Money Ain't Nothing

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  Copyright

  One - Money Ain't Nothing

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  COPYRIGHT © 2017 Jason Blacker

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  This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

  ONE

  Money Ain't Nothing

  DAMN mosquitoes and it wasn’t even summer. They kept going at it. I opened my eyes and realized it was my cell. Vibrating and gyrating like a nubile belly dancer. I fumbled for it plopping my hand in the ashtray. What the hell, I decided to cross myself. Remember man thou art dust… damn phone kept buzzing. I grabbed at it as it tried to skitter off the table.

  “Hello,” I said looking at my clock radio. Six thirty in the morning. What’s wrong with people.

  “Is this Mr. Carrick. Mr. Anthony Carrick?”

  The voice was soft and sad, like rain clouds over the ocean.

  “Yes.”

  A bit of awkward silence so I figured I might as well close my eyes and take a nap.

  “I need your help. You’re a detective right?”

  “No, not really. Detectives work for the police. I’m just a gumshoe.”

  “A what?”

  “Okay ma’am, I’m a detective but I’m not a cop.”

  I straightened up now. The sheet fell off my chest like my last lover. It was cold in here. No wonder, it was too damn early for a conversation.

  “Is this a bad time Mr. Carrick?”

  The k sounded like a slammed door right in my ear.

  “Not any more,” I said. I rubbed my eyes. Someone had put salt and pepper in them the night before. I took a deep breath and reached for my cigarettes.

  “Listen, I just called to ask for your help. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  I waited a second to see if she’d hang up. Actually I was stuffing a Marlboro in my mouth.

  “Now wait just a minute. Didn’t say I wouldn’t help. It’s just that I’m not a morning person that’s all.”

  A sigh on the other end not unlike that of a lover. I liked her already. She was slim and good looking with pouty red lips. But I get confused.

  “Mr. Carrick, my son’s dead.”

  She stopped there to gauge my reaction. Funny thing is they usually all are by the time I get the call. A fixer-upper with nothing left to fix, only rot to cover up and plaster over.

  “Sorry to hear that. Call me Anthony.”

  I lit my cigarette away from the phone. I didn’t want to be rude. I inhaled and felt a lot better.

  “Captain John Roberts told me you could help. He said that he knew you, or knows you. Anyway, he said you were good.”

  “Yes I know John Ms.?”

  “It’s Marlene Greenlaub. Anyway, he said that you could help. That you would help as a favor to him.”

  Yeah the only reason he’d say that was because he wanted her off his damn back. That John, always looking out for me.

  I tipped my cigarette into the ashtray. The ash fell off and lay like an inukshuk. Nice word that. Just found out about that the other day from a Canadian fella on the TV.

  “I start at five hundred bucks a day Marlene. Plus expenses. But sometimes people don’t think they get their money’s worth.”

  I hadn’t worked in a while and I sure could use the money. But if Johnny said I’d help her out I figured I might as well save her the money. Nothing doing usually in the cases he sends me.

  “I have the money Mr. Carrick. More than enough. When can I meet you?”

  The voice was crisper now. Maybe my hearing was better. Maybe she was a class above me. I looked at the clock again. It was leaning towards six forty five and I was leaning towards breakfast.

  “How about seven thirty at Joe’s Main Diner. You know where it is?”

  “No I don’t Mr. Carrick. I live up on Mulholland Drive.”

  She kept calling me Mr. Carrick. I liked it but I knew what she meant. Some folks call you mister out of respect. I get that sometimes. Other folks call you mister because you’re hired help. She figured I was hired help. I figured she’d earn my respect.

  “I’m sure your fancy car can figure it out with that new fangled GPS they got now.”

  I hung up on her. I didn’t need the money that bad. But I looked at my empty scotch glass longingly. No way the sun was past the yardarm. Not even in Tuktoyaktuk. That’s another word I heard from that Canadian I was telling you about. A city or something I think. I took another drag of my cigarette and ash fell on my chest. I moved over slowly to the ashtray and brushed it out of my hair. Didn’t work too good. Flakes fell like pepper all over the side table. Ruining the dram of scotch I was going to use as mouthwash.

