Under Abnormal Conditions (17 page)

When the band took their break, one
particularly striking blond took their place on stage. Her slinky
body wore a halter top with black leather pants that barely clung
to her slender hips. She turned away from the microphone and
cleared her throat. She then reached into her pocket and pulled out
a pair of extra dark sunglasses. When she raised her arm to put on
the glasses, her shirt raised to reveal a crescent moon shaped
tattoo around the belly button of her non-existent waist.

She grabbed the microphone like it had
wronged her and said, “Black!” Her small stature carried a
surprisingly powerful voice. “Black! Like the soot from a flame,”
she continued. “Do you even know my name?”

The small crowd fell to a hush. She tore the
glasses from her face and threw them forcefully on the stage. She
seductively rubbed her hands from her hips to her small
breasts.

“Am I soiled or dirty?” she said sensuously.
“Do I look incomplete? Or for my affection you would fervently
compete? What if I said my mother was a Negro? Would you stop your
charge and say oh no?”

I sat up in my seat to get a better view of
the poet as she continued on. “When you look at me do you see
someone whose skin is fair but whose heart isn’t? Because I look
white does that make me right? Can you bring me home to your
mother? What would your father say? Would they receive me with open
arms or send me on my way?”

She bent and picked up the broken sunglasses.
After staring at them solemnly for a moment or two, she dropped
them back on the floor and stepped on them.

She took the microphone gently into her hand
and spoke softly into it. “Be careful if you chose your friends by
the color of their skin. Shake your family tree and then you tell
me what strange fruit falls out.”

With that, she quietly walked off the stage
to as much applause that about ten people, including myself, could
offer.

By that time I was ready for a drink. I
called the waitress over and ordered a diet soda. She looked me up
and down as if to say,” You could stand to lose a few pounds.”

The room was dark and smoke filled. After a
few minutes the band returned. This time a vocalist accompanied
them.

He was a tall thin gentleman that looked like
he just stepped out of the Fifties. The piano started a solemn tune
and with his Sinatraese voice, he began with ‘In the wee small
hours of the morning’. He poured himself into the sad song and the
words truly touched my heart.

You’d be hers if only she would call. In the
wee small hours of the morning is when you miss her most of
all.

I would often play those songs when Michelle
and I were together. We would go out to Scott’s Bluff at Southern,
lie on a blanket and stare at the stars with the river at our backs
and Sinatra playing on the stereo.

The waitress cleared her throat to get my
attention. She sat my drink down on the table.

“That’s three dollars.”

“Three dollars? I can go to the machine
outside and get a drink for fifty cents.”

“There’s usually something in it worth three
dollars. What? Are you a cop are something?”

I just nodded no and paid her. By that time
there were only two or three other customers there, so I hope she
survived on tips. The time passed rather quickly as I enjoyed the
music. I thought to myself that the young singer’s talents were
being wasted on the crowd he had. The band finished their set and
began packing up. It was painfully obvious I had been stood up. I
couldn’t understand why.

Granted she was definitely out of my league,
but she was the one that approached me. The way things were going,
I should have expected things to turn out that way. I was alone
again, but maybe I was starting to get used to it.

Don’t trust anybody.

Chapter 24

The streets were just as dead and empty as
when I entered the place. A few people I saw walk out ahead of me
seemed to blend in with the dark mysterious night. The rain had
stopped but the air was still moist so I closed my jacket and
hurried to the lot, careful not to be seen by anyone. I got in my
car and headed back to Dunham Heights.

As I drove I thought more and more about Sara
and Michelle and less and less about Carmen. A part of me almost
wished I wouldn’t have called her. At least I wouldn’t have known
she didn’t want to talk to me.

The ignorant bliss of a man I suppose. It was
that feeling you had right before a woman broke things off with
you. You think everything is fine and then it hits you. You end up
looking back trying to think of a sign of what was coming but you
never see it. Just like the state trooper waiting behind a road
sign. You can’t see the forest because of the great big oak you are
staring at.

I wondered how she would react when I told
her the number she gave me belonged to a private detective. Was it
worth even telling her at all? I didn’t know and didn’t want to
think about it. I was about to pass a Buy & Save grocery store
when I decided to run in and pick up a few things.

As I walked through the doors, I remembered
when all stores were closed at nine o’clock every night and there
was nothing open on Sunday but church.

There was a check out girl that couldn’t have
been more than seventeen. She was checking out a fine member of my
community who was buying a forty-ounce bottle of beer. The only
other person in the store was a sheriff’s deputy who was busy
keeping the chair he was sitting on from flying up.

I made a quick run through the store and
picked up a few necessity items and then went to check out. She
didn’t acknowledge me as she started to ring my groceries.

“Your total is twenty-seven fifty,” she
drawled.

“Do you have a telephone book I could use?” I
asked as I handed her a twenty and a ten.

She nervously started to bite her lip as if
she was having a nicotine fit. After taking the money from my hand
she loudly cleared her throat. That caught the deputy’s attention.
He stood up, walked over, and asked, “Can I help you?”

The girl behind the counter gave me my change
and started to ring her teased brown hair.

“I just wanted to look at a phone book.”

“Weeelll,” he stretched out. “Phone book is
outside with the pay phone. What else can I do for you tonight?” he
asked as he rested his thumbs on his gun belt.

“That’s all officer.”

I gathered my bags and walked outside. To
them I was just another nigger from the street. When I got to the
pay phone I looked inside the store to see if they were still
watching me.

They were.

I imagine they were talking about why I
didn’t buy any alcohol. The officer walked over to the window and
held a stare down with me. I finally took my eyes away to study the
phonebook and get the address of C.R. Harrison.

