This Doesn't Happen in the Movies (13 page)

“The X Women?” I asked.

“Yeah.”  He started punching away at the keyboard, hunched over.

I sat up.  “Anything good?”

“I’ve come up with some possible accidents that they could’ve been involved in.  I’ve created a list.”  He printed a document and handed it to me.

“How did you do this?”  I got up and started to pace, reading the paper.  It had a list of names, all male, a date next to the name, and the cause of death.  I held up a hand.  “Wait, no, I don’t want to know how you did it.”  I sat back down.

“Quit worrying,” he said.  “It is possible to get information without hacking.”  I began rubbing my eyes nervously.  “Do you want to know what I found out?”  He held up numerous pieces of scrap paper, his way of organization.

“Why didn’t you put it in the document?”

He held up his hands in exasperation, pitching the paper pieces back onto the desk.  “I didn’t get that far.  Do you want to know what I’ve got here?”

“What?”

He rolled his chair closer to me.  “Going back ten years, I found at least seven accidents.”  He used his fingers, making  quotation marks when he said the word “accidents”.  “Each one could’ve been just that, an accident.  But all of them could’ve been murder.  Things like car crashes, a suicide, a hunting accident, and the most interesting one was a guy who apparently was into kinky sex.  He liked that auto-erotic asphyxiation thing.”

“You strangle yourself while you’re masturbating,” I said in plain English.

“Right.  It’s very dangerous, or even deadly.  That was the case for this guy.”

“Okay, that kind of sex is unusual, but why is this guy special?”

He leaned toward me, intent on his revelations.  “I know it happens, a lot more lately.  But here’s what makes this particular case stick out.”  If he intended on making a pun, he didn’t show it.  “It happened in New York City, at a Manhattan brokerage house.  The guy, name of Rick Gerardo, had been acquitted in a rape case two months previous to his death.  He was accused of raping a woman that he worked with.  According to the story, they’d been getting it on in his office after hours, but after a few months, she broke it off.  He wasn’t happy with that, and she accused him of forcing himself on her one Friday evening after work.”

I pursed my lips, thinking it over.  “That could tie in, but it’s shaky.”  I rubbed my eyes again.  “Ah, hell.  This whole thing is shaky.”

He leaned even closer, adamant.  “No, listen.  This is the tie-in.  Guess what kind of sex they liked to have?”

I tipped my head up slowly.  “Ah.  Kinky sex.”

“Not just kinky.  Auto-erotic asphyxiation.  They both testified to that in court.”

“But what about the rape?  Was it really forced or was she holding a grudge against him?  Trying to get back at him for something, so she accuses him of rape.  That’s what I would wonder.”

He shrugged.  “From the articles I read, it sounds like that’s the line the jury took.  They didn’t believe the prosecution proved force, so they acquitted.  But according to court testimony, the woman said Rick was brutal that night.  According to her, he nearly killed her while he raped her, that he choked her with the intent to kill, not just for the sexual rush.  And he was her boss, so after she broke it off, he threatened her with her job.”

“Apparently that didn’t work,” I observed.

“Right.  She went ahead and accused him publicly, lost her job, was humiliated by having to tell the story in court, then was blackballed by the company and its associates.  Her statement after the trial said she was leaving New York, going back to Delaware to live with her parents for a while.”

“And devise a means of punishing Rick, if this is an X Women case.”

“Right.”  Cal sat back with a satisfied look on his face.  “I researched the family some.  Daddy is a prominent attorney in Delaware, and they're old money.”

“So they could afford to hire the X Women,” I finished.

Cal clapped his hands once in triumph.  “And the other cases I found are similar.  If possible, the death was made to mirror the crime of the accused.  I haven’t got all the details, but I can work on that tonight.”

I didn’t say anything for a minute.  “This organization is slick,” was all I could come up with.

“You said it,” Cal concurred.  “Now it could all be coincidence, but you never know.  And I’ve only been at this a little while.  Who knows what I might find with some more time.”

“You want to grab a bite to eat?” I switched topics.

“No, I’ve got too much going on here to stop.”

I smiled at his dedication.  “Keep at it, then.”  I stood up to leave.

He smiled.  “Sure.  This is more fun than looking for viruses in software.”

