by Dante Acuna
It was a slow day at the office. It wasn't surprising, considering the last sixty-five days had been slow as well. He passed the time by listening to music, rearranging the furniture, and reading Playboy. When he felt desolate, he'd lean out the window and will people into the building. Unfortunately, he didn't have enough power to force people into his office.
He was playing solitaire when the secretary, his cousin Sharon, told him someone needed to see him. He panicked and swept the cards into his desk. Then he rushed to the mirror to check his hair. He put his shoes on and told Sharon to send the person in.
He rocked in his swivel chair, anxiously awaiting the turn of the knob. When the door opened, a celestial beauty illuminated his office and sat on his desk. He had never seen a female angel before, they were always babies or men with white skin and blue eyes. This angel had brown, silky shoulder-length hair, strikingly exotic skin, and legs cut from the most exquisite diamonds.
"Is there something I can help you with?" he asked, as she rocked her legs to the beat of the music.
"You like Johnny Cash?" she replied, enchanting him with her horizon grey eyes.
"He's got a nice beat."
"Funny, you don't look like you should listen to country music. Are you, Spanish?"
"Filipino."
She stroked his nameplate. "How do you pronounce your last name?"
"Like it sounds. Saah...Long...gaah."
"Flannigan? That's not your real name, is it?"
"No. It's the name I use for work."
"What's your real first name? "
He leaned back in his chair and took his eyes off her for the first time. I dislike my first name.
She caressed his face with her immaculate hands. "It can't be that bad."
Flannigan took her hands off his face. "What can I help you with, Miss?"
Her palms slid across his desk as she leaned back. Flannigan watched with adoration as her face changed from playful to earnest.
"I want you to find my money," Mr. Flannigan.
"It's not in your purse?"
"You're funny," she said." The money was in my safe, but now it's missing."
Flannigan took a pen from his Batman mug, yanked off the cap with his mouth, and put it back inside. "How many people know about your safe?"
"Almost everybody."
"Almost everybody that what?"
She took his pen and wrote the names STANLEY, MITCH, BLANCHE and STELLA on his notepad.
He pointed and she said, "Stanley's my step-son. His father is dead, God rest his soul. He works at some law firm downtown, a job his father got him. He's a brat. He didn't get as much money as I did, even though he needed it. He wanted to buy some hot property, but couldn't get enough money. He asked me, but I turned him down".
"Who's Blanche?"
"My sister. She's down and out, a washed up call girl. She catered to high class business men. They'd spend the weekend together and snort coke. She'd get paid ten grand and she didn't even have to fuck the guy. She said she didn't want to do it any more, that she wanted to clean up. I asked her how she was going to support herself, and she said 'you'd.'"
Flannigan fixed himself a cup of coffee. He offered one, but she asked for an iced tea. He told Sharon to dig into the emergency funds and get her one.
He held his cup with two hands. He brought the cup slowly to his lips and took small, gentle sips. After each sip he sucked air through his teeth.
"Stella has been the housekeeper for about six years now. She's a Mexican immigrant. A friend gave her to us. She was like any other foreigner. Couldn't speak English, had no real skills, so we put her to work. She knows everything about the house."
"Do you need a nanny by any chance?"
"I don't have kids. "
He sat down and reached across her waist, grabbing a coaster. It was an excuse to stare at her legs."Mitch?"
"Mitch is complicated. Mitch was..." she hesitated.
"You'll have to tell me everything."
"Mitch was the third wheel of a bicycle, if you know what I mean."
Flannigan shook his head. "Third wheel of a bicycle? Then it becomes a tricycle."
"Exactly," Mr. Flannigan.
This time, Flannigan took a long sip. "Oh, a tricycle," he said, finally comprehending."Which wheel enjoyed the support of the third?"
"I felt the third wheel was somewhat flat."
"Mitch had access to your safe?"
She opened a window and lit a cigarette from her tin."I'm not sure if he did. But one thing is for sure, I don't like him. And if you could, Mr. Flannigan, I'd like you to scare him."
"I'm not exactly sure I can do that, but I'll find out if he has your money."
"So you're taking my case?" she said, blowing smoke rings.
"My fee is one hundred fifty dollars a day, plus meal expenses."
"You can eat at my house. Stella is a great cook."
Flannigan shook his head. "I really don't like Mexican food."
