by Courtney Webb

(Sam Reynolds, PI, is home alone feeling very bored and thinking about his life. Thoughts about some old cases come up.)

The next case was a forty-five-year-old married woman. Sam found her working as a waitress at a bar in a coastal marina, two hours away. The formerly brown hair was now blond. The woman sported a new tanning-bed tan and a hot pink tube top over some very short shorts. She took his drink order and retreated back through a flower patterned bead curtain next to the bar. Sam pulled out her picture again and squinted at it. Yup, same woman, different hair.

Returning, Marilyn Cummings plunked down his cold Budweiser; he handed her a ten. She turned to leave. Quickly, he held up a picture of Benjamin, her cubby, balding husband of twenty-five years.

“Benjamin sent me,” he told her.

The woman’s mouth dropped. She looked stunned, then angry.

“How the hell did you find me?” The freshly applied lipstick formed a tight line.

“Would you like to sit, Ma’am?”

“For about one minute and don’t call me ma’am,” she replied tersely, sitting.

“He misses you, Marilyn. Mr. Cummings would like you to come home.”

A shadow flickered over her face but passed.

“Well, tell him I’m not coming home. I am sick to death of church meetings, picnics, and the Lord. Then, those Sunday dinners with that old bat he calls his mother. Her nitpicking me to death. . ..” She seemed to run out of steam and stared off into space.

“He needs to know you’re alive, so he doesn’t file a missing persons report with the police.”

Her head whipped around and she stared at Sam a moment.

“Do you have to tell him where I am? Jesus, I don’t want him mooning around here bothering me!”

“If you can give me something to prove it’s you and promise to contact him, I won’t have to give him specifics.” Sam sipped his beer and eyed her over the rim of the bottle.

She stared into space again. Stuffing the ten into her apron, she got up.

“I’ll be back in a second.” She disappeared through the curtain and was gone several minutes.

Sam played with the label on his beer. The weather here was beautiful. Clear sunlight with a light breeze blowing through the cheery cantina. The place was decorated with lots of yellow, orange and acid green posters. Banana leaves peaked over the veranda and there was an excellent view of the ocean. He wouldn’t mind working here himself.

The beads on the curtain clicked together. Marilyn reappeared with a small, white envelope in her hand.

“Give him this,” she handed the envelope to Sam. “Tell the little turd I will give him a call. Or, my lawyer will.”

Sam looked at the envelope. “Benji,” was written on the front. He nodded and stuck it in a pocket.

“Can I get back to work now?” She waved at customers sprinkled around the bar, talking and laughing.

Sam sensed his cue, took a last sip of his beer and got up. He patted his pocket. “I’ll give this to him Ma’… Mrs. Cummings. Thank you.”

She nodded curtly, and he made his exit.

Back in Tranquility, California, Sam’s hometown, he drove the truck up to Cummings Insurance Agency. He got out and went into the office. A young lady with an outdated Farrah Fawcett hairdo greeted him.

“I’ll get Mr. Cummings.” Sam sat and waited. Benjamin Cummings hustled out and greeted him.

“Sam, Sam. Come into my office, please.” The same cubby man in the photograh appeared.

Sam followed Ben Cummings into the man’s office and sat. Cummings closed the door and came around to his desk and sat in a big brown leather chair. He looked eagerly at Sam.

“You found her?” He reminded Sam of a lost St. Bernard puppy.

Sam nodded and pulled the little package out of his pocket.

“I did, sir. She asked me to give this to you.” Solemnly, he handed it over.

With a questioning look, Benjamin Cummings slowly took the envelope and stared at it.

“That is her handwriting, isn’t it, Mr. Cummings?”

Cummings nodded silently. He reached out a pudgy hand for a silver letter opener. He sliced the letter open. When he turned it over, something fell out with a little clunk. He picked it up. It was a gold wedding ring. The man began to cry.

Sam shifted uncomfortably and tried to look away.

Fidgeting, he thought, Geese, I could use a cigarette right now. He patted his moustache instead.

Cummings grabbed some Kleenex and blew his nose.“What did she say?” He looked at Sam with emploring eyes.

