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A Is for Alibi
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What is the story application? lol. Sorry, still learning.
Man, I'm a rule-breaker! Sorry.The second chapter would be posted as a comment then?
Chapter Three“So, where were we? Ah yes, Chapter Three. Wait? Chapter Three? What happened to Chapter Two?”
“I gave it the ax. It was boring. Nothing happened, no clues were given, no major characters introduced, it was a waste.”
“But how? Can you do that?”
“Of course I can, I’m tough as nails. I got no kids, no pets, not even a houseplant. I do what I want, see?”
“How could I forget? What is your next move?”
“I have some ideas.”
The next day, I had to go take some photographs of some cracks in the pavement for an unrelated case. Since this new dame, Ida was footing the bill for my daily rate; I figured I might as well tie up some lose ends before launching myself into her case.
I drive a ‘68 Volkswagen bug. It helps me to keep a low profile. Its rainbow color scheme blends into any background. I parked three blocks from the Wild Willy’s Laundromat. I needed to walk to clear my head. I needed time to think. I was plagued by uncertainties.
“How does ink come off of a pen?” I mused. “What keeps it from spilling out at a moment’s notice?”
Wild Willy was a legend in this part of town. No one knew how he came to own a Laundromat, but now that it was his, the competition stayed away. He didn’t like people snapping photos of his sidewalk, so I had to be careful. One misstep could be my last.
I boldly approached the front of his store. When the front door opened, I darted behind a palm tree. It was Willy. He had something in his hand, a large weapon of some sort. It looked lethal. A moment later, a teenage boy exited the building. My blood turned cold as I saw the menacing look on Willy’s face.
“I need you to sweep this front sidewalk, okay?”
“Okay, Mr. Johnson”
Willy handed him the broom that had looked far more menacing with the sun glaring in my eyes just a moment before. As he turned to enter the building his eyes caught sight of me. I froze.
“What are you doing behind that tree, Kinsey?”
“Nothing, Willy, I dropped something over here, that’s all.”
He shrugged his shoulders and reentered the building.
I snapped off a few photos and left, thankful to still be alive.
Chapter FourTires screeched as I pulled away from the curb near Wild Willy’s Laundromat. I needed answers. Yesterday. I called my secretary.
“Chicken n Waffles Investigators! We’re better than we sound, how may I help you?”
“Georgie, I need you to find out who that young kid is working at Wild Willy’s Laundromat.”
“Kinsey? Is that you?”
“Of course it’s me, does anyone else ever call?”
“I did get a wrong number yesterday…”
“Shut up and listen. Something is not quite right and I need to find out what it is. Pronto.”
“Could it be the fact that nothing ever really happens in this new crime novel of yours, or that the only plot is to find out who killed a guy that we know nothing about, care about even less, and won’t be introduced to for another three chapters? Or is it merely your grammar?”
“And the Old Man says you’re not mean enough…”
“What’s your new client’s name again?”
“Ida.”
“She’s here. Right now, and she’s mad. Says you’re not devoted to her cause. Wants to speak to you.”
“Stall her.”
“I’m trying, I already showed her all of my montage of greatest hits I’ve delivered playing X-box hockey, but she’s getting restless. I need someone tougher-someone…”
“Tough as nails?”
“Yes. We need you, Kinsey.”
“I’m on my way.”
Chapter Five“It’s been long enough. Let’s cut to the chase. Let’s meet the rubber where the road is, it’s time to get down to brass tacks, see? Tell me about your alleged ex-husband.”
“What’s to tell? He was a divorce lawyer, a good one. The best, in fact. All the big-shot Hollywood types would come-“
“Hold it. Let’s start at the beginning. What was his name?”
“Lawrence Fife.”
“Amazing! There was a Lawrence Fife who was murdered right here in this town not eight years ago!”
“That was him, you ninny!”
“Your husband killed Lawrence Fife?”
“You really are dense, aren’t you? It’s not just an act.”
“I need to know the truth, Ida. How was Lawrence killed?” I asked in my toughest tough-guy voice which few women could match.
