I was at my office by seven-thirty that following Monday morning and was surprised to find I wasn’t the first to arrive. Hell, they were all there before me.
Ronnie had grabbed a vacant office and was setting up his computer. Jacque was bustling around organizing the front office. She’d even found herself an assistant, her thinking being that she had to spend time in the mornings at school and there needed to be a warm body to keep things together while she was away. I couldn’t do anything but agree with her. So, Suzy Kennedy became the warm body and Harry Starke Investigations’ fourth employee.
Tim… his mother had dropped him off—I have to get that boy a ride—and was already waiting when Jacque arrived. What the hell he was doing in his darkened cave at the far end of the suite I had no idea, nor did I want to, just so long as he could do what I needed when I needed it done. And after my talk with Benny Hinkle, I now had some solid leads that needed to be followed up. I went to talk to him.
He was sitting cross-legged on his chair, his hands together in his lap, eyes closed, in front of his laptop.
“Hey, Tim.”
He came to with a jerk, almost fell off the chair. “Whuh, whuh, what is it?”
“Am I interrupting?” I asked as I pulled up a chair and sat down beside him.
“Er, no sir, Mr. Starke. I was just thinking. I’ve been trying to… Well, this thing—he waved a hand at the laptop—isn’t up to what I need. My servers should be here by ten and then—”
“It’s okay, Tim,” I said. “Don’t sweat it. There’s no point in fooling around if you don’t have the tools you need. Just hang loose for a minute. There are some things I need you to run down for me, but not until you have your equipment up and running, okay?”
He nodded, and I proceeded to fill him in on what I needed and finally, handed him the VHS tape from the Sorbonne.
“See what you can do with that, Tim.”
His jaw dropped; he looked at it like I’d just dropped a scorpion into his palm.
“Wow,” he said, turning it over and over. “I haven’t seen one of these since… Mr. Starke, I’m gonna need someone to run me home. I have an old VCR if my mom hasn’t tossed it out. And I know I should have cables, somewhere.”
“Okay, just ask Ronnie to have someone take you. Do it now, Tim, before your gear arrives.”
I really must get the boy a ride of his own, I thought, for the second time in less than ten minutes.
All that didn’t take long. When I was done, I still had an hour to waste until I could go get a new license plate for my car, so I spent the hour drinking coffee, wasting everybody’s time, and generally getting in the way. Jacque finally had enough and kicked me out so she could get done and away to school. At nine forty-five I checked out of the office, told Ronnie where I was going and that I’d be back in an hour.
Fortunately, the Tag and Title office is located just a couple of blocks away from my new offices at the County Courthouse on Georgia Avenue. All I needed to get a new plate was my ID and last tag receipt, which I’d found after a lengthy search of my home office late Sunday afternoon, so I was all set…
Oh yeah, I was all set. I’d forgotten it was getting close to the end of the month. I should have done my time-wasting at the courthouse.
By the time I got there, the place was packed. What a nightmare. There must have been sixty, or seventy, seats in the waiting area, and every one of them was occupied; it was standing room only. I took a number and settled in for a long wait. I opened up my iPhone and logged into Safari. I figured I’d do a little research into what qualifications I needed to make my new status official.
“Harry? Harry Starke?”
A hand touched my shoulder. It was Lawton Eider, elder statesman and senior county commissioner, a legend in his own mind and one-time Democratic primary hopeful for the United States Senate. Unfortunately for him, it was Harold Ford Jr. who won the Democratic nomination meaning Eider would have to wait a few more years before he could try to unseat the incumbent Senator Bob Corker; good luck with that. Eider was old Chattanooga money, so he was down for a while but never out. He was a weak politician but still had a lot of connections, some not so good.
He was in his early sixties, tall and thin, with gray hair, a brush mustache to match, and wearing a light gray suit that I was certain didn’t come from the Men’s Warehouse.
I looked up. “Good morning, Ducky,” I said, standing up, reluctantly. “How are you?”
He cringed. I knew he didn’t like the nickname but what the hell, I didn’t like Eider either. The nickname had been laid on him by a high school bully, a reference to the waterfowl of the same name, and it had stuck. He offered me his hand. I shook it, again reluctantly. He wasn’t one of my favorite people.
“Well, I was just taking care of some county business when I saw you waiting in line,” he said. “There’s nothing I like better than doing a favor for one of our boys in blue. Let me take you to the front of the line.”
