Chapter One: scene 1
“Goddammit,” I said, laying the gun down on my kitchen table. “Two assholes dead and I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.”
I suppose that wasn’t such a great yardstick, I hadn’t brushed my teeth in three days at that point, but in my defense I had drank a lot of bourbon, so I imagine that would have killed anything too dangerous hanging out between my gums. Either way, it was early, too early to be dealing with this kind of shit, but that didn’t change anything. I still had two meat sacks taking up floor space in a studio apartment that was short on square feet to begin with.
It was bold, breaking into my apartment first thing in the morning...ish. I had to give them that, but it didn’t bode well for the rest of my day. I’d been happy to stay boxed up here in my place for the previous four days, and if I had to guess, I would’ve been happy to stay another four. I was in no hurry to head out into the over eager world where people wanted you to take on extravagant responsibilities like showering and putting on clean clothes. My place, my little twenty by twenty cubicle was just fine by me, and as long as I didn’t have to take care of anything pressing, like disposing of two dead bodies, I could happily hide out there until the liquor store stopped delivering.
That said, I did have two dead bodies that I’d have to get rid of before they started attracting flies. It was the flies I worried about, not the smell. I didn’t imagine two bodies could ever smell any worse than the place already did, so it was unlikely that people would complain about that. Flies on the other hand, well, they’d certainly make a mess of the product they were cooking in the tub in the unit above mine, so, I’d have to get rid of the bodies before they started attracting flies, but still and all, it would have to wait. Even in my shitty building folks would notice someone dragging a couple of corpses out the front door at ten in the morning. Well, probably they would.
Since disposal was going to have to wait I figured I might as well finish my coffee and try and figure out who these goons were. They were dressed nicely, not suits or any shit like that, just nice, like, ya know, no holes in their jeans. Clothes were clean. They had recent haircuts and were both clean shaven. Definitely not from around here.
I ruled out petty burglars since I had nothing worth stealing. Hell, no one in this part of town did, except maybe the meth lab upstairs. Maybe they just had the wrong place. Unlikely though, their teeth were white and their skin was clean and clear. These weren’t junkies looking to steal a score. No, they were after something specific.
Since I had nothing that anyone would want, that left two possibilities. One, they mistakenly thought I had something they wanted, or two, I was the thing they wanted. The first seemed more likely. I’m not really anything special. Hell, I’ve been turned down by three dollar hookers. Plural, as in more than once. The only thing that would make you notice me on the street is my smell. That said, I do seem to have a way of pissing folks off. It’s kind of like my superpower and the reason I was kicked out of the Forces. The question is, is it enough for someone to pay a couple of mouth breathers to off me? the answer, I suppose, is that it’s never happened before, but it wouldn’t surprise me either.
The list of potential whos on that list was too long to pick apart without having some more information to narrow down the list. It was most likely someone from a previous case. It couldn’t be current because I didn’t currently have a case to work on. I knelt next to one of the assholes and stuck my hand in his jeans pocket. In retrospect it seems obvious that that’s when someone else would walk in my door.
The first thing I saw was her ankles. They were, how shall we say, nice. Shapely in nude stockings, set atop slender feet in red suede heels, the left one circled by a delicate gold chain. Honestly, I’d be better off if that’s all I’d ever seen of her. The rest just caused me problems.
"Holy shit, you fucking killed him!”
I looked up slowly, and honest to God, the rest almost killed me. Legs to the sky, barely hidden inside a light, loose fitting red dress with black lace trim at the edges. Hips you could drive a jaguar around and butter white skin dotted with caramel freckles in places that made you embarrassed to notice. She had fire red lips that rested with a part between them that made the imagination run wild, and hair the color of roses in autumn that brushed at her shoulders and gave me shivers.
"Well, I mean, he started it,” I said.
She looked at me dumbfounded.
"So, who is he anyway?” I asked. “And while we’re at it, who are you?”
"You’re Bishop right? Bishop Church?”
She held out a thin slip of scratch paper.
"You’re a P.I.? A private dick?”
I took the scrap from her. It was from my ad. I have flyers around town with tear off tabs at the bottom with my name and number on them. No address though, which made me wonder how she found the place.
"Not really,” I said. “The city requires a license to be a P.I. and the private nature of my dick is less by my choice than others’. We’ll say I’m more in the category of freelance service provider.”
