Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (10 page)

“Well, if that’s what you want us to believe.”

Charlie took up his position behind the buttons. “We’ll take over now.”

“And by the way,” Bo stepped back and eyed the Tail with the eye of a trained surveyor, “did anyone piss their pants? Should have warned you guys about that.” He chuckled and joined his partner at the button station.

An older gentleman with wispy white hair walked into Harry’s Hideaway, wearing a dark jacket and trousers and black T-shirt. I thought for a moment he was a priest by the way he was dressed, the way he held himself. I know, it sounds like a joke.
This priest walks into a bar
, but it was far from a joke.

He surveyed the thin crowd, then made eye contact with me at the end of the bar. I thought I might know him, but I didn’t know from where.

Keeping an eye on the man, I nudged my partner with my elbow. “Who’s that guy, James?”

He looked up from his beer, studying the elderly man. Giving it about ten seconds, he said, “Not sure. Maybe I saw him with Moe’s sisters, earlier today. Yeah. That’s it. But,” he paused, staring at the guy, “I have no idea who he is.”

As the man walked down the bar toward us, I felt like making a quick trip to the restroom. He was ramrod straight, his teeth were clenched, and it was obvious he was on a mission. And I wasn’t in the mood for any confrontation today. Or any other day. He reached us before I had a chance to make my getaway.
Grabbing the barstool next to me, he hoisted himself on it and stared into my eyes.

“You two are the private detectives?”

Damn. I swear, everyone in town knew who we were.

James raised his hand. “Excuse me. I’m the marketing director for the Show.” Taking a sip of beer, he gave the man a cautious look.

Turning to me, he asked, “So y
ou’re
the P.I. then. Am I right?”

“What is this all about? I’m James’s friend, and all he’s doing is—”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re the two.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m Ken Clemens.”

The name meant nothing to me.

James nodded. “And what does Ken Clemens want with us?”

“There’re a couple things you need to know.” The man raised his arm and signaled to the hefty girl behind the bar. “Draft. Whatever is cheap.”

“You’d be surprised at all the things we need to know.” I took a long swallow of my cold Yuengling and slapped the mug back on the bar. “What are you going to teach us today?”

“First of all, Judy Schiller is my …” he hesitated, “my girlfriend. Do you know who she is?”

I nodded. It didn’t sound right. A man and woman at that age calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend.

“And?”

“She’s the reason you two are working here.”

Judy Schiller was Moe Bradley’s sister. I had no clue how she was responsible for James and me having a job. I didn’t even know the lady.

James glanced up at the TV over the bar above his head. The broadcast was a classic baseball game from several years ago. “I
thought we had this job because Angie Clark decided that I was the most creative applicant in the group.” He paused. “Was I wrong?”

The stoic bartender shoved a full beer mug in front of Clemens and moved down the bar, wiping at imaginary spots on her vinyl countertop.

“No, Angie is why you have the
marketing
job. I’m speaking of the
P.I.
job.” He stared at James with an evil glare in his eyes. “You do know what a P.I. is, right? Do you even know what they do? Because I have this impression that you boys are brand-new to this line of work.”

Taking another long swallow, I waited for James. It was the perfect opening for one of his witty comments. Instead he kept his eyes on the ballgame—the Marlins two and the Indians nothing, bottom of the sixth. I sensed he was seething.

“Look, Mr. Clemens, even if we were working a second job for Moe Bradley, we probably couldn’t admit it.” I met his gaze. The old guy stared right through me. Very confident, very composed.

“Let me lay it out for you.” He pushed the beer mug to arm’s length and took a deep breath. “You know there have been some serious accidents at this show. I would think you would have studied every one of them, being professional private investigators.” He shot it at me with disdain. Folding his arms over his chest, he glared at us. “You do know about the accidents?”

“We’re aware of the accidents. And the death.”

“Are you more than aware? Have you studied these accidents?”

