Double, Double Cross

Foreward: I have always been a fan of Mickey Spillane’s, Mike Hammer books. In fact, I got in trouble in high school for doing a book report on, “My Gun is Quick.” So, when ChloeTzang came up with an idea for Mike Hammer inspired stories, I jumped at the chance. My thanks to her for a wonderful idea.

I hope you enjoy my submission for, “Hammered,” and as always, I love reading the comments so please keep’em coming.

*****

Double, Double Cross

Ever notice that air conditioners never take a crap in the winter? It was summer in Chicago, and so damn hot you could light a cigarette by just sticking it out the window. The small air conditioner I had in my office gave up the ghost two days prior, with a death rattle and a groan. I could literally feel the sweat dripping from my armpits.

I would have preferred to be sitting on a stool in Plato’s Place sipping down a cool one, but unfortunately, or fortunately, whichever way you wanted to look at it, I couldn’t leave. I was waiting for my one o’clock appointment, and there was no way I was going to miss getting a gander at the dame who was coming to see me. The last time I’d heard a voice as sultry as the one on the phone, Lauren Bacall was telling Bogie to pucker up and whistle. I didn’t even get her name. She hung up before giving it to me. All I knew so far was that her husband was missing.

I could hear her high heels echoing in the hall and saw her shadow as she stopped to read the black lettering printed across the frosted glass of my door, ‘Blake McDaniels, Private Investigations.’

I quickly buttoned the top button of my shirt and straightened my tie as the door opened. I’ve seen a lot of beautiful broads in my day, but this one was straight out “Vogue,” or “Vanity Fair.”

I stand six-two, and she looked to be only four or five inches shorter. Her long blond hair was professionally styled to frame a gorgeous face with high cheekbones and flashing blue eyes that could devour a man’s soul like a Doberman with a piece of raw meat. The expensive women’s suit she wore did little to disguise the body it covered, and the longest legs I’d ever seen disappeared into a shortened skirt to hide treasures a man would kill for.

I stood and stretched out my hand as she crossed the ten feet between the door and my desk on the other side of the room. “Blake McDaniels,” I announced, “Mrs…”

“Richardson,” she replied while sitting in the chair opposite my desk and crossing those long legs, “Mrs. Arthur Richardson.” I could see her amusement with the shock on my face. “Yes, that’s right, Mr. McDaniels, the same Arthur Richardson who made a fool of you a couple of years ago.”

She wasn’t kidding. Her asshole husband was embezzling funds from his company. His business partner knew it but couldn’t prove anything, so he hired me. I ran a con on Richardson that forced his hand and caught him with it in the cookie jar. He was indicted and went to court for what everyone thought was a slam-dunk. Unfortunately, he’d hired a slick out-of-town shyster who discredited me, the star witness, and got Richardson off. Not only was it bad for my ego, it was bad for business. It took me over a year to live it down.

“I have to say, Mr. McDaniels, you’re exactly what I imagined a PI would look like.”

“Oh, and what is that?”

“Tall, nice physique, kind of intimidating–that nose looks like it’s been broken more than once, and the scar above your left eye and the other one on your cheek tells me you take no guff from anyone.”

I had to chuckle. She had me pegged pretty good. “So, Mrs. Richardson, how can I help you?”

“I’m offering you an opportunity to balance the scales, Mr. McDaniels. Somehow, Art got wind that I was going to divorce him and took off for parts unknown. He doesn’t care about me, but a divorce will financially cost him dearly and he knows it.”

My ears stood up when she mentioned costing that jackass money. “How long’s he been gone?”

“A little over a month.”

“Did you go to the cops?”

“Yes, they had me make out a missing person’s report but they didn’t seem too interested. Like me, they assume he’s playing house with his girlfriend, somewhere. They did show me how to download something to my phone. They said it would show me the location of his cell as soon as he used it, but nothing has ever shown up.”

“I know you don’t accept infidelity cases but you do take missing persons, so here’s my proposition, I’ll pay you twenty thousand dollars plus expenses to find my husband, and a bonus of fifty thousand dollars if you just happen to find evidence of him cheating on me at the same time.”

“Do you suspect him of cheating?”

“Oh, I know he’s cheating. He has at least two mistresses, and I’m sure he’s shacked up with one of them as we speak. Which one? I don’t know and I don’t care; I just want him found so I can have him served.”

I reached over and pulled a contract out of the bottom drawer of my desk and filled it in to reflect her offer, twenty grand to find her hubby, another fifty if I get evidence of infidelity, and a five thousand dollar retainer to get started. She signed without even reading it. “I don’t have the full five thousand with me,” she said while digging the cash from her purse, “but I’ll have someone drop it off to you tomorrow afternoon, if that’s okay?”

“I do take checks,” I informed her.

“I want you to start right away. I don’t want you having to wait for a check to clear,” she explained.

I took the three grand in cash and gave her a receipt, then spent the next hour asking questions. Did he have any friends or relatives he might stay with? How much cash did he take? Did she know where he might have more money stashed? Did he own property out of state? Did he drive his car?

She gave me his driver’s license number, all the credit card numbers, social security, and bank accounts she knew of, but suspected he had others she didn’t know about. She knew nothing about any of his business dealings or associates. I knew he had been forced out of the company he was embezzling from, but didn’t keep track of him after the trial.

I watched her ass sway from side to side as Mrs. Richardson left my office and noticed no panty lines under that tight skirt. Damn, she had been sitting there commando the whole time. I wondered if it was because of the heat, or was she trying to use her feminine charms as an incentive to take her case? If that was it, she needn’t have bothered. I was going to serve those papers on him myself when I found him, just to see the look on the SOB’s face.

Off and on, I had been working on another case for myself. Our state’s Lieutenant Governor was as crooked as they come. A couple of months prior, I’d gotten an anonymous tip on a real estate scheme he was involved in. Just a little preliminary investigating convinced me the tip was legit. I hate dirty cops and politicians, but I had to be extremely careful; I was playing in the big boy’s sandbox. If I showed my hand before getting proof, I could lose my license and possibly wind up behind bars myself. No thanks!

The missing person’s case would give me a little distraction as well as let my scent fade in case somebody from the LG’s office was sniffing around; besides, I owed Richardson. He made a monkey out of me once; it was time to return the favor.

I got on the computer and started a rundown using what info I got from the wife, but came up empty. I didn’t think it would be easy. The asshole was smart. I made the mistake of underestimating him once; I wasn’t going to do it again.

