1 The Reluctant Dick - The Case of the Not-So-Fair Trader (18 page)

“Secondly, Clayton was a lot easier to track than his brother, Brewster.”

Tiffany takes a break to sip her second Bloody Mary. “I picked this place,” she confesses, “because of their bloodies. Best in town.”

“I’ll remember that.”

She twirls the drink on the table with her right hand. “Clayton is a hound.”

“A hound?”

The c
olor seeps back into her cheeks;
but she seems reluctant to continue her thought.

“I don’t like to say what kind. I have my morals.”

“Tiffany…”

“Clayton dated Maureen Osteen.”

“Okay.”

“Nobody dates a ho like Mo O who isn’t a cunt hound.” She stops, “Whoops, damn, I didn’t want to say that.”

“Cunt hound?” I repeat for effect.

“I hate that word.” She pulls her hat down even lower on her head. “Shhhh.”

I whisper, “Hound.”

“
Clayton Augustus has stuck it in places
,
devils would fear to tread.”

“I bet Clayton and Herman would get along great,” I say.

Tiffany soldiers on, “Some of the people I talked to think he does it to spite his old man, sticking it in his face.”

“Sticking what in his face?”

“That was a figure of speech.” She places her drink on the table. “Clayton held the record for detentions in high school, picked up a number of times for drunk and disorderly, and has blown enough breathalyzers to rival Mo O.”

“I checked
. H
e hasn’t been arrested once.”

“Thank God for rich parents.”

I glance at the menu
.
Butch’s has great beef sandwiches. “So, Clayton thumbs it in the old man’s face, but daddy is always around to bail him out of trouble.”

“Rumor also has it, he has an account at the Northside Women’s Clinic.” The bloodies are doing their job
.
Tiffany is regaining her bluster and blarney. “His victims get
’
no appointment necessary
’
treatment.”

“Anything on the girl he was with the day of the murder?”

“No. Do you have any idea of how many non-blond blonds there are in this town?”

“Tell me about Brewster.”

Before she begins, we order lunch. Me: roast beef, coleslaw and a cup of soup; her, a salad.

“Why don’t you get something a little more substantial? It will make you feel better,” I say in fatherly tones.

“I have enough sugar floating through me right now to put me on the fast track to diabetes. I need to flush it out, not stop it up.”

I give up on dietary advice. “Brewster?”

“From all I could finagle, Brewster’s pretty much a momma’s boy. Went to Latin for the first twelve years, then to Denison on the six-year plan.”

Latin is the
crème de la crème
of K-thru-12, private education in downtown Chicago. Denison University is where rich kids who couldn’t get into the Ivy League end up.

“Perfected his drinking in college, did drugs, usual rich-boy education.”

“Seems a little out of character being a drunk and a momma’s boy, doesn’t it?”

“No.”

“Continue, please.”

“After he got out of school, he screwed around for a few years, worked for his old man shoveling bullshit, got sick of that and went out on his own.”

“Did you find out if his old man funded him?”

“He might have paid him to leave
. T
hey didn’t get along in the unfriendly confines of Augustus, Incorporated.”

“Women?”

“They come,
they go. Mostly sluts, except mom.”

“Isn’t that nice.”

The lunch arrived.

“Find anyone who saw them together on that Friday night?”

“No.”

“Don’t you think that’s odd?”

“No. It’s a Friday night; everybody is wasted.”

I sit silent trying to process all the information.

“Your turn, Mister Sherlock, what have you found out?”

“Not much,” I say, “but I do have another assignment for you.”

“Does it include drinking?”

“No.”

“Good, I don’t know if my liver could take two nights in a row.” Tiffany sighs a breath of relief.

“Stakeout.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“So, I have time for a spa treatment and massage?”

“I wouldn’t schedule it any other way.” I remember one last item on the agenda. “Tiffany, what about the check? Would it clear?”

“Darn,” she says, “I knew I forgot something.”

___

I was waiting in the Toyota, when her Lexus stopped alongside. I pull out of the parking space and she pulled in. Leaving my car running with the emergency flashers on, I went back and got in the Lexus passenger seat. Handing her the camera, I ask, “You know how to work one of these?”

“Duh.”

I pointed to the Astor Street condo. “That’s the place. We need to know who goes in and who goes out. It is the second floor that we care about.”

“Why?”

“Neighborhood survey.”

“Mister Sherlock, tell me.”

“It’s Alvin’s home away from his home with his wife.”

“Can’t blame him.”

“We have to see if anyone else uses the place.”

“Why?”

“Thus, the object of your assignment.”

“Got it.”

“There is a parking spot in the back, so I want you to walk around and look down the alley once an hour. If you see a car, get the license number.” I pause. “I’ll be back at midnight to relieve you.”

“Mister Sherlock, one question,” she said a bit sheepishly. “Where do I go to the bathroom?”

“Don’t you remember what Detective Norbert told you?”

“No.”

“About the bladder?”

“Oh, yeah.” Tiffany remembers, but not happily.

“Good luck.” I open the car door. “I’ll see you at midnight.”

