bill · chapters

The both of us watched the light for a minute and the shadow shifting beneath it. McCarthy touched his holster. "Go around back," he whispered.

"Back of what?"

"Make sure he doesn't go out a window." He drew his gun and held it like sacrament. I took the stairway down to the lobby and jogged across to the courtyard. I counted five stories up to the one lit window. A fountain was gurgling behind me and I stared at the square of light issuing from my room. I opened and closed my hands, feeling slightly foolsih. I didn't have a gun and I was still pretty drunk.

A few minutes later, I saw McCarthy at the window, waving me up. I did my sprint back into the lobby and tried not to collapse inside the elevator.

McCarthy met me at the door. He was touching a knuckle to his mouth and sucking the blood back. "Caught his elbow," he said. I looked down on the floor-- the guy was holding his nose but I recognized the rest of him-- the same baby face stitched on a mack truck.

"This is the same pug who flitched me the other day." I gave him a tap with my loafer. He barely reacted. "Any ID on him?"

McCarthy opened up a brown leather wallet. "Cormac Sinclair," he said, glancing at the license. "You make the name?"

I shook my head. "Wake up, Mac," I said. He twitched a little but stayed on the floor. "You're in deep trouble, pal. Assaulting a police officer."

He groaned and covered his eyes with his arm.

"How's the lip, Officer McCarthy? How many stitches you reckon that is?"

Sinclair made a noise. Then he said "Fuck off" for clarity.

I kicked him and he sat up.

McCarthy paced around the width of the room. "This isn't your room, Sinclair."

"Turn down service," he said. He put his arm on the bed. I slapped it off. He was bleeding on it.

We asked the question a few more times but he sat there blinking. McCarthy threw his hands up and took me aside.

"What do you say, Chapters? We can take him down to the hall, keep him overnight."

I shook my head.

"What do you mean?"

I put my hand on his shoulder. "Go home, Jonny."

McCarthy stared at me and twisted his lips together. He started to say something but I turned back to Sinclair. He was sitting up on the bed now, fingering a tooth. The door opened. The door closed.

---

I sat down on the bed and said, "Angela."

Sinclair rubbed his face. "I don't know that song. Maybe you hum a few bars."

"You tell her I don't know what her racket is and I don't care. You tell her I want to see her tomorrow. We put this whole damn business behind us."

Sinclair picked himself up and stretched out. He looked like a damn mountain growing out of the carpeting. It was a wonder how McCarthy got him down.

"Where?"

"Not here. I hear the Weasel's got good food."

"It's not bad." Sinclair went to the mirror to check on his face. There was nothing anybody could do. "What time?"

"Four in the afternoon."

"She has a class then."

"She's going to have to skip," I said. "Now get the hell out of my room."

"It's art history. It's her favorite class." He closed the door behind him.

I thought about beating it out the window and tailing him back to Angela's but it was late and the bed seemed like a good place to hide out for a while. Inside my head, two heavy weights were beating up on each other and howling after every punch. I started unbuttoning my shirt, got half-way through until the darkness got me.

McCarthy had his badge out when we got to the door. He set his cop face together-- a heavy, brutal face sandwiched between two inflamed cheeks. I rang the bell and an old woman answered it. She had one weak eye that had milked over and a flower-print robe. It was Agatha Christian. “Thank goodness you’re here,” she said. She looked at us from behind the screen. “Well, come in, come in.”

We stepped into the house. “Right through here,” she said. McCarthy flashed me a look but I made like I didn’t see it. She guided us through the kitchen to a door leading into the yard. The air smelled like grilled salmon. The stove was still warm and there was a neat stack of plates soaking in the sink. “She’s been out there for hours.”

I looked out into the yard. A clothesline ran from a post near the house to a maple tree. There was a semblance of a tomato garden-- a few green bulbs getting fat on the vine. “Ma’am?” I said.

“Percy! She’s been up in that tree since breakfast.” She pointed to a tangle of leaves and branches. A full-sized tabby was sitting on a high branch, looking impressed with the world. McCarthy cleared his throat in a way that made me uncomfortable.

“I was taking the clothes in when the rain started. She got out from behind me. It’s been a regular ordeal getting her down,” she said. She shouted through the door. “Bad Percy!’

