Spencer Quinn - A Fistful of Collars

“Euphemism for what?” Bernie said.

The taxi driver stuck his head out the window; he needed a shave and a haircut. “Hey, lady, wan’ me to wait or what? Meter’s tickin’.”

Bernie made a little flick flick motion with the back of his hand-had I ever seen him do that before? I loved it! — and the window slid back up.

“Thad… goes off by himself sometimes,” Felicity said.

“With Jiggs?” Bernie said.

“No.”

“Isn’t that hard for someone in his position?” Bernie said. “So recognizable?”

“He’s, um, not thinking straight when these things happen,” Felicity said.

“Drugs?” Bernie said.

“You can never say anything,” Felicity said. “Promise?”

“I can promise I won’t say anything in order to profit from the knowledge or simply hurt Thad,” Bernie said. “Making it a promise with limits.”

Felicity gazed at Bernie, then blinked and turned away. “Why is everything always like this?” she said. Hey! For a moment she looked like a little kid, not much older than Charlie.

Bernie didn’t speak. He just stood there. I sat beside him. We could keep that up for a long time, me and Bernie. It was one of our techniques at the Little Detective Agency. We’ve got lots.

She faced Bernie, met his gaze. I was starting to like her. “All right,” she said. “Thad has-I wouldn’t say a problem, more like the occasional issue with drugs.”

“What drugs?”

“I’m not really sure-it can be just about anything.”

“Have you ever seen him inject himself?”

“Oh, no, never never,” Felicity said. “And I don’t want you to think it’s this humongous deal, not compared with… well, how things go down in the industry.”

“Then let’s forget all about it,” Bernie said.

There was hardness in Bernie-although never when it came to the two of us, goes without mentioning. His hardness, when it showed up, had an effect that you could see in people’s faces. I saw it now in Felicity’s.

“You’re not going to help me?” she said.

“Help you do what?” said Bernie.

“Find him,” Felicity said. “His next call’s for eight tomorrow morning.”

“He’s the star. They’ll wait for him.”

“Maybe if there hadn’t been… an incident or two in the past. Now there’s a nonperformance clause in his contract.”

“Saying what?”

“I haven’t actually read it.” Felicity laughed, one of those quiet little laughs meaning… what? Something was only a little bit funny? I didn’t know. “Neither has Thad. But I heard Nan talking about it with the agent. It’s all about big fines and how they can fire him whenever they want.”

“And he signed?”

“Thad signs tons of stuff. He doesn’t even look. He’s just a child sometimes-which is where his art comes from, I’m sure of it-and all these vultures-” Felicity’s voice got real thick, meaning the tears were on the way at last. Instead, a bit of a surprise: she fought them off, wiping the back of her hand over her eyes and stiffening her whole body. The expression in Bernie’s eyes changed.

“Any idea where he went?” Bernie said.

“I woke up in the middle of the night and he was gone. He took Jiggs’s car.”

“With permission?”

She shook her head. “Jiggs is pretty pissed.” And then came some more about Jiggs, maybe how he was out looking for Thad but had a poor record of finding him in the past, Thad always coming back on his own when good and ready, but I couldn’t concentrate on account of my mind suddenly snapping back to vultures. I was pretty sure Felicity had mentioned them, and if vultures were in the case, we had problems. Birds in general bothered me. Why those angry little eyes? Would I be angry if I could soar around the big blue sky all day? And vultures were the worst. I’ve been circled by them. I know.

“Does Thad have any friends or acquaintances in the Valley?” Bernie was saying.

“Nobody,” said Felicity. “Not that he’s ever mentioned to me.”

“Has he ever talked about living in the Valley at one time? Or growing up here?”

Felicity frowned. Hey! All of a sudden I noticed that she was kind of beautiful. “I don’t understand. Thad was born and raised in Southern California. What are you getting at?”

“Nothing,” Bernie said. “How long has Jiggs been the bodyguard?”

“From way back, I think,” said Felicity. “They were friends when Thad was still waiting tables and surfing. That’s how he got discovered.”

“Waiting tables?”

“Surfing. He was surfing Little Dume when some producer saw him. You didn’t know that? It’s kind of a famous story. They re-created it for 60 Minutes.”

What was all that about? You tell me. And maybe Bernie didn’t get it, either, because now he was staring in the distance, his mouth slightly open like some question was on the way. None came. No problem. When he’s standing so still that way, all caught up in his mind, I could watch him forever.

“Brando’s missing, too,” Felicity said.

Bernie brought his gaze slowly down to her.

“I’ll pay you,” Felicity said. “Just say how much.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said.

Meaning what? We were turning her down? We weren’t turning her down, just turning down the money? Oh, no: I hoped it wouldn’t be that.

But it was that. Working for no money, and not for the first time. Have I mentioned Bernie’s grandfather’s watch, our most valuable possession, now in hock at Mr. Singh’s? I was worried, and when I’m worried I like to gnaw things. For example: the rounded edge of the leather trim on the shotgun seat.

“Chet! How many times do I have to tell you?”

Uh-oh. Bernie sounded… not mad-he’d never get mad at me-more like not in his very best frame of mind. I sat up straight and tall, still and quiet, a total pro, on the job and eager for work. Keeping Bernie in the very best frame of mind was part of what I did.

“How about a chew strip instead?” Bernie said, opening the glove box.

Bernie: what can I tell you? The best.

We drove, and while we drove, listened to some of our favorites: “Going Back to Greenville,” “Lonesome 77-203,” “If You Were Mine.”

“Like that trumpet?” Bernie said. “Roy Eldridge, at the top of his game.”

Like it? I loved it. The trumpet did things to me. We listened to “If You Were Mine” again. And again. And one more time. And were still listening to it when we climbed into the mountains beyond the Valley, passed a huge red rock-which was when I started to pay attention to where we were, so easy to get lost in music-and stopped at Boo Ferris’s gate. He came out of the gatehouse, polishing off a burger. I started in on some real crazy barking.

“Chet! Knock it off!”

I knocked it off, just in time to hear my barks echoing in the hills. Hey! Not bad, not bad at all. They even scared me a little.

“I don’t think Chet likes me,” Boo Ferris said.

“It’s not you,” said Bernie. “He’s in a strange mood today.”

“Have you fed him?” said Boo Ferris, suddenly showing signs of being a smart guy.

“Food is not the problem,” Bernie said.

Oh? What made him so sure? True, there’d been that hot dog, but not close to a whole hot dog, and hadn’t it been a long time since then? All at once I was ravenous.

“I noticed last time,” Bernie was saying, “that you didn’t ask what I was doing up here.”

“You were on the list,” said Boo Ferris. “That’s all I need to know.”

Bernie smiled. “Just like the army.”

“Except we’re not taking fire,” said Boo Ferris.

“You were in the service?” Bernie said.