“I would tell you to show me a court order,” she said.
“Well, what if I told you there was dinner at Alfredo’s in it for you?” I asked. Alfredo’s was the best Italian restaurant in town.
“I would tell you dinner at Alfredo’s trumps our confidentiality policies,” she said. Rhonda paused. “The number you gave me is for a prepaid cell phone. It was activated about a year and a half ago. There’s no name or address associated with the account, which means the user has been paying for it in cash. If I wasn’t strictly forbidden by company policy from sending you the calls to and from the phone, I would e-mail them to you.”
“Does taking you to a show before dinner at Alfredo’s create an exception to company policy?” I said.
I could almost hear Rhonda smile through the phone.
“As a matter of fact, it does. You must have read our employee handbook. I’ll send an e-mail to you shortly. It goes without saying I’m not the one who gave you this information. If you ever say otherwise, I’ll call you a filthy liar, liar with his pants on fire.”
“I am nothing if not discreet,” I said. Rhonda snorted again.
“You’re a hulking superhero. You’re about as discreet as a bull in a china shop. You are cute, though,” she said. “So when are you taking me out for my bribe? Uh, what I meant was dinner and a show.”
We talked about that for a while. Then, I said I had to go.
“Evildoers are not going to catch themselves, you know,” I said.
“The next time you call me, it had better be for the purpose of making an obscene phone call,” Rhonda said.
“I’ll start practicing my heavy breathing the moment I hang up,” I said.
CHAPTER 5
The next day, I pulled into the parking lot of Zenith Fitness. Rhonda had sent me an e-mail with the list of the phone calls to and from the number for George Chase. It was very long. The list alone did not tell me much other than the fact George apparently spent a lot of time on the telephone. I could call the numbers on the list to see what the people who picked up could tell me about George, but that would be just groping around in the dark hoping to stumble upon some useful information. I had no problem groping around in the dark—I was used to it—but looking for George at the gym where he first met Eileen seemed to be a better way to start.
I got out of my car, and took a look at the exterior of the gym building. I had driven past it before, but never paid much attention to it. It was in the northeastern quadrant of the city, the part of the city where you practically had to pass a credit check to be allowed to even drive through it.
The Zenith Fitness building was three stories tall and composed of glittering glass and shining chrome. The building was a work of art. My own gym was in the basement of a building in the city’s warehouse district and smelled of sweat and iron. It was probably against the law to sweat in a gym like Zenith Fitness, though. They probably only allowed their members to glisten. Grunting with exertion was probably punishable by death.
I walked inside. I wondered if my net worth was high enough to permit me to even step inside. Since I was not tackled upon entry, I figured I must be safe.
A young woman was seated at the welcome desk. She looked the way you would expect a woman who worked at a place like Zenith to look: young, sleek, chic, blonde, busty, fit, perky, and slightly dumb. According to her name tag, she was Britney.
Britney gave me wide toothy smile. It was nearly as good as my own.
“Can I help you, sir?” The way she said it, it was as if she had been waiting her whole young life for me to walk in so she could help me. I wondered if she practiced sounding like that, or if it just came naturally like her perfect teeth and C cups.
I thought about using subterfuge. But, the direct approach had a surprising success rate, especially when it was combined with the smile of mine that was designed to get women to tell me everything they knew. I flashed it at her.
“Hi Britney. I am looking for a guy named George Chase. I am told he is a member here. I wonder if you could give me some contact information for him,” I said. I was Truman the Trustworthy, my body language said.
“I’m sorry sir, but our membership records are confidential,” Britney said. Her smile did not waver, though it now had a slightly regretful cast, like she was disappointed she could not fulfill her life mission.
So much for the direct approach.
“I am in the middle of a criminal investigation. It is very important that I speak to Mr. Chase,” I said. A lot of times, when you said things like that with just the right authoritative tone, people assumed you were a cop and would tell you what you wanted to know. The fact I was a big, fit guy and looked like someone who would be a cop helped give that impression.
“Are you a police office, sir?” Britney asked. Apparently, she was not as dumb as she looked.
“No,” I said.
“Then I’m sorry, but our membership records are confidential,” she said with the same slight regret. I had heard this song before. I suspected I would keep hearing it if I kept asking Britney. I needed to talk to someone a few rungs in the hierarchy higher than young Britney who could tell me what I wanted despite the gym’s confidentiality rules. Rules were made to be broken, but usually only by supervisors, not low level employees.
“Do you have a manager I can speak to?” I said.
“Sure,” she said brightly, happy to have found something she could help me with. Her life mission was no longer thwarted. “Ginny Southland is our membership director. Her office is right over there,” she said, pointing a pink painted finger at an open door that was further down from the main entrance to the gym.
I thanked Britney for her help. I walked down to the open door and knocked on it. A woman who looked like she could have been Britney’s slightly older, smarter, red-headed sister looked up from her computer screen. The small placard on her desk identified her as Ginny Southland. I wondered if the gym only hired women who looked like Britney and Ginny. If so, it was the kind of discrimination I approved of.
“Can I help you, sir?” Ginny said with a smile. It was déjà vu all over again.
