Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (18 page)

Turn up the volume, hit play on the menu. Could it be that easy? It was. Screen popped up and there was the jerky picture of Pugh, then the table, then someone’s fingers, then a piece of fabric and maybe a chair as the moving picture swept back and forth, up and down, in and out. I felt my stomach turn, and for a minute felt like I was back on the Dragon Tail.

I moved the cursor ahead and the video was bouncing, racing at full tilt, and I knew the pen was in Garcia’s mouth. I couldn’t watch. I moved it ahead, maybe ten seconds.

And it was perfectly still. The lens was a little dusty, but the picture was still, quiet almost, a blurry, dusty image, and I could hear a voice in the distance.

“Hey, old man. How are you? Working a little far from home aren’t you?”

Moe, talking to someone.

“Well, you come on up here. You know I’ve always got your cheese crackers.”

And I knew where the pen had ended up. Standing up I stretched and reached to shut the lid.

“What’s that?”

I turned around, thinking someone was talking over my shoulder, but it was Moe walking closer to the microphone.

“What is that? Looks like somebody has gone and left a perfectly good pen lying here.”

And it started moving. A good picture of Moe’s face, then a blur and a shot of Garcia, chewing crackers as fast as he could.

Then a bounce and step after step as the pen in Moe’s pocket jumped up and down and sideways and back, with sweeps and swoops. I tell you, it’s not for the weak of stomach to watch.

Finally he was on the steps, and I could tell he was moving into his American Eagle trailer.

“Come on, Garcia. Get in here.”

The dusty, mangy sheepdog with the vicious growl was now inside with Moe, and I felt like an intruder. I was inside as well.

“Let’s get you some water, boy.”

The pen moved to the kitchen, then I heard the faucet running.

There was a pounding, and the camera turned and made a stop before approaching the door, probably for Moe to put a bowl of water down for the criminal canine.

The door opened, and I heard Moe’s voice.

“So, you decided to visit me after all.”

The pen was picking up the material of someone’s shirt. It was blurry, so close that I couldn’t make it out.

“Well come on in, if you want to know what’s going on. I’m not going to talk to you out there.”

I heard that familiar growl and I knew that the sheepdog had it out for other people besides James and me.

“Garcia. You calm down. Go eat your crackers.” Another blur and Moe said, “Sit down.”

A rustling of fabric and leather, and the pen was cocked
could see was the TV. I couldn’t make out the guest, but whoever it was hadn’t uttered a word.

“You were right. They’re looking at you as a, let’s say, a person of interest. I think they suspect you and your partner. And I’m warning you, you’d better be able to cover your ass. Understand?”

Then I heard the voice. Two words.

“I understand.” Whoever it was had turned from the microphone and the voice sounded like it was in a cave.

And that’s when things got very, very interesting.

The camera was focused on the dark big-screen TV. When Moe sat still I could see the room reflected in that monitor. I caught a quick view of Garcia, off to the side of the room, not a good image, but it was obviously the dog. And the white-haired Moe, although it was tough to make out his features. And the man sitting next to Moe. As soon as I tried to study him Moe moved, and the camera moved. I swear I was going to be seasick.

Cursing, I continued to watch as the camera changed its angle. I was now viewing the kitchen from the plush leather sofa. That wasn’t going to get me anywhere. And then it hit me. I could back up the video, freeze frame a picture and enlarge it. I knew I could do that because the menu said I could.

I carefully rewound the video back to where the big-screen TV was visible. Freezing the picture, I worked the mouse and arrow, and sure enough, the TV screen got larger and larger and larger.

“What’s that?”

The video wasn’t playing, but I stared at the screen, trying to figure out where the female voice came from.

“Skip, what is that?”

I turned quickly. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“What are you doing?” She stood there in a T-shirt that barely covered her cute little butt.

“I’m watching the video from the pen.” It sounded dumber than heck, but that’s what I was doing.

“At this hour of the morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“And what have you found?”

“Em, somebody just knocked on Moe’s door and he let them in.”