I needed a starting point, a lead of some kind; I’d take whatever I could get. Where better to start than at the end. It had been two years since I’d been in the offices of Richardson and Walker Industrial Lighting, although now it was just Walker’s Industrial Lighting. From her expression, I knew his secretary recognized me as I walked in. I went for a business card.

“I know who you are, Mr. McDaniels, but I don’t see your name on Mr. Walker’s appointment calendar and I honestly don’t expect to see it there any time in the future, either.”

I couldn’t say I was surprised at the reception. “Look, doll, just tell him I know a way to get some revenge on our mutual nemesis.”

She just stared at me for a few seconds. “Go sit over there,” she commanded, “I’ll see if he’ll talk to you.”

Not knowing how long he’d keep me waiting, or even if he’d see me at all, I took a seat and reached for a magazine. I barely had time to open it when I heard his door open on the other side of the room. I looked up as he stood there with a scowl. “What’s this about, McDaniels, did you get our money back?”

“No,” I replied, “that’s probably gone forever, but with your help, we may be able to get some revenge.”

He turned and retreated back into his office, but left the door open. I took that as an invitation. I walked in and took a seat as he sat behind his desk with that same scowl on his face. “I don’t even know why I’m listening to you. The last time I did that you assured me the company would recover the money that asshole embezzled. Not only did we NOT recover any of the money, but I had to pay your fee on top of it, so say what you have to say, and it better be good; otherwise, I might just have security throw your ass out the window.”

I knew he was pissed, but come on, as far as I knew they didn’t even have security. I wasn’t about to antagonize him, though; I was hoping he could give me a lead.

I told him about Richardson’s wife hiring me to find him and told him why. “I’m hoping to serve him with those divorce papers myself,” I told him. “When I do, I can always say they’re with your compliments, as well.” I wasn’t really expecting it, but that brought a small smile to his face.

“What do you need from me?”

“Anything you might know about his habits when he worked here: people he knew, places he went to get away from it all, anything you can think of that might help me locate him, maybe a little hide-a-way where he took his women. His wife thinks he’s shacked up with a girlfriend but doesn’t know who it could be,” I said.

“Shit, guys like that go through mistresses like an alligator through a swamp,” he said. “I know of two women he was banging back then, but that was two years ago; who knows how many girlfriends he’s had since then?”

“Anything you can come up with,” I reiterated. “An old girlfriend might know his new girlfriend. You know what they say about a woman scorned.”

He reached for the intercom button. “Dorie, could you come in here for a minute, please?” Just a few seconds later, Walker’s good-looking secretary was standing at his desk, smiling at him while glaring at me. Damn, she was good at that. I’d bet she was one hell of a Girl-Friday, not to mention a tiger in the sack. I wondered if Walker had intimate knowledge of both.

“Dorie, you had more contact with the two women Richardson was seeing than I did. Do you remember their names?

“I have their names, addresses, and phone numbers, Mr. Walker.”

We both looked at her in shock. “He used to have me send them flowers. I have their info in the computer. He also used to have me dial their number for him before he’d pick up the phone.”

I’d just hit the motherlode. I got excited and pushed for more. “What about a secret little love nest, someplace he’d take his honey overnight, someplace where his wife could never find them?”

“Sorry,” she said, snidely, “I don’t know of any place like that.”

“Dorie, can you print out everything you have on the two women and anything else you think might be instrumental in finding Richardson. He’s disappeared and we’re going to help McDaniels find him.”

She looked at her boss with an expression that said, ‘I’ll do it, but I don’t like it.’ She turned and walked back out to her desk.

Walker turned his attention back to me. “Okay, hot-shot, Dorie will have a printout for you. Leave her your card in case she comes up with anything else. You know I’m only doing this because I’d like to see Richardson hurting, right? Don’t get the impression that I think you’re anything more than an asshole.”

I stood up without offering him my hand and joined Dorie at her desk. She already had the printout.

“This is everything I have,” she said, handing me a piece of paper.

I reached into the pocket of my sport jacket and took out the same business card she had refused when I first walked in. “Your boss said I should give you this in case you come up with anything more,” I said as I laid it down on her desk.

I was feeling pretty good. I at least had a lead, maybe two. The outside heat hit me like a blast furnace as I left the air-conditioned building. I was thinking about a quick stopover at Plato’s when I got an eerie feeling that I was being watched. If my twenty years as a PI has taught me anything, it’s never to ignore a gut feeling.

I subtlety looked around as I lit a cigarette. I didn’t see any suspicious looking characters, at least no more than you usually find in downtown Chicago, but I couldn’t shake the sensation. If I was being followed, the last thing I wanted to do was lead them straight to my only two leads. I decided to go back to my office.

As I walked in, the first thing I did was take off my coat and shoulder holster. I took my Beretta and stuck it in the top drawer of my desk then went to the top drawer of my filing cabinet and grabbed my bottle of Dewar’s White Label and a glass. I had to think. I only had two cases, Richardson’s and the Lieutenant Governor’s. Then it hit me. Of course, if I was hiding from someone, I’d want to know what they were doing to find me. Richardson was having his wife followed. That way he’d always be one step ahead of her. Damn, the S.O.B. was smart. I looked around my office. Could he have had it bugged while I was out? At that point, I decided paranoia was my friend.

I put everything back on and left my glass of Dewar’s on my desk as I left my office. I walked around the corner to a little diner for a bite to eat. When I was done I walked into the back, past the men’s room sign, and out the back door. I doubled back to my car and drove to a little-known electronics shop. Angelo, Angie, for short, was always my ace in the hole. He heard the little bell over the door as I walked in and came out from the back room to greet me.

“Hi, Blake, what’s shaking?”

“Hi, Angie, ever had the feeling you were being watched?”

He laughed. “Not in my business.”

I took out my phone and laid it on the counter in front of him. “Could you scan that for me? I think I’m being followed. They may also have bugged my office, I’m not sure.”

Angie plugged my phone into his computer and ran a check. “The phone is fine, Blake.”

Good news, I told myself. “Okay, thanks. Is there any way you can come over to my office and scan it?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, looking at the clock on his wall. “I can leave here in an hour.”

“That’d be great, Angie, thanks. I’ll be there.”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d scanned my place for bugs. We had a regular routine. He would say he was in the neighborhood and stopped in to say hello. We’d carry on a regular conversation while he scanned the room. That way, if he found a bug, we wouldn’t tip off whoever left it.

