UNDERCOVER The Secret of Luck

UNDERCOVER:

The Secret of Luck

James Kipling

Global Village Publications

Copyright 2014 James Kipling

UNDERCOVER: The Secret of Luck

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Chapter 1

John Russo looked at his phone again. For reasons of authenticity, he still had a landline in his office. His office was almost like his best friend. In the last eighteen months, the office had grown, and so had he. He still remembered renting this wide space area that was at least big enough to house a full-fledged office for someone who might be running for the city mayor. John always thought that he would make a good mayor. He would take care of the roads, change some of those horrible neon signs, and make people drive a little faster. Things would be so much better, he always thought, as he drove through the city.

This office was the tenth one he had seen in as many days when he was real estate hunting. Every office he had checked out with his real estate agent had something missing. Sometimes, the parking was not big enough. Other times, the crowd was too much, or it was too far, or too expensive. All the time he was studying criminal law, working towards getting that license to work as a private detective, he had this vision. It was more of a mental picture of what he wanted his office to look like.

The moment he entered this office, something inside him went off. Like a light bulb which was waiting for a long time to get switched on. It went off, just like that. He looked at the large windows that faced away from the door and gave a clear view of the four lane road. He could see the buildings on the other side with clarity. John was thankful for all the electric powered vehicles that formed the majority of the traffic that crowded the city streets.

John had fond memories of sitting in front of several government offices, protesting the delay in passing the law that made electric cars mandatory. He was pretty proud of himself that week, when the law was finally passed. A little to the right of his view, the far off lake of the city was visible. He could see a few boats, mostly recreational, looking like the tiny dots that they were. John had rarely been to the lake, since he had a personal dislike for water in general. But it was still a beautiful view. John imagined looking down that window, perhaps worried over a case. Or maybe he could grab binoculars and watch a dirty client walk down the stairs.

Even as John walked around the empty office, his mind began to fill out the place with indoor furniture that would lie there, probably for the rest of his life. Images of all those movies and television shows he grew up watching began filling up one part of his head. On the other side of his mind, he was already calculating, budgeting each and every item of equipment that he would have to buy to get his office ready for action. Of course, at that point of time, he did not know what a hectic activity that was going to be.

That was almost eighteen months ago. Back in the present, John was still looking at his phone. The phone that actually had a wire coming out of it. Sometimes he wondered if the phone was some kind of an involuntary metaphor of his life. He was still stuck in the past. What he believed about his childhood dreams and a young man’s fantasy were just that, a fantasy. Lately, he has been asking himself a lot of questions. Questions that had only existed in some back corner of his mind. Now they were becoming stronger and worse. He was having a difficult time focusing on all of this. It appeared to him that, perhaps, this phone had something to do with it. This landline was his way of holding onto some misconceived idea of a career. John Russo knew that he had to do something about this. This problem of his.

John could not help but look at this landline in his office. He began to wonder. Do his clients know that there is such a thing called as landlines? Most of them preferring to contact him via his cell phone, or make a call through one of those internet calling software things. He did not like all that. He thought that all this technology was making people stay apart, rather than bringing them together. It is odd, he told himself. Unless he was working on his case, John would put his cell phone in airplane mode. It was his way of telling his clients that, yes, they had to call him on his landline number.

The weird part was, his clients listened to whatever John said. Even as he started out in this private detective business, John had a hunch that he was going to be good. People always have that feeling. They have this confidence, deep down, that they have something which no one else has. John had that feeling. He was very patient with himself. Even though his office was ready in a matter of days, he spent weeks verifying and checking each and every aspect of his work style. Until he was certain he was ready, he would not take up any work. He was what was called as a ‘thorough professional’. Just as he guessed, he was an instant success.

His earlier clients were more than happy to give him glorious references. They gave him a job, and most of the time, he would get it done to their full satisfaction. John Russo was the “go to” guy for top quality detective work. In a matter of months, his schedule was so full that he was almost in a position to screen the type of work he took up. John loved it. What he did not know was that there was something that was going wrong all along. He did not notice it till now. Now, here he was, staring at his phone like it was some gold statue in a museum.

Right now, his cell phone was in airplane mode. He had just wrapped up a case earlier in the day. Disappointingly enough, the case only lasted two days. He remembers how the case began two days ago, just like he remembers what he had for breakfast, two apples and a big glass of milk. Mrs. Hawkins, who would soon go back to her maiden name, Sasha Link, had phoned and requested him to come over to her apartment. She said that she suspected her husband was cheating on her. The events that happened two mornings ago were still fresh in his mind. John had reached her apartment, a small house just big enough for a couple to live in. When he sat down on the huge living room chair, she offered him a big glass of milk, as she did not have any coffee. John listened to what she had to say.

“I think my husband is cheating on me, Mr. Russo,” she said.

“I am sorry to hear that, Mrs. Hawkins. Please, call me John,” said John, noticing that the glass of milk was less than lukewarm. John assumed that she was not focusing on the milk she had just prepared; perhaps she was distracted with the sad realization about her married life. John had seen and watched these symptoms before. He had an observation based on past experience. Women who find out that their husbands were cheating usually cried a lot. Men, on the other hand, become aggressive and drank a lot. Of course, there were exceptions. John did not wish to think about that.

“Thank you, John. I am much more comfortable using first names. In the beginning, I thought he was just upset. His mother had passed away recently, and Martin is a slightly sensitive fellow,” said Mrs. Hawkins. John assumed that Martin must be the name of her husband. He wanted to confirm, but interrupting her was not exactly the smartest thing to do at the time. He nodded and motioned for her to continue.