“He was killed by a poison made from a dandelion base. It’s a pretty common recipe that is popular on the internet. Apparently, someone had slipped it into his hay-fever medication.”
I had to stifle a cry. My mind raced back to the time before the trial. I had done a little investigating on my own. I distinctly remembered Ida’s yard. It was unkempt, in desperate need of a mowing and…full of dandelions.
Chapter Six
The next morning I woke with a start. It had been a week, and still I had no good characters in this story. I knew that there was no way to write a good murder mystery without suspects. I needed some culprits, some real characters. That’s when I remembered him.
His name was Strawberry Jello. He was an exotic dancer I’d worked with years ago when we were both desperate for money. I rang him up.
“Look, I know you’re busy, but I’m writing a novel and I need you to make a least a cameo.”
“Unacceptable!” came the answer through the line.
“But I am desperate! I’ve got to have some characters in here!” I pleaded.
“Unacceptable!” he retorted.
“I can make it worth your while, I assured him. I pay by the word.” My heart was racing, but I tried to control my emotions. I couldn’t afford to lose this chance.
“UN-acceptable!” The line went dead. I felt fortunate that he had used the same word each time. Since I pay by the word it would only count as one.
I needed to go downtown and have a little chat with my Uncle Connie. I dreaded the meeting, but I knew it was time.
Con Dolence was the strangest looking cop I’d ever seen. He looked like a guy who’d work overnights at your local WalMart-only not as clean cut. He’d probably get busted for dress code violations. His pants were saggy, and his shirts were never tucked in. He had a toothpick constantly jammed into the side of his mouth and wore shoes that seemed to be two different sizes.
His face lit up when I walked into the room. “Jelly Bean!”
“Don’t call me that, Uncle Connie, it hurts my image!”
“Oh, I know, I know, you’re ‘tough as nails’, aren’t you? You aren’t my little Jelly Bean anymore. Come give me a hug.” He stood up and crossed the room to me.
I held up my hand to stop him in his tracks. “I am here on business.” I said. “I need a name.”
“Alright, what name are you after?”
“I need several names, actually, I need the list of names of all the suspects you had in the murder of Lawrence Fife.” I said, the words coming out of my mouth like bullets.
“That’s a list with only one name on it: the wife.” He shot back.
“Are you kidding me? No one else even made the list? I can’t believe this! Another dead end.” I spat out lethally. I began to pace the floor.
“What about the witnesses? The ones you called to testify?” I asked in desperation.
“I can give you that list, but I’m warning you, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, now give.” I said abrasively.
“Let’s see, there was Richard Bannister, the Oil Executive; Father Mulcahey the Catholic Priest who had only recently been transferred to the local parish; John Stines the Marketing Director for the Kool cigarette company; Oscar “Snaps” Corleone who owns a Used Car lot; Barry Fife, Lawrence’s estranged twin brother and Lolita Gonzalez the Fife’s housekeeper.”
“Rats. You’re right, there’s not much there.” This case is going nowhere fast, I thought. “Where am I gonna get suspects?” I bellowed.
Chapter SevenI left Uncle Con’s office in a huff. With nowhere to go and no real leads to follow I decided to head over to Avram Milton’s office.
Ida had hired the only lawyer in town who would take her case. Avram Milton had a reputation for being the patron saint of lost causes. His car even had a Colorado Avalanche bumper sticker on it to complete the image. Hiring him had practically been an admission of guilt.
I walked through the door of Avram’s office only to find his secretary yammering away on the phone in some foreign language. It really burns me up when people are making good money here in America and they can’t even speak no English. I decided I was gonna learn this lazy no-account a lesson in manners.
I sauntered up to the phone and pushed that little button thingie on the phone down effectively ending her conversation, which was probably with a crook down in Mexico anyway, and I’m sure was drug related.
“What’s up, gringa?” I asked with a wry smile on my face.
Her startled expression was worth at least fifty pesos, which I’m guessing is a lot of money where she comes from. I’m pretty sure that I intimidated her quite a bit, so she decided to play it cool.
