.”
“You still haven’t told me who you want me to ‘sort of’ find. A name would help, for starters. Not to mention, you know my name but I don’t know yours.”
Grace brought our drinks, grabbed a ten off the bar from the small pile in front of me.
“Oh yes, sorry, I’m Kerri.” She held out her hand to shake.
“Nice to meet you, Kerri, call me Dev. Your accent?” I asked.
“Ahhh French.”
She nodded, batted her eyes innocently, then proceeded to drain nearly half her martini glass.
“Mmm-mmm, that is a very good vodka,” she gasped. “Yes, French, but from a long time ago. I was just a little girl. Dev, I hope you’ll help me find my little sister.”
“Your sister?”
“Yes, she is called Nikki.”
“Hmm, Kerri and Nikki, sisters. Anyone else in the family? Mom, Dad, brothers, more sisters?”
“No, we are the only ones. My, I mean, our parents passed away eight years ago, maybe six months apart,” she made a quick sign of the cross, in the Orthodox way, reverse order to the Irish Catholic I grew up with. Then she washed it down with a hearty sip of martini.
“Oh, sorry.”
“Don’t be. My father killed himself, one drink at a time. And my mother was a religious crazy woman. She wore herself out trying to put a stop to anyone thinking of enjoying himself. You know the old question? Which came first, the alcoholic husband or the long-suffering wife?”
“Can’t say that I do, but I know a couple or two it might fit.”
“Yes, well.”
“So, Nikki?”
“Oh right, I have not seen her in maybe two months. Not that we were really close or anything, but she hasn’t been home for quite a while as far as I can tell and her phone is disconnected. Her car remains in the same place, in her driveway. I have a key to her house. I went through it but nothing seemed unusual, do you know? It was not trashed or ransacked or some-such.”
“Husband, boyfriend, kids?”
“Not that I know about. She had a boyfriend about a year and a half ago, but he did away with her. Actually he was keeping her on the side and had a regular girlfriend. He married that woman last spring. Nikki read about it in the newspaper.”
“That’s a tough way to find out.”
“Yes. I think he was maybe four years older than Nikki, Bradley Cadwell. Brad the Cad we called him. He is a lawyer now. But I must be honest, she only spoke of him, I never really met him.”
“But a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Say no more.”
She didn’t, instead she drained her glass and left the olives. With a nod I had Grace mixing a new double just after her empty glass hit the bar. Things become a little bit bleary after that.
I remember checking the rearview mirror constantly on the drive home to make sure she didn’t lose me, although I couldn’t swear to the exact route we took. I remember she could drink vodka like a fish, had a gorgeous figure. She was trimmed as opposed to shaved and had a little Victorian-looking angel with wings, sitting on a cloud tattooed on her right butt cheek. I was too drunk to read the writing that encircled the angel.
I’ve got a bite mark on my left nipple, scratches on my back, my bed’s a mess, and the place reeks of stale spicy perfume. My head is pounding and I just finished reading a note that says she only took a hundred dollar bill from the five she gave me out of “professional consideration”.
She penned her phone number at the bottom of the note, just after she wrote to hold onto her emerald green thong from Victoria’s Secret should I run across it.
I needed aspirin, coffee, and a sauna. Any phone call to Kerri could wait until after those things were accomplished. And ever the professional I made a mental note to find out her last name.
2
While recovering I sat in a back booth at Moe’s a little after one in the afternoon. Moe’s was my morning office at least three days a week. The earlier sauna and aspirin were working their magic, and the third cup of coffee kept me going until breakfast was delivered. I was just finishing up the last of my hash-browns, dragging the remnants through a slick of heart-stopping hollandaise sauce as I phoned Kerri. Her phone message kicked in, but the voice didn’t sound like her at all.
“Hey baby, thanks for calling. Sorry I’m all tied up at the moment. Leave your name and number, and one of us will get back to you just as soon as we can, bye-bye.”
My guess was Kerri didn’t work for a pediatrician. I checked my watch as the beep sounded to leave a message.
“Hi Kerri, Devlin Haskell here. Please give me a call when you can. I’d like to schedule an appointment so we can review some facts on your case and I can begin my investigation. It’s Wednesday afternoon at one-thirty, you can reach me at ...”
I’ll be the first to admit it was a bit presumptuous to suggest I’d be able to review facts on her case. I really only had four facts; Kerri’s first name, her sister’s name, Nikki, Kerri’s phone number, and five, make that four hundred dollars, cash in advance.
A half hour later I was behind the wheel of my car, debating about starting it up or going back into Moe’s for a couple more aspirin when my phone rang. I glanced at the number coming through like I always did and just like always couldn’t read the numbers.
“Haskell Investigations.”
There was a very long pause on the other end before a female voice sounding somewhat confused said,
“I think I must have the wrong number,” then hung up.
The phone rang again less than a minute later, I did my routine of looking at the incoming number, just like before I was unable to read the damn thing.
“Hello,” I said in what I thought passed for pleasant considering my hangover.