I smiled back. I decided to try the direct approach again. Surely it would not fail me twice in one day.
“I’m Truman Lord. I’m a detective. I’m looking for some contact information for a man named George Chase. I understand he is a member here,” I said.
“I’m sorry, but our membership records are confidential,” she said with that slightly regretful smile I was growing to know so well. I could have mouthed the words with her.
“Can you at least confirm that he is a member here?” I asked.
Ginny shook her head.
“I’m sorry, but there is absolutely nothing I can tell you,” she said. “Our membership records are sacrosanct.” That was exactly the word she used, sacrosanct. I was impressed. I doubted the employees at the gym I was a member of could spell gym, much less use the word sacrosanct.
“That is only because we just met,” I said. “It’s hard to share things with a stranger. I have a feeling if we chat for a bit, we’ll be fast friends. Before you know it, we’ll be chattering away, swapping secrets, and braiding each other’s hair like school girls.” I grinned at her. Truman the True Friend, my body language said.
Ginny smiled back at me.
“You think so?” she said.
I nodded.
“And, to break the ice and to prove that I’m worthy of your friendship, I’ll do ten handstand push-ups for you,” I said.
Ginny looked at me like she did not know what to make of me. I widened my smile a bit. I thought Ginny could handle it.
“Does this spiel actually ever work for you?” she finally asked.
“Sometimes. Not so far today, though. It struck out with Britney out at the front desk. But, hope springs eternal,” I said.
Ginny hesitated for a moment.
“Well, congratulations,” she then said. “Today is your lucky
day. Close the door.” I did so. She then pointed at the open area in front of her desk.
“I was promised some handstand push-ups. Do them, and we’ll take it from there,” she said.
I took off my jacket. I was wearing my gun in a shoulder holster. Ginny’s eyes widened a bit when she saw it. I dropped to the floor. I stood on my head and stabilized my upright body by placing my hands flat on the floor. I pressed my body into the air, careful to keep my balance.
Ginny counted the repetitions aloud as I completed them. I had said I would do ten, but I did a total of fifteen just to show off. I could have done some more, but a tremor in my shoulder that started at rep thirteen told me to stop at fifteen before I toppled over and embarrassed myself.
I got back to my feet. Ginny applauded. I gave her a half-bow in response. She laughed. Her teeth were gleamingly white and even.
“Okay, you win,” she said. “Show me a badge or something, and I’ll see what I can dig up for you.”
I handed her a laminated identification card, the one issued by the state which had a picture of me on it along with my office address and my PI license number. Back when I had the photo taken, I had wanted it taken with me holding two six shooters and clenching a knife between my teeth. I thought it evoked an appropriately daredevil look. But, the photographer had refused to photograph me like that. Nobody had a sense of flair anymore.
Ginny took the card and studied it for a moment. She handed it back to me.
“You’re a private detective?” she said.
“Correct.”
“Not a policeman?”
“Also correct. To the ACPD’s eternal dismay,” I said.
“Then, technically, I don’t have to tell you a thing.”
“Technically, you are right. But, I did just do fifteen outstanding handstand push-ups for you.
She smiled and gestured for me to sit down.
“That’s true,” she said. “It seems like that should earn you something. George Chase you said?”
I nodded. Ginny turned to her computer and started typing. As her fingers flew over the keys, she spoke again.
“Besides, I get the feeling if I don’t tell you what you want to know, you’ll pester me and my employees until someone does,” she said.
“They don’t call me Truman the Tenacious for nothing,” I said.
I scooched my chair over a bit so I could see her computer screen. I wanted to make sure she really was looking George up. Again, trust but verify.
Ginny frowned at her screen.
“George Chase sounds like a common enough name, but we don’t seem to have a member with that name,” she said. She looked at me. “Are you sure you have the name right?”
I thought about the fact Eileen did not know where George lived or what he did for a living. He could have really been named Ebenezer Scrooge for all she or I knew.
“No, I’m not,” I said.
“It looks like I’m not going to be able to help you after all, then,” Ginny said. “And to think you did your push-ups for me for nothing.”
Ginny looked me over appreciatively. Her eyes were a brilliant crystal blue.
“Are you sure there’s not something else I can do for you?” she then asked. The words “something else” held a world of tantalizing possibilities. It must have been the gun. It got the ladies every time.
“As a matter of fact, there is,” I said. “How much does it cost per month to join the gym?”
She told me.
Good Lord! It was a good thing I was still seated. Apparently, employees like Ginny and Britney did not come cheap.
Women who looked like them never did.
CHAPTER 6
The next morning, I started working out at Zenith Fitness. I was having a hard time finding George—or whatever his name actually was—any other way, so I thought I would try hanging out in the place he had met Eileen. I did not quite need to mortgage my condominium to pay for a month’s membership at Zenith, but it had been a close thing even though Ginny had been kind enough to give me a discount. I would be sure to bill the expense to Eileen.
Ginny had also agreed to go out on a date with me. Somehow I did not think I would be able to bill the expense of the date to Eileen.
