CHAPTER 1 ? The Case, How I Work, and My First Meeting
Okay, so the phone rings, and I?m just lyin? there, spread eagle and hung over the way you think of Marlene Dietrich as hung over. She?s not my favorite actress, but I like her movies, plus she helped fight the Nazis in her own way, which I respect. The phone ringing again hurts my ears, and I hate the bottle that got me here, but it takes the night and makes it a little more friendly. Like a woman, or a cat.
?Jack?s, what can I do for you?? Only it sounded more like ?Dax, whut ca Eye do fa yuh?? I grunted and tried again.
?This is Jack,? I say with more concentration, and my head splits open a bit wider. The voice on the other end sounds cautious, and black. I don?t get many Negroes calling me, mostly because they can?t afford it, even up here.
?You da man goin? fine my boy?s killah,? and he breathes heavily on the line. I like Negroes, unlike most guys in my line of work. They pay on time, up front, and don?t ask you how you do your job, and they are always more grateful when you come away with a cracked case. White people, they just sit there and grin and shake your hand and say nice things like, ?You did a fine job, Mr. Jack, I didn?t know how it would turn out, but you?ve done well. Thank you.? All well and good; all I want to hear is ?em counting out fresh bills.
Negroes, they care. Anyway, Negroes know about pain, so there we are alike. I grunt and say, ?Ah, yes, who is this?? I?m still groggy and I definitely not too sure how to proceed.
?My name?s Varley Schottman. My son what got killed in that robbery yestuhday. You heard ?bout that?? I nod, thinking back.
?Yes Mr. Schottman, I read it in the paper. I was sorry to hear about it.?
He grunts and says, ?I onl? call to you since ain?t no white man goin? see me anyway. They say you symp-o-thetic to the black man, say you fair. That true??
I like to think so. ?Yes, Mr.?what was your name??
?Schottman.?
?Mr. Schottman, my office is open anytime. Why don?t you come down and we?ll talk it over. I?m sure you?re upright.?
?Say six??
“Ten minutes?” I won?t be ready for him, but I swallow, which hurts my throat, and nod yes. He can?t hear that, so I give him a half hearted ?Yeah, that?s fine,? and he says something else but I really need a drink.
After I hang up, I kind of look around my office, and it?s not like the movies at all. There?s a lot of junk in boxes, but I don?t have those blinds that makes people?s faces look like a lot of pine slats, and even if I did, my office is on the side of the street where the sun only hits around midday, when the light goes everywhere. I don?t smoke, but I drink a lot, and then I try to explain to clients why their case is in good hands.
My name?s Jack. That?s my last name. I got a first name, but I ain?t tellin? it, since you?ll laugh. You?re bound to find out sooner or later anyway. I started this business a little over four years ago, and since then I lost a partner to a bullet, another partner to a woman, and gave up a job doing copyediting so I could chase clues where the police don?t like to go.
It?s a fun job, really, but it?s dangerous too, and mostly lonely. I spend a lot of my time holed up in my office with Jake the Snake and my best friend rye whiskey. I?m thirty-six and single, never married, but came close once.
I scratch through the pile of records, folders, little notes I write to myself; they?re all sitting on my desk and in no discernible order, or any order for that matter. There?s a dead weight, a shot glass, and a gun in my drawer. I only keep one loaded, and it?s not the gun.
I need to find that newspaper, the one with the killing. It was big news, as this is a small neighborhood, and it was such a queer place. Right in the Veggie Store.
I find it, and spread it open and lay it flat on the desk. I?m still a little shaky, but at least I can see enough to read, so I can kind of make out the words.
Fenton, NJ ? Sometime between eight and eight-thirty on Friday morning an unknown gunman broke into the Natural Foods store where he shot a young woman, Aries Verona, and the clerk, a Negro. Police have not released any names of suspects, nor is the weapon or weapons known at this time.
Authorities believe the crime is part of a string of robberies that have occurred along the eastern portion of the state. The clerk may have attempted to stop the thief with the threat of force before he was killed. Miss Verona is believed to have simply been an unfortunate victim of circumstance.
The murder was called in at eight-thirty-five am when a local resident of Fenton came into the store to buy a newspaper. Authorities arrived on the scene and immediately cordoned off the store and part of the street in front of it.
More details on this investigation were unavailable at the time of this printing.
What a town. You open up a Veggie Store and five months later you get hit with a robbery and two murders. If that ain?t bad luck, I don?t know what is. So as I?m sitting there rereading the story there?s a knock on my door, and it opens up, and I swear to you the biggest man I have ever seen comes in. Squeezes in, more like it, and he lowers his head slightly as he enters, even though he?s not quite tall enough to hit himself. He?s just built big, you know? He probably has hit himself on the head enough times to justify that kind of slight dipping of the shoulders. It gets to be instinctive after a while.
I stand up, or try to, but lose my balance and to steady myself I reach for the only thing available, which is the top of my desk, but since it?s all papers, I get a handful of papers, and then there are papers all over the floor at my feet, and I sit-fall halfway into my seat. Trying again is a little better, and he looks at me nervous and I?m breathing heavy now.
?Mr. Schottman, I?m Jack, it?s good to meet you,? I say and stretch out my hand. He grasps it and it feels warm and soft, but the points of his hand, the fingers, and at the ends, where his hand would end if he didn?t have fingers, that was hardened and rough, like sandpaper, and I took him for a carpenter, a toolmaker, something like that.
I motion for him to sit in the chair across from me, and he does so, settling into the dust and folding his hands across each other in his lap.
?Mistah Jack, I don?t know what you read in that paper. I don?t really care. All I care ?bout?s getting the man who did this. I want you to find the man who killed mah boy.?
I stare at him a while, and my mind starts to wander from the haze, and I say to him, ?Alright, I can do that for you. I charge simple. Half up front, half when it?s done.?
?How much a job like this cost?? he says, and he looks nervous again.
?If this was a missing person, it?d be one thing, but the police are involved. That makes it harder. You?ve got two dead, one?s a white woman.? He looks up and I say, ?That?s a good thing for us, because it means we?ll have free rein to investigate your son. No offense,? I say to him, because he looks sad for a big man, but I think maybe he knows what I mean.
?All told, then, you?re looking at a grand and a half for a week?s work. I?ll have this locked up tight by then; I never stay on a case for more than a week.?
?You that good?? he asks, and I look at him square in the eyes. ?So I need seven fifty by tomorrow no later, and then again in a week. I don?t call you until it?s done, and you don?t call me again. Sorry, that?s how it works. If I don?t catch your man, you don?t pay me the second half. The first half is mine regardless of the outcome. Is that agreed??
He nods, and I say, ?Good. Let?s get your information.?