Syesha (Five of Five)

Child Services slob came in around 10, had coffee breath like sour watermelon rinds. Mumbled a lot. His eyes kept darting out the window when he wasn't trying to look down Dara's shirt. Never even looked in Syesha's direction. I was hoping she had family somewhere, but Syesha didn't know. Dara couldn't find anything on her, and the only name she knew for her mom was Mommy.

I wasn't sure I wanted to leave her with this slob, but he had access to resources we didn't, and he could do a lot more, and he was getting paid for it. Besides, I'm too old to be raising a kid. It was nice to see what my daughter mighta turned out like, but that time is long gone [Are you sure you're not hiding a secret love child with Joan? Why didn't you have children with her? Did you have kids outside wedlock? Tell me! -Dara]

Slob told Syesha she couldn't take Tabitha with her. Syesha didn't understand where she was going, only that she couldn't take that cat. Started sniffling when the slob led her out, and Dara held onto Tabitha. We heard her cry all the way down the hall. It was worse than when Dara screamed at me, cause the only thing she wanted was the one thing she couldn't have, that cat.

28 cents from the client. After bandages, blood, time spent, down hundreds of dollars. Still, a case's a case. Do what you gotta do to survive.

[Trace doesn't lie, so much as omit. He spent three weeks drinking and fighting his way across the city, trying to find any lead on Syesha. They helped him do research at the library. The library. I watched him pore through microfiche for two days, before his head pounded “worse than that time [he] ended up in the drunk tank.” He had me doing research non-stop, night and day. I barely passed Algorithms because of Syesha.

He only gave up because his rent was overdue, and he had to take on another paying client. Trace was so depressed he went without bourbon for an entire week.

The cat, Tabitha? Trace left food and water out on the fire escape for the better part of a year. Every once in a while, I caught him talking to Tabitha.

It took a bit of time, and our continued efforts, but Syesha ended up at a foster home in the suburbs. Trace visits once every couple of months, usually when I don't go. He'll deny it, because you're not supposed to care about your clients. I think that's really why he took her money in the first place.

I think he almost got it correct. Do what you have to in order to survive, sure. More importantly, do what you have to in order to live with yourself. -Dara]

Syesha (Four of Five)

I ask Syesha if that's her dad. Thank God almighty it isn't. We take another look at the house, the wooden boards striped across the broken windows, the trash so deep around the stoop it looks like a garden, and the faint smell of pee, kinda like the metro.

We turn around and keep walking. Dara asks if Syesha's hungry. She's about to ask when's the last time Syesha ate, but I stop her. Sometimes, you just don't wanna hear the truth.

We ended up having burgers and fries, but Syesha ate her food, Dara's fries, and my burger [Though I had to prompt Trace to give that poor girl his food. She's still growing, and he would have let her starve. -Dara]. Probably made up for all the food she hadn't eaten the past few days. It couldnt'a been that long since she got abandoned, she was still pretty clean, and her braids were tight to the touch when I patted her head.

I asked where her mom was, and she said that they spent time at the shelter until they kicked the two of them out, then she lost track of her mom. She adopted Tabitha, started living in the crack house. That guy on the stoop was the only one there now. He was too sleepy to care.

Child Services wouldn't pick up the phone when Dara tried to call. We had to wait until the next morning. Syesha came back with me to the office. I sat there reading the paper, she sat there petting her cat. Her head kept bobbing forward, her eyes kept drooping. She kept sitting up straight awake, then started nodding off again. Wasn't until I left the room for a few minutes to use the bathroom and came back that she fell asleep. Cat started strutting around like it was the one paying rent.

Syesha (Three of Five)

Times like this I wish I owned a ladder. I'm looking that trunk up and down, all warped and wrinkled. Dara's poking me, telling me to go up and get it. I tell her I'm thinking, but she pokes me in the ribs, sneers and jabs the air with her index finger.

Its trunk is bowed, so that makes the first part easy, and there's enough broken bark I got hand holds and foot holds. I make it up to the branch Tabitha's stuck on, almost falling off twice. Cat's fur rises soon as I look at it. I know how it feels.

I figured it was gonna be a pain. I suck it up, grab the cat. It's yowling and hissing. I pin it to my chest, where it's clawing deep. Too much to hope it was declawed. Dumb cat doesn't realize we're in it together. If I fall, it falls. Keeps digging in and piercing me, and I wanna drop it. Feels like a thousand paper cuts all over.

Dara yells up to be careful. I yell back the cat's not the one to worry about. I can't tell if the warm wet pain all over my chest is the cat peeing in my wounds, my blood or both.

I get down without falling. Cat flies outta my hands, goes to Syesha's arms. She's hugging it, it's not fighting her. Dara says she knew I could do it. I touch my shredded shirt, smell it. Only blood, thank God almighty. I guess it was worth it.

We walk Syesha home. She's clutching the cat like a doll, not letting go. Finally, she leads us to an abandoned building. There's a junkie laid out on the front stoop, completely blanked out. He wakes up long enough to try to ask us for money, but passes out before he finishes the thought.

Syesha (Two of Five)

Syesha says she's not allowed to use the phone. I say I'll call for her. Dara slaps my hand from the phone like I was trying to sneak a cookie. I can tell where this is going, don't like it one bit. I got better things to do than climb trees. I start to say that, but Dara holds her finger up, then covers Syesha's ears. She leans over, tells Syesha to hum to herself.

Dara's smiling. Speaking real soft, calling me Tracy Lowell, using her big angry words. Tells me I was just reading the paper, it'll be here when I get back. I tell her I hate cats, and she's ready to punch me. Tells me I serve the community, that Syesha's part of the community, and I owe her a duty. I tell her I'm gonna break my back. She tells me if that happens, Billy's gonna sew me back up for free.

Dara takes her hands off Syesha's ears. I ask her if she's got any money on her. She looks down at the ground while she's reaching through her pockets. Pulls out a quarter and a few pennies. I tell her that's my going rate. Dara smacks me, but it's business. Word gets out I took a case for free, every sad sack looking for a handout's gonna come knocking. Besides, it's only cruel if it's more money than she has.

We're walking down the street, Syesha reaching up to hold Dara's hand, me walking on her other side. I ask her where her dad is, she says she doesn't have one. No older brothers either. I ask where she heard about me, and she says she overheard someone on the street. At least word was getting around.

I can tell we're going towards Rickets. Wish I'd had some liquid courage before coming out here. We stand in front of the tree, a stout oak, orange and brown leaves piled below it, roots cracking through the concrete. It's branches are all mangled, reaching towards the sky like an explosion.

Syesha points up with her free hand, says there's Tabitha. Some orange mutt of a cat, looked like it's fur was clumping, maybe missing some pieces of ear. I can hear it meowing ten feet up. I wonder how it got so high up, couldn't get down. Cats.

Syesha (One of Five)

Miz Becca came by again, asking after Fluffers. She brought me some cornflowers in a glass vase, said it was too dark in the office, some blue would liven it up. She sat down and we started talking about pets. Miz Becca loved that cat more than anything, said she'd been kinda lonely since she lost Fluffers. I told her I understood, that she shoulda gotten a dog. Me, I'm a dog person. Dogs'll love you till the day they die. They're great. They play with you, they're everything kids should be. Cats are just mean. Put it this way, if animals were people, all dogs ain't slobs, but all cats are dames.

I also told her if she wanted, we could go down to the pound one Sunday, look at the dogs, and cats if she wanted, pick one out. She started smiling. She said that maybe after she got the dog, she could let go of Fluffers. It's killing me, having to tell her every week that cat ain't coming back. But I understand, it's hard to let go of things you love.

Reminds me of one time, I was sitting in the office reading the paper. Dara's typing away on her computer doing some homework. There's some real soft knocking at the door. Dara goes to the door, and this little kid, couldn'ta been more than 6 or 7, she's standing there, snot bubbling out of her nose. Her shoelaces are untied, but the laces are knotted together, like they wore out and someone tied em back together. Her toe and pink sock are sticking out the left shoe. She's wearing jean shorts and a red polo shirt too big for her. The cuffs on the pants reach down below the shoes. She's still got one of them baby faces makes kids all look the same, big eyes and cheeks, like a cartoon. Midnight black hair, it's braided back, big purple beads everywhere.

She sees me, and she rushes back into the hallway. I got that effect on kids. Plenty of reasons they call me “Brutal” in the ring and not “Kid Beautiful”. Boxing's the sweet science, but it ain't great for your mug.

