NANOWRIMO Day 6: 1605 Words (7185 total)
The phone ringing woke me up from my nap. I was feeling decidedly less drunk, and decidedly less pleased about my situation again. Damn, I am such a fool. I picked up the phone and promptly dropped it on my foot. After swearing rather loudly, I picked up the phone and spoke into the receiver. “Yeah?”
“Mister Spillane? This is Margaret Daniels.” Damn. I hadn’t developed the pictures yet, and I had no idea what time it is.
“Call me Mickey. How are you doing this, uh, today?” I was going to say morning, but I knew it wasn’t morning anymore, and did not want to say evening.
“I am feeling rather anxious, Mister Spillane. Can you tell me about last night?” Damn woman won’t call me Mickey. Proper, proper, proper! Either that or she’s just afraid of what would happen if she got to know me. Yeah, that has to be it.
“I can indeed. I am afraid your suspicions were correct. Your husband is indeed breaking his marital vows. I have the pictures to prove it. And audio, though it is rather graphic.”
There was silence for a moment. Then she replied, “I see. With whom is he having an affair?”
Uh oh. “Well, he is not exactly having an affair.” How exactly do you tell someone that her husband is seeing a prostitute? Only way is straight forward, I suppose. “He went to a prostitute last night.” There was no silence this time.
“A pro-prostitute?? What?? Why? He, that, how, why? Am I not good enough for him? I could understand him having an affair and I could accept that, but this? Why? WHY? Why did he go to see a common slut? Did he really want sex that badly that he had to pay for it?? That god damn bastard! And that slut! Oh, Jesus.” She finally trailed off into silence. Hmm, seems the woman had some sort of emotions after all.
“I’m sorry Margaret. I’ll send you the pictures and tapes at your office.”
She did not respond. Well, she’d deal with it. I hung up the phone. She had taken it worse than I expected. I was expecting the response she gave in regards to her husband sleeping around, but not to the fact that he had gone to a prostitute. I wonder how she would feel if she knew I had arranged it to happen. She would probably get real pissed real fast. Well, she did tell me to find out if her husband was cheating on her using any means necessary. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
I got up and took my camera to the dark room in my office. Nice little fixture, that. Helps a lot in my business. I developed the pictures. Some of my finest work, really. Lacie was a great subject. Some of it was extremely graphic (maybe I should look into doing some work for the porno business. My pictures were better than a lot I’ve seen.), and clearly showed Mister Daniels enjoying himself. Poor bastard. I almost pitied him, for what he was about to go through. Divorces could be messy. I’ve been cleaned out more than once myself. And I made most of my living facilitating them.
I slipped the photos in a manila envelope along with copies of the audio recordings Lacie had provided. I kept a copy for myself, both for records sake and for personal review. I’d mail it when I went out tonight.
I knew there was something else I needed to do, but I couldn’t remember what it was. I glanced around my desk and my eyes settled onto my book of numbers. And then it hit me like a ceramic vase being thrown by an angry woman.
Joe! Of course! How could I have forgotten? I picked up the book and raced through it to his name and dialed the number. It rang once. And then again. “Come on, pick up the phone.” A third ring. “Damn it Joe, pick up the..”
“Hello?” a tired voice asked. This was the voice of my friend Joe, who was so anxious and upset a few hours ago (I think it was a few hours. What the hell time was it, anyway?).
“Joe, it’s Mickey.”
“Oh, thank God, Mickey. I have been leaving messages everywhere I could think of.” He sounded relieved that he was finally talking to me, but very apprehensive, as if he had something he really did not want to tell me. Which, unfortunately, I was certain was true.
“Yeah, I’ve been finishing up work on a case, plus I think I may be starting a new one.” I still wasn’t sure what the hell was going on with that other phone call. All I knew was that I did not want to find out about it or get involved in anyway. But I had a hunch that was not going to be possible. “What’s going on, Joe? Is something up with Sue?”
Joe hesitated. “I am not really sure I should be the one to tell you this.” Oh boy, I could tell whatever he had to tell me I was going to enjoy a hell of a lot!
“Damn it, somebody is going to have to tell me. Is Sue okay? Was she in an accident?”
“Yeah, there was an accident.” Shit. “But she is doing okay.” I did not like how he emphasized the word she. Shit, shit, shit. What the hell happened?
“Well that’s good. Who isn’t?”
“Your…, God, this is hard. Mickey, your parents are dead.”
Well. That was not what I was expecting.
“Jesus.” What else could I say?
“They were driving in their car with Sue. Got hit by a Truck head on. He drifted into their lane.”
“Jesus.”
“I’m sorry Mickey.”
“Yeah.” I had heard my share of bad news, but this takes the cake. How do you react to your parents’ death? Especially when they are still in the prime of their lives and it was all just a sudden senseless accident. “Jesus. What about Sue? You said she’s okay?”