Sam told him and advised Mrs.Cummings agreed to be in contact.

Cummings nodded numbly. “I guess I owe you the balance of your fee, since you found her.”

“Well, if this is a bad time. . .”

“No, a deal’s a deal.” Cummings reached into a drawer and pulled out his check book. He wrote Sam a check and handed it to him. Sam looked at the check. It was for the exact dollar amount agreed upon previously.

“Thank you, sir.” Sam got up and was about to leave when Cummings stood up and held out his hand. Sam shook it.

“Thank you, so much for your service, Sam. The Lord be with you and have a blessed day.”

Sam forced a smile on his face and turned to escape. He got into his truck and shook himself.

“Geekville. Good luck, Marilyn.” He went to deposit his check.

‘#’

Memories of these events stirred in Sam’s brain as he stared out into the soggy landscape.

Plunking a broad-brimmed hat on his head, he went out and did a walk around the front yard. Neighbors were jumping in cars and charging off to work and school. A couple waved as they drove by. He waved back and stared around. More grey, wet dampness everywhere. Depressing.

Turning back to the house, he checked the mailbox and discovered a little envelope he hadn’t noticed before.

“Hmm.” He read the return address: Green Veil Monastery. “Wonder what they want?”

He took it inside and got out the silver letter opener Kristie had given him. He slit the light green paper open.

“Mediation for the Soul — Come for a three-day retreat at the beautiful Green Veil Monastery. Learn to master your inner mind.”

“Don’t know about mastering my inner mind,” Sam chuckled. “Is that like the inner child?” In a moment, he realized what was wrong with him. “I am bored to shit,” he told the room. “I am, 100%, bored out of my ever-loving mind.”

He turned the card over and looked at it again.

The price isn’t bad for three days, he thought, and I bet they serve meals too. Might have to sleep on the floor on one of those matt things.

“Oh, what the hell.”

He underlined the phone number with his pen and went to get his phone.

“Hello? Yes, this is Sam Reynolds. I’d like to speak to Brother Huang. Yes, he knows me. Thanks, I’ll wait.”

Sam started to hum a little tune. He needed a change of scene and he had liked that place. Very green, pretty.

Months before, a distraught mother and grandmother hired Sam to find their child. A possible kidnap/suicide victim. Using intuition and tracking skills, he located the girl at Green Veil Monastery, east of San Francisco. He made a short acquaintance with Brother Huang who ran the monastery. Sam liked him.

“Brother Huang? Yes, Sam Reynolds here. Remember me? Of course you do. Well, I got this little invitation in the mail. Something about a retreat. Oh, you sent it. Well, I guess I’ll have to come then. Right, talk to your assistant. Okay, will do and see you then.”

Sam gave the assistant his credit card information. He got off the phone and started humming a jaunty tune. This could be fun. He couldn’t wait to tell Kristie.
“#”

“Meditation!” Kristie broke into a laugh. “You’re kidding. You?”

Kristie leaned forward and held a hand over her mouth to cover the laughter.

Sam frowned and smoothed down his mustache.

She finally took a deep breath and straightened up, saw his face and quickly composed her face.

“Sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s. . . well . . .” she waved a helpless hand his way.

Sam looked hurt but tried to recover himself. “I know, I know. It’s a little different is all.”

“Well, yes, you could say that.” Kristie, Sam’s longtime squeeze, sidled over and gave him a big hug.

He smiled a little.

“It’s . . . a little unlike you, I guess I should say.” She pecked him on the cheek. Grabbing her coffee cup, she moved away a little and looked to be trying to overcome another case of the giggles.

Sam pursed his lips. “You think I shouldn’t go?”

Kristie slid her eyes sideways at him then started inspecting the morning paper. “No, no. It might be . . . good for something. Blood pressure, that kind of thing.” She studied the paper, avoiding eye contact.

“Well, yeah.” He paused a little uncertainly. “I quit smoking you remember. All by myself. No nicotine patch or nothing. Powered through it.”

She nodded. “True, true.”

“You want to go with me?”

