Two
You may be wondering a few things right about now. I am prepared to clear some of them up for you. I will go over the few facts of my life that are salient, then you will be as caught up in this case as I am. You may already be way ahead of me. Anyway, the name…. I admit that After is not the usual name, but the circumstances surrounding the dropping of this appellation on yours truly are a bit out of the ordinary. Without going into details, let’s just establish the fact that my mother was not always discriminatory when it came to the men in her life. Mom is a wonderful person, would give a friend the shirt off her back, and in fact has done just that on many occasions. Unfortunately, there were times when she should have kept it on. Apparently I was conceived during one of those times, so I guess there is one instance I cannot complain about. At the time of my birth, mom was living in Brooklyn. There are stories about Brooklyn, and there are stories about Brooklyn.
Most of them are true. There are stories about bartenders, cops, crooks, politicians, hot dog vendors, and all sorts of people. Those already from Brooklyn know these to be entirely true. There are so many wild, improbable true stories from there, that there is absolutely no reason to make any others up.
Anyway, nine months later, mom was in labor, and she had to go to the hospital in Brooklyn. Mom made the mistake of reliving some of her exploits to the charge nurse. The nurse was not impressed and when the time came to name mom’s creation, the same nurse was there, paper and pen in hand. She asked mom what to name me, mom thought about it awhile then said, “I think I’ll name him after his father. I believe his father was Bob, I’ll name him after Bob.” The nurse wrote ‘After Bob Coffman’ on the report, using Mom’s last name for mine. Mom signed it without paying attention to it and that’s how I got the name. Of course, over the years, I tried to talk mom into getting it changed, but she thought it was clever and funny. She told me it would add to my character. Maybe it did.
At any rate, I never got around to changing the name, and now I have gotten used to it and the effect it has on people.
I managed to get through high school with the usual mental trauma associated with that age group, plus the broken nose and several bruised egos. All in all, it was a worthwhile experience. I spent some of my graduation money losing my virginity in a sleazy motel room with a lady of the night. She was missing several front teeth, had too much deodorant and perfume on, charged me twenty dollars, and had me out of there in 5 minutes or so. It was a relief, both to have the virginity thing dealt with, and to get out of the room. One other girl finally legitimized my masculinity after a drunken party on a pontoon boat during my first semester in college.
She was drunk and so was I. I remember that we went out on a raft together, but that’s about it. My fellow drunks told me about it the next morning, so let me first admit that neither of us was discreet, and somewhere there are Polaroid pictures to prove it. The girl was so embarrassed that she immediately left school, and none of us ever heard from her again. I suspect she entered a nunnery. So, even though I don’t remember the experience, there is proof out there somewhere. That’s it for my sexual history.
I was majoring in criminal justice, and that is where I first learned that only criminals get justice. Certainly, the victims rarely do. I graduated, tried for the Police Academy, failed the physical, and somehow earned the scorn of the rest of the incoming cop class when I began extolling some of my views on police brutality in Brooklyn, my anti-war views in general, and the fact that I thought that cigarettes ought to be outlawed. I was 22 years old, no job, a degree that meant I could do almost nothing, and mom was gone to some far away island with her latest beau, so I did what I had to do. I left Brooklyn for the big, wide, wonderful world.
I did odd jobs here and there. I was a night watchman at a department store, I was a valet at a high-class restaurant and I tended bar. I was going nowhere until one day while tending bar, I met a Private Investigator. He regaled me with story after story about his job, and I developed an interest in his line of work. One night at the bar, two of the faithful decided to take each other’s heads off, and while trying to break up the fight, I managed to get my nose broken for a second time. After leaving the hospital, I learned that I had been fired from my bar job, as much from not being a very good mixologist as from not stopping the fight. Upon returning to my rented room, I got out a map, closed my eyes and stuck a pin randomly into it. The first pin went into the Atlantic Ocean, and I seriously thought about it, but then decided to try it again. The second pin went into a little Midwest town called Hustle. That name had just enough promise to lure me here via Greyhound, and upon alighting from the diesel monster, I immediately went to City Hall to see what it would take to become a licensed P. I. Ten dollars later, I was licensed.
