American PI

by Jude Hardin

  Dylan, Joe Crawford’s ten-year-old son, was down there casting from the bank. There was a yellow dog standing beside him, part lab and part something else. Bear, maybe. The dog was big and muscular, but he didn’t look healthy. His ribs were showing and his hair was missing in patches.

  “Who’s your friend?” I said.

  “This is Bud. He started sleeping on our porch the other day. Dad says I can keep him. If I take care of him, that is.”

  “You going to?”

  “Yep.”

  “Bud looks sick,” I said.

  “He’s going to be okay. We took him to the vet and got some medicine for him.”

  “Good. Hey, did you see anyone walking around down here a few minutes ago? Young guy, black polo shirt?”

  “I haven’t seen anybody,” Dylan said. “But I just now came out.”

  “Did you happen to see any cars pull into my place or anything?”

  “Nope.”

  “A lot of help you are,” I said.

  “Sorry.”

  “When your dad gets home, tell him I want to talk to him.”

  “Okay.”

  I walked back up the hill and sat at the picnic table outside my camper, wondering how a twenty-year-old college student just disappears into thin air. It didn’t make any sense. I sat there and waited, thinking maybe he had wandered off to explore the property, thinking he would eventually find his way back, but he never did. I waited for an hour, and then I gave up.

  I climbed inside and poured myself a glass of water from a jug in the refrigerator. It hit the spot. I was dehydrated from drinking whiskey all afternoon and from sitting outside and sweating. As I gulped down a second glass, it occurred to me that a young man like Everett Harbaugh probably wouldn’t go for a hike without his cell phone.

  Somehow, in the early part of the twenty-first century, it had become mandatory to be accessible to your friends and family twenty-four hours a day. I hated it. In fact, I refused to participate. I used my cell for business, and that was it. But I knew how kids were, even kids as young as Dylan. They loved their phones. They didn’t go anywhere without them.

  So that was my first hint that something might be seriously wrong. I didn’t want to think the worst, but it was hard not to. For one thing, the twenty-first of October had never been a lucky day for me, even before the jet went down. It was the day my mother wrapped her Ford Fairlane around an oak tree. I was five years old at the time, and it broke my heart. I felt cheated. Robbed. And I had been. We both had been.

  The car crash and the plane crash were the two biggies, but through the years other unpleasant things have happened to me on the twenty-first of October. One year, in a bar down in New Orleans, in the men’s room, someone picked my pocket and stole my wallet. I lost two hundred dollars in cash, and it took me a month to get my driver’s license and PI license and all the credit cards replaced. It was a major hassle. They ended up arresting the guy, though. They caught him trying to use one of my cards at a filling station in Baton Rouge. I know his name, and I know what he looks like. If I ever see him on the street, he’s in for a world of hurt.

  I don’t consider myself superstitious, but I generally don’t go anywhere or do anything on October 21. I stay home and get drunk until it’s over. Maybe some of my bad luck had rubbed off on Everett Harbaugh. I hoped not, but I couldn’t help but worry.

  I decided to call Winston Fell and try to get in touch with the young man’s parents. I could have gone back out to the BMW and looked for the number in Everett’s cell phone, but I didn’t want to touch anything that belonged to him. I had a feeling it all might be evidence soon.

  Winston answered on the second ring.

  “Hey, Papa,” I said.

  “Hey, Nicholas. How’s it going?”

  “Not very well, I’m afraid.”

  There was a brief pause. Winston knew what day it was.

  “You been drinking?” he said.

  “Yeah. A little bit.”

  “So what’s going on?”

  I cleared my throat. “You know some people named Harbaugh?” I said.

  “Yeah, they go to my church. Which means I see them two or three times a year. Bradley called me the other day and told me his son Avery might need some help finding someone. I told him about you.”

  “Everett,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “The son’s name is Everett.”

  “Oh. I knew it was something like that.”

  “He came to see me today,” I said. “But then he disappeared.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean he disappeared.”

  I explained everything that had happened, from the time Everett knocked on my door to the time I noticed he was missing.

  “Weird,” Papa said.

  “Yeah. He’s been gone for well over an hour, and I’m starting to think something really bad might have happened.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “At first I thought he might have gone for a walk and sprained an ankle or something. But he’s been gone too long. And he left his cell phone in his car. Kids his age just don’t do that.”

  “Maybe this one does.”

  “I don’t think so. It was clipped to his belt when he first came over. Why would he have taken it off to go for a walk?”

  “You have a point,” Papa said. “So what are you thinking?”

  “His parents are rich, right?”

  “They’re loaded. Bradley’s an attorney, and Jill’s maiden name was Drake.”

  I thought about that for a second.

  “Drake?” I said. I didn’t understanding the significance.

  “Yeah. As in Drake Foods. Jill inherited the business when her mother died a couple of years ago. So yes, the Harbaughs are definitely what you would call rich.”

  “And rich kids get kidnapped sometimes,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “I know. It sounds like I’m jumping to conclusions, right?”