Dara brings her back inside, holding her hand, keeping her calm. Asks her name, and she says Syesha. Says her cat's stuck in a tree, can I help her get it down. I tell her that maybe she should call the fire department, cause there's only one tree tall enough nearby to cause that problem. That tree, I call it Rickets, cause it's all bowed over at the bottom, real rickety on the top. Gotta be around 10,000 years old [Two to three hundred years is perhaps more conservative and more realistic. -Dara]. It's gonna be dangerous. At least the fire department got ladders.

Oscar (Ten of Ten)

I tell Dara if there's gunfire, she's gotta get out the way, shouldn't try to be a hero. I show her Joan, tell her to make sure she never gets in Joan's way. She gets all quiet. I wish that trick worked today, cause ain't no way I can shut her up these days.

We arrive at the Peterson estate. Oscar lets us in. We go straight to the servant house, Dara filling Oscar in.

We pass Raul pulling up weeds in the back. Dara pulls out her computer, starts translating on the lawn. I tell him I know he killed Dr. and Mrs. Peterson. He denies it. I tell him we got evidence. He looks confused. I shake my fist, start punching the air. He shuts his mouth, starts sweating. Like I said, everyone speaks violence.

Truth is, we got no evidence, just a pretty story. Dara starts typing something long in the computer, then speaks for a minute nonstop. I thought his leg twitch was bad before, he looks ready to cry [I merely explained how deportation plus incarceration in his home country was likely a death sentence, and that with advanced scanning technologies, we pulled his finger prints from the gun handle. Technical terms don't translate well, but saying them with confidence does. -Dara].

It was more or less what we thought. He and Sara were working on a side project. That night, the doc was back, shift ended early, no one knew. Heard a noise, got the gun, came to the kitchen. There was a fight, Sara took a bullet to her chest by accident. Doc stopped, real stunned, Raul knocked him down, held the gun to his head. Raul shot him for killing the woman he loved. Made it clear only Raul was in on it, and no one else.

We call the cops. At least they're good for something. After they lead Raul away, Oscar shakes Dara's hand, then wraps me up in a bear hug, lifts me off the ground. Can't stop thanking us, hugging and laughing and crying. I pat his shoulder again.

Before we leave, Dara and me, we go talk to Consuela, looking out her window the whole time, biting her knuckle. She lied for him. She could get in a lot of trouble. I ask her why, and I don't need to wait for Dara's translation. It was love. It's always love.

On the drive home, Dara asked me when we were gonna do something about Consuela. I told her we weren't gonna do nothing. She couldn't believe it, Consuela helped cover it up. I told her one innocent man wasn't going to jail, and a guilty man was. That was enough for a day. Like I said, love makes people do stupid things. I knew how Consuela felt, I'd done plenty of stupid things for love.

Oscar (Nine of Ten)

Dara came back to the office after class. Told her what happened. She sat down at her computer, said it was nice, started typing away.

I tried talking to myself, before realizing I had someone to talk to now. There was a struggle, and the doc got shot while he was on the ground. Someone pinned him, the Double Murderer. Either his wife got shot first, or she didn't help when the fight was going. Either way, she didn't struggle.

What if that was it? Police reports said the bullets came from the gun in doc's hand. Looked like he had it the whole time. What if he was the one shot her? If that was it, why did he have it? Someone broke in to steal something, got caught, doc fired, they fight, doc shoots himself, guy escapes.

But the glass on the porch didn't fit. Glass got broke from the inside, bits went outside. Someone let D.M. in. Even if the door was unlocked, he didn't need to break the glass.

That late at night, doc couldn't have known what was going on, unless he wanted to kill his wife, make it look like murder. It didn't make much sense, cause D.M. woulda brought a gun in with him. Same with the wife, she couldn'ta wanted doc dead. D.M. woulda had the gun.

My head really hurt, like an elephant sat on it. There's a reason I'd rather go to a bar, get drunk, get in a fight, than sit and think about it.

Why did she invite someone in? That late, she was sleeping with someone not the doc. She was sleeping with D.M. Doc hears something, gets a gun, goes downstairs, Doc and D.M. struggle. Somehow, Mrs. Peterson gets shot, D.M. forces Doc to shoot himself. Made sense, and it fit what we knew. Thing was, we still didn't know who D.M. was.

Dara looks up from her computer, says she thinks she got something. Figure that I was gabbing for over an hour, she had plenty of time to look up stuff on the internets [At one point, he suggested magic. Trace won't discount any possibility. -Dara].

She shows me a pic from the internets from a while back. It's Sara with her ex, the producer, Miguel Juarez. He's almost a dead ringer for Raul.

We near smack into each other rushing out the door.

Oscar (Eight of Ten)

Oscar made me pinky swear I wouldn't tell anyone about Paul, in exchange for going to see him. I gave him my pinky. It'd been broke so many times I could hardly link mine around his.

Oscar called Paul on his phone, asked if he could drop by. We drove real slow, while Oscar explained what “coming out of the closet” meant.

Thing is, when we showed up at Paul's apartment, Paul had a big smile stretched across his face, till he saw me. He slammed the door shut. Kept yelling at me to go away. Oscar had to yell at him that I pinky swore, and it was OK. Still took 10 minutes.

You look at them, never woulda guessed they were gay. Paul's place looked like a normal bachelor pad, except owned by a neat freak. Paul was a smaller guy, Average build, hair the color of fresh upturned dirt. Thick beard and glasses, jeans and a t-shirt. Kept looking at me like I was gonna eat his dinner. When they sat next to each other and held hands, if you ignored they were both guys, it was normal.

Oscar and Paul went out for pizza that night, to a movie at the Majestic, spent the night together. Since they were trying not to be noticed, it'd be kinda hard to find witnesses, but it was an alibi. Told him if we looked around, should be enough to save Oscar.

Paul let go of Oscar's hand, stood up. Perfectly normal. What really proved he was normal, he said he wasn't ready for his parents to find out, wouldn't come out the closet. It was a real slob thing to do, save yourself by throwing someone else under the bus.

I went full-on dame on him, told him Oscar was gonna spend a long time in prison to save Paul a weird talk with his parents. Told him they might not like it, but it wasn't like he killed anyone. Problem was, if he kept his mouth shut, it'd be like killing Oscar. What would his parents say then?

He sat for a while, chewing nothing. Finally, he asked if we could try to keep it from hitting the papers. There was a lot of dame stuff going on between them after that. They tried to hug me, but I just patted them on the shoulder.

Oscar (Seven of Ten)

Dara told me what happened at Flare the next morning. My head still felt packed full of moth balls and I didn't remember the other day that great. Turned out the trial started today, we'd have to wait until he wasn't so busy.

Why don't people tell me everything? Oscar already showed up at my office, didn't have time to hide things. If he needed my help, he had to tell me what I needed to know. Tell me everything, even things you don't think matter. I'll tell you if they don't matter. I was kinda mad. Not cause Oscar was gay, but cause I had to talk to the guy. He didn't think this mighta been important?

Going down to the courthouse, I tried not thinking about how much he paid for bail, just to avoid a little jail time. Last time I got arrested, they let me dry out all night. Money makes the world a better place.

Dara dropped me off, said she had to go and not fail some computer course. I figured she lost interest in the whole thing [Untrue. Despite the fact that Oscar turned out to be a homosexual, I was still interested in the case. It was just that I was a college student, and still had obligations to my classes. Who wants to be remembered as a college dropout? -Dara]

Public trial, so I walked in and sat in the back. Prosecution was tearing into him. They saw what I saw, a guy with secrets, guy that everything he said kept pulling him in deeper into the muck. Even the cops found some forensic evidence for once, and it pointed at Oscar being the killer. He just sat there and took it. Was he taking one for his boyfriend?

Love makes people do stupid things, like go to jail for a crime you didn't commit. If his boyfriend did it, Oscar was playing the fool, and I was playing the fool to his fool. He needed a patsy, someone made it seem like he cared. If that was the case, I was gonna bring em both down.

After the judge called recess for the day, I found Oscar talking to his team of lawyers, enough of em to make a basketball team. The lawyers all walked away in lockstep, even the woman. Reminded me of mercenaries.

We went for a walk, me and Oscar. I led him to the status of lady Justice outside the court. Sweet lady, I told him, but blindfolded. Didn't matter what she saw, only what the scales said. Mentioned how it was a shame he was gonna go to jail, I didn't find anyone besides him that made for a suspect.

It was weird, nothing about him changed, but I felt a little funny talking to him, like he betrayed me. Crazy. All we owed each other was me being his PI, him paying me.

Oscar begged me to keep looking, but I told him I burned up every lead. Everything pointed to him, which was a shame cause I thought he was innocent. Asked him if there was anything else might prove he didn't do it. He just sighed and thanked me for my effort.

