Private Dick: Chapter Two-Down to the Pub for a Pint

         It was the pizza boy this time. He simply slid the white cardboard slab under the door. This caused a cloud of the settled dust to erupt. I could here the squeaks from his sneakers as he made his way back to the stairs. When I opened the box, the pizza was cold and half eaten. I took out a slice and sat back down behind my paper cluttered desk and replayed my conversation with the doll in my head. What was she up to? Right off the bat I put 2 and 2 together and noticed she and her “brother” didn’t have the same last name, and I didn’t see a ring on her finger. Not to mention she hadn’t introduced herself as Mrs. It was still possible he was her brother, but I had my suspicions. In my business paranoia is part of your resume. I decided I wasn’t getting paid for nothing and I should probably go check out the Parisian. I took one more bite of my icey pizza and tossed it back in the box. I swung my jacket over my shoulder and headed down the stairs toward my car. It wasn’t much of a car. All covered in rust with pieces hanging off of it. I was even surprised it still worked. As I opened the door to get in I realized I hadn’t locked it. Actually I hadn’t locked it for a few years now. I pretty much figured anyone who would steal this piece of shit was more desperate then even me. I placed the keys in the ignition and started her up. The car made a coughing sputtering sound at me before the engine rolled over. If anything, maybe I’d spread this case out a little to help buy a new car. When I pulled up outside of the Parisian the place looked as it always did, abandoned. I walked thru the door and instantly the scent of cheap perfume and booze hit my nostrils like a sucker punch. It was enough to knock anyone else out cold, but I’d built up immunity to it by now. Clouds of smoke hung in the air and drifted over the tables. I made my way to the bar finally and sat myself down on one of the plush black bar stools. The bar tender waddled his way over to me.

 “Can I help you?”, he spoke in a groggy scratchy voice and smelled like week old garbage.

 “Give me a whiskey soda.”, I said. He waddled away and returned with the drink. The glass was filthy, but anymore I really didn’t care. I shot half of it down my throat. Ahh that burning sensation. I felt it trickle down and finally land in the pit known as my stomach. When I looked back up the bar tender was still standing there.

 “I need to talk to Paris.”, Paris owned the Parisian if anything he’d know if something had gone sour at the club the last night Johns was here. I reached in my pocket and pulled out one of the hundred dollar bills from the wad and tore it in half. “They’ll be reunited when I see Paris.”, I said. He snatched up half of the bill with his dirty hand.

 “This way.”, He lifted the hatch and showed me into a back room. Sitting there was a well-dressed man at a Black Jack table. The only light in the room was a small lamp in the corner atop a rickety old table. I stepped into the room and the bar tender shut the door behind me. I edged a little closer. My eye’s began to adjust to my dismal surroundings. He wasn’t much of a man. He looked up at me from under the brim of his gray hat.

 “Cab I help you?”, said the man. A nasal voice creaked out of the slit that was his mouth. I slapped down my Detective Permit onto the soft green felt of the table.

 “I need to ask you a few questions about a guy who was in your bar a few weeks ago.”

 “I don’t believe I can help you with that. I really don’t remember the name’s and faces of every sad sap who stumbles thru my doors.”

 “Well maybe a little visual aid will help your memory”, I pulled out the photo and set it down next to my license on the table. He picked it up and squinted at it awhile. “His names William Johns. That ring any bells?”, I thought maybe he was trying to place the face with a name.

 “Ah, yes Johns. I remember him well. He looks so different in this photo. Must have been sober.”, A tiny giggle popped out of him. “A usual here. Haven’t seen him for a few weeks though. Who’s looking for him?” He handed the photo and my license back to me.

 “His sister. Did he ever mention his sister?”

 “Sister? The only person I ever remember him mentioning was his girlfriend. He’d come in here every night bitching and moaning about her. Drinking and gambling his paycheck away. Very sad. Maybe it’s for the better he’s gone.”

 “Have any enemies? Anyone else he might of mentioned in one of his drunken stupors?”

“No.”, he said this quick and sharp which led me to think he was hiding something from me. He’d coughed up the answer to quickly. Maybe he thought I was a cop. If he did know anything he wasn’t gonna blurt it out without a little forceful jogging of his memory.

 “Thanx for your help. If you think of anything, give me a call.” I dropped one my cards on the table and went back out into the bar. The smelly ape of a bartender was waiting for me. I dangled the other half of his payoff in front of him. He grabbed at it and jammed it down into this pocket.

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