  “A little bit. It’s just as likely that he jumped in the lake and drowned. And how likely is that? Come on, Nicholas. How long has he been gone? A couple of hours? He might have hopped in a car with a friend or something. Or maybe he met a girl down by the lake while you were taking your little nap. A young man that age, you never know. I’m sure he’ll show up in a little while.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Anyway, I was wondering if you could give me his parents’ phone number. Just in case I need to call them.”

  “Sure. Hold on while I get my address book.”

  I stared at the whiskey bottle on the table, thought about it, decided to leave it alone. A few seconds later, Winston came back on and gave me the Harbaugh’s home phone number.

  “Thanks, Papa,” I said.

  “Sure. Feel like doing a little fishing sometime this week? I have some artificial baits I want you to try. I caught a six-pounder last time I went out.”

  “Maybe. I’ll give you a call.”

  We disconnected. I walked back outside and took one last look around. The sun was setting over the lake in a brilliant display of orange and gold and turquoise, and the crickets had started singing already. In most parts of the country the nights were getting cooler, but it was still summer in northeast Florida. Highs in the mid to upper eighties, thunderstorms almost every afternoon. The suburban types would be mowing their lawns for another month or so.

  I walked behind the camper and into the woods a few feet, and I walked back down the hill to the water. No sign of Everett Harbaugh. Or anyone else, for that matter. The lake usually stays pretty deserted during the week, which makes it nice for me and the other permanent residents. All three of us.

  By the time I made it back to my Airstream, it was almost dark. I went inside and opened up my laptop and did a little research on the Harbaughs. They were loaded, just as Papa had said, and apparently they weren’t getting along very well. Jill had filed for divorce back in August.

 
I stood by the stove and stared out the window. For some reason, every time I looked at that black BMW convertible in my driveway, I wanted to tack the third onto the end of Everett’s name. That’s what a rich kid like him would have been called in the movies. Everett Harbaugh III. But this was real life, and his daddy’s name was Bradley, and Bradley answered the phone when I called at 6:33.

  “My name is Nicholas Colt,” I said. “Your son came to see me earlier, and—”

  “He said he was going to. He was pretty upset when he found out about the sperm bank thing. I always wanted to tell him, but for years his mother wouldn’t let me. I figured it was time, and I decided that I didn’t need her permission anymore.”

  “Right. The thing is, he went outside to get something out of his car a while ago, and now I can’t find him anywhere.”

  There was a pause.

  “What are you saying?” Harbaugh said.

  “His car is still here, but he isn’t. He’s been gone a couple of hours.”

  “That’s not like Everett. He’s a very responsible young man. He wouldn’t just go off like that. No, something’s definitely wrong.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said.

  “Have you called the police yet?”

  “I thought I would call you first. He’s an adult, so the police won’t file a missing person’s report until twenty-four hours have passed.”

  “He might be dead by then. Where do you live?”

  “Hallows Cove. Lake Barkley.”

  “I’ll be there in an hour.”

  “Is anyone else there at the house?” I said.

  “No. My wife and I are separated. Why?”

  “I just think someone should be there to answer the phone if it rings.”

  He took a few seconds to think about that. “You mean if the kidnappers call and ask for a ransom? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I think it’s worth considering at this point. Then again, I might be overreacting. I talked to our friend Winston a while ago, and he thinks it’s way too soon to start worrying. He thought Everett might have taken off with a girl or something.”

  “No, he wouldn’t have done anything like that,” Harbaugh said.

  “I didn’t think so. And really, there aren’t many people hanging around the lake on a Tuesday anyway. That’s another thing that might make it difficult. If someone did snatch him, there probably weren’t any witnesses.”

  “I’m going to call the police. I know they won’t file a report this soon, but I’m going to call them anyway. Get the ball rolling. I can’t just sit around doing nothing, you know?”

  “I know.”

  “I’m a criminal defense attorney, Mr. Colt, and I know how these things usually go. Tomorrow, the police will conduct a search around the lake property there, and they’ll file all the proper paperwork and everything, and there might be some local news reports for a couple of days, and then—unless there’s an actual ransom call or some other compelling evidence that a kidnapping has occurred—everyone will forget about it. I also know that Everett might be dead as we speak, and that the police might find his body on their initial search. But until I know otherwise, I’m going to assume my son is still alive, and I’m going to do everything I can to find him.”

  “I would do the same thing,” I said.

  “I know quite a few private investigators, Mr. Colt, but Winston Fell says you’re one of the best around. I trust his judgment. Would you be interested in taking the case?”

  “You want to hire me to find your son?”

  “Yes. Will you do it? Are you available?”

  “I’m available,” I said.

  “I would want you to start right away. Tonight. Can you do that?”

  “Honestly—”

  “Because if you can’t, I’ll have to find someone else. This is my son we’re talking about, and I’m not going to waste any time.”

  I thought about it. On this day, fourteen years ago, everything that I held dear went up in a ball of flames. My wife, my daughter, all the members of my band. In the weeks that followed, I made a promise to myself, a promise to never, ever, work on the twenty-first of October again. I vowed to keep it as a day of remembrance. A day of mourning. A day to crack the seal on something strong and drown my sorrows in it.