___

The spa treatment did Tiffany a world of good. Her face looks healthy, fresh, and relaxed when I find her asleep, resting in the reclined passenger seat of the Lexus. My tap, tap, tap on the window snaps her into consciousness.

“How long do you think you’ve been asleep?”

She rolls down the window. “Maybe a minute or two.”

“All that happened a minute or two ago?” I point to the second floor of the condo where lights were blazing inside.

“Well, maybe it was a little more than two.”

“You got to move your car, so I can park here. I take it you didn’t take any pictures.”

Tiffany stared at the unit. “I guess I kinda blew it, huh?”

“Don’t worry, what goes in has to come out.”

“What else can I do?” Tiffany was sincere. “I don’t want to let you down.”

“You can drive around back
, and
get the license numbers of any cars parked in their driveway.”

“Will do.
” Tiffany got out of the car and walked around to the driver’s side. I was getting back into the Toyota when she asked, “Do I have time for a pit stop?”

“If nature calls, answer it.”

After parking, I fiddle with the camera until the shutter speed was set for low light. I see through the cut-glass windows
,
shapes move inside. There was more than one, but no way of counting an exact number. Twenty minutes go by and a cab comes down the street, stops in front of the building, waits. I roll down the window, aim the camera to get a shot of the
taxi
’s license plate, but d
on
’t need to press the shutter. A familiar face c
omes out the front door. She is
dressed in a sleek, black, above-the-knee dress that cl
ings
to her body as tight as a wet tee-shirt. Her hair
is
brushed to perfection, which is
telling, as
is
the fact that she carrie
s
only a small handbag. She close
s
the door softly, bidding goodbye to no one. She steps down the stairway slowly, not making a sound with her black high heels and climbs into the back of the cab.

I snap picture after picture. Diane is a photogenic woman.

Ten minutes later, the light goes off in the front room.
I ready the camera. A man exits. I
n the darkness it is difficult to chart his age. I have never seen him. He is fit,
has
a full head of brown hair,
dressed in jeans and
a
slightly wrinkled shirt. He wears no wedding ring, but a very expensive watch. He walks south, crosses Goethe and out of my sight.

Another five minutes ticks off the clock. The hallway light in the condo goes out. I refocus the camera, aim, wait. Two minutes. Nothing. I take my eye off the lens, glance down the block to the Astor
and
Schiller Street intersection. A car turns left onto Astor and heads my way. I aim the camera at the front grill and wait until I have a shot at the plate
. T
his is going to be tough at night. What looks like a new Jaguar speeds by
.
I snap photos, but no way will a picture develop. I try to pick up the plate with my eyes, but it’s no better than a blur. Down the street, at the same intersection, another set of headlights turn
s
left and heads my way, faster than the previous car.

It’s Tiffany’s Lexus. She honks her horn and waves as she goes by. I have to have a talk with that girl about being subtle.

My cell phone rings.

“Tiffany?”

“How’d you know it was me?” she asks
.
“
Y
ou sign up for caller id?”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m in pursuit of the suspect.”

“Tiffany, back off. Get the license number; that’s all we need.”

“Oh come on,
this is fun.”

I can hear her car screech to a sudden stop.

“Guess where I am?”

“Tiffany…”

“I’m behind him at the light at Oak Street.”

“Get down. He can see you in his rear view mirror.” I scream into the tiny phone. “Get the plate number and get away from him.”

“Why do you want the plate number?”

“We want to find out who it is.”

“It’s Brewster Augustus,” she yells back.

“You sure?”

“He’s going up Michigan Avenue. He’s turning left.”

“Don’t follow.”

“Why not?”

“I know where he’s going.”

“You do?”

“The Ritz.”

“I’ll follow him just to be sure, bye.”

15

No baloney since Tuesday

I pick up the end of Norbert’s tie and scratch off dried egg yolk.

“I don’t think Alvin was broke.”

“Yeah?” Norbert says.

“The fact that he was under investigation, his accountant hasn’t a clue, and he takes his wife off the payroll, tells me a scam was taking place
,
or Alvin was going to rabbit with his loot.”

“I thought he was blowing off the floor?”

“I didn’t say this all fits.”

“So you think he
was
taking a powder and somebody put a stop to his travel plans?”

“Maybe.” I stop. “Your turn.”

“Doris is scheduled to leave the Ritz on Saturday.”

“Moving back to Kenilworth with baby Brewster?” I ask.

“Don’t know about the boy.”

“She’ll need someone to protect her against the evil spirits still haunting the hallowed walls.”

Norbert burps. “I got a twist for you, Sherlock.”

“I hate twists.”

“Alvin’s tox screen came up with trace levels of arsenic, cocaine, anti-depressants and -- get this one
-
-
Rohypnol,
used for
date rape.”

“No self-respecting drug addict would be caught dead taking that menu of poison.”

“Rohypnol’s usually slipped in a mickey.”

“So somebody wanted to take Alvin home and have sex with him without his permission?”

“The twist gets tighter when all the amounts come up minor; not enough of any to put him down for the count.”