It hit me that we knew very little about any of the accidents. Except the short newspaper article I sort of remembered, and that Moe told us there had been several incidents and someone had died. The truth was, we hadn’t done any research at all. None.

We were probably in the wrong line of work here.

“Judy and Virginia have been very concerned about the future of this enterprise, and they pushed Moe, forcing him to hire a private detective agency.”

“They forced him?” Moe Bradley didn’t seem to be one who could be forced to do anything. I immediately wished I hadn’t asked.

“They did. They should have been more explicit. Hire someone with experience. But Moe doesn’t really care about that. This was just to placate them.”

“Wasn’t there an official investigation?”

The older man threw his hands up. “You see? You don’t have a clue. Of course there was an official investigation. The question is, have
you
done any investigation at all? Have you two as much as researched the lady who was killed?” he hesitated. “Do you even know her name?”

We didn’t.

“Of course there was an official investigation. And even though there were some very mysterious circumstances, the investigation stalled out. There was no proof of any foul play.”

“So what’s your point?”

“It was too easy. One accident, maybe. But that many in a row, and one of them involving a death, well—”

“So you have questions about the official results?”

“Oh, my God. You two are clueless.” He picked up his beer mug, then placed it back on the bar. “Judy and Virginia had a lot of questions. And they
demanded
that Moe launch a private investigation.”

“So, let’s say he did,” I said. “Moe seems to be a reasonable man. Let’s say he launched a private investigation.”

“Oh, he resisted. Didn’t want to do it. He made it very clear that he didn’t want anyone snooping around the show. Especially private investigators. He said that accidents happen. It’s part of
being involved with the show, and maybe the show was just going through a bad stretch.” Clemens never blinked. Cold and calculating. I never met anyone who could keep their eyes open for minutes. Maybe longer. He just kept staring.

“It’s possible.” I stared at him, trying to break his steely gaze. “It’s possible that they were just accidents. You just said that the official investigation didn’t turn up any sign of foul play.”

“Mr. Moore, Mr. Lessor, here’s what you need to understand. When Judy and Virginia decide they want something, they always get what they want. Always. Believe that. So that’s why Moe hired
you
. It was quick and it was simple.”

“We’re still not admitting that we hold any job that deals with investigating these accidents you are referring to.” James finally turned his head and stared into Clemens’s face. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fine, fine. I want you to hear me out.” Clemens pulled the mug to him and took a sip of the beer. Making a sour face, he set it back down. “We—the girls and I—thought that Moe would hire a
real
detective agency.”

“Pardon?” He now had James’s full attention. “Did you say a
real
detective agency?” His voice was somewhat strained.

“As I said before, young man, someone with experience.” He smirked. “Unlike you, I did a little research. Unlike the two of you, I know what I’m talking about. It’s not my
impression
, son. I
know
what’s going on. Since you got your license less than a week ago, this has got to be your first official case. You’ve got no experience at all, do you?” His voice was cold, hard, and accusing.

“That doesn’t mean that—”

“And you’re doing this crackerjack job of investigating by sitting on your ass in this sleazy hole of a bar. Of course this is the place where all of the criminal element hangs out. You’ve probably decided to just sit here and wait for guilty parties to come to you. Am I right? Am I?”

“Mr. Clemens,” James was ready to explode.

“Mr. Lessor and Mr. Moore. I’m here to inform you that if you don’t come up with an answer in the immediate future, your services here will no longer be required. Immediate future.”

James glared at him.

“Immediate future being by Sunday. In case you weren’t aware, there was a shooting here last night. You are so far out of your league, I can’t begin to tell you.”

“Look, you son of a—”

“Ah ah, Mr. Moore. My girlfriend and her sister own the majority stake in this business venture, and no matter what your arrangement with Moe Bradley, they can take you down in a matter of minutes.”

I cringed. I didn’t even know the ladies and they were ready to take us down.

“These are very strong women, gentlemen. Am I understood?”

I flashed to dollar signs in my mind, and they were disappearing as I sat there. The harrowing Dragon Tail experience may have been for naught.

