Slip out the back

 

 

I never get the thing about these broads. I don’t know if it’s the chemicals in their brains, or the burning sensation to just screw a man over. One thing is for sure, they’re fucking crazy. Men, the only woman you can ever trust are your Mama. Let that be the most sensational tidbit of advice you’ll need in life.

            March 17^th 2006 was when things went into a downward spiral. Cassandra left me, burned out and past due on rent and other blood thirsty bills. She still suspects me to pay support for her fucking habits and a kid; I’m now 100% sure isn’t mine. I’m exhausted, I’m ready to give up this odyssey and take an early vacation to some place tropical – like Cancun. The establish place of business added to that weight on my shoulders, it was a dump. Don’t shit where you sleep, it never looks good to customers. I still remember Cassandra moaning like an animal in bed; while some sweat-stained grease monkey presumably gave it to her good. To reminisce was never good; it was bad for business and could get you killed.

***

I was lying in bed when the doorbell went off. Somebody told me that a steamed hot towel over your face would open your pores. But careful you had to leave it on for 10 minutes. I checked my watch, I was way passed 10 minutes, and that danm bell was still going off. I maneuvered around the office, and proceeded to open the door.

“What?” I yelled a little too loud for my eardrums.

“I’m sorry,” Prim and proper, the voice sounded like it came from the other side of the rainbow. I tilted my head straight, removing the towel and taking in the glorified young thing in front of me. Talk about a goddess, long legs, coke shaped bottle figure, bobbed haircut. My heart mended itself back together and was setting off fireworks for this bombshell in front of me.

“You’re not my type,” she said. I could hear the disdain and uncertainness in her voice. It wasn’t me, honest. It was the fact that my dirty house was my official place of business. A mess yes, but I always had a pristine suit stashed away, for emergencies.

“You can come in, it won’t eat you.” I ushered her inside my hand on the small of her back.

“I’m looking for my girlfriend; she and I had an argument that was last month. I hadn’t seen her since,” I stopped acting busy and turned slightly towards the bombshell. She was a dyke; this chick could have any man she wanted. “I guess you meant business when you mentioned I wasn’t your type,” I chuckled a bit. Ignoring her look of agitation, and opened the folder.

“Sure, I’ll take your case,” I got up to get a thing of juice from the fridge.

“So you say it’s your girl friend?”

“Yes, her name is Polla,” she rummaged in her purse and took out a photo. She placed it on my desk amongst all the old cases and old Tai food.

“Does she have a last name?” The brunette shook her head

“She never told me.” I knocked back the juice, poured another and sat myself on the reclining sofa.

“How long have you been dating?”

“We weren’t exactly dating,”

I gave her a side ways glance that I hoped showed her how much this case is going no where.

“Ok… how long have you two been intimately connected?” I manage, jotting down notes from the file.

“It would be six months. Not including last month though.”

“So that would be five months then?” I was confused, what was this broad leading me with.

“No, it would still be six. If she was not missing it would be seven.”

“Oh.”

Whatever. The girl was probably dead. Not to be negative. But the last missing case I did, the girl turned up in a dumpster across the street from my client’s house. Finding a missing person had the same chances of plunging a goldfish out of a toilet after you flushed it down. Why I do it?

Rent went up this month.

I got up and walked over to my desk. I took the picture and saw one of the most horrible photographs with one of the most beautiful girls. It was supposed to be one of those artsy morbid pictures, where the girl has tattoos in all the intricate places. It was supposed to be a pinup; she had blonde hair, with blue eyes, and the only distinguishable feature was the beauty mark on her upper lip. I got the sense she was French; I don’t know why.

“You have any other pictures besides this?” I placed it down on the table and slid it back to her. She placed her index finger on Polla’s photogenic lips and caressed them; you could really tell by her eyes that she longed to feel them again.

“She didn’t tell me much about herself, let alone give me permission to take a sophisticated picture of her.”

She pushed the picture back. I took it without saying another word.

“Here.” She took out a match book with a night clubs logo on the jacket. “She was probably seen here last.” I took and examined it. It said Dance Hall; my guess was people went there to dance.

“Why would she be here?” I asked.

“She goes there to cool off. We got into an argument. It’s also where we met,” she chuckled softly.

Something in the back of my head told me I should probe more, but I just didn’t care. “Ok, I’ll check it out.”

“Thank you.” She gave me a small smile and was getting ready to be on her way.

“Don’t mention it. But this is how I work, its $500 a day and you pay for all my expenses. Any questions?”

“What are the expenses?”

“Gas basically, and much needed things like food and drinks.”

She gave me a look that said I was crazy, as if I wrote the book on management for Private eyes.

