GUMSHOES

Chapter 8 - Lessons Not Covered

The door opened and Fletcher stared at the two men, confused. Wendell held up his brand new laminated licence, getting it trapped as the door began closing. Jerome put his foot on the door and pushed. Fletcher stumbled back and the door flew open, followed by the two detectives.

"What the hell is this? Who are you nut cases?"

"You crunched my licence!" Wendell was trying to get the crease out of his card.

"We could be your worst nightmare if you give us any grief, Fletcher." Jerome pushed his sunglasses up with a finger. "Siddown and pay attention." He waited for Wendell, who was still fussing with his bent licence. "Partner?"

Disgusted, he put it away, nodded to Jerome, and glared at Fletcher. He recalled week one of the course, stressing interrogation methods with different personality types. Determine the personality. Adopt the corresponding demeanour. Use questions to draw positive answers.

"I want to know what business you're doing with Max Shine." Wendell opted for the hard-nosed manner.

"None of your goddamn business, now get outta here!" He stood up and Jerome pushed him back down.

"It is my business, and you're gonna tell me or . . ." Wendell rolled his eyes toward Jerome, who assumed a threatening pose, and shifted his shoulders.

"You know who you're messing with, sport?"

"Do you?" Wendell countered, moving a hand pointedly inside his jacket.

In a blink, Fletcher's hand not only went inside his jacket, but reappeared with a very large gun, aimed directly at Wendell.

"Yeah, I think I do. A pair of tough guy wannabes. Now why don't you and Banjo here, get your stupid asses out of my place, and forget about Max Shine."

"Banjo! Who the hell you callin'--"

Wendell's hand reappeared and he dropped the business card he was reaching for.

The roar of the gun slammed Jerome's mouth closed, and the partner's jostled past one another, fleeing the apartment. The door slammed loudly behind them and they skipped the elevator for the stairs.

"You didn't handle that very well," Jerome complained, when they reached the street.

"Me! You're the one that made him fire that cannon!" Wendell looked forlornly at his crippled investigator's licence. "How am I going to fix this?"

"Talk about a nut case, he must be pretty sure of himself to shoot up his own apartment."

"Be thankful it wasn't us. What am I going to do about this?" Wendell bemoaned his new licence, ignoring the immediate circumstances.

"Is that all you can think about? What about the fact I get racist slurs from all these creeps? I never hear you defending me."

"Banjo isn't racist."

"Really. What would you call it - endearing?"

"Don't be so thin-skinned, I've heard you slurring whites plenty of times."

"When? What did I ever say?"

"Honky. Cracker. White bread. Redneck. Snowman."

"They aren't racist, they're definitions."

Wendell unlocked their car and got in.

******

"Wendell Dankworth. Showed me a private eye licence. They asked about Max." Fletcher shifted the receiver to his other ear. "I sent them running like scared rabbits." He sat up slowly, listening. "Who? You mean that cop that was killed in the car wreck?" He held his forehead as he listened to Hardy Menken tear theoretical strips off of his body.

"Max never said they were at his place." His hands became damp. "Hardy, a cop's kid . . . I don't know . . ." The receiver slipped out of his hand. "Donnie's coming over?" he said, fumbling with the phone. "Got it. Right. Yes. Okay, Hardy. Whatever you say." He hung up the phone, and launched into a nervous tirade of profanity.

******

"Where's Wendy, dinner's on the table." Audrey tossed her apron on the counter and sat down with Jerome.

"He stayed at the office to repair his PI licence." Jerome explained quickly when Audrey slammed her fork down. "I'll stick his in the microwave," he said, retreating to the kitchen with the cooling dinner.

"Bring the pepper when you come back."

He handed her the pepper mill and sat again.

"So what happened to get his precious licence creased?"

Jerome told her, between mouthfuls of food, about visiting Fletcher and what ensued.

"He fired a gun! You two better think of another line of work, Jerome. You're like a couple of kids playing grown-up."

"He won't drop this, Aud. His dad's killing has rooted itself in his head, and he won't stop until he solves it."

"Or gets killed himself."

"That too."

"Is there nothing you can say or do?"

"I did try, and look what it got me - a partnership in his crazy scheme."

"Call him and tell him to get home. He can work on his ID tomorrow."

"Leave him be, he'll just be a pain in the ass if he doesn't fix it."

Audrey made a scoffing noise, and took her plate to the kitchen. "You want coffee?"

"Please."

She brought two coffees and sat again while Jerome finished eating. "Seriously, Jerome, just how dangerous is what you are doing?"

"I'm not sure, Aud. So far it hasn't looked good, and we really haven't learned anything that I can see."

"What does Wendy think?"

"Ask him yourself." The front door closed and Wendell appeared in the dining room doorway.

"You obviously heard the question - so?"

"I put your dinner in the microwave," Jerome interjected, seeing the glower on his partner's face.

"Danger is relative. We're dealing with international criminals who custom traffic individuals who are also criminals."

"Relative to what? What the hell does that mean?"

"What they are doing is dangerous. What we're doing not so much."

"So you say." Jerome blurted.

"If you're referring to Fletcher firing his gun, we weren't in danger. That was just for show."

Jerome barked a laugh and got up from the table. "I noticed who made it to the street first."

"I was closer to the door." Wendell frowned and went to the kitchen.

"Did you fix your licence?" Audrey called, changing the subject.

"Big mouth tell you what happened, did he."

"Hey! Are you starting now?"

"That wasn't racist - it was a definition." The microwave went off, and he returned to the dining room, sitting and starting his dinner.

"Well, did you?" Audrey sipped her coffee.

"Fortunately I was able to print out another from the email." He almost pouted.

"Guess that wasn't in the course."

"Don't start, Audrey. I don't care what either of you think, I'm seeing this through."

"Rose coloured glasses," Jerome offered.

"You really are obdurate, Wendy." Audrey carried her cup to the kitchen and started cleaning up.

"Was that racist?" Jerome perked up.

"A definition," she called. "And here's one for you - fatuous."

"Does she think I'm fat?"

Wendell's chin dropped to his chest.