by N. C. Lewis
"Yep, I'll be back in good time to drive you to the airport. Anything else?" Nick asked.
"Brunch with Danielle at eleven thirty." Danielle Sánchez, a close friend, also helped out in Amy's staging business and worked as a teaching assistant in a local school. "Since school is out this week we've got plenty of time to catch up."
"Don't overdo it!" Nick said in a playfully mocking tone. "Sounds like a busy schedule."
Amy swatted at him and missed. "Sometimes we girls need a little time to get together and chat about business."
Nick grinned. "Are you telling me the staging business is not all Hollywood celebrities and rock stars!"
Before Amy could answer, the kitchen door opened. Their daughter Ruby sauntered in followed by her husband, Noel. The young couple was down on their luck. Noel had worked a succession of jobs, none of which had lasted very long. Recently, Ruby had returned to her childhood home with Noel in tow. "He needs time," she had told her parents, "to find his footing."
"Good morning," Noel said, sauntering over to the coffeepot. "What's for breakfast?" He wore a button-down shirt, black slacks with a matching jacket thrown casually across his arm.
"I'll rustle up some eggs," Amy said, getting to her feet. "What're you all dressed up for?"
"Mom," interrupted Ruby, "Noel starts work for the museum today as a docent."
"Docent?" Nick asked bemusedly. Besides a visit to the Texas Rangers Museum in San Antonio, he wasn’t a regular at museums.
"Guide," Ruby replied, bristling with pride. "Noel gets to talk to the visitors about the exhibits."
"Got two weeks of training before they set me loose on the paying guests," Noel added, pouring milk into his cup.
Amy cracked four eggs into a pan, added a knob of butter and stirred. "Scrambled okay with you both?"
Noel had worked at an investment firm, as an assistant to a psychologist, and many other positions. It had slipped Amy's mind that today was his first day at the Bullock Museum. "That reminds me," she said, stirring the eggs, her eyes twinkling at how neat Noel looked. "I've got a call with Miles Block this afternoon. You remember Miles?"
"Yes, Ruby and I met him at the actor Danny Fontane's relaunch party," Noel replied.
They fell silent for a long moment. Danny Fontane had been murdered at the party. Noel had helped solve the crime. The memories were still fresh, and somewhat painful, for everyone involved, including Amy and Nick.
"Miles is a decent fellow," Nick said, breaking the reflective hush. "I've run across him in my work. What about him?"
"He's organizing an event at the Bullock Museum, invited Studio Shoal Seven to help stage some items."
"At the museum?" Nick asked with growing curiosity. "What types of items?"
"Not sure. Miles mentioned something about Texas figurines. Guess I'll get the full details when I speak with him later today."
Chapter 4
Officer Bob Chambers sat at his desk eating donuts and humming to himself when Nick walked into their open-plan office at police department headquarters.
"Got me a new supplier," Chambers said as Nick slung his jacket across the back of his chair and fired up his computer.
"What!" Nick replied, only half listening, his mind on his meeting with the lieutenant.
Chambers held up the donut box. "Found a new house of pleasure on my way in this morning. It's called Donut Wall: tiny place, almost missed it. On South Lamar just before Route 71." He held up a sample. It was a large pear-shaped donut about the size of a tennis ball, sprinkled with powdered sugar. Chambers took a bite, a glutinous red-colored jelly oozed down his many chins. "Yummy… delicious!"
Nick wasn't in the mood for donut talk; he was trying to plan his line of attack with the lieutenant. Barbara Edwards, the lieutenant's secretary, had scheduled his meeting for a little after ten a.m. He worked hard on having a good relationship with Barbara, never knew when he might need access to information to which she was privy.
This morning he needed time to clarify his thinking, plan his response to the scenarios he'd gone over in his mind on the drive into the office. Nick had asked Barbara to schedule the meeting for this morning and was pleased when he discovered she'd given him the ten a.m. time slot. He'd also asked that she keep the content of the meeting private. As a leader, he didn't want Officer Chambers to know he wanted to get back into the executive protection unit—not yet anyway.