I could feel myself turn red. He was ready to give up. I told him I knew about his boyfriend. This was his life, not his boyfriend's, and it wasn't worth protecting him. If the guy could provide an alibi, or if he did it, whatever, it was time to fess up to the court.

Oscar looked at me with shiny eyes. Told me Paul wasn't ready for it. I told him now was as good a time as any to get ready.

Oscar (Six of Ten)

I woke up sputtering, icy water stinging my nostrils, burning my throat. Looked up at the guy holding a spittoon over me, Dara crying a little, her hand over her mouth. She helped me up right, and I fell back down. He rang my bell good. [He swore that everything would be OK. This coming after my new boss was punched unconscious by the bouncer from Flare and probably sustained a concussion. Honestly, I wondered if I would ever live this down. I learned that there were worse things, far worse. -Dara]

He reached down, yanked me to my feet. Guy was laughing and smiling. Told me it was the best workout he'd had in a while, better than the slobs he beat at Stu's. I told him I went to Stu's every Saturday. Walter said if I was ever there Sundays, we should spar. We laughed, I told him I needed a few weeks before I could take another beating. Then I got Dara, we were about to go in, but he put his hand on my chest. Told me I still couldn't go in to see Mandi or Candi.

I was still kinda out of it, so Dara drove us back to the office. She asked what we were gonna do, and I told her she was gonna go back to Flare tonight, get to Candi and Mandi. In the meantime, I read old papers to keep myself awake.

[Trish and I arrived around ten o'clock in front of Flare. Instead of waiting in line, I walked up to Walter and winked at him. We discussed how Trace was faring, and I introduced Trish. Then, he lifted the velvet rope and told us to have a wonderful night, winking at me specifically. Trish looked askance at me, asked what sort of job I had gotten myself ino. Then she admitted it would be worth it to work for Trace if it meant I could get us into any nightclub without our fake IDs.

Deep orange lighting illuminates Flare's interior. If you want to appear dressed in black, you wear your halloween finest orange. Trish and I had our Flare wear, and we laughed at everyone wearing actual black.

We waited by the bar a little while for some nice gentlemen to come by and offer us drinks. Trace made it abundantly clear that even though this was official business, we were not authorized to expense anything to him. It didn't take long for some men to come over. As soon as we received the drinks, I started talking about our boyfriends, and they excused themselves soon after. Trish chastised me, as they were quite cute. They were, but I told her we could pick up guys later. How often would we get to help investigate a murder?

Candi and Mandi had a table to themselves, and an orange velvet rope partitioning them from the rest of us. Trish and I walked over, and I started screaming that it was the Donaldson sisters. After a few minutes of fawning over them, they invited us to sit down. And not a moment too soon, my pumps were making my ankles ache.

I kept gushing over them another fifteen minutes, before shifting over to the topic of their mother's untimely demise. After all, that was all the gossip rags could discuss. Mandi (Candi?) broke into tears. Right there, I assumed they were innocent. They wouldn't ruin their perfect makeup for a lie.

The sisters told us they were here to avoid the press, and didn't want to discuss the issue. I apologized. We talked about some other topics, but eventually, they brought it back to their mother, and to Oscar. They asked if we could keep a secret. I crossed my heart. They told me that he was probably the murderer, and that was part of why they hadn't returned to the Peterson estate. They just didn't feel safe around him. Then, Mandi (Candi?) said it was because neither of the parents would accept his significant other and Candi (Mandi?) nodded. I asked who she was. They laughed. Candi (Mandi?) said “She? Try he.” -Dara]

Oscar (Five of Ten)

Next, I had to find the stepdaughters. Oscar said ever since their mom got shot, they'd been spending all their time down at Flare, coming back every few days to sleep. There they were right now, living it up probably. Candi and Mandi lived the good life, especially now that they were in mourning, trying to forget their mom, celebrate freedom.

It was only around 6 now, maybe get to 6:30 if we left now and missed rush hour traffic. Told Oscar we'd talk to the sisters, come back later.

Told Oscar that he could drop Dara off at home, then drop me off at Flare, but she insisted on coming. Hadn't been to Flare during the day, wanted to see what it was like.

Oscar let us out around the corner. We walked up to the deep red building, neon flames dead right now. They'd flare up come 10 or 11. Guy sitting on a stool out front doing sudoku, he really coulda used 2 stools. Not even big and tall stores carried his size suits on the rack, had to be a custom job.

His eyebrows flicked when we were coming, but he went back to the book. Even when we were on top of him, he kept doodling a couple minutes after. Finally, he looked up at us with dark brown, almost black, eyes. Asked if he could help us, but did it in the way said he was only gonna help us go away.

I made nice with the introductions, told him we had to talk to Candi and or Mandi Donaldson. He grinned real smooth, told us it wasn't his business to know who was or wasn't inside Flare. He was just there to make sure to keep us out. Said Dara could come in when they were open for business, but I wasn't ever gonna get in.

Told him I had questions needed answering. He held up his sudoku, said he had bigger fish to fry. Dara tried sweet talking him, and he told her that she wasn't hot enough. Called her a ginger. She turned real copper red, like her hair, kept opening and closing her mouth but couldn't find anything to say. He told her if she could open her mouth that big, he had something to put in there. I told him to apologize, and he said if we didn't like it, we could leave. He stood up, looked down at me. Inside his nostrils it looked like hell. Walked to the doorway, dragged his heel across it, stood there with his arms crossed.

I told Dara to step back around the corner.

I mighta said it before, power doesn't beat technique unless you got a lot more power. Each of his legs, thick as Dara's waist. Wouldn't take him more than a couple hits to send me home.

Bubble went up around me. Didn't have time to be pretty, so I socked him in the jaw. His head snapped right, twisted back to center real slow. Said it was his turn, sent a ten pound fist at me.

I blocked it with my forearms, but had to take 4 or 5 steps to balance. Mighta backed into a flag pole or a parking meter. Big boy had his arms up, bobbing and weaving forward and back. That woulda thrown off most drunks, definitely make my life harder.

His punches weren't clean, but he didn't really need them clean. Each time I blocked a punch, my forearms went dead, and I could feel it deep in my shoulders. He was still smiling, probably because I was the first slob in a while knew what to do. I tried fainting, but he didn't fall for it [I'm not sure why Trace played possum. It doesn't seem like something he would do. -Dara]. Didn't need to, he could soak up the pain like nobody's business.

Sidestepped a straight, and it brushed past my ear. Sounded like a hurricane. Bubble was starting to drop. I was getting tired. When I did connect, it didn't have any effect. My guard started dropping, but I'd catch myself in time. Had to try something different.

His lapel was flapping free, so I grabbed it, tried to throw him off balance. Problem was, he didn't budge. He launched a haymaker at my face.

Oscar (Four of Ten)

When I walked out back he told me to be careful, there were still glass bits outside on the porch from the breakin. The Petersons kept a maid and a gardener. Neither of em spoke much english, and the cops already talked to em. What that meant was that the cops got lazy, made a few jokes by adding the letter o to the end of every word, told em to get going.

Couldn't believe how big the servant's quarters were. It was a 2 story house, and inside, just as clean as the main house. We went in, sat down with Consuela the maid and Raul the gardener. They both seemed straight forward, dark skin, weathered hands, clean and simple clothes. She walked slightly bent over, probably from all that dusting under stuff. He had a hitch in his step.

Problem is, only thing I know how to say in spanish is “I am a detective.” That's only because someone told me it's “Soy detective.” Figures the only thing I can say, I can't say cause they'll clam up.

Dara pulls out her computer from her purse, opens it up, starts unfolding bits and pieces. She starts typing, and after a few minutes, it starts speaking spanish. They respond, she types into the screen, waves me and Oscar over. One the screen, she shows us what she just typed, and the thing spits it back out in english.

I ask her how much one of em things costs. She tells me, and I realize I'd be better off letting my fists talk. When you get down to it, everyone speaks violence anyways [Typical Trace response. -Dara].

First thing I asked was how come Consuela didn't find the doc and his wife when it happened. Computer said she said she was at her sister's helping with her sick nephew. She gave me the number.

I asked Raul what he'd been up to in the yard, if he heard anything that night. Said he went with Consuela. His leg kept twitching, he kept looking at me like I was gonna smack him. I asked what was wrong, but Oscar leaned in, told me that their living situation wasn't on the up and up.

Oscar (Three of Ten)

Oscar's driving, I'm in the passenger seat, and Dara's in the back asking Oscar a million questions about what happened, what he likes, what's hunting like, how she's never been, but it sounds interesting. He answered all her questions without pausing, except when she asked if Oscar's girlfriend could vouch for him that night. He paused a half-second, said he didn't have one.

