Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (15 page)

“If I ever buy a frigging dog, it will not be an English sheepdog. You can’t trust that breed.”

“You had no intention of getting a dog,” James said.

“If I ever did—”

“Nobody could have seen that coming.” I seriously believed that. I never would have put that pen on the line if I’d had a clue.

“How much was the pen?” Em showed some concern. She could have paid for the pen with pocket change, no matter what the thing cost. I ignored the question. It was somewhat embarrassing to admit I didn’t know the price.

The dog had not surfaced. Pugh and Linda paid a couple of the carnies twenty bucks each to go on a search-and-rescue mission, but it was ten p.m. and no one had brought him back. Forty
bucks to find this stupid dog, but Garcia the thief had vanished.

“Skip. How much?” She stared into my eyes.

“Jody said he’d bill me.”

My guess was that the price could be anywhere from one hundred to six hundred bucks. And who knew what it was worth with dog slobber all over it? I didn’t want to tell her that I didn’t even know. And I didn’t want James to know that I had no idea “how much.” I’d screwed things up royally, and I vowed to send James out for the spy equipment from now on.

“Skip?” She was getting angry.

“He never told me.”

“He never told you what?” James kept his eyes on the printed page.

“All right. He never told me how much the damned thing cost. Okay? I don’t have a clue.” There. I’d said it.

“Damn.” James looked up from his reading. “You don’t even know how much this stuff was?”

“As I pointed out, you never paid him the last time. I mean, if you don’t pay for it, it doesn’t matter how much it was.”

James scowled at me.

“Look, we can return it if we don’t like it, James.”

“Think about that statement, my friend. Return it? We don’t know where the hell it is.”

Oh, yeah. The pen was missing.

“Well, we should have a very good record of where the pen went. If and when we ever get it back.” James rolled his eyes. “Em, you did turn it on, right?”

Em in turn rolled her eyes back at him.

“Well, I just wanted to be sure. With this great plan of yours, I never know.” He flipped a page in the manual and kept on reading.

I didn’t figure it made much difference at this point. If the
pen was on and we found it, we’d have video of the show grounds, bouncing as the dog ran from sight.

“And we get, what? Three hours?” Em was still engaged in finding the pen. “Three hours of video?”

“Three hours,” I said, “but that’s if we find the thing.”

Pugh was going to call me. On his cell phone. To let me know if the damned dog ever showed up. I was certain the pen would not be in Garcia’s mouth.

“Skip,” James lit a cigarette.

Normally I’d say something about smoking inside, but the windows and door were open, and I really didn’t care. I just kept thinking about how much money this was going to cost me. I needed to make some sales. Some poor, unfortunate soul needed to buy a security system. I had bills to pay. It was obvious that this P.I. thing was not going to work out.

“We know Pugh’s got a cell phone,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“With one of those ridiculous ear pieces,” Em said.

“Bluetooth.” I shrugged my shoulders. “So what?”

“He’s got a cell phone. Everybody understand that? And we’ve got the software and receiver, pard. The software to track every communication he makes on that phone.” James had that smug, arrogant tone to his voice.

“So what do we do?”

James took a long drag on his cigarette and let the smoke escape his lips in a slow stream. “Listen, according to this manual, all we have to do is load the software on your laptop, plug in the antenna that came with the system you bought, and get close to Pugh and his phone.”

“Close?”

“Maybe ten, fifteen feet.”

“Then what?”

“The computer and the antenna automatically connect with his phone, assuming the Bluetooth device is on. We can download text messages, conversations, e-mail. Hell, we could check his tweets.”

“I seriously doubt that Pugh and Linda use Twitter.”

“But pard, according to this,” he tossed the brochure down on the table, “we can do it. No problemo. And this receiver picks up all the calls. It’s called Bluesnarfing.”

“It’s even got a name?”

“The process. Bluesnarfing.”

“It automatically connects to his phone?”

“Kind of like your computer picks up a wireless signal.”

“Jeez.”

“I say we try it. What do we have to lose?” He walked to the door and tapped the cigarette ashes onto the dirt.

“Pugh is a nice guy, James.” Bluesnarfing. It just sounded nasty. “We really shouldn’t be messing with stuff like this. I’m sure it’s illegal.”

