W Is for Wasted (8 page)

“The graphic novel’s actually a separate genre. A version called manga’s been popular in Japan for years and encompasses all kinds of stories. Action-adventure, horror, detective. I’m not saying mine’s manga. That’s strictly of Japanese origin.”

“Is that right? And yours is about what, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I’ve created a character called Joe Jupiter, who’s been crippled in an accident.”

“Writing what you know, so to speak.”

“Except I take the setup in a different direction. He enrolls in an experimental protocol and ends up acquiring supernatural abilities after being injected with a powerful new drug that’s supposed to regenerate nerves and cells. Through some fluke—I’m still working on that aspect—instead of being cured, Jupiter develops unusual powers of telepathy and mind control.”

“No telling what kind of adventures that might lead to,” Pete remarked.

“My wife thinks it’s too much like science fiction, which isn’t my intent. Of course, there’s an
element
of fantasy, but the premise is reality based.”

“Not my area of expertise, but I can definitely see the possibilities. Is yours a lucrative trade?”

“If you hit it big, absolutely,” Willard replied. The pink in his eyelids had intensified, like a curious form of blushing. Pete wondered which he was exaggerating—the earnings potential or his chances of making it.

Pete kept hoping he’d state his problem and get on with it. So far, he had no idea what the job was and no clue if the fellow had the money to pay. “You’re a married man.”

“I am.”

“How many years is that now?”

“Four and a half. We moved here a year ago from Pittsburgh, which is where we met. My wife’s an associate professor at UCST. She does pharmaceutical research, which is what triggered the Joe Jupiter idea.”

“Promising field.” Pete fixed his gaze expectantly on the young man.

Willard said, “Which actually brings me to the reason for my call.”

Pete said nothing, worried that Willard would get off point and start talking about himself again.

“As it, uh, happens my wife applied for this position without realizing the man in charge of the project was someone she’d worked with before.”

“When was this?”

“When she took this job or when she worked with him before?”

“You already said you moved here a year ago. I’m assuming that was for the job.”

“Right. They were both undergraduates at Florida State. This was several years back. I guess they were involved in a romantic relationship. Nothing serious from what she says. She was the one who broke it off.”

“Because . . .”

“I’m not really sure.”

“Passing fling perhaps?”

“Something like that.”

“What’s his position now?”

“Head of the research lab. There are guys above him, but essentially he runs the show.”

“I’m surprised he wasn’t part of the hiring process—the interview or some such.”

Willard apparently hadn’t thought of that, so Pete left the subject and moved on, saying, “Any rate, now they’re thrown into regular contact, you’re worried sparks might fly.”

“I wouldn’t say
worried
. I’m concerned. It’s not that I don’t trust her.” The sentence came to an abrupt halt.

“However . . .”

“There’s a professional conference in Reno during this upcoming Memorial Day weekend. I knew she was planning to attend. What I didn’t realize until a couple of days ago was that he’d be there as well. He’s presenting a paper.”

“I don’t believe you’ve mentioned your wife’s name.”

“Mary Lee.”

“The two plan on traveling together?”

“Not as far as I know. She hasn’t said anything to that effect.”

“One way or the other, you’d appreciate assurance everything’s on the up-and-up.”

“Exactly.”

“This fellow have a name?”

“Dr. Reed. Linton Reed.”

“Bit of a wunderkind,” Pete said.

“Pardon?”

“Fellow must be on a fast track, given they started out the same. Sounds like you’re talking star power if he’s already heading up a lab.”

“I guess.”

Pete took out a weather-beaten spiral-bound notebook and jotted down the name before he went on. “Are you talking medical doctor or a Ph.D.?”

“Both. He went through a program at Duke that combined the two. His Ph.D. is in biochemistry.”

“Admirable. And he lives where?”

“Montebello. As I understand it, his wife comes from money. Quite a lot of money, as a matter of fact. Her family’s well known in town—very prominent—so he definitely married up.”