Sure enough, he found it in fifteen minutes. It was very professionally planted in the headrail of my Venetian blinds. Whoever Richardson hired was no amateur. We left the bug in place.

“Come on, Angie, I’ll walk you downstairs,” I said for the benefit of our spy. Once I got in the hallway and out of the range of my eavesdropper, I called my client. She answered on the third ring.

“That was fast. I only left your office a few hours ago.”

“Well, I have good news and bad news, Mrs. Richardson.” I heard her sigh.

“Okay, tell me the good news first.”

“I have two promising leads,” I told her.

“That IS good news. What’s the bad news?”

“Your husband is having you followed.”

“What?” How do you know?”

“In this business, you develop kind of a sixth sense, sometimes. Mine told me I was being watched earlier today. On a hunch, I had my office swept for listening devices and found one.”

“How do you know it’s Art? Maybe it’s from one of your other cases.”

“Think about it, Mrs. Richardson, what better way to keep you from finding him than by knowing your every move.”

“That sneaky son of a bitch,” she growled.

“Your husband’s no dummy, that’s for sure. Anyway, we can actually use this to our advantage.”

“How?”

I explained my plan but it was getting late so we decided to wait until the following day. At ten o’clock the next morning, she came storming into my office.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were the same PI who caused all the trouble a couple years ago?” She yelled. I quietly handed her a burner phone with a note telling her to use it from now on if she needed to call me. She nodded her head acknowledging she understood and put the rest of my retainer on my desk before continuing. “If I had known who you were I would never have hired you. Well, I’m going to fix that right now… YOU’RE FIRED!”

“Wait a minute,” I begged, but she turned and walked out, slamming the door behind her, damn near breaking the glass. “Shit,” I said aloud while leaning back in my chair with a big smile.

I didn’t like Derick Knutson; he was a private dick. I use that term for him, specifically because he gave private investigators a bad name. Mrs. Richardson was on her way to his office where she’d give him a fake name and a line of bullshit. After wasting a bit of his time, she’d flash her baby blues at him and go, leaving him to wonder what it was all about. Of course, whoever was following her would assume she fired me and hired him. Like a tick on a dog, they’d concentrate all their efforts on Knutson and leave me alone. I still had to give it some time to make sure my plan worked, so I ran out to do some chores before stopping off at Plato’s Place for a few cold ones.

Stan, my favorite bartender, saw me walk in and had a frosty Mic waiting by the time I sat down. We’d known each other for a long time. He even dated my ex-wife for a little while. We shot the bull for a couple of minutes before he got busy and actually had to go to work. That left me to ponder my new case. The usual war cry in my profession is, “Follow the money.” Unfortunately, I tried that two years ago and got nothing. Richardson was the best I’d ever seen at burying dead presidents.

The thing is, everybody’s got a weakness, a vice of some sort that makes them vulnerable. From what I knew of Richardson, his appeared to be women. Instead of trying to follow the money again, I decided following the trail of broken hearts would be a better use of my time. As I mentioned to Walker, you know what they say about a woman scorned… speaking of which…

I wondered what Stacy was doing? Forty minutes later, I found myself ringing her doorbell. The door opened and an absolute vision of feminine pulchritude stood on the other side. With her natural red hair and sparkling green eyes, Stacy stood out in any crowd. The black, slinky dress and high heels showed off a figure that would rival any supermodel.

“Damn,” if you weren’t my ex-wife, I’d drop to one knee and propose right now.”

She chuckled, “Excuses, excuses.”

“I’m sorry, Stace, I should have called. I didn’t know you had a date.”

“Yeah,” she said, opening the door a little wider. “Come on in; I just have to get my purse.”

I stepped inside and looked around for her date but didn’t see anyone. “I don’t want to intrude, Stace, I’ll take off.”

“Not without me, you won’t.” She stood there, looking at me with purse in hand. “Have you decided where we’re going yet?”

I was at a complete loss. “Ah, I don’t get it. You’re all dolled up. Don’t you have a date?”

“I’m dressed up for you, you big dummy; now let’s go, I’m getting hungry.”

I took her by the arm as we walked to my car. I kept asking myself, how the hell did she know I was coming? I’m a detective, it’s my job to solve mysteries and I wasn’t going to be able to sleep until I solved that one.

I waited until we were in the car before asking. “Stacy, how the hell did you know I was coming?”

“Telepathy,” she said.

“Telepathy?”

“Yeah, I felt like going out tonight so I transmitted the thought into the Cosmos. It only works for people within your spiritual orbit, so I knew you’d be the one to receive my thoughts.”

Okay, I knew she just adlibbed all that psychobabble which meant she had no intention of telling me, so I’d just have to figure it out by myself. “Yeah… right,” I said, which solicited a laugh from my beautiful passenger. We had ordered by the time it struck me. “Oh, of course, I mentioned it to Stan as I was leaving Plato’s. He called you.” She didn’t say anything, just gave me a big grin.

Any time Stacy and I got together, we could pretty much count on sex as being part of the equation. We both got horny as hell by simply being in each other’s company. By the time we got back to her apartment, we were tearing our clothes off.

I’m not quite sure how it happened, but somehow we were in a sixty-nine position when we hit the bed. Stacy’s mouth had already engulfed my cock and I was looking up into her beautiful pussy. I reached up and pulled her butt cheeks apart to give my tongue better access. Briefly, her lips came to rest as she let out a sensuous moan when I started to reciprocate. Stacy came first, then second and third, but I was getting close. I told her but she just kept going until…

“Oh, oh God!” I felt her lips tighten around my shaft to keep anything from escaping as she milked me of every drop. I had my eyes closed and was still struggling for a normal breath when I felt Stacy get off the bed and go to the washroom. A couple minutes later she returned with a warm, moist washcloth and gently cleaned me up.

“Are you spending the night?”

“If that’s an invitation, I accept,” I replied.

“Good, I’ll give you twenty minutes to recoup, then I want you to make love to me,” she said while kissing my neck.

“You keep doing that and it won’t take twenty minutes.”

She smiled. “And since when do you need an invitation?”

I rolled her over onto her back and gently started sucking her nipples. It wasn’t long before she started to squirm. I could feel her fingers in my hair as I slowly started to work my way south. Her eyes were closed tight but she must have sensed it when I started to maneuver into place.

“Are… are you hard already?”