“You bought it, dude. You made the purchase. So I’m thinking that you thought it was a good idea at the time. Am I right?”

Em took another swallow of her beer. “He’s right, Skip.”

“What? For the second time today you agree with him?”

“We’re looking for specific information. It’s not like we’re hacking his phone for personal information. We’re not going after bank accounts, or a mistress that he’s texting.”

“Pugh? A mistress? He’s very lucky he has Linda.” This whole conversation was absurd.

“I still say that Winston Pugh is our guy.” James took a puff on his cigarette. He’d hit up the guy with the pretzel cart, offering to buy a pretzel and Pepsi if the guy would give him a smoke. Given the cost of a pack these days, it probably was a great deal.

“If there’s nothing on Pugh’s cell phone, no harm done.” Em leaned toward me. I couldn’t believe she was on board with this.
“We won’t even look at the personal stuff. We’re simply trying to see if there’s any mention of sabotaging rides.”

“Or what? Shooting a carnie? I doubt if you text about killing someone.”

“Skip.” She put her hand on my knee and I knew I was going to agree with her. “Do you want to be paid or not? I would bet you money that there is incriminating evidence on Pugh’s cell phone. Text messages that he had with your rifle guy, Kevin Cross. Calls he made to someone outside where he talks about how he’s scared they’re going to kick him out of the Show.”

“Calls he made to Linda, if they’re in this together.” James’s eyes were wide. He was getting into this spy thing.

“All right, fine.” Walking back to the small bedroom I reached under the tiny bed and pulled out my company’s laptop. If they ever found that I was using it to spy on some dwarf zoo operator, I’d probably get fired.

“James, you load it.” I was washing my hands of this entire event. “You can put the Cell Sleuth software on the computer.”

He already had the disc in his hand. “This is going to be so cool. You know, if Angie Clark has Bluetooth on her phone I could listen to her—” he let the thought hang when Emily shook her finger at him.

“How are you going to get close to his phone?” It seemed like something we should think about.

James slipped the disc into the computer and hit enter. We could hear it whirring inside the laptop, then a menu appeared on the screen.

“We go over to Pugh’s trailer later tonight,” he clicked on the menu, “when it’s dark and the Show is closed. All we have to do is sit outside the trailer for a couple of minutes and the computer takes care of the rest.”

“So it just connects?”

“That’s what the instructions say.”

It just sounded too easy. And too smarmy. And what happened if we got caught? In the middle of the night, outside Pugh’s trailer with a computer? What would happen then?

“Skip, it’s not like we’re breaking and entering,” Em said.

It was exactly like we were breaking and entering, but if Em was on board, then I guess I was too.

“Okay. Then it’s a go.” James keyed in on the menu items, then handed the computer to me. “Okay, amigo, when it gets really dark, you just—”

“Oh, no. Absolutely not. You’re not going to hang this on me,
amigo
.”

“It’s
your
computer, Skip. I just thought you’d—”

“You just thought wrong.”

“Oh, for crying out loud. You two are so childish, so asinine.” Em reached out and grabbed the laptop from James.

“Name calling doesn’t get you anywhere, Emily.” James shot the comment at her as she tucked the computer under her arm.

“Screw you, James. I’m going over there right now, and I’m not only going to do some Bluesnarfing, but I’m going to find out if they have a computer.” She stood up and walked to the door.

“Boys, watch me and learn.”

We did.

We watched her brisk walk as she headed toward the zoo, computer tucked under her arm. She didn’t even wait for me to grab the case. Puffs of dust exploded from her heels as she walked. Turning her head and shouting over her shoulder she yelled, “Skip, get your ass in gear.”

I jogged to catch her while James stood in front of our silver trailer, shaking his head. Emily was going to show him how to run his P.I. firm.

“What are we going to do? It’s still daylight. I mean—” I was gasping. Lack of exercise and too much beer will do that to you.

“You’ve got a very limited timetable to figure this thing out. If we work on James-time this will never get solved.”

I didn’t give it any hope to be solved no matter whose time we worked on. James-time or anyone else’s time.