I look at Jonny. “You want to take this Officer McCarthy?”

“Nope.”

I sighed a little and draped my jacket over my head. I struck out into the yard. my shoes suck into the flooded grass. The mud made a sucking sound as I lifted my feet.

“Come on, Percy,” I said.

The cat looked at me for a minute.

“Don’t make this hard.”

I grabbed a low branch and tried to hoist myself up. The bark came off in my hands and made my palms raw. “Damn it.”

I leaned against the tree for a minute and started to think. Percy started mewing, but it wasn’t any help. The rain was sliding down the leaves and branches and having a regular pow-wow on my head. I turned back towards the house and waved my arm. Jonny took his time getting out to me.

“Problems?” he said. He had a hard time covering up his smile.

“Shut up.”

“What do you want?”

“Stand over there.” McCarthy set himself up under the cat.

“What are you going to do?”

“Just be ready.”

I leapt up again and managed to get my arm around the branch. I swung my body till my heels got some friction against the tree trunk. I dug my heels in and jostled the branch. Percy edged away from the noise and took a leap at McCarthy.

“Jesus,” he said.

I dislodged myself from the tree trunk. Percy was sitting on Jonny’s shoulder. The cat looked at me for a moment, scampered down and back towards the house.

“She had her claws out,” McCarthy said.

“Let’s go in.”

Ms. Christian and Jonny headed into the bathroom for some peroxide. Except for Percy, I was alone in the kitchen. She was lying near the stove. I let her alone and headed into the living room. There was nothing priceless in the china cabinet. Just a decade worth of flea markets and mail-order catalogs. I recognized a few pieces from home.

The grand piano wore a thin skin of dust, ruptured by the occassional paw print. I lifted the keyboard cover and tapped a note- middle c. The thing had slid out of tune and had stayed that way for some time. The piano hadn’t been serviced for at least six months.

On top were photos of a young woman with curly red hair and a graduation gown. Her cap was tucked neatly under her arms. Her nails were neatly trimmed and polished, the cuticles drawn back. I stared at her face for a while. It could have passed for a lamb’s.

“That’s my niece.” Ms. Christian was standing behind me. She was holding out two cups of tea. I took one.

“Very pretty,” I said. “What’s her name?”

“Angela. My brother’s daughter.”

I picked up the frame. “Does she live with you?”

“No, she lives in Wilmington. She goes to school there.”

I smiled. “Ah, college student, eh? Does she have a boyfriend?”

“You’re not interested in my Angela are you?” A smile crawled across her face. My thumbprint was on the glass. I wiped it with my sleeve.

“You should be a detective,” I said.

“Wait right here.”

Ms. Christian left the room and I sat there drinking her tea. It was an herbal mix. Some lemon. She came back with a scrap of paper with seven numbers on it.

She winked wihen she handed it to me. She used her good eye.

--

We stopped into Lamont’s, a steakhouse off the interstate, on the way back to town. The rain had cleared and left the roads with a black greasy look. A girl in pigtails and braces sat us down near the bar with a pair of menus. Jonny leaned against his seat and groaned. “I’m starved,” he said.

“This place any good?”

“They got steaks as thick as my fist.” He made a fist. He showed me what it looked like.

A waiter came and took our orders. A few minutes later he came back with two pint glasses filled with something dark and heavy. “You’re buying,” he said.

I nodded my head and tasted the beer.

“Can I pay you back? I got ripped off the other day.”

“What?”

“Someone broke into my hotel room. Messed the place up. Me included.”

“You didn’t call the cops?”

I smirked. “Don’t trust the local law enforcement.”

He laughed and called me an asshole. Then he dipped his nose into the beer.

“You ever been to a place called the Weasel?”

He nodded. “It’s a college bar. We bust them every now and then for underaged drinking.”

“How’s the food?”

“The fries are okay. I wouldn’t touch anything else.”

“You always had a discerning palette.”

“Just a sensitive stomach.”

We both drank. A few minutes later the steaks showed up, looking like crime scene evidence. “That’s too much blood,” I said.

“Don’t whine. Besides, that’s the best part.” He dabbed a roll on his steak till it went pink and soggy.

“Is there a lot of activity down in the college?”