It was the same voice from a minute before, female, young sounding.
“Yeah, I’m calling for Devil.”
“That would be me, Devlin, actually,” annunciating the last syllable in my name.
“What do you need, baby?” sounding decidedly unimpressed with my attempt at correction.
“I need to speak with Kerri, actually. Is she available?”
“She can’t do nothing I can’t do better, honey. You don’t need her, do you?” She hissed the word nothing, suggesting maybe there was a space between her teeth.
“Actually, yes I do, ahh, need to talk with her. Is she there or is there a number I can reach her at?”
“You a cop?”
“No, I’m not. But look, I’ll call the cops and give them this number unless you have Kerri call me in the next half hour. If I don’t hear from…” Whoever she was, she was so impressed she hung up.
I decided to venture home, grab some aspirin, maybe close my eyes for a few minutes. My mood improved as I considered I could be sitting on the easiest four hundred dollars I ever made.
I had just put my feet up for the briefest of moments when my phone rang. Yes, I looked at the number. No I still couldn’t read the damn thing.
“Haskell Investigations.”
“Oh, no wonder Da’nita thought you were with the police. Do you always answer like that?”
I recognized her voice immediately. A hazy, torrid scene from the previous night replayed in my mind.
“Kerri?”
“Dev?”
“Yes.”
“Dev, I’m returning your call, remember? You wanted to set an appointment. I think we should. No drinks please, at least not until we’r
e finished with the serious business,” she chuckled.
“You tell me where and when.”
“How about your office?”
“My office?” I swallowed, the throbbing in my head returned with a vengeance.
“Yes, that is okay, no?”
It would be okay if I had an office, so I dodged the question.
“No, I mean, look, I think I owe you at least dinner, ahh, after last night and all. You free this evening?”
“I can be.”
“Okay, tell you what. You know Malone’s?”
“It is a place on the corner, with the black awning.”
“Yeah, you got it. I’ll make reservations, say seven, seven-fifteen, no alcohol. At least not until we’re done discussing. Sound okay?”
“Yes.”
“Great. Oh, Kerri, can you bring some pictures of your sister? And I’ll need her address and, ahh, if you have a spare key to her place that would help too.”
“Maybe I should just bring her.”
“Hunh?”
“Joking, never mind. I will see you at Malone’s.”
I was pretty sure I wouldn’t need a reservation, but phoned anyway.
“Yeah, I’d like a table for two at about seven tonight.”
“Not a problem, you won’t need a reservation.”
“Let me make one anyway, so I look important.”
“A reservation here is gonna make you look important? Jesus.”
“See you at seven.”
3
I had a nap, cleaned up a little, actually changed the sheets. Stole some flowers from the neighbor’s after I belatedly remembered I was supposed to water the garden while they were out of town. Showered, shaved, found a clean shirt, and some fairly clean black jeans. I topped it off with my black leather coat that a former girlfriend once described as making me look incredibly sleazy.
I was at Malone’s five minutes early and then waited twenty minutes nursing a Coke before Kerri arrived. Malone’s is one of those restaurants with passable side dishes, great steaks, a nice bar, and no surprises. It was about half full, which seemed rather good for a Wednesday night in the midst of the Great Recession. As far as I was concerned it was a good steak place with a limited wine list and cheap drinks. Ambience was not its strong suit. The placemat was white paper sporting purple script that spelled out Malone’s and looked like it was designed by a fourteen-year-old girl serving detention after class.
I was seated in the back, close to the kitchen door, which pushed in or out, depending, and thumped loudly every time it swung closed. So much for reservations.
Even the women sitting at tables cast an appraising eye for a brief moment when Kerri sauntered through the front door, stopped, and scanned the room. She was wearing some sort of black stretch fabric pants that were indeed stretched, wonderfully. Sling back heels, dangerously high, clicked across the oak floor. Conversation halted as she strutted past.
She wore a black strappy T-shirt, emblazoned with stretched, bouncing white letters that proclaimed ‘St. Paul Girls Are Hot!’ I could only imagine the thing must have shrunk in the wash. She smiled and nodded in my direction as she made her way to my table. Two waiters fought to pull her chair out, then lingered over her, fawning and leering down her top as she sat.
“Oh thank you, nothing for the moment,” she said, dismissing them before turning her attention to me.
I waited until the two were in full back pedal. Her perfume began to waft around the table before I spoke.
“Do you always have that effect?” I chuckled.
“Effect?” she seemed genuinely unaware.
“Nothing, nice to have the service I guess.” I’d never seen a waiter pull a chair out for someone at Malone’s before.
“I guess you did not need a reservation?” she said looking at the handful of empty tables, then stared past my shoulder as the kitchen door thumped closed.
“That won’t do. Excuse me,” she smiled at the waiter hovering in the shallows of her perfume. “Is there another table we could have, please? This door banging will drive me cuckoo,” she smiled, her accent suddenly stronger. I thought she set her shoulders back ever so slightly, batted her eyes, and maybe added a slight bounce or two to her request.