"That sounds like a distinction without a difference,” she said.
I shrugged.
"I’m still waiting on your name,” I said. “And theirs’.”
"Penny,” she said. “Penny Steeler.”
"Of course,” I said, rolling my eyes at the preposterous irony.
I took my hand out of the dead guy’s trousers and stood up. I held the hand out to shake hers. She glanced at it, then busied herself by opening her handbag and taking out a pewter cigarette case and matching lighter. She flipped it open and drew out two Pal Mal’s offering one to me. I took it and accepted her light. While she lit up I walked over to the kitchen to get my coffee. We stood there looking at each other, and smoking. I took a sip of my coffee and spit it out into the sink. It was cold.
"Penny,” I said. “I was making eggs.”
"Oh, no thank you,” she said. “I’ve already eaten.”
I took a drag on my cigarette and blew the smoke at the floor.
"I wasn’t offering,” I said. “It’s what I was doing when your boyfriends showed up this morning.”
She glared at me and dragged on her smoke.
"They’re not my boyfriends,” she said exhaling smoke as she spoke. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
I shrugged.
"What do I know?” I said.
I swirled the cold coffee around in the mug and stared at it contemplatively. After a moment I lifted the mug and swallowed the rest down. I took the last hit off my fag and dropped the butt into the mug. It hisses and then went out.
"Aren’t you going to offer me a seat?” she asked, starting to seem annoyed.
"I didn’t even offer you to come in,” I said with as much ambivalence as I could muster.
She sighed, sucked out the last of her coffin nail and crossed over to me and dropped it in my mug. Then she walked over to the body and stared down at it for a while.
"He’s been following me,” she said, still gazing at the corpse. “This one, the one you were groping when I came in.”
I squinted at her.
"I was search… I mean, I wasn’t, oh, fuckit never mind.”
She looked at me quizzically.
"For how long,” I asked.
"Couple weeks,” she said.
"And the other guy?”
"Never seen him before.”
I put the mug in the sink and grabbed the metal folding chairs from next to the Fridedaire. I set them out and gestured for her to sit.
"Ms. Steeler,” I said, setting an ashtray down on a milk crate between us. “What is it I can do for you.”
She glanced at the bodies laying on my floor.
"Well,” she raised her eyebrows. “Not much of anything now I suppose.”
"You were here about them?” I asked.
"Well, him,” she said nodding at the one closest to us. “Just the one. Like I said, he’d been following me for a while. I wanted to know who he was, what he wanted. He was making me nervous. When I saw your sign I thought maybe you could help.”
”And other than him following you, you’ve never seen him before? You don’t know his name or have any idea what he wanted?”
"Look, Mr. Church,” she was anxious. “I’m a good girl, I don’t know what you may have heard that runs contrary to that, but it’s true. I’m a good girl and I don’t have any clue as to who this man is or why he would be following me.”
"Ms. Steeler,”
"Please, Penny.”
I smiled.
"Penny, I haven’t heard anything about you. I’ve never heard of you before, or them. Honest to God lady, I was just trying to make some eggs for breakfast.”
“Goddammit,” I said, laying the gun down on my kitchen table. “Two assholes dead and I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.”
I suppose that wasn’t such a great yardstick, I hadn’t brushed my teeth in three days at that point, but in my defense I had drank a lot of bourbon, so I imagine that would have killed anything too dangerous hanging out between my gums. Either way, it was early, too early to be dealing with this kind of shit, but that didn’t change anything. I still had two meat sacks taking up floor space in a studio apartment that was short on square feet to begin with.
It was bold, breaking into my apartment first thing in the morning...ish. I had to give them that, but it didn’t bode well for the rest of my day. I’d been happy to stay boxed up here in my place for the previous four days, and if I had to guess, I would’ve been happy to stay another four. I was in no hurry to head out into the over eager world where people wanted you to take on extravagant responsibilities like showering and putting on clean clothes. My place, my little twenty by twenty cubicle was just fine by me, and as long as I didn’t have to take care of anything pressing, like disposing of two dead bodies, I could happily hide out there until the liquor store stopped delivering.