“Can I help you?”
“I need to speak to Avram, Maria. And make it ‘el snappy-o’ capische?
“Mr. Milton is in a conference at the moment but if you would like to have a seat I can let him know you are here Mrs…” she let the question hang in the air like a hanging thing for a long time.
“Actually, Rosa, it’s Ms. I was married twice, not that it’s any of your business.”
“I’m sorry. Have I done something to offend you?”
“You mean besides crossing the border illegally and stealing all the good jobs? Is that what you’re asking, Juanita?” I could tell I was shaking her up with my bad cop routine. She was clearly getting rattled.
“My name is actually Aaliyah and I was born in Los Angeles. I grew up in Van Nuys. My parents are from Morocco.”
“So you’re not Spanish?” I asked deftly.
“No. Now if you’d kindly have a seat, I’ll let Mr. Milton know that you are here.”
That was more like it. I could tell that I had proven to her that I knew how to get things done. This wasn’t my first trip on the turnip truck.
I just hoped that this didn’t turn out to be another dead end.
Chapter Eight
It did turn out to be a dead end. I don’t want to talk about what happened in Mr. Milton’s office. Let’s just say that the police in this town are downright out of control and if they aren’t careful they are going to find themselves with a class-action lawsuit on their hands. What was Milton trying to prove anyway? Calling the cops? Having me ‘escorted’ out of his building. I think he’s hiding something.
Back at square one, I headed home to my apartment. As soon as I got in I decided I had better check my voicemail messages. I had three panicked messages from Georgie. Something about the office being on fire, and him being trapped inside. I tell you, that guy is helpless without me. Whatever, it could wait. It was the next message that caught my attention. It was Charlie.
Charlie Riddenbocker was my new flame. He was a divorce attorney just like Larry Fife had been. To complicate matters he’d even know Larry. They were best friends, in fact and had been law partners at the time of Larry’s death.
He wanted to go out for dinner. Allowing my tough as nails persona to slip for only a moment, I squealed in delight. I had not been out on a date in six months. I took several deep breaths to regain my composure.
I knew it was time to call him up.
Chapter NineMy head was spinning. Things were moving too fast. It seemed like only a few chapters ago we were just beginning this journey and now things were quickly coming to a close. And yet. And yet, I had no idea who the killer might be. I had no clues. There were no real suspects. What on earth was happening?
Something was not quite right. I had to work this out. All of the information was right there, I just need to focus. I need time to sort through the facts. Concentrate.
I couldn’t concentrate. I was too hungry. Thinking about food made me think about Charlie.
Charlie was tall dark and handsome. He was strong and virile. He was the epitome of manliness; kinda like me, only a man.
I decided to pick out an outfit to wear for dinner that night. If he took me to our usual place I wouldn’t have to get too dressed up, but he said he wanted to go to some place special. I hoped it would have a play place.
Rummaging through my closet I was disgusted with my inability to decide. Dinner was not for a few more hours and I was ravenous already. I decided to make some lunch.
That is when I made my fateful decision. Little did I know how making myself a tuna fish sandwich would weigh on me later that night.
Chapter TenThe next morning, I started a new business.
Chapter Eleven
It went bankrupt.
Chapter TwelveI’m getting ahead of myself. It was still the other day. I hadn’t started a new business, and it had failed. Bankruptcy was still a shadowy veil the future held for me. I needed to concentrate on the now. I wondered how long the mayonnaise had been sitting on the counter before I made that tuna fish sandwich.
I returned to my closet. Still nothing. No inspiration. I had nothing to wear. Then, I remembered that all of my really nice outfits were at the cleaners. I could have Georgie pick them up for me.
The thought of Georgie stoked the fires of remembrance in the furnace of my mind. I wondered why my mind went on that strange metaphorical jaunt as I dialed Georgie’s phone.
He didn’t answer until the third time I called. Even then he waited til the twelfth ring.
“Am I interrupting anything?” I asked playfully.
“Mmmmrrrfff.”