Ducky was one of those politicians that liked to show off who he knows and what he can do for you.
“Thanks, but I’m no longer on the force.”
“Oh,” he said, his eyes wide with hope. “It wasn’t an injury that took you off, I hope.”
“No, just time for a change.”
“Well, let me do you this one little favor for all the good things you’ve done for Chattanooga. It doesn’t matter whether or not you’re still on the force. You’ve earned it.” His Southern drawl was thick, and he oozed with the charm of a used car salesman.
Any other time I wouldn’t dream of taking a favor from Ducky Eider—because he’d want it back tenfold down the road—but waiting five hours in line for a car tag wasn’t how I wanted to spend the rest of my Monday morning. I had things to do. And I had a feeling that time might be running out for Phoebe Marsh… if it hadn’t already.
“That would be nice of you,” I said, “but…” I hesitated for a second, then gave it up. “Well, okay. Thank you, Ducky; I appreciate it.”
Again, he made with the cringe. But then he nodded, smiled, and walked me to the front of the line where a pretty redhead in her forties was helping a customer.
“Pardon me, Sally. Would you be so kind as to take care of my friend here once you’re done with this good gentleman?” He patted the man being serviced at the counter on the back like he was an old friend.
Geez, I thought. What a sleaze… I can’t believe I’m doing this.
“Of course, Commissioner. It will be a pleasure.” She smiled mechanically without humor. I had no doubt I wasn’t the first.
He put a hand on my shoulder, squeezed it, smiled, his mouth making like a split potato, and said, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Harry?”
“No, thanks. I really appreciate what you did.” This is going to come back to haunt me. I just know it.
“You never know, maybe one day you can do me a favor. What are you going to do with yourself, by the way?”
And there it is.
“I’m going into business for myself,” I said reluctantly.
“Oh, how absolutely interesting. What will this enterprise entail?”
“Private investigations. I’m going to be a PI.”
“Something in the look he gave me made me feel what I was telling him was old news, but that couldn’t be. Only a handful of people knew about my plans.
“You’re not surprised?” I asked.
“Of course not. Why would I be? You are, after all, a great detective, are you not?”
“Well, I wouldn’t put it like—”
“Oh come, come, Harry,” he interrupted me. “Of course you are. Your closing rate is second to none. Something like eighty-two percent, if I’m not mistaken.”
“How did you know that?” I asked.
“I try to stay on top of things, as my job as commissioner requires, Harry… Uh oh, you’re up, and I have important things to do. Glad I could help in my small way. Keep the faith, Harry; keep the faith.” He slapped me on the shoulder and was gone, just like that.
The customer at the counter finished, and I stepped up to the counter. The person in line behind me looked more than a little peeved that I had cut in front of him.
“Sorry,” I said. “Official business; can’t be helped.”
To be honest, I felt guilty. Cutting in was something I’d never do, but five hours… I sucked it up and persuaded myself that… Nope, I still felt bad about it.
Sally smiled and said, “What can I do for you today?”
“Somebody stole my license plate. I need to replace it.”
“Goodness me. That’s quite a pickle to be in. It was darn fine luck that Ducky was here to help you up to the front of the line. I know you must be who you say you are if you’re a friend of his. Nice man, Ducky. Fine upstanding politician.”
He sure as hell has you fooled, I thought, smiling at her.
“Now, I know he can vouch for you.” She looked around at her co-workers. “But do you happen to have any kind of ID on you, just for appearances, you understand?”
“Yup. Here’s my, driver’s license, police ID and… Is that enough? If not, I have my birth certificate.”
“This will do just fine, and do you happen to have your last tag receipt? Excellent. Just give me a minute while I look you up. It says here your car is a Maxima. I just love Nissan. They make such fine cars. Now, would you like a vanity plate?”
“A vanity plate?”
I’d never thought of it before, but it would be kind of cool to have something like one of those 70s TV detectives. Yeah, right! I thought. I can just see me driving down the road with a plate reading “STARKE.” I might as well put a target on the back of the car, saying “SHOOT ME.”
“No, thank you,” I said.
She finished up the tagging and handed me the new plate and registration, and I left her to it. I smiled at the next guy in line and was gifted with a look that could have wilted grass.
I drove to Enterprise, turned in the rental, and a few turns of a screwdriver later I was legit once again. I checked my watch. It was just after eleven and, much as I disliked the man, I was grateful to Ducky Eider: he’d saved me at least a couple of hours.