CHAPTER FIVE

SOMEWHERE IN THE FOLLOW UP

I know what you are thinking. You are thinking who is this gallant man sitting in the library diligently investigating. Well, it is none other than I! Your favorite detective in this book. But John you are the only detective in the book you say, and to that, I say it doesn’t change the fact that I am your favorite.

Sitting on a wooden chair at a table surrounded by documents, newspapers, and other papery things; John looks very impressive but as the questionable look on his face would indicate he appears to be going nowhere fast but, I suppose, it is better than going nowhere slow. Isn’t it?

Either way, it is time for a more practical means of searching, John thinks. The detective’s best friend and the best friend of all information gatherers out there. That is right! It is time to use a personal computer, or a PC as all the young hip people would say. Time to use a famous search engine; and here you were thinking John, you are a technological dinosaur. Well, I am glad to prove you all wrong.

John sits at the computer trying to use the technological wonder; head-scratching, wide-open jaw, and the look of annoyance gives away his clear incompetence. A young adult passes by as John looks at him with desperate eyes.

“Excuse me, can you tell me where I can find Alta Vista?” John asks, in need of help.

“What is that?” the young adult asks.

“A search engine?” John asks.

“Just Google it,” the young adult says shaking his head.

“The hell is Google?” John asks with a puzzled look.

This computer wizardry is something else, John thinks!

Who knew you could find an abundance of information while just typing what you want, John says, picturing himself writing as fast as the wind, and absorbing all the information; in reality, he types using a single pointer finger with all the grace of a pregnant elephant. After an hour spent scouring the web or better to say trying to, he gets completely sidetracked.

Watching people fall and funny cat videos quickly take over. As interesting as they are it was time to search for the mysterious red-haired woman. With a slow click here and there, it reveals an interesting development. The woman in the picture was the wife of the elusive gentleman and by the looks of it, they had a baby girl. What happened to the little girl, it does not say.

I think I better go talk to the sister one more time but before that just one more video, John says to himself as he quickly types or types as quickly as possible with a single finger.

“Those cats sure are something,” John says, laughing at the cat compilation video.

Walking through the raining dark streets, John arrives at the Seahorse bar.

“Well hello there, bouncer Bouncer is bartender Bartender here?” John asks, with an overly enormous smile on his face.

“What?” the bouncer asks, scratching his head.

From the bar, the bartender notices John and immediately shows a facial expression that exudes dissatisfaction so clear that walking to a person and telling them I am not happy that you are here would be less clear than this majestic expression of pure disappointment. John smiles as he walks towards the bar.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite bartender,” John says.

“Oh God, I thought you promised me you wouldn’t come back here,” the bartender says.

“I did,” John answers.

“So why are you back?” the bartender asks.

“I came here to see the roaches and the rats,” John adds.

“There was one rat! And now you are saying there are roaches here,” the bartender says as a roach passes against the counter.

“Well, that is just unfortunate for you,” John adds.

The bartender grunts in irritation.

“You promised about not showing your ugly mug here,” the bartender adds.

“I said I would promise to not come here, not that I would keep that promise,” John says.

“Wait! Didn’t we have this conversation before?” the bartender asks.

“Who knows? It is so amusing that we can do it one more time after all good humor comes in two’s or is it threes? Either way, I’m here to see Rebecca. Is she here?” John asks.

“Have you ever heard of perception?” the bartender asks.

“Why Mr. Bartender I didn’t know you knew such big words,” John says.

The bartender grunts in irritation again.

John turns around looking around the bar which, surprisingly, has a decent number of guests this time around; he notices Rebecca sitting alone at a table.

“Mind if I join you? I wore my good coat today,” John asks, standing near Rebecca.

She looks up at him with somewhat sad eyes, saying nothing.

“Well, I can’t say it is the worst reaction I’ve got, but still…” John adds.

“I’m sorry detective you’ve caught me in a bad time,” Rebecca says as she takes a sip of her drink and smokes ha long thin cigarette. John sits, he was never one to stand when the opportunity to sit is available.

Sitting is easy while standing is hard, and John prefers the simple way.