“You’re telling me he’d risk all of that in order to pursue a relationship with your wife?”

“I really have no idea.”

“Have you met him?”

“I have, yes.”

“Good-looking fellow?”

“Women seem to think so. I’m not impressed.”

Pete pinched his lower lip, then shook his head. “Might not be anything to it, but it always pays to be informed. Unfortunately, what you’re talking here is an expensive proposition.”

“Money’s not the issue. I wasn’t sure if this was the type of case you handled as a rule.”

“You’re asking about my personal qualifications? May I call you Willard?”

“Please do.”

“Appreciate it, Willard. Point of fact, domestic happens to be a specialty of mine. My forte’s exactly the sort of situation you describe. Not to toot my own horn, but you ask around and you’ll find out I’m a man who not only gets results, but I’m known for my discretion. That’s a rare combination. I’m not saying there aren’t younger practitioners coming up behind, but there’s no one as well trained. I’ll admit I’m old-school, but you couldn’t be in better hands.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

Pete waited.

Willard cleared his throat. “When you say ‘expensive,’ I’m not sure what kind of money you’re talking about. I hope I’m not putting you on the spot.”

“No need to apologize, but here’s what you should be aware of. You’re talking short notice here. This is the seventeenth, which means I have ten days to get my ducks in a row. I’m talking about equipment, airline tickets, a rental car once I’m on site. Once I find out where the conference is taking place, I still need time to study the layout, establish personal contacts, determine who’s staying where . . .”

“I can give you most of that.”

“Good thing. Because I’m a man who likes to be prepared.”

“You’ll provide receipts?”

“No question. I’ll submit an invoice same time I hand over my written report. Of course, I’ll be needing an advance.”

“You mean right now?”

“As good a time as any.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Twenty-five hundred should be sufficient.”

“Oh. Well, fine. If you’ll take a credit card, I can use my business account.”

“Won’t work. I’m not set up for it. I’ll take a check, but let’s be honest about this, I won’t get in gear until it clears the bank.”

The tips of Willard’s ears turned a brighter shade of pink. “The problem is my wife pays the bills and reconciles the checking account. I don’t want her asking who you are or what this is about.”

“Cash, then.”

“That’s just it. I don’t keep cash like that on hand. I have five hundred. The rest I can reimburse you. I swear I’m good for it.”

“Mr. Bryce . . . Willard. Forgive my impertinence, but I run a business here. I don’t mind a few out-of-pocket expenses, but we’re talking round-trip airfare right off the bat. I may have to make two trips depending on what comes up. Hotel and meals. On top of that, I may have to grease a few palms, if you get what I mean. Trust me, you don’t want me leaving a paper trail. Something comes to light and that sweet wife of yours will be all over you, thinking you have no confidence in her.”

“I have money in a separate account. I could have it for you this afternoon, I suppose.”

“Give me a call and I’ll be happy to swing back by.” Pete got up, thinking they were done.

Uncomfortably, Willard said, “Can I ask you something?”

“What’s that?”

“You carry a gun?”

Pete blinked. “Do you have need of one?”

“No, no. Not at all. I’m working on three panels where a gangster pulls a gun on Joe Jupiter and I’ve never handled one. If I show a close-up, I want to get the details right.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Pete said. He removed the semiautomatic from his shoulder holster, released the magazine, and checked to make sure there wasn’t a round in the chamber before he offered it to Willard butt first.

Willard took the gun and hefted it in his hand. “Wow. What is this?”

“Pocket pistol. Smith and Wesson Escort. I have a Glock 17 that I carry on occasion, but that little gun’s my baby.”

Pete spent a few minutes explaining the features while Willard checked it from all angles, turning it this way and that. He placed it on the arm of the chair and picked up his drawing pad. He folded the cover back and made a few quick pencil sketches, his eyes moving from the gun to the page and back. Pete was impressed with the rapidity with which he captured the weapon in a few simple strokes.

Willard set the sketch pad to one side. “You have a permit?”

