Mary, Queen of Scotch

by Rob Rosen

  “And it looks like you were sent on a wild goose chase.”

  I’d been thinking the same, but now, lying there with him as we talked it all out, there was no other way to look at it. “Arthur hired me to do a nonexistent job. Lucy isn’t cheating on him. I’ve told him that countless times, shown him the evidence, and still he kept me on the case. It was a waste of time and money.”

  “Unless you were unwittingly spying for him.”

  “Fuck,” I said, the bells ring-ring-ringing in my ears.

  “Now?” he said with a shrug. “Okay, but I might need a few more minutes.” He peaked down at his fifth limb, which was already aimed high for the sky. “Nope, good to go.”

  I gave him and it a gentle slap. He moaned in reply. Figures. “Not that kind of fuck.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Yeah, bummer. Bummer because, in fact, I think I really was spying for Arthur Slade and didn’t even know it.”

  He blinked. “To quote you, huh?”

  I pushed my head back into the pillow. How could I be so dumb? I knew Lucy hadn’t been cheating. It was obvious almost from the get-go. And yet, Arthur kept paying me, paying me to work a case even he must’ve known the outcome of. Unless it was a different outcome he was looking for. “My wigs, Jeff.”

  “Not the best quality, but we can go shopping for better, if you like.”

  My slap repeated, harder this time. The moan was louder, too. Again, figures. “I had a cam in my wigs most every time I was down at the club. Arthur Slade saw and heard everything I saw and heard. Only, maybe he was looking and listening for things I wasn’t.”

  “Such as?”

  I shrugged. “No idea. Must be something to do with the drugs that Lucy and Auntie are more than likely dealing. That’s my only guess. But who knows; could be anything. The drugs are just the most obvious choice. Or least obvious, considering it took my nearly burning down the club to figure it out.”

  “Okay, but now you suspect two things they don’t know you suspect: Ray is in cahoots with them and Arthur Slade was using you as a spy in the club.”

  I smiled his way. “Cahoots?”

  “Seems apt. Cahoots.” His smile mirrored mine. “I don’t think I’ve ever used that word before. Dating you has been so enlightening, Barry.”

  “That’s all well and good, Jeff, but now what? I mean, fine, I know those two things, but how do I use them to my advantage.” Which is when that lightbulb above my head flickered to life. “I think I have a plan. If you’re game, I mean.”

  “Me?” He pointed to that magnificent chest of his. It was hard, no pun intended, to look away from his dick, but his chest did come, still no pun intended, in a close second.

  “Sherlock never solved anything without Watson. Plus…”

  “I’m far more fuckable.”

  I nodded. Me and my dick both. “My point exactly.” He grabbed my other point and downed it in one fell swoop. “Indubitably, Watson. Indubitably.”

  Chapter 9

  Ray returned from his mini vacation. I set up a date. Dinner. At his place. I feigned a bad back and a need for company without sex. Hunched over, I entered his apartment.

  “Poor baby,” he said, rubbing my shoulders. He tried for a kiss and managed to graze my cheek. He was tan from his brief sojourn to Mexico, making him all the more handsome. Me, I had a boyfriend, which is what I kept telling myself as he continued to rub my shoulders, as my dick feverishly protested from within my jeans.

  “I twisted when I should’ve turned.” I aimed my body for his couch and fell backwards with a well-placed wince and grunt. “Better.” I glanced up at him. “How was Mexico?”

  “We found a drag bar. Britney impersonation, it turns out, is universal.”

  I made the sign of the cross over my chest. “Amen.”

  He sat down next to me, his hand on my thigh. I stared at it there. “So, what’s up with you?”

  My dick, for one. “Working. Missing the bar. My fancy dresses hang unused, unfulfilled, their destinies cut short.”

  “Drama queen much?”

  “It’s in the genes.”

  His hand ran up my thigh. “And I so do like what’s in your jeans.”

  I started to protest, feigning intense pain, but his cell phone rang just at that moment.

  He hopped up and retrieved it. “Hello?” he said, then nodded, then nodded again, then added a “Uh huh” and a “sure” and a “no sweat; see you in five minutes.”

  He clicked off. “See who in five minutes?”