I had been staying at a cheap motel, but money was rapidly running out. I scanned the newspaper ads for a residence, found Mother Teresa’s ad and applied for her cheapest room. She took pity on me and said I could have one of the 3rd floor rooms, use of the telephone for local calls, and 2 square meals a day, if I was on time for them. I was on my own for lunch. She charged me one hundred a month up front, and I thought this was an excellent deal. when I asked how she could afford this, she just smiled and told me that everything was O.K., and that I could make it up to her in future if I felt the need to do so. I then met my fellow roomies. Paul Grease is a brand new reporter, fresh out of college, has coke bottle glasses that he constantly loses, and he is so easily distracted that he ends up in my room as often as he does his. It matters little whether I am in the room or not, and it took a while to get used to him barging in at any time, only to see him become disoriented when realizing where he had ended up. He is a good guy, I have respect for his writing ability, and so do his bosses. He has graduated from Classified Ads to Obituaries in record time, so the sky is the limit for him.
Someday, he may make enough money to buy a new pair of glasses.
Then there is my other 3rd floor housemate….Soot. Soot is a large black cat, going to gray around the muzzle. Soot hates the world, and me most of all, it appears. Mother says he likes me better than the last tenant, but I don’t see how this is possible. Soot will find a perch near the top of the stairs, hide there and just wait. If Paul or I come up the stairs, and not pay enough attention, Soot will jump from his perch, land on our shoulders, dig in his claws and generally hang on for the wild ride to follow while we try to remove him. On two occasions, this has resulted in injury. Paul fell down the stairs, breaking his collarbone, I fell down the stairs breaking my nose. I had just recovered from this third break when I got my first real P. I. job, the case I am currently trying to describe. Soot took pity on Paul for some unfathomable feline reason, and has left him alone recently, but that has left him time to redouble his attacks on me.
I had been spending most of my days trying to find a cheap, but clean office area. I had arranged some interviews with several people who had the odd corner to rent out. One was particularly promising, it was the back room of a building primarily used by a team of lawyers. I thought that this would be a good way to get clients, so I spent an extra long time and more effort than usual to look my best. If I really work at it, my best is passable. I put on my best trousers, spent the money to get my blazer dry cleaned, polished my shoes, got a haircut and was ready to go meet my prospective landlords. I decided to take one last look in the bathroom mirror, and exited the bathroom. It was that particular day that I was fallen upon by Soot. It was a particularly brutal attack, and resulted in a ripped blazer, the broken nose, bruises on my knees and screams that woke up the rest of the inhabitants of Mother Teresa’s. Mother herself was not much help, she picked up Soot, checked the little hellion over for damage, then with him purring contentedly in her arms, she began to lecture me on how to be kind to animals. She also took the time to berate me for dripping blood on her carpet, and tsk tsked about the condition of my clothes. “Really, Mr.
Coffman, if you expect to have a respectable law firm rent space to you, you should try to look your best for them. First impressions are so important.”
After a quick trip to the hospital, where my nose was encased in the now familiar plastic guard and bandages, I did my best to clean up, and then went to my belated meeting with the lawyers. They were kind, too kind, smiling and offering me coffee. They asked if I wanted to sue the perpetrator that had obviously been much larger, quicker and stronger than I, then they ushered me out of there as fast as they could, while promising to call if they decided I would become their tenant of choice. The next day, I walked by and saw that they had rented the place to someone else. There was a man working on the windows, trying to make the place shipshape. I sauntered over, attempting to look nonchalant, and asked the gentleman if he was the new renter. He said that he was, and that it was the funniest thing, the law firm had previously turned him down, but the night before, he received a call stating that he could have the place for twenty dollars a month less, if he would take possession the next day. He readily agreed, and was told that morning that the decreased rent was to keep an undesirable person out. I grimaced, but asked him what he did, and he replied that he was a Taxidermist.
The lawyers had originally thought that his line of work was too far removed from theirs, but an incident the day before had changed their minds. I asked him how much he charged to stuff a cat, and rolled away without receiving an answer.