That said, I did have two dead bodies that I’d have to get rid of before they started attracting flies. It was the flies I worried about, not the smell. I didn’t imagine two bodies could ever smell any worse than the place already did, so it was unlikely that people would complain about that. Flies on the other hand, well, they’d certainly make a mess of the product they were cooking in the tub in the unit above mine, so, I’d have to get rid of the bodies before they started attracting flies, but still and all, it would have to wait. Even in my shitty building folks would notice someone dragging a couple of corpses out the front door at ten in the morning. Well, probably they would.
Since disposal was going to have to wait I figured I might as well finish my coffee and try and figure out who these goons were. They were dressed nicely, not suits or any shit like that, just nice, like, ya know, no holes in their jeans. Clothes were clean. They had recent haircuts and were both clean shaven. Definitely not from around here.
I ruled out petty burglars since I had nothing worth stealing. Hell, no one in this part of town did, except maybe the meth lab upstairs. Maybe they just had the wrong place. Unlikely though, their teeth were white and their skin was clean and clear. These weren’t junkies looking to steal a score. No, they were after something specific.
Since I had nothing that anyone would want, that left two possibilities. One, they mistakenly thought I had something they wanted, or two, I was the thing they wanted. The first seemed more likely. I’m not really anything special. Hell, I’ve been turned down by three dollar hookers. Plural, as in more than once. The only thing that would make you notice me on the street is my smell. That said, I do seem to have a way of pissing folks off. It’s kind of like my superpower and the reason I was kicked out of the Forces. The question is, is it enough for someone to pay a couple of mouth breathers to off me? the answer, I suppose, is that it’s never happened before, but it wouldn’t surprise me either.
The list of potential whos on that list was too long to pick apart without having some more information to narrow down the list. It was most likely someone from a previous case. It couldn’t be current because I didn’t currently have a case to work on. I knelt next to one of the assholes and stuck my hand in his jeans pocket. In retrospect it seems obvious that that’s when someone else would walk in my door.
The first thing I saw was her ankles. They were, how shall we say, nice. Shapely in nude stockings, set atop slender feet in red suede heels, the left one circled by a delicate gold chain. Honestly, I’d be better off if that’s all I’d ever seen of her. The rest just caused me problems.
"Holy shit, you fucking killed him!”
I looked up slowly, and honest to God, the rest almost killed me. Legs to the sky, barely hidden inside a light, loose fitting red dress with black lace trim at the edges. Hips you could drive a jaguar around and butter white skin dotted with caramel freckles in places that made you embarrassed to notice. She had fire red lips that rested with a part between them that made the imagination run wild, and hair the color of roses in autumn that brushed at her shoulders and gave me shivers.
"Well, I mean, he started it,” I said.
She looked at me dumbfounded.
"So, who is he anyway?” I asked. “And while we’re at it, who are you?”
"You’re Bishop right? Bishop Church?”
She held out a thin slip of scratch paper.
"You’re a P.I.? A private dick?”
I took the scrap from her. It was from my ad. I have flyers around town with tear off tabs at the bottom with my name and number on them. No address though, which made me wonder how she found the place.
"Not really,” I said. “The city requires a license to be a P.I. and the private nature of my dick is less by my choice than others’. We’ll say I’m more in the category of freelance service provider.”
"That sounds like a distinction without a difference,” she said.
I shrugged.
"I’m still waiting on your name,” I said. “And theirs’.”
"Penny,” she said. “Penny Steeler.”
"Of course,” I said, rolling my eyes at the preposterous irony.
I took my hand out of the dead guy’s trousers and stood up. I held the hand out to shake hers. She glanced at it, then busied herself by opening her handbag and taking out a pewter cigarette case and matching lighter. She flipped it open and drew out two Pal Mal’s offering one to me. I took it and accepted her light. While she lit up I walked over to the kitchen to get my coffee. We stood there looking at each other, and smoking. I took a sip of my coffee and spit it out into the sink. It was cold.
"Penny,” I said. “I was making eggs.”
"Oh, no thank you,” she said. “I’ve already eaten.”
I took a drag on my cigarette and blew the smoke at the floor.
"I wasn’t offering,” I said. “It’s what I was doing when your boyfriends showed up this morning.”
She glared at me and dragged on her smoke.
"They’re not my boyfriends,” she said exhaling smoke as she spoke. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
I shrugged.
"What do I know?” I said.