  But maybe the time had come to break that vow.

  Bradley Harbaugh was hurting. I could hear it in his voice. Maybe it was time for me to let go of the past. Just a little. Maybe it was time for me to help the man on the other end of the phone, and allow the ones no longer here to rest in peace. It tore at my gut, but I knew it was the right thing to do.

  “I can start tonight,” I said. “I’m on board. A hundred percent.”

  “Good. And there’s something else I need to tell you. My firm was recently involved in a fairly high-profile criminal case involving a gang member. The verdict didn’t go his way, and some of his associates are upset about it. We’re assuming it’s them, anyway. We’ve been getting some pretty nasty anonymous emails containing all kinds of threats. We’ve reported it to the police, but you know how that goes. Anyway, I wouldn’t be surprised if this gang was involved in Everett’s disappearance.”

  “What’s the name of the gang?” I said.

  “The Five Points Posse. It’s a motorcycle club in Jacksonville. You’ve heard of them?”

  “Yeah. I’ve heard of them. I’ve even talked to a few of them through the years. What was the member you represented charged with?”

  “Murder,” he said.

  “All right. I’ll check them out. I’m going to need some money up front, for expenses and all.”

  “I can overnight you a check tomorrow. It’ll get there Thursday. Is that soon enough?”

  “That’ll be fine,” I said.

  We discussed my rate and some other particulars, and I told him to call me right away if he heard from Everett or someone claiming to have kidnapped him. By the time we hung up, I was calling him Bradley and he was calling me Nicholas.

  I put the bourbon away, took a cold shower, brewed a pot of coffee, and went to work.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I keep a first-aid kit in one of the compartments under my bed. I pulled the kit out and grabbed a pair of surgical gloves and walked outside to Everett’s car.

  I opened the door. I had a flashlight with me, but I didn’t need it. The dome light was bright enough to see what I needed to see. The keys were in the ignition. I hadn’t noticed that before. It appeared that Everett had climbed into the car with the intention of going somewhere. He’d probably seen me asleep at the table and had decided to bail on me. Almost anyone would have, when I thought about it. Who wants to hire a drunk?

  Everett had been sitting in his car, ready to start the engine and take off. Then, something had prevented that from happening. A second car must have pulled into the driveway.

  I call it a driveway. It’s really just a rut worn into the scrub grass from frequent use. A second car must have pulled up, and Everett must have gotten into that car.

  There was little doubt in my mind now that Everett Harbaugh had been abducted. If he’d gone somewhere voluntarily, he would have taken his keys and his cell phone with him.

  And his wallet. It was in the glove compartment.

  I picked Everett’s backpack up and set it on the floorboard. I pulled the wallet out of the glove box and went through it, carefully placing the items on the passenger’s seat in the order I’d removed them. There was some cash in the money slot, seventy-four dollars, along with a bunch of receipts from places like Best Buy and Walmart and Game Stop. Typical places for kids to hang out and spend their money these days, I supposed. Or to just hang out. The letters SB, an email address, and a string of seemingly random numbers and letters were written on the back of a receipt from a popular clothing store. I figured SB stood for Sibling Boards, and the rest was a user name and password for Everett to log onto the site.

  I tucked the receipt into
my shirt pocket, thinking it might be useful to check the site and see if Everett had gotten any hits yet. He said he hadn’t, but sometimes it takes a while for anything to show up. Another receipt had come from the University of Florida bookstore. Nine hundred sixty-five dollars and forty-three cents. A few textbooks and a bottle of spring water had cost Everett nearly a grand. No wonder a lot of kids end up in debt after college. Everything associated with going to school is outrageously priced. It’s practically criminal, if you ask me. Education should be free for anyone who wants it. And, as soon as I’m elected king of the world, I’m going to make it a rule.

  Debt was never going to be an issue for Everett Harbaugh, but he obviously had his own problems. He had been taken against his will. I was almost sure of that now. He’d been taken, but the reason for the abduction was still a mystery, as was the person behind it. Maybe the Five Points Posse was involved. I would certainly check them out, although kidnapping wasn’t their style. They usually took care of their enemies with a knife across the throat or a bullet to the back of the brain.

  I went through the rest of Everett’s wallet. There was a driver’s license, a University of Florida student identification card, a AAA card, and some insurance cards. In the secret compartment behind the photograph sleeves, there was a condom and a credit card.

  I was putting everything back into the wallet when the cell phone on the center console started buzzing. It was set on vibrate. It startled me. I almost had an accident right there on Everett’s nice leather seats.

  I picked the phone up and looked at it. The caller ID said Albert. I debated for a second, and then I decided to answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Everett?”

  It wasn’t Albert. It was a girl.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Who’s this?”

  “It’s me. Why are you whispering?”

  “I really can’t say.”

  “Is someone with you?” she said. “Is it her? I am so going to kill you. I thought you said it was over.”

  “It is,” I said, still whispering. “I’m alone. Where’s Albert?”