Jonny was working down his steak. He shook his head, said something with his mouth full, then put his napkin up. “The campus have their own police force,” he said. “We mostly don’t get involved.”

I tore off a piece of steak and turned it around a few times in my mouth. “Make any exceptions?”

“Only for damned nosy PIs. What’re you driving at?”

I shrugged and drained my beer. It had been a long day and it was starting to get to me. “I don’t know.”

“That’s the problem with you snoops.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re obsessed with questions. Those little curly things at the end of sentences.” He drew a question mark on the table. “It’s not so much the answer-- just the need to ask more questions.”

I dug a hole in my mashed potatoes. I thought about what I could bury in there. It wasn’t very much. “Maybe I’m curious.”

“I don’t think it’s even that. I think you just like the sound of it. The way the pitch rises at the end.” He pointed at me with his fork. “You’ve got problems, pal.”

“Yeah, I’ve got problems.”

The waiter came around. “How’re you all doing?”

“I’ve got problems,” I said.

He looked at me.

I pointed at the beer. He took the glass away. It was a while before he came back with a new one.

---

“I’m tired of this case,” I said as we drove back to the hotel.

“I’m tired of you.”

“You’ll hurt my feelings, Jonny,” I said. “Anyway, I’m in too deep to call it quits.”

“How far along are you?”

I looked at him then put my hand up to about chin level.

“That’s pretty far.”

“I can see the end,” I said. “But I can’t make myself get to it.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m tired. I don’t want to chase down leads. I’m trying to close this case, but it keeps on expanding.”

“Sounds like my ex.”

“Cut the shit,” I said. "Why did you leave New York?"

"I told you why, didn't I?"

"No you didn't."

"Then it must not have been very important." I couldn't argue with his logic so I leaned my head against the window. When I woke up, we were at the hotel. Jonny carried me into the elevator and up to my floor. He walked me down to the hallway. We stopped. There was a light underneath my door.

There was a phone call in the morning. It was Sandy Connors. "I'm in the lobby," she said. I hung up, took my time getting dressed and then took the elevator down.

She was where she said she'd be. She wore a denim jacket and a black shirt. There was a hole in her left stocking shaped like Croatia. "Good morning," she said. We moved to the hotel dining area where they were serving a continental breakfast. I had coffee and watched her spoon a half of a grape fruit.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Your assistant told me."

"Sophie."

She touched her lip. "Yes, that sounds about right." She plucked a seed out of the pulp and wiped it on her napkin. Her movements reminded me of a surgeon's. "How is our matter coming along?"

I nodded and sucked the taste of coffee from my teeth. "Good."

"So you know why Stanley--"

I looked at her and pushed my tongue against the roof of my mouth. "I can't discuss the details of an ongoing investigation."

"You don't know is what you're saying."

"The case is still developing," I said. "But I have a working hypothesis."

"I don't like people giving me the run around, Mister Chapters."

"And I don't like being bothered at work, Miss Connors. Even if it is my employer."

Her face went red. "Now wait a minute."

"No, you listen. You hired me to find out about Stanley Jenkins-- not to have breakfast with you. Now don't get me wrong. It's been a gas watching you eat that grapefruit-- but unless you have a better reason for sucking around here-- I won't be staying for desert."

She signed and reached into her purse. "Someone slipped this into my textbook." She handed me a slip of paper. It had been torn out of a spiral notebook. There was a yellow stain in it. I read it. Call off the dick. "I was at the library and I went to use the bathroom. I found it wedged in between two pages when I got back."

I brought the paper up to my nose.

"What is it?"

"Perfume. Lilac maybe."

"That's not my scent."

I looked at her. "I know." I sniffed again. "Also stale beer. I heard about a place called Weasel's. Is it close to the library?"

"It's on the same block."

"Stanley spend time there?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Almost everyone goes there. It's a college bar."

I folded the paper up. "There are some more things I need to look into. I'll call you when I get back to New York. Until then stay out of my way." I got up and left the check to her.

--

I dialed the number I found at Jenkin's room. A woman's voice answered. It had the squeezed crawl of an older woman. Seventy, maybe more. "Hello?"

"Yes." I cleared my thought. "This is Transcontinetal Communication Services. Who am I speaking with?"

"Agatha Christia." I wrote the name down on a slip of hotel stationary. I read her phone number back to her. "Is this your phone number, ma'am?"