I swirled the cold coffee around in the mug and stared at it contemplatively. After a moment I lifted the mug and swallowed the rest down. I took the last hit off my fag and dropped the butt into the mug. It hisses and then went out.
"Aren’t you going to offer me a seat?” she asked, starting to seem annoyed.
"I didn’t even offer you to come in,” I said with as much ambivalence as I could muster.
She sighed, sucked out the last of her coffin nail and crossed over to me and dropped it in my mug. Then she walked over to the body and stared down at it for a while.
"He’s been following me,” she said, still gazing at the corpse. “This one, the one you were groping when I came in.”
I squinted at her.
"I was search… I mean, I wasn’t, oh, fuckit never mind.”
She looked at me quizzically.
"For how long,” I asked.
"Couple weeks,” she said.
"And the other guy?”
"Never seen him before.”
I put the mug in the sink and grabbed the metal folding chairs from next to the Fridedaire. I set them out and gestured for her to sit.
"Ms. Steeler,” I said, setting an ashtray down on a milk crate between us. “What is it I can do for you.”
She glanced at the bodies laying on my floor.
"Well,” she raised her eyebrows. “Not much of anything now I suppose.”
"You were here about them?” I asked.
"Well, him,” she said nodding at the one closest to us. “Just the one. Like I said, he’d been following me for a while. I wanted to know who he was, what he wanted. He was making me nervous. When I saw your sign I thought maybe you could help.”
”And other than him following you, you’ve never seen him before? You don’t know his name or have any idea what he wanted?”
"Look, Mr. Church,” she was anxious. “I’m a good girl, I don’t know what you may have heard that runs contrary to that, but it’s true. I’m a good girl and I don’t have any clue as to who this man is or why he would be following me.”
"Ms. Steeler,”
"Please, Penny.”
I smiled.
"Penny, I haven’t heard anything about you. I’ve never heard of you before, or them. Honest to God lady, I was just trying to make some eggs for breakfast.”
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Chapter One: scene 2
After that she left, shaken but composed. She was content with the knowledge that the guy who’d been following her, whoever he was, wouldn’t be following her anymore. She didn’t seem to care about his motivations as long as he was on ice. I cared, and I tried my best to persuade her to stick around and fill me in on a bit of her backstory so that I could start putting the pieces together, but the suggestion that she tell me more about her just served to hasten her departure, and don’t think for a second that that didn’t make me more suspicious.
Once the light clicks her heels made as she walked down the hall disappeared I turned my attention back to the intruders still mucking up my humble abode. I still had hours before the sun would go down, and that was good because I had lots to do if I wanted to dispose of these uninvited guests without attracting attention. First things first though, I went back to frisking the stiffs on the off chance that they were carrying something that might help shed some light on the whole messed up situation.
You try not to look in their eyes when you’re sticking your hands in a dead man’s pants, it just serves to make things awkward. The first guy, the one that had been tailing Penny for the past few weeks didn’t have much on him. No wallet or ID, just an old beat up black pocket notebook with a phone number scratched into the spine. It was local based on the nxx prefix, but I didn’t recognize it.
The situation with the second guy was a little worse, and by a little I mean a whole fucking lot. He had plenty of ID on him, mostly in the form of a fancy brass badge that said FBI. Dead goons were a pain in the ass, but they were a pain in the ass I was prepared to handle. Roll ‘em up in a rug, most likely the one they were bleeding on right now, although, I really did like that rug dammit. I knew what to do and it wouldn’t be the first time I’d had to do it. A truth I’m not proud of, but sometimes in my line of work shit happens, but a dead fed, well fuck. That was going to cause all kinds of trouble.
I couldn’t figure it out either. Why was an agent pairing up with some local thug? Why were they following that Penny girl around? And what the hell were they doing busting into my apartment like some kind of mafia S.W.A.T. team? She’s getting chased around for whatever reason she wasn’t inclined to share with me, she pulls a tag off of one of my flyers, and before she even gets a chance to chat me up I’ve got these two breaking down my door and forcing me to shoot them while I’m still in my skivvies.
I took my coffee mug back out of the sink and poured bourbon in it. Then I sat down on one of the folding chairs again and inspected the G-man’s badge. Special Agent Raymon Reynolds. I rubbed the shield with my thumb just to make sure it was real, then I looked over at Mr. Reynolds layin’ on my good rug.
