[Steven Lyle Jordan]

2: Martin and me

Despite the moonlight, Gail mercifully drove with her lights on as we carved out of the San Diego hills, heading for town. Needless to say, we were now fully clothed, which for San Diego meant I had on a Hawaiian shirt and baggies, and my baggies actually had underwear underneath them. Gail, wearing a tank top and biking shorts, and no way to tell for sure if she actually had on underwear, would have looked positively angelic, if it hadn’t been for her expression.

Gail normally did not mind guys watching her. But on this occasion, she seemed uncomfortable knowing how closely I was watching her. Finally, she blurted out, “Oh, for Christ’s sake, will you just ask me already?”

“Boyfriend or business associate?” I asked calmly. I was starting to get used to Gail’s “relationships,” so I was just taking things one step at a time.

“Business associate,” she said. And then she added, “Mainly.”

I nodded. “I had a feeling. What did he tell you?”

“He’s been robbed,” Gail said. “And now he’s being blackmailed with what was stolen.”

“Does that mean, what was stolen wasn’t his?” Gail shook her head. “Then, it’s illegal.” Gail did not shake her head. “Should I ask?”

“You’ll know soon enough,” she said, abruptly turning into the parking lot of a set of modish-looking stucco townhouses. Even in the dark, I could make out the pastel colors on the outer walls… the official colors of American retirement chic. Gail parked, we got out, and she started for the unit on the end. It was a two-story unit, with the entrance actually on the side of the house, as opposed to the front like the other units. As we came around to that side, I saw a decent-sized balcony running along the second floor, and an expanse of windows… the place had a decent view on that side, but you’d have to ask those inside if they ever enjoyed it, because the windows were all opaque from the outside. A second door opened to a sidewalk that ran to the rear of the house, and ended at a ten foot fence with a gate. Privacy ahoy.

When Gail reached the door, she tapped with her knuckle, once, then twice more. If that hadn’t been a coded knock, I’d turn in my official Maxwell Smart Portable Cone of Silence keyfob. We waited long enough for someone on the inside to come to the door and look out the eye-hole. After a moment, the door opened, and a man regarded us. He was about my height, maybe ten years older than me, but better-built, body-builder muscular from what I could tell through his clothes. He looked like he had the strength to kick my ass. On the other hand, his face suggested that he wouldn’t know the first thing about fighting. He had that serious lifelong-surfer look about him, the kind of guy who’s too mellow to hurt a fly. I was ready to put even odds on the word “Dude” being the first thing he aimed at me.

The guy looked at both of us, then just at Gail. “Gail,” he said. “Who’s the dude?”

I’d call that a payout.

“This is Mike. He’s my man.” I blinked. I don’t know the last time I’ve heard it put like that. Surfer-man looked me over quickly, nodded, then stepped back and opened the door all the way. We stepped inside, and the guy closed the door behind us. Once inside, Gail said, “Mike, this is Martin.” And, to Martin, she said, “Mike might be able to help.”

Martin looked at Gail. You know the feeling you get when people are talking around you, and the way they say things tell you that they’re not saying as much as they are saying? (Did that even make sense?) Anyway, that was the vibe right then. Martin asked Gail, “New?”

Gail looked at me, then told Martin, “Avocado-green.”

I just rolled my eyes. But Martin got the gist of what Gail was telling him, so he nodded, and motioned for us to follow him. “Let’s go to the office.”

He led us to a door off of the kitchen, which led to a set of stairs going down to the basement. I’m not sure why I didn’t think the place had a basement, but I probably should have known better. We went downstairs, and at the bottom landing, we found a door on the left, and a short hallway leading to a door on the right. I noted that both doors had deadbolt locks on them. We went down the short hall, and Martin unlocked the door and led us inside.

The office was small, but comfortable, with a sofa on one wall, a bookshelf on another, and a fairly modern-looking desk with one of the small Dell desktop computers and an LCD screen on its top, plus a few other accessories. Martin indicated the sofa, and we went to sit. As I sat down, I glanced at the bookshelf across the room. It was at that moment that I realized the bookshelf was not full of books, but of black-plastic cases… the kind that hold film cassettes. I’d guess at a few hundred, at least. I didn’t notice any unusual-looking gaps in the shelves, so it was probably a good guess that whatever was stolen, wasn’t from there.

Martin sat on the edge of the desk, and looked at me pointedly. To Gail, he asked, “Are you sure about this?” Meaning me.

Gail replied, “He’s Pete’s brother.”

To this, Martin’s eyebrows rose, and he looked at me again. “I should have seen it, dude,” he said, and he shook his head. “That’s how thrashed I am over all this.”

“So you know Pete,” I said, glancing at Gail.

Gail ignored my look, and before Martin could respond, she said, “Martin, tell me what happened. Do you know who robbed you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It was Esmeralda.”

“Why would she do that?”

Martin looked at Gail sadly. “I screwed her.”