1 The Reluctant Dick - The Case of the Not-So-Fair Trader (37 page)

My cell phone sings “Breakaway
.
” I answer and take down the phone numbers Tiffany found with Romo.

“You did good,” I tell her. “Now get out there this weekend and drink enough martinis to make us both proud.”

“Will do, Mister Sherlock, will do.”

I dial the reverse directory for area code 617, discover exactly what I expected. Jonas and I call Mickey, the Boston detective. We have a nice chat. He is more than helpful.

___

I catch Conway Waddy before he leaves for the day.

“Time to untie the purse strings,” I tell him.

“About time,” he says. “I need my fee.”

“But there is one more person who should be in on the festivities.” I give him a paper with the name, address, and phone number. I also hand over what is left of the four hundred dollars Tiffany withdrew for my escort foray. “All you’ll have to say is that you’re handling Alvin’s estate and there is something here waiting for her.”

“This is all news to me,” Conway says, hiking up his pants.

___

Later, the entire team meets at Barleycorn’s in Lincoln Park for beer and burgers. We take a table in the back, away from the Friday night dinner crowd.

It is time I held court for my comrades.

I get a mind-eye Polaroid of the
O
riginal Carlo
, filled with index cards
;
and recite one by one every conceivable aspect of the case. I hold back Bennie, Clarence’s real name, and the boys in the caddie at Leon’s, but I leave no card unturned. I review my thoughts on the murder scene, Alvin’s last night, the scam at the Board, accountants, Doris, Joan, Clayton, Brewster, Christina, friends and foes, the whys, wherefores, what has gone down, and what I think will go down soon. They go through three pitchers of beer while I pour out my thoughts. They have questions, lots of questions. I can’t answer all, but I answer enough. I can see
it
in their faces
. I
t all makes sense. By the time the burgers arrive, all at the table have heard everything I know
,
and all I suspect.

Steve is feeling better about his vacation plans.

After dinner they take out their notepads. I rattle off one duty after another. By the time dessert arrives, each has a to-do list that will eat up most of their weekend. No one complains.

My final bit of information is that the Augustus Family Reunion is scheduled for Monday
11 am
in Conway Waddy’s conference room.

___

It is late Friday night
, and
I’m tired. I have a list of stuff to get done this weekend. My back is starting to hurt and I can’t wait to get inside and go to bed.

“Excuse me.” A man steps out of the shadows and approaches me.

Instinctively, I go for my gun, but I’m not wearing one.

“Are you Sherlock?”

My lousy life passes before my eyes
,
as is hand goes into his coat pocket.

“No, don’t please,” I beg. “I got kids.”

“I know that,” he says
,
and pulls out two sheets of paper.
“
Here.” He pushes the papers into my hand. “You’ve been served.”

“Oh, no, please, not now.”

“Sorry, buddy, only doing my job.” The man walks away slowly. “I’ve been trying to find you for three days.”

I read the first paragraph, which is all I need to read.

My ex-wife is taking me back to court, under an emergency order, to get more money.

Timing in life is everything.

29

Order up a paddy wagon

The morning starts off with my back so stiff, you could use it as a cutting board. I crawl to the shower, hoping a combination of the ibuprofen and hot water
will
give me some relief.

Little, if any.

Hunched over like Quasimodo, I try to force
-
feed myself the most important meal of the day. I take two more pills before leaving the apartment
.
I’ve got five in me now. Getting into the Toyota is excruciating. The ride downtown fighting the traffic isn’t much better.

I arrive at the Daley Center at a few minutes before nine and have to wait to get th
rough the metal detectors. The sheriff’s d
epartment has set up a display of the knives and homemade blades confiscated from people entering the building. I’m not sure what is more thought-provoking
,
the number, sizes, and types of weapons on display, or the absolute idiocy of the jerks who actually thought they could get through a metal detector carrying such hardware.

On the ninth floor, I find the
assigned
courtroom,
and
peer th
rough the glass doors to see
Judg
e June Shay, already on the bench
, berating some couple. I take one step inside the room and I’m in shock.

“What are you doing here?” I shout.

The entire courtroom quiets and stares as I stand over my two daughters.

I continue, as loud
,
or maybe a bit louder than my last outburst. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

My ex, seated in the middle of the row, pretends she’s never seen me before in her entire life.

“Mom wanted us here,” Kelly says, embarrassed as all eyes in the courtroom focus on her.

“She said she needed moral support,” Care fills in with no concern whatsoever of being on stage.

“Excuse me,” Judge June says.

“Are you out of your mind?” I ask my ex-wife, ignoring the judge.

The bailiff comes out from behind the witness box and takes my arm. “Maybe you better wait outside, buddy.”

“Me?” I say. “If anyone shouldn’t be in this place, it’s my kids. They don’t need to hear any of this crap.”

The bailiff grabs me a bit tighter.

“He’s right,” the judge speaks over all of us. “Take the children outside.”

