The Darling Members Club (1-2)

This is a story from Stern Talbot, a private eye who introduced himself to me a few years ago. This is the second most recent story he told me.

Chapter 1: A New Job, Maybe

After the boring day I’d had, I might have known it was gonna be one of those nights. But no way could I have foreseen what was going to happen. It was just too off the wall. Too weird.

*

I sat in the office all day. My secretary, a fireball named Janice Higgins, was enjoying a day off with her family. Still, I answered the phone only four times all day. Of course, it was a Saturday, so….

Not that I didn’t make good use of the rest of the day. I alternated exercising my mind and body.

I exercised my mind by sitting in my desk chair with a crossword puzzle or a game of solitaire splayed across my desk. Yeah, with actual physical cards. I don’t own a laptop. Janice uses one to keep all my business stuff in line, but I’ve never seen a reason to get farther from reality than my job takes me.

I exercised my body by rocking back in my desk chair, crossing my ankles on my desk, and flinging a tennis ball at the off-white linoleum tile floor. From there the ball would angle up to a more-or-less pre-determined spot on the pale-green wall, then rebound in a long arc that carried it back to my right hand.

Then I caught it and flung it again. The point is to not miss catching the tennis ball.

That was my day, more or less.

Speaking of Janice and especially that bit about her being a fireball, anyone else might describe her as obstinate.

But I like her, especially her attitude. She stands about five-feet-nothing and she’s a little chunk. A couple of decades ago she was a world-class gymnast, but a ligament tear brought all that to an end. Now at 36 years old, she’s twelve years my junior and walks with a slight limp. She’s also a devoted mother of six children, divided evenly between boys and girls. She wears her hair in a picked-out Afro and her favorite color is any shade of purple.

For example, during the interview and just to be friendly I asked about her children’s ages.

She said, “You know Mr. Talbot, my boys come along first, all three of ‘em. Now they’re 12, 10, an’ 8 years old. So when that was done and dusted, I told Clyde—that’s my husband, Clyde?—I said, ‘Clyde, we gotta get busy an’ make us some girls to even up the side.’

“‘Course Clyde was more’n happy to do as I asked, an’ we had my three girls. Now those girls are 7, 5, an’ 3, can you believe it? Anyway, I figured unless we got lucky an’ had boy-girl twins, anymore babies’d just upset the balance, wouldn’t it? So then I sent Clyde down to the doctor to get himself tied off.”

At the time all I could do was grin and nod. But she’s been with me almost from the beginning. She’s the most organized person I know. And I don’t doubt for a moment her children’s sequence of birth was all according to plan.

*

Anyway, the first two calls that day were both for the guy who used to have my phone number. Both of those came in while I was solving a crossword puzzle or playing solitaire. So no real interruption there.

But in the late afternoon when the phone rang that third time, I was a little annoyed. I was up to 306 consecutive catches on my tennis ball. But I hoped it was a paying client, so like always, I picked up on the first ring.

The tennis ball grazed the bottom of my right hand, hit the bottom of the wall behind me, and meandered back toward the front wall as if stunned.

As I watched the ball go I shook my head. Into the receiver, I said, “Stern Talbot, private investigator.”

It was a male, maybe in his late 60s or 70s, with a gravelly voice. The voice sounded familiar, but not really familiar if you know what I mean. “You’re the Talbot who was a detective, right?”

“Yes, I was a detective. Fifteen years.”

“An’ you retired what, about a year ago?”

“Yes. That’s when I hung out my shingle as a private eye.” I frowned. “What can I do for you, Mr…?”

“I want you to investigate somethin’ called The Darling Members Club.”

“Ah.”

“So you’ve heard of it?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

“No, you wouldn’t. I mean, it ain’t official an’ it ain’t listed nowhere. But it’s legit. It’s a group of reformed hookers. Maybe a few pimps too, tryin’a get on the straight an’ narrow, but mostly it’s hookers.”

“I see. And what’s your goal?”

“My goal? I gotta have a goal now?” He paused. “What’s a goal?”