"Stella cooks whatever I ask, Mr. Flannigan. It's not always Mexican."
"Fine. Tomorrow I'll stop by for lunch and question Stella. You will be home tomorrow?"
"I have no need to work, Mr. Flannigan."
"Okay. So, after I question Stella you can come with me when I question the others."
"You won't need to go very far. Stanley and Blanche also live with me."
"That's terrific," Flannigan said, finishing his coffee.
She flicked her cigarette, shut the window, and started to walk out of the office.
"I didn't get your name," Flannigan interjected.
She walked up to him, gave him a slip of paper, and smirked. "It's Jeanne. Jeanne Morrow. "
"Jeanne? That sounds like a French name."
"It is, Mr. Flannigan."
Jeanne turned around again. Flannigan wanted to tell her to wait for the iced tea, but he just watched her walk away.
Flannigan spent the night remembering the way Jeanne leaned on his desk, the way she smoked cigarettes. She was graceful and refined, unlike his ex-girlfriend, who loved to spit. She had said it was her way of nourishing the earth. He wondered if Jeanne noticed his attraction. Even if she didn't tomorrow he'd play it even more subtly.
Flannigan used the baroque knocker and a short Mexican lady opened the door. Flannigan thought she must be in her late twenties, too young to be doing housework. She was squinting, so she moved out of the sunlight, allowing him to enjoy her unperturbed beauty. Her eyes were brown and large and free of make-up, her button nose complemented her full, succulent lips, and her skin was ethereal. She was the Mexican Rita Hayworth.
"You must be Stella."
She looked unimpressed with the short Filipino dressed in jeans and a sweater. "Are jou selling something?"
"I'm the investigator Mrs. Morrow hired."
Stella looked at him strangely and walked away. Flannigan walked in, slid off his runners, and followed her down the cavernous hallway.
Flannigan liked the look of the house. The walls were painted white and adorned with eerie, religious photographs. On the floor were slabs of concrete that didn't resemble anything in particular, so he assumed they were artistic. He stopped at a picture that bewildered him, of two people standing in a corner. One guy looked sad, while the other guy had shit on his pants. On the left side was a huge statue with big tits, a dick, and an oversized hand, being masturbated by another statue. In the middle was a mishmash of faces, buttocks, hands, hats, lions and insects. For a moment he thought he'd try and figure it out, but he was too thirsty.
Flannigan arrived in the kitchen, where Jeanne was sitting with who he assumed was Stanley and Blanche.
"Have a seat, Mr. Flannigan."
Flannigan took a seat across from Jeanne. They stared at him.
The guy stuck out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Sir. I take it you know who I am."
Flannigan nodded and shook his hand.
"I'm pleased to meet you as well." Blanche gave Flannigan her hand and he kissed it, eliciting smiles from the both of them.
Jeanne sipped her orange juice. "Mr. Flannigan is here to find out what happened to my money."
Stanley chuckled. "Mom thinks one of us stole her money."
"It's crazy," said Blanche. "A couple of days ago I was asleep, and she comes into my room and dumps cold water on me. Then she started screaming 'Where's my money? where's my money?'; until Stella calmed her down. I told her I didn't have the money, and to ask Stanley."
"I told her to ask Stella, and Stella had no idea what she was talking about. If you ask me, Sir, it's all rather silly."
Jeanne glared at Flannigan. "See what they're trying to do, Mr. Flannigan? They're trying to confuse you. Convince you they're nice people so you won't give them a hard time. But you won't let them do that, will you, Mr. Flannigan?"
Before he could respond, Stanley said, "How long have you been a private investigator?"
"For about six months."
"That's not too long," said Blanche.
Flannigan looked around the kitchen. All he saw was the drinks the three of them had. "I was a law student for a while, but that takes about six years?" He looked at Blanche and she shrugged her shoulders."I didn't want to be in school that long, so I became an investigator. I figured it was close enough to law, so all that time I spent in school wouldn't be wasted."
He paused and said, "Can I get a coffee?"
"Stella will be bringing everything in soon, Mr. Flannigan."
"Do you get many cases?" asked Blanche.
Flannigan looked down and half smiled. "A few. To be honest, I'm glad you hired me. It's a good thing I get my office for half price. If I didn't..." He shook his head.
