William Lashner - Marked Man

“To Cleveland?”

“No, to Plan B.”

“What’s Plan B?”

“Staggeringly unpleasant.”

“VICTOR CARL HERE.”

“Hi, Victor, it’s me.”

“You?”

“Yes, me. And I was just sitting here thinking about you.”

“About me?”

“Of course you, silly, and I thought I’d give you a call.”

“That’s nice, I suppose.”

“So how are you doing?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“Did you see the game? The Phillies lost today. I’m always a little depressed when the Phils lose.”

“I don’t think they make enough Prozac.”

“I used to date a Phillie. A middle reliever.”

“With the state of the bullpen the last couple of years, that must have been hard.”

“God, yes. Every time he blew a lead, I’d hear about it from everyone at the club. ‘Yo, your boyfriend sucks.’ Like it was my fault his slider didn’t slide. But then they traded him to Seattle, so that was that.”

“Too bad.”

“Well, he really wasn’t very good. On the other hand, he signed a two-year, $4.7 million contract, so he had that going for him.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Who are you?”

“Mon.”

“Excuse me?”

“Monica. Monica Adair. Remember?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Monica. Yes. Right. Monica. From Lola’s whatever. The one with the missing sister. Okay, now I get it. How’s it going?”

“Well, the Phils lost.”

“And why did you call?”

“Most guys, when they take me out on a date and it goes well, the next night they show up at the club. At least to get another look. So I expected to see you sometime soon, but you haven’t been back.”

“We didn’t have a date, Monica.”

“We ate together.”

“You did most of the eating.”

“At a restaurant.”

“A diner.”

“And you paid.”

“I was being mannerly.”

“That wasn’t a date?”

“No.”

“Wow. I kind of missed those signals, didn’t I?”

“Sorry about that. We were just discussing your sister. You seemed to want to talk about her, so I agreed to listen.”

“You brought her up.”

“No, just the name. It was obvious pretty early on that we were talking about two different people. The Chantal Adair I’m looking for is not your sister.”

“You sure?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Why are you looking for her anyway? You never told me.”

“It’s not important.”

“You want to keep it private, I understand.”

“It’s no big deal. But, Monica, really, though it’s nice to talk to you and all, I have to go.”

“Is your girlfriend calling for you?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“So you’re married?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Pause. “I see. It’s like that, is it?”

“Like what?”

“You don’t date strippers.”

“Well, I haven’t as of yet.”

“Don’t worry, we get that a lot. You’d be surprised how many men go to the club to let us rub their bald little heads with our breasts but wouldn’t think of dating one of us.”

“I’m not one of those guys.”

“Like you’d have no problem taking a stripper home to Mommy.”

“With my mother, actually, no. Pump enough vodka into her and she’d join you on the pole. But that’s not what I meant. I meant I don’t go to those kinds of clubs.”

“But you went to Club Lola that night.”

“To see you, to ask about the name, that’s all.”

“Why again did you ask about the name?”

“Really, Monica, I have to go.”

“So you don’t want to have drinks one night?”

“No, not really.”

“Men always say they want a woman who is willing to take the initiative, but then when we do, they think we’re pushy and desperate. Do you think I’m pushy and desperate?”

“Not desperate, no.”

“Then what is it? Are my breasts too small?”

“God, no.”

“You don’t like brunettes?”

“I like brunettes fine. Listen, Monica, this is too odd for words. I’m about to self-immolate from awkwardness. Really, I have to go.”

“Then just tell me.”

“Your breasts are fine. Better than fine.”

“No. Tell me why you’re looking for Chantal.”

“If I tell you, will you hang up and not call again?”

“I promise.”

“Okay. It’s weird and embarrassing. One night, not too long ago, I must have gotten so drunk that I don’t remember anything about what happened. But when I woke up, I had a tattoo on my chest. And on the tattoo was a name.”

“What name, Victor?”

“Chantal Adair. I don’t know how it got there, or why, but I was just trying to find her.”

“That is weird.”

“And with the juxtaposition of your stage name and last name, we thought you might be a possibility. But seeing as you’ve never seen me before and I never saw you before, then it’s pretty certain that my tattoo has absolutely nothing to do with you or your sister who went missing decades ago.”

“No, it doesn’t. Unless…”

“Thanks for calling, Monica, but I’m going to hang up now.”

“Hey, Victor, can I ask one more thing?”

“No.”

“Do you want to meet my parents?”

“Absolutely not.”

“They’d really like you. I’m going to set it up. I’ll let you know when.”

“Monica, don’t.”

“Bye-bye.”

“Monica? Are you there? Monica? Monica? Crap.”

“VICTOR CARL HERE.”

“Hi, Victor, it’s me.”

“Beth, hi. Gad, it’s been a bad night. The phone is ringing off the hook, and every call is worse than the last.”

“And here I am, right on cue. What’s going on?”

“Just stuff. The Kalakos case is getting a bit hairy. Still, I must say it’s nice for once having a case without any dead bodies floating around, you know what I mean?”

“Yes, I do. This whole murder business you fell into is creepy. Not what I signed up for in law school.”

“Theresa Wellman is what you signed up for, I suppose.”

“That’s right.”

“Did she recover from the ordeal of my direct examination?”

“Quite well, actually. And the part after the break, when you had her discuss her treatment and her new job and the new house her parents bought for her, that was fabulous.”

“See, Beth, we work well together.”

“We do, but that’s never been the problem, has it? Are you busy tomorrow at about noon?”

“Not especially.”

“Can you meet me?”

“At the office?”

“No, someplace else.”

“What’s up?”

“I’ve been doing some thinking.”

“Oh, Beth, don’t.”

“About my life.”

“Gad, Beth, whatever you do, don’t do that. Wouldn’t you just rather change the channel and see what else is on?”

“I’m taking stock, Victor.”

“Why am I suddenly terrified? This whole thinking thing, Beth, can only lead to disaster.”

“So we’ll leave together from the office, say eleven-thirty, is that okay?”

“You never said where we are going?”

“I know. See you tomorrow.”

“VICTOR CARL HERE.”

“Carl, you slimy son of a bitch. You busy?”

“Busy enough.”

“Too busy to take a drive out to meet me?”

“I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

“On who the hell you are.”

“You don’t recognize the voice?”

“Oh, it’s a game, is it? Let me guess. You sound like some sort of rutting rhino. Is it Barry White?”

“Close enough. It’s McDeiss.”

“That McDeiss?”

“Yeah.”

“Crap.”

There are hosts of peopleyou don’t want to hear from late on a Sunday night. Your oncologist, maybe, or the girl you had sex with six months ago and haven’t called back since, definitely, or the highway patrol, or the marines, or your mother… well, my mother. But a homicide detective might just be tops on the list.