Reed Ferguson 1-3

by Renee Pawlish

  “I need you to come down to our offices, so we can wrap things up.” He pulled out his wallet and extracted a business card, handing it to me.

  I reached out a hand and took it. I read the address on it and set it on the table. I sucked in a breath and held it for a second. I looked at White, who frowned at me, then at Forbes, who waited for me to speak. “The suspense is killing me. Why don’t you tell me now what kind of trouble I’m in?”

  “Okay,” Forbes agreed. “You realize you interfered with a federal investigation.” It seemed a rhetorical question, so I remained silent. “You could’ve ruined a lot of work for a lot of people.”

  “That’s right,” White began. Forbes held up a hand and White clamped his jaw shut.

  “I’m sure we don’t need to discuss the details of your mistakes,” Forbes said, “or how dangerous it was to continue. I think you’re sufficiently paying for that now.” He distinctly did not look at my wound. “And you did in fact help bring down the leader of the X Women. That warrants special consideration.”

  “Thank you very much,” I said, maybe with a bit too much sarcasm.

  “Hey, we saved your ass,” White leaned closer to me, his index finger jabbing at me.

  “Excuse me, but if you saved my ass, I wouldn’t be here,” I shot back at him.

  “Gentlemen,” Forbes interrupted. “Wayne,” he said to White. “Maybe you should get yourself a cup of coffee.” White composed himself, gave me a last severe glare, stood up, and left the room.

  “I’d say he’s more upset with your actions than I am.” Forbes came over by the bed. “Listen, Reed. You’re in trouble here.” I started to protest, but he continued. “Look, I’m not happy that you got in the way, but in the end you did help. If you cooperate with us, tell us what you know, testify against these women if need be, maybe I can make sure that nothing happens to you.”

  “What happened to the woman I shot?”

  “She’s being treated, but she’ll be okay. You managed to take her out of action, but leave her alive. We couldn’t have trained someone better. Lucky shot?” he asked with amusement.

  “Something like that.” I looked down and breathed with relief. I didn’t want to have to live with killing someone.

  “Having everyone alive makes things a lot less complicated. My offer stands.”

  “I walk away, no charges against me?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. Come down to my office tomorrow, and we’ll get a statement from you, and have you fill out some paperwork. There’s always paperwork.” He sighed.

  “I’ll be there,” I said. “By the way, what happened after I fainted?”

  “I never saw anybody hit the ground so fast.” He grinned. “We arrested all the women. Maggie, now there’s a woman of vengeance. She’s not telling us a thing. She’s asked for a lawyer and is already preparing her defense.” His eyes narrowed in anger. “We’re trying to get the others to talk, to turn on each other. We’ve gotten a few leads from the warehouse, but it’ll take some time to track all the women down. I’m sure a lot of them are already on the run.”

  “And Peter?”

  “Peter was treated for some bumps and bruises, and released. We questioned him for quite a while, and that’s only the start.” Forbes shook his head. “He’s had one helluva week, scrounging around, hiding like a criminal himself. If he would’ve called the police, or us, he could’ve avoided a lot.”

  “He didn’t trust the police, or anyone else.”

  Forbes shrugged. “We’re not all bad.” He paused. “Peter will be okay. He’ll have a great story to tell his grandkids.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, how his ex-wife tried to have him killed. I’m sure that’ll replace Dr. Seuss.”

  “Okay, he can tell it at the club.”

  “And Amanda?”

  “She is alive and well, and in custody. She’ll face charges for conspiring to kill her husband, and any other charge we can come up with. You got what you wanted on that one.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You didn’t let her die, but she’ll spend a good long time behind bars.”

  “Oh,” I said. He seemed to have all my bugged conversations memorized.

  Forbes stuck out his hand. “You did well, my friend. If I can return the favor...”

  I awkwardly shook his hand, totally surprised. “I figured you'd want to throw the book at me, since I interfered with your investigation.”

  Forbes cocked his head. “I’ll get over it.” He winked at me and left the room.