She put her hand on my shoulder. “Maybe we should see a doctor about a possible concussion. What do you think?”

“Listen, I know this sounds weird, but Moe told whoever it is that they are a person of interest.”

“Are you listening to yourself?”

It sounded crazy. “Em, he said the person had better be able to cover their ass. His word.”

“So you think this has something to do with you?”

“With us?” I looked back at the screen. “Maybe.”

“So Moe is warning someone that they are a person of interest? What does that mean?”

“Like a suspect. You know.”

“So who is this person? Did you hear the voice?”

“Muffled.”

“All I see is a screen. A TV screen. What do you possibly intend to find with that? There’s nothing there.”

“Watch this.”

I brought it closer and closer. The resolution was bad and the reflection lacked any mirror quality—just dark and grainy, but I zeroed in on the suspect. I glanced behind me to make sure she was watching.

“There he is.”

She leaned in close and I could smell her perfume.

“Moe said that this guy and his partner were suspects and that they’d better be able to cover their asses.

“Skip, it’s not a good picture. How can you tell? I mean if the camera was right on him, maybe, but—”

“Come on, Em. Don’t you recognize the guy? Who does that look like?”

“I don’t know. I don’t believe that—”

“I’d swear it’s him, Em.”

I knew now why Garcia was growling at him.

She studied it for several seconds. “Now why would Moe accuse James of being a suspect? And for what?”

I didn’t have an answer, but I did have the rest of the pen video to watch.

There they were, sitting side by side, and I forwarded the video to where I’d left off. Moe was talking and I could see into the kitchen.

“He’s got orange juice and champagne in that stainless refrigerator.”

“And that’s not helping us at all.”

I would have liked some orange juice and champagne. Would have tasted good and maybe eased some of the pain in my jaw.

“You and what’s-his-name, people are starting to talk about the two of you. Maybe we just need to distance ourselves right now. Take a break.” Moe sounded concerned. Telling James to distance himself?

I stopped the video. “Did you hear that? He’s going to fire us. I really needed the money this time, Em.”

“Distance yourselves? What does that mean? I didn’t hear ‘fire.’ Skip, where do you get the idea that someone is going to fire you?”

“You heard him. He said people are talking. Everyone
knows that we’re private investigators. It’s the worst kept secret in the world.” Private investigators. The title sounded so phony.

“Maybe.” She was skeptical. “Keep it going.”

I hit play and heard a growl. The camera shifted and I could see Garcia’s head, filling my computer screen.

“Hey, what do you want? What do you want?” Moe’s hand extended and he ruffed up the dog’s head, scratching him behind the ears. And as he leaned over, the camera lens tumbled, bouncing with a thunk and a thud.

“What happened?”

The video took off, and I saw carpeting, at least I think it was carpeting and a swish and a swirl and dark wood, a flash of white, a flash of yellow, and again it was making me nauseous.

“What the hell—”

And then everything was quiet and there was just a white screen.

“Skip, was that the—”

“Dog? I think so. Your friendly canine stole the pen again.”

“Well, damn.”

“That’s it? Damn?”

“What was James doing there?”

“We’ve got another hour to watch.”

And we did. Except for some very distant, unintelligible conversation, there were no more clues. Finally, at the end of the video, I could hear Moe. His voice got louder and louder as if he was approaching the microphone.

“Come on you thief. Give it up. Where did you put that pen, huh? Where is it, big guy?”

And it came to life, bouncing, moving with a dizzying speed, and then there was Garcia’s big face, his tongue hanging out and what appeared to be drool running from his mouth.

“We’ve got to get you home, pal.”

And just like that, the video stopped.

“Three hours, my ass.”

“What?”

“Jody said three hours. I don’t think the whole production lasted more than an hour and a half.”

“Skip, what did it all mean?”

“I’m tempted to go down to Angie’s trailer and find out.” My roommate had some serious explaining to do.

“It’s four in the morning.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“So, you’ll come back to bed?”

“It’s Sunday, Em. Today we either find out who is sabotaging the show, or we lose our jobs.”