  I took a last drag and then squashed out my cigarette, turned to get out of bed. Forgot about something and blew smoke rings at the window. I watched them open their mouths all surprised-like until something warm and furry rubbed itself against my shin.

  “Pirate,” I said looking down at the most beat up cat you ever saw. Studied but never graduated in the sweet science. That’s when I found him. But that’s another story. A good one for sure, but for another time. I heard a growl but it wasn’t from Pirate. I rubbed my belly, got up and went to the bathroom.

  The shower was good. So was the other stuff. How do they call that, ablutions or something. Went into the kitchen and threw some food into Pirate’s dog bowl. Only my aim wasn’t so good so I bent over to pick up the fallen pieces. He ate hungrily. I liked that.

  “That’s my boy Pirate,” I said to him. Not many teeth left but that didn’t bother him. He preferred swallowing to chewing. Like father like son I guess. I went into the bedroom and got changed. I threw on a nice crisp shirt, just in case Marlene showed up. I picked up my fedora and headed out the door, giving Pirate a scratch behind the ears.

  “Be a good boy,” I said. He always was.

  Joe’s Main Diner is a great little place down on Main Street here in Santa Monica. A little hole in the wall. But in the best sense. Only a few of us locals know about it. And the best thing about it is it’s only about fifteen minutes or so walk from my place. It has a great big tree in front of it. The kind that boys will climb. In the country that is. Or maybe in a different era.

  I took my usual spot against the wall. A two seater. Maybe I was expecting company.

  “Hi ya Mr. Carrick. The usual?” asked the waitress.

  “Thanks hun. Why don’t you call me Anthony?”

  She twiddled with her fingers looking at them. And then she did a kind of bounce or curtsy.

  “I dunno. I guess you kinda remind me of my dad.”

  She looked at me shyly. I gave her wink. “Okay hun,” I said. Jesus, kids nowadays. A guy wears a shirt and a hat and they figure he’s gramps. Yeah I could be old enough to be her dad. Only if she was jailbait and I hadn’t even been a man yet.

  I looked around the joint. A few regulars I knew. A few strays. I looked out at the tree. No kids climbing it. I looked at my cell and it said seven thirty. I looked up again towards the door - something catching my eye. A tall woman not from around these parts. She wore a long blue dress. The kind that sashayed just because you looked at it. Her hair was in blonde curls and I could see them resting on my pillow. Yeah, she was tall and good looking but no pouty lips. Two out of three ain’t bad so the song says. She saw me looking at her and made her way over.

  �
��Here’s your coffee Anthony,” said the kid.

  “You’re a doll. Not so hard hey?” she smiled and went off to another table.

  “Mr. Carrick,” said the woman. There was that door slamming k.

  “Yes,” I said. I stood up. I couldn’t help myself. Old school. Years of inbreeding. Call it what you want.

  “Have a seat.” She did. So did I. Two packets of sugar and a splash of milk later and I smiled at her over my coffee. She was punctual. That counted for a lot.

  “It’s Marlene, Mr. Carrick. Marlene Greenlaub.” She said Marlene around an imaginary egg in her mouth. It was putting me off her.

  “I figured Marlene.”

  “You’re not one for pleasantries are you Mr. Carrick?”

  “Sorry. Let’s start again. Would you like something to eat?”

  “No.”

  “Listen Marlene. Some people rub me the wrong way. I’m like an alley cat and you’re like a pampered poodle. Maybe you have the wrong man.”

  I sipped my coffee and she put her purse on the table. She fumbled in it and grabbed a packet of cigarettes. She toyed with them. Rubbing the packet slowly with immaculate hands. I liked her again. I sympathized with her. These bleeding hearts in SoCal wouldn’t let you have a smoke anywhere nowadays. Trying to save everybody from themselves. I took my pack out and placed it close to hers. It was more boxy. Hers was fancy. Called themselves “Lady Slims”. She pulled up the top and the filters were red. Like her lipstick, like her fingernails. Like my blood.