I looked back at her, tried to give her a look to tell her to shut up. Not that I was trying to be her dad, but Don is her dad, and he'd take it out on me if anything happened to her. Besides, aside from taking their money and doing business, you can't get involved with clients. I took over the conversation, started asking for more details, asking him to remind me about crime scene details I made up, see if I could trip him up. No dice.

Dr. Peterson married Sara Donaldson three years ago in one of them social light [Socialite, not that Trace cares. He considers the entire group slobs and dames. -Dara] weddings, all glitz and diamonds and cakes taller than me. Fairy-tale wedding, except that life went on after it ended. Doc and his wife got along just fine, Oscar said, and her two daughters loved everything Doc bought em. The three Donaldsons were all the kind of dame would only go home cause the bars and clubs finally closed. Had to look perfect all the time cause of all the poppa ROT-C [Paparazzi. -Dara] they batted their eyes at.

Not a surprise they wouldn't get along with a down to earth guy like Oscar. That all the Doc's money was gonna go to Oscar probably didn't make things any better.

I asked him about Sara's ex. Some hotshot producer, already got remarried for the seventh time. Two more, somebody would give him the tenth free. Aside from the gun, no one took anything from the house. Whoever it was broke in, killed em, left. Made it seem like Oscar even more. Why steal from your own house? Had to be someone that knew either the Doc or his wife. More I thought about it, more I thought Oscar made the most sense.

Only other choice at this point was revenge, far as I could see, if Oscar was telling the whole truth. But he wasn't, not with that girlfriend comment. He was covering something up.

First thing I notice when I walk in the Peterson estate is how clean it smelled, all lemon and sugar, like an upscale bakery. Two giant flights of stairs curved up to the upper level. Lot of sparkly clean white tile. I stood out like a curse word from a three year old.

Oscar led us to the kitchen, where the cops and the maid already come and gone. Lots of smooth metal surfaces, lots of cabinet doors. The whole thing was bigger than my office. He walked us around, showed us where he found the bodies. His face was kind of tight when he talked about finding them. Dara got on her tiptoes, put her hand on his shoulder.

He found his stepmom face up on the island counter, his dad on his back on the ground, pool of blood surrounding his head. Could still see a rusty stain near where the carpet started, some spotting towards the far wall, where the bullet flew.

Oscar said the cops told him there was a fight, but they didn't tell him what they found. I walked over to the far wall, knelt down. My knees popped like someone cracked a chalkboard. Towards the ground, a bullet hole with cracks coming out of it in the plaster. Traced the angle, and it had to come from a few inches above the floor. Lot of suicides didn't lie down first. If he was down, probably meant someone held him down.

Oscar looked like he could lift a deer carcass after he gutted it. Wouldn't be much work to hold his dead dad down.

I went over to where he said the stepmom fell. A little weird she didn't fall off the counter. I asked him if his dad had a will. He did. Oscar told me what I thought, that he got everything. Pretty old, before Dr. Peterson met his new wife. I told him to give Dara a copy, told her to read it and start earning her pay. I also asked if he was ever gonna cut in his new family on the fortune. Oscar got quiet and shrugged, said he didn't know.

Oscar (Two of Ten)

Don sent a bunch of furniture over, high end stuff, real oak, not the pressed wood chips like I had for my desk. Dara came, set up a couple pics of mom and dad and her, then set up her computer. First few days, wasn't much to say, aside from Dara wanting to move her desk cause of the window. Glare off her computer was driving her crazy. That's when I found out I couldn't move her desk without a lot of cursing. No one called, no one came in. 50-something slob, college kid, we got nothing in common except her dad put us in a weird situation. She worked on her computer, I read the paper.

When Oscar came in, we were tripping over each other trying to talk to the guy, just so it wouldn't be so awkward. It was strange hearing her talk, and she probably thought the same thing about me [Trace's voice rumbles. He spoke so infrequently sometimes I thought it was electrical interference or a far-away fire engine. -Dara]. He was a tall guy in jeans and flannel, dark hair, short, built like a fighter, sort of like the guy on the paper towels. Thing was, when he talked, wasn't a blue collar slob, he used a lot of them 50 cent words and good electrocution [Elocution. Oscar wasn't a robot. -Dara].

Had to tell Dara to back off, she was speaking so much. Told Oscar to sit down, and he sat stiff, like it was a throne. Turned out Oscar was being charged with murdering his dad and step mom. I read about it not ten minutes before he came in, showed him the paper. He skimmed it, and fell back into the chair.

They set bail at a quarter mill, figured he wasn't a flight risk. His temporary freedom cost more than my last 7 or 8 years as a PI. Made me want a drink even more.

It wasn't looking good for him. Found them in the kitchen, some kinda struggle with a third person. The pistol in Dr. Peterson's hand came from the gun collection Oscar kept at his dad's estate. He liked hunting on the grounds. Now it was gonna come back to bite him.

Worse, he didn't have any alibi. Time of death was sometime in the middle of the night, when Oscar was off hunting on the grounds. Had a little tent set up and everything, would stay out all night trying to shoot stuff. Lots of woods, plenty of ways for a man to never get found if he didn't wanna be. But he swore up and down it wasn't him killed them, and needed me to help.

Soon as he said it was a murder, I got suspicious. Ain't no one come to me with a murder case ever didn't also have their own agenda, needed a patsy in case someone had to take a fall. Didn't stop me before, cause I needed the money, but I also wanted to know how bad Oscar was gonna burn me if it came down to it.

Before I can ask him anything else, Dara tells him I'd take the case. She puts her hands together, gets this real goofy smile on her face.

Oscar's so happy, he jumps out of the seat, starts shaking my hand like he's trying to get water out of a rusty pump. I pull my hand away, ask him why he came to me. He said the cops were trying to grab a “personal donation” from him, and they told him if he wasn't gonna play by their rules, he could find some slob PI.

Sometimes, cops end up sending me the most business.

Oscar (One of Ten)

I'm sitting there in the office reading the paper, tapping my foot. Dara stops typing, asks me to stop. I tell her it's the same as her typing, just background noise. She goes full-on dame, starts complaining that at least her typing is regular, but my foot tapping, there's no pattern, and it's driving her crazy. I put my feet up on the desk, lean back in my chair. I think back to around 6 years ago, when she never woulda gone full-on dame, not to me.

Don invited me down to the docks for lunch, and by invite, I mean he told me I was coming. Had a nice spread, big fat deli sandwiches. While I was munching on corned beef on rye, Don told me his little angel was starting college, he wanted her working part time to keep her out of trouble, keep her busy. Then he asked if I needed a secretary.

I looked at Don like he just asked me to smack him in the face. Don, I said, you have any idea what it is I do? He told me he knew exactly what I did, follow cheaters, serve process, find some missing jewelry, down too much Wild Turkey. He figured his little girl would have plenty of time to do her school work in the office, point I couldn't argue with. More than that, I couldn't argue with Don Leggett.

I told him she could come by for an interview come Monday, but she'd actually have to wanna work. If I was gonna pay someone, she'd have to earn it. Before then, last I saw her, Dara had some thick coke bottle glasses, made her eyes look like saucers. She was one of them gangly kids, trying to sort out who they'd become by tripping over everything in the process. She had some plastic video game thing in her hands, didn't speak over a whisper when I asked her questions. Figured she'd grow out of it, or make a great librarian.

Imagine my shock when that gawky kid walked in my office, six inches taller, no glasses, hair pulled back, come right up to me and shake my hand. Her hand was all dead fish, and I knew she was still the same kid. Gave her a seat. She fumbled for her resume, near tearing it pulling it out of her leather folder.

Tell you what, looking over what she did in high school made my head spin. Back in my day, when people were stupider, we learned the three Rs, reading, writing and arithmetic. She learned that, and she was learning computers. Explained why kids couldn't talk to people, spending all their time talking to computers.

We talked about that for a while. Couldn't get how you could talk to something wasn't alive. She said it was more like telling a smart pet what to do. I told her it seemed like Star Trek, and she laughed. Finally, we had something to talk about, but after a couple minutes, I found out they made a bunch of shows after the one with Kirk, Spock and Bones.

I started asking her about secretary work, filing, taking calls, all that. I didn't tell her then there wasn't a filing system, just my shoeboxes with receipts and invoices [No, I found this out soon after. How considerate of Trace. -Dara]. She didn't say much, didn't have any experience with real work.

She was starting to get all dame like, looking out the window, sweating, all that. I told her what her dad told me, asking her if she wanted to be my secretary. Give her credit, she looked me in the eyes, told me she didn't, but her dad wasn't gonna pay for college unless she found a job. Wish I had that problem when I was her age.