Kristie looked up,stricken. “Go with. . .? Ah, what do they do there, other than hum?” She started to smirk again but caught herself and stopped.

“Well, I don’t know for sure. I went that one time and there was a bunch of them in a big room, sitting on the floor. They were following the master in the front.”

“Following the master. . .” Kristie goggled a little. “Ah, well. . . I don’t know about that. Sounds a little religious to me and I get plenty of that every Sunday.”

Sam looked disappointed. “You might like it, something different.”

“Well . . .” Kristie was teetering on the brink of indecision when the phone rang.

Kristie picked it up. “Chelsea? Yes, it’s mom. How are you? It’s been ages! This weekend? Well, I don’t know?” She cast a pleading look Sam’s direction and he gave a dismissal wave and pointed at his watch.

“Yes, yes. That would be okay. No, not doing anything. Sam? Well, he might be out of town. I know you like seeing him but . . . “she gazed at him again, “He might be doing something else.”

Sam went over and gave her a quick hug and tousled her curly, dark blonde locks. At fifty-five years, she was still a looker. He kissed her cheek.

“I’ll be going,” he whispered. She nodded back and blew a kiss in the air.

“Boyfriend? You have a new boyfriend? Want to bring him by? Well, sure, that would be great. I’ll have to clean house of course, which is a big bother, but . . ..”

Quietly, Sam let himself out the front door and went and got into his pickup truck. He patted the little green envelope.

“Yep, this might be a very quiet weekend indeed.” He drove off home.

Continued – Green Veil Montastery

by Courtney Webb

It was early spring, and the weather was overcast and drippy. Rain was intermittent in the valley and the ground, soggy underfoot.

Sam Reynolds stared gloomily out the glass slider at his backyard. He clutched a hot mug of coffee in one hand. Slow drips of water followed one another down, drip, drip, from the eves. He gave a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh and turned back to the kitchen table. The morning news was spread out and he turned some more pages with a listless finger.

“Jesus, even the sports section is a zero!” he told the still air.
He had to admit, if only to himself, those last two cases had left him feeling flat. “Uff,” he shook his head. Sam, a self-employed PI, had successfully completed two missing persons cases. Two missing persons who had not wanted to be found.
‘#’
To celebrate his sixteenth birthday, Thomas Dolby, Jr., had run away from home. A pair of concerned parents had hired Sam to find him. It wasn’t difficult to track the kid to a dive in the southeast section of town.
Sam checked the address,parked his truck, being sure to lock it carefully, and walked to the run-down, clap-board house.

In his clean white T-shirt, blue-jeans and cowboy boots, he was aware that he was still better dressed than many residents of this neighborhood. He knocked on the door. He could hear some shuffling inside. The door eventually creaked opened.

“Yeah?” The desultory inquiry oozed from behind a tattered screen door.

“Sam Reynolds.” Sam held out his wallet with the PI license tucked behind a plastic sleeve. “Like to speak to Thomas Dolby.”

“What’s for?”

“Just want to speak to him.” Sam looked around. Neighbors were peeking at him as he stood on the porch. There was a small pistol in his right boot, but he really didn’t want to have to use it. “I have something for him he’d like to have. From his parents.”

Sensing the smell of money, the hook was undone and the door pushed open. A shabby young man, in dirty clothes and barefoot, stepped back and stared at Sam. Sam grabbed the door and went in. The living room was an indescribable mess of clothes thrown everywhere and bits and pieces of food, drinks, trash and clutter. His host was shuffling away toward the kitchen. Several other teens were lying on old sofas, half-asleep.

“He’s in there,” his greeter waved down the hall.

Sam had several pictures of the boy and knew he would recognize him. He got to the second bedroom and pushed open the door. Thomas Dolby was lying on a mattress on the floor, in his boxers. His arm was around a skinny red-headed girl with impossibly white skin. His eyes were closed. Sam went and stood over the two. He nudged Thomas with the toe of his boot. The kid opened his eyes.

“Thomas Dolby?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m Sam Reynolds and I’ve been sent by your parents to bring you home.”

“Fuck off.” The dark-haired youth rolled on his side toward the girl.

