Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (3 page)

“Don’t you even start with that crap. I saved your life, James. If that bomb had gone off inside, we wouldn’t even need a—” It hadn’t been a pleasant evening.

“Skip. I
need
a truck. I need you to—”

“No.”

James was quiet. I coasted through a yellow light, checking the rearview mirror for cops. The ancient Ford Taurus had a busted taillight and a back window that was cracked so bad I couldn’t see through it. I’d already had two warnings to get the thing fixed or junk it. I glanced down at the dashboard and the oil light was flashing. Damn. I needed a new car—just to keep my job.

“Skip. I really need that truck.
We
need it for the P.I. business. And with our P.I. license, we’re gonna make a boatload of
money, amigo. A boatload. Listen, all we’ve got to do is run a couple of rides, maybe work in a concession stand and just get a feel for the whole thing. I need you pal, because—”

“James. You mean we actually have to operate the rides? We’d be carnies? How could you even think of asking me?” I was thinking about the liability too. Hopefully, the Moe Show had addressed the problem with their rides. I didn’t want any deaths on my watch or James’s watch.

“Compadre, it’s important. I’m asking.”

“What part does your girlfriend play in this scenario?” For some reason it was important to me.

“I don’t know.”

“James, you went out with her. She got you hired. Who is she?”

“She works for Moe. She’s really into me. That’s all I know. Come on, pard.”

“I want to know who she is. I need to know the players.”

“She does odd jobs, fills in where she’s needed. I don’t know. I think she keeps his books. This is a small business. Everybody wears a lot of hats, okay? But help me out here. Spend the weekend.”

“What about the sisters? How do they figure in?”

“I told you. Schiller and Crouse, they’re straight shooters.”

“After one meeting, one date, you’ve got the entire operation figured out, is that right?”

“Dude, I’m pretty good at seeing the big picture.”

He was so
not
good at seeing anything.

I took a deep breath. The truth was, I had no plans. My girlfriend, Emily, had taken a break, I didn’t work Saturday and Sunday, and James tended to be my weekend entertainment. What was left?

“Okay. I’ll go. But I won’t like it. I swear to you, James, I will not like it.”

And I didn’t.

To be fair it was an Airstream. Something with a little quality. Maybe ten years old and run-down, but an Airstream trailer nevertheless, a silver-blob-shaped trailer that generations of campers had grown to love, and it had a small (very small) kitchen, one bed, and a couch. James suggested since I was just along for the ride, I sleep on the couch. I suggested otherwise.

“That’s my car outside, James. I drove the two of us here. I’m here because? What? I work for this fleabag carnival? No. I don’t think so.” I threw my hands up. “I’m here because I love the smell of sweat and popcorn?” Actually, the aroma from the carnival, the cotton candy, popcorn, and fried meat was not unpleasant. The food vendors had parked their trailers, and even though the rides had yet to be assembled, the food operators were preparing their cuisine for the carnies and the early visitors who like to watch a carnival set up. But I couldn’t tell James that. “No. I’m here because I’m a friend. Actually, I’m the best friend you’ve got. Don’t mess with me, James. I’m taking the bed. Got it?”

“Pard, it’s my gig.”

“Then you work it,
pard,
and I’ll go back to my apartment and my own bed.”

There was no more argument.

The Bayview Mall wasn’t really a mall and had no bay. There was no view of the bay. I’m not sure that there was a bay anywhere nearby. The strip of stores consisted of typical Carol City low-end bargain-basement operations. Jenny’s Slightly Used Furniture, The Bauble Brigade, a novelty jewelry store, and one of the more popular stores in Carol City, The Money Man, where you could cash your check or get an early tax refund for only 25 percent interest. James had used them once.

And then there was Harry’s Hideaway, a cheap, sleazy bar with the door wide open, and a handful of local patrons drinking shots and beer at the bar. According to the sign, starting at six a.m. Baby Bonanza was a former clothing store for infants that was now for rent, and Fabulous Fabric appeared to be a store that sold cloth from bolts. I had a good feeling Fabulous Fabric would be the next retailer to go under. I’m not sure people in Carol City can afford a sewing machine.

