The Misplaced Detective ~5

A Story by JD Major

The Case of the Imaginary Friend

Fiction: Short Story, Humor: 1600 words …

The Case of the Imaginary Friend

I was at my desk, snatching glances down to the street with each spin of my swivel chair, putting off talking with Roni, my secretary, about her upcoming date with Elon Kazzler, the Enviro Gadget King*, when I first noticed the tall skinny kid leaning up against a lamppost, smoking a cigarette.

With each successive spin I pieced him together. He was dressed head to toe in black. A knitted wool hat, a turtleneck sweater, khakis, boot-style sneakers, a patch over his left eye, his right trained on me, Which did not, in and of itself, give me pause. After all, from his point of view I was a spinning head, not something you see every day.

It wasn’t until he finger-fashioned a gun and pointed it at me that I hit the brakes and fashioned a piece of my own, and returned fire.

“Pow, pow, kapow, pow,” I fired, my .38 snubnose revolver blazing, bullets flying, outgoing, incoming, shattering my widow, punching holes in the walls …

… as Roni opened my office door and stepped in.

“When you’re done cleaning up Tombstone, Wyatt,” she said, “I’ve got a young man in the outer office who wants to see you, a kindred spirit.”

Adrenaline-pumped, I blew on my smoking barrel and spun to face her. “Been meaning to ask you, Roni, “What’s Kazzler got that I don’t?”

“Other than Greek-god good looks and a vision to save the planet?”

“ … Yeah, other than that?”

“You’re asking the wrong question, McQ.”

“ … What’s the right question?”

“Also the wrong question.”

I holstered my .38 and threw up my hands. “I’m stumped!”

“That’s a good place to start, keep me posted. In the meantime I’ll send in young Trent.”

Young Trent was not at all what I expected, despite not having expected anything in particular. He was wearing a trench coat, a fedora, and an attitude on his baby face that reminded me of me. I put him at fourteen, fifteen tops.

“Saw your add in Private Eye Monthly, McQuinn,” he said, and tossed his fedora at my coat tree, a ringer. “I liked what I read.” His trench coat, he hung next to mine.

“Thanks kid, take a load off, tell me how I can help you.” I motioned him to my client-chair. I was still at my desk.

He sat down and had himself a swivel. “I’ve misplaced Patch. He’s made himself scarce again, knows I’m trackin’ him.”

I leaned forward and folded my hands. “I’ve never sleuthhounded a dog before, but I bird-dogged a cheeky parakeet a while back."(1)

“Patch ain’t a dog. Patch is my … he’s my ... imaginary friend.” He stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit it.

“There’s no lighting up in here,” I said.

“Whatta you gonna do, bust me for smoking?”(2)

“Put it out kid, you don’t have the legs for it.”

“ … Huh?”

I held out a potted African Violet Roni had put on my desk so’s he could extinguish his butt in its moist soil.

He planted the butt and slid a stick of gum in his mouth. “So you gonna sidekick me in trackin’ Patch, or not?”

“I ain’t really the sidekick type, Trent,” I said, playing along, curious as to where this was going, “but what say you clue me in on how you see us partnering.”

“First, don’t you have some case-specific questions for me?”

“Yeah. Shouldn’t you be in school? Does your mother know you’re here?”

“Not them kinda questions, McQuinn, snoop questions. And leave my mom outa this.”

“Okay. Tell me about Patch. How long’s he been missing? Does he live at your place? What does he do with himself when you’re not around? What’s he look like?”

“Three days.Yes. He lurks. Tall and skinny, always in black--wool hat, left eye patched, smokes like a chimney.”

A chill ran my spine.

I swiveled and looked down at the lamppost. The kid I’d had the shootout with was gone. I swiveled back. “Are you and your lamppost-leaning pal playin' me for a fool, kid?”

Trent shook his head no. “So, you’ve seen Patch, huh? Is he lurking down below now?”

“Not now, but I saw him earlier. Why’re you dishin’ this imaginary baloney, kid. He’s real.”

“’Course he’s real, McQuinn. Just because you’re imaginary doesn’t mean you’re not real.” He smoothed away a tear, pretending he was removing a spec.

“You said he lurks, meaning what exactly? That he follows you around all the time?”

“Of course he follows me. Without me he’s nothing. Jeez, catch up, will ya?”

I buzzed Roni. “Could sure use a coffee when you get a chance, Roni,” I said, and looked at the kid. “How ‘bout you?”

“Root Beer, if ya got it, glass and rocks on the side.”

“We got it,” Roni said.

“Make it two,” I said, “and cancel the coffee. Thanks.”

