CHAPTER SIX

IN THE FOLLOW UP

At the questionably productive conversation in front of the questionable warehouse. The questionable situation advances.

“Yes. That would work,” the warehouse guard says.

“Excellent,” John says, joining his fingers together like a stereotypical movie villain. He puts a special emphasis on the word excellent.

E-X-C-E-L-L-E-N-T!

“But I have certain criteria,” the warehouse guard adds.

You have criteria, John thinks skeptically, staring at him?

“She has to be good-looking, young, have a sense of humor, be smart and... into taxonomy,” the warehouse guard adds.

“I can get you a girlfriend that is a woman,” John says.

The warehouse guard thinks about John’s counteroffer.

“I will accept these terms,” the warehouse guard says, nodding in agreement.

“Excellent,” John says, again putting a strong emphasizing the word excellent.

E-X-C-E-L-L-E-N-T!

“Don’t move from here, I will be right back,” John says, rushing away.

“Yes, because I have many things to do with my, all so great, life,” the warehouse guard murmurs to himself.

Thinking about who could help him with gaining entrance to the warehouse, it leaves John at a loss. Sure, he knows many women in the city; with most of them, he is on such inappropriate terms that they would rather fling a glass at him than help him with whatever kind of help he needs. Then there are others on which he is at even worse terms. These are not grand terms, John concludes.

The question remains, what are viable options? The motel receptionist, perhaps? She appears to have a broom stuck... you get the picture; with that, it probably limits her in moving anywhere far from the motel, but those things are the least of her issues.

Jane von Riyn perhaps? Considering her standing in society, something like this would most likely be beneath her.

The orphanage headmistress and her sister? I’m guessing if the warehouse guard could hear anything apart from their nasality, it could theoretically work? But they seem to consider themselves somewhat higher than reality demands. Taking this into the equation, a simple warehouse guard would be beneath them.

Few options remain, so there is nothing else to do but try; what is there to lose other than precious time, John thinks. Then again, I have a lot of free time, so what is more, spent here and there.

Like a headless chicken, John runs through the city as he takes sips from a flask of alcohol in his coat. Where did he get this flask, you might ask? He didn’t have it before and at no point in the story; he acquired it, so from where did it come from? To be perfectly honest, John just noticed, by accident, that he had it in his coat all along. Lucky! But then again, considering his standards and, well, him, this may be far from lucky. Unlucky perhaps? Lucky or unlucky he shall not judge beforehand; in the words of a famous philosopher, let the future be my judge. It was, of course, his good friend Aristol back from school days. The poor guy sure got beaten a lot, John reminiscences.

Arriving at Jane’s mansion and explaining the situation, she responds with... an uncontrollable laugh.

“Detective, I am a very busy woman, I don’t have time to play your games; amusing as they sound,” Jane says, continuing to laugh while returning up to her study.

“Jeeves, you by any chance don’t have any interest in dressing like a woman?” John asks the butler.

“If only you had asked me that 10 years ago but alas I fear I cannot help you now,” the butler says with all the emotion of a dead stone.

“If I find a time machine I shall be sure to contact you,” John adds.

“Very good, Sir,” the butler adds, slamming the door in John’s face.

Unknown to John, the butler faintly smiles; it wasn’t anything more or anything less than the simple act of ejecting the tragic detective from the front door. We all have our tiny pleasures in life.

Continuing his manic headless-chicken-like run with the power of the newly found mighty flask, John finds himself at the orphanage. He takes one more sip for good measure and also because he is a raging alcoholic who should seek help. Poor John; if books could have sad smiles, this would be a place to insert as many of them as possible, but alas this is not the time or place for that. Perhaps, in the future, when people become more developed and technology advances, we shall finally reach the point in our development when we can freely insert sad smiles in books. One day! :(

John walks to the orphanage receptionist.

“Hello there,” John says, with a friendly alcohol-infused smile.