Kelly and Care exit past me. I give my ex the meanest glare I can muster
,
and find a seat on the other side of the room.

“If I may continue.” Judge Shay gavels once
, returning
to the case at hand. “Mister Jones, if you don’t pay support next month, you’re going to jail.”

“But, Judge…”

“Pay up or be shackled up.” She gavels. “Next case.”

“Sherlock versus Sherlock,” the Court Clerk announces.

I hobble to the bench, my back somewhat better
.
I’m semi-Quasimodo.

“Nice to see both of you again
. I
t seems like only yesterday.” Judge Shay and I share a particular brand of caustic humor. “Let’s see… what i
s it
this time?”

“Guess, your honor,” I say.

“Quiet.”

My ex speaks
,
she knows the drill well. “I need more money to support my two girls. They’re getting to be teenagers.”

“Really?”

“You know how it is,
your honor
.”

I stand, wondering if the two are going to start discussing the costs of acne medications.

“The pittance that he gives me now is barely enough to keep them in clothing. They deserve more.” The ex finishes with her best hound-dog face. “They’re growing up.”

“How much more are you requesting?”

“Two hundred,” my ex-says.

I attempt to break in. “Excuse me,
j
udge.”

“Not your turn yet, Mister Sherlock.”

“They’re getting to the age where they want to get out and do things. My Lord, movies are ten dollars, sports events, birthday parties, classes, camps
-
it all costs money.”

“I know I have two of my own,” Judge June says.

“And since the original judgment on the amount was made when the girls were much younger, it only seems fair that the situation should be revisited
.
”
M
y ex loads it on and finishes with
:
“And don’t forget inflation. A dollar doesn’t buy what it used to buy.”

“Anything else?”

“No,
y
our
h
onor.” The ex has rested her case.

The judge pages through the case file.

“My turn?” I ask.

“Not yet,” the judge says. “How much was the increase the last time you were before me?” she asks my ex.

“I can’t remember, but it wasn’t much.”

“And the time before that?”

“I don’t remember.”

“And the time before that?”

No answer.

Judge June turns my way. “Your turn.”

I stay calm. “Ask her about the horse.”

“Horse?”

“The horse she bought.”

My ex butts in, “I didn’t buy a horse.”

“That was two guys inside a costume the girls were riding last weekend?”

“I didn’t buy the horse. I’m share-boarding.” My ex turns to plead before the court. “The girls needed a hobby to get their minds off  the divorce
. H
orseback riding is very therapeutic.”

“So is an afternoon walk, but a lot cheaper.”

“You don’t want them to have what the other kids have?”

“How many of their friends have horses?”

“All of them at the stables.”

“You see the reasoning I have to deal with?”

“Enough,” the judge says ending our quarrel. She pauses.

“The girls want a horse, fine. Mister Sherlock you are ordered to pay an additional two-hundred dollars.”

“What?”

“For the next two months.”

“I got to support a horse, too?”

Judge points her gavel at me and shuts me up. “I’m not done yet. M
s.
Sherlock, if you feel a horse is that important, then you have one month to find a part-time job to pay for the animal.” The gavel comes down. “And don’t ever bother me with this brand of nonsense again. Next case.”

Outside the courtroom, the girls rush to their mother. I hear, “Do we get to keep our horse?”

“No.”

I immediately correct her answer. “You get to keep the horse if your mother wants to keep the horse.”

“No, that’s not it, girls,” the ex says.

No matter what I say, I’m the evil guy from the glue factory coming to take their beloved pony.

This is certainly therapeutic.

I glance at the clock on the wall; I’m late. I walk to the elevator bank and call out to the girls who have turned their backs to me, “Hey.”

Neither moves, but I know they’re listening. “I figured out who did it.”

Kelly snaps to attention, “Was it Brewster?”

“Who snuffed him,
d
ad?” Care calls out.

Both girls run to my side. I give a double hug. “And I couldn’t have figured it out without you.”

“Please.”

“Tell you Tuesday, I love you both.”

___

I’m a half-hour late. The Augustus
f
amily
r
eunion is in full swing.

Tiffany has done a marvelous job. The conference room is festooned with streamers, a personalized sheet cake in the middle of the table and Augustus Family tee-shirts have been passed out
,
although no one puts one on. Tiffany has assembled individual goodie bags, complete with soaps, matchbooks, napkins, pen and pencil sets, and multi-colored Augustus sun visors. She has the bags lined up on the back table ready to be taken home and treasured. I certainly hope she made enough so Lizzy, the three detectives, and the other special guests also have a remembrance of this happy day.

“Sorry I’m late, everybody,” I announce to the crowd.

Romo and my other compatriots have brought along their weekend findings, which are stacked in the back of the room. Last night he set up a conference call so we could all talk from the comfort of our own homes.

“What the hell is this idiocy all about?” Doris is the first to shout at me.

“I figured it would be fun to get everyone together.”