Never expected her to man up. I was already for her to feed me some lie about really wanting the job. Woulda told her we'd work out some excuse for Don, she'd show up every once and a while to call him from here, I'd give her a few bucks. Instead, I picked up her class schedule, told her she could show up after class, she'd get minimum wage, same as me.

Tina (Five of Five)

Took me a few days to get the pics developed. I called Tina at home, met her there while Zeke was knocking back cold ones.

I walk in her place, and it smelled real sweet. Reminded me of cornflowers [Again with the tattoo. This had better not be his method of teaching me some absurd lesson about detection or induction. Besides, I thought we were friends. -Dara]. She sniffs me and steps back, says something about how at least I've been working. I showered, but I guess it takes a while to get that stink out. Scratched my hair, sniffed my fingers to make sure that wasn't it.

I hand her the photo envelope. Tina starts going through them, sniffing her hands after she touches each one. She sits down, shaking her head. Keeps asking herself how it happened, keeps wrinkling her pretty little nose. Came together then, all of a sudden. She couldn't stand being next to me, and I showered. Zeke musta smelled like a trash heap when he came home.

I probably shouldn'ta drunk to celebrate before I went over. I told her that maybe he'd stop if she let him get close. That mouse roared like a lion. She came at me punching and kicking and clawing and cursing. I fell into a defensive stance, but it was just a dame, five foot nothing. I just blocked her and backed up towards the front door.

We crossed into the living room, and she picked up the lamp snake quick. I couldn't do nothing except raise my left hand when she threw it. Bam, right on my arm. I ran. She was mad. Had every right.

I drove like the dickens. My watch was busted like a trifecta on three lame horses. 4:13 in the afternoon [Just as it reads today. He still wears it. I have never seen him remove it. I am really beginning to think that he was married at some point, and this may have been a gift. For now, until I know better, I have to assume her name is Joan. What happened to Joan? What happened to Joan and Trace? -Dara]

I called Tina to apologize. She said she was OK, but when I wanted to talk to her in person, she whispered at me to stay away and hung up. You know how you gotta beat mules before they learn their lesson? That's me. Took me a long time to not drink until everything was completely done, or at least only drink when it helps the case.

Tina (Four of Five)

Not that I got a dame nose or anything, but when I walked into the Cat's Cradle, I almost threw up on the doorstep. I found out why it smelled like the inside of a dead fish that ate another dead fish. Lot of cannery employees came barreling in right after 5, and they tracked in all that chum and fish guts on their shoes, ground it into the floor boards. I understood why a beer was so expensive. This place was the only place would let the cannery workers in. All I knew at that point, my bourbon tasted like fish sauce.

Bar like this, where everyone knows everyone else, easiest way to get left alone is to come on too strong. I walked up to the first table I saw, sat on down and started laughing like I was in on the joke. Had one of them awkward moments where everyone but me stopped laughing. I trailed off like a windup toy running out of wind. Got up, retreated to the bar. Now I could look around and no one would pay me a second thought. Nursed my bourbon, trying to smell it so I wouldn't have to smell more fish. Didn't want to spend all Tina's money off the bat.

Sure enough, Zeke was laughing it up at a corner table with some buddies. More he drank, more his hair fell out of place. No more hair net in here. He'd wave his glass, slosh his beer all over, especially on himself. I saw a thin white band on his ring finger where his ring shoulda been.

The waitress, she was a looker once. The fish smell musta sucked the life outta her. Zeke was slapping everyone's back real friendly like, but to the waitress, his hand lingered, rubbed the small of her back. With what he had to go home to, I couldn't understand why he up and disappeared into the back alley with the waitress. Maybe his beer goggles showed him someone forty pounds lighter and twenty years younger.

I waited a bit, then stepped outside. Docks never smelled so nice before. Two of them wouldnt'a noticed me even if I was on top of them. I just kept snapping pics from across the street. They were exploring each other like it was Columbus on the new world. I didn't get how she could be that close and not get sick. Maybe the fish smell really killed her sense of smell. Maybe her nose was just a plastic fake.  

Tina (Three of Five)

I shaved, the first time in weeks, put on a clean sweater and khakis, made myself presentable. Even slicked back my hair. Yeah, Dara, I had hair then. Not that I wanted a job, I just wanted a tour of the cannery.

First thing you smelled walking towards the docks was chum and rotting fish. It really twisted your nose. Half of working down that way is to not throw up, or to throw up in the pet food if you do. I found the cannery just by how bad it stank. Walked up to the foreman, asked him for a job. We walked the floor, him pointing out everything going on down there.

Zeke was throwing fish into different holes every which way, looking like a natural. Didn't look the same as the polaroid. He had a green hair net, thick rubber apron, no more mustache. Not happy, not sad, just moving fish.

The whole floor was doing honest work, and they didn't even have time to talk if it wasn't fish related. Wasn't any way Zeke could be cheating on his wife, not during the day. If you were here and over 16, you needed the job. You weren't gonna risk losing it.

Soon as we got up to the foreman's office, I started acting like a slob, sniffing the air, hiccuping, pretending I didn't know what they did in a cannery, like I was too good for it. Foreman warned me that up here was as good as it got, and down on the floor, it'd be like swimming in the Dead Sea. I asked him how long breaks were, and he laughed in my face. Lunch was 30 minutes, and 2 bathroom breaks, 10 minutes each. Guy shook his head, looked at me kinda sad. He told me to go look around, and when I was ready to do an honest day's work, I should come back.

Tina (Two of Five)

I ain't saying women's intuition exists. I ain't saying it don't. All I know, dames are real good at reading people. Only thing keeping them from being good personal investigators, they care too much. Want to see their clients happy, start believing they are their clients. If they could separate themselves, they'd be a lot better than the normal slob PIs like me.

I asked her if she normally got suspicions like this, and she shook her head. I asked her what happened when she got suspicious in the past, and she said she was right more often than not. I told her she wouldn'ta come here otherwise. All I was gonna do was give her piece of mind one way or the other [Trace means peace of mind, though he doesn't normally hesitate to give you a piece of his mind. -Dara]. For a fee, but I didn't mention that.

She kept clucking her tongue, but gave me a retainer, a whole mess of bills wadded in a ball. Her Tahiti fund. Tina said they could always go to Tahiti when I didn't find him with another woman. I hefted the money ball. Felt like a lead weight, some change in the middle. It'd be worth at least a day or two of investigation.

She told me Zeke worked at the cannery, sorting fish on the line. Gave me a polaroid of the two of them, kinda faded. He had a handlebar mustache, big nose, red cheeks. They looked happy. Of course they looked happy, who keeps sad pics of their spouse? I haven't [Trace is playing with me. This mythical wife of his probably inked that cornflower tattoo herself. I may have to pore through microfiche at the library to locate some information, any information. -Dara].

Tina told me he'd come home from the Cat's Cradle smelling of beer and what mighta been lavender perfume under the fish smell every once and a while. Zeke said it was just the waitress flirting to get tips. I mentioned he'd have to get real close to her if the fish smell didn't drown out the lavender. Tina tapped the side of her nose.  

Tina (One of Five)

I can't tell time. My watch is broke, has been for twenty years now. It's a Timex, metal band, stuck on 4:13. Crystal's cracked through, looks like someone pasted a spiderweb to it. It's only right twice a day, but I don't know when it's right, cause my watch is broke. Thing is, it reminds me to be careful. It broke cause I was a slob, got sloppy. When you get sloppy as a PI, you get hurt.

I don't remember the weeks after Mark died, except for living at the bottom of bottles of bourbon. It's nice if you're trying to get away from everything without getting a ticket to Timbuktu. Only stopped cause I couldn't afford it. Bills were starting to pile up.

Like a miracle, in came this dame, wrinkling her nose like she smells sewage. I was overripe, being pickled in bourbon. Kinda mousey, wearing a nurse's uniform and flats. She had her paper hat pinned to her chestnut hair. Not a lick of makeup, which coulda helped the bags under her eyes. Then again, she probably just got off work.

I kept telling her to speak up, cause every time I leaned over my desk, she'd lean back. Tina told me her husband, Zeke, was a good man. Provider, stand up guy, helped keep a roof over their heads. He just had a lot of stress at the plant. Staying out later and later to drink, probably just her being paranoid. She made to get up, clutching her handbag in front of her, saying this was a mistake.

I had to get between her and the door to keep her from leaving. Truth is, I was desperate.

Father Julien (Five of Five)

I banged a couple pots together, heard a couple yells. Dara jumped up, tried running, fell over cause she was still in her bag. Once she sat up, I was about to give her an earful when Father Julien put his hand on my shoulder, told me to calm down.

