“Here’s a guy, a loser fresh out of prison, who lucks into a woman’s deep, dark secret,” I said. “If it wasn’t obvious that Lauren was rich, Arlo might have just laughed it all off. Instead, he took a plane to LA to soak her for as much as he could. Only he pushed her too hard and she dived off an overpass.”
“But you still don’t know what the deep, dark secret is,” Carol said, “except that it has to do with drugs.”
“Arlo was a drug dealer; Lauren’s mother and her boyfriend were addicts. At least that’s the self-serving story Lauren told the Harpers,” I replied. “Now that I’ve had some experience as a liar, I’ve discovered the most convincing lies are based on truth. So, I’m assuming there’s some truth to the story, only I don’t think Lauren was the wholesome, innocent victim or Arlo wouldn’t have anything on her.”
“Maybe Lauren’s mother wasn’t the addict,” Carol said. “Maybe it was Lauren. And maybe her mother’s boyfriend didn’t seduce Lauren, maybe it was the other way around, so she could get her hands on his drugs.”
“Where does Arlo fit into that?”
“Maybe Arlo was her boyfriend,” she said. “Maybe he didn’t like her fucking her mother’s boyfriend to get drugs.”
“Or maybe Arlo was the one who put her up to it, to get drugs for both of them,” I added. “Only Arlo began to think Lauren was enjoying doing Mommy’s boyfriend too much and maybe wasn’t sharing all the dope she got. So, Arlo gets pissed, and tells Lauren’s mother what’s going on.”
“Or arranges for her mother to catch them in the act.”
And then it hit me. It was so obvious.
“No, he did better than that.” I said. “He took pictures.”
“Yeah,” Carol said softly.
That was it. We both knew. It all fit.
“So, Lauren has to run, because her mother, or the boyfriend, or both of them want to wring her neck,” Carol said. “She ends up in a dive in Seattle, lucks into a job with the Harpers, and reinvents herself. She even gets a new face. After a while, it’s almost like none of it ever happened, or if it did, it was to a totally different person.”
“Until one day,” I said, “Arlo Pelz shows up at her door with the pictures and it all comes back to haunt her.”
“It makes sense,” Carol said.
“That doesn’t mean that’s what happened.”
“It’s probably close enough,” she said.
We tried knocking around a few other scenarios, but none of them worked as good as that one. It was fun talking about them anyway. We were really enjoying the call.
Two weeks ago, all she had to tell me was office gossip about people I didn’t know or care about. Even so, that was more than I usually could contribute to a conversation. Not much happened on the night shift in a guard shack. Now we were discussing blackmail and ex-convicts and drug dealers and secret lives.
Then Carol told me what she’d been doing at work, only for the first time I was interested. She’d been so revved up by the credit stuff she’d found on Arlo that she had to do something more. So, she sat down at her computer and found a couple dozen websites that searched public records and other databases for personal information about people. She didn’t find out anything more about Lauren, but she thought that now, based on what I’d told her, she might be able to dig up more on Arlo Pelz. She’d start with the Washington State Department of Corrections and work backward from there.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.
“I want to,” she said. “I’m enjoying this. Besides, it’s the first thing we’ve really done together.”
“No, it’s not,” I said slyly.
“It’s the first thing that doesn’t involve a TV, a pizza, or a bed.”
Hearing her talk that way, I began to think seriously about starting a detective agency of my own. I’d do the exciting legwork, including the car chases and shoot-outs, while she did all the dull research, cleaned up the office, and fucked my brains out.
It sounded like a dream, only it wasn’t anymore. I was most of the way there. All that was left for me to do was win a houseboat in a poker game and I’d have the Travis McGee lifestyle I dreamed of, with some minor alterations. I wasn’t interested in rescuing those “wounded birds.” For some reason, I didn’t have any desire to do that part any more. Carol was enough for me and certainly more than I deserved.
“I love you, Carol.”
The words were out of my mouth before I knew I said them. And then, realizing what I’d done, I quickly added a friendly chuckle, so the remark would be taken casually, lightly, maybe even forgotten, shrugged off as just a tongue-in-cheek compliment to a chum. But like I said, Carol was smarter than me.
“I know you do, Harvey,” she said, surprising me with the matter-of-fact tone of her voice. “I’ve known for a while. I was beginning to wonder, though, when it would occur to you.”
I swallowed. I fidgeted. I shifted the receiver to my other ear.
“How long have you loved me?” I asked.
“You’re the detective now,” she replied. “You figure it out.”
There was a long moment of silence. I found myself imagining what she was wearing, where she was sitting, the expression on her face. For that moment, I didn’t give a shit about Lauren Parkus or her secret or why she killed herself. I wanted to go home and investigate this new mystery.
“Goodnight, Harvey,” she said softly. “I’d better hear from you tomorrow or I’m calling the police.”
It might have been the nicest thing anybody ever said to me.
I hung up the phone, closed the drapes, and turned off all the lights. I pulled a chair over to the window so I could peek between the drapes and not be seen. Then I sat down in the chair, took out my gun, and set it on the table next to my can of Diet Coke.
I sat there like James Bond in that scene from Dr. No and the one thirty-five years later in Tomorrow Never Dies. Just a man in a chair with his drink and his gun, waiting for danger to arrive.
It was a longer wait than I expected.
I was driving a ‘50s T-bird convertible down the Las Vegas Strip. I made a left turn at the Desert Inn, and drove around back to my place.
I drove into the garage, which was also my living room and my office. You’d think a private eye living and working out of his garage would be pathetic, but it was actually very cool.
One of things that made it cool was my assistant Carol, who had breasts the size of watermelons, really big watermelons, and was waiting for me with a tropical drink.
I climbed over the door of my car instead of opening it. It was a lot more trouble, but it was one of the carefree, cool things I did that made me irresistible to women.
“The casino called for you, Dan. They’ve got trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
She showed me a picture of Lauren.
“They say she’s gonna jump, unless you can help her,” Carol said.
I took the drink and downed it in one gulp and suddenly I was on the roof of the Desert Inn, standing a few feet behind Lauren, who stood on the edge, her back to me, the wind whipping her dress.
I approached her slowly. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Arlo is back. He going to tell them everything.”
“I’ll find him,” I said. “I’ll stop him.”
“That’s not going to change anything.”
“Your secret will be safe,” I said. “No one will know anything.”
She turned her head and looked right at me. Her gaze was blinding.
“I will,” she said. “I can never forget it now.”
And then she jumped.
Chapter Eighteen
I’m not sure exactly which sound woke me up. It was either Lauren’s body hitting the pavement or the explosion from the motel across the highway.
I whipped open my blinds and saw flames engulfing the room I’d rented at the Sno-Inn Motel and licking the hood of my rented LeSabre, which I’d parked right out front.