The Thrill of the Chase (Mystery & Adventure) (3 page)

"Time flies when you're having fun, sweetheart," I said, downing the last dregs from my mug. The coffee was now lukewarm, borderline stone–cold, and it made me grimace.

"Fun?" she questioned skeptically, taking the now–empty mug out of my hands and placing it in the bathroom sink (adjacent to her workspace) to be washed later. I kept telling myself that if I ever got some extra money, I would someday add another larger bathroom onto the office.

Yeah, well that hasn't happened yet, has it?

I grinned at her. "Every day is a new adventure when living your working life with the one and only Chance Stikup."

Jill paused to place a folder in the top drawer of her cabinet – probably something to do with my finances. They were a complicated mess, something only she could have organized. "Episode 27: The Continuing Adventures of His Caffeine Addiction," she said, framing the subtitle with a sweeping motion of her hand, reminiscent of a rainbow.

"I hear this show has terrible ratings," I returned sadly.

We bundled up in the hall, piling on the coats, gloves, and hats, and then stumbled outside into the snowstorm. It took about fifteen minutes to clean the snow off our cars, but scraping windows was one of my specialties. And it
was
a marketable skill. Now if only I could find someone gullible enough to pay me by the hour and leave me alone while I worked...

"See you tomorrow, Mr. Stikup," Jill called as she climbed into her vehicle. Despite the fact that I constantly pleaded with her
not
to call me that, she still insisted. She waved as she pulled away from the curb, leaving me smiling in the cold.

Jill was only 25. She was fresh out of college and had somehow stumbled across my ad for an assistant about two years ago. No one else had wanted to play secretary for a third–rate detective, but Jill had taken the job. I suppose I paid her well enough, despite her teasing to the contrary. On several occasions, I'd encouraged her to quit and pursue a better career. Each time, she'd always insisted that she was happy with the work and wasn't ready to move on yet. She certainly was a sweetheart, as I've already stated: polite as one could get, a modest dresser, and not profane in any sense of the word. She arrived at the office early every morning, always wore the same perfume – something that reminded me pleasantly of crisp autumn days – and was forever smiling.

She's a gem.

Wrenching myself from my thoughts, I fumbled with my keys to unlock the battered Ford Anglia. Daydreaming, fantasizing, complaining, and my mother still makes me PB&J when I visited. I was a goddamn kid in an adult's body, masquerading as someone who knew what he's doing.

By the time I reached my house, the snow was nearly up to my thighs. The plows had come through at least twice, stacking the snow against the telephone poles. The cars parked on either side of the streets were spattered with muddy slush, most almost buried.

Cursing, I fought my way through the drifts to the front door and unlocked it. The house was small and disorderly, and I never had any company. It was probably too small to fit anyone else in there beside myself anyway, and come to think of it, I really didn't have any friends to entertain.

I turned up the heat the moment I was inside and threw my coat and gloves haphazardly over the coat rack. The smell of the furnace quickly filled the little cottage, comforting in its homey familiarity. Warming my hands in my armpits, I headed to the kitchen, where I fished leftover Chinese out of the back of the refrigerator. I ate my pitiful meal of cold broccoli and rice over yesterday's newspaper, and turned in for the night sometime around 11:00, sighing as I thought about the prospect of another boring day already rising to greet me.

It was just another typical day in the life of an indebted, third–rate PI.

And yet, I loved it.

Chapter  Two

Tuesday, November 30th

I got to the office at 6:00 the next morning, a half–hour before Jill would arrive. The snow had ceased sometime during the early morning hours, leaving in its wake drifts deep enough to house cathedrals. Muddy strata caked the curbs, a testament of early–morning traffic and the dutiful township snowplows. The winter wonderland was far from "pretty", but the empty sky overhead – maybe not sunny, but not stormy either – was a sight for eyes weary of the premature winter.

Fishing the office key out of the pocket of my trench coat, I let myself inside. I scooped up the day's paper and headed down the hall to my HQ, shaking ice off of the bag along the way. Hopefully the floor would dry before Jill arrived.

I tossed the newspaper onto the worn sofa and hit the light switch with my free hand as I entered my office, but then remembered that the bulb had burned out. Irritably, I headed to the fireplace instead. Once the room was filled with the warm glow of a cheery fire, it would be time to fill out the bills I'd neglected the day before.

Might as well get the worst over with first,
I thought.

Jill arrived at 6:40, ten minutes late. She poked her head in to apologize, citing car trouble as the reason for her tardiness. I reminded her that she could show up at six in the evening for all I cared. Wondering aloud how I could survive without her, she headed down the hall to her office – to do some paperwork on which she had "procrastinated long enough".

Ah–ha
, I thought to myself bemusedly, listening to the sounds of her moving around her office.
At least there's one thing we have in common
. It was good to be reminded that we weren't complete polar opposites.

I placed the finished bills and accompanying checks in the "out" tray for Jill to collect and mail and then decided it was time for a cup of coffee. Once I had gotten that, I decided, I would lounge on the sofa and check the business section while I waited for something exciting to happen.

Maybe the piping in the bathroom will freeze up and explode,
I thought as I strolled down the hall to my secretary's office.
That
would certainly be exciting.

I halted in the doorway, hands thrust deep into my pockets, and affected my best whiny–child whimper. "Jill? Can I get a cup of joe?"

She was sitting Indian–style on the floor, surrounded by advancing ranks of manila folders. Apparently, they'd escaped the file cabinet next to Jill's desk and were intent on conquering the entirety of her workspace.
Viva la France!
I imagined them screaming as they charged, because for some reason they were French. At least they'd be easy to defeat.