  My French toast came out with glassy, brown fried banana on it. I could smell the dough. Yeasty like beer.

  “Would you like a menu ma’am?” the waitress asked Marlene. I looked at her. Her razor red lips said no. Nothing at all. I figured this wasn’t her kind of place. Too bad. The food’s good.

  “Maybe you’re right Mr. Carrick. But John Roberts said you’re the best outside the police department. So did Chief Burton.”

  I put a forkful of food in my mouth and a swig of coffee.

  “You’re misinformed Ms. Greenlaub. I’m the best inside and outside of the department.”

  She raised an eyebrow at me. I raised her two.

  “Frank Burton said you were a tough nut. But you don’t look like one.”

  “I get that a lot. Must be my boyish good looks.”

  Despite Marlene’s acid, my food tasted really good. She was missing out. I looked across at a young couple sharing some eggs. The hippie types. Birkenstock sandals and beaded hair. Kids nowadays.

  “Well Mr. Carrick. Are you interested in hearing what I’ve got to say?”

  She was playing with her pack of cigs. Flipping it around on its edge. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her hands. I could see them doing things. Doing things I shouldn’t say.

  “I’m all ears.”

  The waitress came by and filled up my coffee. I was getting alert. I looked at Marlene. She was looking at her cigarettes. Her eyes were wet, glassy.

  “My son Mr. Carrick is dead.” I felt some déjà vu. “He was found yesterday evening at our home. Captain Roberts came by personally. He thinks it’s an unintentional death. Accidental.” She took the napkin and blotted her eyes.

  “John’s not often wrong,” I said. I pushed my plate forward. I was losing my appetite seeing a woman get misty on me.

  “I’m sorry Marlene, you might be wasting your time and money with me. I’d bet dollars to donuts that he’s likely right.” I was trying to console her.

  She looked at me steady. Stealing a gaze at my soul, but it was hiding pretty good.

  “You’re an honest man Mr. Carrick. John told me about that too.”

  “Did he tell you about my lonely childhood and lack of affection from my mother?” I was being facetious. Sometimes I just can’t help myself. She chose to overlook that. Good for her.

  “I just want a second opinion that’s all. He’s my first-born son Mr. Carrick. You don’t know what that’s like. I’d just like you to have a look. Please. Money’s not important. I need your help for my own sanity Mr. Carrick. I trust John and he vouches for you. That’s good enough for me.”

  She bit her lip and left red lipstick on her teeth. Her eyes were wet. I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.

  “I’ll help you. But I’ll tell you upfront it probably won’t change things.” She nodded.

  “Thank you Mr. Carrick.”

  “I take twenty five hundred upfront, a five day minimum. Five hundred a day plus expenses. Like this breakfast here. But this one’s on me.”

  She dug into her purse again. Goddamn hands, I really liked those hands. She pulled out twenty five Benjamins and put them on my cigarette pack. Looked like she had picked them up from the Reserve on her way over. I could smell the money from here.

  “Here’s my card Mr. Carrick,” she placed it on Benjamin’s face, “please look into my son’s girlfriend. Her name is Melodie Rimes. My son took out a quarter million insurance policy on himself two weeks ago payable to her. I don’t like her Mr. Carrick. She’s trash and no good. Please be in touch.”

  She got up to go. I placed my hand on her forearm. It was warm and soft. She looked at my hand.

  “Your son’s name Ms. Greenlaub?”

  “William. William Greenlaub.” She patted my hand and walked out the diner. I watched her light a cigarette outside. A blue jewel with red highlights. She inhaled that cigarette lovingly and then a black limo pulled up. She climbed in and was gone. I swallowed hard. I thought about scotch again. I thought about a lot of other things too. I got up and put on my fedora. I put a cigarette in my mouth and left Alex on the table with some silver friends. I walked out into the hazy day. I could smell the ocean. And I could see dead people. Too many dead people. I lit my cigarette and walked towards the pier. Marlene’s fragrance in my nose.

