Off the Beaten Path. John Schlarbaum
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door and wait for my signal.”
“What signal?”
“Believe me, you’ll know it when you see it.”
The last time I saw Doug look this confused was when he had thawed a package of hamburger and it stayed a grey colour, instead of the rosy red it should’ve turned. You could almost smell the wood burning as he decided if he should still use the meat for the Wednesday chili lunch special.
“Give up?” Corwin drunkenly asked.
“Not by a long shot, kid,” I said, reasserting myself in the conversation and Corwin’s personal space. “The question is, do you really want me to proceed?”
Corwin’s face tightened and his upper lip curled into a Billy Idol sneer. “Everybody’s waiting.”
So they were.
“I know you asked me for only one interesting unknown fact about Scott, however, like potato chips, one is never enough.” I stepped forward and began to ramp up my big finale that I knew would be a real show stopper. “What’s interesting about your friend, Corwin, is how nervous he seems tonight, even before you put him in my sights. I started to think, why would a best friend be jittery in the presence of his closest compadre? You are obviously more than just business associates or classmates. You’re buds who watch each other’s back, which is something you can’t put a price on, right?” Both Corwin and Scott were eyeing each other nervously. “You trust his stock advice, his fashion expertise. Yet, when sulking in your little Us Against Them support group earlier, I saw something in Scott’s eyes you missed, which I’m thinking is exactly what Scott is betting on.”
The stale living room air was still with expectation.
“Corwin, I don’t know what he’s talking about. He’s making this shit up as he goes,” Scott pleaded nervously.
Dawn and Doug had dutifully walked unnoticed to the front door, where they stood with their shoes and boots on. Doug pointed to my sneakers tucked under his arm, smiled and gave me the thumbs up. Dawn grinned and mouthed, “I like you a lot,” to which I mouthed back, “I know.” We shared one last moment of togetherness before Corwin broke the spell.
“I don’t like where you’re heading with this. There’s no way Scott is into me, so you can stop going there,” he warned.
I smiled and replied, “Scott and you? Please. First off, I think everyone here can tell he has better taste than that. Believe me, it wasn’t only his eyes that gave his secret away. It was the way he stood in the group, the way he held his glass, the times he laughed a bit too hard and the occasions when he listened a tad too attentively.” Another person in the room began to sway uncomfortably on their feet. “It was how he lightly touched the lower back of one of your group, as he made his way to the kitchen to fix two more drinks and again when delicately handing the second drink to the same party-goer. Of course, you were too busy to notice any of these romantic shenanigans going on. You can admit it, there’s no shame in being the last to know. I see this type of thing all the time.”
I never like to be the bearer of bad news, especially if it kills the mood of a party. In this case I had no choice, right?
“Are you saying Scott is fooling around with one of our friend’s girlfriends?” Corwin asked slowly.
“I’m new to this scene and don’t know everyone here, well, anyone really, but if you want to know if I believe Scott is behaving badly with that blonde in the red dress, standing beside my boy Herman, then the answer is yes.”
“The blonde in the red dress,” Corwin stammered incredulously, “is my girlfriend, Elizabeth.”
Simultaneously exhilarated and bored, I couldn’t be bothered to feign shock or outrage and shrugged my shoulders, as I moved my left foot back a step to counterbalance what I knew was coming next.
“You son of a bitch!” Corwin screamed, lowering his head and taking a run at me with all the finesse of a linebacker, which he no doubt was during his teenaged glory days.
My left leg withstood the human onslaught for a moment, before my tackler’s forward motion carried both of us toward the front foyer. Corwin’s downfall, literally and figuratively, was his earlier alcohol consumption. Like a drunk at a bar, he was all speed without agility, allowing me to easily grab his shirt and toss him aside to the floor. This slowed him temporarily and I soon had him bent over in a violent headlock, as I inched toward the now open front door.
“I’ll start the van! Hurry up loser,” Dawn taunted me from the sidewalk. “Oh, and we have to give Doug a ride home,” she laughed.
I was afraid I might do the ever-flailing Corwin real harm, and pushed the bulk of his body against the doorframe for support. I looked up to see our stunned hosts cutting their way through the crowd and decided it was time to go.
“One more thing you didn’t know, Corwin,” I said as Team Wallace was almost upon us. “Daniel here was the one who personally recommended you be laid off, because you’re such a toolbag.” I dragged out the last word: t-o-o-l-b-a-g.
After this completely fabricated utterance, I heard a collective gasp from the halted tag team and many of the living room spectators. During the following five seconds of shocked silence, I dropped Corwin and hastily exited the house, slamming the door closed behind me.
The last words I heard screamed were, “You son of a bitch!” and knew that all’s well that ends well.
“That was fantastic, don’t you think?” I asked as I climbed into the passenger seat, out of breath. “We should do this party crashing thing every week.”
“Are there any other customers likely to ask us over after this gets around, Dawn?” Doug began to laugh in the backseat.
Dawn quickly pulled away from the curb and sped down the deserted street.
“I can’t take you anywhere,” she said to me. “Either of you!” she added, looking up into the rearview mirror and beginning to smile ear to ear. “You owe me, Mr. Cassidy. Daniel was one of my biggest tippers and now he’ll never come back.”
“Never? Is that what you think?” I countered. “After meeting his wife, I’ll bet you’re his only daily oasis.”
“Do you really think so?” she asked hopefully.
“Sure,” I said, “just as soon as he’s out of the hospital or jail. I’m thinking he’ll be at his regular table Monday, after we return from our murderous vacation. If not, I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”
“Promise?”
“I promise with whipped cream and a cherry on top.”
Waiting at a stop light, we heard the first emergency response sirens wailing through the cool crisp night air.
“I always get confused,” Doug piped up. “Is that a police, fire or ambulance siren?”
Dawn and I glanced back and in unison said, “Yes.”
As the streetscape behind us was suddenly awash in red and blue lights, I remembered we hadn’t really eaten all night.
“I’m starved. Anyone up for a burger or wings?” I asked.
Chapter Three
Arranging personal time off is a chore. When panicked clients reach out at 5:00 p.m. on Friday, they’re not accustomed to hearing that I can’t do surveillance on a so-called injured employee. “I overheard he’s going to be playing shortstop in a baseball tournament tomorrow and Sunday! Please, I beg of you, Steve.” Depending on the sport, I might work out some deal. Baseball, yes. Hockey, maybe. Soccer, probably not. As a one-man operation, there are only so many hours in a day and as it is, I work seven of them each week. If I only clocked in the standard 40 hours, my take home pay would be halved.
Dawn’s restaurant schedule is infinitely more flexible. She