“And don’t forget to eat something fresh.”  I held up a bowl with a substance that once might have been cereal, but now was a congealed blob.  He stared at me blankly and turned back to the computer.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Late afternoon shadows were already turning to darkness as I left Cal’s house, and I smelled a crisp coldness in the air.  I had an uneventful drive down the mountain, even though I kept checking my rear-view mirror for suspicious SUVs.  In forty minutes I was pulling the 4-Runner in the alley garage I shared with the Goofball brothers.  Deuce’s battered Ford truck sat in the other space, so he was home from work.

I got out and closed the garage door, then trudged through the back yard and around the building to the front porch.  I was headed for the side entrance to my condo when Ace came out.

“You wanna go with us to B-52’s?” he asked.  “We were thinking about shooting some pool.”

“That sounds like fun,” I answered.  It had been a long day, and I didn’t need much convincing.

Deuce leaped out onto the porch, his heavy gray overcoat and black gloves already on.  “How’s business?” he asked with a goofy grin on his face.

“Trying to help a lady find her missing husband,” I explained in simple terms.

“Hmm,” Deuce mused.  “Is that stuff exciting?”

“Not usually,” I said as we started walking down the street.

“Like in the movies?”  This from Ace.

“Yeah,” I smiled.  Humphrey Bogart, eat your heart out.

“Those movies you like, are they any good?” Deuce asked.

“They’re great.  All the action, the subplots, and the actors.  Bogie, Edward G. Robinson, Burt Lancaster.  Beautiful women and mysterious twists and turns.”

“Bogie?” Ace said.  “Why are we talking golf?”

“We aren’t,” I said.

“Weren’t we talking about some movie?” Deuce asked.

I looked up into blank faces.  “Forget it.”

Ace put an arm around my shoulder.  “Nah, man.  You like those movies, maybe we should watch one.”

“Yeah, whaddaya recommend?” Deuce asked.

I smiled, thinking about Bogie, the coolest of the cool detectives.  “
The Big Sleep
.  That’s film noir at its best.”

“Film what?” Ace said.

“Film noir.  It’s a genre…Forget it.”  The blank stares told me I’d lost them again.  “I like that one, although I don’t know if you guys would.  It’s kind of complicated.”

“Hey, if you like it, we should watch it,” Deuce said.

“
The Big Sleep
,” Ace said.  “We got that down at the store.  I can get it.”

“I’ve got the DVD if you want to borrow it.”  I really doubted they would get it, all the subtleties and dark subplots, but it might broaden their horizons.  At least it had lots of action, and lots of people getting killed.  And Lauren Bacall, she was one hot babe.

Ace smiled.  “I can get it for free, so it’s no problem.”

“Connections,” Deuce said wisely.

“You have some phone work or cable done on your place?” Deuce asked abruptly, picking the question out of the air.

“Hmm?” I mumbled.

“Are you changing your cable or something?” Deuce changed his phrasing, as if that would help me understand him.

“No.  Why?”

“I saw a guy going up to your place a few days ago.  Drove up in a Comcast truck, had a tool kit with him.  You know, he looked like a cable guy or something.”  Comcast provided my cable, but I didn’t have any service work scheduled.  My cable worked fine, but the alarms in my head were ringing loudly.

“When was this?”  I stopped and grabbed Deuce’s arm.

Deuce grimaced, thinking hard.  “Last Friday.  Early afternoon.  I saw him when I came home for lunch.”

My eyes flitted around, and I felt my senses shift into overdrive.  Was someone watching me?  Was I being followed?  Did someone actually break into my house?

“Did he go around back?” I asked.

“No.  He went up the steps to your place.  He was in there for at least half an hour.”  A puzzled look crossed Deuce’s face.  “You didn’t change your cable?”

“What’d he look like?”

Deuce shrugged his shoulders.  “I dunno.  Kind of tall, I guess.  Like the cable guys, you know.”

“I’ve got to go,” I said, turning back.

“Hey, man.  I didn’t mean to make you mad,” Deuce had a hurt look on his face.

I calmed down.  “No, you didn’t.  There’s something I have to check.”

“Okay,” he said cautiously.  “We’ll be at B 52’s if you want to join us.”

“Thanks,” I called over my shoulder.

“We’ll get that movie,” Ace yelled back at me.  “I hope it’s as good as you say.”

“So do I,” I hollered back, leaving them to their fun.