Stella came in pushing a cart. She gave each of them a tray and fixed Flannigan a coffee.
Blanche lifted off her tray and vacuumed the aroma of her food. "Is this chicken or veal cordon?"
"Veal," replied Stella.
They dug in while Flannigan savoured his almond flavoured coffee."Where did you get this?"
"It's a special flaber," said Stella. "My family send it to me from home."
Stanley was chewing a mouthful of broccoli. "Aren't you going to eat?"
Flannigan put down his coffee and sliced himself a large piece of cordon. He coaxed it into his mouth and went to please them.
"It's good, no?" asked Stella.
Flannigan gave her the a-okay sign and bit on something hard. He showed his discomfort and the others looked at him. He thought of spitting it onto his plate, but he didn't want to be rude. He tried biting through it, but he couldn't, so he pushed the object to the side of his mouth, where it cut him.
Flannigan stood up slowly, walked over to the sink, and spewed a mouthful of blood and cordon. Stanley walked up to him, looked at the contents in the sink, and said, "Gross." This time with a mouthful of mashed potatoes.
For the next few days, Flannigan sat on his couch and drank his meals from a can. It hurt to talk, so he wrote down whatever he wanted to say. To Jeanne he wrote: SEE ME IN ABOUT FIVE DAYS.
Jeanne knocked on the door, and a short Filipino lady answered.
"Is Mr. Flannigan home?"
"Who?"
"Mr. Flannigan."
The lady shook her head." No. I think you hab the wrong house."
"But his secretary said he lived here. He the investigator?"
The lady nodded, finally understanding. "He's here. He cut his face, you know? He eat a glass he said."
"I know. Are you his mother?"
"Uh huh."
"I'm the lady that hired him. He was at my place when he cut his face."
Flannigan's mother pulled her into the house.
"You?"
"It was an accident. We have no idea how the glass got in there. Blanche looked around and saw simmering pots and a bunch of vegetables she couldn't identify."
The overall smell of the house was odd. Strong and sour.
"Flannigan came in holding a feathered, headless chicken by its feet. "
"What are you doing here?"
Jeanne looked at the chicken uneasily. "I came to see if you were alright."
"I'm alright." Flannigan put the chicken down on a garbage bag on the floor. His mother squatted and started to pull off its feathers.
Jeanne reached into her purse and brought out her checkbook. She wrote in it and said, "I also came to pay you for the trouble you've been through". She ripped out a check and left it next to a long, green vegetable with bumps on it.
Flannigan put the check in his shorts' pocket without checking the amount. "Thanks, but you really didn't have to pay me."
"It's no problem, Mr. Flannigan."
His mother turned to Jeanne. "How come you call him that? "
"What? "
'Pfflannigan. "
"Because that's what he said his name is," replied Jeanne.
"His name is Estrada."
Flannigan looked at his mother, displeased.
"Like the actor?"
"What?" his mother said.
"Erik Estrada, the guy from Chips," said Jeanne.
"What chips? Potato?"
"No, Mom. Chips. It was a show on T.V. before, you've never seen it. The guy there has the same name as me."
His mother said, "Oh," and continued plucking the chicken.
"Anyway, if you don't mind, Mr. Flannigan, I hope you'll return to the case. "
"I suppose I've had enough time off. Let me get changed first."
"Good." Jeanne looked around the house curiously. "I'll need to use your washroom first."
Flannigan's mother pointed down the hallway. "It's there, but be careful."
Flannigan and his mother watched as Jeanne strutted to the washroom. His mother liked the combination of her white slacks, blue blouse and matching scarf. Flannigan liked the way she wiggled her ass.
"What time will you be back?"
"Around six thirty."
"You'll be late."
"And everyone else will be later."
"Do you like her?"
"I think she's pretty.
Flannigan's mother looked at him and flared her nostrils. "She has a big nose."
Jeanne was sitting on the toilet seat, doing her business, when she heard breathing. She looked at the door, but there were no shadows. The breathing got heavier. She looked to her left and decided there was only one place it could be coming from the bathtub. She stopped in midstream and slowly pulled the shower curtain back.
Flannigan was having a coffee at the kitchen table when he heard the creak of the door and a flush. They were split seconds apart. He looked up and saw Jeanne scurrying out of the washroom, barely done up.
"Are you okay?"