"Yes," she said like a question.

"Transcontinental Communication Services has been authorized to award you a tuition voucher for your phone overpayment."

"Oh my."

"I'm going to need you to confirm your mailing address and we'll send it off to you right away."

She hesitated for a moment. "Well, it's sixteen Morrison Drive. Towson Township, Delaware. What is this for again?"

"Your reimbursement voucher ma'am. Towson? As in the lake?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"Thank you, ma'am." I hung up the phone and got the number of the police precinct from the front desk. I called the switchboard operator and had them put me through to Jonas McCarthy. He growled his name at me. "McCarthy."

"It's Chapters."

"What's going on. I'm at work."

"When do you get off?"

"Three hours. You want to grab a drink or something?"

"I need a ride."

"A ride? To where?"

"Towson Lake."

"That's over an hour away."

"Just be here, Jonny." I hung up the phone. When it rang back at me, I pretended I was in the shower.

--

The rain had started. i was watching it from the hotel lobby. The bell boys made their arms like umbrellas and scrambled around underneath it. McCarthy showed up with his trench coat, moistened around the shoulders and skirt. His face was ragged. I checked his hands. No flowers or chocolates.

I got up to meet him. "Don't look at me that way, Jonny." I patted him on the arm. "I'll buy you a steak." We went out into the parking lot and we climbed into one of those four-wheel-drive monsters.

"You're lousy," he said to me as we got on our way.

"How do you mean?"

"You only call when you need something." He darted his eyes at me and caught me opening his glove box. "Don't touch that." I took out the gun inside and slid the clip out.

"This isn't police issue," I said.

"Sometimes I go bear hunting."

I sighted the gun on the wheels of a semi up ahead. "And this water pistol is enough?"

He turned off an exit and onto another stretch of road. The window wiper swiped thick skins of rain oftf the glass. "It is if you know where to shoot."

I wiped the handle and trigger down with a shirt sleeve and slipped it back in the glove box.

"So what's this about?" he asked me.

"Work," I said.

Jonny's face got sullen. He was right that I don't treat him good. "It's a jilted lover case. The principal went up to the lake with some friends. When he got back, he went chilly on my client."

"What exactly do you hope to find?"

"Won't know until I get there. Maybe nothing but maybe something. It's a hunch mostly."

Jonny scoffed. "You should try some real detective work one of these days."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means evidence, Bill. Forensics. Proof. That's what closes cases. Not your gut." He went in on me about a fraud case he had been working on earlier in the year. I stopped listening and watched the trees shake at the inclimate weather.

We waited an hour for Jenkins but he never showed. Mortimer splashed his bushes a few more times then curled the tubing around his arm. "Maybe he went to the fraternity house. He stays there sometimes," he said.

"He pledged?"

"University Drive and Maple." He hooked his thumb down the street and smiled. "Just follow the beer cans."

I said goodbye and headed in that direction. The trees were starting to shudder and storm clouds stretched out like a cat overhead. I got to the end of the block and turned the corner. I jogged my way around back to the house, zig-zagging behind parked cars. I got in sight of the house and the old man was nowhere to be seen.

I crept along the side of the house and kept my back below the windows. I could hear the faint mumble of voices from the distant houses and the nervous pelt of a sprinkler somewhere.

Mortimer kept a tool shed on the far side of the yard. It was streaked with rust and bird shit and an old bicycle leaned up against the door. Abutting the fence was a small garden. The cucumbers were just starting to bloom, stretching out their soft green vines and spiraling up the garden post. The leaves fanned out like daggers. There was a bad-tempered bumble bee lighting down on the leaf. It gave me a look and then hopped along.

The basement window was too small to get into. I peered down into the darkness but couldn't make anything out. I slipped my knife out of my sock and sliced the netting around the frame. I dropped down into the darkness and felt the bite at my knees. I crouched close to the floor and waited for my eyes to adjust to the light.

There was a bed in the corner and a small computer desk. A patchwork of art history textbooks and gym socks made a carpet of the floor. I lifted up a sock and brought it up to my nose. They were at least a week old. I coughed into my sleeve and tucked the sock into my pocket.