Pete returned the gun to his shoulder holster. “I do. Issued in Tehama County, up north. Tehama you have densely wooded areas, lot of rainfall, and not many folks. Marijuana’s the big cash crop. I had a side business scoping out these little farmlets buried in the woods. I’d find ’em, map out the coordinates, and pass the information along to law enforcement. Job didn’t offer benefits, so I got my concealed carry permit as part of my compensation.”

“Is it legal here?”

“Permit’s valid statewide. Both my guns are registered,” he said.

“Well, that’s good.”

Pete shrugged, saying, “Anything else you need?”

Willard shook his head. “I’ll call when I have the cash.”

It wasn’t until Pete was in his car again that he started to laugh, delighted with the way the meeting had gone. He turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from Willard’s Cherry Lane address. He drove a block and took a right onto Colgate’s main thoroughfare. He had his choice of two travel agencies and he selected the smaller one. There were oversize travel posters taped to the plate-glass window, their once vibrant hues faded to a palette of misty pinks and blues. The one that caught his eye depicted a cruise ship moving along a wide still body of water. He leaned closer.
BOUTIQUE RIVER TOURS. ENCHANTING
DANUBE
was what it said in small print.

At the desk inside he picked up a glossy brochure from a display near the door and slid it into the inner pocket of his sport coat. Something about the scene made his heart swell with hope. There were two agents at work, both women, and he chose the older one, who invited him to have a seat. Her name tag indicated she was Sabrina. Pete introduced himself, and in a matter of minutes he made round-trip reservations to fly from Santa Teresa to Reno on Friday, the twentieth, returning on Monday, the twenty-third. Because of the short notice, the fare for United Airline tickets was a hefty thirteen hundred bucks. He put the charges on the only one of his credit cards with any margin to spare. Sabrina printed the tickets and handed them over, along with a copy of the itinerary and his receipt, all neatly tucked into a ticket envelope with the logo of the agency emblazoned on the front.

He walked half a block to a UPS outlet and used their Xerox machine to run off multiple copies of the travel documents, which he slid into a blank manila envelope. Later that day, having picked up his retainer from Willard, he drove into Colgate for the second time and parked across the street from the travel agency. He waited until he saw Sabrina emerge, ostensibly to run an errand. As soon as she was out of sight, he went in and conferred with the other travel agent, expressing embarrassment that his plans had changed. She wasn’t the least bit curious. At his request, she rescheduled the flights for the Memorial Day weekend, departing on Thursday, the twenty-sixth, returning late on Monday, the thirtieth. She applied the money he’d paid for the first tickets to the second, and he applied the difference in fares to the credit card he’d used earlier. Expense was no issue. He wouldn’t be paying the card off in any event. He voiced his appreciation, but her gaze had already moved to the customer coming in the door.

He returned to the office, waited for his copy machine to warm up, and photocopied the new itinerary and the second set of tickets, which he intended to cancel in a day or two. On the set he had, he changed the relevant dates, neatly typing the new number over the old, and photocopied the copies, satisfied that the result would pass superficial examination. Anyone with a knowledge of forgery techniques would spot the clumsy effort, but he was confident Willard had no such expertise.

He slid the file folder into the box he was packing. No point in leaving sensitive papers in view since his landlady used a master key to get in on occasion, to poke around. Soon Pete would be forced to run his business from his home. For now, he was pleased. He’d effectively run up close to three thousand dollars’ worth of travel expenses without ever leaving the state. Truly, he was a man who loved his work.

At 4:50, Henry left the house, carrier in hand, to retrieve the cat from the veterinarian’s office. I took the opportunity to retreat to my studio. Once inside, I set my shoulder bag on a kitchen stool and stood there, trying to decide what to do with myself. There was no point in going back to the office. It was technically closing time and I’d already goofed off most of the day. Since new clients were temporarily in short supply, I had no paper searches, no phone calls, and no reports to write. It was too early to worry about supper and much too early for a glass of wine. Rosie’s was still closed, which meant that I’d be fending for myself in any event. I’d just about worked through my repertoire of sandwiches and I was down to my last can of soup.