“What’s that, Georgie? I can’t understand you.”
There was a long pause. It was a pause that seemed just long enough to remove any bandages that might have been on his head, if he were riding in an ambulance having suffered third degree burns in a fire at our office; you know, hypothetically.
“Kinsey?” I heard him breath out in a soft, strained voice.
“Georgie, were you removing bandages from off your head just now?”
“Yes, Kinsey, yes, it was terrible. I’ve got to warn you,” he began.
“Hold up. I need you to do a favor for me.” I interjected.
“A favor? But Kinsey, the killer” he began again, rudely interrupting me.
“Shut your pie hole, Georgie, I’m talking now and this is important!”
“I’m sorry,” he said meekly.
“I need you to pick up my clothes from the cleaners.”
“You clothes?” Kinsey, I’m on my way to the hospital! I nearly died!”
“Well, how long do you think that is going to take?” I asked.
There was a long pause. I figured that he was trying to come up with another of his lame excuses to get out of doing what I’d asked him to do, so I pressed the matter.
“Isn’t Wild Willy’s on the way to the hospital?”
“Yes, but…”
“Great! So listen, have the ambulance driver stop by on the way, and you can pick them up then.”
“I can’t move my legs!” he cried.
“Poor time management. That’s what your problem is. You are driving by there anyway, and yet you refuse to do a simple favor. Are you telling me, that you couldn’t ask the ambulance driver to hop out and get my clothes?” I began to wonder if he had read the self help books I got him as a Christmas present the previous year. He seemed to lack motivation.
“Fine. I will have the driver hop out and get your clothes, while I wait in the back of the ambulance with third degree burns covering most of my body.”
“Great. Now, how are you planning on getting me the clothes after that?” I asked demurely.
Chapter ThirteenIt suddenly struck me how ridiculous it was to extend a simple plot device like getting a date for dinner over three or four chapters, but, there you have it. It’s a funny little world, isn’t it? I was lost in thought. I wondered, WWJJKD, or what would Jackie Joyner-Kersey do? I decided it wasn’t important. I found myself lost once again in deep thought. I was lost in the woods of my own thoughts and I began to wonder whether we would be so cavalier about cutting trees down all the time if they could scream. Then I realized that we probably would, if they were screaming all the time.
Charlie’s voice jarred me from my daze.
“Are you ready to order?”
I looked around, taking in my surroundings. I was no longer lost in a dank, verdant forest, I was found in an elegant black-tie restaurant. There was no play place.
The waiter was looking at me expectantly. “Would you care for anything to drink, ma’am?”
“I’d like a glass of your finest Chablis.” I said, without thinking.
Charlie snickered.
“Wait! What? No! Not Chablis! You can’t slam Chablis! Bring me something stronger! Jim Beam! A Harvey Wallbanger! Turpentine! Anything! Anything at all besides some girly foo-foo Chablis. Ha-ha. As if I would drink Chablis.”
I could tell that I had fooled him into thinking I’d been joking. That was close. It’s so hard to remember to be ‘tough as nails’ all the time.
There was an awkward silence that seemed to be interminable. I began to wonder if I should make some more coffee. I realized at once, how foolish that would be. I didn’t even have my coffee grinder with me.
Finally the waiter returned with our drinks. I grabbed my glass and knocked half of it back in one swift gulp. Charlie’s gaze met mine and a slight grin crept onto his face.
“How is your Chablis?” He asked.
“Quite nice, thank you.”
He laughed. The infernal waiter had baited me, and I fell for it.
“Relax, Kinsey. Your secret is safe with me.” Charlie said.
“I don’t have any secrets. I’m an open book. A home improvement book, actually. Full of power tools.”
“How is your case going?”
“Oh Charlie, it’s just awful. There are no clues, the trail has gone dead. It’s been too long, in fact, I hardly have any suspects. My Uncle Connie has a list with a few names on it, but I’m not very hopeful. What am I going to do?” I began to sob.
“Look, er…I…uh…say, is that your cell phone ringing? Pull yourself together, Kinsey.”
