Dead Men Tell No Tales. Strange Men On The Other Hand...

 

I looked at Pin Up Man’s watch and his clothes a bit more closely before committing to taking the case, I didn’t see anything that stood out about the clothes. There was a slim possibility Pin Up Man was bluffing about who he was. He could be the intruder, having killed a guy in his own apartment, switched clothes with him and cooked this whole story up to cover his own butt. What are the odds an intruder would break into a place where the resident happens to be his exact same size.

Not likely. If that was the case it would be premeditated murder and not the unanticipated mishap story Pin Up Man was telling. He smiled at me. His eyes looking a bit brighter. I raised an eyebrow in response. Apparently he thinks flirting a little will help sell it. I needed to find a way to coax any bullshit to the surface quickly. As an idea came to mind, I could feel one corner of my mouth begin to turn up in a grin then reversed the movement quickly before he had the chance to catch on. I reached into my desk and pulled out a clean contract. Filling in a couple of blanks, I turned the page upside down and presented it to my new potential client.

“I charge two hundred fifty dollars a day plus expenses. If I get stabbed, choked, shot at or end up in or near any explosions there is a $5,000.00 charge...for the first incident. The charge increases by another $5,000.00 for each subsequent incident.”

“So if there are three incidents?” He asked.

“It’s an extra $30,000.00 on the bill.” I respond.

It was a gamble, but I figured if his story wasn’t quite the complete truth or if he was in trouble with any business associates and was looking for some idiot to be a human shield he’d be motivated to go looking for a cheaper option. One of the petty thieves he admitted to fencing stolen goods for perhaps.

Pin Up Man nodded. The dollar amount didn’t seem to phase him. “Hazard pay.” He said, signing the contract.

“Someone’s got to look after Nonna.”

He reached into his pocket, unfolded a stack of bills, and began counting. “This should cover your first day’s work.”

I said, “Thank you for your business,” as I deposited the contract and the money in another drawer. Closing the drawer, I grabbed my keys and began walking towards the door.

“You’re just going to leave that in a drawer?” He asked.

“My secretary will take care of it when she gets back.”

Pin Up Man rose from his seat, falling into step beside me.

“Upper East Side.” I said, confirming our destination.

“Upper East Side.” He repeated. A look of surprise crossing his face briefly.

“If I didn’t have an inkling of who might live where in this city I wouldn’t be much of a detective now would I?”

“Probably wouldn’t.” He admitted with a grin.

I locked the door before pulling it shut behind us.

Traffic being no worse than usual we made it to Pin Up Man’s place in less than twenty minutes. He unlocked the apartment and we both entered.

“If you’ll wait here I’ll turn some lights on.”

I agreed to wait, mentally counted to ten and quietly followed.

A light came on in the opposite corner of the living room as Pin Up Man said, “I’ve never known a detective to be afraid of the dark.”

“Maybe I have a mutation that makes my eyesight better in the dark.”

“An unusual superpower.”

“World famous detectives usually have an eccentricity or two.” I responded.

“Like Hercule Poirot or Sherlock Holmes?”

“Those guys aren’t real.”

“Bur you are and have better eyes than the rest of us.”

“Maybe. That wouldn’t be the only reason I might follow someone into a dark room. There is already a stiff somewhere in this apartment.”

“And you’re afraid of what? Ghosts?”

“No but sometimes people forget to pick up random things before company arrives.”

“Like the strange man who came to your office recently, confessing to having killed an intruder. A man you have never heard of before today and know little about.” He said looking at me.

“I’m a pretty good judge of character.”

“Yet you don’t trust me.” Pin Up Man said.

“I don’t know you.” I responded. I crossed the room, standing in front of him, and looked in his eyes. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I can sense that you aren’t telling me everything. When someone’s not telling you everything it’s usually because they have something to hide.”

“I told you my name, what I do for a living and that I killed a man. I brought you to my apartment to look at the body, what would I be hiding that could possibly be any worse?”

“Let’s take a look around and find out.” I looked around the room. It was sparsely furnished. Full of dark furniture and expensive items designed to look unpretentious but screamed, “Expensive. The owner of this item paid ten times what it is actually worth. Maybe more. Envy them.” Quite frankly I never understood why people have to get so fancy about the basic things in life. Sometimes a vase is just a vessel for holding flowers. You know it’s good because it isn’t leaking any water. Keep it simple folks. Keep it simple. Stopping at the window I checked out the view Pin Up Man’s money afforded him. It was beautiful, also a long way down.

“The body is in the hallway?” I asked.

He nodded and gestured for me to follow. We walked into a long, narrow hallway, at the end of it was a dead body.