I didn’t verbally answer, I just tenderly slipped inside of her. Her gorgeous tits reached up as she arched her back in response.

“Oh, oh, oh, God, Blake, yes, slowly, please, with love, please.”

It was around two in the morning by the time we both ran out of gas. Stacy curled up in my arms as we slipped off into dreamland. I was in that twilight zone just before sleep overtakes you when I heard her mumble, “I love you, Blake.”

*****

As I expected, the bug in my office was gone by the following morning. Presumably, it was hidden away in some cozy little spot in Knutson’s office. I’d wished I had time to bask in my cleverness, but if Richardson was as smart as I thought he was, my little ploy wouldn’t fool him forever so I had to get a move on.

I had two names, Janet Stenson and Cathy Hyer. I did a complete rundown on both. From their driver’s licenses, I saw Stenson had moved to a little classier neighborhood than before. I found their Facebook pages and studied their faces so I’d know them on sight and took note of anything else I thought might be of use.

From their social media pages, it looked like Hyer had moved on. I saw a couple of guys she seemed friendly with, but Janet Stenson didn’t mention anyone with a “Y” chromosome. That and the fact that she moved to a swankier pad made me wonder if she was still seeing Richardson. It was certainly worth a short trip to see what I could come up with. A grabbed a small digital voice recorder and stuck it in my pocket. They can be handy in all kinds of situations.

I figured anyone who was mixed up with Richardson when I was trying to take him down would know who I was, so there was no reason to pose as a vacuum salesman as I rang Stenson’s bell. It took her a few seconds to recognize me after opening the door. “What do you want?”

“Ms. Stenson,” I greeted with a nod, “may I come in?”

Now, there were a few different ways this could go. If she knew nothing or wasn’t seeing Richardson anymore, she’d probably say no and close the door. If she was still with him and knew the wife was on the prowl, one of two things were about to happen, if she wasn’t too smart she’d slam the door in my face; if she was more intelligent than that, she’d invite me in and try to pump me for information that she could relay to her boyfriend.

“Yeah, sure, come on in,” she replied while standing aside.

I didn’t see anything about a job when I looked her up. Whoever her sugar-daddy was, he had money. The apartment was a good size with some rather expensive looking furniture. “Nice place.”

“Thanks,” she said, abruptly. “Now, what did you want to see me about?”

I glanced over to the leather couch. “May I have a seat?”

She sighed with impatience. “I guess,” she conceded.

I walked over and sat down. I noticed her phone on the coffee table. What I wouldn’t give to have a look, but I couldn’t think of any way to get her out of the room for that long. “Ms. Stenson… may I call you Janet?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Ah hah, she suddenly became friendlier. She was going to pump me for info, but she was a rank amateur next to me. “Janet, Arthur Richardson is missing. His wife is terribly worried and hired me to find him.”

“Can I get you a beer?” she interrupted.

That surprised me a little. I figured she needed a moment to plan her strategy, or maybe she thought a beer would loosen my tongue and she’d get more out of me that way; in any event, it would give me an opportunity. “That would be great, thanks.” As soon as she disappeared into the kitchen, I took the recorder out of my pocket, turned it on, and shoved it under the couch.

It was voice-activated and would only record someone talking. I hoped that she’d call Richardson as soon as I left. I had one more trick up my sleeve as well.

She was back in no time with the beer. She laid a leather coaster down on the glass coffee table in front of me and set a bottle of Michelob on it. “Now, I don’t know what help I can be, Mr. McDaniels. Art was a friend but I haven’t seen him in years. His wife must be frantic. Do you have any leads?”

“Not yet, I was hoping you might be able to help me. Let’s be honest, Janet, you were a lot more than just a friend. With all his money, I doubt that a man like Richardson would take a chance using hotel rooms. My guess is that he has a nice little hide-a-way for extracurricular activities, someplace out of the way where no one would see him.”

“So you don’t suspect he was kidnapped or anything like that. You think he’s hiding from his wife on purpose?”

“I’m not ruling anything out at this point. I really would like to find his love-nest though. If he’s not there it could indicate foul play.”

“And what happens if you find him?”

“His wife’s no fool, Janet. If he’s shacked up with somebody, more power to him. She just wants to make sure he’s okay.”

“Ah huh,” she uttered, letting me know she knew I was lying. “Tell me, Mr. McDaniels, why did she hire you? I mean, there must be a hundred private eyes in Chicago.”

“Janet, despite your boyfriend’s expensive mouthpiece getting him off, I did get the goods on him. I’m good at my job. I think Mrs. Richardson recognizes that.”

“I see,” she acknowledged. “Well, I wish I could help you, but like I said, I haven’t seen Art in years and we never went to any love-nest together.”

I was surprised the mistress of a man like Richardson wasn’t a better liar, but I knew that was my cue. I took a swig from my beer, stood up, and laid a business card on the table. “Well, if you think of anything…”

“I’ll be sure to call you,” she said, finishing my sentence for me. She walked me to the door, said goodbye, and shut the door. I knew her next move would be to call Richardson. The phone I saw didn’t belong in a plush apartment. It was a cheap burner.

When I first arrived and parked my car down the street, I noticed the apartment building had a lower level parking garage with a large overhead door. I saw a tenant use an automatic garage door opener when he drove inside. I was betting that a classy joint like that had a marked parking space for every tenant. All I had to do was get inside. For that, I popped my trunk and reached in for my Captain America magic decoder ring. All right, it wasn’t a ring and it had nothing to do with Captain America, but that’s the way I thought of it.

It was actually about the same size as a pack of cigarettes. Most homes in the area had pretty good door locks, not that I couldn’t pick them, but it could be time-consuming. They also had attached garages with automatic overhead door openers that work on radio frequencies. Most people seldom locked the connecting door so once inside the garage you could simply walk inside the house.

I bought my little gadget a few years prior at Angie’s electronics shop. All I had to do was press a button as somebody was using their garage door opener and my little toy would recognize the frequency and duplicate it. After that, I could use it to get in and out of their garage anytime I wanted. All I had to do was wait outside Janet’s building until one of the tenants came home.

That could have been hours, but my luck was holding. Ten minutes after leaving her apartment, a Beemer pulled up. I pressed the button and saw the red indicator light up, showing me it worked. I waited a few minutes before going inside then closed the door behind me. I was right about the parking spaces; it took me only a minute to find Janet’s.