“Hello,” the orphanage receptionist responds.

“Uhm, miss Ann McManns sisters,” John says as he gets cut off.

“I have a name you know?” the so far know as Ann McManns sister says.

“Yes?” John asks.

“It is Anette McMann,” Anette McMann the Ann Mcmanns sister says.

“I see. It is a completely different name,” John adds.

“Do you want to see my sister?” Anette asks.

“Actually, I was looking for you,” John says leaning closer.

“Me? What for?” Anette asks, with slight redness on the cheeks.

“I have a good friend who is a bachelor, and he is looking for a smart, attractive, and independent woman; you are the first one that came to mind,” John says, lying through his teeth. If pants could catch fire, they would burst now.

“Me?” Anette says as her eyes light up from a monotonous brightness to a slightly less monotonous brightness.

“That and I have no other options,” John silently murmurs.

“What?” Anette asks, unsure of what John said.

“Nothing. Anyway, how would you like to meet this bachelor?” John asks.

“Well, I could, perhaps, try it. Tell me what does he do?” Anette asks.

“He is a proud warehouse guard,” John says.

Anette’s eyes gloom with visible disapproval. John should have lied, but that flask is taking effect. Whatever was in, one thing was sure, it was free and he would not let it go to waste; as his late grandfather once said, if it is free you drink it. Truly a proverb you can live your life by.

“I’m afraid not,” Anette says.

“Why not?” John asks.

“Just no,” Anette says.

“You know you shouldn’t be so judgmental about people’s professions, it is not like you are so far above,” John says.

“Excuse me?” Anette says as she gets cut off.

“You know I’m afraid I have to go,” John says, leaving the orphanage; in the background, the receptionist’s jaw hangs wide open in visible shock.

Annoyed, John leaves the orphanage. Is it possible that I have no one to ask such a simple thing as to talk to a lonely warehouse guard for a minute or two, John asks himself in his woes?

With almost divine-like intervention two policemen pass by John as he ponders in deep thought in the street.

“Hey Steve, congratulations on getting a niece,” the policeman says.

“Yeah she is great,” Steve says.

“What did they name her?” the policeman says.

“Rebecca,” Steve says.

“Rebecca! What a grand name,” the policeman states.

John continues to think.

“How is it possible that I can’t find one woman to help me with this,” John says out loud.

“I got her a small necklace with the name Rebecca engraved on it,” Steve says.

“Rebecca with a necklace that says, Rebecca! How cute,” the policeman says.

On the side, John still is thinking hard.

“Only one woman...” John says, racking his brain, almost fuming out steam due to overthinking.

“She looks like her mom,” Steve says.

“Isn’t she that singer,” the policeman says.

“Yeah, maybe Rebecca will be a singer like her mom,” Steve says as the both of them laugh.

On the side, John still stands like a deuce. Suddenly a thought comes to his mind.

“That is it!” John yells.

Finally, it took him long enough.

“If I can’t find one, I just as well go to a bar, and perhaps an idea will pop in my head,” John says.

I stand corrected. He is terrible at this, isn’t he?

John arrives at the Seahorse bar.

He walks inside, orders a drink which he gets with a disdainful look from the bartender, free of charge; the disdainful look, not the drink.

“You know there are other bars in the city?” the bartender asks.

“Yes, but that would require meeting new characters, remembering their names, how they look, maybe even learning some of their backstories. Who has time for that? There are already enough characters in my life,” John adds.

“No sly comments this time around about the bar or something related to the bar?” the bartender asks.

“You have rats,” John says.

“We’ve already established this,” the bartender responds.

Both of them look at each other, John looking like he is thinking of something witty to say and the bartender expecting something insulting. But nothing comes to mind.

“It is a slow day. I will get back to you in that regard,” John adds.

The bartender looks at John like one would look at a disturbed person. Something must be wrong, something must be wrong indeed.

John walks to an empty table as he sits down and ponders.