I looked at the number on my phone. It was my Uncle Connie.
“I’ve got to take this.” I said.
Charlie merely shrugged trying to appear nonchalant.
“Kinsey, I’ve got some bad news.”
Chapter Fourteen“What’s the bad news, Uncle Con, did you have to strike a suspect off of the paltry list of names you gave me?” I quipped.
“It’s worse than that. I had to strike all of the names from the list.”
“Huh?” I asked in an intellectual tone.
“You heard me. I struck each name off of the list.”
“But, why? How could this happen? I barely have any characters in this book as it is!” I asked, trying to stifle my panic. My publisher was going to be even more upset with me.
“It seems that early last week, each of those persons died individually in sudden, isolated cases of somewhat mysterious circumstances that have no logical explanation.” He paused. “It’s the derndest thing, Kinsey. I’m very sorry.”
I hung up the phone.
I didn’t want to let on to Charlie just how low I was. He was the one person in the world who could always read me, however, so as soon as I began stabbing myself in the arm he asked, “Is there something wrong, Kinsey?”
“Mosquito bite.”
“Kinsey, come on, I know that it’s not a mosquito bite. Level with me. What’s wrong?”
I looked into his deep soulful eyes and decided to tell him the truth. “The Doctor told me I have too much blood in my veins. I just need to let a little out.”
“Kinsey…”
“Ok, ok. The truth is, I’m a horrible writer. I have no characters, which means I have no suspects. My publisher has been breathing down my neck for weeks, and I’ve already spent the money they advanced me for the next two novels I told them I’d write. They really liked the idea of running through the alphabet for titles, but this is turning out to be far harder than I ever dreamed. I’ve always been tough as nails, but my life choices have left me feeling so all alone.”
“You’ve still got me.” He said, looking as dreamy as ever. I leaned just a little bit closer to him and felt the pressures of my life begin to melt when it suddenly struck me just how ironic it would be if my dear, sweet Charlie turned out to be the killer.
Nah.
Chapter FifteenI loved the feeling of the wind whipping through my hair. It was a beautiful day with clear blue skies and not a hint of precipitation. I was humming along to the soulful sounds of ELO and had the top down in my trusty rainbow hued Volkswagen.
This was just the break I needed. Nothing cleared my head quite like a road trip. I was racing towards California in search of a little fun in the sun.
Of course, I had to lie to my publisher and tell him that I was headed out west to do some research for the book. He sounded dubious at first, but I eventually persuaded him to not only extend my deadline, but also to fund this little excursion.
My mind began to drift back to the case, but I pushed it out of my mind and cranked the tunes up even louder. I couldn’t help but belt out the lyrics, “What happened to the girl I used to know? You let your mind out somewhere down the road!” It was downright eerie how Jeff Lynne could speak to the affairs of my heart.
In need of gas I pulled into a Union 76 station that still had a full service option. The attendant made his way toward me as I pulled up. His face lit up when he recognized the song on my radio, and like a character in a Dr. Pepper commercial, he began to sing along.
“Don’t bring me dooooooooooown. Bruce!”
I switched of the key in the ignition, and frowned at him. He looked startled, and slightly embarrassed.
“Actually, it’s not ‘Bruce’ it’s ‘groos’.” I informed him, more than a little annoyed by his lack of knowledge.
“Really? My friends and I always sing ‘Bruce’.”
“Many people make that mistake-but it’s really ‘groos.”
“So, what does ‘groos’ mean?
“Excuse me?”
“What does it mean? It sounds German. Is it German for something?”
“No. It isn’t German. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a made up word.”
“Then why do you care?”
“Because it’s important. You can’t just change the words to a song because you feel like it, bub.”
“Oh, okay. You know, it really sounds like he’s saying ‘Bruce’ sometimes…”
“Yeah, well it isn’t, so sing it right.” It made me so mad that people got that wrong. I decided not to mention to the guy that after a few years, Jeff Lynne himself began singing ‘Bruce’ when performing the song live since everyone thought those were the real words. That just made me even madder. Lynne had never responded to the heated letter that I had sent him chastising him for being a sellout even though I know he got it, since I had sent it registered mail. He knew, alright. He knew.