Stopping off at the local hardware store, I picked up a small water pistol, filled it at the fountain at City Hall and limped back to my digs. I was ready for the little devil, but pretended to not be expecting him. He fell for it and leapt at me from the top of the stairwell. I attacked in kind, dousing him liberally with the water gun, ruffling his feathers and soaking his mealy tail. He escaped down the stairs, my laughter echoing in his laid back ears. I didn’t see him for 2 days. However, one night Paul rambled into my room by mistake, excused himself absent-mindedly and went on about his business. The next morning I awoke soaked in cat urine, the papers on my dresser had been carefully ripped to shreds and the garbage can had been overturned, with the unfinished contents of a soda bottle overturned and sticky upon the remaining contents.
I went to the bathroom to clean up, stuffed my bedclothes into the hamper, and went in search of the little monster. Of course he was on his mistress’ lap, sleeping contentedly, so he was able to salvage one of his nine lives at that point. There would be other times, I was sure. Since then, we have had minor skirmishes, but nothing amounting to anything much until this morning’s incident with the shredded coverlet. This put me in a foul mood once again, as I descended the stairs for my meeting with Jocko.
One other thing that you should know, I did finally get an office.
It was about two weeks later, and I was just taking a morning walk, trying to figure how I got into the mess I was in, and how to get out of it again. I noticed a flea market near the older part of town. It was nothing much to look at, old white paint over a stucco surface with green and white striped canvas awnings over the windows.
There was a sign that might be 10 years, or 50 years old pro claiming the establishment as ‘Roy Mack’s 2nd Hand Shoppe and Flea Market’. I opened the door, as much out of curiosity as to why the proprietor placed a ‘pe’ at the end of Shop, as I was interested in looking at the goods inside. I even had a crazy idea that there might be real fleas for sale inside, and that I could get some for Soot.
Unfortunately, I was basically broke, and if it weren’t for the two squares a day that Mother was feeding me, I would already be in dire shape.
Bells tinkled gently as I entered the musty interior, and I stood there momentarily waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness within. I could hear the bustling of a body moving about somewhere inside, and when my eyes finally adjusted, I saw Santa Claus, or a very merry brother of his behind the counter. I walked up to him, smiling, as his was the friendliest face I’d seen in Hustle.
“Good morning!” I said cheerily, walking up toward the counter.
A face full of character smiled back at me. Roy, if indeed this was Roy, had the white hair and bushy white eyebrows to go with Santa’s, but his beard was truly spectacular and easily had his more famous twin’s eclipsed in length, width and thickness. It was truly luxuriant. He had the round wire framed glasses, the rosy cheeks and a briar pipe clenched between his teeth. A fruity aroma exuded from the pipe, almost making me rescind my attitude about smoking, and smokers in general. “How are you, young man?” he replied, taking in my nose, mismatched ears and general feeling of deflated worth all in one moment. His smile was generous and warm.
“I’ve had better days,” I said.
“Nothing’s happening here at this particular instant, why don’t you tell me about it.”
I couldn’t believe it, I spilled my guts, even telling him about the Polaroids. He listened attentively, and hummed and tsked in the appropriate places.
“Sounds as if you need a break,” he said after my soliloquy. “I may just be able to be of service to you.”
“Really?” I jumped forwards, nearly crashing into the counter.
“What do you have in mind?” I cried excitedly.
“Well, I recently lost my evening employee, he worked from 6:00 till close at 10:00. Some nonsense about getting married or such.” He looked at me quizzically, “You aren’t planning on getting married anytime soon?”
Before I could assure him that this was far from an event that was likely to happen, he continued without interruption. “I think we could both help each other out here, I have a small room in the back that you could clean up, and make into an office, and in return, maybe you could take the evening shift off my hands. I’ll pay you a little and throw the room in free until you get on your feet.
You’ll need to clean it up and maybe spell me for lunch a time or two.”
Neither the famous Mother Teresa, nor my landlady had anything on this guy. I couldn’t believe it, but decided to take the offer on the spot. “My only problem is that I may have to do my own work some evenings,” I worriedly stated, fearing the worst.
“I expect you’ll be fairly busy soon enough, but then you can pay me rent, and we’ll find another employee.” This guy probably took in strays all of his life, and wasn’t afraid of getting bitten. He obviously hadn’t met Soot.