  He sighed. “That was Jeff. His car broke down just up the street. He remembered that I live nearby and gave me a call. He needs help pushing it to a safe space.” His sigh got joined with a frown. “Do you mind if I go help him?”

  I shook my head. “I’d come, too…” I pointed at my back. “But…”

  “Sure, sure. I know. No problem.” He slipped his sneakers on. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Tell Jeff I said hello.”

  He nodded. “Sure thing.”

  And he was gone.

  And I was alone in his apartment.

  “Bravo, Watson.”

  I slipped my gloves on. I flicked on my phone and then my camera. I went to work, trained to look in the obvious places: dresser drawers, medicine cabinets, kitchen drawers, under couch pillows, beneath the bed, the couch, the bathroom sink, the kitchen sink. I found nothing but the usual stuff and quite a bit of dust, enough to make an entire bunny out of. The maid, it seemed, had also been on vacation. All along, I kept my breathing normal. I didn’t panic. It’d take Ray five minutes to reach Jeff. Five minutes to move the car. Five minutes of stalling small talk. Five minutes to return. Meaning, I had twenty minutes.

  Turned out, I only needed ten.

  See, I was also trained to look in the not-so-obvious places, trained, as well, to see things that didn’t quite fit. The floor was dusty, the counter tops cluttered, couch pillows out of whack. Ray was no neat-nick—though he did have other more amenable qualities, so to speak. In any case, my eyes landed on dust and debris and bric and brac, and then stopped when it hit the microwave. Everything else in the kitchen had a lived-in look, a smudge here, a crusted-on bit of some such thing there. The microwave, however, looked new, not a blemish on it, especially on the glass front, even more especially on the other side of the glass front, which is virtually never spot-free, not unless it really is new or…”Not being used for its intended purpose.”

  I closed the gap between it and me. I opened the door. The noise was jarring in the otherwise silent kitchen. I jarred. I breathed in. I breathed out. I smiled when I spotted the envelope taped to the microwave’s inner ceiling. Clearly, the dinner I was promised would not be nuked.

  I gingerly removed the envelope. I gingerly removed its contents. Inside was a simple ledger. Money in. Money out. Lots of money in both directions. Seriously, lots. There were initials in the first column, two of which stood out, over and over again: L.S. and T.N. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together and figure out what those four initials stood for. “Lester Smithson, A.K.A. Auntie Bellum, and Tom Nolan, A.K.A. Pearl Necklace.” I snapped photos of the ledger, page after page filled with obscene amounts of cash.

  I smiled. I frowned. I liked Ray. I liked Ray enough that, had it not been for Jeff, Ray would’ve been my boyfriend. Clearly, though, Ray was not what he appeared. None of them, in fact, were. Heck, even Jeff was a hardened criminal. I’d been deceived by the lot of them, but just how far did that deceit go?

  Of course, I didn’t have time to ponder this, what with Ray’s soon return. And so, the envelope was returned, as was my ass on the couch. I willed my heartrate back to its initial position and stared at the door. Which is when I realized I was sitting in a man’s living room, alone, unarmed, said man possibly out to get me, said man quite bigger and stronger than me. Which is also when that heartrate of mine jackrabbited to the max position.

  I rose. I headed for the door. I cou
ld leave, message him that my back was flaring up. I could be long gone before his return. I could, only I didn’t. Mainly because he returned sooner than planned.

  I stood at the door just as it opened. He jumped when he saw me. I jumped when I saw him. I forced a smile and pointed at the window to my right. “I saw you coming.” I hugged him. “Missed you.”

  He chuckled. “I wasn’t even gone fifteen minutes.”

  Tell me something I don’t know. “Only took five.” I winced. My knees buckled. I grabbed my back and groaned. “Oomph,” I added, for Oscar-worthy emphasis.

  “Poor guy,” he said. He seemed to mean it. Maybe his acting was even better than mine.

  I nodded. “Flare up. I think I need to lie down.” He pointed toward his bedroom. I shook my head. I was already in the esophagus of the beast; I didn’t need to be in the belly. “I have prescription drugs at home. Shit should knock me out. Hopefully, the pain will pass a bit then.” My frown returned. “Raincheck on dinner?”