More from boredom than dedication, I scoured the kitchen sink, put the few clean dishes away, and wiped down the counters. I found a cache of dust rags and made short work of all the surfaces in my living room—desk, end tables, windowsills, and shutters. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled along the baseboards, rag in hand, sweeping away dust and soot. On a prior occasion, this was how I’d discovered that my studio was bugged and from that point on, I’d added baseboards to my must-do list.

As was usually the case during one of my Cinderella moments, I wondered what other kick-ass private eyes were doing at this hour. Probably blasting paper targets at the shooting range or practicing their martial arts moves, busting bricks in half with their bare hands. I’m never going to be that tough. What I lack in brute force I make up for in persistence and sheer cunning. I’d been behaving myself of late, which wasn’t really my style. Being a good girl has such a low adrenaline quotient I might as well take a nap.

I put away the cleaning rags, then hauled out the vacuum cleaner, plugged it in, and began the process of mowing my shag carpet. The vacuum was sounding shrill and there didn’t seem to be any suction. Specks remained untouched and the shag itself showed none of those satisfactory tracks that speak of a job well done. I flipped off the power and turned the machine on its back to have a look. This was pointless, as I’m no more knowledgeable about the workings of a vacuum cleaner than I am about the internal combustion engine.

When I heard someone knocking at my door, I assumed it was Henry wanting to properly introduce the cat. I crossed to the front door and peered out the porthole. Felix was standing on my porch, looking off across the yard. He was wearing yet another short-sleeve shirt, this one polyester with a Polynesian motif—parrots, thatch-roofed huts, palm trees, hula girls, and surf in garish yellows and blues.

I opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

I knew I sounded accusatory, but I was dismayed by his showing up at my residence.

He didn’t actually shuffle his feet, but he shifted his weight, looking down at my welcome mat, where I could still see the mouse parts the cat had left.

“I seen your car out front and thought you might be home.” His shorts were the sort that basketball players wear, a flabby black material, extending well below his knees. The fabric was perforated with tiny holes that were probably meant for ventilation in the heat of hard play.

“How did you know where I lived?”

He glanced over his shoulder and then down again, anything to avoid making eye contact. It was the first time it occurred to me that Felix might be slow. It was also possible he was stoned or drunk. I made a mental note to find out the nature and extent of his substance abuse.

He lifted one shoulder. “Other day you said you jogged, so I waited until you went by this morning and followed you home.”

“You saw me this morning? I didn’t see any of you.”

“I was down at that bathhouse when you run by. I left the shelter early because I was curious where you lived. Dandy and Pearl stayed in and had breakfast. They won’t hardly miss a meal. Bacon, eggs, and biscuits the church ladies cook up. I watched you turn around and I fell in behind when you passed the second time.”

“Why would you
do
that? This is my home. You want to talk to me, you don’t show up here. You go to my office like everyone else.”

“Something I thought you should know.”

“I can hardly wait.”

“Pearl knows who stole Terrence’s backpack.”

I stared at him briefly while I sorted through my responses. I was offended at the intrusion, but I wasn’t sure he understood the concept of personal boundaries. At the same time, it wasn’t my place to lecture him about social norms. More to the point: my curiosity took precedence. “You want to come in?”

“Naw. That’s okay. I’m fine out here.”

“Well, it’s chilly and I don’t want to stand around letting the heat out.”

I stepped back and he inched his way into my living room. He exhibited no interest in the place. He scarcely lifted his gaze from the floor, so I took heart that he probably wasn’t casing the joint. I closed the door behind him and gestured at one of my canvas director’s chairs. Sitting was apparently outside his comfort zone.

Since he remained standing, I followed suit. “What’s the story?”

