Smoke and Mirrors (Goosey Larsen Book 2), page 5
The rough weather showed no signs of letting up, but I was determined to make the most of the evening. Between catnaps, I wasted time by nibbling on Krispy Kremes while skimming through a few old magazines that Scooter kept stashed in his duffel bag. The guy had also left a Tupperware container full of brownies in there and since I didn’t want them to go bad, I did the dude a solid by finishing them off. Turns out, Scooter’s wife wasn’t a bad cook.
I also called Big Jim a couple times, hoping to shoot the breeze, but his cell phone went straight to voicemail each time. That wasn’t too unusual seeing as how it was a weekend, even if he was technically supposed to be at work. The downtown radio channel remained lifeless except for an occasional bar fight or drunk driver, so I wasn’t particularly worried that Jim had gotten into any trouble. My boss has this way of popping up in his own time, and never before he’s good and ready. In fact it was almost midnight when he finally called me back, and I had just about drifted off to sleep again. I sat up straight and flipped my phone open. “What’s the good word, Jim?”
“Please tell me that you caught the arsonist already, Goosey! Or at least, tell me that you’ve got some damned good reason for burning up my minutes!” He was shouting to make himself heard above a flood of background noise, and it almost sounded as if he was calling from the middle of a riot.
“Not quite, but I’m working on it!” I shouted back so he could hear me. “The Holy City seems quiet, at least for tonight. Where are you, anyway?”
“King and Ann, sightseeing. Come on by, why don’cha?”
“Whatever you say, boss!” I hung up and made my way down the maintenance path, doing my best to spin the tires and kick up a little mud onto the side panels. It wouldn’t hurt Scooter one bit for him to wash his car more frequently, and I was actually doing him a favor by covering up some of the dents. Traffic was light as I picked my way down through the neck of the peninsula, although I still made sure to keep a safe distance away from all the other cars on the road. That way, even if some drunk driver piled their car into a ditch in front of me, I’d still have enough time to pull off onto a side street and avoid working the wreck. Yup, I thought, there’s no such thing as being too careful when it comes to driving in the rain.
The downpour had slackened to a steady drizzle by the time I reached upper King Street, and the foul weather sure wasn’t keeping any of the young kids from their weekend bar crawls. Pretty girls walked past in small gaggles, their normally stylish hair matted down into wet, lumpy messes. All of their expensive designer outfits clung tightly to their skin, soaked through and all but ruined. Still, no one on the street seemed to be particularly put out by the weather, and especially not Big Jim. He had commandeered a spot for himself beneath one of the awnings at Basil’s, this uppity overpriced Thai food joint, and he was leaning against the brick wall just taking in the show. All the kids gave him a wide berth as they passed, but I couldn’t tell whether that was because he looked like a crusty old cop out to ruin their drunken fun or because he still had that plastic hemorrhoid donut wedged in between his buttocks and the wall.
I spotted a choice parking spot in front of a fire hydrant, so I whipped the cruiser around in a U-turn to claim it as my own. I hopped out, ambled across the street, and posted up alongside Big Jim. “What’s up, Boss?” I said. “You become Captain Russell’s go-to guy for scheduling and now all of a sudden you’re too good to pick up your cell phone?”
Jim let out a belly laugh and hitched up his gun belt. “Yeah, you nailed it, Goosey. Me and Russell are like THAT.” Big Jim crossed his index and middle fingers together, causing the yellow nicotine stains to meld in a seamless blending of colors. He stretched his neck back towards the Music Farm, where the last few stragglers were winding out of the concert hall. Judging by the patrons’ pale skin tone and advanced age, it had to have been some kind of classic rock. Foreigner, Foghat, maybe a ZZ Top cover band. “Sorry about that” Jim said before I could ask the name of the group, “I couldn’t hear my radio over the music. Freaking great show, man, my ears are still ringing!”