"There's a goat in your bathtub," she said, tucking in her blouse.
Flannigan smiled, both amused and embarrassed. 'I forgot it was in there."
"Why is there a goat in your bathtub?" She rushed over to the sink and washed her hands.
"It's for the party tonight."
"What are you going to do with it?"
"What do you think?" he said, putting another teaspoon of sugar into his coffee.
"You're going to eat it?"
The goat bleated.
"Not me. I can't stand it. It's like the Hawaiians and roast pigs. Filipinos eat roast pigs, but we eat goats too. You're lucky there aren't any dogs hanging around."
"You've never tasted it?"
"No. I've never been able to get past the smell. Believe me. You don't want to be here when they start cooking the thing. It's..." he cringed.
"It's got this real sour smell to it. Disgusting."
"How are you going to kill it?"
"My dad kills it in the tub. We used to kill them outside, but we lived in a different neighbourhood then. I'm sure these neighbours would complain."
"And you still bathe in that tub? "
"It's clean. They clean it."
She looked at him with melancholy.
"It's no different than killing a cow. Hell, it's just a goat. They're not giving milk or anything. Well..." he hesitated, not really wanting to go on. 'Don't drink goat's milk either. It's horrible. I used to have to drink a glass a day. It's the worst thing you could ever have. And if the milk tastes bad, imagine what the meat would taste like."
Jeanne dried her hands and threw the paper towel on top of the chicken feathers. "What do you mean 'you're lucky there are no dogs here?'"
"I said that?"
"You eat dogs too?"
"They're not really dogs. They're wild. You can't get them here."
"And you've eaten dog?"
"It's actually not that bad."
Jeanne looked him up and down. "Aren't you going to change?"
Flannigan pointed at his Yankees cap and shirt. "I did."
"Nobody will take you seriously."
He stood up and said, "What's the difference?"
Flannigan and Jeanne stood at Mitch's door. She looked excited. "I'd like to know if you were planning on using the money for something special."
She looked at him and then at the door again."I was planning on cleaning up."
"What?"
"Myself."
"How so? "
"Maybe a face lift, bigger boobs, a different nose."
Flannigan shook his head. 'But you look fine the way you are."
She gave him a dismissive smile.
Flannigan brought his fist up to knock but Jeanne pushed it down.
"He's probably going to put up some resistance, Mr. Flannigan."
"And?"
"There's no doubt he's home. His bike's right there. So when he answers the door I want you to grab him by the collar and slap him. Twice,"she said, giving him the peace sign.
"What?"
"Slap him twice. Like they do in the movies."
"I know what you mean, but slap him? Is the guy bigger than me?"
She faced him, stood on her toes and looked down. 'He's probably five or six inches taller than you."
"Are you crazy? So he's like six-two?"
"About that."
"And you want me to slap him?"
"He's not very tough, Mr. Flannigan."
Flannigan shook his head and rang the doorbell. Jeanne stared at him, but he didn't stare back, instead he looked at his sandals.
A tall, blond fellow with a checkered shirt opened the door. He looked at Jeanne and her Chinese friend." What are you doing here?"
Jeanne nudged Flannigan with her elbow. He looked up and sighed. Jeanne nudged him again. Flannigan grabbed Mitch by the collar, said Sorry, and gave him two swift slaps, making Mitch scream. Flannigan lost his grip and Mitch fell backward in a heap, banging his head on the floor.
"I told you you could do it," Jeanne said, shaking Flannigan with appreciation.
Flannigan looked down at Mitch. He was tall, but not very well built. He wouldn't last in a real fight. Poor guy. One moment, you're answering the door. The next, some guy half your size slaps you. He was probably expecting a kiss.
Flannigan looked at Jeanne who was standing over Mitch with a sadistic smile.
"Do you want me to help him up?'
She watched Mitch's eyes flicker. "Ask him where my money is."
Flannigan kneeled down beside Mitch." Do you know where Jeanne's money is?" he said quietly.
Mitch made a low-pitched murmur.
"I think he's still out," Flannigan said, trying to hold his eyes open.
"Slap him again."
"But-"
"I said again."
Flannigan gave Mitch two light taps on the side of his face.
"Harder, Mr. Flannigan."
Flannigan stood up and grabbed a vase of flowers." I'm just going to put water on him." He threw the flowers on the floor and dumped the water on Mitch, but Mitch didn't respond.