“Pearl was at the liquor store and she saw one of them fellas that hang out at the off-ramps with cardboard signs. She saw this one guy toting Terrence’s backpack plain as day. She recognized it from the frame and even the same color bungee cords. She knew where he was headed. Bums have this hobo camp up the hill from the bird refuge? She waited ’til he was out of sight and then followed him and hid in the bushes to have her a look—”

“Pearl hid in the bushes and no one spotted her?”

“I guess not. She said there was no sign of Terrence’s cart, probably because they couldn’t have drug it up the hill. But she saw his cookstove and waterproof bags where he kept his gear. Also, his camo box.”

“Camo as in camouflage?”

“Like different color spots painted on to look like leaves. She’s wanting to get his stuff back, but there’s too much to haul even if I help out.”

I said, “Uhn-hun.”

“She said she just wisht she knew someone with a car and right away I thought about you.”

I said, “Ah.”

“She was wondering what you’d think about lending her a hand.”

“I’d think it was dumb. Pearl can’t stand me so why would I help her?”

“She said please.”

“She did not. I’d bet you a dollar she doesn’t even know you’re here.”

“Naw, not really. Way I figure it, she couldn’t ast no one at Harbor House and you’re the only other person we know that has a vehicle.”

“Well, I’m flattered you thought of me, but the idea is lame, not to mention dangerous. You can’t raid a hobo camp and hope to get away with it.”

“I told her the same thing, but she’s made up her mind. She’ll get caught if she tries doing it on her own.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I said, crossly. “I’m not going to participate in her harebrained scheme.”

“Whyn’t you just talk to her?”

“I don’t want to talk to her.”

I could see his gaze track across the floor, a rough approximation of his tiny mind at work. Finally, he said, “If you want, I can fix that.” He was pointing to the injured vacuum cleaner.

“What do you know about vacuum cleaners?”

“I can see where the belt’s come off. Won’t take a minute to fix, if you want me to. Only . . .”

“Only you want me to talk to Pearl in exchange.”

“That’d be nice. Maybe you can argue her out of it.”

“I’ll get my jacket.”

I crossed to the coat closet, watching him over my shoulder as he dropped to one knee. He had the belt back on in a jiffy, making me wonder if I’d sold out too cheap.

•   •   •

Thus it was that late afternoon on Tuesday, I found myself driving along Cabana Boulevard with a dreadlocked white boy in baggy shorts seated to my right. I was hungry and slightly cranky, which is the only way I can explain the lack of foresight. In my own mind, I wasn’t committed to the idea of helping Pearl. I was giving the
appearance
of cooperation, reserving the right to back out if she gave me any guff.

I swung by Harbor House and sent Felix in to find Pearl. “And put some clothes on,” I said as he closed the car door. He responded with a foolish grin and I watched until he disappeared from view. Even out at the street, I caught a whiff of their supper. Chili or lasagna or spaghetti and meatballs—
something
that smelled wonderful. Sitting down to a home-cooked meal three times a day must be like having a mother, someone who genuinely cared about seeing that your plate was cleaned and your tummy was full. The shelter provided the equivalent of a family home and an ever-shifting supply of siblings.

I wondered what it would take to feed 150 homeless people three meals a day. Dandy, Felix, and Pearl didn’t seem to question the fact that bed and board were theirs for the asking. In exchange for what? While I was growing fond of the three, I saw them as perpetual adolescents who’d never leave home. I’d seen the residents performing various chores around the place, but what incentive did they have to go out on their own? Their basic needs were provided for as long as they behaved. To me, the bargain seemed off-kilter. I was taught the virtues of hard work, and the trio’s complacency chafed at me. I could understand the needs of the infirm and the mentally ill. The able-bodied? Not so much. I’d heard the issue argued both for and against, but I’d never heard an equable solution.

It was still full-on daylight, but the air was taking on that odd cast that signals the gradual fading into twilight. The outside temperature was almost imperceptibly cooler. I turned on the heater and pressed my hands between my knees for warmth. I was hoping to see Dandy, thinking that if he’d gotten wind of the raid, he might be able to talk some sense into them.