“I’ll try to keep the eating and drinking to a minimum ok? Also I’m going to need some cash for camera equipment.” No, that’s not right. “No I take that back, just film.”

She gave a deep sigh and shook her head. “I’m a photographer I have film.”

She gave me a cold hard stare, which made me realize how green her eyes really were. Pretty -- shame she was into girls like Polla here, who looked like she broke a few hearts. The lady took five rolls of film out of her purse and sat them on my desk. Funny, they went to the camera hanging right next to my jacket.

“Good then, I’ll get right on your case,” I said.

She nodded her approval and got up to leave. The dress she was wearing was a little silk number, black just like the spade tattooed on her calf. This lady was very well endowed alright. Then it came to me. I never got her name; she was out the door and probably down the street already.

***

After that week or so a little eighteen year old kid came to my door. It was tempting, very tempting. She was offering $1000 a day and didn’t put up much of a hassle with expenses. I was still at the top of the ice-burg with this missing Pin-up Polla. There was no way I would find Polla with the stuff I had. I had to go deeper, broaden my horizons and go to where only few would ever allow themselves to go.

“So, will you take my case?” the kid, who’s name I butcher up entirely, says. I turn my eyes away from looking outside the window. From figuring out my decision; to whether I should take her case and drop the goddess’ missing Pin-up star or to leave playtime to kids like the one here.

“No,” I said.

“No!” she said, “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no, as in I don’t want to be bother.”

She looked like a little pixie boy, red from anger. She ran a manicured hand through her short hair and put the money back in her backpack. Yeah, a backpack, meaning this kid could still be in high school. I wasn’t taking her case because of that reason; this kid is a liability, probably one with a rich daddy that would have my head on a platter.

“Listen, I desperately need to find my sister…”

“Then go to the police, kid. Listen I’d like to help, for a $1000 dollars I’d really like to help but that’s what you are, a kid. And I don’t work with kids,” I practically yelled.

The kid’s face looked like it was going to self destruct. Her lips were tight and probably behind those, she was holding back a tongue that wanted to rip me a new one. She finally relaxes, and turned her head to one side–probably to hide the tears. She breathed in deeply a few times, and tucks a couple of brown strands behind her ears. I sighed and handed her a napkin that was on my desk. I was doing a very honorable thing for once it seemed. But it made me feel too much like shit. I was worrying myself over about this kid, not how much money she was willing to pay. I had to make her walk out of here feeling something other then total resentment for me.

“I can’t go to the cops; my mother forbids it.” She looked up at me with red eyes, the irises a little darker then her hair. “You’re my only chance.” 

What a crock, I couldn’t say no to those doe eyes, but I couldn’t just let whatever her name is down either. Maybe... I took a piece of paper off my desk and ripped it in half. “Write down your info, where you live, your number; anything that lets me get in contact with you.” I gave her a pen and she wrote down the works; her name, the numbers to about three phones and her address to school and home. Maybe I can’t say no, but I can get her to believe I’m eventually going to look into it.

She snatched the paper away before I had a chance to take it, and she showed me her pinky. What the hell was this?

“You have to swear you’ll call me eventually. That you’re not doing this just to get me out of your office.”

“See that’s the thing, I am doing this to get you out of my office.” I took her pinky and we shook on it.

4508 Redwood Drive. That’s all the way across the bridge. The good neighborhoods were there, where the rich stay. I wanted to take Cassandra and Nigel there once I saved up enough cash, but this was before she went soft for other men. Her name is M-A-Z-E-R-A-T-T-I but for some reason I keep saying it like I’m retarded.

“Nice to meet you Ma-zer-rati,” I shook her hand this time.

“You too, Dante, private dick,” she said snidely. Maybe it was me but I think that had a double meaning

I hated kids that think they’re cute, made me want to take a belt to their asses. This one goes off on her merry way, and I threw the kid’s scrabble in a hoop, missing it and the garbage pin. I had to pick up leads to the Pin-up case, and I had only just about too many places to go.

I’m too unprofessional; why didn’t I get at least the name and number of the goddess with shitty photography.

 

***

It was Tuesday and a week had gone by since my encounter with that rich kid. At 2:30 in the morning I was knocking back water and listening to the tunes of some jazzy folks. I was sorting bills and thinking about just quitting everything all at once and leaving. The phone rang but I didn’t care. It was probably Cassandra wanting to squeeze me of everything I got. The answer machine took it while I made my way into the bathroom to wash my face. I turned on the light and squinted against the bright fluorescent light. I nearly jumped out of my skin once I saw my appearance; my suit was in disarray, bags under my eyes, and my black hairs were unkempt – I looked like shit.