"Well Agent, what exactly are you doin’ here?”
I gulped down the bourbon in my mug and looked at the clock. It was eleven-forty-five in the morning. I set the badge back down on the milk crate and ran my fingers through my hair. I’d have to get another rug. Two really. I couldn’t possibly carry them both out together, I wasn't close to that fit. So I’d have to wrap one of them up in this rug, and get a second to wrap up the other one. Then I’d need a new rug for my floor if for no other reason than to cover up the blood stain that was certainly forming on the wood under the current rug.
So I needed two new rugs, and some twine to tie them up. If I played my cards right at the thrift shop I could get the twine thrown in when I picked up the rugs. Two rugs was going to cost me though. I was pretty sure that I had a buck or two stuffed in my pants pockets somewhere, but I’d probably have to donate some blood or something to make up the rest.
I dug around the laundry next to the bed for the cleanest pair of trousers I could find. I considered taking a shower, but decided against it since I didn’t have any clean clothes to put on anyway. I ran a black comb through my hair and washed my face and pits in the sink. I found my mostly clean, white button down shirt under the television set with my black tie still knotted around the collar. I dug through the various socks on the floor trying to find something that wasn’t stiff, but they were all too far gone, so I threw on my loafers over my bare toes. I grabbed the paper clip that held my door and car key and my driver’s licence from the dish next to the door, and closed the windows on my way out so as to keep the flies at bay.
Once the light clicks her heels made as she walked down the hall disappeared I turned my attention back to the intruders still mucking up my humble abode. I still had hours before the sun would go down, and that was good because I had lots to do if I wanted to dispose of these uninvited guests without attracting attention. First things first though, I went back to frisking the stiffs on the off chance that they were carrying something that might help shed some light on the whole messed up situation.
You try not to look in their eyes when you’re sticking your hands in a dead man’s pants, it just serves to make things awkward. The first guy, the one that had been tailing Penny for the past few weeks didn’t have much on him. No wallet or ID, just an old beat up black pocket notebook with a phone number scratched into the spine. It was local based on the nxx prefix, but I didn’t recognize it.
The situation with the second guy was a little worse, and by a little I mean a whole fucking lot. He had plenty of ID on him, mostly in the form of a fancy brass badge that said FBI. Dead goons were a pain in the ass, but they were a pain in the ass I was prepared to handle. Roll ‘em up in a rug, most likely the one they were bleeding on right now, although, I really did like that rug dammit. I knew what to do and it wouldn’t be the first time I’d had to do it. A truth I’m not proud of, but sometimes in my line of work shit happens, but a dead fed, well fuck. That was going to cause all kinds of trouble.
I couldn’t figure it out either. Why was an agent pairing up with some local thug? Why were they following that Penny girl around? And what the hell were they doing busting into my apartment like some kind of mafia S.W.A.T. team? She’s getting chased around for whatever reason she wasn’t inclined to share with me, she pulls a tag off of one of my flyers, and before she even gets a chance to chat me up I’ve got these two breaking down my door and forcing me to shoot them while I’m still in my skivvies.
I took my coffee mug back out of the sink and poured bourbon in it. Then I sat down on one of the folding chairs again and inspected the G-man’s badge. Special Agent Raymon Reynolds. I rubbed the shield with my thumb just to make sure it was real, then I looked over at Mr. Reynolds layin’ on my good rug.
"Well Agent, what exactly are you doin’ here?”
I gulped down the bourbon in my mug and looked at the clock. It was eleven-forty-five in the morning. I set the badge back down on the milk crate and ran my fingers through my hair. I’d have to get another rug. Two really. I couldn’t possibly carry them both out together, I wasn't close to that fit. So I’d have to wrap one of them up in this rug, and get a second to wrap up the other one. Then I’d need a new rug for my floor if for no other reason than to cover up the blood stain that was certainly forming on the wood under the current rug.
So I needed two new rugs, and some twine to tie them up. If I played my cards right at the thrift shop I could get the twine thrown in when I picked up the rugs. Two rugs was going to cost me though. I was pretty sure that I had a buck or two stuffed in my pants pockets somewhere, but I’d probably have to donate some blood or something to make up the rest.