“Yeah. She was in the back, so I guess your parents received the brunt of it. She got messed up pretty bad. She is in stable condition, though.”
“Thank God. How is the other guy?” That bastard.
“He’s dead.” He paused for a moment. “They think he might have been drunk. The test results haven’t come back yet.”
“What? That Bastard!” God damn drunk. Even I never drove after I’d been drinking. Well, most of the time. “When did this happen?”
“This morning. About eight.”
“He was drunk at eight this morning? What the hell?” What kind of moron gets drunk in the morning? Well, THAT early in the morning. At least wait to a sensible hour, like eleven.
“I don’t know, man. I don’t know.”
“Shit.” I closed my eyes.
“When are you coming out?” I like Joe. He knew I never liked coming back home, and I avoided it at all possible. But it wasn’t “are you coming out?” It was simply “when?”
“Right now. Well, in a few minutes, at least. I have to settle a couple of things first.”
“Right, I understand. Sue will really appreciate it.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry man. If there’s anything I can do for you this week, help make arrangements, contact people, whatever. Let me know.”
“Yeah.” Joe was a good guy. I hung up the phone. I like my good byes short and sweet, or non existent if at all possible. Besides I had a lot of things to do.
I left a message for Lacie, telling her what happened, and that I’d be out of town for a little while. I left her Joe’s number if she needed to reach me for anything. I did not call Karl. I didn’t want him being able to reach me if the Red Sox lost tonight, as they were probably going to, because I didn’t want him calling to gloat and collect whatever fool amount I had bet. And if they won, there was no reason for him to call me, because they needed to still win a bunch if they were going to win it all. So either way, I didn’t want to talk to him. I sent the manila envelope to Margie at work. Nothing telling her what was going on. She didn’t need to talk to me about anything, and she knew where to send the money. I stopped by my dingy rat hole of an apartment and threw some random clothes in a bag. I didn’t really see what I threw in there, nor did I care. I did grab my old suit though. It needed to be cleaned, but I could do that when I got back home. I would need it for the funeral. Jesus. I left a note with my landlord, since hw as out (fortunately). I told him my parents had just been killed in an accident and that I would be gone for a little while. Hopefully the bastard would care enough to let my rent slide a couple weeks. I didn’t leave a number in case he didn’t.
I got in my brown 70 Chevy Impala. It was old, and rusty, but it got me where I needed to go. And it was just another junker, so no one remembered it. That was a real bonus in some of the places I had to go. Taking one last look at the dreary gray sky, I drove off to my home town in the not quite suburbs.
“Mister Spillane? This is Margaret Daniels.” Damn. I hadn’t developed the pictures yet, and I had no idea what time it is.
“Call me Mickey. How are you doing this, uh, today?” I was going to say morning, but I knew it wasn’t morning anymore, and did not want to say evening.
“I am feeling rather anxious, Mister Spillane. Can you tell me about last night?” Damn woman won’t call me Mickey. Proper, proper, proper! Either that or she’s just afraid of what would happen if she got to know me. Yeah, that has to be it.
“I can indeed. I am afraid your suspicions were correct. Your husband is indeed breaking his marital vows. I have the pictures to prove it. And audio, though it is rather graphic.”
There was silence for a moment. Then she replied, “I see. With whom is he having an affair?”
Uh oh. “Well, he is not exactly having an affair.” How exactly do you tell someone that her husband is seeing a prostitute? Only way is straight forward, I suppose. “He went to a prostitute last night.” There was no silence this time.
“A pro-prostitute?? What?? Why? He, that, how, why? Am I not good enough for him? I could understand him having an affair and I could accept that, but this? Why? WHY? Why did he go to see a common slut? Did he really want sex that badly that he had to pay for it?? That god damn bastard! And that slut! Oh, Jesus.” She finally trailed off into silence. Hmm, seems the woman had some sort of emotions after all.
“I’m sorry Margaret. I’ll send you the pictures and tapes at your office.”
She did not respond. Well, she’d deal with it. I hung up the phone. She had taken it worse than I expected. I was expecting the response she gave in regards to her husband sleeping around, but not to the fact that he had gone to a prostitute. I wonder how she would feel if she knew I had arranged it to happen. She would probably get real pissed real fast. Well, she did tell me to find out if her husband was cheating on her using any means necessary. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
I got up and took my camera to the dark room in my office. Nice little fixture, that. Helps a lot in my business. I developed the pictures. Some of my finest work, really. Lacie was a great subject. Some of it was extremely graphic (maybe I should look into doing some work for the porno business. My pictures were better than a lot I’ve seen.), and clearly showed Mister Daniels enjoying himself. Poor bastard. I almost pitied him, for what he was about to go through. Divorces could be messy. I’ve been cleaned out more than once myself. And I made most of my living facilitating them.