  I rolled back until my rear hit the pillows behind me and the pain stopped me. It wasn’t that bad, really. A pain in the ass, I thought wryly.

  I chuckled to myself, closed my eyes, and drifted into a calm sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Monday morning came with a chill in the air, but bright sunshine. After a day and a half in the hospital, I was ready to leave. At nine, Ace and Bob showed up. I had arranged the night before for Ace to pick me up because he had the day off, but I was surprised to see Bob tagging along.

  “Hey, dude,” Ace said as he followed Bob into the room. Okay, so Ace was tagging along. He nervously played with the corner of his coat, his eyes darting around the room. “Are you going to be okay?”

  I had gotten up when the nurse brought in my breakfast tray. After picking at some runny eggs and dry toast, I had showered carefully, taking extra caution with the scrapes on my elbows, knees, hands, and especially my bandaged rear end. I dressed in a pair of sweats and a sweater that Deuce brought over the previous evening, and combed my wet hair into some semblance of order.

  The doctor told me that with the exception of a scar in a place where few people would see it, I would recover just fine. My release papers had been signed and I was sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed when Bob and Ace came for me.

  “You don’t look too bad,” Bob said. “Are you ready?”

  I glanced at Ace, who was doing everything he could to pretend like he wasn’t in a hospital room, running a hand through his ponytail. “Yeah, let’s go before your brother dies of fright.”

  Bob smiled. “He’ll be okay. Ace, grab his bag.” Ace picked up the brown paper bag that contained the clothes I’d worn when I was admitted. The nurse had brought it to me this morning. The crumpled pair of jeans was now suitable for the trash; the seat of the pants had a dark reddish brown stain on it, and a hole that I could put my thumb through.

  A nurse entered the room, pushing a wheelchair. “Your ride is here, Mr. Ferguson,” she greeted us cheerfully.

  “Is that necessary?” I asked. I was wounded, not crippled.

  “Hospital rules.” The smile on her face didn’t budge.

  I shrugged and limped over to the wheelchair and sat down, putting all my weight on my right side. She wheeled me out of the room to the elevator, and in five minutes, she deposited me on the passenger seat of Bob’s car. Ace, decidedly calmer now that we were outside of the hospital, chattered the whole ride over to the Colorado Bureau of Investigations, where Agent Forbes had a temporary office. Ace mostly wanted to know if the fight I was in was anything like the one at the end of The Big Sleep. He seemed disappointed when I said it wasn’t.

  I arranged to call Bob on his cell phone when I finished, and I walked as normally as I could manage into the building. After two hours of being interviewed by Agent Forbes and his team, I was exhausted, but pleased that Forbes had kept his word. I cooperated, and the FBI didn’t press charges against me. Agent Forbes wanted another meeting, so we scheduled that, and then I called Bob.

  When we arrived back at the condo, Bob and Ace were kind enough to help me upstairs and into my place. They rearranged the furniture in the living room so that I could lie on my belly on the couch and see the television without craning my neck. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but it protected my sensitive derrière. Ace fixed me a sandwich and a glass of Coke, completed with a straw for easy drinking.

 
; “You need anything else?” Bob asked.

  “A couple of aspirin.” My rear hurt.

  Ace scooted into the kitchen and returned with a bottle. I took two greedily.

  “Anything else?” Bob asked again.

  “No, I’m fine now. Thanks for everything.”

  “Here’s the phone,” Ace said, putting the cordless down on the coffee table. “You call if you need anything. We’re right downstairs, so it’s easy to get here.”

  Bob and I exchanged an amused look. “Thanks, Ace. That’s good to know.”

  “We’ll check on you later,” Bob said. “Don’t worry about anything.”

  “I won’t.”

  They left and I soon drifted off while the television played Ace’s favorite movie, The Terminator. The phone rang, waking me. “Hello,” I mumbled into the phone. On the television screen, Arnold was doing some nasty surgery on his electronic eye. Cool scene.

  “Where have you been?” Cal asked, more than a little concern in his voice. “I've been calling you since yesterday morning. You’re not going to believe what I found out.”