The World Famous Faraday

 

The door to my office opened and he walked in. The man was tall. His brown hair tousled by the wind, lending an air of seduction that could only be surpassed by the look of determination in his eyes. As my eyes continued their journey I guessed his weight to be about 185, perfect for his 6 foot plus frame. His clothes fit well and were expensive accentuating his broad shoulders and the fact that he was appropriately angled in all the right places. I smiled a bit knowing he probably couldn’t see my facial expression. He might not even be aware I am in the room. Most people aren’t. He looked just like one of those men on the cover of the secret billionaire lover books my secretary was always reading. I mentally named him Pin Up Man and hoped one of his names began with a “P” just in case I slipped and started to address him as Pin Up.

The man stopped moving halfway across the room. “Hello?” He called.

Which is what everyone else does. I leaned to the side a bit and switched the lamp next to my desk on.

“Is anyone here?” He asked, looking around.

Which is also what everyone else does. I lifted my hand in a “Right Here” gesture. He finally saw me.

“Hello. I’m looking for Mr. Faraday.”

I raised my hand again. “I’m Faraday.”

“You’re a woman.” He said.

I looked at my chest. “I am.” I responded as I turned my attention back to the stranger. He got that surprised look, the one everyone usually gets. The one that says, “This has to be some kind of a joke.”

“You’re the world famous Faraday? The detective who single handedly rescued the Lentil baby?” He asked.

I nodded.

“The reward for finding that baby was…”

“...insane.” I said finishing Pin Up Man’s sentence. “The reward was insane.”

“And your office is here, in one of the most run down neighborhoods in the city?”

“This is the office where I set up shop ten years ago. This is where my office will be when I lock the doors for the last time.”

“You don’t like change.” He observed as he stepped closer to my desk.

“No just lazy. This desk weighs a good 80 pounds. It’s a real bitch to move.” Removing my feet off the top of the desk, I leaned forward and pulled myself and my chair out of a relaxed recline and into an upright position. “As for finding the Lentil baby, some things just require a woman’s touch.” I stood up and let Pin Up Man get a good look at me. My thick black hair, matching eyes, too pale to be olive skin and the way it seems to blend in with my clothing.

“Faraday...you’re not Irish.” Pin Up Man observed.

“I am not.”

He blushed a little. “Faraday is an Irish name.”

I shrugged. “Don’t tell my nonna, I’ll never hear the end of it.” I gestured to the empty chair on the other side of the desk. Pin Up Man sat down.

“How can I help you Mr…”

“Mr. Pierce. Aaron Pierce.”

That just saved my ass. “How can I help you Mr. Pierce?” I asked. He waited a bit before he answered. In my business that kind of hesitation is never a good sign. Pin Up Man looked at his watch a Jaeger-LeCoultre, his taste extended to his time piece, I could set my own price, if I was that kind of woman.

“It is delicate business.” He began.

“I follow very specific confidentiality guidelines, if you did anything wrong that required you to need a detective I would not tell anyone what happened to lead you to my office.”

He studied my face as he thought about my words. Mr. Pierce quickly relaxed. A little too quickly if you ask me.

“You won’t tell the authorities?”

I shook my head. My confidentiality code of conduct is not quite as strict as say that of an attorney or a therapist, there are exceptions, Pin Up Man doesn’t need to know that.

“A man is dead. I need to know who he was, what he was doing in my apartment, and why.”

I kept my face expressionless and nodded, once.“Why is that important to you?”

“Because I’m the one who killed him.”

Pierce looked at my face searching for some indication of whether I was trustworthy, if it was okay to share more information. I waited him out.

“I am a business man. A successful one. I sell art along with various rare artifacts. I’m successful because I am a bit more open to non-traditional approaches when it comes to acquiring particularly expensive and difficult to locate pieces.”

“You steal them.” I suggested.

“I acquire them which does mean purchasing an item from someone who did acquire the item in a less than completely respectable manner from time to time.”

“Someone who is looking to fence their stolen item.”

He ignored my comment and continued. “Particularly valuable and rare pieces usually go to buyers who are obtaining it for their private collections.”

“The customer is also a criminal type who doesn’t want any cops sniffing around. What happened?”

“I entered my apartment and noticed things were not as I’d left them. I keep a handgun in my desk for emergencies. I did a walk through and found a man coming out of a guest bathroom. He had a gun. So did I. I shot him without really thinking about it.”

“What happened to make you question shooting the intruder?”

“I looked around for a stash of things he had set in one area of the house, things he had planned on leaving with, I checked his pockets, and found nothing. He wasn’t dressed like an intruder either.”

“Intruders don’t exactly wear t-shirts with the word Intruder printed across them.” I pointed out.

“I work with these people. I know them on sight.”

I looked at Pin Up Man with my ‘my mistake’ expression and moved on to other things. “When did you kill him?”

“About an hour ago. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I just want to be sure.”