“Jesus,” I said out loud, “a Mercedes Cabriolet convertible, she must be something else in the sack.” Now all I had to do was find a place under the car with enough metal to hold a magnetic tracking device while going over bumps. On a whim, I tried the door, and to my shock, it opened… stupid woman. I reached under the seat and attached the device to the inside of the frame. Once again, it was a waiting game.

My tracking receiver would notify me as soon as Janet’s car would move, so, as not to appear suspicious, I’d drive around the block a few times before finding another parking spot to wait again.

Night had fallen hours earlier and I was beginning to think I was going to wind up sleeping in my car when I heard my receiver start to beep. I pulled out to follow and saw her taillights as she was pulling away. I shadowed her to a grocery store only a few blocks from her building. I pulled out my binoculars and watched as she entered the well-lit building. I saw her grab one of the large shopping carts, which I assumed, meant she’d be in there a while. It was my opportunity to get my recorder back.

I hurried back to the apartment building, used my magic decoder ring to enter through the garage, and took the elevator to the second floor. Home locks can be tough to pick, but the locks developers buy for apartment buildings are child’s play. I took a lock rake and torsion spring out of my pocket and was inside her apartment in less than twenty seconds. I wasted no time retrieving my recorder and was back in my car in no time.

There were several recordings registered, but most of them were only a few seconds long. I figured she must talk to herself when she’s alone. The first recording, however, was a little over eight minutes. I knew it would only be one side of the conversation but I was hoping for a miracle and pretty much got it.

“Hi, it’s me… Yeah, well it is important. You’ll never guess who was just here asking questions… Blake McDaniels… Yep. He said your wife hired him to find you because she was worried about you… Yeah, I know… I don’t know. He didn’t seem like that kind of guy, but it’s possible, I guess.

“When?… Okay. What should I get?… Well, I don’t know. Can you even cook on a boat, I have no idea… Okay, I’ll go tonight. I don’t want to leave right now in case he’s still out there… Of course, I’ll make sure he doesn’t follow me. I’ll leave like at three in the morning. There’ll only be a few cars on the road so I’ll be able to tell if someone’s following me.

“What about the apartment, my car, all my things?… Okay, I’ll see you bright and early, Friday… I love you, honey.”

I didn’t need Sherlock Holmes-like powers of deduction to figure out they were running. I glanced at my watch. It was eleven o’clock Wednesday evening; I had twenty-eight hours to get everything set up, but there was nothing more I could do at that time so I went home for some shuteye. The next morning, I called Mrs. Richardson.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Richardson, it’s Blake McDaniels. Would you be able to drop those divorce papers off in my office sometime today? If not, I can swing by and pick them up.”

“You found him… already?” she almost shrieked.

I never gave assurances to clients until I had everything sewn uptight. “Not exactly,” I told her, “but I have a very good lead. If it pans out, I’ll be eye to eye with your soon-to-be-ex tomorrow morning.”

“Nobody gives him those papers but me,” she stated.

“Uh, no, that’s not a good idea. In the first place, I’m going to be leaving about two-thirty in the morning. In the second place, I have no idea what your husband’s reaction is going to be. He could very possibly have a gun, I don’t know, but I don’t want to have to worry about you AND me.”

“I don’t care. That’s why I hired you. Just make sure you bring your gun with you. I doubt he’d get violent though. He’ll be pissed, but I don’t think he’d really try anything. In any event, I’m going to be there. I’m going to hand him those papers while looking him straight in the eye!”

She sounded like a woman on a mission, and she wasn’t going to be persuaded otherwise. “Okay,” I said with a sigh, “but you’ll have to be in my office at two-thirty tonight. You can’t be late.”

“I won’t be late, Mr. McDaniels. I’ll be there.”

I still had a couple more phone calls to make, but after that, I didn’t really have anything else to do. I called Stacy to see if she was available for lunch. I met her at De Mars, a nice little restaurant a couple blocks from where she worked. She was a little quieter than normal when I sat down.

“Hi, gorgeous, how’s my girl?”

“Eh,” she said with a sideways nod.

“What’s the matter, babe, having a bad day?”

“I’ll tell you after we order,” she replied.

We’d met there for lunch on a bunch of occasions so it didn’t take long for us to order. Our waitress wrote everything down on her pad and walked away with the menus. She came back in just a moment with our coffees and told us our orders would be up shortly.

“Okay, doll face, what’s got you so glum?”

She picked up her coffee cup with both hands and stared at it for a few seconds. I was getting the impression that whatever the problem was, it was important.

“The other night you made a comment. You said if I wasn’t already your ex-wife you’d propose.”

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever really thought about it, proposing I mean?”

Her question took me aback. As the song says, ‘We got married in a fever.’ In those days, I was either on a case or had my dick inside Stacy’s pussy. We had been introduced by a friend. That same night we destroy a set of motel sheets and damn near broke the bed. Four months later we were saying, “I do,” in a Vegas wedding chapel with a guy dressed as Elvis announcing us man and wife. We made it for almost a year before we both realized my profession and marriage wasn’t a good mix.

“Stacy, we tried that, remember? I’m still a PI. I still keep crazy hours. Hell, tonight I’m leaving at two-thirty in the morning to track down a missing person. I don’t even know where I’m going or how long before I’m back.”

“I… well, it’s just that we’re older now, Blake, more experienced. When we got married the first time, I wasn’t prepared. I mean… I knew what you did for a living, but I didn’t know what it entailed; now I do. Blake, I’ve gone out with quite a few guys since our divorce, but I never found anyone to even begin to take your place. I… I just can’t seem to get you out of my system.”

I was dumbfounded. I had no idea what to say. Still in both hands, she raised her cup and took a sip.

“Well, what do you think? This is where you’re supposed to tell me you still love me,” she said, tentatively.

“The truth is, Stacy, I do still love you. It’s because I love you that I think it’s a bad idea. Do you really think you wouldn’t worry when I’m out on a case? You don’t think you’d torture yourself constantly wondering where I am and if I’m okay?”

She looked up at me. “I have a friend at work. Her husband is a firefighter. They’ve been married for twenty years. She told me how she copes. If she can do it, I can do it, Blake.”

Just then our food arrived. The thought of being married to Stacy again wasn’t distasteful but I honestly had my doubts. “I’ve got to give it some thought, Stace. Give me some time.”

She looked down again with a sad smile as if she knew my answer would be no. “No pressure, Blake, I just thought it was worth mentioning.”