“I’ll take it, do I start tonight?”
“That would be wonderful….umm, er…”
“After,” I volunteered.
“After what?” his concerned look shamed me a bit.
“My name,” I stammered, “my name is After. I was born in Brooklyn.” Again, this simple explanation seemed to satisfy him, as it did most everybody. “And I’ll be glad to start right now cleaning the room if you show me where it is, ummm, Mr. Mack!”
He smiled and led me to the back saying, “You can call me Roy, that’s what everyone calls me.” He showed me the room, gave me a skeleton key off a rack next to the door, and worked it into the lock.
The door opened with a protesting squeal, but the space inside was perfect.
The room had a grimy window near the ceiling, a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling and plenty of room for a desk, file cabinets, some chairs and a phone. It was dirty though, so I looked about for the best place to begin.
“I doubt if there is much of value in here,” Roy said, “but if you have any doubts, just come ask me.” There was a small dumpster out back, rags and cleaning solutions in the bathroom, and after a few hours work, I had managed to cart out all but a few interesting old salt and pepper shakers, an old brass lamp and some boxes full of old comic books. I had swept and mopped the floor, and once I cleaned the window, I was surprised to see the sun working its light in from the southern exposure the room allowed. I approached Roy, “Some of these old comic books may be worth something, you may want to keep them.” He grinned and said I had a future in antiquities. He also came back a bit later with a small desk, a chair and a nice glass fixture for the ceiling light. The place was almost cheerful; all it needed was a client.
I went home for supper at 4:00, promising to be back by 6:00 to finish the night out for him. I had a bounce in my step that I hadn’t had for a long, long time. Mother even noticed the change, and remarked upon it. “You certainly look like you had a good day!”
“Yes, old Roy Mack rented me an office and gave me employment today. I begin at 6:00 tonight!”
Her mood darkened slightly, and turning, she began to walk away, but thought better of it. “I am happy for you,” she began carefully, “but don’t take any unnecessary chances with him.”
I was going to ask her what she meant by that, but she walked away saying, “Go clean up, I’ll make you an early supper.”
Walking up the stairs, I didn’t notice Soot in attack mode till the last second, but I was able to adjust just in time, and he went sailing past me, landing 5 steps down from the landing. I snickered at him; he pasted his ears back and sauntered down the rest of the flight. I took this as a good omen, boy was I wrong.
Back to the story at hand…….
I tried to appear casual, nonchalant and in total control as I entered Mother Teresa’s dining room. I felt that Jocko probably took little notice of the fact that I tripped over the carpet runner and held onto a chair in order to not hit the floor in an unceremonious fashion. We had three other house occupants as guests; one was an old fossilized friend of Mother Teresa’s, who had lived in the house longer than Mother had owned it. Mother just didn’t have the heart to throw her out. The lady was nearing 100, couldn’t hear a word I said, and probably didn’t know I was alive. Her name was Beulah, or Providence, or Emma, something like that. Another tablemate was a second floor dweller name Hal, who worked as a consultant for the city, and was only planning on living there long enough to fix the sewer system in town, maybe a year at most. The third was a young college student named James. He went everywhere on bicycle and generally found other places to spend the night.
“Afternoon all!” I greeted everyone. Everyone but the fossil looked and smiled, and man, did they have something to smile about.
Mother had piled cold cuts, home made fries, wheat bread, rye bread, pumpernickel and white bread all over the table, slices of several types of cheese, as well as sun tea, milk, sodas, and fruit of most descriptions. Hot steaming corn on the cob was coming through the door in a large bowl carried by a beaming Mother Teresa. I resolved to invite Jocko over at least once a week. There was no need for talk; we all entered the fray with gusto, eating as if we had been on a deserted island, or eating hospital food for months. I outdid myself, and even Beulah/Providence/Emma had a hearty meal. You knew she meant business when she put her dentures in.
“How have you been Carol?” Jocko asked the fossil. I knew her name was something like that! Trust Jocko to remember her name, but then he knew her when she was younger.
Carol smiled and said, “Fine, just fine, especially since you are here, as no one else ever even knows that I am alive.” She gave Hal and me a slight frown, causing Jocko to give a start as he looked in a hard manner at both of us.