“Tell me do you have any news about my brother?” Rebecca asks.

“I’ve hit a few clues but so far the man is nowhere to be found and by the look on your face I will guess that you haven’t heard from him in some time, am I right?” John asks.

Rebeca looks away for a moment as trying to escape that reality; as realities go, there are few things a person can do to escape them, though some people seem to have a better knack at it than others, in the end, it all comes back to bite us hard in the ass, and then where are you? Stuck at the same predicament but with a sore ass, might as well skip the sore ass aspect, if you ask me, but no one ever does.

“Look, Rebecca, I am here to help. Just talk to me. Tell me what is going on?” John asks.

“Why would you help me?” Rebecca asks.

“Let us just say that I want to, also helping you benefit’s me. It is like hitting two birds with one stone,” John says.

“I never cared for that expression, I like birds,” Rebecca adds.

“What don’t you like?” John asks.

“Spiders,” Rebecca says.

“Well, let us say that we will hit two spiders with one stone then,” John says.

“Hm,” Rebecca slightly smiles.

“From the entire jungle that is this bar, one thing I can say is that I have seen no spiders. Maybe they don’t enjoy being near so many rats and cockroaches,” John says, looking around.

“That may be,” Rebecca says as she laughs.

“Now that is something,” John says, staring at her with almost radiant eyes.

“What is?” Rebecca asks.

“Nothing. So about you letting me help you?” John says switching the conversation quickly.

Rebecca takes a deep breath.

“You see my brother and I didn’t exactly have the best of childhood. It turned out better as time went by. He always cared about me and he always took the brunt of… it all. He did it to protect me,” Rebecca says.

“Sounds like he is a good brother,” John adds.

“He is, and that is why I was happy when he finally found someone to make him happy,” Rebeca says.

“Lauren,” John adds.

“You know about her?” Rebecca asks with a slight surprise.

“Yes, his wife who died,” John adds.

“She was with her issues but I believe she loved him and I know he loved her. Did you know she was with child?” Rebecca asks.

“I am aware,” John says.

“Are you aware they had to give up their child?” Rebecca asks.

“What happened to the baby?” John asks.

“You have to understand that he was in a bad place so he left the baby. I wanted to help him raise the child, but there was no convincing him,” Rebecca says.

“Quite a tragic tale, but I have to ask what does it have to do with the current situation?” John asks.

“You see detective, we came to this city with a purpose. After Mark got back on his feet so to say and with some little persuasion we... he wanted to get back the child he left behind and that is why we are here,” Rebecca says.

“Did you find this child?” John asks.

“No, but he had a lead. He came to me five days ago all excited and he said that it will all be over soon and that I should wait for him here, but...” Rebecca says.

“But he never came back,” John adds.

“Yes, and since money was scarce, I made a little extra by singing here. I’ve been waiting, but he never showed up and I haven’t received a word from him in all those days,” Rebecca says as her expression turns sad again.

“What else did he say the time you last saw him, did he say any names, anyone he talks about, any places he visited?” John asks.

“He said something about some two corrupt cops and...” Rebecca says as she stops herself.

“Yes?” John asks with prime interest.

“There was one more person he mentioned a couple of times,” Rebecca says, reluctantly.

“Is the person in question perhaps the man you were with at the casino, the one wearing the checkered suit?” John asks.

“Look detective I don’t know why I even said anything, it must have been the drinks here. Just forget I told you anything. If you will excuse me,” Rebecca says as she gets up and walks away.

Just who is that man and why is she so reluctant to talk about him, John thinks. Is that man dangerous and is how is he involved in all this? Most of all, why is he wearing a checkered suit? He looks ridiculous, John concludes.

To find fire, it is always best to go where the smoke is. We can apply the same logic to criminals; if there is a place that fits that description it has to be the Lucky casino and who better to ask about that than those people. Ugh!

John goes back to the casino where he sees the two stooges, Harry and Roderick; must be my lucky day, John thinks to himself sarcastically.

“Why are you here?” Harry asks.

“I missed your irresistible smile,” John responds.

