said. As his eyes got big and his forehead turned that interesting splotchy purple color I looked in his eyes and said, “Sleep.” He passed out cold and fell face-first onto the table, crushing his plastic cup full of Miller with his forehead. I turned him to the side to make sure he wouldn’t drown in cheap domestic beer, and tried to formulate a plan.
“What are we gonna do?” Greg asked.
“I was really hoping you’d have a plan.” I replied, my mind working as fast as it could, which really isn’t that fast, all things considered.
“I never have a plan. At least, not one you like.” He had a point there. Greg’s plans usually involved some expensive piece of equipment that only existed in comic books, or so many plot twists that by the time he finished explaining the plan, I’d already punched somebody.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything. But obviously tonight ain’t it.” I stood up as the detective got to our table. It was the same detective I’d seen at the hospital, and the look on her face dispelled any lingering hope that she hadn’t seen me looking out Tommy’s hospital room window. She was tall, with her curly hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. She probably had a killer body underneath the blazer she was wearing, but my attention stopped at her Sig Sauer .40 pistol in a shoulder rig. I’ll admit it; I have a bit of a thing for women who pack heavier ammo than me. She snapped her fingers in front of my face and brought me straight out of my happy place and back to the beer-soaked reality of the bowling alley.
“This would be an excellent time for you to explain to me who you are why you keep showing up around my investigation.” She said. The look on her face said she was a woman who brooked no BS, but I gave it my best shot anyway.
“I’m sorry,” I said, holding out my hand and dropping into the hick accent I grew up with. “I think you must have me mistaken for somebody else. I’m Jimmy Black, assistant manager at the Monroe location of Joe’s World of Tires. Can I help you with something?” I put a little sleazy twist on the something and ogled her chest, trying to make myself look like a slimy tire salesman. And there was a lot to be said for ogling her chest, anyway.
“Really?” She said, and raised one eyebrow like she knew something I didn’t. Then she went on to prove it. “There is no Monroe location of Joe’s World of Tires, and you’re no more a tire salesman than I am a private investigator. So why don’t you cut the crap, Mr. Black and tell me what you and your little friend here are doing screwing up my investigation before I haul you both downtown and book you on obstruction of justice charges.”
I knew going legit and getting P.I. licenses would come back to bite me in the ass. And the irony of that concept is not lost on me. Having failed with Plan A, I jumped straight over the as-yet-undeveloped Plan B and went straight for the mojo. I looked her in the eyes (surprisingly easy since she was almost my height) and said, “These are not the droids you’re looking for. Move along.”
“What are you babbling about? Are you on drugs?” I looked over at Greg, who was as flabbergasted as I was.
“Huh?”
“You are on drugs. Great, just great. Not only do I have a P.I. sticking his nose in my case, I have a stoner P.I. sticking his nose in my case. Get up, you two are coming with me.”
I looked at her again, and really tried to focus my will on hers. “No, we’re not. You will leave here and forget you ever saw us. You came in, Joe Arthur was passed out drunk, he has nothing to do with these disappearances and you left. That is all.”
She looked back at me just as hard and said “You are a pain in my butt, and you are going to jail for interfering with my investigation.”
Since my vampire willpower wasn’t working, Greg stepped in for the save. “Sorry to disappoint, but we’re not going anywhere with you. I’m
“What are we gonna do?” Greg asked.
“I was really hoping you’d have a plan.” I replied, my mind working as fast as it could, which really isn’t that fast, all things considered.
“I never have a plan. At least, not one you like.” He had a point there. Greg’s plans usually involved some expensive piece of equipment that only existed in comic books, or so many plot twists that by the time he finished explaining the plan, I’d already punched somebody.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything. But obviously tonight ain’t it.” I stood up as the detective got to our table. It was the same detective I’d seen at the hospital, and the look on her face dispelled any lingering hope that she hadn’t seen me looking out Tommy’s hospital room window. She was tall, with her curly hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. She probably had a killer body underneath the blazer she was wearing, but my attention stopped at her Sig Sauer .40 pistol in a shoulder rig. I’ll admit it; I have a bit of a thing for women who pack heavier ammo than me. She snapped her fingers in front of my face and brought me straight out of my happy place and back to the beer-soaked reality of the bowling alley.
“This would be an excellent time for you to explain to me who you are why you keep showing up around my investigation.” She said. The look on her face said she was a woman who brooked no BS, but I gave it my best shot anyway.
“I’m sorry,” I said, holding out my hand and dropping into the hick accent I grew up with. “I think you must have me mistaken for somebody else. I’m Jimmy Black, assistant manager at the Monroe location of Joe’s World of Tires. Can I help you with something?” I put a little sleazy twist on the something and ogled her chest, trying to make myself look like a slimy tire salesman. And there was a lot to be said for ogling her chest, anyway.
“Really?” She said, and raised one eyebrow like she knew something I didn’t. Then she went on to prove it. “There is no Monroe location of Joe’s World of Tires, and you’re no more a tire salesman than I am a private investigator. So why don’t you cut the crap, Mr. Black and tell me what you and your little friend here are doing screwing up my investigation before I haul you both downtown and book you on obstruction of justice charges.”
I knew going legit and getting P.I. licenses would come back to bite me in the ass. And the irony of that concept is not lost on me. Having failed with Plan A, I jumped straight over the as-yet-undeveloped Plan B and went straight for the mojo. I looked her in the eyes (surprisingly easy since she was almost my height) and said, “These are not the droids you’re looking for. Move along.”
“What are you babbling about? Are you on drugs?” I looked over at Greg, who was as flabbergasted as I was.
“Huh?”
“You are on drugs. Great, just great. Not only do I have a P.I. sticking his nose in my case, I have a stoner P.I. sticking his nose in my case. Get up, you two are coming with me.”
I looked at her again, and really tried to focus my will on hers. “No, we’re not. You will leave here and forget you ever saw us. You came in, Joe Arthur was passed out drunk, he has nothing to do with these disappearances and you left. That is all.”
She looked back at me just as hard and said “You are a pain in my butt, and you are going to jail for interfering with my investigation.”
Since my vampire willpower wasn’t working, Greg stepped in for the save. “Sorry to disappoint, but we’re not going anywhere with you. I’m
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