“You okay, miss?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Everything is going to be just fine.” I said. I looked down at the steering wheel and noticed that I had been gripping it so tightly that my fingers had left an impression.
“Can you tell me the fastest way to the 101 freeway?”
He gave me the directions and I headed off down the road. I got the impression that I had made quite an impression on the impressionable young man, because he called out after me as I sped out of his life forever. I could see him waving his arms frantically in my rearview mirror. “Sorry, my star-crossed young lover. You look good, like a snake in the grass, but I’m not gonna let you break my glass.” I thought to myself.
It wasn’t until I stopped for gas the next time that I realized that I had forgotten to pay him.
Chapter SixteenIt was good to be going back to California. I had been away for far too long. It seemed like another lifetime when I had lived there. In fact, it might’ve been another lifetime. I was not tough as nails back then, though I was styling and profiling; occasionally growlin’ and smiling. In truth, I was just a school girl, really. It made me wonder if I could find a pair of saddle shoes my size. It’s tough to find them in size 13, but maybe I could find some online.
I spent my formative years in Cali. I had learned to drive in California. I had decided to become a Private Investigator while living there. California and I had an almost symbiotic relationship. I knew her intimately.
I forced myself to think about the facts of the case. The open roads helped me gain clarity. The road signs were nearly hypnotic as the raced by; Santa Clara, Malibu, Barstow, Camarillo, Fresno, Dallas, one right after the other.
Southgate, Big Sur, Thousand Oaks, San Diego, San Bernadino, Gilroy, Reseda; I was making incredible time. Finally, I crested the huge hill separating Santa Barbara from Oakland and looked into the heart of the Conejo Valley. I knew that the answers I sought were down there, in the valley of the shadow.
I decided to wait until the sun was a little higher in the sky.
Chapter SeventeenI was sitting there on the side of the road, looking down unto that auspicious valley when it dawned on me that I had no clue why I was here. It also dawned on me literally. I must have dozed off while waiting for the sun to rise a bit.
I flipped my ELO cassette over to listen to side two. Yes, I still have the original cassette player in my VW Bug. I enjoy the tape hiss. Two notes into the song Telephone Line, my cell phone went off. I was struck by the irony. Or was it the serendipity? At the very least it was whimsical and I was amused.
I answered the phone. It was Georgie.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Guess.” I demanded.
“Uhm…Whataburger?” he tried.
“Strike one.”
“Jack-in-the-Box?” he tried again.
“Strike two.” I said beginning to get irritated.
“Wait, it’s Thursday! You must be at Sizzler.”
“No! That’s strike three, and why do all of your guesses relate to food? Are you calling me fat?”
“What? No! Don’t be silly. I uh…got the information you requested.”
“The number to Weight Watchers?”
“No, I’ve got the name of the kid who works for Willy Johnson.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The kid from chapter three. You asked me to find out who he was.”
“Well that was timely. Who is he?”
“You’re not going to believe it.”
Chapter Eighteen“Out with it, Georgie. Who is the kid from the Laundromat?” I asked.
“You’re not going to believe me when I tell you.” Georgie said.
“You said that already. Are you stalling?” I asked.
“A little. I want to tell you, but I need to talk to you about something first.”
“What do you want to talk about?” I asked.
“I need a little time off.”
“When? Time off for what? What’s this all about?” I asked sensitively.
“Don’t laugh, but I need to go on bereavement.”
“Oh, Georgie, I’m so sorry. I would never laugh at your loss. What kind of person do you think I am? I know I try to project this tough as nails persona, but the loss of a loved one can pack a real emotional wallop.” I said, surprising even myself. I began to get excited realizing that this kind of drama might be the perfect vehicle to get this novel moving.
“Thank you, Kinsey. I was worried that you understand. Mr. Wiggins was very special to me.”
I laughed so hard that I launched a snot rocket from my nose. “Mr. Wiggins? Your cat?”