Harry grunts in his menacing look, but he does only have the one look.

He can be happy, sad, surprised, or whatever, and yet no one could tell the difference.

“May we be of some help detective?” Roderick asks.

“You may. There was a checkered gentleman here before. Could you tell me who he is?” John asks.

“Wouldn’t it be better if you talked to our boss?” Harry asks.

“I’m afraid I had my fill of movie quotes for today,” John responds.

“He is relentless with them. Concerning the man in question, he is our, well to say competition would be a bit overstretching it, but still, he is working hard to get in with the big boys,” Roderick says.

“Yes?” John says looking at Roderick.

“Yes?” Roderick asks.

“Who is he?” John asks, slightly shaking his head.

“Ah! Yes, his name is Daubrey Pink, but he prefers if people call him Max. You can guess why,” Roderick says.

“Must have been a tough childhood,” John adds.

“One could only imagine. I had some issues with my name being posh, but because of my size I quickly sorted all that mess out,” Roderick says.

“You beat the kids that were making fun of you?” John asks.

“Thoroughly,” Roderick adds as he slightly smirks.

“I’m curious if he is your competition, why don’t you remove him with your delicate brand of dealing with problems?” John asks.

“It was a general idea, but he keeps coming here and losing money as a way of paying… tribute. Because of this, Mr. Malone let him be,” Roderick says.

“SMASH!” Harry yells.

Roderick and John turn around and look blankly at Harry.

“Oh, sorry, I was just remembering grandma,” Harry says.

“That is not the place I want to go to so I will just ignore this. Anyway, where can I find him?” John asks.

“I don’t know his location since as I have already said he gives us money, and there were no orders to from Mr. Malone for us to visit him,” Roderick says.

“Yeah, he is stupid, he loses all the time,” Harry says as he laughs.

What sweet irony but one should refrain from commenting to a person who looks like a rock and has a rock for a brain, John thinks to himself.

“I’m curious if as you said he is barely any competition to your business and as I have understood it he is a small-time player,” John says.

“Yes,” Roderick acknowledges it.

“Then, if you would be so inclined, explain to me how can he afford to spend all that money here,” John says.

“What is that any buss... buss... what is it to you?” Harry says as he tried to struggle with the ever so eluding word of business.

“Be quiet, Harry,” Roderick says, thinking about the issue.

“It seems to me, in my humble opinion, that you have maybe underestimated him and perhaps there is more here in play than you originally thought,” John says.

“What does that mean?” Harry asks from the sides.

“I think you are, maybe, right in this matter,” Roderick says.

“Under-estimate, Under-estimate,” Harry keeps repeating as he slightly giggles, menacingly per tradition.

I could only imagine the look on his poor mother’s face when she gave birth to him. The poor woman must have been in shock, John thinks.

“Under Estimate!” Harry yells.

“I think we need to bring this to Mr. Malone,” Roderick says.

“And here we go again,” John says as he sighs, knowing what awaits.

“Wait a moment here,” Roderick says as he goes away.

A moment later he waves to John, signaling him to come.

“The situation was explained to me detective but I’m curious, why did you bring up Mr. Pink? How is he relevant to our current deal?” Mr. Malone asks.

“My investigation has led me to him and I believe he and Mark Aubrie were, if not working together, at least in contact,” John says.

Mr. Malone takes out a couple of pieces of paper, he looks around, writes something down, and passes a small piece of paper to John with an address written there.

“I guess it won’t hurt to have another pair of eyes look into the matter more closely. I trust you will keep me informed or do I need to threaten you again?” Mr. Malone asks.

“Under-estimate rock’n’roll,” Harry yells menacingly and happily. One has to have his trademark.

“I think you have made your threats impeccably and clearly. They were so artistic that I found myself honored to have been on their receiving side,” John says.

“Good, good,” Mr. Malone adds.

John turns around to leave and thinks this was tolerable since there were no movie quotes, but then he stops for a second thinking that he has jinxed himself.

No? Nothing. He grabs the handle of the door as he makes his first step outside.

“Oh, and detective, if you find Aubrie just whistle,” Mr. Malone adds.