James took a deep breath. The entire bar could hear it. “This may surprise you, Mr. Clemens, considering that we are rank amateurs, but we have a suspect already and it shouldn’t take the rest of the weekend to prove this person was responsible for the accidents and the death of a rider.” James gave him a sly smile, took another slug of his beer, and turned his attention back to the television.

“Oh, really?” Clemens’s disdainful tone was condescending, but there was a question mark at the end. He wasn’t ruling out the fact that James had a suspect. I had the same question mark.

“Really.” James was emphatic.

I sat silent, afraid to say anything at all.

“Just so you know, Mr. Lessor, Moe Bradley is trying to buy
controlling interest in the Moe Shows. From his own sisters.”

I had no idea what that had to do with James’s statement. We had a suspect?

“What does that have to do with the accidents?” James asked the million dollar question.

“He kind of runs the show anyway, doesn’t he,” I asked. I just pictured him as the owner type. The girls seemed to show up on rare occasions.

“Have you been paying attention?” He raised his eyebrows, a very sinister expression on his face. “Moe does not have controlling interest, and because over the years he has proven to be an unscrupulous businessman, my girlfriend and her sister have no intention of selling any of their stock to him. Your employment as investigators is simply something he’s doing to appease them as he tries to convince the ladies to divest of their shares.”

“I really don’t care about the business end of this enterprise.” James had his dander up. “I told you we’d have the case solved in a couple of days.”

“What?”

“You heard me. We’ll have the case solved.”

“You said you don’t care about the business end of this enterprise?” He’d raised his voice and customers at the bar were watching.

“You’re the marketing manager, Mr. Lessor. You should care very much about the business end of this enterprise. That’s your other job,” he hesitated, “that you’re obviously not qualified for.”

James blinked. Trying to be cool, he’d played his hand without reading all the cards. But that’s James.

The gentleman pursed his lips, tapped his fingers on the bar, and stared at James. The big lady behind the bar strolled down to him.

“You want something else, bub?”

Clemens gave her a slow look. “Bub? That’s not my name. And no. The beer you served me was warm and tasted like piss. I assume any other drink you serve will taste equally foul.”

Her eyes grew wide, and even in the dim light I could see her face flush. “That’ll be two fifty,
bub
, and you are not welcome in this establishment again.”

He reached for his wallet, pulling out three ones. “Don’t worry. I would never have come here in the first place, except it seems to be the place where these two inept private investigators do most of their work.”

I thought it was an unfair comment. It was the first time either of us had ever set foot in the bar.

Clemens stood up and looked at me with a cold, hard glance.

“People who work for a carnival are private people. They don’t like folks snooping or looking into their affairs. I’ve seen these people take matters into their own hands, Mr. Lessor.”

“And your point is?”

“My point is, you’d be better off quitting. Right now. Quitting and going back to whatever little hole you and your friend crawled out of.”

James stood up, his eyes wide. I held my hand up, hoping he wouldn’t do something stupid.

“Someone paid a price last night, boys. In case you haven’t noticed. Someone who apparently knew too much. Kevin Cross was shot while relieving himself. Pretty nasty stuff.”

“Are you threatening us?” James was ready for some physical contact. And that scared me to death, because he lacked any physical prowess.

“Threatening you? This operation needs a
real
investigation. A
professional
detective agency. Boy, I’m giving you a warning. Don’t you understand?”

He finally blinked.

“When the carnies figure out that you’re investigating them, when they understand that an amateur duo like yourselves is bumbling around their domain, you’re liable to disappear. You boys are an accident waiting to happen.”

Giving his delivery just the right pause, he finished with, “Threatening you? Right now, with me giving you that information, I may be the best friend you have with this show.”

Clemens turned, and without a glance back, walked out of Harry’s Hideaway, pushing two patrons out of his way.

“James? We’re going to solve this case in the next couple of days?”

“Damn it, Skip, he was—”