He hears a voice behind him.

“Mind if I join you?” the voice asks.

John turns around with a defeated look to find out the voice belongs to Rebecca, Mark’s sister.

“Rebecca?” John exclaims with an almost revitalized look.

“I’m glad you remember my name,” Rebecca says, lightly smiling.

“Please sit down,” John says.

Rebecca? Rebecca! Of all the women he thought about, he didn’t think of the one that makes the most sense. Cute, smart, witty, nice, and much more. Rebecca if only something could have happened that would jolt his memory of her but he is not that lucky, John thinks. He cannot realize what happened a few minutes ago, but we shall not hold this against him: holding it against him would most likely accomplish nothing, and would be a colossal waste of time. Oh, John, you were once almost promising. Almost!

“What happened, John? You look down,” Rebecca says.

“This happens when you get wronged in life,” John says.

“Life or love life?” Rebecca asks.

“Both,” John responds.

“Rebecca, you are the perfect woman,” John says enthusiastically.

“Well... I think you are exaggerating. Also, I think you may have drank a few,” Rebecca says, hiding her smile with her hand.

“No. I didn’t mean it like that,” John says.

“So, I am not the perfect woman?” Rebecca asks playfully.

“Don’t play me, even if you play nicely and I wouldn’t mind playing for a bit. Just a tiny bit,” John says, regaining his former composure.

“I am just joking, detective. What did you have in mind, it looks like you have an idea?” Rebecca asks, pulling out a thin cigarette.

John pulls out a lighter.

“Thank you, but I have my own,” Rebecca says.

“I know,” John says, lighting his lighter.

“If it makes you happy,” Rebecca says.

“I wouldn’t say it would make me happy but it sure wouldn’t hurt,” John says as he lights her cigarette.

For a moment their gazes intertwine; just for a moment.

“So?” Rebecca says.

“So?” John repeats.

“You were talking about something?” Rebecca asks.

“Ah! Yes, I need your help with a little something,” John adds.

“A little something?” Rebecca asks, closing in with curiosity.

“Tell me, how well do you know taxonomy?” John asks.

Some time passes as John and Rebecca arrive at the warehouse, and the illustrious warehouse guard.

Rebecca walks towards the warehouse guard engaging him in a conversation. John stands further away as he lights a cigar, looking at the calm sea behind the warehouse.

A gust of wind blows elevating his troubles away leaving him in a dazed-like state; a voice brings him back.

“John?” the voice says.

He turns to notice Rebecca under the pale moonlight, faintly smiling; the light of the moon shines over her.

“Rebecca!” John exclaims in surprise.

“Did I break you away from a nice thought?” Rebecca asks.

“On the contrary, you just made it,” John adds.

She looks at him for a while as John quickly derails the conversation.

“Well, how did it go?” John asks.

“I think he will let you in,” Rebecca says, turning to leave.

John tries to speak, but nothing comes out.

“I will see you,” Rebecca says as she walks away.

A warm sensation goes throughout John’s entire body as he feels something unusual, something he has not felt for a long time. He feels something, he isn’t sure what it is.

“What the hell is this?” John asks himself.

He feels happy. Happy for the first time after a long, long time.

John walks to the warehouse guard.

“So what happened?” John asks.

“Nothing much, we talked for a bit. She is great! I feel somewhat strange after talking to her,” the warehouse guard says.

“I know what you mean,” John adds.

“Well, I guess if nothing happened that means you won’t be letting me in,” John says as he sighs.

“Nah, you can go in but if someone asks you sneaked in,” the warehouse guard adds.

“You will let me, although I didn’t get you a date?” John asks, confused.

“I don’t know why but I feel like a little child now. So weird,” the warehouse guard adds, wondering about his current state of mind.

John knows exactly what the warehouse guard means but there are pressing matters to do so better to get them done and over with, he thinks.

John walks inside as the warehouse guard pretends to look the other way.