It kind of put a damper on the rest of our lunch. I gave her a peck on the lips as we said goodbye and told her I really would think about what she said. It seemed to perk her up a little.

I went back to my office and ran down my list of things to do one more time. I had one more confirming phone call to make, but I wouldn’t do that until late that night.

I decided to go home and see if I could grab a little shut-eye. It would be my only chance for a while. Unfortunately, Stacy’s luncheon proposal kept playing in my head like a song you can’t stop thinking about. Around eight o’clock, I finally gave up. I was getting hungry, anyway. I started a pot of coffee and popped a frozen dinner in the microwave. I turned the TV to the menu and saw the oldies station was showing several back-to-back episodes of Mike Hammer.

It was one in the morning by the time Mike ran out of cases to solve, so I jumped in the car and headed for the office. I had one more call to make.

“Everything set?… Great. I’ll see you at the party… Thanks.”

I made one more check to make sure I had everything I needed, then sat back and waited for my client. She showed up ten minutes early with a legal-sized manila envelope in her hand. After I gave her a short rundown on what we would be doing, she asked if I had my gun on me. I assured her I never leave home without it.

At two-thirty we were sitting outside Janet’s apartment building. I reached in the back, got my homemade bracket, and secured it in place on the center console, then opened my laptop and snapped it into the bracket.

“What are you doing?”

“This is how we’re going to track her. I have a program that works in conjunction with the transmitter I planted in her car. We’ll let her get a couple miles ahead before we start following her. She’ll never know we’re behind her.”

“Jesus, I’m impressed. It’s like I’m riding with James Bond,” Mrs. Richardson said with a small chuckle.

“Not quite,” I replied. “Bond’s tracking device had a limited range. This works off satellites. Our unsuspecting prey could drive to Montana and we’d never lose her.

“Right on time,” I said as the large garage door opened. We watched as the silver Cabriolet pulled out. I checked the screen on my laptop and saw the tracking device already had her pinpointed on Michigan Avenue, heading north. “As Sherlock would say, Mrs. Richardson, the game’s afoot.”

I watched as she made a left on Division before we pulled out. When she hopped on I-90 north, I figured we were in for a drive. It was a little after five when we pulled into Rockford. I saw she stopped, most likely for a bathroom break. We did the same. I got my passenger and me a cup of coffee and saw Janet was on the move again when I slid into the driver’s seat.

This time we were on a four-lane country road, so we had to make sure not to get too close. We had been driving for twenty minutes before we saw another car. By that time we were almost to the Wisconsin line. Just before crossing over, Janet turned left onto a two-lane blacktop. She drove a short distance, made one more turn, and stopped.

“We’re there,” I said.

“Where, I don’t see anything but trees.”

“There’s a small lake just ahead. She stopped at thirteen-fifty-eight Pier Drive. It’s right on the lake.”

“Well, come on; let’s go, the sooner we get this over with, the better.”

We drove a little further until we spotted Janet’s car. I pulled over and shut off the engine so they wouldn’t hear us coming. We walked up to the cottage. I put my ear to the door and heard a man’s voice. I slowly tried the doorknob, it was open. I gave my companion a nod and we burst in.

Janet screamed and I thought Richardson was going to crap his pants. He angrily looked at his girlfriend, “You led them right to me,” he screamed.”

She was at a loss for words. Her mouth was moving, but nothing was coming out. It really seemed like their level of terror didn’t fit the situation.

“Here,” yelled Richardson’s soon-to-be-ex, as she threw the envelope on the table in front of her husband.

I was watching to make sure Richardson didn’t try anything and wasn’t paying attention to the misses. As he removed the contents of the envelope, I noticed the supposed divorce papers were nothing more than blank pages. That was about the same time Mrs. Richardson reached into her purse and pulled out a chrome-plated, thirty-eight revolver. The next thing I knew, it was pointed at me.

“Now, real carefully, Blake, take your gun out using only two fingers. My first thought was to wonder if a classy dame like her even knew how to use a canon like that. As I slowly reached for my own heater, I had just about made up my mind to rush her when I was surprised by someone else walking in, Eric Wilson, Illinois Lieutenant Governor, and the source of many long hours of investigation. He had a shit-eating grin on his face as he walked up to Mrs. Richardson. “I’ll take that, honey,” he said as he took the gun from her.

I had no choice; I eased my Beretta from its shoulder holster and held it with two fingers.

“Now, set it down on the floor nice and easy, then step back,” Wilson ordered. I did as I was told.

“Surprised?” he tormented. “Those tracking devices are really handy, aren’t they. I’ve had one on your car the whole time. You found the bug I had in your office but never even checked your car.” He saw the surprised look on my face. “I know, you thought it was Richardson who bugged your office. When Carla told me that, we both had a good laugh.”

I looked at my former employer. “So, you didn’t even go to Knutson’s office?”

She laughed, “Why would I?”

“I thought sure you’d check your car next, but you didn’t,” Wilson scoffed. “That was very unprofessional of you, Blake.”

“Hey,” I said, a little too flippantly considering the situation, “even I can’t think of everything.”

Wilson laughed. He and Carla were having a good time. “That’ll make a great epitaph for your tombstone, ‘He didn’t think of everything.'”

Mrs. Richardson was getting fidgety. “Come on, Eric, shoot him and let’s get out of here.”

“Hold on,” I beseeched. “None of this makes any sense. At least tell me why I’m going to die.”

“Just shoot him, honey.” Beautiful or not, I really wasn’t liking her very much.

A wide smile slowly stretched across the Lieutenant Governor’s lips. “No, honey, he’s right. He should know how he’s been played. Get his gun, first though.”

Mrs. Richardson picked up my heater and rejoined Wilson. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out you were investigating me? Come on, any two-bit PI would realize a man in my position has eyes and ears everywhere. I was about to have you fatally shot during a botched robbery attempt when Carla found the numbers to her husband’s overseas bank accounts.”

Shocked, Richardson turned toward his wife. “You found the numbers?”

The evil smirk on her face unveiled the facade and clearly showed the cruelty of the woman. “That’s right, lammy cakes.”

“Then why all this; why not just divorce me. You have more than enough grounds.”

She chuckled. “Oh, Art, don’t be stupid. Why take half when I can have it all.”

I looked back at Wilson. “So, you and Carla are screwing each other?”

“Damn,” he laughed, “McDaniels, you should have been a detective.”