Trent said, “Okay, McQuinn, here’s how I see this goin’ down. I go out and meander the streets, seemingly aimlessly, and you follow from a distance, and snatch Patch when he least expects it.”

“How will I know when he’s there, him bein’ imaginary and all?”

“You’ve seen him once already, you’ll see him again.”

“ … How does that work, exactly? Me having seen somebody you’ve imagined?”

“I don’t know, exactly, but what’s this gonna cost me, exactly?”

“Two hundred a day and expenses.”

He patted around his pockets and slapped a sawbuck on my desk. “Will ten bucks buy me an hour?”

“Sure, kid. Now I got me a couple more questions.”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you so anxious to get Patch back? Why do you think he’s avoiding you, face-to-face?”

“I need him back because he’s my best pal and we’ve been crackin’ cases together as long as I can remember, me the brains, him the brawn. But he’s worried now that I’ve outgrown him, now that I’m, you know, into girls ‘n stuff, which reminds me, is Roni seeing anyone right now?”

I nodded. “Yeah, best pals oughta be forever. Mine’s Big Gus*, bear of a guy, a teddy bear underneath. … And, it’s a toss-up who Roni’s seein’ right now. Me I’m still hoping, but there’s another buck in the picture now too.”

“I had a rival once, for my ex-squeeze, Kimberly," he said, "It made me crazy jealous tryin’ to figure out what he had that I didn’t, like a monkey on my back, messin’ my game. That’s how I lost her.”

I palmed a fist. “The green-eyed monster’s a nasty beast when it gets its tentacles into you.”

“Yeah, until you figure out the answer … like I did, too late.”

“I sat upright. “What is it, Trent, what’s the answer?”

“It’s asking yourself the right question.”

“What’s the right question?”

“What have I got that he doesn’t?”

They say you hear a bell when a thing rings true, or maybe it’s when an angel gets its wings, but whatever it is, I heard it. “ … Yes.”

“So, McQuinn, you okay with the setup? What say we get started?”

“You bet, kid.”

“Is Patch back, lurking outside like earlier, watchin’ your window?”

I finger fashioned a revolver and swiveled a one-eighty.

“Where’d he go, Wyatt?” Roni asked, coming in with our refreshment tray.

“That’s the money-question, Roni,” I said, searching the street. Patch was nowhere in sight. I swiveled back.

My client chair was empty.

I quick-scanned the room. “ … Where’s Trent?”

“I just asked you that," she said.

“Did he go to the john?”

“No, I’d have seen him if he had.” She nudged my African Violet aside and put the tray down. “Damn, I see you’re smoking again, huh?”

“Not me, Trent. He was here just a second ago!” I looked under my desk and eye-swept my office again. His trench coat and fedora were gone. “How could he have just disappeared?”

Maybe he ducked out the window and down the fire escape?”

I shook my head. “I was looking out the window from the instant my eyes left him until you walked in.”

“He couldn’t have disappeared into thin air.”

“No kidding he couldn’t!”

“Hello, hello, anybody here?” called a voice from the outer office.

“ … That must be Trent, returning,” Roni said. “Although, for the life of me, I can’t imagine how he left without me seeing him.”

“We’re in here, kid, come on in,” I hollered. Still baffled, but relieved, I reached for a root beer, snapped it and took a long pull.

“Can I have a word about a certain matter, or is this a bad time?” asked a tall, skinny kid in black, stepping into my office, his good eye shooting to Roni like a triggered bullet.

I spewed my root beer.“ … Patch?!”

He didn’t hear me; he was transfixed on Roni. I’d seen this a hundred times before. Males, young and old, struck deaf and dumb at first sight.

She smiled. “Can we help you, young man?”

He blinked, as if from his trance, and cleared his throat. “ … Yes, I’ve been hangin’ on the street, debating whether to come up and retain McQuinn’s services. Is he around, ma’am?”

“Patch?” I repeated, dumbfounded.

“Oh, hi there,” he said to me, “didn't see you. You’re the dude I was trading bullets with earlier. How’d you know my name? You McQuinn?””

I nodded. “Your rep proceeds you, kid. ... What’s on your mind?

“I’m hoping you can help me find my … my imaginary pal. “Three days ago, Trent just up and disappeared on me. He thinks I’ve outgrown him. What’s your rate?”

“ ... Ten bucks an hour,” I said, staring at the sawbuck on my desk.

……………………………………………………………...….

*The Misplaced Detective ~4 ...The Case of the Adspin Throcket-149

(1) The Misplaced Detective ~1 …The Case of the Cheeky Parakeet

(2) Sharon Stone’s character, Catherine Tramell, Basic Instinct, 1992

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