“It sounds like you may have already lost them.”

“Then four a.m. is simply a time. And it is the precise time to wake up my roommate and find out about his clandestine meeting with Moe.”

I was surprised she answered the door. Who knows, it could have been Kevin Cross’s killer. It could have been whoever broke into our trailer and punched me. But she opened the door, dressed in at least a pink terry cloth robe. I had no idea what was under the wrap.

“Skip? Do you know what time it is?”

“Four oh three.” I breathed in her soft, sweet scent.

Angie glanced at her watch. “This thing always was a little slow. What do you want at this ungodly hour?”

“James.”

I was in no mood for polite conversation. I knew the time. I knew what I wanted. I depended on Angie to get it done.

She walked back into her trailer and a full sixty seconds later my roommate staggered to the door.

“Skip, what the hell—”

“Same thing I was going to say, James.” I stood in the doorway, not having been invited inside. “What the hell, James?”

“I’m missing something here, compadre.”

“Yes, you are. Come with me.”

James stood there, his face hanging out. I figured he’d go back and at least get dressed, but he walked outside with just his boxers on and a pair of sandals.

“Want to get dressed first?”

“No. Because once you tell me what this is about, I’m going back to bed—with Angie.”

I grabbed him by the arm and steered him toward our trailer.

“This had better be really good, amigo. Because right now, I am seriously pissed. I may not show it, because I’m tired and hung over, but I am pissed.”

“And I don’t care.”

He could tell I was mad. There was no more conversation. When we entered the Airstream, Emily did a double take. I don’t know that she’d ever seen James in his underwear, and it did take her aback.

“I’m here for a very short time, Em. I’m sorry to shock you, but I’d like to get back to bed, and soon. If I’d taken the time to dress—” he spread his arms out as if the hassle of the dressing process would overwhelm him, “I would have added a couple minutes to my time.”

She looked confused.

“And by the way,” James appraised Em, “nice T-shirt. Very nice.”

She walked back into the bedroom, coming out seconds later in a pair of jeans.

“Skip, please show me whatever it is you want me to see. Then get out of my way and let me go back to Angie.”

James sat down as I opened the screen, waited until the computer awakened, then pulled up the zoom photo of the big-screen TV.

“What are we watching?”

“Video from the pen.”

“The pen?”

“The one I was going to have to pay for if we didn’t get it back.”

“Oh, yeah. The ballpoint pen. With the new truck, you getting smacked around, Angie getting frisky, I completely forgot about the pen.”

“Yeah. Maybe the above reasons are why we should stay out of the private investigator business.”

James said nothing.

“So, my friend, are you ready to see what I’ve found?”

James studied the screen intently. I zoomed in as close as I could.

“I have no idea what I’m looking at here.”

“This is a reflection from Moe’s big-screen TV. The pen camera that’s in Moe’s pocket is focused on his blank screen.”

“So we’re inside Moe’s American Eagle?”

“We are. And there are three players in the room. Here—”

“Appears to be the dog.”

“Here.” I touched the computer screen.

“All right, I would guess that’s Moe. It’s hard to tell. Too fuzzy.”

“And here. Who is this, James?”

“Amigo, the tone of your voice is almost accusatory.”

“Who is it?”

He studied the picture, frozen on the laptop. I’d brought it in as tight as possible. Finally he leaned back and looked at me, a bemused grin on his face.

“That’s Charlie, from the Dragon Tail. Is this your big revelation?”

I leaned in and looked.

Em leaned in and looked.

Sure enough. Moe’s guest was Charlie, from the Dragon Tail. Bo’s partner.

We were hunched over the table, four thirty in the morning, hearing for the fourth time what Moe said to Charlie: “You were right. They’re looking at you as a, let’s say, a person of interest. I think they suspect you and your partner. And I’m warning you, you’d better be able to cover your ass. Understand?”

Then the second part of the conversation: “You and what’s-his-name, people are starting to talk about the two of you. Maybe we just need to distance ourselves right now. Take a break.”

“It’s still not much to go on.”