Art threw in his two cents worth again. “I knew you were screwing somebody important,” he told his wife, “I just didn’t know who. Tell me, why did you ever marry me in the first place? Our marriage was a sham from day one.”

“Why, for the money, of course, Darling. You had more than all the other guys I was screwing at the time.”

“Anyway,” Wilson continued, “when she found the numbers we decided to do away with hubby here. Unfortunately, he heard Carla mention his demise over the phone and split. That’s when I came up with my brilliant idea; a way to kill two birds at the same time.

“Hell, everyone knows there’s no love lost between you and Art here. He made a monkey out of you in open court. So, when the cops get here, they’re going to find you two shot each other. This gun,” he said, slightly lifting it to indicate the one he was holding, “belongs to Art, here. He left it when he took off. So, first I shoot you with his gun, then I shoot him with your gun, simple. I can see the headlines now,” he bragged while looking up as if reading some large, airborne lettering, “two-year vendetta culminates in shoot out, two dead. Ah yes, it’s a thing of beauty.”

“What about Janet,” I asked.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said, looking at her. “You’re what we call, ‘collateral damage,’ in other words, you’re in the wrong spot at the wrong time.”

“You’ll never get away with this,” I shouted.

“Sure we will, it’s a no-brainer. Twenty minutes after you left your office tonight, I had a guy inside. He took the receipt you gave Carla for the cash and the contract you had her sign, so there’s absolutely nothing to tie either of us to you.

“He also backdated a couple of threatening emails he sent from your computer to Art’s personal email address. As soon as we get back, he’ll hack Art’s laptop and backdate the emails to correlate with when they were supposedly sent. Carla here will swear that you went to their house and threatened him in person. That’s when he took his gun and disappeared. You obviously tracked him down to settle the score. It’s foolproof, Blake.”

Looking down the barrel of a gun is never fun, but I had to get the whole story. I turned my face slightly to the right and spoke into the mic hidden under my collar. “Did you get all of that, Lieutenant?”

“Every word,” came a voice from the doorway.

Both would-be killers turned to see Lieutenant Dan Reardon of the Chicago PD, and several members of the Illinois state police holding guns on them. Eric’s jaw dropped to the floor as Carla screamed.

“Hand them over,” he demanded. Both Carla and Eric gave up their guns. Eric looked back at me with an expression of total shock.

“How? You couldn’t possibly have known… it was foolproof. How could you possibly have known?”

I had to chuckle. “Actually, if you had told me you found those numbered accounts, I may not have caught on,” I said, looking at Carla.

“Remember, I tried like hell to find the money your husband embezzled and came up with zip. I knew anyone that good at making money disappear without a trace would have no problem hiding it from a divorce court. He would have convinced the judge he was dead broke and you would have gotten nothing.

“I also thought it was a little strange that you didn’t want to give me a check for my retainer. Not many broads feel safe walking around with all that cash in their purse.

“Then I found out you had lied to me. You told me you went to the cops and filed a missing person’s report, but when I called to see if they were actively investigating, they told me no report was ever filed.

“When I put it all together, something just didn’t smell right. I didn’t have it all figured out, but I knew something was up. When you said only you could give hubby those papers, I knew whatever was going down would come to a head when we got here. I called the Lieutenant and told him about my plan. You,” I said directing my attention to Eric, “weren’t the only one following us.”

By the time I finished my little oratory, Reardon had the two perps in cuffs. “You going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I answered as he handed my gun back to me and slipped the other one into an evidence bag. “I’ll need a full, recorded statement from you as soon as possible.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” I answered.

We all watched from the doorway as the cops put Wilson and Carla in different cars and drove away.

“I need a drink,” Richardson announced, “how about you, Blake?”

“Yeah, I could use one, too… scotch, neat.”

He looked at Janet who was sitting at a small kitchen table. “What about you, honey?” Without saying a word, she just looked up at him. That’s when we both saw her hands shaking and the tears in her eyes. Richardson rushed over, knelt down beside her, and put his arms around her. “Oh, honey, honey, it’s okay. You’re all right.”

She threw her arms around him and pressed her head into his chest. “I… I thought we were going to die,” she sobbed. “I really thought we were all going to die.”

While Richardson tried to comfort her, I walked over to where he kept the booze and poured three scotches. “Here,” I said, setting two of them down on the table.

It took a couple of stiff belts and almost an hour of calming and soothing by her boyfriend before Janet could speak in complete sentences again. When she finally started talking again, she made a lot of sense, at least to me. I was getting ready to leave when she looked up at me. “Mr. McDaniels, we owe you our lives. I don’t know how we’ll ever thank you.”

That didn’t quite sit right with Richardson. “Janet, he led them right to us.”

“Damn it, Art, they would’ve found us sooner or later anyway. You know that. When Carla found those accounts you were as good as dead. She couldn’t draw from them if you were alive, but as your widow, she had legal access.” Just then her face brightened with a smile. “Honey, I know how we can pay Blake back for saving our lives. Give back the money you embezzled from your old company.”

“What?” Richardson yelled. “No way, honey.”

“Art, you told me you’re worth about nine million dollars. Was that the truth?”

“Yeah, but…”

“How much of that did you embezzle?”

“Four Mil,” I interjected.

She seemed legitimately shocked. “Four million dollars?” she gasped, looking at Richardson. “Art, I am NOT going to live off of stolen money. Four from nine leaves us with five million dollars. That’s more than we could spend in two lifetimes.”

“Honey, there’s a reason I embezzled that money.”

“I don’t care,” she replied. “It wasn’t right, it was illegal. I want you to give it back.”

“And how would me giving the money back help him?”

“It would restore his credibility, that’s how,” she responded.

Again I had to put my two cents in. “Not to mention the ten percent finder’s fee, I get.”

She looked up at Richardson, “See,” she sneered. “Honey, if you love me as much as you say you do, you’ll give it back.”

Richardson was obviously as good at smooth-talking dames as he was hiding money. I knew it’d be snowing in hell before he gave that money back, so I left them there arguing and headed for home. I was tired, hungry, and looking at spending the next three hours on the road. I stopped off at a quaint little country diner for breakfast before starting the long trek back.

On the drive, all I could think about was Stacy’s proposal that we try it again. Being a bachelor was a two-edged sword. On the one hand, I had complete freedom to go where I had to go and do what I had to do. I didn’t have to tell anyone or worry about checking in with somebody if I was gone for an extended length of time.