"I bet you gave him a concussion,' Jeanne said, lighting a cigarette.
"What do you want to do?"
"Let's just leave him here. Somebody's bound to notice."
"The least we can do is put him on the couch."
"You want to lift him? That's dead weight."
Flannigan walked into the living room and came back with a pillow. He placed it under Mitch's head and said, "Okay, let's go."
After, Flannigan told Jeanne he wasn't feeling well, that he had returned too soon. He asked for a few more days off and she agreed. She also gave him another check.
Flannigan and Blanche sat on the couch watching a T.V. he thought was too small for the room. He estimated they were about twelve feet away from the screen, which was twenty-five inches at best. He thought he'd tell Jeanne to buy at least a forty-inch, she could afford it.
To initiate conversation, Blanche turned to a channel and stayed on it. Then she talked about what she liked and disliked about the program that was on, and asked Flannigan for his opinion. When they were through with all seventy-five channels they stopped talking.
Flannigan soon felt pressured by the silence. He turned to Blanche and said, "So you were a prostitute, eh?"
"For about two years."
"Jeanne said that you were making ten grand a weekend."
"Yeah, but I was getting tired of the life."
"I understand what you mean. It's like going to college." He remembered a Vargas girl who resembled Blanche. Both were sculpted with the hands of beauty itself.
"I never went to college."
"What do you plan on doing now?"
Blanche shrugged her shoulders."I have a savings account. That should keep me going for a while."
Flannigan held her hand and looked at her fingernails. "Do you do your own manicures?"
"No."
Flannigan put her hand down. "I thought you did, they look real nice. I was going to suggest you take up cosmetology."
"I don't think I'd enjoy that."
"Secretarial work?"
"No."
"Run a brothel?"
Blanche smiled, revealing her pristine teeth, and turned the channel.
"Was that the wrong thing to say?"
She gave him the remote and walked away.
Jeanne came into the room wearing a tracksuit. She woke Flannigan up and pulled him off the couch. He noticed a mark under her right eye.
"Are you going for a run?"
"Stella hit me."
"She hit you?"
"I was asking her questions and she got angry. I'd like you to take over now, Mr. Flannigan."
He pulled away but she pulled him back. "If she hit you then she's definitely going to hit me."
When they got to the kitchen, Stella was eating an apple with her sleeves rolled up and her shoes off. Her eyes flowed with ferocity, and she was prepared for the next attack.
Jeanne shoved Flannigan. "Grab her."
"By the hair?"
"Grab her arms."
Flannigan walked up to Stella and grabbed her arms. She looked at him and bit the apple.
"Grab her from behind."
Flannigan switched his hold. Jeanne walked up to Stella and slapped her across the jaw, sending chewed apple to the floor. Stella looked at her with disdain and chewed what was left in her mouth. Jeanne knocked the apple away and slapped her again.
Flannigan stood there, dumbfounded. He was glad he didn't have to slap Stella, but was disappointed that he had allowed the assault. He let go of Stella's arms and he could see fear surge through Jeanne's eyes.
Stella coiled her body and sprung forth, unleashing a vicious backhand slap that connected near Jeanne's left temple. Jeanne flopped back and did a loop before landing chest first on the floor.
Stella looked at Flannigan, said "Thank you,"and walked out of the kitchen, passing Blanche, who started giggling when she saw her sister knocked out on the floor.
"She tried fighting Stella again, didn't she?"
"You mean she's done this before?"
'Plenty."
Flannigan turned Jeanne around and rested her head on his lap. There was another bruise, this time on the opposite eye.
"She's never won. Jesus, she even put on a tracksuit this time. She must've thought she was finally going to win."
"She would have if I didn't let go of Stella. I couldn't just let Jeanne slap her, that wouldn't have been chivalrous."
Blanche picked up Stella's apple and threw it in the trash. She went into the cupboard, grabbed a PowerBar and sat down.
"Should I put some ice on her?"
"Just leave her there. She'll come to in a bit."
Flannigan rested Jeanne's head on the floor and joined Blanche at the table.
"Are those any good? "
Blanche shook her head. "They taste like shit, but they're healthy. I usually eat one before I work out."
"You work out? Where? "
"We have a gym. She didn't show it to you?"