Hal kept eating, and I tried to look contrite as I said, “Please pass the corn.”
“Carol here is the Grande Dame of Hustle, she is a member of the D.A.R., initiated many of the clubs in Hustle, used to run the town in the old days, and is the grandmother of our Mayor,” Jocko volunteered.
“Here’s to the old days,” I said, “pass the watermelon please.” I hadn’t eaten this well since one of mom’s boyfriends owned a restaurant.
I was doing well that day too, until they tried to make me eat spinach greens, and I got sick all over the place. I don’t know if that broke them up, or if mom just moved on naturally. I understand where the first President Bush was coming from on the broccoli thing.
Lunch went on like this for a bit, and Mother even joined us for a little of it, accompanied on her entrance by a plate full of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies.
After the appropriate sighs, grunts of approval, and stretching, Jocko excused himself and went to the living room, with a backward glance at me that was meant to convey… ‘You’re next.’ I decided to help Mother clean up the table first, hoping that the food and some relaxation would make Jocko mellow. I was able to kill 5 minutes or so with this, when Mother shooed me out of the kitchen, and I found myself walking into the living room where I saw a sight that almost made my heart stop. Soot was sitting on Jocko’s lap, rubbing his head appreciatively and adoringly under Jocko’s hands and up across Jocko’s jaws. I could hear him purring from here. It was disgusting and I think Soot knew it was too, for when he no ticed me, he decided it would be more seemly to curl up on Jocko’s lap instead, where he immediately faked going to sleep.
“OK,” Jocko started, “tell me a few things”.
“Just ask, I’ll follow,” I replied as I sat in a chair facing him.
“How long have you been a P.I.?”
“Got my license a few weeks ago, but got my office two days ago.”
“Why a P.I.?”
“I’m not cut out for police work, but I like the business.”
“Not much call for P.I. work here in Hustle.”
“Maybe not, but I am working on something.”
“What might that be?”
“Have you ever heard of Felix Jeffries?”
This got a response; Jocko straightened up, jostling the fake sleeper a bit. Soot opened an eye, looked at me, yawned so that I could see that he still had plenty of teeth, and curled up again.
“How do you know Felix?” he asked me.
“I don’t actually, but two evenings ago, at my first night on the job…did I mention that I work part time for Roy Mack?” Jocko raised an eyebrow, said nothing then waved his hand in an effort to prod me along.
“Anyway, two nights ago, Felix’s mother, Felicia came to me while I was at Roy’s, asked me if I was really a P.I. and asked if I could do a small job for her.”
“Felicia is dead, didn’t she run in front of a bus two days ago?”
“That’s correct, but she paid me $100.00 up front, and I used it to pay Mother’s rent for the next month, so I thought I’d earn a bit of it.”
“O.K., can you tell me what she asked you to do?”
“Sure, she asked me to find Felix, or at least a clue as to where he is. She had just found out I was in the business, and so she wasn’t prepared. She went home to get a key to his apartment, so that I could have a look around, after paying me the retainer. She never got back, thanks to her accident.”
Jocko shifted again, careful not to waken the faker on his lap.
“Do you think this may not have been an accident?”
“I don’t know, do you?”
“Homicide is looking at it, but there were no witnesses, it was dark, and the bus driver wasn’t paying a lot of attention when she stepped in front of him. By then it was too late for her.”
I tried to look a little upset and sorry.
“Is that why you were flying through the air at Felix’s apartment complex when I first met you?” Jocko asked.
“Yes, the gorilla in charge didn’t like me snooping in the dumpster.”
“Care to tell me what you found there?”
I decided that Jocko need not know about the illegal foray into the apartment itself, as only one other person knew that, and they probably weren’t talking either. I said, “Well, there were a lot of old papers, and flyers, broken stuff, but no food. It had been a while since it was used…except…”
“Yes?”
“Well, there was one recent newspaper dated the 4th, as well as a flyer announcing the opening of ‘The Green Frog’ for the night of the 4th.”
“What do you make of that?”
I couldn’t tell him about the paper scrap I had illegally found, so I shrugged, “Nothing maybe, but I thought I might go to the Green Frog in the next evening or so. Felicia’s funeral is tomorrow morning, so I thought I would go there too, just to see who shows.”