I slipped the photos in a manila envelope along with copies of the audio recordings Lacie had provided. I kept a copy for myself, both for records sake and for personal review. I’d mail it when I went out tonight.
I knew there was something else I needed to do, but I couldn’t remember what it was. I glanced around my desk and my eyes settled onto my book of numbers. And then it hit me like a ceramic vase being thrown by an angry woman.
Joe! Of course! How could I have forgotten? I picked up the book and raced through it to his name and dialed the number. It rang once. And then again. “Come on, pick up the phone.” A third ring. “Damn it Joe, pick up the..”
“Hello?” a tired voice asked. This was the voice of my friend Joe, who was so anxious and upset a few hours ago (I think it was a few hours. What the hell time was it, anyway?).
“Joe, it’s Mickey.”
“Oh, thank God, Mickey. I have been leaving messages everywhere I could think of.” He sounded relieved that he was finally talking to me, but very apprehensive, as if he had something he really did not want to tell me. Which, unfortunately, I was certain was true.
“Yeah, I’ve been finishing up work on a case, plus I think I may be starting a new one.” I still wasn’t sure what the hell was going on with that other phone call. All I knew was that I did not want to find out about it or get involved in anyway. But I had a hunch that was not going to be possible. “What’s going on, Joe? Is something up with Sue?”
Joe hesitated. “I am not really sure I should be the one to tell you this.” Oh boy, I could tell whatever he had to tell me I was going to enjoy a hell of a lot!
“Damn it, somebody is going to have to tell me. Is Sue okay? Was she in an accident?”
“Yeah, there was an accident.” Shit. “But she is doing okay.” I did not like how he emphasized the word she. Shit, shit, shit. What the hell happened?
“Well that’s good. Who isn’t?”
“Your…, God, this is hard. Mickey, your parents are dead.”
Well. That was not what I was expecting.
“Jesus.” What else could I say?
“They were driving in their car with Sue. Got hit by a Truck head on. He drifted into their lane.”
“Jesus.”
“I’m sorry Mickey.”
“Yeah.” I had heard my share of bad news, but this takes the cake. How do you react to your parents’ death? Especially when they are still in the prime of their lives and it was all just a sudden senseless accident. “Jesus. What about Sue? You said she’s okay?”
“Yeah. She was in the back, so I guess your parents received the brunt of it. She got messed up pretty bad. She is in stable condition, though.”
“Thank God. How is the other guy?” That bastard.
“He’s dead.” He paused for a moment. “They think he might have been drunk. The test results haven’t come back yet.”
“What? That Bastard!” God damn drunk. Even I never drove after I’d been drinking. Well, most of the time. “When did this happen?”
“This morning. About eight.”
“He was drunk at eight this morning? What the hell?” What kind of moron gets drunk in the morning? Well, THAT early in the morning. At least wait to a sensible hour, like eleven.
“I don’t know, man. I don’t know.”
“Shit.” I closed my eyes.
“When are you coming out?” I like Joe. He knew I never liked coming back home, and I avoided it at all possible. But it wasn’t “are you coming out?” It was simply “when?”
“Right now. Well, in a few minutes, at least. I have to settle a couple of things first.”
“Right, I understand. Sue will really appreciate it.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry man. If there’s anything I can do for you this week, help make arrangements, contact people, whatever. Let me know.”
“Yeah.” Joe was a good guy. I hung up the phone. I like my good byes short and sweet, or non existent if at all possible. Besides I had a lot of things to do.
I left a message for Lacie, telling her what happened, and that I’d be out of town for a little while. I left her Joe’s number if she needed to reach me for anything. I did not call Karl. I didn’t want him being able to reach me if the Red Sox lost tonight, as they were probably going to, because I didn’t want him calling to gloat and collect whatever fool amount I had bet. And if they won, there was no reason for him to call me, because they needed to still win a bunch if they were going to win it all. So either way, I didn’t want to talk to him. I sent the manila envelope to Margie at work. Nothing telling her what was going on. She didn’t need to talk to me about anything, and she knew where to send the money. I stopped by my dingy rat hole of an apartment and threw some random clothes in a bag. I didn’t really see what I threw in there, nor did I care. I did grab my old suit though. It needed to be cleaned, but I could do that when I got back home. I would need it for the funeral. Jesus. I left a note with my landlord, since hw as out (fortunately). I told him my parents had just been killed in an accident and that I would be gone for a little while. Hopefully the bastard would care enough to let my rent slide a couple weeks. I didn’t leave a number in case he didn’t.
I got in my brown 70 Chevy Impala. It was old, and rusty, but it got me where I needed to go. And it was just another junker, so no one remembered it. That was a real bonus in some of the places I had to go. Taking one last look at the dreary gray sky, I drove off to my home town in the not quite suburbs.
posted by Matt at 11/18/2004 04:14:00 PM
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