I ran back home, Deuce’s words drumming in my brain the whole way.  I took the side stairs two at a time up to my door and just as I was about to put the key in the lock, I thought about electronic devices.  The only reason I could think of for someone to be in my home was to plant a bug.  Spy equipment.  To listen to me.  A pounding began in the back of my eyes, brought on by adrenaline, and maybe some fear.  I was stepping into the big leagues.

I looked at the key in my hand.  The second I opened the door, someone would know I had come home.  Maybe they were watching me right now.  I flipped around and stared down the steps, onto the street below.  The moon, milky white and round as a marble, cast the street in a hazy glow.  Then a car came down the street, moving slowly.  It stopped and backed up, parallel parking across the street.  The engine died and Willie Rhoden, my neighbor across the street, got out.

“Hey Reed, why are you staring at me?  I told you I have a boyfriend.”  Willie, real name Willimena, was a nurse at St. Joseph’s Hospital, just east of our neighborhood.  She was twenty-eight, built like a marathon runner, and very attached to her boyfriend, Alan.

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”  I couldn’t believe I didn’t recognize her car.  My suspicion meter was crossing into the red zone.

“Right.”  She started up her front walk.  “You were staring,” she hollered.  Any other time that would’ve been true.  Okay, I have a crush on her, even if she has a boyfriend.

I watched her disappear into her house before I turned and, with a determination born out of false bravado, unlocked the door and entered my condo.  I tiptoed into the living room and turned on a lamp on the end table.  The whole time my eyes were scanning the walls, the furniture, the windows, the television, and the phone.  Why had someone disguised as a cable guy been in my condo?  Was there a bug somewhere in this room?  Or camera equipment?  A creepy feeling started from the base of my skull and zipped down my spine.  I felt naked.  And paranoid.

“Oh hell,” I said, taking off my coat.  I took a deep breath, let it out, and determined that the X Women were not going to scare me.  Not this guy.  I was like Bogie.

I began a search of the condo, starting in the living room, coaching myself with tough-guy talk.  “They don’t know who they were messing with,” I mumbled.  I began a search with the obvious, checking the television, the cables behind the entertainment center, and the cable box.  I checked the phones, starting with the one in the living room, then the bedroom phone.  I took apart each receiver and didn’t see anything beyond the complex equipment.  Nothing looked out of place.

I examined the bedroom thoroughly but didn’t find a thing, no hidden cameras or recorders.  Nothing.

I gave the living room, my office, and the kitchen the same treatment, looking everywhere for any signs of bugs or listening devices.  I even looked inside the Tupperware in the cupboards.  I came up empty-handed.

I finally stopped for a breather, falling Indian-style on the floor, rivulets of sweat crawling down my face.  My living room resembled a scene from
The Conversation
, where Gene Hackman’s character tears up his entire apartment looking for an elusive bug.  I scanned the mess and then I gave up, thoroughly frustrated.  I laid back, stretched out my legs, and stared at the ceiling.  I must be getting extremely fearful.  I’d let Deuce’s comment about a cable guy send me on a wild goose chase.  I should’ve known not to listen to a guy I dubbed as a goofball.

And then I saw it.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

In the center of the ceiling hangs a ceiling fan.  The housing was in two parts, the lower housing screwed to the upper housing, which was then secured into the ceiling.  The faux-brass motor is decorated with evenly spaced holes.  In every fifth hole a screw secured the housing together.  Except for one hole, where the spacing was only three holes apart.  I got up and looked up at the fan.  That one screw didn’t resemble the others.  It looked like a tiny glass eye.

I dragged a chair from the kitchen and stood on it, directly under the fan.  Now I could peer up into the metal housing, right at the suspicious-looking screw.  I was being watched by a tiny camera.  I wondered which X Woman was staring back at me.  And if they had planted a spying device, I was sure they would be listening as well.  Judging by the mess in the condo, I was pretty sure a bug wasn’t inside, but maybe  outside, on the building or in the phone cables.

In my haste to go outside and look I nearly fell off the chair.  Anger was taking over my sense of reason.  The X Women were watching me, listening to me.  I jerked open the door, ran out onto the little porch, and looked for the phone lines.  I spotted them, coming from wires in the alley, attached to the overhang of the building then running down the side of the house.  I dashed down the stairs, did a one-eighty around the rail, and started to run under the stairs toward the back yard.  I ducked under an overhanging branch from one of the large oak trees on the side of the house and ran smack into the biggest man I had ever seen.