Chambers held a Donut Wall paper coffee cup high in one hand and the remains of the jelly donut in the other. "Almost as good as"—he took a bite of the jelly donut—"Dunkin' Donuts." Now he turned his bloated face to the coffee cup, took a long, greedy gulp, slurping the brown liquid through slobbering lips. "It's coffee, Nick, but not as we know it… tastes alien… from another planet… or universe… like moldy cardboard… You'll never guess who I met in the donut shop."
"Eh?" Nick said frustrated.
"Go on... guess."
Nick could barely contain himself. He was already stressed out preparing for his upcoming meeting with the lieutenant, didn’t like Chambers' work ethic, and now the lazy cop wanted to play guessing games. "Shut up, Chambers," he snapped.
Chambers ignored his hostility. "What you seeing the lieutenant about?"
That surprised Nick. "Personal matter," he replied then changed the subject. "What's on the schedule today?"
Chambers crammed the remaining fragments of the jelly doughnut into his mouth, then picked up the crumbs from the empty cardboard box and chewed vigorously. All the while he kept his eyes on Nick. "The grapevine says your meeting with the lieutenant has something to do with the executive protection unit."
"What makes you think that?"
"I have my sources."
"Who?"
Chambers tapped the side of his nose smearing jelly along its bulbous edge. "Anonymous."
Nick let out a frustrated sigh. The police department was like a leaky ship; nothing was confidential. "Okay," he said, knowing denying it would only add to the rumor mill. "I'm speaking with the lieutenant to get a status update on the executive protection unit. Satisfied?"
Chambers shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Better let that go." He lowered his voice. "The lollipop liaison unit is the best thing that's happened to either of us. We are living on Easy Street. Not a good idea to rock the boat; we both might fall out!"
Nick didn't want to get into an argument; there was nothing more to be said on the matter. Chambers was the type of police officer who checked in at nine and left at five. He put in enough hours to receive his regular pay, was the last in line to raise his hand for overtime, and he never took work home.
Officer Chambers struggled to his feet. "Going to get me a decent coffee." He shuffled by Nick's desk, out through a doorway. "Back soon," he said, throwing the words over his shoulder.
Nick glanced at his watch—nine fifteen. He had forty-five minutes before his meeting with the lieutenant. That was enough time for him to get his game plan together. He took out a notepad and pen.
"Detective King."
Nick let out another frustrated sigh before he glanced up to see Barbara Edwards standing two steps from the edge of his desk. She stared studiously above his head, not wanting to meet his eyes. Instantly Nick knew the source of Chambers' information.
"Hi Barbara," he said slowly. "What's up?"
"About your meeting with Lieutenant Kostopoulos?" She still wouldn't meet his eyes.
He dropped the pen on the notepad and looked quizzically at her. "Seems the entire department knows about it."
"Really?" Barbara replied, glancing in his direction, a half smile on her face.
"E-V-E-R-Y-O-N-E," he said punctuating each letter, jabbing his finger at Barbara. Then he left a silence that caused her to elaborate.
"Impossible to keep things secret in this place," she said apologetically. "As soon as something is marked confidential everyone knows about it." The half smile was gone.
Nick snapped. "Especially when the lieut
enant's secretary can't keep her mouth shut." He instantly regretted his words, felt a sour sensation bubbling up in his stomach as Barbara's thin brows contracted to a solid black line across her forehead.
"Detective King," Barbara said, staring directly into his eyes. "I came to warn you the lieutenant is in a foul mood today, and to let you know that… well, you'll find out soon enough."
Nick scrambled to his feet to apologize, but Barbara had whirled around and stood by the door. A forced smile creased her lips but did not light her eyes. "The lieutenant wants to see you now."
Nick hadn't had time to plan out his questions and think through his responses. He grabbed his notepad and pen, took a deep breath, let the air out slowly from his lungs, and hurried after Barbara.
Chapter 5
Lieutenant Kostopoulos' door was firmly shut when Nick arrived. He stood for a moment wondering what to do, heard voices inside, and sat on a rickety, plastic chair directly opposite Barbara Edwards now staring intently into a computer screen. He knew she was ignoring him, and that was fine, just fine.