I moved slowly towards the mattress. The bed hadn't been slept in for days. I slipped my arm underneath the frame and touched something warm and alive. My arm jerked back and I got on my feet. It took me a few seconds to get my heart out of my lungs.

At the desk were photos of the client, Sandy Connors, and a tall guy with a day old mustache and crooked sideburns. He had a Wilmington sweatshirt on. Neither of them were smiling. I popped the frame open and folded the photo into my pocket. Inside the frame , a slab of metal gleamed in the muted light.

I picked it up. It was a key, but to what I didn't know. I pocketed it and checked the drawers. In the bottom drawer, beneath an Egyptian History textbook was a silver hipflask. I shook it around. It was empty so I left it where it was.

On his computer screen were a mass of post-it notes. It was too dark to read them so I tucked those away too. I gave myself a running start and leapt towards the window. Something sharp clipped me on the side but I managed to anchor an arm on the ledge. It took some doing but I got myself out. I rubbed my eyes a few times and headed out towards the driveway.

"What are you doing back here?" Mortimer spotted me and I froze.

I mumbled something and pushed past him.

"Hey wait a minute," he said.

I could hear his sandals moving after me. I widened my stride.

He called out after me. I didn't stop to take notes.

--

I lost him after a few blocks and stopped into a cafe for a sandwich and a beer. The waitress had short hair clipped just below her ears, where butterfly earrings dangled and stole the light. I took some time to catch my breath then I put in my order. I watched her write it down. She looked up from her pad with two green eyes like twin traffic light.

There was a copy of the campus paper by the window. I took it and browsed through a few articles. The school had recently received a large endowment and a freshman had been caught plagiarizing a paper on Tom Wolfe. I took a pen out from my pocket and started drawing mustaches on the pictures until my food arrived. The waitress glanced down at my work. She flashed a look that me indigestion and walked off.

I finished up quick and headed to Maple and University Drive. The frat house wasn't anything special-- two stories and trash on the lawn. There was a pool of something sticky leading up the steps. I tried to read the lettering on the building. It was Greek.

I rang the buzzer and a wispish undergrad came to the door. He peered out at me through two slits.

"Yeah?" he said, from behind the mosquito screen.

"Is Stanley here?"

"No, man. He hasn't been around in a while. Who are you, campus security?"

"Do you have any idea where he's staying?"

"Wait a minute," he said. He disappeared into the house. A few minutes later, a tall broad-shouldered man shows up in a sweatshirt and boxers.

"What's this about?" he said, folding his arms together.

"Stanley Jenkins."

"Stan in some kind of trouble?"

"No, nothing like that. It's his father. I'm a family friend. His father's very ill. I need to speak with him immediately."

"Aw jeez. He's... he's over on Pinegrove staying with his girlfriend. Here, let me get you the address."

He reached into his pocket and wrote the address down on a bar napkin from a place called Weasel's. It featured the silhouette of a cartoon weasel and a martini glass. "You wouldn't happen to be Joseph, would you?"

"Sure, how did you know?"

I folded the napkin up and slipped it into my jacket pocket.

"Stanley told me about your trip up to the lake. He mentioned someone that matches your description."

"Oh man." He started to blush. "He told you about that?"

"He said it was one of the most memorable experiences he's ever had."

Joe shrugged. "That's one way of putting it." He waited for me to go down the steps then he shut the door.

--

I decided to head back to the hotel and try to summon up from memory the facts about the case. Sandy Connors had been going with Stanley Jenkins for an extended period of time up until last summer, when he and his friends took a trip to Towson lake. When summer ended and classes resumed, their relationship did not. Stanley, rather than being upfront about the going-ons, decided to give Sandy the dodge. Some time within the few weeks, he stopped going home-- possibly spending time with his new girlfriend.

The facts were too loose; anybody could drive a truck through them-- smash it to pieces. My head was starting to hurt and I couldn't figure it out. What about the red-haired woman with the lamb face and the strong man who was playing ping pong with my skull?

I emptied out my pockets-- the gym sock, post-it notes, the photograph. Most of the post-its were school related: faculty office hours and a few facts about Marcel Duchamp. I crumbled those up and filed it in the waste basket. There was one note that caught my attention-- a phone number with an out-of-town area code.

I made a note of it and stowed the rest away in a drawer by the bed.