“I mean what specifically do you want me to investigate? Their books? One or more of the members?” I grinned. “Whether they paid their most recent light bill?”

“Hey, no call to be a smartass, a’right? Listen, I’m tied up right now, but can you be available tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday, so—”

“Yeah, I know that. You think I don’t know that? I’ll have some time in the mornin.’ My wife’ll take the little goombas to church an’ I’ll have a little time to myself.”

Little goombas? He sounded far too old to have young children. “You aren’t going with them?”

“Hey, you makin’ a value judgement? Maybe you’d be better off just doin’ your job, eh?”

That sounded familiar too, somehow. “Of course. I’m sorry. What time would you like to meet, sir?”

“That’s better. Let’s make it 10 a.m.”

“Okay, and where can I find—”

“Nah, I’ll find you. Your office. You’ll be alone, right?”

“Yes. My secretary won’t be in, so—”

“Good. An’ you’re at 11301 McCraken, right? That little strip mall? Second floor?”

“Yes. Around back. There are stairs just off the parking lo—”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

“May I get your name?”

He chuckled. “Tomorrow, Mr. Talbot. If you don’t recognize me.” And he hung up.

I sighed, then looked at the receiver for a moment and hung up.

A seven-day workweek. Ah well. At least I had another job.

Well, if the guy actually shows up tomorrow. Usually the anonymous types don’t. And if I decide to take the job, which I probably won’t if the guy’s connected.

I looked at the clock on the wall across from my desk. It was almost 5:30.

Still, it wasn’t like I had anything to go home to. A pot pie or a TV dinner for supper, a little TV, and then bed. I decided I’d hang around a little longer. Maybe the phone would ring again. Maybe it’d be another job, this time with a client who was willing to give me his name.

Chapter 2: Janice Higgins

I got up and went to retrieve my tennis ball from the base of the wall opposite me, then returned to my chair. I leaned back, crossed my ankles on my desk and chucked the ball at the floor.

It bounced up against the wall, rebounded, and I caught it.

I chucked it again, watched it rebound, and caught it.

Of course, the guy might show up in the morning. But even if he did, that wasn’t until 10.

I chucked the ball again.

I could even sleep in if I wanted to.

The ball rebounded and I caught it. That’s three. I chucked it again. Of course I wouldn’t have time to best my record.

Anyway, the guy would either show up or he wouldn’t. I’d give him a half-hour to show. I’d wait for him until 10:30. After that, I’d head back home and get ready for my picnic with the lovely Carolyn Price.

I kept chucking the ball, watching it rebound, and catching it.

I met Carolyn while I was working my first job as a PI. She’s the hostess down at Mercy’s Steaks. It’s an old place, more of a dive than anything else, but they serve great steak and potatoes. I’d gone in there tailing a guy. I spoke quietly with Carolyn, and her blue eyes nailed me. I think the feeling was mutual. She and I were kind’a taken with each other right away. It was something like electricity.

Anyway, I told her where I’d like to sit and all that—you know, so I could keep an eye on the guy I was tailing, though I didn’t tell her that—and we’ve been kind of an item ever since.

The phone rang again, and the timing was perfect.

I caught the tennis ball and laid it firmly on my desk, then glanced at the clock.

A little after 6:30. Time flies, eh?

I grinned and picked up the receiver. “Stern Talbot, private investigator.”

“You still there, Mr. Talbot?” It was Janice. “Well I know you are ‘cause that’s where I called you, right? But why you still there, can you tell me that? ‘Cause see, that’s what I cain’t figure out. You’ waitin’ for that phone to ring, ain’t you.”

It wasn’t a question.

When Janice started talking, everything was fine. At least it was a good interruption. For awhile, all I’d have to do was listen. Janice pretty much always has a conversation with herself during the opening moments of a phone call.

“Now you know that phone ain’t gonna ring when you’ sittin’ there waitin’ for it like that. That’s why you’ got me, right? So you ain’t gotta sit there an’ wait for that phone to ring.”