We stood there silent for a few minutes, the only two people with enough sense to keep out of the rain, but it didn’t take long before Jim’s lazy eye set to twitching. His right eye gets a little shakier than normal whenever he’s forced to go more than five minutes without a smoke, so I watched as he produced a pack of Winstons from his shirt pocket. Big Jim tapped out a cancer stick, pausing only long enough to snap off the filter.
“Winstons?” I said, shocked. “Why the change, boss? Don’t tell me you finally said goodbye to Lucky Strikes?”
Jim fired up the cigarette, took two deep puffs, then held it squarely between his two rows of worn teeth. When he finally pulled it back out again, nearly half the butt had been transformed into a long, thin ash. “Naw.” He exhaled a slow, dragon-like stream of smoke that blew right back in his face once the wind shifted. When he’d finally stopped hacking and coughing, Jim spat a yellowish-brown loogie down onto the sidewalk. “This damned new girlfriend of mine is obsessed with my health, Goosey. She wanted me to switch to a brand with FILTERS.” He said the word with a cruel sneer, almost as if it was the actual F-bomb.
Now I usually make it my business to stay informed on my co-workers’ personal lives, but I definitely hadn’t seen that one coming. “A new girlfriend! Why Jim, you old dog!” I slapped him on the back in congratulations. I could tell Big Jim was feeling mighty proud of himself by the way he was sucking in his stomach, somehow managing to puff the whole sloppy mess up and out through his chest. I considered mentioning the fact that he had never actually had an old girlfriend to begin with, but decided against it. It’s never been my style to rain on someone else’s parade, especially not when that someone was responsible for filling out my yearly performance evaluation.
As I looked up I saw Slipper’s patrol car rounding the corner, so I pointed a finger down at the sidewalk as a signal for him to crack the window. When he did, I shouted, “Hey man! Big Jim’s gone and got himself a new lady friend!” A pair of college girls hustled by at the same moment, rushing to get out of the rain while still avoiding any type of eye contact. Neither of them seemed too broken up over the news that there was now one less eligible bachelor in the Holy City.
“What!” Slipper stomped down hard on the brakes, bringing his cruiser to a halt in the middle of the street as the transmission screeched in protest. While traffic began to back up behind him, he switched on the amber warning light and waved for the cars to pull around. Once the first few cars had pulled past, their drivers glaring at us for the inconvenience and us glaring right back at them, Slipper hopped out and practically jogged over to where we were standing. “You’re kidding me, right?”
I shook my head. “No way would I kid about something like this.” Big Jim just grinned.
Slipper was beside himself. “Come on, Jim, you’re killing me! I need details!”
Big Jim crowed triumphantly. “Why, so this time tomorrow night all the details of my personal life can be scribbled across the bathroom walls?” He was doing his best to sound as if he was concerned in the slightest about his reputation, but all three of us knew better. This kind of gossip could only serve to inflate Jim’s standing around the Department.
Slipper could only smile. “Bathroom walls? Damn, L.T., you’re so old school. Haven’t you heard of the Internet?”
There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that Slipper had to have been one of the most frequent posters on Cop to Cop, this anonymous website that CPD officers used to air their gripes without fear of repercussions. The gossip and name calling tended to get pretty heated on that forum, so naturally it was one of my favorite ways to kill time at work. The site was a great way to stay current on all the news, and it was always fun to speculate on which cop had been so bold as to risk his career by designing the webpage.
“Come on, boss” I said. “Don’t hold back. Honest, we really want to know about her.” I tried to sound as interested as I could, seeing as how the drizzle didn’t appear to be letting up. Listening to Big Jim gloat about his conquests was as good a way as any to pass the time.
“Her name’s Padma. She’s a realtor.” Jim couldn’t hold back a smug grin, like it wasn’t enough to just brag about his new girl, but he also had to mention the fact that she made way more money than all of us combined.
Slipper scrunched up his face. “Padma? The hell kind of name is that? French?”
Jim shot him a dirty glare. “She’s Indian, dummy.”
Slipper’s eyes went wide. “Jim, are you nuts? You better treat that girl right, man! If she catches you messing around, her daddy’s bound to scalp you!”
