Page 17 of Sam to the Rescue
It’s high time I do my fair share of private investigating. With these thoughts in mind, I dress. Maybe I can learn a little more about our missing man and, at the same time, check out the gun club. I’ll snap a few photos which she couldn’t do because her fool phone battery died.
I pause at the bottom floor where Joey sits at his kitchen table. In his undershirt and jeans, he looks up at me through lowered lashes. “Yeah?”
“Can you watch the baby until Sam gets home?”
“Sure t’ing, boss.” He emphasizes the last word as one might say asshat or shitbag.
If he wasn’t Sam’s cousin, my employee, and our sometimes babysitter, I would correct his attitude with a slap to the top of the head.
“Appreciate the help, Joseph.” Knowing how he hates his given name, I smile until I reach the address formerly known asPizza Clown Circus Palace.
Holy shit. Creepy white faces grin down at me from everywhere. This here is some weird-ass shit.
A big man, with large jowls, and an odd round tattoo on his flabby neck looks up at me from behind the front desk. “Yeah?”
“I’m a new member. My ball and chain said she joined me up.”
His piggy eyes narrow above his wide nose. “What d’ya want, a medal or somet’in’?”
“How ‘bout you shine it and shove it up your ass.” I’ve learned how to speak Brooklynese from my wife but this is my first chance to use it and I’m pretty proud of how it comes out, if I do say so myself.
The big guy seems to agree because he grins widely, showing off a gold tooth. “I’ll set youz up straight away. Follow me.”
I show my id, my weapon, and buy some rounds. Then, I shoot while he watches behind the counter. My bullets land in a cluster, millimeters away from the shadow-man’s heart.
“Military?” His brows raise.
“SEAL.”
“Damn. Why’d you leave?”
“Brass-holes. You catch my drift?”
“I do. Here’s a box on me. For your service.” He plunks some ammo on the counter.
“Thanks. Hey, you haven’t by any chance seen this guy? His family left him some big bucks and they hired me to find him. I’ll make it worth your while.” I hand him a printout.
After studying it, he folds it into a small square and slips it in his wallet. “How much we talkin’?”
“A couple grand. I’ll give you half if your lead is good.”
“That’ll work. I’ll let you know.”
Pleased at my progress, I shoot for a while, remove my ear protection and turn toward the counter. “Where’s the head? I need to take a piss.”
“Follow the fucking clowns.” He points to a painting of a large-lipped joker holding arestroomsign in his white gloved hand.
With my gun tucked in my holster, I stroll down the hall and turn right. Out of sight, I open the little girls’ room door. In the far corner, beyond the sinks, three rusted circles mark the linoleum.
Shit. I’m too damn late. I snap a picture and freeze when a male voice speaks right outside my door. “Tell me, Edge, what do you think he’s doing here?”
Ninja-silent, I back into a stall holding my breath, ready for action. However, instead of barging in, their footsteps move to the room across the hall.
Their echoey conversation carries through the walls via the open vent. “He sounds legit. His wife bought him a membership. They did both ask about some missing old man.”
Paper crumples. “Let me see that. Huh. He’s not one of ours.”
A toilet flushes and I miss some of what is said. “…had a problem with authority. Maybe we should invite him to join us?”