Page 3 of Buck Baxter and the Mysteries of Love (The Buck Baxter Detective Agency #3)
CHAPTER 3
“Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Hart Industries to launch whizbang new rocket-train this Saturday. The future is here! Extra, extra, read all about it!”
Dressed in his tattered jacket with holes in the toes of his shoes, Skip the newsboy was spruiking the news of the day just to make a dime.
I had more than a dime, thanks to the advance payment from my latest client. Before he left my office, Harry had pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket and jammed it into my fist.
“This should cover costs… and then some.”
As much as I needed the cash, I shook my head. “Harry, I’m not taking any money off you. You’re my—”
“Client. At this moment, I’m not your boyfriend. I’m your client. If I expect you to do this job properly, then you’ll need a down payment in order to start your investigations. Take it. I mean it.”
I hesitated. “It seems so… transactional. I don’t want our relationship to become business over pleasure.”
He smiled. “If you’d prefer pleasure over business, then come over later tonight. I promise, I won’t be so stressed. Knowing you’re on the case makes me feel more at ease already.”
I took the money, kissed him before he left, then headed out onto the streets of Wilde City.
Skip was always a good place to start. The kid had his nose to the ground and eyes like a hawk. Yes sir, those peepers of his didn’t miss a trick. If there was a scandal on the streets, you could put your money on Skip knowing the who, where, why, and how of it. And so, that’s exactly what I did. As I strolled casually up to him, I pulled out a dollar bill—enough to buy his entire bundle of rags—and handed it to him.
Skip winked, handed me a newspaper and asked, “What kinda news you lookin’ for today, Mr. Baxter? You wanna know the latest on Mr. Hart and his rocket-train?”
“Kid, I couldn’t care less about Howard Hart and his flashy toys, but I am keen to know what his wife’s been up to lately. Tell me, you seen Hart’s Lincoln Limousine cruising the streets at strange hours?”
“As a matter of fact, I have. The last week or so I’ve seen it comin’ and goin’ at the crack of dawn.”
“Where’s it coming and going from?”
Skip smirked. “Jeepers, Mr. Baxter. I’d love to tell ya, but I seem to be forgettin’ things lately.”
I rolled my eyes. “Perhaps if I give you another dollar you could go to the doctor and see about that memory of yours.” I slipped him another crisp bill.
“Well, whaddaya know, I suddenly remember. The Cheshire Hotel. Not exactly the ritziest place in town.”
“Did you see who was driving?”
“A chauffeur. Dapper fella, the clean-cut type, at least half her age.”
“Her?”
“You know exactly who I’m talkin’ about. Mr. Hart’s missus. She was always sittin’ low in her seat, like she didn’t want nobody to see her, but ain’t nothin’ skips past Skip. I tell ya, that chauffeur’s got a flat tire if he thinks he can get dizzy over a dame like Crystal Hart and get away with it. He might be hungry for a little high-class hoochie, but the only thing that fella’s gonna be eatin’ soon is lead.”
I couldn’t disagree. I flipped him another bill. “Thanks kid. Keep your wits about you and stay safe, ya hear?”
I turned to leave, but Skip called after me. “Mr. Baxter, that ain’t all the news I got for you today.”
I angled my head to look back over my shoulder. “Oh yeah?”
He waved me closer and hushed his tone. “Bugsy Brown’s been lookin’ for you.”
“You don’t say.”
Skip nodded. “He told me if I sees ya, he wants to meet you for dinner tomorrow night at Luigi’s Linguine Kitchen . Eight o’clock sharp.”
“He does, does he?”
“You in trouble with all the wrong people again, Mr. Baxter?”
I heaved a sigh. “Somethin’ like that.”
Skip chuckled and shook his head. “Heck, I so wanna be you when I grow up.”
I sighed again. “Always be careful what you wish for, kid. It might just come true.”