Both our eyes, Slipper’s and mine I mean, were drawn upwards to that awkward section of Jim’s hairline where the thin gray and chestnut-colored strands merged with a healthy wave of suspiciously darker and thicker brown hairs up top. Jim kept a relaxed look on his face, clearly unworried about the prospect of a hairstyling by tomahawk. Slipper glanced over at me and dropped a sly nod, one which I returned just as subtly. No question about it, Big Jim wore a rug.
Jim just took one long, last drag off his cigarette. He flicked the butt over towards a nearby trashcan, but it bounced off the lip of the can and rolled back across the wet sidewalk. The stub came to rest at Jim’s feet, a few thin wisps of smoke still steaming up off it.
Jim did his best to ignore the missed free throw. “Get some culture, Johnson. Padma’s not a real Indian. She’s an American whose family just happens to come from India.”
Slipper still didn’t look convinced.
“It’s like a whole other country” I added, trying to help. “In Asia, I think.”
Usually when a guy looks over his shoulder before speaking, it means he’s about to say something that’s not quite politically correct. When that happens it’s always a good idea to look over yours as well, since you never know who might be standing there. After his quick peek was complete, Slipper hissed, “Are you crazy? Those people worship an elephant god with eight arms! They aren’t allowed to eat cows! You’ll never be able to have another hamburger again, Jim! Have you even thought about that?”
Jim’s eyes bulged in fear, the lazy one pushing slightly further out in its own shaky fashion. It was obvious that the man was torn between his two true loves: women and red meat. I’ll say this for him, though, he regained his composure pretty quickly. “Don’t worry about me, Johnson” he said. “I’ll just sneak out and hit a drive-thru when I need a quick fix of ground beef. Besides, even if I did have to suck it up and make do with tofu and chickpeas every once in a while, I’m still coming out on the winning end. Sure, I love me a good ribeye, but think about this: Those Hindu Indians are the same people that gave us the Kama Sutra.”
The mental image of Jim’s pale, flabby body tangled into erotic contortions was enough to make me gag. Slipper winced too kept right on rolling. He leveled his most supervisory look at Big Jim, the kind of expression you use when you want people to think that you actually care about their well-being. “Jim, I hate to be blunt but if I don’t say this, who will? Have you taken a look at yourself in a mirror lately? Face the facts, bub, you’re no spring chicken. I mean, if this woman is actually having a sexual relationship with you, it’s either out of complete pity or because she’s a gold digger. I’ll bet this bird is looking for you to knock her up so she can get a legitimate claim on your retirement pensions.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And what if you die from a cardiac arrest brought on during a night of passion? She’ll have a solid claim to your 401(k) too! Has it even occurred to you that the bitch might be trying to bump you off?”
Big Jim uncrossed his arms and thought on that for a minute, then re-crossed them with a smile. “Maybe, but what a way to go.”
It was clear there was no convincing him of the dangers he faced. Love does strange things to a man, I guess. Jim cleared his throat and spat another wad of phlegm down onto the sidewalk. The glob of liquid was more of a brownish hue this time. “I appreciate the concern, fellas” he said, “but I’m a big boy. Besides, I’ve already taken precautions against any unplanned paternity issues.” He reached back to tap the foam donut wedged underneath his butt. “Just went down to the urologist to get myself snipped.” Jim smiled at Slipper with a certain amount of satisfaction. “You know Johnson, you should probably put some thought into getting a vasectomy yourself.”
Slipper glowered as he thought about all his hell-raising little rugrats who were constantly threatening to eat him out of house and home.
Big Jim had Slipper on the defensive, and he seized the advantage. “No way she’s after my money, either.” He said it in a slower, more thoughtful fashion, as if the thought was meant to reassure himself as much as the two of us. Using three hairy knuckles, he counted off the arguments. “She drives a BMW. She’s pulling in damn near ten grand a month. She owns six rental properties in West Ashley. If anyone in this relationship is a gold digger then it’s got to be me, because I’d sure love to get my hands on some of that loot.”