“You killed a bad guy?”

“Something like that.”

I looked at Pin Up Man. He seemed sincere. If I’ve learned anything since I started working in this business there are some very unsavory characters out there who when you speak with them appear to be very sincere. There are kind, upstanding citizens all over this city. Some have skeletons in their closets, others have bodies buried in the back yard. Only a handful of them are truly sincere. I wondered if this was a good idea and mentally shook my head, it probably wasn’t. It was an interesting case, it wasn’t like anyone else was beating down my door at the moment and quite frankly I was getting really bored. Besides, it would always be a great story for Nonna.

Excerpt: The Ninja Zombie War: Listen For The Screams

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. If you do see yourself you are probably undead and who wants to admit they are a zombie anyway. Except for Bob. Bob sacrificed himself bravely and unselfishly to save the world from a Ninja Zombie takeover. Feel free to stop and take a moment of silence for Bob. The story will wait. (A ninja star sails past the reader's head and impales itself to the wall next to the reader's ear). You might want to hurry with that quiet moment.

    The Ninja Zombie War: Listen For The Screams

“Meow...MEOW. YOW!” Dobby walks through the house yowling loudly and repeatedly.

“Yes, kitty. What do you need?” Writer Lady asks meeting Dobby in the living room.

“Play with me.” Dobby demands.

“I fed you, gave you fresh water, scooped your box, brushed you and I tried to play with you. You wanted no part of it.”

“I wasn't ready.”

“That was twenty minutes ago. What could possibly have changed in the last twenty minutes?” Writer Lady asks.

“I finished my bath.” Dobby announces.

Writer Lady ponders his response for a moment. “You're sure about this? Because if I go get a toy you are required to play, there's no going back. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“You're sure?”

Dobby nods.

Writer Lady walks over to the toy basket. It's empty. She starts checking random corners and other spots where abandoned cat toys go to live. Nothing. “Dobby kitty. Where are your toys?”

Dobby makes a concentrated effort to look for the toys gazing heavenward. “I don't know.”

Writer Lady turns from her search to confirm that Dobby is helping. “Dobby the toys aren't stuck to the ceiling kitty.”

“Have you ever looked at the ceiling?” Dobby asks. “If you don't look how will you know?”

“Really? That's your argument?” Writer Lady asks, turning her attention away from Dobby to look under the couch cushions. “You looked at the ceiling. Now why don't you make yourself useful and crawl around underneath the couch?”

“Sorry Mom. I can't. I'm waiting.” Dobby says.

“Waiting?”

“Waiting to see if the house gives me my toys back.” Dobby says.

Writer Lady mutters and continues looking for cat toys. Several minutes pass. Five at least.

“Dobby kitty, where's the big red flashlight?” Writer Lady asks, she is holding a back scratcher in one hand and is tapping her open palm lightly with the other end of the scratcher.

Dobby watches her movements closely. “Um...”

“Come on kitty, spit it out. I don't want to be searching for this stuff all night.”

“Don't beat me?” Dobby says meekly.

Writer Lady stops tapping, thinking about what she has just been doing. She pales slightly and tosses the back scratcher on the couch. “I would never hurt you kitty. I love you. This all just so frustrating. There has got to be a better way to find these toys.” Writer Lady says flopping on the couch letting out a dramatically over sized sigh. She suffers so.

“We can get the toys back more quickly. But Mom? You are going to have to do some things you really don't want to do.” Dobby says.

“I don't care. Let's just do this.”

“Let me call the team.” Dobby says crossing to the far corner of the room where a tall table with a straight key and a set of steps appears. Dobby places paw to pad and starts his message.

“Who are you calling?” Writer Lady asks.

“The “T” team.”

“The “T” team?”

“Yes “T” team or Titys for short.” Dobby explains.

Writer Lady rises from the couch. “Dobby? You're sure? There's...there's no other way?”

“No Mom. There is no other way.”

Writer Lady groans.

“Never Fear! The Titys are here!” Tinkletoes announces proudly making an entrance from the kitchen into the living room. Tinkletoes and Carp are in full camouflage. Their faces and bodies are painted camouflage. Each are wearing night vision mono-goggles.

“What's the trouble Dobby?” Tinkletoes asks.

“Mom can't find any of my toys.” Dobby says.

“Toy Reconnaissance. I like it.” Tinkletoes says. “Carp needs practice with the night vision equipment.”

“You're the one who couldn't find his way out of the can.” Carp points out.

“Me? No. I never have trouble with my equipment.” Tinkletoes announces proudly and smiles.

“I had to come and get you. You were sitting on the floor crying.”

“Sometimes new equipment is confusing.” Tinkletoes admits.

“The lens cover was still on.”

