Serpents Rising. David A. Poulsen
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investigators much in the way of clues.”
“Maybe. But there’s something or someone out there that if we could just find it, or him, we could finish this thing. I’ve thought about it a lot. Sometimes I even wonder if we shouldn’t have looked a little closer at your wife.”
I stared at Cobb. “What do you mean?”
“I know you said she didn’t have any enemies but I sometimes wonder if there wasn’t something, maybe, in her past.”
I shook my head. “I know it’s tempting to think about especially when we’ve got nothing else, but as I said then, there just isn’t anybody who could possibly have any reason … Look, I know every guy thinks his wife is perfect, but —”
“Not every guy thinks that.”
“You’re right. And I know I sound like a parent with the smartest, best-looking kid in the world, but Donna was the person others came to when they were having some spat or other, they’d ask her for advice, like an unofficial counsellor. I just don’t think —”
“I know. I get that. But what about before she knew you? Something in her more distant past. Not necessarily something she did or even knew about. Maybe some guy that had the hots for her in college and years later the guy’s a whack job and decides to show her that nobody gets away with dumping him. I know it sounds far-fetched, but believe me, Adam, weirder shit than that — a lot weirder — has happened. And does happen.”
“Believe me, I’ve thought about it, gone through every moment of our lives together, every conversation … I just don’t buy it. Even her growing up. We talked about that, the way couples do. Donna was the braces and glasses kid in school, kind of geeky, she didn’t become the beautiful woman … okay, there I go again.”
“It’s okay. I saw pictures. She was beautiful.”
“But she wasn’t that way all her life is all I’m saying. She didn’t really bloom until she was pretty well through university. Didn’t even date much. And if there had been a guy like the kind you’re talking about, she’d have told me.”
Cobb took a last drink of tea. Nodded. Not looking convinced. “Anyway,” he started to rise. “We’ve got other things we have to take care of. Let’s go talk movies with Jackie Chow.”
The video store was as unpleasant as I’d remembered it. A big window that faced the street didn’t let much light in, mostly because it was covered in posters that announced “XXX Rated,” and had the word ADULT plastered all over it in foot-high capital letters and repeated at every angle possible, sometimes the letters overlapping. Artistic.
When we went into the store, a bell jangled to announce our arrival. We were the only people there. No one at the counter. I figured the jangling would bring Jackie Chow or someone at a dead run to head off shoplifters on a street where shoplifting was like breathing. I was wrong.
The store was decorated in a minimalist motif. A couple of posters on the chipped plaster walls, all of which needed painting. The most recent coat had been a light blue once, now it was the colour of washed-out denim. The floor, however, looked relatively clean, maybe because it’s easier, and cheaper, to sweep than it is to paint. There were a couple of aisles of empty DVD cases. Not a lot of stock. I was reminded that renting movies wasn’t the primary business conducted in the store.
Cobb checked out some of the merchandise while I read the titles on a flyer that was stuck on the wall with a single piece of aging Scotch tape. “Top 10 Adult Films of the Month.” No indication what month. Probably didn’t matter. The Virgin Surgeon, Depth Chart, and Insatiable Nurses were the top three. The latter had a promo line that read, “In this hospital anything goes and everybody comes.”
I quit reading. “This place always makes me want to have a long bath in disinfectant.”
“Roger that,” Cobb looked around, impatient. “Much as I’m enjoying all this exposure to culture, we need to keep moving. Is our boy here or not?”
On cue Jackie Chow came out of the back part of the store carrying a newspaper and a half-filled Styrofoam coffee cup. He stepped behind the counter and looked at us. “Gentlemen.”
He hadn’t changed much. Average height, still thin, too thin to be healthy. He was wearing a Les Miserables T-shirt. I guessed Value Village. Jackie Chow didn’t strike me as a guy who got to a lot of Broadway musicals. The makings of a moustache sat above his mouth, dark eyes set close together, grey ball cap with the letter L sitting fashionably off-centre on his head.
I wasn’t sure he recognized me at first. I stepped closer to the counter.
“Hey, Jackie. Adam Cullen. Writer … freelance. I interviewed you a couple of times. Drug stuff. Crack and a few things.”
Chow raised a pair of glasses to his face, studied me, took the glasses off again and set them on the counter. “Sure, I remember. Newspaper dude. Didn’t use my name. Kept your word. That was good.”
“Yeah. Jackie, this is Mike Cobb. I’m helping him find a kid who’s missing. Might be in some trouble.”
Chow smirked. “Most of the kids around here are missing. A lot of them are in trouble.” He kept looking at me. Hadn’t glanced at Cobb. “Cop.” Cobb pulled his wallet and showed Chow his PI card. Chow didn’t bother to put his glasses on and barely glanced at the card. “I’m pretty busy here so if you don’t mind —”
“I can see how busy you are and Mr. Cullen and I don’t want to keep you from all that industry any longer than necessary.” Cobb set an elbow on the counter, just grazing the eye glasses. “Just like you to take the time to look at a picture.” He held out the photo of Jay Blevins.
Chow glanced at it. “Don’t know ’im.”
“Yeah, maybe try again. With your glasses on. Just in case.”
Chow looked at Cobb. Not scared but wary. Cobb straightened, lifted the glasses, held them out.
Chow took the glasses, set them on his face, looked at the photo, then handed it back to Cobb. “Like I said, I don’t know the kid.”
Cobb said, “So he’s never come in here to buy any ‘movies’?”
Chow looked down at the counter then up at me. “I ain’t seen this kid. Here or anywhere else. And I got work to do.”
I moved closer. “Jackie, you hear about what went down last night?”
A flicker of interest. “As in?”
“As in a couple of dealers getting wasted.”
Slow nod. “Yeah, I might have heard about that. This kid have something to do with it?”
“He’s what the police call a person of interest. We’d like to find him before they do.”
“If the kid had anything to do with those two guys getting blown away, the cops are the least of his problems.”
“Any idea who might be a bigger problem for him?”
“Nope,” Chow shook his head. Too quickly. “But the word is that the people who are behind the residence where the two gentlemen were shot are not happy. And when they aren’t happy, it’s not a good thing.” Chow looked at Cobb for the first time. “For anybody.”
Cobb pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket, dropped it on the counter. “If he happens to drop in, or if you see him somewhere or hear about him, I’d appreciate a call.”
Chow picked up the card, crumpled it in his fist. “Nice chatting with you gentlemen.” Still avoiding eye contact with Cobb.
“Thanks, Jackie,” I said.
I looked at Cobb to see if he had anything else he wanted to say or ask. He turned away, not doing a real good job of hiding his disgust. Back out on the street, both of us took deep breaths. Like we were trying to get the place out