There came a knock at the door.

I opened it. Jonas McCarthy was on the other side. He had his badge up. It was how he said hello.

"Hey Jonny," I said.

"I should've known it was you."

"How's tricks?"

"What the hell are you doing out of New York? You on a case?"

I laughed. "I'm here for the beaches."

"There are no beaches here."

"You should've become the PI."

"We gotta do this in the hallway?"

"You got a warrant?"

"No."

"Come on in." I stepped out of his way and he made himself comfortable in the room. He gave the place a quick lookaround and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"So are you on a case or ain't ya?"

"You know I can't tell you. What're you doing in Delaware?"

He shrugged. "Got transferred a few months back."

"You didn't invite me to the going away party."

"Well, you know, Bill. I figured there's such a thing as too much fun."

"Want something to drink? I can have them send something up." I went to the phone and ordered up a bottle of scotch.

"So you've been busy?" McCarthy put it to me like it's not really a question.

"How do you mean?"

"Disturbing our citizens. Making a general ass of yourself."

"Nothing of the sort."

"What were you doing around the vicinity of Harry Truman Boulevard this morning?"

"Getting historical."

A knock came at the door. I opened it and let the boy in with the scotch and the glasses. I poured one for Jonny. Then I poured a bigger one for myself. We drank a little without toasting.

"Just so you know, Mortimer Jenkins swore out a complaint against you."

"For what?"

"Breaking and entering for starters."

I made a gesture. He didn't seem impressed. "So cite me." I took a pull of my scotch. "Did you say Mortimer Jenkins?"

"Mm-hmm. The nice one-eyed fellow."

"The dog lover."

"Oh?"

"Nevermind."

Jonny finished up his drink and I didn't offer a second one so he got up and went towards the door. I walked with him.

"Listen, just keep your nose clean, Chapters. I can only take so much shit from the higher ups."

"Won't be a problem. You'll tear up that parking ticket?"

I walked him to the elevator and pushed the button for him. He didn't seem quite up to it. He turned around on me and grabbed the buttons on my shirt.

"So, level with me. On a case or not?"

"Sure, Jonny."

He stared at me.

"Someone's lost their buzz and they paid me to find it."

He laughed. "You need some outside help on this one?"

"You're too pricy," I said. He got into the elevator.

"Say, how's Sophie doing these days?"

I started to say something. The door closed.

It was morning and the man at the door was built solid like a truck. He had a face like a baby's-- fat and doughly with wet red lips-- but his upper-body strength was pretty good. I was thinking this as he was doing tricep curls with my neck. He pasted me up against the wall and his fist made a home of my stomach. For a few minutes the world went white. When I came to, my pal was gone and I was on the floor sucking in dust. I sat up on the bed and tried to get the taste of copper out of my mouth.

The tough had ransacked the place. I made an inventory in my head. He'd taken my case notes and had emptied out my wallet. Beyond that, there was nothing missing. I telephoned the front desk.

"This is Mr. Chapters in 3B. Has anyone come looking for me?"

"As a matter of fact sir, yes, not half-an-hour ago."

I gave a groan. "Did he say who he was?"

"He, sir?"

"Not a he?"

"No, sir."

"A she, then. A woman?"

"Yes, sir."

"What did she look like?"

"Fairly good-looking if you don't mind my saying so." I didn't. "Tallish. Red-hair. Her face was..."

"Uh-huh?"

"Well as a matter of fact, it was lamb-like."

"Lamb-like."

"That's right, sir."

"Thanks," I said. I hung up the phone and tried to breathe through the fire in my lungs. I spent some time getting my bearings then I went down onto the floor to scan for footprints. I laid my cheek down against the carpet and tried to read the depressions in the shag. There was only one that I could see. And it wasn't on the carpet.

I took a nap and when I was up, I dialed Sophie at the office. It went to the machine. I got a hunch and then played it. I dialed my apartment. It rang a few times and a woman said, "Hello?"

"Sophie, what are you doing in my house?"

"I'm feeding the cat, Mr. Chapters."

"Well make sure he doesn't get too fat." I tried to listen for noises in the background but couldn't come up with much. "Any messages for me?"

"Sure."

I waited for a minute. "Well?"