            “Hello detective Yee, this is Mercille I’m calling about my case. I was hoping I could talk to you about it sometime. Or you can just call me back at…”

            Mercille… her name was Mercille. The Goddess was named Mercille.

I rushed over to the phone. This was a sign; someone was shining bright light down on me.

“…you can reach me at 555-9...”

“Hello, Mercille, you there?”

“Mr.Yee?” she asked.

“Yeah I’m here.”

I let out a few deep breaths and composed myself, during my takeoff I knocked the chair and trashcan over. What a mess. It was hard to hear her against the backdrop of noise from the streets. Caller I.D said it was a cell phone.

“Could you meet me at the Chat Café and Bar in five minutes?” I asked her.

“Yeah,” she said.

She mentioned she was on Grand Ave, which was across the street from the bar. I was just five minutes up the street and around the corner, where the small green colored house was between a family dentistry and some Law firm. We hung up, I grabbed my coat and I left the house.

Five minutes later she was inside sipping on some coffee and eating pie. I walked in and sat down at the table. There was barely anyone here besides a bunch of waitresses. There was only a lone man in the corner reading a newspaper his back to us.

“Hello Mr.Yee,” she said.

“Call me Dante. What do you got for me?”

She gets out her purse, an address. Again it was something that linked to that Dance Joint.

“I know for a fact she was there last, a friend of mines saw her walk out, you should look there.”

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“Ricky, he’s there…Monday and I think Thursday.”

It was Tuesday, which leaves me to go on Thursday.

“What would you like?” a waitress said.

“Nothing, thanks.” I picked up the address, and stuffed it in my shirt pocket.

I took out a ten dollar bill which would cover the meal; it was only humble if I did something for a woman in grief.

“On me,” I said, before I left.

***

Dance Hall was just alive everywhere, everything was alive and it was chaotic. The stereos were pumping drums and bass and told everyone to just dance. This was Dance Hall, this was where Polla was seen last. Mercille said some bartender named Ricky confirmed that. I made my way through the sea of gyrating bodies all the way to the little island bar. Everything on the menu looked a little too tropic for my taste. Tahiti beer seemed rational so I decided to order that.

The brunette lanky man dressed like Tarzan came by, wearing a leopard print thingy around his groin. This must be Ricky, like it said on his name tag.

“What can I get, for you?” he shouted.

I took out the picture of Polla and showed it to him. I watched his face closely; his eyes narrow but that twinkle of recognition is evident.

“Yeah, Polla right. Mercille sent you, hold on one minute.” He went away to tend to some other people who looked suspiciously like they were under the age of consent. He served them some froufrou drink and came back to me.

“She was here a couple of weeks ago. Drunk as a skunk, and dancing her ass off. Do you want something?”

“Tahiti beer, did you see anything else?”

            He stopped mixing my drink and looked deep in thought.

            “She was with this one guy, they were causing commotion but that was about it I think,” he said.

            “What did he look like?” I asked.

            “He was blonde as blonde as her, average build. That’s all I could ever get from here.”

He finished fixing me my drink and sat it down on the bar. I paid $5.95 and took my drink; it looked like ice tea but tasted good. I hadn’t had alcohol in a long time.

“If you want info, you should go talk to Lupe, she’s bound to know where your girl is.”

“Do you know where I can find her?” I asked.

He tried to do it inconspicuously. But I think a few saw he was snitching about where the big cheese was. He pointed to a booth that looked private; it was dimly lit and a little spooky. But you could still see its lone occupant there. She had black hair done in a bun with a couple of bangs hanging; green eyes and olive skin with a suit that was meant for business.

“What is she, the boss?” I asked entranced with this beauty.

“Yeah, you can say that,” he said. “You want anything else?”

I didn’t care what he was saying. I saw my prey and I went for it.

I had two objectives tonight, to find information and have this beauty be a bed mate.

“Is this seat taken?” I asked, once I approached her.

Lupe gave me a disgusted look as if I was a poisoned, disgusting animal not meant for her time.

“If you must,” she said.

For a minute I couldn’t understand her. She had a heavy thick accent that sounded Latin. I gave her my most charming smile and sat down. She made a move to get up and walk away. I grabbed her hand and yanked her back before she had a chance.

“You have some nerve,” she sneered.

“All I want to do is talk.”

“Right, I don’t care then.”

She yanked her hand away, but I yanked it back. It was tug of war over a manicured hand.

“Word is you know where Polla is.” She stopped her struggling and paused, just paused, like she saw a ghost.

