Gumshoe

Lucy Minerva leaned forward to slide the photograph back across her desk, toward the man she would not be accepting as a client. As she did so, her chair wobbled and creaked, and Lucy knew she would need to replace it soon, but she wouldn’t be doing it with this man’s money.

“Sorry, Mr. Dowling, I don’t think you’re being straight with me, and I don’t work like that. I could take your money, but I like to sleep at night.”

“I swear on my mother’s grave I am telling you the truth,” the man said. “I swear on the lives of my children.”

Lucy felt sure the man’s mother was alive and kicking and just as certain he had no children. She didn’t believe anything he said, and certainly didn’t believe he was Lawrence Dowling.

“The sign on your door says you take any cases, large or small.” The man was sweating now, and the adhesive that held his fake beard in place had started to fail. His glasses slipped down his nose and when he pushed them back Lucy saw his finger poke through the eyeglass rim. There were no lenses. His hair was fake, too. Underneath the man’s get up, Lucy thought he might even be attractive, or attractive enough, and if she were ten years younger, or he was ten years older, she would have let him buy her a drink at Shaunessy’s, and then invite him upstairs to her apartment on the third floor.

He had introduced himself as Lawrence Dowling. Lucy knew the name, though she made sure not to show it. In her experience, it was best to play dumb and let the other person talk, let them think you couldn’t put two and two together if you had a calculator.

When the man showed her the photo, Lucy recognized Jackson Dynamo immediately.

“How recent is the photo?” she asked, although she knew it could only be a few weeks old. Jackson had shaved his head when he went into hiding.

“Taken two weeks ago. That’s the last time I saw him.”

“This brother of yours, his name is Harold?”

“Yes, but he could be using an alias.”

“And you want to find him so he can donate his kidney to you?”

“To see if he is a match, yes.”

The story about Lawrence Dowling and his search for a kidney donor had been all over social media. Lawrence didn’t need a kidney any more, Lucy knew. He had died in a suspicious car accident she had investigated for an insurance company.

“I’m not taking your case. I might have been born yesterday, but I’ve been up all night. Sorry.”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry, Lucy Minerva.” The man picked up the photograph and slipped it into the pocket of his suit jacket. His hand reappeared holding a gun. He waved it in the air. “I don’t think you understand how desperate I am.”

Lucy pushed away from her desk, skidding her chair across the floor with enough force that the wobbly leg gave way and sent her sprawling. She scrambled behind a huge, empty filing cabinet she kept around only because she thought it made the office look more professional. She never imagined it would serve another purpose.

Lucy peeked out. “Gee, mister, you don’t take rejection well, do you? Why don’t you put that gun away and we can talk about this like two reasonable adults?”

The man fired a shot into the ceiling. The noise caused someone downstairs at Shaunessy’s to turn up the volume on the jukebox.

“Sorry!” the man said. “I didn’t mean that. I just need your help but you’re being stubborn!”

Lucy looked up at the hole in her ceiling and realized she’d be losing her security deposit.

“Call me crazy, but I’m the kind of gal who finds it easier to cooperate without a gun pointed at her.”

The man lowered the gun to his side.

“That’s better,” Lucy said. “Now, why don’t you start with the real reason you want to find Jackson Dynamo.”

“He ruined me!” The man sobbed. He collapsed into the chair in front of Lucy’s desk. The gun hung limply from his hand before it clattered to the floor and disappeared underneath the radiator.

Lucy came out from behind the filing cabinet.

“He ruined a lot of people,” Lucy said. She picked up the broken pieces of her desk chair and gathered them into a pile. “He’s a con artist of the first order. How did he ruin you?”

The man reached inside his suit jacket and for a moment Lucy tensed, concerned that he might draw another weapon. Instead, he pulled out handfuls of collectible cards Lucy recognized from the game Silly Bananas. Lucy had collected them herself, as a girl, and the game had been experiencing a nostalgic resurgence, with some rare cards selling for thousands today. Silently, she cursed her mother, who had thrown away her entire collection after she moved out.

Lucy let out a low whistle. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a fortune here.”

“Looks like it, doesn’t it? They’re worthless. Counterfeits, all of them.”

“And you think if you find him, Jackson will give you your money back? Ask all those donors to Lawrence Dowling’s fake kidney fund where their money is.”

“I don’t want my money back. I want him to suffer.”

“Some free advice for you, whoever you are: Sending Jackson Dynamo to the hospital isn’t going to fix your life. Forget about him, forget about your money, and forget about Silly Bananas trading cards. Walk out the door and get a new hobby. Pickleball or something.”

“You were my last hope. I’ve tried to hire every PI in the city.”

Lucy pointed to the door. “Pickleball. Think about it.”

The man wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and reluctantly got to his feet. Defeated, he exited Lucy’s office without looking back.

As soon as the office door closed, Lucy retrieved the gun from underneath the radiator. A Smith and Wesson. She’d get a good price for it at Edelman’s One Stop Pawn Shop across the street. She dropped it in her desk drawer, then took a broom from the utility closet to sweep up the dust and chunks of plaster that had fallen from the ceiling. After she dumped it all in the dustbin, she considered the counterfeit cards scattered on her desk.

She picked up one, then another. They were good fakes. She sorted them into piles and then paired off the Bananas that belonged together. Then she separated them again, and matched them according to level of silliness. Before she knew it, an hour had passed and she had missed Happy Hour at Shaunessy’s. Might as well head home, she decided. She cleared space in the bottom drawer of her desk and set the Silly Bananas inside, reminding herself to never let her mother clean her office.