Slipper nodded, staying quiet. Not me, though. The obvious question was burning to be answered, so I had no choice but to ask it. “I don’t get it, boss. If the girl’s that great, what could she possibly see in you?”
Jim just smiled and flexed both arms in the air. The fat rolls along his biceps shook in protest at the movement. “I dunno either. Pure animal magnetism, I guess.”
A low buzzing noise began emanating from my shirt pocket, so I fished around and pulled out my cell phone. The caller ID read “Coroner” and I felt an uncontrollable gag reflex rising up from my stomach. Either it was Katie Maslow calling to talk about our night of shame or it was some stooge calling about an older case, and since either option would have been equally painful I shoved the phone away and prayed they wouldn’t leave a voicemail.
We all stood there quietly for a few more minutes, allowing Big Jim to enjoy a rare moment in the sun, no matter if the moment happened to come in the middle of a rainstorm. The peace didn’t last for long, though. There’s something off about Slipper’s personality, where the guy just can’t stand to see other people happy. He’s really only content himself when he’s got something to complain about, so naturally he changed the subject back to policework. Facing Big Jim, he asked, “So listen, L.T., what’s the real scoop on this detail? There’s no way in hell we’re ever going to catch this arsonist by standing around looking cute and besides, it’s supposed to rain all night! You got to figure that all this overtime is going to cost the city thousands, so why the hell are we even out here?”
A hint of a smile grew across Jim’s sausagey lips. “Now Johnson, you heard what the Captain said.”
But Slipper had caught the slightest of changes in Jim’s expression. His nose had picked up the scent of a scandal, and there was nothing that could shake him off the trail. You know, I’ve always thought that Slipper would make a great detective if he ever decided to shed his uniform. That guy’s got a real knack for turning up hidden information, and it’s a real shame he never chose to put his true talents to use in law enforcement.
“Come on, boss.” Slipper waved his arm out from underneath the safety of the covered awning. The steady rain had already backed most of the city’s antiquated sewer system, and the growing puddles were actually covering most of King Street. “You know damn well there’s no way a house could catch fire in this mess, so why doesn’t the Captain just send us all home?”
Big Jim snickered. “Awright, awright. But you didn’t hear this from me.” Now it was Jim’s turn to look over his shoulder, as if anyone would actually be standing out in the rain and listening in. “You heard Rothschild say there’s been some other suspicious fires apart from last night’s torching, right?”
We nodded in unison.
“Guess how many?”
Slipper cut his eyes in a slow roll. “Or how about this? Maybe you could do your damn job and just tell us how many?”
Jim’s grin stretched from ear to ear. His smile was just as wide as it’d been when he’d been bragging about his newfound love life, and possibly even wider. “Counting last night? Fifty-three.”
I couldn’t believe it. “Fifty-fucking three!” Jim just nodded and leaned back against the wall, clearly satisfied with the enthusiasm of my response. I rubbed my forehead, trying to comprehend the scope of the case. “All of them arsons?”
He nodded again, looking smug and satisfied. “So it would appear.”
Slipper hooted with laughter, as happy as one of his bratty little kids on Christmas morning. “No way, man! No way! Make my day, Jim! Tell me these are all Captain Russell’s cases!”
There was a twinkle in Big Jim’s good eye. Just as innocently as he could manage, he said, “Unless something’s changed since roll call, I believe Russell’s still commanding the central detective bureau.”
It was simply unbelievable. I mean, I might have swept a case or two under the rug myself, but this was downright impressive. I had to know more, if only in order to get better at ducking future work myself. “Jim, you’ve gotta tell me” I said, practically begging. “How does someone possibly go about hushing up fifty-three separate cases of arson?”
Jim looked down at me with that fatherly grin of his, and I could tell a lecture was coming up. Enduring the oncoming condescension was bound to hurt, but I clenched my jaw and tried to endure for the sake of learning some new tricks. You know what that they say after all, knowledge is power.
“Goosey” Jim began, in that authoritative tone of voice that he doesn’t get to use very often, “Let’s say you were working patrol and got dispatched to a domestic disturbance, one where a woman was being beaten by a man.”