Ten minutes passed and Felix emerged in black jeans and a black sweatshirt, as though prepared to knock an old lady on the head and snatch her pocketbook. He had a black rag tied around his dreads like a ninja or a sushi chef. Pearl followed in his wake, packed into blue jeans the size of those featured in the before photos in articles about weight loss of gargantuan proportions. She also wore jogging shoes, her black leather jacket, and her black knit watch cap.

She came around to the driver’s side of my car, and I got out and stood there, not wanting her to have the advantage of towering over me. Felix had opened the passenger-side door and he was about to slide into the back when he realized Pearl and I were going to have a powwow. Not wanting to miss the fun, he scampered around the front of the car and took his place at her side. I thought at first this was to show unity, but when she took out a cigarette, I realized he was only interested in bumming a smoke. She held out the pack and he took one, then pulled a Zippo from his pocket and lit both cigarettes. The two inhaled with such satisfaction, you’d have thought they’d just made love.

“He tell you about the backpack?” she asked. She still sounded belligerent, but maybe that was her normal tone.

“The gist of it. Why don’t you fill me in?”

“Man, I was PO’d. I go up to that minimart for a pack of smokes? There stands one of those Boggarts with Terrence’s backpack.”

“Boggarts?”

She fixed me with a look of disbelief. “Bad fairies. Like Knockers, only worse. My Scottish granny used to tell me stories about Boggarts when she tucked me in at night. This lot has taken over a camp in the woods where they live like hooligans. They’ll steal anything that’s not nailed down.”

“How do you know the backpack was Terrence’s?”

“Because he’d wrote his name on the front with a waterproof marker pen. I saw it with my own eyes less than two hours ago. I followed the guy and watched him hang it on a tree branch like the bears might be after it. I intend to go up there and get it back. So what do you say?”

“Why don’t you just leave well enough alone?”

“Because it belongs to Terrence.”

“But you can’t just go in there and
take
it.”

“Why not? If they stole it from Terrence, why can’t I steal it back?”

“What if they catch you?”

“They won’t. They’re out panhandling at this hour. It’s like regular shift work—five to seven except they don’t punch a clock. Besides, there’s only three of ’em.”

“And three of us,” Felix pointed out.

Pearl ignored his observation. “First, we check to make sure they’re all at work. If Boggarts are busy, we go in, get the stuff, and take off. No big deal.”

“If it’s that easy, what do you need me for?”

“It’s not just the backpack. It’s his cookstove and all his books. Terrence loved his books. He kept them in this waterproof box so the weather wouldn’t get to them. Plus, he’s got two big bags packed with stuff. Me and Felix together can’t carry that much.”

I nodded toward the shelter. “Aren’t you going to miss supper?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s not the worst of it. We’re not back by seven the place is locked up and we got no place to sleep unless we have a good excuse, which we do in this case. Otherwise, they put us at the back of the line and we have to start all over waiting for a bed. Might take months.”

“What’s your excuse?”

“I told Ken at the desk Felix and me were going to church.”

“Really. You said that? And he believed you?”

“Naw, but he knew better than to call me a liar. I’ve punched the lights out of guys for less. Anyway, don’t worry about it. Place closes, we’ll go somewheres else.”

“Pearl, be reasonable. You know what’s going to happen. The minute one of those bums sees you with the backpack, they’ll know you took it and they’ll come after you. And then what?”

“‘Then what,’ who cares? They can’t complain when they stole it off Terrence in the first place. Robbing a dead guy? How cold is that? They sure as hell won’t be filing a police report. All I’m asking is you stand by with your car and help put the stuff in the trunk. Then we take off.”

“Where is this place? Felix said it was over by the bird refuge.”

“Up that nature trail. The path snakes back in there until it butts right up against the zoo. There’s a service road runs along the hill at the property line. We go in that way, from the backside.”