James and I walked up the cracked, crumbling concrete sidewalk that fronted the shabby store facades. Flaking stucco in faded pink, blue, yellow, and green smears covered their walls, and as we peered through the dust-streaked windows, the insides appeared almost desolate and empty.

“The carnival will bring in the people.”

“But who would shop in these stores, James? What are these people thinking?”

“I don’t know, amigo. Pretty nasty place, I’ll admit.”

At the end of the strip was the 8/12, a carryout that supposedly carried their store hours in the name of the operation. It was ten a.m. and the paper sign in the window said “back in twenty minutes.”

“Can’t even get a Coke at the convenience store. We’re going to be here how long?”

James took a deep breath. “Friday—today. Saturday—tomorrow. Sunday. We tear down on Monday morning and—”

“We what?”

“Tear down.”

“
We
what?”

“Tear down.” He looked at me like he thought I’d gone deaf. I hadn’t. I’d heard him perfectly well.

“Oh, no.
You
tear down.” Giving him a hard look, I said, “As you pointed out earlier, I’m just along for the ride.”

We walked back to the dusty dirt plot of ground where our trailer stood. Four trucks had arrived, one pulling a brightly painted trailer, complete with a border of golden flames. The name “Freddy’s Fun House” was splashed across the side. The golden painted flames burned through the letters and I couldn’t help but wonder just how much fun you could have in a small trailer like this.

The second truck was a beat-up flatbed with a saucer-like ride on the back.

Two semis were parked by the side of the road, each carrying what appeared to be half of a full ride. Six empty round cages with roofs, long sections of a green and gold metal bar, and the huge head of an otherworld dinosaur creature were piled on the trucks.

“That’s the Dragon Tail.” The voice was deep and smooth.

I turned around and the big man with swept back gray hair was pointing at the two trailers.

“It’s the ride that guarantees traffic.”

“Traffic?”

“That’s the signature ride of the Moe Show. The Dragon Tail.”

James stepped up and placed his hand on my shoulder. “Moe, this is my best friend, Skip Moore.”

The man reached out with a darkly tanned arm and grasped my hand. The grip was strong and firm, a guy who was used to physical work.

“Glad to meet you, Skip. I’m Moe Bradley. Welcome to the Moe Show.”

Somehow, coming from him, the name was less embarrassing. After all, he was Moe. The Skip Show or the James Show wouldn’t ever work.

“My trailer is right over there.”

I glanced at the edge of a grove of trees. On a concrete slab, the sleek black and silver motor home shone brilliantly in the early morning Carol City sun.

“Forty-five-foot American Eagle. Almost like living at home, boys. Come on, I’ll show it to you.”

I looked back at our dinged up thirty-foot Airstream and thought about the different levels of luxury.

“We’re going to have one of those, Skip. Someday.” James whispered with that faraway look in his eyes.

We hiked the short distance to the motor home and stepped inside. I will go on record as saying this might have been the most impressive living area I’d ever seen. Remember, I come from humble beginnings, and James and I live in a dump.
But,
I have visited some pretty fancy places in my time, and as far as I was concerned, this was opulence at its finest.

A fifty-inch flat screen television was mounted on the wall in front of me, and marble tile graced the entranceway. Thick, luxurious, green carpet covered the floor, like walking through rich green moss, and a leather furniture grouping curved around the TV screen. The open area led to a kitchen, and as we continued into the dwelling I could see the countertops were granite, with swirls of browns and reds. Cherry hardwood cabinets filled
the walls and the kitchen table was an intricate butcher-block design of hardwoods.

“If you’re going to travel, and you can afford it, I believe in traveling with style.”

It wasn’t a brag. Just a statement of fact. Here was a man who’d worked for it and had something to show for it. I could see why James was impressed.

“There’s a whole lot more to see, but for now, have a seat. I’ve got a rather involved question to ask you two.”

James and I sat down on the butter-soft leather sofa. Moe stood in front of us, nodding his head and smiling.

“Anyone for a drink?”

It was ten fifteen in the morning. Not that James and I didn’t sometimes have a drink at that time, but that was between the two of us. Right now we were with his employer. It didn’t seem to be the appropriate thing to do.

