The Comic

Chapter 15

"Did you get a license number?" Holt asked, sipping his coffee. The call had come through not long after he talked to the Jones woman and he quickly used it as an excuse to interview them in person.

"No. I was trying to get hold of you." It sounded lame and he flicked his eyes back and forth between them.

"So, colour? Driver's appearance? Anything?"

"It was the same car. I can't remember anything else."

"He doesn't have a photographic memory, Detective." Des chided, and they both shared a chuckle.

"I did," Parker snapped. "But it has never developed."

Holt snorted his coffee through his nose and there was a few minutes of fussing, cleaning and apologizing.

Parker looked away in disgust. "Shoulda had you in my audience I might never have thought of quitting and wouldn't be in this fix now."

"Okay, look. There's no reason to believe you are in any kind of fix." Holt blew his nose and shook his head, still smiling. "Sorry. I'm getting camera files from several sources and now with your amended description we should find this car on them somewhere.

The bus company has a forward traffic camera for driver insurance purposes, if we get that we can then confront the driver and see just what heck is going on."

"So meanwhile?" Parker stared at Des but directed his question at Holt.

"Just carry on and stay alert." The detective rose to leave and he reached out a hand to Des.

"Thanks for the coffee and remember what I said." His hand squeezed just slightly and Des withdrew her fingers.

He left the kitchen and paused, his eyes falling on the sport bag next to the loveseat.

"I'll remember what you said too, Detective." Parker called sarcastically after him.

Des cleaned up the dirty dishes then leaned on the kitchen entry, arms folded.

"So?"

"So, what?"

"I didn't invite you over to stay, Parker, the invite was for dinner."

"Fine, I'll eat and run."

"Don't pout. How about going down and getting my mail while I get some stuff out." She took a small key off a hook by the entry and tossed it to him.

Parker shrugged and headed out the door. In the foyer two other people were at their mail boxes and he stood back waiting, studying the small key. When there was room he stepped forward and halted abruptly. The car was parked directly across the street from the building and the driver was sitting with a pair of binoculars trained on the upper floors.

Parker swore and clenched his teeth, barging through the door and down the steps to the street. Instead of crossing the road he did what he always scoffed at in the movies. He called to the driver. Mickey banged his arm on the window frame and hurriedly shoved the car in gear, roaring away from the curb with Parker yelling after him. Swearing to himself, he jogged back up the steps and buzzed to be let in.

"The mail boxes are inside," Des said when he got back.

"I know that. I was chasing that guy in the car again."

She looked at him and started to say something but halted. "He was outside?"

"Parked across the street with binoculars looking up here."

"What should we do?"

"Frankly I'm fed up with calling Holt . . . this whole damn business actually. Obviously whoever it is has chosen to hang around so let Holt do his thing."

"But we could be in danger." Des put down the bowl she was using and came into the living room.

Parker handed her the mail and sank down onto the love seat. "Worry about those. No room for maybes there."

She glanced at the four envelopes and groaned. Bills. One caught her attention and she tossed the others on the table. He watched her face move through a cycle of emotions, admiring the fine features, the strong nose and chin.

"Hey, Parker."

"Huh?" His scrutiny dissolved as the face was glowering at him.

"Are you here? Get a load of this! It's from the agency that promoted Beat Street. They're looking for the original cast to come back for some kind of reunion. Apparently the backers of that show went on to have some major success with other material and they want to celebrate an anniversary . . ." Her arm dropped to her side and she stared off into space.

"What's wrong?"

"That was years ago. Some of the others might be there."

"So, isn't that the idea? And uh, it was six years ago."

Her head came up with a jerk. "How do you know that?"

"I saw the clipping in your dressing room at the club. It was a rave review you received."

Des didn't know if she was angry or thrilled that he read her souvenir newspaper article. She looked at the letter again then put it with the bills,

"You want another beer?"

"Hey you're going to go aren't you? There might be a chance to get in on something and even if there isn't it'll take you out of our mess for a while."

"Parker I'm nearly forty now. How many dancing opportunities in stage shows do you think there are for someone that age." She left to get the beer.

"Des, I've seen you dance. You are good, very good."

"Sliding up and down a pole is a little different than twirls and high leg kicks, Parker. I'm more than a little out of date for that."

"Nuts, you've got lots left. Hell, only a calendar's days are numbered."

She ran into the room and tried to pour the beer on his head, laughing as he cowered onto the floor.

"I warned you before about your crappy jokes." She knelt down then slipped, dropping the bottle and falling beside him.

Their noses were inches apart and the laughing stopped. A serenity came over her face as she looked closely into his eyes. They just stared until Parker reached behind her head and pulled her to his lips.

"This isn't right, Parker."

"What's wrong with it? I sure liked it."

"I don't want to get involved . . ."

"So don't. Just enjoy the moment."

They stared some more then she rolled her body toward him coming together in a perfect fit.