I dug around the laundry next to the bed for the cleanest pair of trousers I could find. I considered taking a shower, but decided against it since I didn’t have any clean clothes to put on anyway. I ran a black comb through my hair and washed my face and pits in the sink. I found my mostly clean, white button down shirt under the television set with my black tie still knotted around the collar. I dug through the various socks on the floor trying to find something that wasn’t stiff, but they were all too far gone, so I threw on my loafers over my bare toes. I grabbed the paper clip that held my door and car key and my driver’s licence from the dish next to the door, and closed the windows on my way out so as to keep the flies at bay.
Chapter One: scene 3
First stop out the door was going to have to be the bank. For most of you that probably means a nice brick building with well dressed young women and effeminate men distributing new bills in small white paper envelopes. For me, though, the bank is what I call the pawn shop at the end of the street I live on. It doesn’t have a vault, but it’s got a cage and a sawed-off shotgun, so it’s almost the same thing. They’re not FDIC insured, but that’s okay because they don’t take deposits. You can cash checks sometimes though, for a thirty percent service fee.
I didn’t have a check today though, and I still owed on a loan I took out nine months ago, but I needed money so I was going back to basics. I had a pair of opal cufflinks that my ex-wife had given me on some occasion or other. I never understood why she gave me nice things. I didn’t like to go anywhere nice and I certainly never had the money to take her anywhere where nice things would be a requirement. Most of the holes that I frequented, nice things had better odds of getting you mugged than raising your status. On the other hand, that’s probably why she was my ex-wife and not my wife-wife. Anyway, I had these cufflinks and I figured even with my outstanding balance they should be enough to get me what I needed for a couple area rugs.
That’s mostly how it went for me between cases. I’d get paid, then pay enough of my back rent to keep from getting kicked out of my place, then I’d drink whatever was left and when that ran out I’d start pawning stuff. At this point there wasn’t a lot left to sell though. After these cuff links all I really had left was my watch and my wedding ring. The watch was an Omega Speedmaster. Also a gift from my ex, probably in a failed attempt to get me to be on time for, well, anything I suppose. I think it cost her a couple a grand when she bought it. I’d probably be able to get thirty bucks when the time came. I figured I could live with that. My wedding ring was platinum and circled with diamonds. If I went to a real jewelry shop I could probably get a couple G’s for it, but that wasn’t going to happen. I’d never sell it.
What I needed was more cases. My last gig was four weeks prior and it had only paid five hundred dollars. That meant I walked with three-fifty after the bank’s cut. Two-seventy-five went to housing and the other seventy-five bought four liters of Canadian Club and a stack of flyers that I tacked up to telephone posts around town leaving me four dollars and twenty-seven cents crumpled in my slacks. The upside of this was that it was two dollars more than I thought I had. The downside being that it was significantly short of what I would need to buy the rugs I needed.
The flyers hadn’t been much help so far. In fact, the only thing they had let to was my dead pals currently stinking up my place, and since I was having to spend money I didn’t have to get rid of them, overall I would call it a net loss on my end. It was tough getting work without a license. There wan’t a lot of legit work in this town. Nashville isn’t big enough to need dicks looking into corporate crime or missing persons. Most of the legit work is divorce stuff, and even the sleepy stuff ends up getting farmed out to guys with their city PI card. I mostly get the dregs that are left after that. A little collection duty for a couple of the less respected loan sharks. Some gigs for low rent pimps checking in on their girls. Nothing heavy handed mind you, just some shouting and waving around my piece. It’s not even loaded most of the time, bullets cost a lot of money. The work isn’t regular and it pays for shit, but I take it when it comes and when it doesn’t, well, I don’t need nothin’ five star. If it never rained I wouldn’t even bother keeping up on the rent.
I got no one to impress. I don’t love no one and no one loves me back. Most people flat out hate me, and that’s alright by me. I understand completely. I hate me too most of the time, but something keeps me climbing out of bed each day and until id doesn’t I’ll just keep doing the bare minimum I need to to stay mostly drunk and technically not dead.
At the end of the block I walked into the bank. The little springy bell above the door jingled and Bruno, the proprietor of the establishment, looked up from the sports page. When he saw me he dropped the paper and pointed at me shaking his head.