“She wasn’t exactly well liked here in town, a bit of a nuisance really,” Jocko stated, starting to rise, Soot jumping to safety. “You keep me informed if something else comes to mind?”
“You betcha,” I replied.
“I think maybe the boys in Homicide need to know about this, maybe get a warrant to search Felicia’s and Felix’s places.”
I nodded my agreement.
“Anything else?” he asked again, looking me straight in the eye.
“That’s about it,” I lied, looking him right back.
“O.K. then, I’ll be moving on.”
“See ya later, Jocko, thanks for the lift home.”
“No problem,” then as he was closing the door, he smiled and continued, “better be careful, nasty lump on your head,” and he closed the door.
I went to my favorite chair in the living room, and decided to go over the events of the past few days, while trying to plan something for the next few as well.
Two nights ago had been my first day of work at Roy’s. I walked into the building at 5:30, already happy with the ambiance and happily comfortable with the look and feel of the old place. Roy greeted me as I walked in.
“How’s it going, After?”
“Fine, just dandy!” I said, meaning it.
“Let’s get started then,” he said. He walked me through the store, showing me the appropriate places where his various goods were placed. At first there seemed to be no pattern to the random mish-mosh of items strewn around, but eventually things started to sink in. I found that glassware was away from the window, items of clothing were kept away from light as well. Metal things were near the window, and heavier items were near the door, as lighter items might take it in their heads to walk out more easily. The more expensive things were locked in several cabinets behind the counter where Roy spent the better part of his day.
“Where do you get all this stuff?” I asked, as Roy was preparing to depart.
“I pick it up here and there, I go to garage sales, estate auctions and other stores like mine, where the owner may have some items that I have a clientele for, but doesn’t seem to be able to move in his store. I usually trade my stuff to him straight up. We move things better that way.”
I had a lot to learn and must have looked worried, because he laughed at me and said, “That’s my problem, you just sell the stuff.
Actually it won’t be too busy this time of evening. Let the people dicker with you, but don’t go down more than 30% from what I have listed. Something unusual comes up, have them come back tomorrow and see me. The keys are in the money drawer, and here’s an extra front door key for you, just lock it all up when you leave, and take a twenty dollar bill home with you every night as your pay, OK?”
I grinned and told him I was just as happy as could be. No one showed for the first hour, so I spent some time dusting some of the more derelict pieces, and cleaning the windows. I also spent a little time in my office, trying to plan how I would place things. I noticed that Roy had pulled in an old wooden file cabinet with drawers that actually worked. I also noticed that the hinges to my door were well oiled and that it no longer squeaked. I could see that I couldn’t spend too much time there while working, as it was out of the line of sight of the front door and counter, and I dared not miss anyone. I closed the door with a sigh, thinking of the better days sure to be ahead.
My first customers came in around 7:00, they were a young preppie looking college couple. At first they seemed standoffish and a bit snobby, so I left them to their critiquing and minded my own business, but tried to keep a sharp eye out nonetheless. The girl was dressed in a very form fitting beige sweater, tan slacks that showed her body to its best effect and had her hair done in that casual way that only comes with expensive hairdressers and a lot more time spent than they would have you think. No wedding ring, but lots of jewelry anyway. Daddy’s girl. The young man was similarly dressed.
Polo shirt, pressed light jeans, tasseled loafers, and a sweater tied around his waist…a very white sweater, and somehow he was keeping it clean. Two clean cut rich kids from the big city looking for bargains.
Finally, they ambled up to me, looking at me like I was their last chance at finding anything worthwhile at all. I smiled and asked them if they had found anything to suit them at all. They looked troubled and said, “No, and we aren’t really looking for anything for us, or we might have picked up a thing or two. We are actually looking for something a bit unusual for her daddy,” the young man declared.
“How unusual?” I asked.
“It’s hard to say actually,” the troubled youth continued, “he is sort of a free spirit, collects old bar signs, movie posters and that sort of thing, restores them, or frames them, whatever…. and places them in his office at work. Then every year he gives them away as presents to his staff, depending on who seems to like wha