He walked in to the motel area and started looking around for any sign of his man. Unfortunately, he had no idea what he was looking for. He had no idea what Archie drove or what room number he was in. Shit, he thought. He was totally unprepared for this. He let his emotions and paranoia get the best of him and he set out on a plan which had not been fully formed yet. Or not formed at all actually. That was never his job. That’s what they paid some chump writer to do. All Brad did was show up and bring the sexy! That was the important part, usually. Didn’t really help too much in his current situation though. Stupid ego.
Shitshitshit, he mumbled to himself.
He needed to go back to his house and think this out. He could not be sloppy on this one. It needed to be the perfect murder.
Just like his previous two.
18.
"Holy shit!" I whisper-yelled to Elise. "Did you even hear the goddamn garage door open?"
"We've got to move!"
Elise grabbed me by the arm and led me back towards the sliding glass door we had just entered back in from. We didn't make it though, as right when the door opened and Brad Jackson walked in, we had to quickly duck behind his kitchen bar, right in between two barstools. We were pretty much right in front of him and if we made the slightest of moves we would most definitely been spotted.
We stayed perfectly still, holding our breath.
If he came in to his living room, we would be caught. Our only hope would be for him to stay in the kitchen and then take the long way around or go into his office, which was the first room after the hallway we entered after first arriving.
We couldn't see what he was doing, which made us staying there all the more nerve racking.
We heard the door to the refrigerator open and we used those precious seconds to scoot down the bar, closer to what appeared to be his dining room. We stopped when we heard a bottle being opened.
I could hear him breathing. He had to have been standing just on the other side of the bar. I heard him set his bottle down right above our heads.
My heart started pounding and I found it increasingly difficult to bate my breath. I was going to have a panic attack.
Beads of sweat started forming on my forehead and I gave Elise's arm a squeeze to let her know what was happening.
At that moment, I didn't care what would happen to me, but I needed her to escape from this.
I made a promise to her when I first hired her that I would never put her in harm’s way. I was breaking that promise.
We were trapped in the home of a murderer.
Elise grabbed me by my shoulders and looked me in the eyes, being completely silent. She was trying to calm me down. Signaling me to take slow, controlled breathes.
Brad was still standing right over us, drinking his beer or whatever it was. He began mumbling, which startled the shit out of me and Elise. It was clear he was talking to himself though.
"I'm motherfucking Brad Jackson!" he yelled, apparently to no one. "Brad Jackson doesn't take shit from anyone! I am famous! God damn it! Look at this stomach! Look at these biceps! I am an Adonis!"
We heard a loud crash of shattering glass. He had thrown his bottle and was obviously pissed. We needed to make our escape.
My face was drenched in sweat and I was having trouble breathing, but I wasn't risking this situation any longer. I looked at Elise and pointed into the dining room. If we could make it there, we could make it out.
Just as we were getting ready to make a break for it, Brad walked up right next to us and just stood there. His legs less than twelve inches from where we were crouched.
He was standing at the bar, doing...something.
Elise and I stayed perfectly still until Brad turned around and headed back in the kitchen. We quickly crawled out and made it in to the dining room where we took cover behind the separating wall and caught our breath.
My panic attack was still barely being kept at bay. I needed to get out of the house before I had a complete meltdown. Tears were welling up in my eyes. How embarrassing. It’s hard to look tough while crying.
We heard Brad start to clean up the broken bottle in the kitchen and made a run for it, out the dining room and into the hallway that lead to the front door.
Once we hit the door, we stopped and took deep breaths. Elise grabbed the knob and turned it as quietly as possible. It made a small sound as the door opened but we doubt Brad would hear it from so far away, then we bolted outside with a quickness, right out the unlocked gate door and into the street.
I stopped and snuck back up to the gate, grabbed the lock and clicked it back shut.
I joined Elise in the street and we took off back towards our motel.
***
We made it back to the hotel and collapsed on the bed. I was breathing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up. We ran the entire way. I had a pain in my side and I was drenched in sweat. Gross. But, it appeared I had beaten the panic attack. Now my body was focusing on just not having a heart attack.
"Holy...shit... That...was close,“ I said, taking big breathes in between each word.
For some reason we both started laughing. I guess it was just to relieve the tension.