  “It’s been a helluva day or two,” I said. “You won’t believe what I’ve been through.”

  “Yeah? Well, remember that list I gave you, with the accidental deaths?” He didn’t wait for a response, but barreled on ahead. “One of them related to a little girl named Sally Hanson. Guess who that is?”

  “The daughter of Maggie Delacroix,” I said. I heard complete silence on the other end of the phone.

  “How did you know that?” Cal demanded finally.

  “Have I got a story for you,” I said, and proceeded to relate the events of the last twenty-four hours, complete with my theory of the setup, and its relation to The Big Sleep, and my not-so-detective-like wound in the ass. Cal roared with laughter after I assured him that the wound was far from deadly, or even serious.

  “I’m impressed, Reed. You actually managed to solve your first case. Successfully, I might add. You put the pieces together just like Bogie. Life imitating art.”

  “Or something like that. Now maybe I can convince my dad that I have a real job.”

  “I doubt that,” Cal said. “But you have my vote.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Hey, I didn’t do very much. I’ll help anytime you want, as long as I can stay in my own home.”

  “Always,” I laughed as I hung up. What would I do without Cal? I turned my attention back to the movie, but quickly drifted off again. I was dreaming of Arnold and Bogie when the doorbell rang. The television illuminated the room in pastel blue. I’d been asleep for a while this time.

  “Door's open,” I hollered, wondering why Ace didn't let himself in.

  “How are you feeling?” Willie's soft voice drifted through the dimness.

  “Hey,” I said, trying to sit up.

  “No, stay there.” Willie came into the room and sat on the edge of the coffee table. “You doing okay?”

  Much better since you're here, I thought. “Where's your boyfriend?”

  “I'm not sure. I think he and I are finished. But it's okay.” She smiled at me. “Do you need anything?”

  “No,” I said. “But the company's nice.”

  “Are you okay? I mean, with the boyfriend thing?”

  “Uh huh.” She smiled again. “Really, I am.”

  “Okay.” She did seem fine, so I let it go.

  Willie picked up The Big Sleep DVD. “This one looks interesting. Want to watch it?”

  “Sure.” I was just glad she wanted to stay. And I was impressed that she wanted to watch an old detective story. Maybe this recuperation wouldn't be as bad as I had thought.

  She slid off the coffee table and inserted the DVD into the player. Right then the phone rang.

  “You want me to leave?” Willie asked.

  I shook my head. Willie watched the movie as I picked up the phone.

  “Hello, dear. It’s Mother.”

  “Hi, Mom.” I yawned. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, dear. I just wanted to remind you about our flight. I don’t want you to forget. Are you okay? It sounds like you were asleep. Were you taking a nap? And in the middle of the day. I thought you were working. You know your father didn’t think you could make a go of this detective thing.”

  “I’m still working, Mom. I’m still a detective.” I felt groggy. I turned gingerly on my side, careful of my wounded butt. I rolled my eyes at Willie, wishing I could hang up on my mother.

  My mother harrumphed at me. “That’s nice, dear. I just want you to be happy. I only wish you would pick something a little less dangerous. Goodness, what if someone tries to shoot you? I don’t know what I would do then. You know that the shows, like that Murder, She Wrote, aren’t at all realistic. That Angela Lansbury always comes out smelling like a rose. Really.”

  I made a quick decision: now was definitely not the time to tell her about getting shot in the ass. I could tell her about finishing my first case, and my not-so-near brush with death, when they visited for the holidays. When she could see for herself that I was perfectly fine.

  “You really sound terrible, dear,” she continued, barely taking a breath. “Are you sure you’re okay? You sound funny, like you did the other day. You’re not doing drugs, are you?”

  I chuckled. “No, Mother.”

  Reel Estate Rip-off

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Arnold Schwarzenegger is the greatest actor ever!”

  Ace Smith stood just inside the doorway of my office, glaring at his brother, Deuce. The opening shot of a long-standing argument between the Goofball Brothers had been delivered.

  “Dude, Sly is way better.” Deuce’s lips curled in a half-grin at his older brother. Then Deuce gestured for me to hurry up.

