Gumshoe Gorilla (12 page)

"I don't know. Why don't we ask her?"

Drew got up and opened the door for a slender woman with Asian features, wearing a white silk blouse and loose fitting black pants. A few pieces of simple gold jewelry. In the notch of her collarbone was an eye-catching tattoo of an arrowhead. (Maybe she was part Native American. Or maybe she just liked the design.) What really caught my attention, though, were her glasses. A big wrap around visor with a chrome frame. It looked like something that Flash Gordon would wear when he was working around power tools.

She walked in and looked around, taking in the office, studying Drew and me. She had an energy flow that reminded me of an Indian summer afternoon. All bright and clean and crisp.

She looked at me inquisitively, and then touched her watch.

"Ms. Grey?" she asked, without moving her lips.

I did a double take.

Her voice had the sort of neutral British accent favored by PBS announcers. And it hadn't come out of her mouth. It had come from a chrome pin on the front of her blouse. One of those comedy mask / tragedy mask symbols.

I glanced at Drew. He shrugged.

"Uh... yeah," I said. "You must be Ms. Phillips. This is my partner, Mr. Parker."

As I spoke, tiny letters scrawled across the face of her visor.

Well, I've never been one of those people who believes in politely failing to notice things.

"Oh cool!" I said, staring into her glasses. "I've never actually seen one of these before. Hello, hello, hello!"

On the visor, my words scrolled by in mirror image.

Neat.

Drew glared at me. Our potential client just smiled, and scratched on her watch for a few seconds. Taking a closer look, I realized that it was actually a touchpad mounted on a wristband.

"It is kind of cool," the voice from the pin said. "But most people are too shy to say so. You can try it on, if you like."

"Thanks!"

She handed me the visor and I put it on.

"Say something, Drew!"

My own words scrolled by, floating in the air in front of me.

"How about, 'give the nice lady back her glasses'," Drew said.

"Spoil sport."

I took off the visor and returned it to our potential client. Drew pulled out a chair for her.

"Thank you," she said, with a single quick tap to her wrist. She must have some common phrases hot keyed.

"So Ms. Phillips," Drew said. "What can we do for you?"

She scribbled on her touchpad for a few seconds.

"Well, it's a bit complicated. And extremely confidential. And at all costs it has got to stay out of the media."

"We're very discreet," Drew assured her.

"Good. I'm not sure how to explain this..."

She paused, her finger hovering over her touchpad.

"Would you like some tea?" I suggested. "I have a lovely chamomile blend."

"Thank you."

By the time I made the tea and returned with a cup, she'd worked up the nerve to lay out her problem for us.

"I think that my boyfriend is in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Drew asked.

"That's just it. I don't know."

"Well, what is it that makes you think he's in trouble?" I asked.

"Nothing concrete. But he's been acting different lately. Under stress. And the other day, he lied about where he was."

Drew looked at me, and surreptitiously traced an "O" on the table, for "other woman". I nodded agreement. It sounded like that kind of case.

"Do you know where he went?" I asked.

"No. But we both work on
CzechMates
-- You know the show?"

Drew and I nodded in the affirmative.

"Anyway, he had a couple of free hours, so he left the set. He said was going to get in a workout. I had to stay and coordinate some script changes."

"Then how do you know he didn't go to the gym?" I asked.

She was scribbling a response before I even finished the question.

"His trainer is dating one of the make up artists, and was busy with a different kind of work out at the time. The set is a small world. Everybody knows everybody's business."

"Well, couldn't your boyfriend have gone to the gym without his trainer?" Drew asked.

Skye gave him a look that indicated the idea was absurd.

"Of course not. Insurance company won't allow it. What if he pulled a muscle and missed a day of work?"

Drew and I exchanged puzzled looks over that one. Probably some crazy union rules or something.

"Have you asked him if he's in any trouble?" I said.

"Yes. He says that he's not."

"Is it possible that you're over-reacting?" Drew asked. "Perhaps he just..."

"NO, NO, NO. I know him too well. I can read his body language. Something is wrong. Very wrong."

Drew glanced at me and pretended to brush something off his shoulder. He trusts my instincts about people. I thought about it for a second. She didn't strike me as a flake. I shook my head in a tiny "no".

"You do realize," Drew said, "that if we do look into this, we'll probably find something that you won't like."

"Yes."

Drew looked at me and raised an eyebrow. I shrugged. It's hard to know when to take cases like this. If the client's a wacko, the money isn't worth the headache of dealing with them.

"Well, why don't you give us some background information on your boyfriend," Drew said, getting out his palm top to take notes. "For starters, how long have..."

She held up a hand to stop him, then scribbled something on her wrist pad.

"I figured you'd need a bio, so I put together a file before I came."

She got out her palmtop and zapped the document to Drew. He forwarded a copy to me, and then we settled into read it. She'd put together a basic bio on...