“Don't forget Carp, I am the one who invited you to be a Tity in the first place. If you can't conduct yourself appropriately I may have to ask you to leave.”

Writer Lady stands in her living room listening to the exchange. Quietly making her way over to Dobby she says, “I don't like this. I think we have two options kitty. I can go out and buy you all new toys or we can let these two boobs find the toys if they don't kill each other first.”

“Titys Mom. They are Titys.”

“At this point they should just be fired.” Writer Lady says.

“It's too late for that Writer Lady.” Tinkletoes announces. “I teach men to fish. There will be three boobs tonight!”

A few minutes later Writer Lady finds herself fully ensconced in pink camo. There was make-up too. Yep. Pink face.

“If you two are in green camo why am I wearing pink?” Writer Lady asks.

“You're a girl.” Tinkletoes says.

“Isn't camo supposed to make you blend in with your surroundings? There is not much in this house that's green let alone pink.”

Tinkletoes shakes his head.

“Think of it this way Writer Lady, if the three of us made one giant boob you know which part you'd would be.” Tinkletoes offers.

“Thanks.” Writer Lady says and lowers her head.

Within minutes all three are on the floor crawling through the living room on their bellies. Tinkletoes and Carp have their night vision goggles on. Every few seconds Tinkletoes stops the procession.

“I told you. Butt down.” Tinkletoes reminds Writer Lady.

“My butt is down.”

“If you don't get it down further it could be shot off.”

“Are you carrying a gun?” Writer Lady asks.

“No.”

“Is Carp packing?”

“No.” Tinkletoes says.

“Then how is my butt going to get shot off? We are looking for toys.”

“Toy Reconnaissance.”

Writer Lady's face begins to redden. Then she calms. “Actually reconnaissance means to survey your surroundings, retrieval would be a much better word.” Writer Lady smiles and continues her crawl.

Tinkletoes catches up to her, “As the Commanding Officer I name the missions. Reconnaissance sounds better.”

“Until you used the wrong word.” Writer Lady points to the far end of the room. “I'll just be on the left end of the perimeter continuing search and rescue. If you need anything.”

Making her way to the left end of the perimeter which was also the left side of the couch, Writer Lady peers underneath. A bright light gleams in her eyes.

“I think I found one of the eyeballs. Reach out and grab it Writer Lady.” Carp says.

“I can't see anything. Which one is it?”

“The blue one.”

Writer Lady puts her hand up to one eye to soften the glare coming off of Carp's night vision goggle and get a better look.

“Too late. It's gone.” Carp says.

“The floor doesn't slope so the ball can't be gone unless someone touched it.” Writer Lady says. She glares back into the light in an effort to stress her argument.

“It's back.” Tinkletoes says. “Grab it now!” He has joined Carp at the right end of the couch.

“Just let me find the flashlight.” Writer Lady says, crawling around in the dark room.

“You don't need the flashlight it's right in front of you.” Tinkletoes says.

“If it was right in front of me I would have seen it already.” Writer Lady argues. “Carp? The flashlight is right behind you. Would you please get it for me?”

Carp looks at Tinkletoes. Tinkletoes gives Carp a quick nod. Reaching directly behind, Carp retrieves the Big Red Flashlight and tosses it on to the couch within easy reach of Writer Lady.

“Thanks.” Writer Lady says, reaching for the flashlight. Holding the the flashlight in front of her face she flips the light on.

“There it is!” Carp yells pointing.

Startled, Writer Lady drops the flashlight on her knee, reaches up and slaps her hand over her eye. “Ouch.”

“Oh sorry Ma'am. I guess I was wrong.” Carp admits.

“You think?” Writer Lady says, as her face throbs.

“You smacked yourself pretty good. We heard it real good down here.” Carp says. “So you know, if it bruises, your face won't just be pink anymore.”

“Thank you Carp. You sure know how to make a girl feel pretty.” Writer Lady says, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“You're welcome?”

Leaning back down Writer Lady uses the flashlight to look underneath the couch.

“There's nothing under here.”

“You sure?” Tinkletoes asks.

“I know what a cat toy looks like.” Writer Lady says glaring at Tinkletoes. “Unlike other people.”

“I'm sorry ma'am.” Carp looks at Tinkletoes and leans in to whisper. “She holds a grudge doesn't she?”

“Oh yeah. Just make sure you don't play with the feminine napkins. You'll never hear the end of it.” Tinkletoes answers.

“Why would I do that? What kind of a guy plays with feminine napkins?” Carp asks.

Tinkletoes gets quiet and pales.

“They weren't used were they?”

Tinkletoes shakes his head and changes the subject. “Where else would the toys be?” Tinkletoes asks Writer Lady.

“Anywhere. Especially on the floor or under the furniture. This is the spot they usually all end up.” Writer Lady answers.