“Kinsey! Come on! I thought you understood!”
I tried to pull myself together, after all, Georgie had been my secretary for the last three years and I could hardly function without him. Not that he was any good at his job, I just needed to talk to someone in the novels, and talking to yourself could land you in the mental hospital. And he did pick up my clothes for me from the cleaners, when he wasn’t letting his problems in his personal life get in the way.
“Georgie, you take all the time you need, little trooper. We’ll just make do til you get back. How much time do you think you’ll need?”
“Oh thank you, Kinsey. Not long. I was thinking only two or three weeks.
I began to use language that isn’t appropriate to repeat in a novel, even coming from a hard-boiled private eye like myself.
“You can begin your bereavement the moment I get back, now tell me about this kid-it’s time you let the cat out of the bag.”
“Kinsey! How could you?”
“Bad word choice. I apologize. Now who is he?”
“You’re not going to believe it.”
My name is Kinsey Mahone. I’m a Private Investigator. I’m a tough broad, tough as nails, which I sometimes eat for lunch. I’m 32, twice divorced with no kids. The day before yesterday I killed someone. I also had a tuna sandwich for lunch. It’s weighing heavily on me. The tuna, not the killing.
How I came to kill someone is quite a tale. It’s not for the feint of heart, or even the faint of heart. The point is, if you read it-you might faint. Like most great murder mysteries this story begins with a dame.
I met Ida Diddindoit three weeks ago. She spent 5 years in a maximum security prison. Her husband was brutally murdered and she took the fall for it. She was a patsy, a fall guy, only this guy was a gal and what a gal she was.
I remember it like it was only 21 days ago. There was a knock at my door. When I opened it, I found Ida standing there. She was tall, as tall as a 6’3” lamp, only not as bright. I didn’t say anything at first just let her in.
“You know who I am?”
“Yes. I was there when you when you were tried and…my secretary told me your name before she let you in.” There was a long pause that seemed to hang in the air. It was the kind of pause that come on a streetwise alley cat if you know what I mean.
“You want some coffee?” I asked hoping to ease the tension.
“Sure.”
I made some coffee. In a coffee pot. It took six minutes to complete. Six awkward minutes. It seemed like an eternity. I knew it could potentially change everything, so I included it in my novel.
“How does it feel being out of jail?” I asked to break the silence.
“Better than being locked up, genius. For a private eye, you sure ask dumb questions.” She responded.
“Sorry. I’m not all that good at small talk. That’s why I’m reading this book.” I pointed at the pristine looking copy of “How to Make Small Talk and Solve Crimes Doing It” by Leonard Fiptinshein sitting on my desk.
“Learn anything useful yet?” she asked.
“Uhm…Tell me about the neighborhood you lived in growing up…”
“Nice try, but we probably need to move this plot forward. Officer Con Dolence from the 5th precinct recommended you. He said you had a good memory.”
“Who?” I asked trying to remember where I’d heard that name before.
“Your father’s brother.”
“Uncle Connie? He sent you? How sweet. How did you meet him?”
“He was the arresting officer five years ago. You were there in the courtroom when he testified against me.”
“Right. Of course. I remember it well. Industrial espionage as I recall.”
“I was accused of murder.”
I shuddered involuntarily. It wigged me out a little to be sitting in the same room as a murderer. Alleged murderer, I mean.
“Why’d you do it?” I asked subtly.
“I didn’t do it. That’s why I’m here. I want you to prove that I’m innocent.”
“But you already did your time. What’s the point?”
“Well, this is your first novel, and you don’t really have any good ideas yet.”
I was incensed. “I do have a great idea for titles though! I’m going to go through the alphabet one letter at a time. It’s like having an infinite number of titles at the ready.”
“You mean 26.”
“Huh?”
“There are only 26 letters, so you’ll have 26 titles, not an infinite number.”
“You try writing one, it will seem like an eternity. It took me three whole weeks just to write this chapter.”
“What’s the name of your first novel?” she asked, more from boredom than genuine interest.
“A is for Enchilada.”