The interior of the gym matched its exterior splendor. There were indoor swimming pools, racquetball courts, squash courts, a basketball court, a massage area, a sauna, a weight room, a cardio room, a spinning room, a yoga room, and a bunch of other amenities I did not explore. The place was sparklingly clean, well-appointed, and well-maintained. It made my regular gym seem like a torture chamber housed in a dungeon by comparison. I was under the distinct impression if I dripped sweat on the floor of Zenith, some dude named Chad who looked like a male model would materialize out of thin air, wipe up the sweat with his golden tresses, and offer me a towel smelling of jasmine and upward mobility.
It was mid-morning on a weekday, yet there were plenty of people at the gym. I was an intrepid crime-fighter who set his own hours. I wondered what all these other people did for a living that allowed them to be at the gym during the workday. Though there were some men working out, the gym was mostly filled with women. Everyone was well-built, well-coiffed, and apparently well-heeled. Everyone seemed to be more interested in looking good while they worked out than they were in simply working out. I had been to black-tie events where the women wore less makeup.
Almost all of the women had the earmarks of housewives who were married to wealthy men. That answered my earlier question of what these people did for a living, or at least the housewives. Part of their job as wives was no doubt staying in shape.
They were doing an admirable job at it. Two such women walked by as I rested between sets of bench presses. I closely examined their tight derrieres clad in yoga pants. You never knew where you might find a clue.
I lay back down on the bench to complete my sets. I stuck out like a sore thumb in the gym for several reasons: one, I was male; two, I was not dressed to impress; and three, I was lifting heavier weights than anyone else there. I had been weight-training four days a week all of my adult life, and it showed. I saw several women and a handful of men check me out as I cycled through my workout routine. I was tempted to flex, but I restrained myself. I did not want to get swarmed by a gaggle of horny women. I was trying to conduct a covert operation after all.
As I lifted the loaded barbell over my chest, it occurred to me if I was looking to hook up with an attractive, wealthy woman, Zenith Fitness was exactly the kind of place I would come to do it. I wondered if my boy George had had the same thought. I would be sure to ask him once I located him.
Unfortunately, I did not locate him that day though I spent over two hours in the building working out. I also did not find him the following day, or the day after that. I did, however, find a multitude of women I would not have minded seeing naked. By multitude, I meant the vast majority of women who worked out at Zenith. I felt like a kid in a very expensive candy store. Maybe mortgaging my condo to continue my Zenith membership was not such a bad idea after all.
The fourth day I struck gold. I was running on a treadmill when I saw George walk into the cardio area. Even with his monster schlong concealed in workout attire, I recognized him from the naked picture Eileen had shared with me. He was tall; not as tall as I, but close. His brown hair was so dark it was almost black. Though it was on the long side, his hair was well-styled. He clearly spent more on his haircuts than I did on mine. He was muscular the way guys were when they worked out regularly and ate right, but did not obsess about it. A couple of days of dark stubble was on his face. He looked to be in his early thirties.
As I watched, George got onto an elliptical machine on the other side of the cavernous room. Once it became clear he was not going anywhere anytime soon, I climbed off the treadmill.
“The game is afoot, Watson,” I whispered conspiratorially to the woman walking on the treadmill next to mine. She looked at me like I had sprouted a secon
d head. Nobody appreciated the classics anymore.
I walked out of the room, taking a route through the maze of machines so I would not go near George. I went to the locker room. I was tempted to take a quick shower, but I did not want to take a chance on George leaving before I was through. Instead, I quickly toweled off and put my street clothes on. I went to the parking lot, hopped in my car, and drove to the front door of the gym. It was the only non-emergency exit. I had confirmed that earlier.
The only parking space that was available close to the building with a clear view of the front door was a space with a sign over it that read “Manager Parking Only.” I was a well-known stickler for rules, so I pulled my car into the empty space. I was the manager of my private detective firm, after all.
It was crisp fall day, so I was comfortable in the closed car. Comfortable, but bored as the time dragged on. George apparently was having a very thorough workout as he was taking his own sweet time in making an appearance. A friend had given me a doorstop of a political biography for Christmas, and I had it in the backseat. I was tempted to pick it up to keep my mind occupied while I waited. But, I resisted the impulse. What if I got so absorbed in it I missed George coming out of the building? Or, as was more likely, what if the darned thing put me to sleep? A blurb on the book’s jacket had described it as “magisterial,” which was usually just a nice way of saying very long and incredibly boring.
So, instead, I turned on the radio. After a few minutes of listening to music which sounded like it had been written by drunk monkeys and sung by rabid howling cats, I shut it back off. Silence was indeed golden.
I spent the rest of the time I waited thinking of football, sex, poker, sex, my favorite books, sex, my favorite movies, sex, what I wanted for lunch, and sex. A professional gambler once described playing poker as hours of boredom followed by moments of sheer terror. Being a detective was much the same. A lot of detecting was simply waiting around. While not as exciting, waiting around was infinitely preferable to getting the snot kicked out of you by a supervillain, though. Having done both, I knew that from firsthand experience.
Superhero Detective Series (Book 1): Superhero Detective For Hire Page 3