On the other hand, coming home to an empty apartment and eating TV dinners wasn’t what I called living the high-life. I remember when she and I were married. It wasn’t all fighting. We had our good times, too, really good times.

I kept going back and forth in my mind. I’d never tell a soul this. It’s not something any hard-hitting gumshoe like me would ever admit, but I cried when we broke up. Maybe we could compromise.

It was a little after two in the afternoon when I walked back into my office. I was tired and aggravated. Not only did I miss out on the fifty-thousand dollar bonus, but I wasn’t getting paid at all. Of course, the flip side was that the story was bound to hit the papers. That would be good for business.

I pulled a manila envelope from my desk drawer and wrote, ‘Richardson/Wilson Case’ on the front, then dropped a record of my mileage and some receipts inside for my accountant. Next, I went into my email and ran a search for Richardson’s name. Wilson wasn’t lying. There were the two backdated emails he talked about. I checked my filing cabinet and just as promised, both copies of the receipts I gave Carla and the contract she signed were gone.

I called the lieutenant and told him what I found. I asked if it was okay to just take a screenshot of the emails but he told me not to do anything until he sent a computer forensics expert over to take a look. He said it would be a couple of hours which meant I had to stick around and wait… just what I wanted to hear.

By the time the forensics guy had come and gone, it was closing in on six o’clock. I stopped off at a greasy spoon on the way home and went straight to bed as soon as I walked into my apartment.

The next morning, I awoke to my phone ringing. As I picked it up to answer, I saw I had slept through a couple of others. “Hello,” I said in a voice that gave witness to me still being groggy.

“Mr. McDaniels, this is Eloise Dowling from the Chicago Tribute. I’m waiting outside your office. Will you be long?”

“What’s this about, Ms. Dowling?”

“I want to interview you regarding your role in the arrest of Eric Wilson,” she told me.

Okay, everything was coming back into focus. I assumed the calls I missed were also from reporters. I glanced at the clock. Shit, it was nine-twenty and I hadn’t even had my shower yet. I also had to get down to the cop house and give my statement. It was going to be a busy day. I told Eloise to drop her card through the mail slot in my door and I’d call her when I had some free time. I grabbed a shower and some toast and coffee for breakfast. I was at the first district police station a little before eleven.

“What’s that?” asked Lieutenant Reardon.

I handed him a two-inch thick, legal-sized envelope. “Wilson didn’t pick me out of the blue, Dan. I’ve been investigating him on my own for the last six months. I don’t have hard proof yet, but he’s been laundering millions for somebody. He also has his hand in the cookie jar, enough so to warrant felony theft, larceny, and possibly racketeering charges. It’s almost all there, but I’ve lost enough time and money on this case, it’s all yours,” I told him.

“Gee, thanks,” he replied sarcastically, “as if we didn’t have enough on our plate.” We walked into an interview room where a videographer was all set up. They also had a tape recorder on the desk. After two hours of testimony, Reardon and I went out to lunch. I’d known him since he was a rookie cop and I was still working for a security company.

It was after three by the time I got back to the office and was thinking about calling Eloise back. I can always use some free publicity. It was either that or head over to Plato’s.

I was still trying to make up my mind when I heard my door open. I looked up, thinking it was another reporter. Not many things surprise me anymore, but he sure did. I wasn’t sure if I should reach for my gun or not. “Richardson, what are you doing here?”

Without saying a word, he slumped down in the chair and threw a letter-sized envelope on my desk. “What’s this?”

“Two cashier’s checks, the first is for three million, six hundred grand, made out to my former company. The other one is your ten percent finder’s fee,” he said. “Janet was worried Walker would screw you out of it, so she insisted on the two checks.”

I wasn’t buying it. “What’s the gag?”

“No gag, what can I say, I love the broad.”

“Forgive me for saying so,” I said sarcastically, “but you don’t seem like the type that could love anyone four million dollars-worth.”

“Yeah, well, see… you don’t know me as well as you think you do. I built that company, McDaniels. I created it using nothing more than my own blood, sweat, and tears. I was making a damn good living too. I was proud of what I’d accomplished. When I met Carla, I was on top of the world. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen and she was crazy about me… or so I thought.

“Anyway, after a year of marriage, I couldn’t believe how much money she’d gone through. I should have put a stop to it, but I didn’t want to take a chance of losing her, so instead, I thought about expanding the business. I met Walker at a party. We talked and he offered me the money I needed to grow my company. He was supposed to be a silent partner, but the next thing I knew he had an office next to mine. Then he started weighing in at business and strategy meetings. We suddenly started doing business with shady companies and changing vendors. He and I were constantly fighting. One day, I looked around and saw he had built his own little empire on the back of my company. The only reason he was keeping me around was because of my name, and I knew that wouldn’t last forever.

“Walker’s a snake, and I knew damn well I was going to get shafted. That’s when I started putting my own golden parachute together. It took me only a year to drain off that four mil. My biggest mistake was underestimating you. You caught me dead to rights, but I knew you’d never find the money. How the hell Carla found those numbers, I have no idea. I know it had to be by some stupid freak accident.”

“What about Janet? How’d she get mixed up in all this?”

“She was my savior. I met her about four years ago. By that time I knew my marriage was a complete sham. Carla had been seen running around town with a dozen different men. I would have divorced her, but with all the troubles I was having with the company, I just couldn’t take the time. My life was complicated enough without going through a long, expensive divorce.

“When I met Janet things just seemed to fall into place. She was beautiful, kind and a good listener. She became my sanctuary. Eventually, we fell in love.

Now I was curious. “What about Cathy Hyer?”

“What about her? Cathy’s a friend, that’s all.”

“Walker’s secretary said you were banging her, too.”

“Dorie always sees the worst in people. I guess she assumed I was banging Cathy because I sent her flowers a couple of times. Come to think of it, I also had her make dinner reservations for Cathy and me once or twice. The truth is, she was going through a rough breakup with her long-term, live-in, lover. She was getting down on herself so I was trying to show her it wasn’t her fault, that’s all.

“Anyway,” he said, standing up abruptly, “now you know my whole life story. The cops don’t want me to leave until the trial, so I guess I’ll be around for a while, but as soon as it’s over, Janet and I intend to spend the rest of our lives basking in the tropical sun somewhere. You take care, McDaniels,” were his last words as he closed the door behind him. One thing I’ve learned in my business, there’s no such thing as black and white, and there’s always more than two sides to every story.