"I don't know. They're back at the office. I do remember that Ms. Connors came calling for you, though."

"Did you tell her where I was?"

"No, boss."

"Good. Anything else?"

She said that there wasn't.

"On your way back to the office, I need you to wire me some money. About three-hundred in petty cash. Don't ask me why."

"You got it, boss." She hung up the phone. I took a shower and emptied those little bottles of shampoo over my head. I dried off, got dressed and rinsed the blood out of my mouth. I checked the digital clock by the bed. For christ sake, it wasn't even noon yet.

I took the elevator down to the lobby and sat there a while with the paper out in front of me. There were a few men by the fireplace bird-dogging some molls. They were sitting on their laps and making shapes with their lips. A bell hop wheeled a wagon full of bags in through the front and there was the general movement of people coming and going. No red-haired woman or baby-faced muscle.

The porter dialed me up a cab and I gave him the address to Jenkins comma S. The car took me to a small little place outside of campus. There were lawn gnomes in the yard and an old man shooting water from a hose. I climbed out and he gave me a look. He had on an eyepatch.

"Jenkins?" I said.

He shook his head. "The name's Mortimer. You must be looking for Stanley."

"Is Stanley..."

"He's my tenant. He lives in my basement."

"I see."

"How do you like this grass?" He swept his arm up and the water made an arc. He twisted the nozzle shut and bent down. He began smoothing his fingers out over the grass and then took a big clump of it in his hands. "Fresh and green. I take good care of things."

"I can see that."

He motioned for me to feel the grass. I bent down and I did.

"No pests, no drugs, no nothing. Just clean fresh water, sunlight, and Mortimer." He hooked his thumb towards his chest and smiled.

"Very verdant," I said, smiling and nodding.

"Damn right, it's verdant. Damn right."

"So Stanley isn't in?"

"Do you want to know how I lost this eye?"

I folded my arms together and waited for him to speak.

"When I was a small boy, my father was a Navy pilot. We lived overseas in an American base. I can't tell you where."

"Mm-hmm."

"My father was never around very much and my mother could tell I was lonesome. Being an American none of the other kids wanted to play with me and I didn't have any brothers or sisters."

"Yes," I said. It was sad.

"So my mother and my father, they got together and thought that I needed some kind of company. Someone to play with. So my mother went into the town and he brought home this old dog. A doberman by the name of Maxy. Maxy the doberman. Big ole ears and this clown-faced smile. I always remember his clown-face. Everybody else called him Maxy but I always called him Clownface. Hey Clownface! Hey Clownface! Boy, oh boy.

"Well, one day, I remember it was on my eleventh birthday, I had gone and taken a nap underneath a banana tree. Old Clownface was snuggled up right next to me. I could feel his soft warm body up against my feet. I drifted right off to sleep with Clownface next to me.

"I remember I had the wildest dream that day. Like some kind of fever dream. I woke up in a sweat. The thing of it is, when I opened my eyes, I realized something was wrong. It didn't hit me for a while, but as I was waking up, as I was adjusting to the waking world, something was most definitely wrong. Particularly with my vision.

"There was blood on my shirt and there was a soreness where my right eye was. Or where it was supposed to be. I looked around and the dog was looking at me with this real guilty look. See, while I was sleeping, Maxy must've gotten tired of me calling him Clownface and I guess he just ate my eye out."

The man made a sucking sound. "Just like that. Pop. It was gone." He dusted his hands off.

"What happened to the dog?" I asked.

The old man shrugged. "He died. Two years later he got run over by a bread truck."

"You kept him around for two years after that?"

He shrugged again. "I'm a very ethical person, Mister-- uh..."

"Chapters."

"Chapters? Very well. Chapters. I'm a very ethical person, Mr. Chapters."

I looked at him.

"An animal isn't like me or you. It doesn't know between good and evil. It just does what it does. You would want me to take the poor beast's life. I couldn't do that."

"Well, why didn't you just let him go?"

"Drive him off into the country and leave him there? I couldn't do that, Mr. Chapters." He smiled and I could see his hooked teeth. "After all, he had my eye."

I took the morning train into Delaware and telephoned ahead to the school. A woman with a whistley voice gave me the runaround. I got off the train shortly after noon and took a long walk around the campus. All the buildings looked the same -- red brick, black-tiled roofs. Even the standard ivy menacing the walls. There was a clocktower to the East to help me orient myself. I checked the face. Five after one. I adjusted my watch.