  I sat on a bench on Ocean Front watching tourists getting off big buses and strolling towards the pier. Wearing cameras around their necks like gangsta bling bling. I fished out my phone and Marlene’s card. Marlene Greenlaub it said. 555-2640. That’s all. Nice card though. Soft red and light blues. I saw that dress sashaying again. I saw those blonde curls on my pillow. Damnit Anthony focus. I called an old friend.

  “John it’s Anthony.”

  “Anthony pal, what’s happening?”

  “A foxy lady named Marlene you sent my way. Why’d you do it?”

  “I figured you could use the money buddy. By the way, you ever gonna come back?”

  “I doubt it.” A Chinese lady was trying to take my picture. Or so it looked like. Philip Marlowe she said to her husband pointing at me. I looked around but I didn’t see him. I was flattered though.

  “Well they’ll take you back in a minute old friend.”

  “Say, you got some time to talk about Marlene.”

  “Sure come on over to my office. I’ll see you in about an hour?”

  “Make it two. You know traffic in L.A.”

  “Good stuff.”

  I hung up and looked around for Marlowe again. I could use his help. He wasn’t there and the Chinese lady was gone. I blew smoke rings again only they were buffeted around by the slow, easy salty breeze. I saw a Paris wannabe clutching a small dog in her elbow. That’s why I love this place. A freak show everyday.

  John was working up at the North Hollywood station on Burbank Boulevard. I’d been there a few times. That was a while back. Two hours should be plenty. I draped my arm over the bench watching fit folks run around. A couple of nice looking young ladies roller bladed by in bikini tops. Wasn’t that hot out. And you could tell too. But I didn’t mind that. I squashed out my cigarette in the ashtray. I could smell the salty air again and I figured it was time to get going. I made my way back to my apartment.

  Pirate was sunning himself in a rectangular piece of sun. He looked at me with one eye as I left again. I got into my car and headed up to North Hollywood. Traffic was raging on both the I-10 and I-405. I didn’t have my Glock with me. Good thing too. This kind of
traffic leads a man to distraction. It took me over an hour to get there. But then I remembered my Benjamins riding with me and it didn’t feel so bad. I parked my LeSabre across the street and walked into the government building. They don’t win any architectural prizes for police buildings.

  “Hey Anthony how are ya?” asked Tony Montana.

  “Good thanks. I’m looking for John. Can you go wake him for me?”

  I took a seat and waited. An old lady was filling out an accident form. She looked too old to be driving, but who am I to say.

  “Hey Anthony, come on back to my office,” said John.

  I followed him into a closet with a desk and cabinet. I was impressed. This is why we get so much work done. He pulled in another chair and we were sitting elbows to ribs.

  “What can you share with me about this Greenlaub thing?”

  John reached into the black filing cabinet and pulled out a thin manila folder. He opened it up on the desk. There were some pictures up on top. One was of William lying in the bathtub like he was having a bath. But there was no water in it. His body had a grayish tint. There were a couple of larger red marks over his chest. His eyes were closed. That’s always best.

  “This is how he was found. As close as we know. His brother found him when he came home. Our victim had been home alone for the afternoon. We figure he was probably dead a couple of hours before he was found. But the coroner will confirm that.”

  “What’s that prick there on his arm?” I pointed to a needle mark on his left arm this side of the elbow. “Did he do drugs?”

  “That’s why I wanted to call you in Anthony. See, we have to be discreet whereas you don’t. We’re looking into that. It looks fairly fresh but we can’t be sure. Haven’t asked Ms. Greenlaub about that. Could be a sore point, so we’re waiting on the coroner again.”

  “What’s your hunch?”

  “I don’t have a hunch Anthony, you should know better than that. But it wouldn’t surprise me. We see a lot of wealthy kids toying with smack and shit like that.”