I had to leave the room and punch the wall outside. Hadn't been that angry in a while. It wasn't a sleepover, it was her job. All she had to do was stay up all night. Eventually, I calmed down. She was just a kid, still had a lot to learn.

When I came back in, Dara and Father Julien were sitting at the table looking at her laptop. There was some green and black video of the kitchen. I apologized, but told her she shoulda told me what was going on. Around three, someone tiptoed in. It was him, dressed in mismatched clothing. He grabbed a couple sandwiches from the counter and a bottle of water.

Rest of the video was pretty blank, until we got to me coming in and banging the pots. We watched it and laughed, but something seemed off. I asked Dara to rewind it. Me getting the pots, me banging them, a couple yells. Dara screamed, sure. Problem was, all I saw was a slight smile on Father Julien's face. His lips never opened.

I fired a blank at the ceiling. Dara went screaming out of the room. Father Julien curled in a ball, yelling. And a third scream from somewhere else came at the top of their lungs, out in the hallway.

I started going through the hall, tapping at the walls, listening for hollow points. Dara came back, yelling I lost my mind. I told her to stop screaming and to start tapping, there was someone hiding nearby.

We moved a cabinet out of the way to tap behind it. Took both of us to shove, and there was a dirty outline of plaster bits where it sat. No one moved it in a while. I looked up, there was a square shape and border, where it looked like a loose panel.

Father Julien came out twitching like a cat's whisker. I pointed up. We got the cabinet back in place. I pulled myself up, pulled out the panel, looked inside. Some sort of duct or hidden passage or something. I screamed down it, near blew my ears out. Told whoever it was he could come out now, or we'd smoke him out with the exterminators. He had five minutes.

After a while, I hear some banging, and he near fell over himself trying to get out of the duct. Same slob we saw on the video, dark hair, pale face, mismatched clothing. I guessed wrong, he couldn'ta been over 16. Turned out, Duke ran away from home a while back, but didn't have anywhere to go. He found the access door in the storeroom by accident. He was hiding out, popping out for food, living in the walls cause he couldn't go home.

Father Julien told Duke he'd stolen from the poor, ran away from home, defiled church property. I tried to get him to calm down, but he shrugged me off. Put the fear of God almighty in the kid, told him after he took him home, they were gonna go down to juvie, or Duke could spend the next year helping with outreach.

Kid wasn't a complete fool. He's still there right now, three times a week. One night I was down that way, paid him a visit. Me, him and Father Julien shared a couple laughs over some stew.

Father Julien (Four of Five)

Pride makes you do stupid things, like steal free stuff cause you can't look someone in the face, admit you need help. I couldn't blame em, just knew how they felt. Didn't excuse it, though. Understanding and forgiveness are two different things, like I'm sure God almighty knows. We were looking for someone ashamed to be seen, just lost their job, their house, didn't know how to deal with it. All men's clothes went missing. Food enough for one, definitely not for two.

I checked the doors and windows. I got some hairs from Dara, licked them and laid them across the locks last night [I wish he had not revealed that detail. Disgusting. -Dara]. All still there. He wasn't coming in through these, had to be some other entrance.

At this point, I called Dara. Told her we might be looking for some guy probably just lost his job and his house or apartment, mighta just lost his wife. Told her to look for evictions, foreclosures, separations. She told me she'd also look for recent job resumes, see if any jobs come up, cause it was possible they were living paycheck to paycheck, still looking for another job.

Father Julien had to open the church for outreach. I helped em make some sort of hobo stew. Reminded me of my childhood, mom putting together random ingredients in the pot. I also helped with the soup line. Too many grimy faces staring back at me. After a while, I started seeing my face in theirs. I was thankful it wasn't me, at least today. Was that why Father Julien came to me in the first place? Did he recognize me from this line?

Dara was standing next to me the whole time. She kept fidgeting and blowing her hair out of her eyes. I wish she pretended it wasn't so bad. Told her that it was what she wanted, to help out. Besides, I figured she was used to staying up all night [Studying. -Dara].

I took a nap after taking a nip of bourbon, had some more coffee. It wasn't great, but I was ready for another long night. It was a few days since he took any food. He would probably go after that. Father Julien took Dara and her giant bag over to the kitchen. I asked her what was in there, she just said it was some stuff.

Father Julien and me went to the clothes stores. I walked around, sipping coffee, while he kept nodding off and waking up. He had a long day, priesting and all.

Come morning, we walked to the kitchen, find Dara snoring in her sleeping bag.

Father Julien (Three of Five)

First thing I did was go to mass on Sunday, scope out the church, see if any people stuck out. I hadn't worn my Sunday finest in around 30 years. Broke it out and tried it on. There was still a blue cornflower on the lapel. I took it off, left it in my drawer, didn't need to get too dolled up for church [Trace never discusses his past with anyone, except with perhaps his mother. Was it left over from prom? A wedding? Did he get left at the altar? Did Joan pin this on him? -Dara]. Didn't have much of a flower smell anymore, but it was still deep blue. Kinda surprised it lasted this long. My suit was kinda loose then, kinda tight now, but I could get the belt on without icepicking a new notch.

Great thing about mass, you follow everyone else. They sit, you sit. They sing, you sing. They stand, you stand. Sad that I didn't know, because I hadn't gone in so long. It's little things like that make me a bad Catholic. Well, that and the big thing, not going to church.

Later that night, after everybody left, Father Julien locked the main doors. Far as we knew, we were the only ones left inside. He handed me turkey on rye. We also had pea soup and canned peaches, leftover from lunch. I asked him if he always ate like this. He told me he was always blessed to have dinner.

Earlier, he introduced me to all the outreach group. I told him that they didn't seem like any of them needed to steal, because the way they were bragging about their house renovations and kids, they were all doing it for respect, prove they were more pious than the next.

We talked a while longer about God almighty and the afterlife and heaven and hell, the normal stuff you talk about with a priest when you got nothing else to say. He went to watch the clothes, I stayed near the food. It was a long night, and I really wanted some Irish cream for my coffee.

Come the morning, I found Father Julien asleep on the floor. When I woke him up, he did a survey. Pair of snow pants went missing.

Father Julien (Two of Five)

Father Julien yanked out another few threads of hair. He got a Mag-lite, started patrolling the place. Stuff kept disappearing. He had a locksmith deadbolt every window. Someone was still sneaking out with the goods. Sometimes, he had some volunteers with him, and no one saw anything. He couldn't even trust them anymore. Father Julien fidgeted in his seat. He tried to sip the tea, but his hand shook so bad he just ended up spilling it on his cat's sock [Trace means cassock, the traditional priest's garment. When I explained the term, he responded, “Guess it helps em be more quiet?” -Dara].

I asked him why he was taking it so personal. He said there was someone he couldn't trust in his parish, couldn't do anything but take it personal. I asked him if he went to the cops. All they did was take some pics and leave. Made sense, no money in a small community church like Shepherd's Cave. If this was one of em super churches out in the burbs, they'd have cops crawling like ants all over it. No one with any money, or no one that wanted any money, had a reason to care about Shepherd's Cave.

Father Julien read my mind. He told me he didn't have much, except some money he'd been saving up, a couple warm meals, and God almighty's grace. Then he sat and stared at me and Dara. Put his hands together, closed his eyes, started praying to God almighty that we'd help him. I told him I'd tell him by the end of the day. We shook hands after I let him give me his hand, then he shook Dara's hand. He almost tiptoed out, like he was waiting for something to come screaming at him, then eased the door closed behind him.

Five seconds passed. Dara laid into me with a dame rant. Told me she couldn't believe I wouldn't take the case after he prayed out loud in our office, said that we were gonna help him. I told her we were busy, it was gonna take a lot of time for a small flat fee and some soup. She told me I didn't have a heart. I told her I had a head, and I had to use it. This wasn't gonna be worth it, and we had to concentrate on Mrs. Vetter strutting it up downtown without Mr. Vetter. Long nights and long days meant I'd be burned.

Thing is, Dara can do some real dame things. She started full-on bawling. I told her it was my office, my rules, and I wasn't gonna stand for her crying over this. So I left the office and stood in the hallway to let herself get composed. She was faking, I knew she was.

Ten minutes I'm waiting. She starts bawling even harder.

Went back in, told her we'd give it a week, and if nothing happened, we'd shift back to Mrs. Vetter. Wouldn't you know it, she starts laughing and hugs me around the neck [Depsite Trace's protestations, I wasn't faking my tears. I was genuinely distraught by Father Julien's plight. I may have exaggerated the physical signs of my distress, but nonetheless, I think it was more than worth it for Trace to take on this case. -Dara].

