When Angels Fail To Fly. John Schlarbaum
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did you say to him?” I asked.
“Oh, only that you were a drunken degenerate with irreversible psychological problems,” she deadpanned.
“Whew,” I said as I took a sip of my beer. “For a minute there I was worried you said something bad about me. At least you told him the truth,” I laughed. “It’s one of your best qualities, I think.”
“I’m a quality person,” Dawn stated proudly.
“That you are,” I replied. “So, what’s the porn star’s story? Did he try to recruit you?”
“If you must know, the two of you actually have a lot in common.”
“We’ve both appeared on film having sex?”
“Yeah right,” Dawn snorted. “At least in his case he was the payee and not the payer!”
“Are you generally this sharp or just around me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, stud. I’m this quick 365 days a year.”
“Okay, I believe you. Anyway, what do I have in common with Buttons Graham over there?” Another quizzical look came over Dawn’s features. “Buttons was an actual porn star in the 70’s,” I informed her.
“Of course. Silly me for not remembering him,” she said waving her hand dismissively. “Your friend is actually a P.I. Says he’s looking for someone.”
After the initial shock wore off, I asked, “Not for me, I hope.” Before she answered, I slid further into the booth, out of Buttons’ eye line.
“He didn’t say,” Dawn replied.
“Could you find out for me?”
“Hmmm . . . for you . . .” she teased. “Anything—within reason,” she added.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” I said as she wandered away from the table.
“If I had a quarter for every time a loser barfly told me that,” she laughed, “I’d own this place.”
She went into the kitchen and returned with the private dick’s lunch. She hung around his table making small talk for a minute and returned to my table with an anxious expression. She placed my bill on the table and said, “Leave me $20 and then go out the exit by the washrooms.”
“What’s up?”
“He’s looking for Linda,” Dawn said bluntly.
I’m sure the blood drained from my face. “Anything else I should know?” I asked, throwing two tens on the table.
“He drives a black Dodge Caravan, which is parked out front.” She looked at the P.I.’s table. “I’ll call you if I get more information, but you have to go now.”
I grabbed one of the drink coasters sticking out of Dawn’s apron and wrote down my home and cell numbers.
“This is a commemorative coaster,” I smiled as I handed it to her. “Don’t lose it—use it.”
Dawn looked down at the coaster. “Don’t lose it, use it? Are we in Grade 6 again?” she laughed.
As I exited the booth I said, “When I was in Grade 6, Tiger Beat was the king of the magazine racks and you were still a dream in your mother’s mind.” As I stepped around her, I leaned into her and said, “Thanks for the info, Dawn. I owe you one.”
“No problem,” she said as our eyes met. “Now get out of here.”
As I walked stealthily toward the rear exit, I was confident no one had seen me leave. A rush of adrenaline propelled me forward, through the alley and down the side street behind the pub. I didn’t know why I was running, but Dawn’s uneasiness was infectious. If this guy was looking for Linda, he would surely want to speak with me at some time.
I half-walked, half-ran to my place and entered via the back door, in case another P.I. had staked out the front. I went to the living room windows and discreetly peered out. No unknown vehicles were parked on the street. An excellent sign, I thought.
I hadn’t heard from Dawn and decided to grab my gear to do some counter-surveillance of my own. Nearing the pub, I located the only black Caravan on the street and wrote down the licence plate number for future reference. I then set up a position on the opposite side of the road. While putting a new tape in my video camera, I saw my subject come into view. My cell phone immediately began to ring.
“What’s going on, Dawn?” I asked, recognizing the pub’s number on the caller display.
“He’s heading to the library to interview Linda’s co-workers and he’s staying at Holiday Cove,” Dawn replied without hesitation, although she did sound a bit out of breath.
“I’m impressed,” I commented. “Does he have a name?”
“Casey Ellerby. He gave me his card.”
“What agency?”
“F.Y.I. Services out of Kelsey Lake,” Dawn said. “Where’s Kelsey Lake?”
“Near Delta, our hometown,” I said haltingly, trying to digest this news.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“It depends on who hired him, I guess. I gotta go, Dawn, he’s leaving now,” I said as I put my van in gear. “Call me when you’re done work. Or better yet, drop by if you want—but call first!”
“Okay. Be careful.”
“I will.”
Fifteen minutes later, P.I. Ellerby entered the Great West Library to continue his investigation. I established a position in the parking lot of a nearby plumbing supply store. The irony that I was doing surveillance on a fellow P.I. while at a plumber’s place of business was not lost on me. I was fairly certain, however, the day’s events would not end in a hail of police bullets and two deaths. Then again, the P.I. who had followed Samantha and me to the Tecumseh Motel had probably believed the same thing and, man, was he wrong!
Although Ellerby was in the library for about an hour, it seemed like five. As the great Tom Petty famously observed, the waiting really is the hardest part. When Ellerby did return to his van, I couldn’t tell from his expression if things had gone well or not. He had the look of a juror walking into a courtroom to pronounce the verdict on the accused: cool and detached. I was about to follow Ellerby when I noticed Linda’s co-worker, Amanda Masterson, slip out a side entrance and start toward the bus stop. I made a snap decision to let my new friend carry on his journey alone and walked to where Amanda was now standing.
I had only met Amanda briefly a few times, when I had dropped by the library to visit Linda or to pick her up at the end of her shift. Amanda was in her late 20s, with a slim build, naturally golden blonde hair and soulful, hazel-coloured eyes, which I’m sure had made more than a few men’s hearts flutter, sputter and stop in mid-beat.
“Amanda—hi,” I said when I came within a dozen feet of her.
When she turned to face me, I had no clue how she would react. In the split-second before full recognition hit her, she had a smile on her face, probably thinking I was one of her many adoring library patrons. When she figured out who I was, I was glad the smile didn’t completely slip.
“Steve, I didn’t expect to see you today,” she said as she took a few steps toward me and gave me an awkward hug. As we stepped away from each other, we took in our surroundings to confirm our friendly embrace had gone unnoticed. “Have you heard from Linda yet?” she finally asked.
“No,” I admitted. “I don’t deserve a call and don’t expect one. Still, I was hoping she’d made contact with someone at the library.”
“Not yet. We’re getting kind of worried. The administration is dealing with this as if she’s on emergency stress leave, so when she does hopefully return, her job will still be