Interestingly enough, it didn't seem like my career had been all that eventful, but all those case folders meant something. Something like pride started in my chest, but it was like the carburetor of an old Model–T: jug jug jug
spat
!

"Sure, but you'll have to get it yourself," Jill said, vaguely gesturing toward the cabinet on the opposite wall, atop which the coffeemaker resided. "You know I can't quit when I'm on a role! And you drink too much of that stuff."

"Says the addict tea–drinker." I snorted a laugh as I began the coffee–making process, deeply amused by the fact that Jill had – in essence – just told me "no". We were really co–workers anyway, considering I wasn't much of a boss and Jill's head actually sat on her shoulders. "Still intent on breeding some kidney stones, huh?"

"Hey, I can knock the tea habit anytime I want, Mister," Jill said.

I shook my head severely. "That's what they all say."

And that was when something
very
unusual happened. In fact, had someone stopped me on my way to work that morning and prophesied that it would happen, there's no way in hell I would have believed them. Not because I'm a skeptical person by nature, although that would certainly have something to do with it. The fact of the matter was that this type of occurrence was so rare it was practically nonexistent.

The phone in my office rang.

The phone in my office
rang
.

I had two phone lines in the building. One was in Jill's office, and that was for personal calls, appointments, clients, and those annoying telemarketers. I let Jill deal with all that, primarily because she was a hell of a lot more patient than I was, and besides, that's what I paid her to do. The second line in the office was unlisted and exclusively for the police – so they could reach me directly if they ever had any need a third–rate PI with bottom–line credentials and a temperament better suited to bad TV than police work. Needless to say, that "hotline" was usually frozen solid. But every now and again everyone gets an icebreaker.

"Hark!" I said, cupping a hand to my ear as I abandoned the coffee maker. "I hear business calling."

Jill rolled her eyes so severely that I had to laugh, but before she could say anything, I was out the door. Walking briskly down the hall, I assumed what felt like a business–manner and scooped the phone up off my desk on the fifth ring.

"Stikup Agency," I said, and liked the way the words felt rolling off my tongue. It was an alien sensation, considering Jill was the one who usually got to say it.

The caller barely waited for me to finish before demanding, "Is this Stikup?"

"As far as I know, that's the name on my door," I replied sweetly before I could stop myself.

If the man on the other end was perturbed by my sarcasm, he chose not to express it. Instead, he introduced himself in a pointed tone. "This is Captain Slyder – SPD."

A grin quirked the corners of my mouth upward, but I controlled the smile carefully. It wasn't very often I got a call from the
chief of Swedesboro police himself
.

"Been a while, Chief," I said casually, like we were buddies. In fact, I wasn't sure that I'd ever spoken to him directly more than twice. Had Jill overheard, she would have dissolved into fits of laughter, and I would have begun stammering like an idiot.

"What can I do for you?" I asked, trying not to think about it.

"Believe it or not, we could use your services," Slyder replied in a grunt. "There was a break–in at 264, Franklin Drive early this morning. Obviously, we would have called in Scarlotti, but he's in dispose at the moment, so we need you down here."

In some ways, the way he was taking deliberate care to make it clear that I was the second choice for the job irritated me, but I was used to such prejudice. Scarlotti Benson was the local sheriff affiliated with SPD. Fifty–four years of age, he was a detective much like myself – the key difference being that he was a professional and always got the pie. I was the amateur who always got the crust.

If anything.

When I failed to respond immediately, Slyder coughed pointedly. "You know where that is, right?"

I narrowed my eyes. He was testing my competence, even with something as small as knowledge of Swedesboro geography. Being treated as an incompetent always rubbed me the wrong way, but there are things you learn to deal with in my profession, and as juvenile as it may have seemed, there was a lot of weight behind that probing question.

"Sure," I said, deciding it would be in my own best interest to create a good impression from then on out. "Two blocks from my office."

He seemed mollified for the time being. Abrupt speaking seemed to be more of his forte than cloak–and–dagger probing. Which was fine with me, considering I tended to be just as blunt. "I'll see you shortly."

I dropped the phone onto the receiver, resisting the urge to let out a
whoop
. Obviously the job wasn't anything permanent, but it
was
an opportunity. At the very least it meant several decent paychecks from the district, and with those paper knights in shining bank envelopes keeping the vile tentacles of Self–Employment at bay, I could further worry postpone worrying about the future.

I crossed the room to the cabinet and unlocked the top drawer. From the inner compartment, I withdrew the 9mm along with several clips – heaven forbid I be forced to use them – and tucked the weapon into the chest holster (strewn across the mantle). My concealed firearms license was still in my wallet, although it might have expired some time ago. Hopefully no one would be checking it before
I
got a chance to.

Jill appeared just as I was strapping on the chest holster. "So what's happening?" she asked eagerly.

I chose to leave the particulars to her imagination. "
I
just got a phone call from the Chief of Swedesboro Police," I said, winking at the impressed look she shot at me. "It looks like today's actually gonna get interesting, darlin'."

She smiled and stepped aside to let me pass. "Well, be careful."

I paused dramatically, holding up my snoop's badge like it was the goddamn Bat Symbol. "Careful… is my middle name."

Jill shook her head, fighting a grin. "Shut up and go already, will you?"

I strode past her and down the hall, liking the weight of the handgun on my chest. Even more than that, I liked the way my voice echoed impressively as I called over my shoulder to her, "Keep that coffee warm for me, will ya?"

As I threw the heavy jacket around my shoulders, I caught a glimpse of her posting a hand on her hip. "Or I'm fired?" she called back in a dangerous tone.