“Whistle?” John turns back, looking puzzled.

“You do know how to whistle? You just puff your lips and blow,” Mr. Malone says as an enormous smile appears on his face.

And there had to be at least one. The woes of life.

John stands outside with a feeling that he forgot something. Something critical.

A man passes with a child who squirts water from a water gun as he runs around.

“I should have never bought you that gun,” the dad yells chasing the kid.

“What have I forgotten?” John says thinking out loud.

Two policemen pass by him.

“I can’t believe you lost your gun, Steve,” the policeman says.

“I’m sure it will turn up somewhere,” Steve the policeman says.

“You better hope it will otherwise you are in big trouble,” the other policeman says.

“Ah! I know,” John adds, with a smile.

I have forgotten to eat, John nods to himself as being proud for having remembered that one elusive thing.

Back at the Seahorse or ARSE if you prefer the artistic work of some extremely bored but persistent individual.

“Hello Mr. Bouncer,” John happily adds, walking in.

“Hmm,” The bouncer unhappily grunts.

“You know I have met someone with whom you would be sure to hit it off,” John says.

“I hit many people,” the bouncer says.

A match made in heaven, well a match made in stupid heaven.

“No, I mean some you could be friends with,” John says.

“Who that?” the bouncer asks.

“His name is Harry and I can tell you are both on the same level,” John says.

“The same level? I’m the only one on this level?” the bouncer says, looking around if there is someone around him.

“A match made in stupid heaven, indeed,” John says, entering the bar.

“Are you kidding me?” the bartender yells, covering his face with a supreme facepalm.

“I can tell you a joke. I am in a good mood,” John adds, approaching the bartender.

“Why are you here now? Don’t tell me you have more questions,” the bartender asks.

“I came here because I remembered I forgot to eat,” John says.

“You know this is a bar? We don’t serve any food here,” the bartender says.

“Of course you serve food, my good man, of course, you do,” John says.

“We still don’t...” the bartender says, looking at him with clear contempt.

“I would like to order two dishes of your finest...” John says.

“I told you we don’t have...” the bartender says as he gets cut off.

“Beer please,” John says.

“You want to “eat” beer instead of actual food?” the bartender looks at him.

“Hey, beer is just as good as a meal. My late grandfather, god bless his crazy soul, always said so,” John says.

“Hmm,” the bartender lets out.

“Though he shot himself while cleaning a gun,” John says while reminiscing.

“He died like that?” the bartender asks.

“Oh no, he died from bleeding to death. He didn’t believe in doctors. He said they are under the control of the Illuminate and that if you go to one they will put a chip in you,” John says.

“So what did he do? He just bled to death?” the bartender asks.

“He tried to stop it by talking to a cat and eating some salt,” John adds.

“Wow! I’m sorry I asked,” the bartender says as pondering going to his bed, lying in a fetal position, and never leaving it again.

After finishing his questionable eating, which you should not try to mimic at any cost, it is time to return to the case. What better way than to visit the address of the criminal with the checkered suit with the not-so-tough name.

John follows the address. In front, a large run-down warehouse lies. An impressively poor condition; just looking at its walls could give person gangrene. A single guard stands at the entrance. Luckily, that person is the size of a normal person, not an unnecessarily large cartoon-ish stereotype, which is good because those types hurt less when they are beating you up senselessly.

John approaches trying to spot a way of sneak into it but there doesn’t seem to be any way in. At least not for him since a more flexible person could climb the nearby building, jump from there to the warehouse and just slide in from the top yelling parkour, parkour. Sadly, John is not a person to yell parkour.

John pictures himself as he achieves feats of acrobatics but it’s time to come back to reality for attempting this would end in him breaking his bones on top of the building; in reality, John overestimates himself because just jumping up, grabbing up the elevated place of the other building and pulling his total weight with the strength of his arms would be a feat he could not do. Or could he?

John filled with delusional confidence goes around the other building, just out of sight, as he takes a running start: jumps with all his might, soaring through the air like a majestic eagle barely rising from the floor; he falls from his low jump. He looks ridiculous, but no one is around, so he tries again. This time with a little running start. Again, like a majestic eagle, he soars through the air with all the jumping capacity of a pregnant elephant as he fails yet again.