  He nodded. He gave me a peck on the cheek. “Of course. Of course. Next time. When you’re feeling better.”

  I exhaled. It was a sigh of relief. I hobbled out the door. Meryl Streep would surely be reaching out to me for acting tips. “I’ll call you,” I said over my shoulder as I lifted my hand in a wave. I didn’t look back. Lot’s wife had been turned into a pillar of salt. I wasn’t eager for the same fate. My blood pressure, after all, was suddenly already dangerously high as it was. And so, my hobble picked up a little steam and I headed for my car, which was parked around the block.

  I slid the key in the lock. I turned. I jumped and grabbed my chest.

  “Are you okay?” It was Jeff.

  I gulped. “I was. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to sneak up on people?”

  He stared up at the sky and scratched at his chin. Seconds later, he looked back my way. “Nope. But I do have clean underwear on, just in case I’m in an accident and the paramedics should have a look-see.” He pulled his jeans away from his supremely flat belly. “Look. See.”

  I looked. I saw. I liked what I saw. Duh. It was so not the time to be admiring his quite admirable dick. It was also the perfect time. After all, I’d been through quite a bit of bad shit as of late. I leaned farther down. I took a whiff. “Yep, clean. Your mom would be proud.” That is to say, had he not been standing in the street showing off his dick. I righted myself and held his hand. “Ray is a bad man.”

  “Told you so.”

  I grinned. “That’s because you were jealous.”

  “Still.” He pointed to his car, which was a block away. “But he is a good mechanic.” He looked back my way. “How bad?”

  I shrugged. “No clue. But he is involved in whatever’s going on down at the club. Based on what I saw, probably some kind of middle-man, shuffling money back and forth. More than likely, drug money. In other words, pretty darn bad. Probably. More than likely.” I sighed. “But…”

  He sighed. “But you don’t think he is a bad guy, do you?”

  I shook my head. “Lucy, Ray, both of them are clearly up to something, something illegal. That much I’m fairly certain of, but both of them have been there for me, have been my friends.”

  His sigh repeated. “But what if they know about you? What if Arthur Slade tipped them off? Or Tom Nolan? Or Auntie Bellum? What if they’re simply keeping their enemy closer?”

  Of course, what he said made perfect sense, what with him being so damn close to perfect, however much in miniature. Still, my gut was in direct opposition to my head. And that, as I well knew, was a no-no, especially in my line of work. I got an A on that test. Well, a B, but close enough.

  “The first part of the plan worked. Maybe once the second part is complete, we’ll know exactly who the real bad guys are and what they’re up to.”

  He frowned. “The second part is far more dangerous.”

  His hand was still in mine. I gripped it even tighter. “I’ll be safe.” He started to object. He seemed to stop himself. People, it seemed, really could change. I thought of Lucy, of Ray. People could change for the better, but they could also change for the worse. I wondered which side of the coin they were on. Ray, after all, gave amazing head, his tail equally as spectacular.

  * * * *

  I was flying somewhat solo for the second part of the plan. I say somewhat because, though Jeff wasn’t with me, he was certainly involved in all this, however remotely. As an FYI, I was now wearing nothing but a pair of jogging shorts and a tank top. I did own a gun, but good luck hiding a weapon in that ensemble. Heck, my dick barely fit. Plus, my dick wasn’t too keen on having a gun nestled next to it. I was on my dick’s side on that one, by the way.

  In any case, I sat along the side of the road a short distance from Arthur Slade’s mansion. I had been spying on Lucy’s alter-ego Chad for quite a while. I knew his daily routines down pat. Meaning, I knew when he jogged and where he jogged. Which is to say, ten minutes after I plopped my ass down on the warm pavement, feigning a sprained ankle, Chad came running by.

  He stopped when he saw a downed stranger along the side of the road. “Are you okay?” He was in sneakers and shorts. Nothing else. Just a lot of glistening sweat and tight muscles. Adonis had nothing on Chad. Which meant that I had to stare up, above the neck, and not further south, mainly because, as mentioned, my shorts barely held my dick, and any expansion would prove deleterious.

  I smiled up at him. “I’m fine…Chad.”