Sam looked around the filthy room. A pair of newish jeans were thrown in a corner along with a pair of very expensive Ugg boots. He grabbed the jeans and threw them at the kid. “Get up.”

“No!” the kid rolled into more of a ball, clutching the girl who mumbled protest.

Sam came over to the side of the mattress and squatted down. He tried to not touch anything.

“Thomas, it’s like this. You get out of that bed, put your pants on or I’m calling the police. They will come and arrest you, your little girlfriend and everyone else in this flea-bag dump for being under-age and on drugs. Then, your parents can pick you up at County jail.”

Sam stood back up. “I’ll give you ten minutes to decide. I’ll be outside.” He turned and left the room.

Picking his way gingerly through garbage and bodies, he pushed through the screen door and stood on the sagging wood porch. Some people on the sidewalk had paused to gawk at him.
Jesus, I could use a cigarette right now, he thought to himself. And, I don’t want to be here a minute longer than necessary.

“Shit!” erupted from inside the house. There was some mumbled conversation and a very angry Thomas Dolby banged out the screen door, pulling up his boots.

With no further conversation, Sam walked off the porch and headed toward his truck. He didn’t bother to look back. He unlocked the passenger side and opened the door. The kid got in. Getting into the driver’s side, Sam put on his seat belt and started the truck.

“Fasten your seat-belt.”

“I don’t want. . ..”

Sam gave the kid a long cold stare.

“Crap!” Thomas grabbed the belt and jammed it in place.

Sam smiled pleasantly and pulled from the curb. “Starbucks?”

Forty-five minutes later, they were both nursing tall Starbuck’s coffees. Thomas had wolfed down two large scones at Sam’s expense.

“Good to see you’ve still got an appetite.”

The kid was sullen and said nothing.

They pulled into the huge drive of the exclusive home on the northeast section of town. Sam had already texted the mom that he had Thomas and they were on their way.

An anxious, but ecstatic mother burst out the front door as soon as they pulled in and grabbed the boy. Thomas allowed himself to be hugged and hustled inside. Dr. Dolby, Sr. was standing at the front door watching this scene. He waved at Sam.

“You found him,” the man said simply putting out his hand for a shake.

“Yes, Dr. Dolby, I found him.” Sam shook hands.

“Let’s go into my study.”

Sam followed the doctor past the grand foyer into a smaller, side room. They went in and his host shut the door. Dr. Dolby went and sat behind his desk and pulled out a large check book. Sam sat in an ox-blood leather chair with brass stud details. He liked this chair. In fact, he liked the entire office. Sort of an Old World, navigational feel to it.

If only I could decorate, he mused to himself. If only I had the money!

“So, give me the details,” the doctor asked. Sam did.

Frowning, Dolby busied himself writing out a check for Sam’s fees. He looked up and handed it to him. Sam looked at the check and his eyebrows shot up.

“Well, thank you, sir.”

Dolby waved his hand dismissively. There was a sad, pained expression on his face.

“Like I told you before, Sam. I don’t know what I am going to do about my son. His grades, his friends. Now this. . .running away, not answering his phone. His mother half sick. . . not knowing what had happened to him. He’s in the best school in town.” He shook his head. “I’m at my wits end.”

“Are you asking me what I think, sir?” Sam folded the check and put it in his pocket. Dolby nodded, head down.

“If it was my son, I’ll let him flunk. Start to appreciate some of the consequences of his actions. Keep the curfew going. If he doesn’t comply, take away his key. Then, if the drugs and alcohol thing keeps on, he’s sixteen, right?”

Dolby nodded.

“I’d stick his ass in a rehabilitation place and maybe they can talk some sense to him.”

Both men got up. “That’s a thought, Sam.”

“Yes, sir.” Dolby reached for the door. “Finding him this time was easy,” Sam added. “Next time. . . might not be so easy.”

They walked to the front door and went out.

“Thanks again, Sam.” Dr. Dolby held out his hand again. Sam shook it.

“I love your money, Doctor, but really, I hope you won’t need me again.”

The doctor sighed and shrugged his shoulders. Sam gave a little wave and left.

to be continued