There was a kid sitting on a patch of lawn, playing his guitar. He had long painted fingernails and a felt hat flipped in front of him. At the bottom, a few dollars, some coins. I found it in my heart to surrender a few dollars for his tuition.

He stopped playing and did something like a smile.

“Could you tell me where the Registrar is?”

He pointed with his pick.

“You know a Stan Jenkins?”

He shook his head and did his smile again.

I opened up my wallet and found George Washington hiding behind an old restaurant receipt. Mr. Washington hopped up into the air and did a nosedive onto the hat.

“How about now?”

“Sorry,” the kid said. He had a nice voice but not anything good to say. “Appreciate it though.”

“Thanks Jimmi.” I folded up my leather and straightened the sleeves of my jacket. “Why don’t you play me off.”

I headed towards the administrative building. A few twangy notes came chasing after me, trying to make itself sound like Dust in the Wind.

The woman at the desk was checking her makeup inside a little compact mirror. The little titlecard in front of her read Agnes Milieu. Behind her was a portrait of some grim looking American. The fellow had thick angry eyebrows and fat withered cheeks. The painter had added some blood around his nose so it looked inflamed.

Agnes spread something on her cheek then snapped the compact shut. “So what is it you want?”

“Stanley Jenkins.”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s a student here. I need to know where to find him.”

“May I ask what this is in regards to?”

“No, not really, no.”

“We, uh, we don’t really give out that information.”

I stared hard at her. She put her lips together and drummed her fingers down on her desk. The gold loop through her ear started swinging.

“Let me speak to your superior,” I said.

She cocked her head and folded her arms together. “She’s out to lunch.”

I flashed my pearls and leaned forward on her. “Listen, Agnes,” I said. “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t terribly important. All I need is a class schedule. It’s absolutely urgent I find Stanley.”

“Sir, the rules--”

I slammed my hand down on the counter. “Who are you trying to protect?” It was worth a shot.

“I’m calling security.” She picked up the phone and started to dial.

I put my hands up. “Wait, wait.” She stopped and looked at me. My throat went dry. “Agnes, anyone ever tell you, you have very lovely eyes.”

A few minutes later, campus security showed up to be friends.

I checked in to the Holiday Inn outside of campus and rubbed my jaw. I got the TV going and spent the rest of the day making case notes, shuffling them around just for fun. It had gotten dark and I found a phone book where the Bible ought to have been. I checked the name Jenkins just to see what would turn up. There were six listings for Jenkins comma S.

The little card on the nightstand gave me the phone rates. It was more than any civilized place would charge, but I thought to hell with it. I could just expense it on Ms. Connor’s bill. I did the same with a bottle of champagne. A tall kid came up with the bottle. He looked around the room to see what I had done with it. Then he popped the cork. It went pop. It was just the two of us in the empty room.

I drank out of the neck and started dialing numbers. The first few calls didn’t pan out. There were little old ladies on the other end. One named Samantha. Another named Sally. I hit a few busy numbers and some no-answers. I squinted my eyes at the TV. They had some cartoons going. I slipped the volume way down and kept on with the calls.

I was four numbers and six pulls in when someone finally answered.

“Hello?” a voice went.

“Hello.” I cleared my throat and undid my collar. “Is this Jenkins?”

“That’s my name.”

“Stan Jenkins.”

The line went quiet for a while. Then the voice goes back, “Who is this if you don’t mind my asking?”

My head started to swim. I cleared my throat a few times and tried not to slur. “Stanley,” I said.

“Who is this?”

“Stanley, you’ve been bad.”

“What?”

“I know what happened.”

“I’m going to hang up now.”

“At the lake?”

I held my breath for a moment. He didn’t hang up.

“Who is this? Joe? It’s not funny, man.”

“Stanley,” I said.

“What?”

“Is your refrigerator running?”

“What?”

“Because if it is you better catch it.”

I put the phone back and laid down on the bed. I kept the TV going and kept pulling from the bottle till it gave up the last of its secrets. I telephoned the office anError running style: Style code didn't finish running in a timely fashion. Possible causes:

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