"So what now?" Elise asks.
"Well...I guess...we try...and tra...ck...down...the owner...of that stupid...car..."
"And how do we do that?"
"We...run a...trace on the...hold on..."
"Jesus man, are you okay? You've been lying down for five minutes now. This can’t be healthy."
"You shut...your face...right...now..."
"Oh yeah? What are you going to do if I don’t? Barf on me?"
"Hate...you..."
I wiped all the sweat from my face and rubbed it on Elise's pillow. She let out a disgusted sound then hit me in the arm, hard.
"Ahh! No fair. I'm in pain here."
"Get over it, Fatty Arbuckle, how do we trace the car?"
"I'll call one of my guys tomorrow. Or, Detective Anderson can do it, too. Easy peezy, Japaneezy."
"Okay, can we please get an early start on this in the morning? We have a lot of stuff to do if we're going to catch this piece of crap."
"Fine. Early start it is. Where's the remote?"
***
Right around the time Archie and Elise were reaching their motel room, Brad Jackson had finished cleaning up his mess. He glanced around the room, still not being able to ditch the feeling of being watched. He walked to the sink and washed his hands then headed for the front door to check something his paranoia had made him do.
He reached the door and kneeled down to check on the piece of scotch tape he put at the bottom, between the seal of the two doors. The seal had been broken.
Someone had been in his house.
"Mother of crap!!!" he yelled as he punched the wall, causing a picture to fall and more glass for him to clean up.
“Damn blast it!”
19.
Stupid lousy Elise woke me up before 8am so we could get an early start on our day. I was none too happy. It took me forever for the adrenaline of the previous night’s activities to wear off and I could actually fall asleep. The seven-forty-five-AM sock in the arm from my sister-in-law proved to be quite the pain in the ass. I needed more sleep but she wasn't going to let me get any.
When I received my wake-up punch, Elise was already showered, dressed and ready to go. Stupid girls.
I was rolled off the bed and forced into the shower, where I did my best to try and wake up fully and greet this wonderful morning with a bright smile and a...fuck it. I need caffeine and I need it NOW!
I toweled off and got dressed, making sure my t-shirt was acceptable with Elise. It was. Apparently Huey Lewis & The News passes muster around here. I was glad because I wasn't going to change it either way…and I had packed three different ones, anyway.
We were out the door and on our way to the Shell Beach Grocery for some drinks less t
han one hour from the time I woke up. It was a new record for me.
We each grabbed a drink, (Sugar-Free Rockstar for me, Zero-Carb Rockstar for Elise,) and headed towards the small little park so we could sit, enjoy the morning and map out a plan of attack.
We had gone in to Brad's house last night way unprepared and had had too close of a call for our own comfort.
"Hey Elise, remember that old show Too Close For Comfort?"
"Nope."
"Aw come on, you remember. It had Ted Baxter from Mary Tyler Moore and Jim J. Bullock."
"Okay, yeah, I vaguely remember it."
"How can you only VAGUELY remember Jim J. Bullock trying to play a 'straight' guy?"
"He was supposed to be straight on that show?"
"Yeah! That guy is gayer than Boat Trip! People weren't fooled so the producers of the show tried to give him a girlfriend and shit. Didn't work. In fact, in a very special episode, he actually gets raped by a bunch of women. Seriously. The audience didn’t know how to react so they laughed…at rape. I‘m not making this shit up."
“Wow.”
“Right? No one laughed when Edith Bunker almost got raped in her house, but when the little gay boy trying to play straight gets raped by a pack of women, it is HI-LAR-E-US!
"Why does this random crap pop in to your head?"
"The things that pop into my head are never random. I can always trace the source, no matter how far back it seems. It’s a gift."
"You consider that a gift?"
"Sure, why not?"
"Because it is ridiculous."
"You're just jealous. All I was thinking about was how last night’s encounter was a little TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT. Hence, Jim J. Bullock."
"Your head is filled with more useless knowledge than anyone I've ever met. I'm not going to lie, it's pretty impressive."
"Thank you, Elise. That means a lot."
"Quick! What was Jim J. Bullock's character’s name on the show! I know you know!"