Father Julien (One of Five)

I named my gun Joan. Her parents, Smith and Wesson, named her 910. That's no name for a lady [This is not the only gun he's named Joan. For whatever reason, they're all named Joan. I have to assume there's some significance to the name. However, Trace has no online footprint. How am I going to locate the original Joan? -Dara] She takes fifteen 9mm rounds. Every time I reload, I kiss each bullet, for Mark. I also make sure the last bullet in the clip, the first I fire, is a blank. Bullets ain't expensive, but sometimes, I need to threaten a shot more than the bullet. If I need to actually shoot, I just pull a second time. One time I pulled the trigger was 7 or 8 months back, was kinda a mistake, but I definitely didn't need the bullet. Really, just needed the threat more than anything, and it worked out better that way.

Most slobs walk in, they start making fools of themselves in front of Dara. Not Father Julien, man of God almighty. Shook her hand, called her Ms. Leggett, did everything slobs didn't. Then I went to shake his hand. He said I looked familiar, but I told him I got one of em faces. When we shook hands, I could feel Father Julien's fingernails scabbed over. He moved quick and twitchy, but he wasn't fast, almost kinda peaceful. First time I ever saw it from someone didn't play cornerback. His face was all sunken and faded, like he really was giving his life to God almighty. Even with his black robe, sweat stains soaked through.

He sat on the edge of his chair, ran his hand through the thin patch of string he called hair. Every so often, I could see a few brown strands break off. Made me jealous I didn't have that problem any more. He ran Shepherd's Cave parish a few blocks away. I'd seen it, one of the older places, right from the postcard. Even been inside once or twice when I need to talk to someone and the bars were all closed.

They also ran community outreach, lots of clothes and food and stuff. Few weeks back, some of it started disappearing. First, they thought it was one of the volunteers, borrowing a sweater cause it was cold. Then it was some food, loaf of bread, jar of peanut butter, didn't stop. Father Julien started keeping watch. Did rounds every night and morning, locked the church up tight. Sometimes there was a pair of shoes missing at night, sometimes lettuce in the morning. It wasn't more than a couple things, but it was starting to get noticeable. He bit his fingernails some more, said it was a new habit.

Mathilda (Five of Five)

Going back to Mathilda's, I saw kids running through the street again. Kept going from house to house, but all day long, they went across the street. None of them even came close to Mathilda's, even though it was the quickest way to get anywhere. Mathilda said that kids took the sidewalk in front of her yard all the time.

We went outside, waited until the kids got close. I told her too loud we weren't gonna find that gnome. She started sobbing like someone cracked her upside the head. The kids watched a bit, then went back to their play.

Time for plan B. I flashed my badge, corralled all of them, told em I knew one of em did it, but I couldn't figure out which, and I was gonna have to take em all down to the station. They all started leaning away from a couple of boys with frowns on their faces. I grabbed em, one in each hand, dragged them by their shirt collars to Mathilda. They hissed and squirmed, wouldn't even look her in the eye.

Bobby finally took us to his backyard, through his house. His parents followed all of us, both of them sighing like this wasn't the first time. Him and Lev dragged a box out from the tool shed. I flipped it open and reached in, nicked my hand real deep. Mathilda's gnome had a giant hole in the top where I cut myself, a bunch of porcelain bits inside it. They tried to jump over the gnome last night, cracked it with their feet. Mom shook her head. Dad shook his fist. I asked why they didn't just leave it. They said TV shows said to always get rid of the body.

They called Lev's parents over, and all the parents were screaming and yelling. Then Mathilda started bawling, everyone shut up, and she told everyone about Harry, the last thing he bought. There was more screaming and yelling. I asked what if we glued it back together. Bobby and Lev thought I was crazy, cause there were a jillion pieces. Mathilda blew her nose and said it was her last reminder of Henry.

I went back four more Saturdays to help. Most of the time, I just sat there picking up the pieces like some dumb monkey. Every once and a while, I'd find a match. Eventually, we got it back together. Mathilda was so happy she started crying again. Like how the gnome reminded her of a loved one, my cornflower reminds me of a loved one. I guess the scar does, too.

[This man hoards his emotion, and very rarely exposes it to the world. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at his admission, but his mother is still alive, and Mark didn't strike me as a man obsessed with cornflowers. I've seen how he looks at Becca, even if he doesn't realize how he looks at her. There's a woman that Trace has never mentioned, will not mention to me. How can I find out who she is? -Dara]

Mathilda (Four of Five)

Next were the college students down the way. Christmas lights choked their lawn, blinking in Morse code. I was rusty, but it looked like a recipe for apple pie. Bits of broken stuff glued into frames, looked like some kinda stained glass pictures hung outside. I figured it'd be a house full of slobs and dames, rich kids taking money from mommy and daddy.

Don't get me wrong, college is great if it helps you make more money than the rest of the slobs out there. Problem is all those dames with degrees in art history. You end up working at a flower nursery [Thankfully, I matriculated with a computer engineering degree. Otherwise, I might end up another “dame” to Trace. -Dara].

Some kid opened the door, dressed in all black, clothes 2 sizes too small, whiskers on his chin like a dead rat. Soon as he saw me, he slammed the door in my face. Knocked again, flashed my fake badge, showed him my PI license. He stepped outside, making sure not to open the door too wide.

Kid was just the right mix of nervous and careless and relaxed. Smelled like Pat chewed Lee [Patchouli. -Dara]. Thing is, you put the screws to rich kids, they give up everything real quick, or they clam up and you have some real fun. He started singing like the fat lady. Woulda started bawling if I hadn'ta slapped him and told him to man up.

I told him he could bring out everything didn't belong to him, and we could leave the cops to take their afternoon nap, call it a day. Or, we could see who his one phone call would be. I grabbed his shoulder, told him if there were any garden gnomes, he should get those first.

When he came back out, he shoved a giant cardboard box into my hands, then waited. I asked him where the gnome was, and he just stared at me, then looked at his hands like they were televisions. Inside the box, I coulda started a pharmacy, pills in there I didn't even recognize. Buncha college slobs and dames, probably couldn't organize to steal the gnome if they wanted to.

Mathilda (Three of Five)

First was the Bensons, few houses down. Lot of metal and paneling, everything looked shiny and sharp. When I knocked, a middle-aged guy with thick coke bottle glasses squinted, let me in.

Clocks everywhere inside, wall clocks, cuckoo clocks, pocket watches, all of em on time. His wife came out, her glasses even thicker. They looked bug-eyed and curious, like aliens. She had some tweezers in her hand, and a little gear in those tweezers. They invited me to the dining room, just the cedar table and a few tall chairs and all the clocks on the walls. They sat on either side of me, got real close like Europeans do, blinked and squinted at me.

I asked em what they were doing last night. They said they were fixing clocks in the basement, watched the Tonight Show, then went to bed. Each other as their alibi was just as good as no alibi. They told me Mathilda was getting old. Every year, she got more paranoid about the competition. They talked to her, liked her, said they wouldn't do nothing to her.

I asked if they could drive me back to her place, and they told me they didn't have any licenses, cause they were both legally blind. I doubted they could walk more than a few feet without getting hurt. Couldn'ta been them. I left a card on the table cloth, told em they could contact me whenever. Both of them ran their hands over the table, trying to find the card, looking like they were giving the table a back rub.

Mathilda (Two of Five)

She drove us to her place. I stepped out of her car, and stepped back in time. Kids playing with their toys all up and down the sidewalk. Concrete sidewalks clean and neat, kinda like what I thought heaven mighta looked like. It felt like I didn't make enough money to walk there. Maybe if I came in hanging off the back of a garbage truck, but even then, I'd need spic and span gloves and a clean jumpsuit.

Mathilda lived on a street island. There were a few lawn ornaments, and a big gaping hole in the middle. She walked me through the yard. She and her husband Henry brought back Mr. Flamingo from Florida. The milk jug came from a Wisconsin dairy farm. Then, the gnome. Last thing Henry bought before he died. More than just the contest, it was her moment O'Murray, what she remembered of her husband.

The lawn was crowded. The green grass was trampled, mostly her because she couldn't step as light as she used to 50 years ago. I found a few colored bits, smaller than my fingernail, chipped off when they dragged the gnome away. Long dirt rut from the original spot out to the driveway, but the trail ended there.

She gave me the name of two houses also competing. I saw them while she drove us in, looked like home and garden stores exploded in their front yards. No bars nearby, so I couldn't talk to people there. They probably all drank wine or brandy, aged thirty years to the day. I was lucky if a bottle of bourbon made it five days in my office.  