“He would go off without saying anything for hours. In the beginning, I thought he was just going off to drink and come back. Then about three months ago, I don’t know what happened to me, but I decided to follow him. He drove out of the city and then reached this place called Double Trouble. I was speechless.” she said. John knew that Double Trouble was a strip club. There were a few occasions in college when John had been to that place.

“I am aware of that place, Mrs. Hawkins.” said John, nodding for her to continue.

“I did not make much of it. I just figured that this was his way of getting over his mother’s death. I thought it was odd. When I returned home that night, I wanted to stay up until he returned home, talk to him, and find out what was going on. Then, I realized that he never told me that he was going to that place. He was going to ask me why I followed him. I would not have an answer. There is no rule that a grown man should not visit a strip club. He was upset about his mother’s passing away, and I did not want to make it worse. So, I let that incident pass,” she said.

As John watched, she picked up a few pieces of tissue from the box. She dabbed her eyes, which had a fresh few drops of tears. She then got up, and went back to the kitchen. John heard her wash her hands and perhaps her face. When she returned, she had a towel in her hand that she had used to wipe her face. She looked slightly better now, and John noticed that she looked beautiful. She continued speaking.

“With each passing day, his absences kept getting longer. Then, he was gone for an entire weekend. By that time, it had been two months since we had…” she stopped talking. She immediately broke into a significant crying episode, and before John could react, she had her hands covering her face, crying uncontrollably. John got up and sat next to her. He put one arm around her shoulder. With the other hand, he provided her with two more tissues. She thanked him and took the tissue paper from his hand. This gesture seemed to make her feel better, and her crying stopped. John could see in her face that she was reacting positively to his comforting. Once he was sure that she had stopped crying, John got up and resumed his seat on the opposite chair.

“I am sorry for making you give me all the details. Mrs. Hawkins. If you do not wish to divulge some information, I would understand.” said John, in a voice that was an extension of his reassuring nature.

“I am alright. I was saying that at that point, it had been almost two months since we had slept together. When he returned two days later, I could not resist asking him where he was. So, I asked him where he was the whole weekend. He became angry and told me that he did not wish to tell me. He was like a mad man, and he was completely drunk.” said Mrs. Hawkins.

“This was about two weeks ago?” asked John, jotting down relevant points on his phone.

“Yes. After that, there have been two weekends. On both occasions, he was missing from our home. After that angry shouting episode, I did not ask him what he was doing. This morning, I was hanging clothes on the balcony, when I saw him get out of a taxi. I also noticed that another taxi had stopped in the neighboring house, and the girl who lives there was also getting out of it. Two taxis at the same time? I thought that something wasn’t right. I went down the stairs and walked straight to that house and confronted that woman. She was hesitant to admit it at first, but after a while she told me the news. Before I got mad and did something stupid, I got out of her house and returned to my home. Martin had left the house by then, for his office. I did not know what else to do. I decided to call you and the rest of it, you already know.” she said, concluding her story.

John noticed that his job was simple enough. He knew the name of the person who was involved and their exact location. All he had to do now was to do some following around, capture some fresh evidence, and the job would be done.
This is way too easy
, he thought to himself.

“What can you do for me, detective?” she asked, her eyes talking more than her words. Here was a woman who was coping relatively well, thought John.

“Mrs. Hawkins, if you are sure that I should be working on this case, my assistant will get in touch with you in the next hour. There will be some paperwork that needs to be provided to us, sort of like a legal agreement. As far as the work itself is concerned, I don’t see any problem. I should be able to get you the information you need for a simple divorce. Assuming that your husband continues to act the way he is doing right now, I should get the job done in less than two weeks.” said John.

“Thank you detective. I don’t want to live with him anymore, and I want this taken care of as soon as possible.” said Mrs. Hawkins.

“I understand, Mrs. Hawkins. My assistant’s name is Sheila, and she will be here in an hour. Here is my card, and do contact me if you need anything else from me.” said John, handing her his business card and getting up. She also got up and led him to the door.

That was what happened in her house, two mornings ago. John did not have to make her wait two weeks to finish the case. The video was recorded by Russo and shipped discreetly to Mrs. Hawkins. She is, of course, in her lawyer’s office right now, drawing up papers to finalize a hefty divorce settlement. Mrs. Hawkins has already paid Russo handsomely. Russo was driving back in a taxi to his office when he got the call from the bank about the payment. There was a nice lady on the other end of the line, speaking in the sweetest voice possible. On his end of the line, John wasn’t even listening.

Eighteen months ago, such an amount would have made Russo very happy. That is when he started this detective business. Now, eighteen months later, the money failed to motivate him. It depressed him that his actual work was very different to the vision he had when he got his private detective practicing license. John had difficulty putting a finger on what was really bothering him. Was it that the job was not challenging enough? Was it that his skills were being under-rated?

Another thing that bothered him was that the jobs seemed to get easier over time, and the money kept coming in relatively easily. There was also that guilt that John was personally responsible for more than a dozen marriages that had ended because of the evidence he brought to the table. John knew better, not to get emotionally affected by the jobs he took on. Perhaps this is what was bothering him. There were simply too many questions and he wished he could speak to someone, anyone that could figure out his current predicament.

When he set up his office on the fourteenth floor of the Lowdown Building by paying the lease for three years, he was looking forward to an exciting world filled with bad guys and good guys, shootouts and thrilling car chases, the stuff that he saw in the movies; it convinced him to take up a degree in criminology at the institute. His friends became doctors, lawyers, and financial wizards. Russo wanted to become a private detective. He laughed at his friends, who would be working in mundane jobs that were more boring than a twelve hour marathon of comedy sketches. Today, he could imagine all of them laughing at his state of work; nothing but a string of divorce cases, where he is tasked to work on routine jobs none of which require of his advanced detective skills. The joke was on him.