Flannigan shook his head. "The last time I was here. I nearly died, remember? "
"That's right," she said taking a bite out the bar. She struggled, frowning as she took long, controlled bites. I'll show you later. I work out all the time. It's the only thing I enjoy.
"Why don't you become a nutritionist or a personal trainer?"
"I've thought about it. It's probably something I could do. "
"I'd hire you in an instant."
She was bashful for the first time. "How are you feeling anyway? I forgot to ask."
"Alright. Mouth's still a little sore."
"We're sorry about that, by the way. I'm sure it was just an accident. I'm not trying to kill you, and I don't think the others are planning to."
He rubbed the back of neck and told himself not to reply.
"Honestly, I don't think anybody is. Jeanne's just paranoid about the money. I'm sure she just misplaced it."
Flannigan leaned in, shifting gears. "Is Jeanne a very stable person?"
"Somewhat. She's very high strung. When we were kids she used to complain to our parents that they loved me too much. She was always needing their assurance that nothing was wrong. Our childhood was normal, I guess, except we were raised Catholic. She ended up with three divorces and one dead husband, and I became a prostitute. Why it ended up that way..."
"The money, she keeps it in a safe?"
"That's what she says."
"Why doesn't she keep it in the bank? "
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Would any of you take it?"
"Why would we? We don't pay for anything here, Jeanne takes care of that. Stanley's job pays well, I have my own money and Stella, well Stella's just glad she isn't in Mexico. "
Blanche winced as she took another bite of PowerBar. She offered it to Flannigan, who refused. She put it back in its wrapper and left it on the table." Mitch, I bet she even accused Mitch."
Flannigan curled back into his chair and rested his chin in his hand. "Mitch, the poor guy, I don't even want to tell you what we did to him."
"He's nice, but he's a fucking idiot. He can't tell left from right, let alone open a safe. "
Stanley came in with his navy double breasted suit, Kenneth Cole shoes and laptop computer. He sat at the table, unbuttoned his collar, and loosened his Scooby Doo tie. "Still discussing the money?" He took a bite of Blanche's PowerBar.
Flannigan wondered what it tasted like. "So what am I supposed to do if none of you took the money?"
"Well, that's not entirely true, "said Stanley as he folded his hands on the table. I took the money.
"What for?" asked Blanche.
"Jesus, she wanted to get a nose job Stanley said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. She's been saying that for years, but she's never done it. I take money out of the safe, but I always replace it. She's never noticed up until now. Anyways, I've put it back and she hasn't checked. "
Flannigan looked at Jeanne, who looked peaceful passed out on the floor.
"I don't think it's that bad. It's almost Roman."
"But just try and tell her that," said Stanley," and she'll ignore you."
"My nose is the same way," said Blanche.
Flannigan turned Blanche's face in profile and compared it to Jeanne's.
"But your face is larger". He went and held Jeanne's face in his hands. Blanche and Stanley joined him on the floor. Stanley said," Her face is thinner, that's why her nose looks big. Maybe if she got implants in her cheekbones to give her face a fuller look." He plucked her lips like they were guitar strings.
"Then if she put a little collagen in her lips and added a facelift, she'd look ten years younger, but that would cost money. She doesn't look half bad now is what I'm trying to say."
Blanche gave Flannigan a punch on the shoulder. "Why don't you go after her?"
"How old is she?"
"Thirty-nine," Stanley said.
"Thirty-nine? She's thirteen years older than me. I'm sure it wouldn't work."
They moved back to the table. Flannigan took a bite out of the PowerBar. He was pleased with the first few chews, but then the true taste kicked in, and an image popped into his head. He saw a conveyer belt with goats, hats, insects, condoms and rotting flesh. They were being processed, and out the end came PowerBars.
"Not too good, eh?" said Stanley.
Blanche smiled. "Isn't the dick supposed to fall in love with the femme fatale?"
Flannigan took a few more moments to look at Jeanne. Her eyebrows were poorly plucked and furry, much like his legs. Her mascara was thick and clumped like his mom's cookie batter. Her shimmery eyeshadow didn't match her skin tone. Both eyes were bruised, but even that couldn't disguise the bags. Saliva flowed from the side of her mouth, and her teeth were tinged with tobacco. Her face was ghastly thin, her ears were pointy and her nose was definitely too big.