  He squinted my way. “Do we know each other?” He paused. The squint squinted tighter. A grin suddenly appeared on his face. “Wait, Mary? Mary, is that you?” He laughed, belly muscles tightening. And while I said I wasn’t looking below the neck, yeah, good luck with that. “You clean up nicely.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll thank my parents for their genes the next time I see them.” As if my mom didn’t remind me often enough that I owed my good looks to her.

  “You’re hurt?”

  I nodded. “I never jog through this neighborhood, so I thought I’d give it a try, take in some new sights. Got busy looking at all the pretty houses, and, well…” I pointed to my ankle. “My bad.”

  He reached his hand down and helped me up. I winced. I scowled. I hopped and moaned and groaned. Surely, a Golden Globe would soon be sitting by my Oscar. “Can I call someone for you, take you to a doctor, drive you home?” He reached for his cell phone. Given that his shorts were even tighter than mine, yeah, no phone. Which I already knew would be the case, what with Chad actually being my case. “OK, so I’ll help you up to the house and we can call from there, maybe an Uber, or I can just drive you home.”

  I shook my head. “I was supposed to meet someone for lunch. I need to call him, tell him I’ll be running late now. I don’t want him to worry.”

  He smiled. “A boyfriend?” A wink joined the smile.

  “It’s something new. Lose a job, gain a boyfriend. The universe seems to love checks and balances. Anyway, we can call him and then I can grab an Uber home, pay you back later. No fuss, no muss. If that’s, you know, okay with you.”

  His smile grew brighter. General Electric could put it to work. He put his arm around me for support. “I missed you, Mary, ever since…”

  I grinned. I remembered the ever since. It was all funny in retrospect. Or at least would be. In five years or so. “How’s the club doing?”

  He chuckled. “The dance floor has never been cleaner.”

  We walked slowly toward the house, his body pressed to mine, the smell of sweat wafting up my nostrils. This was hard. Amazingly, I was not. I chalked it up to having a boyfriend, but really, it was probably out of nerves. Or maybe sixty/forty. I mean, let’s give me a little credit here.

  We reached the driveway. My heart was pounding. I’d never been inside the place before, only spying at the perimeter. Now I was being invited inside by the man I’d been investigating, by my friend who wasn’t really my friend, by a criminal and an angel. My head, suffice it to say, was swimmin
g. Mark Spitz should swim so well.

  “You don’t look good,” said Chad, the two of us now at his front door.

  “The ankle,” I replied. “Hurts.” He opened the door. We would be alone in the house. I’d made sure of that. I told the hubby I had new evidence, something big, something I needed to give to him in person: the lab results. I’d been holding them as collateral, in case I needed them for a trade. Today was the day.

  We were inside a moment later. Place was massive. The entryway was like a Hollywood movie, winding stairwell, crystal-dripping chandelier, and marble floors included. I suddenly felt the urge to yodel, just to, you know, hear my own echo.

  “Wow,” I exhaled.

  He chuckled. His package bounced. Not that I was looking, except, duh, I was looking. Mainly because I was trying not to stare at his chest, and so my peepers were focused south of the Equator. “Yeah, Arthur did well for himself.”

  And there it was again. The sadness. It seemed to inhabit Chad, taking up residence inside a corner of his soul. Plus, there was the choice of his wording. “Did or does?” This time I locked eyes with my former coworker, to be able to catch the lie; eye to eye, it should’ve been easier to detect.

  He shrugged. He looked nervous. I’d hit on something. “Let me get my phone. Then you can call your date and I can get you an Uber.”

  I nodded. “Thanks, Chad. Mind if I use your restroom first?”

  He pointed in the distance. He might as well have been pointing to Mexico, the mansion being so vast. I then hobbled east; he hurried west. I briefly turned to gaze at his tightly encased tush. After all, I’d stared at the front; staring at the back was simply a matter of getting the whole picture. It’s what we detectives do. All in a day’s work.

  Now then, like I said, the place was vast. Meaning, if you’re set loose in a desert, odds are good you’re going to get lost. Further meaning, finding myself in various other rooms was perfectly excusable. How many people, after all, escaped the Minotaur? No, they got lost in the maze and met their fates. Me, I was lost, but on purpose. Me, I was lost hoping to find something, something that could link all the pieces together.