“No, no, no! No way Church. We ain’t givin’ out any loans today and I ain’t cashin’ no checks. The last one you dropped on me bounced and the cops showed up lookin’ for the guy who wrote it. I lost six customers while they sat in their black and white outside my shop all day.”
I put my hands up defensively and sort of half bowed in concession.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry about that. Jackie told me that they came here and hassled you. I’m really sorry, I had no idea.”
“You owe me five hundred dollars asshole,” Bruno said.
“Whoa, Bruno, you only paid out three-fifty.”
“Five hundred dollars mother fucker!” Bruno stood up and leaned aggressively over the counter. “Plus, you still owe me two large from that loan last November.”
“Hey, I’ve paid some on that,” I argued knowing full well that I hadn’t.
“Do you have money for me?”
I nodded, then shook my head.
“No, no I don’t. I’m working on it though. I’m on a job. I’ve got a big payday coming at the end of this week and I’ll be able to set you straight, and in cash.”
He looked skeptical.
“Thing is,” I said. “I’m going to need a little capital up front.”
“No way,” he said, shaking his head.
“I’ve got collateral,” I said, reaching into my slacks and producing the cufflinks.
I walked up to the counter and laid them on the plexiglass surface. Bruno leaned in close and checked them out. He picked one up and slid on a jeweler’s loupe to inspect it.
“Do you even know what you’re doing with that?” I asked mockingly.
He glared at me then went back to the cufflink for another moment before taking the loupe off.
“And the watch,” he said.
“No way,” I said.
“Come on man, you know you’re going to give it to me one of these days. You gotta be runnin’ out of shit to sell me.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But today is not that day.” He crossed his huge arms and stared at me. “Those are worth a lot,” I said. “You take those, give me two-hundred and we’ll call it even for the check.”
Bruno let out a deep belly laugh that sounded like Santa Clause hearing a dirty joke.
“Church, you motherfucker, you crack me up. Fifty bucks and you still owe me juice on the bounced check.” I gave him a deeply offended look and he laughed again. “You owe me a lot of money Church. If you was anyone else I’d already have your kneecaps hangin’ here on my wall. I’m not handing these jewelrys back either, so take the fifty bucks or walk out empty handed.”
I looked at him with my dirtiest face, then dropped my shoulders and held out my palm for the cash. Bruno gave another chuckle and dropped the cuff links into a cardboard box filled with mixed men’s jewelry on the counter. He punched a button on the register and it clanged as the drawer slid open. He stuffed two twenties and a ten dollar bill in my open hand then slammed the register drawer closed.
“Now get out of here and don’t come back until you have the rest of my money asshole.”
I tried to give on last tough-guy look, then gave up and turned and walked out of the store.
I didn’t have a check today though, and I still owed on a loan I took out nine months ago, but I needed money so I was going back to basics. I had a pair of opal cufflinks that my ex-wife had given me on some occasion or other. I never understood why she gave me nice things. I didn’t like to go anywhere nice and I certainly never had the money to take her anywhere where nice things would be a requirement. Most of the holes that I frequented, nice things had better odds of getting you mugged than raising your status. On the other hand, that’s probably why she was my ex-wife and not my wife-wife. Anyway, I had these cufflinks and I figured even with my outstanding balance they should be enough to get me what I needed for a couple area rugs.
That’s mostly how it went for me between cases. I’d get paid, then pay enough of my back rent to keep from getting kicked out of my place, then I’d drink whatever was left and when that ran out I’d start pawning stuff. At this point there wasn’t a lot left to sell though. After these cuff links all I really had left was my watch and my wedding ring. The watch was an Omega Speedmaster. Also a gift from my ex, probably in a failed attempt to get me to be on time for, well, anything I suppose. I think it cost her a couple a grand when she bought it. I’d probably be able to get thirty bucks when the time came. I figured I could live with that. My wedding ring was platinum and circled with diamonds. If I went to a real jewelry shop I could probably get a couple G’s for it, but that wasn’t going to happen. I’d never sell it.
What I needed was more cases. My last gig was four weeks prior and it had only paid five hundred dollars. That meant I walked with three-fifty after the bank’s cut. Two-seventy-five went to housing and the other seventy-five bought four liters of Canadian Club and a stack of flyers that I tacked up to telephone posts around town leaving me four dollars and twenty-seven cents crumpled in my slacks. The upside of this was that it was two dollars more than I thought I had. The downside being that it was significantly short of what I would need to buy the rugs I needed.