Mathilda (One of Five)

My scars are my moment O'Murrays [Trace means memento mori, the reminders of death. The rough translation is “remember you must die.” His response: “O'Murray knows what's going on. He related to the guy made Murphy's law?” -Dara]. Scars tell stories, remind you of something. I also got a blue cornflower tattoo on my left shoulder. It ain't a scar, but it definitely makes my heart hurt every time I think about what went on with that. So, I guess I got scars on my heart. I guess that also makes me a dame [Trace has feelings besides hate and anger. What happened? -Dara].

Aside from the tat, I think the most fun scar was the two inch one on the back of my hand. When I make a fist, it looks like a smile, at least to me. Slob on the receiving end just sees a frown sitting on top of my broken knucks. Mighta been thirteen or so years ago, back when you were in diapers, Dara [I was in middle school at the time. -Dara]. I was sitting around reading the paper when someone knocked. Nearly fell out of my chair. Eight in the morning, couldn't be good.

Mathilda woulda been four-seven if she coulda stood up straight. Metal cane, pill box hat and veil, blue suit. I invited her in, helped her sit, offered her some coffee. She took off the hat. Red eyed, she'd been crying all night. Dark black hair, finest dye money could buy. She looked like a little prune. Someone stole her garden gnome, and she wanted me to get it back. Her homeowner's association was judging lawns on Friday, and that gnome would win her the title for sure.

I asked her why she didn't just buy another one, cause it woulda been cheaper than hiring me. She told me it was the principal [Trace means principle, though the error is fairly common. I won't hold him liable for this particular mistake. -Dara] She said she would get whoever did it disqualified from the judging. I asked her what the cops thought. They just laughed at her. I wasn't the first PI she'd been to, but I was the first hadn't laughed. Good thing I wasn't gonna drink for another couple hours that morning.

Evan (Ten of Ten)

I got greedy stupid. Five g's in your pocket will do that to you. Shouldn'ta taken the case. Felt worse for Dara, even though she didn't care about the money. It was on me to turn Evan down, soon as he opened his mouth. Now because of that, I was taking money out of Dara's mouth.

I still had the number he gave. Dara called and arranged for a meeting. He came in after a couple hours. Same exact suit, but really wrinkled now, like he balled it up in the corner after he took it off. He had a few bloody nicks on his lip and chin, and his hair? Not anywhere near neat.

I handed back the money, told him I couldn't continue with the case, that there was some other stuff came up, and I was sorry. He scratched his ear, and I noticed a bit of plastic sticking out. He snuffled and shifted his feet.

Finally, he told us that he'd still pay for the time we spent working the case. Peeled off five hundred, said through gritted teeth that he insisted. He looked like he might cry any minute. I took it. If I refused again, they might get real angry. He asked what we found, and I told him about the buzz by the docks, that it wasn't much to go on, but it'd have to do. He thanked me and shook my hand. His hand was drenched and clammy.

A day's pay, an honest wage, and it kept Evan from getting shot or worse. I could deal with that. I had to deal with that. I peeled off half, gave it to Dara. Told her to take the rest of the day off, go spend time with Billy, take him out to dinner or something.

I got a couple bottles of bourbon down the street, poured myself a shot when I got back. It went down like jagged glass. I tried to forget that you don't win all the time. A few more shots, and I felt like a champ.

Evan (Nine of Ten)

I figured what woulda happened, we'd somehow find C.K., I'd work out a deal with Sgt. Miller, we'd go get the guy and I'd split the bill with the city. Then, they'd figure out who hired the guy, or really, fail. Guys like that don't give up nothing.

Now, we jumped all that. Guy footing the bill, he was responsible for all this, and using us to cover his tracks. Someone probably said too much, or he was done fixing his family. Dara showed me the family tree. All the new people I heard of. All the old people, no clue who they were. It made perfect sense. My head still whanged like steel drums, but this was amazing. Problem was, what were we gonna do with it? No real evidence, just a good theory. And that theory and a dollar would get you a cup of coffee.

She said we should go to the cops. I laughed at that, and she got mad. Started yelling, went full-on dame on me. Don't get me wrong. Dara's great. Got a degree, knows computers, good with people, she'll live a better life than a slob like me. Problem is, she's still a kid, thinking everything works in the end, and it's a fairy tale life. It ain't. God almighty bless her heart, she's been here 6 years, still thinks that. I wasn't laughing at you, I'm sorry. [I accept your apology. -Dara]

Families pay off the cops. Only times the cops can do anything is when the families call for blood. We had to bring in C.K., nobody else. We tell them about this, we become targets. Well, not her, Don would keep her safe. Ain't no one gonna make Leggett Shipping angry in this town. No, I become a target. Like I said before, people want to tell their secrets. I wanted to sing, but I couldn't.

She looked at me like I kicked a puppy across the room. I told her we still got a nice payday out of it, but that didn't help. Why would it? To her, it's just peanuts. To me, it's real money.

She asked if we could keep looking for C.K. I said we'd be wasting our time, because even if we did find him, we'd all of a sudden end up in the mob's pocket.

That's when it hit me, we couldn't keep their dirty money.

Evan (Eight of Ten)

Dara figured something out using the internets. I'm gonna let her explain.

[Trace drew several further conclusions based on the information we had gathered. The contractor possessed extensive resources; a contract killer hired to assassinate a mob boss's mistress would have carried a steep price tag. He likely wouldn't have been anyone we knew, for a high-end assassin would keep a very low profile. This individual probably worked only for the mob families. Who else could secure those sorts of funds? They had been active for a while, so any unsolved mob murder from the past few years that also carried a high-enough profile to make the news likely was perpetrated by our mystery man.

Trace examined the crime scene and the Wharf Rat to determine whether or not any new information might come to light. Meanwhile, after I returned to the office, I searched the Tribune-Bugle's archives dating back an arbitrary seven years, locating five other unsolved murders, all victims members of the Rivano family. Armed with their names, I started locating other members of the family, using Facebook and Myspace, looking for friends, associates and the like.

One trend stood out. All of the murder victims held very close ties to “Marbles” Rivano. At first, it appeared some other entity was systematically trying to destroy the Rivano family. Obliterate the support system, and Mr. Rivano would be left vulnerable to a coup or an outside threat, like the Devarises.

However, something seemed suspicious about the murder victims. I charted the current Rivano organization, then placed the deceased next to their current counterparts. I checked the dates of the murders, and based on newspaper articles and size of the family, I charted their strength relative to the other crime families. Even a mere decade ago, they were the weakest family. Two decades ago, when I was a toddler, they weren't even considered a major player.

Their rise to prominence turned out to correlate with the assassinations. Somehow, these murders were strengthening the organization. Every replaced murder victim proved to provide a major influence on the family's business. Their predecessors? Nary a drop in the bucket. No one had yet replaced “Marbles's” mistress, but based on the information, we could expect some power player within the next few months to fill the void.

“Marbles” ordered the assassination of his own people. -Dara]

I figure she typed what she did in there. Me, I came back at four in the morning, and she was still pecking away at her keyboard. Next morning, I woke up with a hangover the size of an elephant. Then she dropped that lead weight on me, that Marbles was fixing his family.

Evan (Seven of Ten)

One thing I can't stand is dames making a big fuss over nothing. I came in the office, and Dara flips out. It's a black eye, it only hurts when someone touches it, like she did. Told her to stop touching it, I got it under control. I would say dames need a black eye so they can understand it only hurts when someone touches it, but that's just gonna end bad. [Trace is not advocating abusing women. We had a discussion. -Dara]

She's saying I should let Billy look at it, but what's that gonna solve? I never had a permanent black eye, nothing's broke except my pride. On the other hand, he sees this, he's gonna wonder what we do, I might be out one secretary. I don't wanna learn how to use a computer, I can't hire some random dame.

Poured myself a double shot of bourbon, and we compared notes. She handed me a coffee. I poured the bourbon in, then poured another shot in my shot glass. Dara extended her pinky while she sipped from her cup. Turned out Jess was actually the mistress of Vito “Marbles” Rivano, head of the Rivano family. This put it on the Devarises, probably one of their contract killers. Tensions were high the past few weeks, probably cause nothing else was going on.

The Devarises weren't taking responsibility, flat out denied it. I hadn't read anything in the paper. I asked Dara how she found out, and she said “MySpace”. I figured it was more of the internets. On the other hand, the Rivanos were shooting mad. Turned out they'd been hiring slobs left and right to find the killer, including this slob right here.

I told her that Mickey saw a guy in all black, wearing cowboy boots, drive up and dump the body, wrapped in a carpet. It was around three in the morning. The guy was thin, tall, forgettable in the daylight. Just what you want from a contract killer, except for the carpet and cowboy boots. I sipped the coffee. Tasted awful with the bourbon, but I was already warming up.