Out of the corner of his eye, Nick watched Barbara as she worked. The gossipy woman didn't seem to notice. How many confidential secrets had she let slip? Probably half the rumors that swirled around the department came directly from her mouth. With a growing sense of indignation and frustration he let out a loud sigh.
Nick understood it was never a good idea to get on the wrong side of the administrative staff. They held the keys to the executive suites. But he couldn’t bring himself to forgive Barbara for her indiscretion. Not yet. Perhaps after a day or two, he thought, he would buy her flowers, chocolates, and attempt to make peace.
He glanced down at his notepad, fished in his jacket pocket for a pen, and considered how he should phrase his questions to the lieutenant. Nick had been concentrating on this for less than sixty seconds when the lieutenant's door flew open. Detective Mary Wilson shuffled out. Nick knew her well enough to tell from the somber frown etched into her face, slight stoop of the shoulders, and lethargic step that her meeting hadn't gone well.
Detective Wilson glanced around, smiled at Nick, then spoke in a low whisper. "City hall's got the lieutenant as mad as a black bear that's lost its honey. Extreme caution advised."
If Nick hadn't been paying attention, he would have missed it. But he was paying attention, and he understood, gave Mary two thumbs-up as a sense of doom washed over his entire body. If he hadn't known already, he knew now, this wasn't the best time to approach the lieutenant with his request. But Nick was stubborn, which was one of his good cop traits. Despite doubts, he took a deep breath and entered the lieutenant's office.
Lieutenant Kostopoulos was leafing through an official-looking document and didn't look up. "Detective King, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
Nick glanced at the two empty office chairs pushed up close on the opposite side of the lieutenant's desk, decided it was better to stand until asked to sit. "I have a request, sir."
Without looking up, the lieutenant's left hand stretched out to a mug of steaming coffee that sat nearly at the far edge of his desk. He blew on the surface to cool it then glanced up at Nick through narrowed eyes. "A request, Detective King?"
"Yes, sir. I know you are happy with the work my team has completed in the lollipop liaison unit—"
"Get to the point, King," the lieutenant barked. Lieutenant Kostopoulos only referred to senior members of his team by their last name when he was in a belligerent mood. Nick knew already that his ship had sunk, and he hadn't even asked his question. "I don't have all day. What is it?"
"The executive protection unit, sir," Nick said out of a rapidly drying mouth.
"What about it?"
"I'd like your permission to transfer back into the unit as its head, sir."
The lieutenant said nothing at first. Then he raised his head. "Permission denied."
"Pardon?"
The lieutenant spread his hands on the desk. "What I want from you, Detective King, is one hundred percent commitment to the lollipop liaison unit. The chief is extremely happy with the progress you have made, and so is city hall." He stood up and looked steadily at Nick through slitted eyes. The meeting was over.
As Nick turned to leave, the lieutenant's voice softened. "Nick, my hands are tied on this matter. If I moved you over to the executive protection unit, you'd have a target on your back."
"Why?" Nick asked, ignoring formality.
Lieutenant Kostopoulos shook his head. "You didn't hear this from me."
Nick stepped toward the desk and nodded.
The lieutenant lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. "The chief tells me city hall doesn’t believe there are enough threats against senior executives in the city to warrant the expenditure. It seems our political masters believe private security agencies offer a more cost-effective solution."
Nick took another step forward, and the lieutenant motioned him to sit.
"I bumped into your partner, Bob Chambers, at a new donut shop on South Lamar this morning." The lieutenant's voice dropped an octave. "I let him know the score, asked him to inform you. It's often better these things come down the grapevine."
Nick rocked back in his chair, almost toppling over. The lieutenant didn’t seem to notice as he was reaching for his coffee.
"Listen, Nick, what I didn’t tell Chambers was that the executive protection unit is likely to be furloughed. If I grant your request, there's a good chance you'll be furloughed along with it."