The flyers hadn’t been much help so far. In fact, the only thing they had let to was my dead pals currently stinking up my place, and since I was having to spend money I didn’t have to get rid of them, overall I would call it a net loss on my end. It was tough getting work without a license. There wan’t a lot of legit work in this town. Nashville isn’t big enough to need dicks looking into corporate crime or missing persons. Most of the legit work is divorce stuff, and even the sleepy stuff ends up getting farmed out to guys with their city PI card. I mostly get the dregs that are left after that. A little collection duty for a couple of the less respected loan sharks. Some gigs for low rent pimps checking in on their girls. Nothing heavy handed mind you, just some shouting and waving around my piece. It’s not even loaded most of the time, bullets cost a lot of money. The work isn’t regular and it pays for shit, but I take it when it comes and when it doesn’t, well, I don’t need nothin’ five star. If it never rained I wouldn’t even bother keeping up on the rent.
I got no one to impress. I don’t love no one and no one loves me back. Most people flat out hate me, and that’s alright by me. I understand completely. I hate me too most of the time, but something keeps me climbing out of bed each day and until id doesn’t I’ll just keep doing the bare minimum I need to to stay mostly drunk and technically not dead.
At the end of the block I walked into the bank. The little springy bell above the door jingled and Bruno, the proprietor of the establishment, looked up from the sports page. When he saw me he dropped the paper and pointed at me shaking his head.
“No, no, no! No way Church. We ain’t givin’ out any loans today and I ain’t cashin’ no checks. The last one you dropped on me bounced and the cops showed up lookin’ for the guy who wrote it. I lost six customers while they sat in their black and white outside my shop all day.”
I put my hands up defensively and sort of half bowed in concession.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry about that. Jackie told me that they came here and hassled you. I’m really sorry, I had no idea.”
“You owe me five hundred dollars asshole,” Bruno said.
“Whoa, Bruno, you only paid out three-fifty.”
“Five hundred dollars mother fucker!” Bruno stood up and leaned aggressively over the counter. “Plus, you still owe me two large from that loan last November.”
“Hey, I’ve paid some on that,” I argued knowing full well that I hadn’t.
“Do you have money for me?”
I nodded, then shook my head.
“No, no I don’t. I’m working on it though. I’m on a job. I’ve got a big payday coming at the end of this week and I’ll be able to set you straight, and in cash.”
He looked skeptical.
“Thing is,” I said. “I’m going to need a little capital up front.”
“No way,” he said, shaking his head.
“I’ve got collateral,” I said, reaching into my slacks and producing the cufflinks.
I walked up to the counter and laid them on the plexiglass surface. Bruno leaned in close and checked them out. He picked one up and slid on a jeweler’s loupe to inspect it.
“Do you even know what you’re doing with that?” I asked mockingly.
He glared at me then went back to the cufflink for another moment before taking the loupe off.
“And the watch,” he said.
“No way,” I said.
“Come on man, you know you’re going to give it to me one of these days. You gotta be runnin’ out of shit to sell me.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But today is not that day.” He crossed his huge arms and stared at me. “Those are worth a lot,” I said. “You take those, give me two-hundred and we’ll call it even for the check.”
Bruno let out a deep belly laugh that sounded like Santa Clause hearing a dirty joke.
“Church, you motherfucker, you crack me up. Fifty bucks and you still owe me juice on the bounced check.” I gave him a deeply offended look and he laughed again. “You owe me a lot of money Church. If you was anyone else I’d already have your kneecaps hangin’ here on my wall. I’m not handing these jewelrys back either, so take the fifty bucks or walk out empty handed.”
I looked at him with my dirtiest face, then dropped my shoulders and held out my palm for the cash. Bruno gave another chuckle and dropped the cuff links into a cardboard box filled with mixed men’s jewelry on the counter. He punched a button on the register and it clanged as the drawer slid open. He stuffed two twenties and a ten dollar bill in my open hand then slammed the register drawer closed.
“Now get out of here and don’t come back until you have the rest of my money asshole.”
I tried to give on last tough-guy look, then gave up and turned and walked out of the store.