I guess he felt like a big man, so he walked
back over and sat in his chair. I committed the address to memory
and went back to my car. As I drove off I wished I had said
something to them. In my heart I knew that nothing I could have
said would have changed people who felt that way.

After about thirty minutes of riding around I
finally found the place. Dunham Heights was a small town and I
would not have thought there was much need for a private detective.
When I got a look at his office, I knew I was right. It was only
about one step away from being a hole in the wall.

It was part of the antique mall that ran down
Main Street. I must have passed it five or six times before I
decided to stop and walk. The sign on the door said ‘C.R. Harrison
– Private Eye’, but from the looks of his office it should have
said ‘Will work for Food’.

The building was an old wood framed shotgun
shack. I would have liked to think my great skill would have easily
picked the ancient lock on the door, but good sense and a humble
ego told me otherwise. With a few clicks to the left and then to
the right, the door opened with ease. Learning to pick locks was
another little tool I picked up from my dad. I knew the moment I
stepped in, there was no going back. I took a deep breath and
silently entered the room.

I took out my mini flashlight so I could
search the dark room. I was in a small receiving area where a
barren desk sat in front of a frosted glass door with the
detective’s name on it.

The lock leading from the outer foyer was
just as easy to pick. With the file cabinets against the wall, and
the typewriter on the desk I felt like I had stepped into a bad
mystery novel. As quiet as I tried to be, my footsteps made the
floor creak.

I had to move fast, because if there was
anyone else in or around the building, I wouldn’t be alone for
long. I finally made it to the file cabinet. Gently placing my hand
on the handle, I slid open the drawer.

There were only a handful of files, so surely
the one I needed wouldn’t be hard to find. I was sure it was there.
It had to be there. It wasn’t there.

I wanted to slam the drawer shut, but that
would only call attention. I couldn’t afford to be caught
especially with no evidence to support my story. Just when I was
ready to give up the stale smell of cigars brought my attention to
his desk.

I walked around the desk and took a seat.
Rifling through his papers, I took comfort in the fact he was in
more debt than I was. Bills, bills, and more bills. If there was
anything here, it was gone now. I buried my face in my hands, as
all my options seemed to be running out. I started searching the
desk drawer.

I found a file with James Allen written on
it. It contained a report and picture negatives. Finally, I had
caught a real break. Just then, I heard footsteps coming up the
stairs. I couldn’t take the chance of being caught, so I had to
hide. My first thought was to hide under the desk, but with my bad
knee I may not have been able to get back up.

My flashlight found a closet in the corner of
the room. I shoved the negatives in my pocket, hurried across the
small office and closed the door. Before I had realized what I had
done, I left the folder sitting on the desk. The footsteps were
making their way to the office.

The steps seemed to walk in unison with the
beat of my heart. I heard the door open and the steps came inside.
And still, my heart beat along with the footsteps until finally
they stopped in front of the closet door.

I think my heart stopped as well. I gripped
the doorknob lightly. My blood ran cold as I awaited my capture. I
could feel the knob turning slowly.

Just before he could open the door, there
were more footsteps from outside. The turning stopped, but now
there were two in the office.

“What are you doing here?” a gruff old voice
asked.

First silence, then gunshots answered him.
Five, maybe six shots, and I heard the body drop. My first instinct
was to try and get a look at the shooter. With no gun to protect
myself I might as well have committed suicide.

The light footsteps ran over to the desk.
Papers were shuffled, and I heard the file cabinet open. I winced
as he slammed the cabinet shut. Slowly, the footsteps crept out the
door and down the stairs.

Just when I thought my nightmare was over and
I was about to exit the closet there was stirring in the office
again. Just as quickly as it started, it again stopped.

After a few moments, I placed my sweaty palm
back on the knob. Gently I turned it and opened the door. I opened
it just enough to stick out my head. I shined my light across the
room. To my startle and surprise I saw a body slumped over the
desk. I was sure it was C.R. Harrison – former private eye.

I walked over to the desk for a closer look.
He was an extremely obese man with a pencil thin mustache and a
terrible comb-over. In his chubby hand he was holding a file.

It was the file with the name James Allen
written on it.

It was my file and it was empty.

Chapter 25

My main thought was just to get home. I had
just freed myself of one dead body, and I didn’t need to marry
another. I picked up a rag that lay on the floor and tried to wipe
my fingerprints from everything I touched.

Even though I knew it was impossible, I was
afraid Mr. Harrison was going to wake up with a taste for blood. It
looked like he dragged himself over from the closet and died there
at the desk. The blood wasn’t like something from a movie it was a
brownish red instead of being bright and vivid. I would have been
satisfied going through the rest of my life without learning that
lesson.

I was about to walk out when I remembered the
file. That was the entire reason for my being there. I flashed the
light on the desk, but the open dead eyes of the detective made me
look away.

That was two dead bodies in one week. At
least Sherry’s body was covered up. The body of the detective just
stared up at me asking for help. I was becoming far too well
acquainted with death.

It was the worst thing I had ever seen in my
life. That image would be impossible to unsee. His face was red and
fat like a hot dog that was just about to explode.

His dead body rested on the exact spot where
I had left the file. I walked behind the fat man and placed the
small flashlight in my mouth. Chills went down my body, as I got
closer to him. I pulled from my reserve of courage and grabbed him
by the collar of his polyester coat.

When I pulled him back his fat arms fell to
his side giving him the appearance of life. The same brownish red
blood that was on the floor covered the desk.

The file was gone.

I flashed the light all around the
surrounding floor, but it was gone. It was my own fault. That was
the proof I was sure I needed to clear myself and I let it slip
right through my hands.