Chapter 6
Charles Goulart folded and unfolded his arms, wriggled in his seat, then let out a frustrated sigh. The movie was almost over but the constant chatter of small children asking their grandparents for more popcorn, or another drink, or to go potty shattered his concentration. Charles knew he couldn’t complain; it was to be expected at the Grandparents with Toddlers for Free midmorning screening at the Paramount Theater.
At forty-eight, Charles was old enough to be a grandparent, although he wasn't one. He lived in a tiny apartment on his own and slipped into the free screenings by mingling with the crowd. Even though he wore faded, yellow trousers, a washed-out shirt that was white long ago, and a dirt-stained, red bow tie, he'd never been caught.
Each week during the summer he sneaked into the Paramount Theater to further his craft. Charles Goulart was an actor, a struggling, down-on-his-luck thespian, and as broke as a motel chair. He made ends meet by acting as a model for a portrait class and working the early shift at Moonies Burger Bar. Their uniform wouldn’t have looked out of place in the 1950s—yellow pants, white button-down shirt, and red bow tie.
Flipping burgers was the perfect job for an in-between-gigs actor. You provided the uniform, Moonies provided the cap: a little red-and-white number with the Moonies logo, a burger licking its lips emblazoned on the front. They were paid cash at the end of each shift. You showed up when you wanted to work, and if you didn't, there were no repercussions. There were only two downsides, and Charles had experienced both. First, if not enough workers showed up, you worked twice as hard for the same pay. Second, if too many workers showed up, the manager would turn you away.
Charles put the thought of flipping burgers later that day out of his mind and tried to focus on the flickering screen.
"Grandma, need potty," a girl's voice called out.
"Hold on, sweetie, the wizard's about to come out. Let's wait a moment and see what's behind the curtain."
The Wizard of Oz was always popular with the seniors. Charles ran a hand through his graying locks, realizing that he too was fast approaching membership of the silver-haired club. He half turned but couldn't see where the voices came from. It was too dark. He flipped an antacid tablet off the roll he kept in his shirt pocket and popped one of the green lozenges into his mouth.
After a while, the flickering screen drew his eyes back, but he couldn't concentrate. He closed his eyes letting his mind wander back to a chance encounter at Moonies Burger Bar the previous wee
k. The manager had assigned him to the front counter. Front counter workers serve the customers. Back counter workers peel potatoes, chop lettuce and tomatoes, carry boxes, empty the trash, and mop floors. Charles liked working the front counter.
An hour into the lunchtime rush, a customer called his name. "Charles, Charles Goulart, is that you?"
Charles stared blankly at the round-faced man with thick spectacles and thinning hair, handed him his meal in a Moonies paper bag, then he remembered. "Floyd Adams," he said slowly, "I haven't seen you in years."
"Over a decade," Floyd had answered briskly.
Their mutual connection came through the Buda Town Comedy Club, where aspiring comedians practice their stand-up routine. They met at a time when Floyd had wanted to inject more humor into his humdrum life. Charles, for his part, had hoped adding comedy might improve his acting repertoire. They became acquaintances but never close.
"Still hoping for the Hollywood big time, then?" Floyd had asked with a cynical sneer.
"I can dream, can’t I?"
Floyd's eyes flicked over Charles' shabby clothing. "Some dreams aren’t worth having."
"Each day is a fresh start," Charles had said in response to that. Then he added, "I've had a few acting roles here and there, but nothing recent to write home about."
They spoke briefly, less than five minutes, but it was long enough for Charles to get a picture of Floyd's trailblazing success—married to a gorgeous woman, two wonderful kids, a large house near the river, PhD from a top school, and a big shot at the museum. Floyd was living the American dream at full tilt. It turned Charles' stomach, made him feel queasy. The antacid tablet he kept in his shirt pocket didn't help.
"Take this," Floyd had said, handing Charles a small business card. "The museum is always in need of actors for historical reenactments."
Charles bristled. Historical reenactments were for amateur, dramatic players not professional actors, and Floyd knew that. How dare he insult him so blatantly. But Charles simply smiled, gazed at the card, and nodded. "Thanks, might give it a go."