“This is embarrassing,” John says out loud. He is right.

But wait, why jump when you can take a crate, and just reach the elevated spot. Now he is thinking.

“Genius!” John says with great confidence and enthusiasm.

He finds some pieces of trash, which is not so difficult to find since this entire city is a trash pile on a good day, and with great effort, he constructs something resembling a... resembling a... well it looks like a lot of pieces of junk stacked on top of each other.

“What a magnificent construct,” John says... disclaimer it isn’t.

He climbs the pieces of smelly, disgusting, and gangrene-inducing garbage as he reaches the spot where he just needs to pull himself up. Just a bit. He grabs it as he contracts his muscles in a powerful and manly way; John pulls himself up with the confidence of a proud lion. John stands still.

“This is embarrassing,” John says out loud, and yet again he is right.

“Maybe I need more garbage,” John says, and as soon as he says that the garbage construct shakes, with it his legs as he plummets down.

To be frank, it is a miracle it lasted all this time.

In great shame, John dusts himself off as he walks away and abandons this idea, luckily for John he has a lot of experience in dealing with shame so this does not bother him at all.

“I could have done this if I was five years younger,” John adds, walking away.

The truth of the matter is that John could not have done this at any point in his life, but we will let him off for now.

Defeated, he walks to the warehouse guard.

“Hello there,” John says, looking at the expressionless expression of the storehouse guard.

The guard blankly stares at him as though watching through him; John turns around thinking he may be looking at something else, but there is no one else behind him.

“Um... How is life treating you, my good man?” John asks desperately trying to establish some rapport.

The guard frowns at him as if he suddenly heard something that should not have been said, something so vile that his cold exterior suddenly turned into one of a very angry man. John indeed said something he should have. He asked the guard the worst question possible- how is life treating you? This will not do.

“How is life treating me? Ever so exalted,” the guard angrily says with a pinch of sarcasm.

“Um..” John stutters.

“Do you want to know how life is treating me?” the guard asks but not so much in a tone of a question more in a tone of a very angry man trying to let out his pent up frustration. In short, he didn’t care for an answer to the question as more of it served the purpose of setting up the beginning of his rant; and boy did it.

“Let me tell you, my GOOD man,” the guard says as he snarls out the good man part with disgust.

“It is all… complete and utter shit, I tell you. That is how life is treating me,” the guard says as he almost instantly regresses to his expressionless self before the taboo question.

“Well, why so blue?” John asks, feeling obligated to follow-up. Not to mention he needs to get into the warehouse and his acrobatic skills are less on par with an actual acrobat, also not on par with an incapable person yet more on par with him. This was the lowest he could think of in terms of comparisons. He is not far away from the truth.

The guard takes a deep sigh.

“I’m stuck at this dead-end job, I have no girlfriend, I have no promise of a better future and I think I’m going slightly bald. But I guess I shouldn’t complain to you,” the warehouse guard says, taking a deep breath of disappointment.

“What? I’m not going bald,” John says, running his fingers through his hair in a slight panic.

“Are you sure, man? Your hairline looks like it is receding a bit,” the warehouse guard says while inspecting John’s head.

“Hey, I will have you know sometimes when I comb my hair the hair is so thick that the hair comb gets stuck in it,” John says as he insecurely combs his hair with his hand. The hand doesn’t get stuck.

“Well, if you say so...” the warehouse guard says as he continues looking at John like he has further comments but refrains on them.

“This is besides the point. Anyway, what does a guy have to do to get in this warehouse,” John asks.

“You got permission from the boss to get in here?” the warehouse guard asks.

“Yes?” John says looking as unconvincing as possible.

“Looks like a total lie, but I’ll play along. Can I see it?” the warehouse guard asks.

“Of course,” John says, remaining motionless.

The two look at each other for a awkward half-minute as nothing happens except the awkwardness.

“You need to show it to me,” the warehouse guard says with a face of slight amusement.