  “Bruce Willis is better than Sly.” Ace grabbed a pen from my desk and began waving it like a sword. He had a triumphant look on his baby face.

  “He doesn’t even do action movies,” Deuce said, rolling his eyes.

  “Hello! Can you say Die Hard? One of the best pictures ever,” Ace said.

  “Better than The Terminator? No way!” Deuce advanced into the room, snatched a pencil off the desk, and held it up.

  “Hold on.” Ace spread his arms like a referee keeping two boxers, or in this case, jousters, apart. “Let’s ask Reed. He’s knows movies. And he’s a detective.”

  I turned my head in surprise. It was true. I was a movie buff. And a detective. But I had been sitting at my desk, trying to ignore the interchange while listening to a voice mail message. I didn’t want to get involved.

  “Yeah, Reed. What do you think?” Deuce asked.

  No one ever won this argument, which was why it still continued. I hung up the phone, and shrugged my shoulders to indicate my indifference. I didn’t care. “You know what my vote is.”

  “Oh yeah. Henry Bogart,” Ace said, pointing the pen at me. “All that film now stuff. That Bogart guy is dead, you know, so that doesn’t count.”

  “It’s Humphrey Bogart and film noir,” I corrected him with a laugh, pointing at a framed Bogart movie poster of The Big Sleep on the wall. “And Bogie can act circles around any of your guys.” I pocketed my keys and led them out to the small waiting room.

  “Talking golf again,” Deuce joked. They both laughed. It was a hot, dry Friday afternoon in August. The temperature in downtown Denver was hovering in the mid-90’s, perfect conditions for a few cold ones during happy hour. I had decided to call it a day early and had phoned the brothers, who were available at that time of day because they were ending a week of vacation. Now we were heading over to B 52’s, a local pool hall, and I was heading into the weekend. No work until Monday. Actually, I’d wrapped up a case a week ago, and hadn’t done much since. Famous last words.

  I shooed the brothers out the door and was locking it behind me when I heard another voice, distinctly un-Goofball-like.

  “Reed Ferguson?” Each word was enuncia
ted carefully, a clipped tone.

  I turned. The ghost of Burt Lancaster gazed back at me. “Swede?”

  “Excuse me?” A confused expression spread across the man's face. Okay, not slick on my part, but he was the spitting image of Lancaster in his film debut as Swede Andersen in The Killers, a classic noir film. Same face, same perfectly coiffed dark hair with the wavy curls, same dark, chilling eyes. Except that Swede Andersen wouldn’t be wearing a three-piece suit and Gucci loafers. And right now the eyes were dimmed by a look of sadness.

  “Has anyone ever told you you look like Burt Lancaster?”

  The confused look on his face vanished, replaced by annoyance. “A time or two,” he said, his jaw tightening.

  “Never mind,” I said. Behind him, the Goofball Brothers stared at me impatiently, shifting around like two little boys who needed to pee really badly. “I’m Reed.”

  He shook my hand firmly, all business. “Jack Healy. I’ve caught you at a bad time,” he said by way of an apology, though I detected no hint of sorrow in his voice.

  I gestured toward the guys. “We were heading out, but I can spare you a few minutes.” Behind Jack Healy, Ace started waving his hands in a “no way” gesture, while Deuce looked crestfallen. They had already been antsy to leave. Was I going to have the nerve to ask them to wait longer?

  “Why don’t you guys go on, and I’ll catch up with you later.” I may be crazy, but I wasn’t stupid. If I had the brothers wait in my office, within two minutes they’d be arguing and fighting like ten-year-olds. That would make a good impression on a prospective client.

  They both relaxed visibly, goofy smiles on their goofy faces. “We’ll see you there,” Ace called as they hurried off down the hall.

  “Thank you,” Jack said, throwing a hesitant look at the retreating brothers.

  I opened the door and escorted Jack into the inner office. He took a seat across from my desk and waited until I had settled into a chair, my elbows leaning on the desk, giving him the best attention I could muster for a Friday afternoon right before happy hour.