“You’re looking for Polla?” she sounded shock. I nodded my head, and had let her go. She sat down right across from me. And just like that her whole mood shifted, a look of recognition plastered on her face.

“You know where I can find her?” I asked.

“No, she left.” This girl wanted to play games. That’s why she was lying through her teeth.

“How do you know that for sure?”

“Because this is my club and a good club owner knows.” The music switched from one energized song to the next. I kept on telling myself not to get involved with this psycho eyed beauty. “You a detective?” she asked in a light hearted voice.

“Sort of, it’s not like I really do detective stuff you know. I just do odd stuff people are too proper to do.”

“Just like a detective.” She smiled one graceful smile and ordered a drink to be brought to the table. Another Tarzan waiter came by with some bubbly green stuff in a cup.

“What’s with this jungle theme?” I finally asked. It was on my mind ever since I got here.

“I’m honoring the Rainforest, its sort of my fight against the injustice done to Mother Nature.” No wonder so many people here were dressed up like freaks of nature. She picked up her drink and I picked up my beer.

“To the Rainforest then,” I saluted.

“To the Rainforest, Saluda.” She took one big gulp of whatever it was and sat it back down. Squinting and jerking around while the alcohol went through her system. She sat the glass down and took one big sigh. She leaned back and gave me a big lazy smile. “If you dig too deep detective you might have a short life.” She flirted dangerously, and it excited me and the same time it frightened me. After a few more drinks the case was out the window and I was in love all over again. “You want to get out of here?” she suggested.

I was a fool, I nodded and we got up. She led me towards the entrance. She did it with such ease – I felt like I was flying. I was on cloud nine with this girl in my arms. It was chilly outside, but it was strangely warm. It was pretty light outside, with all these street lights, but with every step it seemed to me as if it got dimmer and dimmer.

***

4508 Redwood Drive was the last place I considered heading to. It was Friday afternoon and all the people were probably having their tea right now. I was at the rich kid’s neighborhood and everything was huge. What the people said about this neighborhood was right -- it was the best part of town. I got out of my pickup truck and looked at the big pale blue mansion. Just across the street is another mansion of similar attributes. This was the suburbs and it was too boring for my tastes. What led me to come here was the note on Lupe’s refrigerator door. 4508 Redwood Drive with the initials N.W. Obviously it’s the same address as the Mazeratti girl. It was too suspicious how two unlikely individuals were connected.

Just in case I went across the street of the 18 year old and open up the trashcan – there was no body. Just in case I kicked it over and looked through the bags; still nothing. The body of Polla wasn’t in there.

“What the hell are you doing?” Mazeratti asked, once she approached my back.

What could I say? This was a decent neighborhood and I didn’t want to go around spoiling it. I dropped the bag of trash and looked down at the kid. She looked like she just played a game of tennis.

“I came to talk to you about your case,” I said.

“Oh, never mind, she came back a few days ago. You don’t need to worry, thanks for keeping your promise by the way.”

Polla disappeared sometime around the kid’s sister reappeared. What the hell was this about? There was only one real solution to this case: Polla had to be the sister.

“Do you think I can meet your sister?” The kid gave me this real suspicious eye.

“Why would you want to meet her?” she asked.

“Mild curiosity,” I said.

Across the street a lady in the doorway was looking at our exchange of words. She had blonde curly hair just like Polla. Mazeratti follows my eyes and smiled.

“That’s my sister,” she sighed. A big smile on her face. “She came back Wednesday. My brother brought her back.”

A theory suddenly came into my mind. The confrontation at the club between the blonde man and Polla, it was probably an intervention. Polla being a rich girl probably was bored with her life. Ran away and had an affair with Mercille and probably one with Lupe as well. That could explain 4508 Redwood Drive being on her fridge. My guess was she was getting high on pretty much everything; she must have since she was in a place like Dance Hall. This brother of hers must have found out and came to get her, he succeeded.

“What’s her name?” I asked, fishing in my pocket to get out a picture.

“Nerrissa,” she says. She must have had no idea where her big sister was – innocent Mazeratti.

I handed the picture of Polla to Mazeratti, while staring straight into Nerrissa’s eyes. They looked worried from where I am, but she still insisted on staying put.

“Who is Polla?” she asked, while glancing at the back.

“Give it to her,” I pointed to Nerrissa. “She’s a friend of your sisters.”

My job is done. I feel like I shouldn’t go on anymore with this case. I’ll go home call up Cassandra and see how the boy is doing. Then I’ll call up Mercille, tell her the news and see how she takes it. It would be wrong to not tell her the whereabouts of her Polla. She has a right to know, even if it wasn’t from me.  

But then again I had to get my paycheck