“No. It’s a little early in the morning.” I was proud of my roommate. James was saving himself.

“Too bad.” Moe walked to the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator. I was somewhat embarrassed. He’d simply meant a little bit of healthy nourishment.

“Well, a taste would be good.” I was up for some OJ.

“Great.” Moe reached back into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of champagne. He pulled off the foil, twisted the metal cage from the plastic stopper and popped it out. The stopper shot to the ceiling and white bubbles foamed from the mouth of the bottle.

“I start most mornings with a mimosa,” he said. He poured three healthy glasses of OJ and champagne and handed them to us. This would be a morning to remember. For a lot more than just the drinks.

The alcohol surged through my body, and the soft leather surrounded me like a glove. The three of us sat on the couch and toasted the success of another Moe Show. And I was just along for the ride.

“Gentlemen—” I always got nervous when someone called me Mr. Moore, or referred to me as a gentleman. For good reason.

“Gentlemen, I’ve asked you here for a very important reason.”

James gave him a very hard look, eyes squinted and concerned. My roommate thought this visit was an affirmation of his employment. If there was another reason, he was clueless.

“First of all, James was our number one choice for marketing director.”

I had no idea James had a title. I suppose in a small way I was upset about that. I always thought I’d be the first one of us to have an actual job title. Other than the title “gopher.”

“We, my sisters and I, are looking forward to your ideas, your energy, and your unique perspectives on things. Angie—Agent Hot Pants—has assured me you are a very unique individual.”
He gave James a faint smile. I wondered if he knew they were already dating.

“Thank you.” James nodded.

“But there’s a second reason for me to talk to you.” He stood up, swigging the rest of his mimosa in one gulp. “You boys have a private investigation company, am I right?”

“We do.” James was on his feet. There was fire in his eyes, and he’d totally come alive. I have to admit, I was amazed. How did this guy Moe know we were private investigators?

“How did you know that?” This guy was amazing. The Private Investigator license was not even forty-eight hours old.

“James told Angie. Angie mentioned it to me.”

Well, there you go. It’s not private if you tell everyone.

“And I need a P.I. firm.”

“For what?” I couldn’t fathom what good we would be to a Moe Show.

“For a little undercover work. To find out who is trying to sabotage my company.”

James sat back down and drained his mimosa. I can say with authority that we were both stunned.

“Moe, why would someone try to sabotage your carnivals?”

“That’s your second assignment, James. To find out why.”

I looked at my roommate, and he could see the concern on my face. I mean, it still was a concept that we were grappling with. The concept of being serious private investigators. Jody Stacy was a private investigator. We were amateurs. And here was someone actually trying to hire us.

“In the past year, four of my rides have had major accidents.”

I knew I’d been right on that subject. I finally remembered I’d read about it in the
Miami Herald,
but too late to warn James. I should have told him then I had doubts about his new position, but now it might mean a job. I was secretly glad I’d kept the story quiet. This might be a new source of revenue.

“Four accidents, and one death.”

Pretty serious stuff. “One death?”

“These were rides that were checked out, Skip. Rides that were almost foolproof. And yet, for a variety of reasons, people were thrown off of them. Little things, like a loose screw.”

Not only thrown. An innocent had been killed. I’d read about the death but never got all of the brutal details.

“A seat belt broke loose. It’s almost impossible for that to happen. Almost impossible. But, a customer was thrown to the blacktop pavement. Serious injuries. On another ride, a safety bar snapped. Now, unless someone sawed through those heavy metal bars, that just shouldn’t happen. The rides today are foolproof. Really. Foolproof. But,” he paused, taking a deep breath, “the bolts had come loose and she was thrown under the ride, into the mechanical gears and—”

I interrupted quickly for fear that Moe might actually describe the blood and the gore that surrounded the death.

“So you’re saying it has to be sabotage.”

“At first I thought it could be explained away. I thought to myself that accidents do happen. Even the big guys have accidents. Disney had two trains run head on into each other. The Eaton Brothers lost a car from the top of their Ferris wheel. Win’s Spectacular had a plane from the kiddie ride fly off its moorings. Things happen, boys, but in this case I don’t see any other explanation.”