“Why sure I have it just here,” John says as he puts his hands in his pockets pretending to search for something that does not exist.

He pulls out the ancient mushroom from his pocket; the stale mushroom stands between John and the warehouse guard in all glory. They both remain silent and motionless.

“That is a mushroom,” the warehouse guard says while looking at John with almost full disappointment.

“Correct, I see you know your plants,” John says.

“A mushroom is not a plant, man,” the warehouse guard says, following with an epic facepalm.

“Then what is it if it is not a plant? Surely it is not an animal?” John adds with pride as though he has just argued his way to victory in a debate.

“Mushroom are a species of their own. There is the kingdom of animals and plants, there is also a kingdom of mushroom or mycelia. I believe some other species also have their kingdom, but I am not sure. Bacteria and Proteobacteria or something,” the warehouse guard explains.

“You seem to know a lot about the...” John says as he struggles to find a word to describe whatever the hell the warehouse guard is talking about.

“It is called taxonomy. Do you know? The first to classify it was Carl Linnaeus,” the warehouse guard says shaking his head in a disapproving manner.

“Look, whatever this is, I am not here for a chemistry lecture but to get in the warehouse,” John says.

“Chemistry lecture? This is biology, do you even science, bro?” the warehouse guard asks.

“Look, fine, whatever. We have seriously sidetracked. I was talking about getting in the warehouse,” John says as his bubbling annoyance takes almost visible shape.

“Why do you even have a mushroom in your pocket?” the warehouse guard asks.

“There is a funny story behind that, actually,” John says.

“Yes?” the warehouse guard says waiting for John to continue.

“I’m drawing a blank now, but I’m sure it will come back to me,” John says.

“Meh,” the warehouse guard says, turning his look away, signaling the end of this conversation.

“About that entry?” John asks.

“No,” the warehouse guard says.

“Could I bribe you?” John asks.

“I don’t take mushroom bribes,” the warehouse guard responds.

“Could I beat you up and force my way in?” John asks, curiously.

“I doubt it,” the warehouse guard responds unphased by this question.

“Good. Because I am against violence,” John says as he firmly slams his foot on the ground.

“Mmm,” the warehouse guard murmurs.

There is little to do except use his hidden weapon, John thinks.

He looks at the warehouse guard with a gigantic smile.

“What now?” the warehouse guard asks.

“Have I ever told you about my dreams?” John asks as he wickedly smiles.

“Don’t even try it, man. I grew up with three sisters who loved talking about their dreams like a subpar noir detective book author loves rain and night,” the warehouse guard adds.

“That much?” John asks, nodding his head in defeat.

The brain cogs in John’s head turn as he thinks about what possibility he has not yet explored. What can he use against this stone-cold, unmoving, and, strangely, taxonomy very informative warehouse guard? An idea pops in his head!

“This just might be crazy enough to work,” John says to himself. Another one of the weird habits that he has developed during his lifetime, other than speaking to inanimate objects he also talks to himself. Sad, one could think, but then again it all boils down to how lonely and desperate you are; John is pretty much both.

John leans in with a grin.

“Still not giving up? I told you already...” the warehouse guard says as he gets cut off.

“What if I find you a girlfriend,” John says.

The warehouse guard lights up like a very depressing yet shining Christmas tree.

“A girlfriend, you say,” the warehouse guard adds

“A girlfriend, I say,” John adds to the added.

They both said it clearly, but they repeated it to add dramatic effect; also adding a few more words for a word count in a book isn’t a bad idea, but that is beside the point of this... or is it?

We shall never know!

Suddenly a piece of dramatic music appears as the reader turns to look behind. Scarred that maybe something, somewhere in the house has happened. The reader finds there is nothing but will the reader be able to sleep with the possible impending horror lurking, possibly, so near. What is that below? Quickly, look down!

Meanwhile, back at the scarcely productive conversation of the detective and the warehouse guard.

The rest will be revealed after this, mediocre at best but reasonably weird, cliff-hanger.

Why are you listing through the pages? There is nothing to see further.

I told you there is nothing. Stop being persistent.

Nothing. See? Nothing is here.