I grinned. As I said, I like her attitude. In the image in my mind, she was standing in the doorway between her office and my private office in a tight purple dress, her left hand on the door frame about head-high, her head canted slightly, and her right hand gripping her right hip.

“You know what you need, Mr. Talbot? You need’a get one’a those answerin’ machine things for when we both out of the office, that’s what you need. They ain’t high tech like a computer. You get one’a those, we could take lunch at the same time or even take the same days off, at least sometimes. You see what I mean?”

I nodded as if she could see me.

“An’ while I’m handin’ out personal advice—not to get all personal, you understan’—is yo love life on the fritz, or what? I mean, if you don’t mind me askin’.”

While Janice continued talking and I waited my turn, I used the nail of the little finger on my right hand to try to pry something out from between two of my chompers on the right side. Nobody else could see it, even if there had been anybody else there, but I knew it was there and it bugged me. It was probably a little of that stringy stuff between the meat and the fat on a strip of bacon I had for breakfast.

“You a grown man, Mr. Talbot, so you do know what you need, don’t you? You gotta get with a good woman. That’s what you need. That’s what all men need. A good woman’ll make a man righteous. At least for a while. You see what I mean?”

The last little bit of whatever was between my teeth finally popped loose. I looked at it, then wiped it on my trousers. And I realized Janice had stopped talking.

But before I could say anything, she said, “Mr. Talbot? You still there, ain’t you? I know you wouldn’t wander off while I’m talkin’.” Then her voice turned ominous. “Or else who is this? You know there’s cops in the buildin’, right? I’ll hang this phone up right now an’ have ‘em all over you in about half a—”

“Yeah, I’m here, Janice. It’s me.” I grinned again and answered the only thing she’d said that was pertinent. “I was just a little busy there for a minute.”

“Oh, a’right. But tell me again why you still there?”

I shrugged. “Because it’s office hours and I have a business to run. I know the phone isn’t ringing off the hook—yet—but if a job does come in it won’t matter if I’m not here to answer the phone.”

I don’t know why I didn’t tell her I might already have another job.

“A’right. Well, I’ll be back in the mornin’, so—”

“No.”

“No? What you mean, ‘no’? You ain’t firin’ me are you? Don’t you think about firin’ me, Mr. Talbot ‘cause I’m a good secretary an’—”

“No, I’m not firing you, Janice. Tomorrow’s Sunday, remember? I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Oh. A’right. A’course I know tomorrow’s Sunday. I was testin’ you.” She paused. “Well, you look into gettin’ one’a those answerin’ machine things like I said. I’m guessin’ the bad guys don’t take a break on Sunday.”

“I’ll do that. ‘Bye, Janice.” I hung up.

I pulled a bottle of Old Times Blended Whiskey out of my top right desk drawer along with an old fashioned glass and poured myself two fingers.

I glanced at the tennis ball laying on my desk, but I decided to take a breather on that too. My right elbow was a little sore. Too much physical exertion can do that. But I did rock back in my chair again and took a sip of my whiskey.

She’s right. Bad guys don’t take a break on Sunday or any other day. But as my old partner Lou Galecki reminded me during the DiPosi-Greenbaum case a couple of months ago, I’m not a cop anymore. Which means I’m no longer limited to tracking down bad guys. At this point, I’d be willing to track down a renegade Schnauzer. Or The Darling Member club, I guess. Maybe. If the guy shows.

*

Waiting for the phone to ring is a lot like gambling. If you aren’t careful, it can become a fixation.

I was certain it would ring with a big case as soon as I closed and locked the door of the outer office. Or as soon as I was far enough away not to hear it. Maybe that’s why I haven’t gotten an answering machine yet. I don’t want to come in and find out I missed a call.

Besides, I’m getting really good at solitaire. Well, and catching that tennis ball. So I stayed another half-hour or so just to be sure. It wasn’t like I had any plans anyway.

Well, except that lakeside picnic planned for tomorrow afternoon with the winsome, lovely Carolyn Price.

But no plans tonight.

Of course, no-plans, like plans, are always subject to change.

Stay Tuned! Next Up, Chapters 3-4