Em handed me the computer, put one foot on the zoo fence, and with little effort lifted herself over.

“Well, come on.”

I handed her the computer and made the same maneuver. My foot caught in the rung and as I struggled to free it, I almost fell into the ring. Finally, wriggling it free, I stumbled into the animals’ domain.

They were lined up on the far side of the fence, dipping their heads into a long trough. I never would have climbed the fence if Garcia had been watching his flock. But Garcia had broken the law and was on the run, criminal that he was. Thank God.

“Linda. Winston.” Em was shouting as she walked to the trailer.

Winston stuck his head out of the door. “We haven’t seen hide nor hair of Garcia, young lady. I would have called you in a heartbeat.” He ran his hand through the sparse hair that sprouted from his head. “You don’t have to keep pestering me. If I see him, you’ll hear from me.”

“That’s not why we’re here.”

“Oh?”

“No, it’s something else right now.”

He looked relieved. “Ah, got a question for you, missy. I’ve been wondering. What the heck is so important with that pen?”

“First of all,” Em strode up to the little porch as Pugh stepped out, “that pen belonged to my father. It’s very expensive and I know he wants it back.”

“Uh-huh. Looked to me like it was expensive. Very fancy lookin’.”

“It means a lot to him. I really hope we can get it back.”

“Okay. We’re trying.”

Em touched his arm with her free hand. “It’s very important, Winston. I can’t begin to tell you.”

“There something else you wanted?” The short, stout zookeeper scratched his left armpit, glad to change the subject. Tugging on his overalls, he shifted his shoulders, maybe getting ready to square off with me and Em.

“Yes there is.”

“You and the boy there?”

Em held out the computer. “You, Mr. Pugh, seem to be a guy who knows how to run a tight business. Therefore I’m guessing you have a computer that keeps your organization on track.”

The little guy ducked his head. “Well, I do have one but I don’t, you know, it’s not so much—” as if he didn’t want to discuss it.

“You’ve got a computer?”

“I do own a computer. It’s a laptop, kind of tiny, and Linda uses it sometimes.”

“I thought so. Can we see it? Skip is thinking about getting a new one, and I just wanted a professional opinion.”

He stepped back through the doorway as he studied us on the ground. Finally he nodded.

“You brought
your
computer over here because?”

“To compare,” Em smiled, that disarming smile of hers. The one that makes your heart kind of jump. “I told Skip,” she looked at me and gave me a wink, “that you’d have a good idea of what computer he should get and probably what kind of software to load. Was I right?”

Pugh blushed. “Well, of course, you were right. Linda could probably give you some advice. Why don’t you two come on in?”

We stepped up onto the landing and squeezed into the tiny camper as he motioned for us to sit at the table with the bottle of golden Jose Cuervo. “I’ll get my Dell. You two stay right there.”

He walked back into the tiny bedroom, and I grabbed Em by her shoulder. “You’re brilliant,” I whispered.

“I am, aren’t I?”

“You can download the cell phone information right now.”

He returned with the laptop clutched under his arm. “Here ’tis.”

“Great.” Em glanced around the room. “Where is Linda?”

“Oh, she’s off for the night. She goes out with her girlfriends sometimes and they don’t roll in until three or four in the morning. They play cards or something like that.”

Em and I nodded.

“I can pour you some tequila while you’re looking at the computer.” He motioned to the bottle.

“You were going to call us if you found—when you found Garcia, when he came home. Remember?”

“Well, we haven’t found him.”

“But if he did come home?”

Pugh stood, stepped up on a three-step stool, and took three paper cups down from a shelf above the sink. Pouring from the bottle on the table, he smiled at us. “I’d probably have to come over to the trailer and
tell
you he’d come back.”

“You’ve got Skip’s cell phone number, right?”

“Well, Linda’s got it. And she’s got the phone.”

We were quiet for a good thirty seconds.

“So, there’s only one phone?”

“Yep.”

Em was tight lipped. Finally, “So you don’t have the phone?”

“Nope.”

“And you can’t really help us with the computer?”

“Linda and I could.”

Em looked at her cup, lifted it with her right hand, and pounded down the beverage.

“Will you have another?” Winston asked.