"HOLY SHIT!" I shouted. Then looked at the client. "Oh, sorry."

I don't normally apologize for cursing, but there's something about seeing your words scrolling by in two inch tall letters that's kind of unnerving.

"Your boyfriend is Charles Rockland?!" I asked.

She smiled.

"Yes. Lucky me."

"I'll say. So is he as cute in person as he is..."

"Jen," Drew interrupted. "Focus".

He turned to Skye.

"Forgive my partner, she's been on a long stakeout and hasn't slept in 48 hours."

That's Drew's standard excuse whenever I embarrass him. Which is a lot, since that boy is wound up tighter than a stripper's g-string.

"No problem," Skye responded with a couple strokes on her touch pad.

I turned to Drew and gave him the thumbs up. If I was gonna tail anybody around for a few days, then Charles Rockland was at the top of my list. Drew rolled his eyes and went back to reading. When he was done, he asked Skye a series of questions, filling in a few blanks that she'd left in the background information. Then he put down his palmtop and leaned back in his chair to think.

He looked at me and casually tapped his fists together. It was our symbol for a case that wasn't likely to go anywhere. I responded by rubbing my fingers together in the universal symbol of money.

"Come on, Drew," I thought. "We live pretty close to the edge. It's not like we can afford to be turning down a good job like this."

Drew turned back to our client.

"I'm curious, Ms. Phillips. What made you choose our firm?"

I moved. I knew what Drew was about to do, and I was not about to let him do it. Before Skye could respond I grabbed Drew by the shoulder.

"Excuse me, Ms. Phillips, but there's an aspect to this case that I really need to discuss with my partner," I explained. "We'll be right back."

I pulled Drew to the other end of the office.

"What do you think you are doing?" I whispered.

"I'm gonna recommend that she go downtown and try Global. They're better equipped to handle something like this."

"Global? Are you nuts?"

Global Investigations is a big, publicly traded company with branches in most major cities and the scruples of a hungry wolverine. The firm was started back in the single digits, when it occurred to some bright entrepreneur that Eastern Europe was full of former spies and surveillance equipment that could be had on the cheap. The result is something like a privatized version of the KGB.

"Drew, if you do this, I will never forgive you."

"Jen..."

"No Drew, I mean it. How often do I get to investigate cases involving seriously cute television stars? I'll tell you-- never. I get overweight middle-aged cheating husbands. I get acne-ridden embezzling teenage clerks. I get greasy-haired butt-ugly abusive boyfriends. I do not get actors, I do not get models. I don't even get reasonably attractive musicians. I tell you Drew, I am way overdue for a case with a cute guy in it!"

Drew rolled his eyes.

"Jen, if you're done with your little trip to Fantasy Island, then let me point out why we can't handle this case. For one thing, a guy in Rockland's position is gonna have some serious security in place to keep the paparazzi and crazed fans away. Putting him under surveillance is gonna be next to impossible for us. And we don't even know what sort of trouble he's getting into, or who he's getting into it with."

"Drew..."

"No. I am not gonna take a case that we're not equipped to handle."

"Drew!"

"No."

There are times when it sucks to be the junior partner. Technically, I control the
Jennifer Grey, Licensed Psychic Investigator
end of the business, because I started that after I joined the firm. But Drew still has final say on the
Fortress Security
business. I tried not to scowl as we went back to get rid of my dream client.

"Thank you for waiting," Drew said. "My partner had an idea on a way to approach the case that involved some trade secrets. Now, where were we?"

"You asked why I chose your firm."

"Yes, I was curious about that."

"Well... it sounds silly. But I had a dream last night. I mean, I am not superstitious. But you never know, right?"

"What kind of dream?" Drew asked.

"A strange one. Did you ever see that old television show, the one with the Gorilla who was a private detective? He was in it. He handed me a business card with the word
Fortress
on it. So when your name came up in the Google listing of detective agencies, I figured..."

Drew's eyes narrowed, and for a second I saw that look again. Like the mask was slipping. And then he smiled and it was just good old Drew again.

"Really?" he said. "That's funny. I used to watch that show when I was a kid. At any rate, I think that we can help you.-- Although there will be some difficulties in mounting surveillance on someone in Mr. Rockwell's position."

Drew rattled on about the problems inherent in the case, and then he and Skye discussed various ways that she could help us to infiltrate Rockland's life and get past his security.

And me? I sat there, trying to figure out what had just happened. One minute, Drew had been dead set against taking the case, and then suddenly it's no problem.

Drew and Skye worked out a plan of action, and then Drew finished the meeting with his trademark description of our fees:

"Fifty an hour, plus expenses, with a twenty five hundred dollar bonus when we obtain the information that you've asked for. And a five thousand dollar bonus if anyone associated with the case starts shooting at us. Gotta pay our medical bills."

And he calls me a drama queen.