“I can take care of that for you. Is there a table you’d prefer?” he smiled down at her, then quickly stepped to the side to pull out her chair, hovering again to catch a glimpse as she bent forward. That was twice in the same night with the chair pulls.
“How about that one in the corner?” she said crinkling her eyes and grabbing his forearm.
“Not a problem, ma’am. Please, allow me,” leaping across the room.
“I don’t believe it,” I said once we were reseated and he’d danced off, attending to a table that had been attempting to get his attention for the past few minutes.
“What? I would have lost my mind with that door.”
“No, I mean the chairs pulled out for you. The waiter fawning all over.”
“Is it not what they are supposed to do?”
“Yeah I get that, but here? At Malone’s?”
“At anywhere, Dev, there’s nothing wrong with a little manners once in a while. Oh here, a picture of Nikki,” she said handing a folded manila envelope across the table to me. “I placed a house key in there along with her telephone bill and a credit-card bill. That man, Brad the Cad, his phone number is in there, too.”
I unfolded the envelope, reached in, and began to pull out what felt like a photo.
“It may be wise to wait,” she said nonchalantly.
I glanced down at the photo and focused on two naked women standing on a beach. One of the woman was Asian, I attempted to focus on the other. I registered red hair, boobs, and tan lines before I shoved the photo back into the envelope.
“Thanks for the warning I’ll study it later.”
“Ma’am, sorry for the inconvenience.” Our hovering waiter placed a glass of wine in front of Kerri. “Compliments of the house,” he smiled.
“Oh, that is so sweet. Is that not sweet, Dev?” again with the hand to his forearm, only this time rubbing up and down.
“Really sweet, Kerri. Could we see some menus, please?”
“A very nice wine, perhaps you should try a glass. Did you have to send him off like that? He was only being nice.”
“He can be nice to someone else’s, ahh, client.”
“Jealous?” she asked looking evil for just half a second.
“I thought we weren’t going to have anything to drink until after we discussed business?”
“Yes, that was your idea, no? But, I think everything you need, at least to start, is already in the envelope,” She took another sip and set the glass aside.
“What’s with the naked photo?” I asked.
“The envelope has her address. A key to her front door. It is a duplex, she has the top one. Her name is on the mailbox. Her last name is Mathias.”
“Kerri. The photo?”
“Ma’am.” The waiter suddenly hovered from out of nowhere, carefully presented Kerri with her menu, then quickly discarded another in my general direction.
“I can get you something not on the menu tonight. We have a wonderful steak, stuffed with smoked oysters and served with a special red wine sauce. Comes with whatever else you’d like.”
Kerri giggled, shrugged her shoulders, smiled sexily and said,
“I’m sorry, the smoked oysters, they give me the shits. I think maybe the cheeseburger, with the pepper jack cheese, please. Does that come with french fries?”
“If you want it to.”
“I do.”
“Very well, ma’am,” not even blinking.
“I might try that steak, what was it again?”
“Actually I think there was only one left. I can check and see if someone hasn’t already taken it,” implying it was no longer available.
I stared for a long moment.
“Give me the rib-eye, rare, hash
brown potatoes, French dressing with blue cheese on my salad. I’ll take a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. A double.” Then gave him a nod that suggested Got it?
“Very good, sir. More wine, ma’am?”
“That sounds very good, thank you.”
I watched him saunter away, took a deep breath to put him behind me. I didn’t mind him hovering, for a bit, but he was close to becoming a pest, and I was the schmuck who was going to get stuck with the bill in the end.
“Are we not happy after last night?” Kerri’s eyes flashed over her wine glass.
“No, I mean yes, yes, I’m happy. And by the way, thanks, that was very nice,” wishing I could remember more of what had happened as I thanked her.
“Nice had nothing to do with it,” her eyes flashed.
Over the course of dinner and more wine, Kerri effectively dodged my question of the naked photo at least half a dozen times. Nikki didn’t seem to have had any full-time employment. A couple of vague cleaning jobs, some house-painting gigs. She’d been a waitress, a bartender, done childcare.
“Did she file taxes?” I asked.
“Taxes?”
That spoke volumes, about both women actually. As enjoyable to look and leer at, as Kerri was, I felt there was something, or maybe, just something missing.
4
Eventually we finished up the small talk. Even optimistic old me caught on that nothing was going to happen tonight beyond dinner. The bill dutifully washed up on my shore, five glasses of wine for Kerri at twelve bucks each.
“You like the wine?”
“It was just okay.”
“Okay?” I tried to maintain my composure at sixty bucks worth of okay. My steak was a bare two dollars more than one of her glasses of wine.
“Well, he was so sweet and I didn’t wish to hurt his feelings,” she said, then drained her glass. The waiter was nowhere to be seen so I signed the tab and pulled Kerri’s chair out all by myself.
“Thank you, Dev. Shall we talk again, maybe in two days time? You should find her by then, no?” She was walking toward the door at this point, half talking to me over her shoulder.