I gave her a little laugh / eye roll combination and said, "Duh, Monroe Ficus. God."
"You're amazing. Come on, we have work to do. Time to get serious."
"Dy-No-Mite!"
***
We arrived at the park after a few minutes and took a seat at one of the tables with shade, close to where a few children were playing on the swing and fun zone. It was good to hear the children's laughter while we worked.
We had gotten a text from Jamie last night after our adventure informing us that they were all home safely. It was a huge relief for me. Maybe I watch too many movies, maybe I was a little too paranoid, but I was not willing to take any chances. I would make it up to them somehow.
But, right now, we have a murderer to bust.
"Okay," Elise says as she is opening her drink. Mine is already gone, but oh well. "First, something was obviously bothering him last night. He seemed pissed."
"The bottle throwing seemed like good evidence of your deduction, Columbo."
"Agreed," she said. "So, do we assume that he is pissed about you? Us, I mean?"
"I'm not so sure. When I went over there the other day, I somewhat subtly told him I might have been the one who saw him kill that girl. But, I'm not one-hundred-percent sure he caught on."
"And he did have a reason for killing that woman in the first place, right? Whatever it was had to have been pretty huge to warrant killing her."
"Yeah, and speaking of her, unless we find out who the hell she is, we're not going to bust him on shit."
"Well, get the trace on that license plate. Hopefully that will lead us somewhere."
"Yeah. Hopefully. If not, we're back where we started and yesterday was for nothing. Hold on." I took out my phone and clicked on the drawing of a giant penis with a badge I had quickly drawn on my Paint app a few months ago. Detective Enzite picked up after two rings.
"Well hello there, Archie Lemons."
"Hey, Uncle Milty, what’s happenin'?"
"Not much, just waiting to be asked for another favor from the moochiest private eye since Magnum."
"Why, Detective Enzite, was that a joke? I'm very impressed, my friend."
"Thank you, I've been trying."
"Fantastic, now just try to find some tighter shirts and we can be BFF!"
"Fuck you, Lemons, there are no tighter shirts. What do you want?"
"Oh you love me. And, what I waaannnntttt is..." I paused for effect. The effect of making him irritated. Haha! "A trace on a license plate. I need it yesterday."
"Yesterday huh? Well, let me hop in my Delorian and go back in time to get it for ya."
"Hey George Lopez, no stealing my jokes!"
I believe I may have heard the slightest of laughter from him. This was a first.
"Fine. What’s the plate number?"
I read him the plate number from the picture I had taken with my phone and he said he would check it in a few minutes then get back to me. I thanked him and told him I would talk to him in a few minutes.
I ended the call then dialed Detective Anderson's cell number. He didn't check his Call I.D.
"Detective Anderson."
"Detective," I said. "It's me."
"Hey Archie. Any news on your murder? I haven't seen any mention of it anywhere."
"God damn it, no. That’s why I am calling. I need helppppp, Detective."
"Well, what do you neeeeeed," he asked.
"I need a corpse!"
"Yeah, you usually need one of those in a murder case."
"I've got Enzite running a trace on a license plate of a car that was somewhere where it didn't belong. Hopefully it's the dead girl’s car, because if not, I'm back where I started, with nothing."
"Where was the car?"
"In the suspects' garage. Please don't ask how I got it."
"Wow, I sure won't. You are a shit magnet, aren't you, buddy?"
"It sure feels like it. Anyway, I need to find this dead woman."
"I thought you said she was fish food."
"She totally is fish food, I meant I need to find out who the hell she is, so I can prove she is missing, tie her to this Brad Jackson asshole and put the heat on him."
"Good luck with getting a conviction. This country loves a celebrity."
I closed my eyes and let out a sigh. He was right and we both knew it. Celebrities could do whatever the fuck they wanted to in this country and no jury would convict them. You mean a washed up football player killed some white folk in Beverly Hills? Sure, the evidence is over-whelming, but that’s fuckin' Nordberg over there! No one from the Naked Gun movie could be bad! NOT GUILTY! (I would have made a football reference there instead of an obvious movie one, but, the truth is, I don’t know dick about sports. Oh well.)
"I know, Detective. All I want to do is prove it though. I know what I saw and someone is dead because of that hunky Adonis. I'm going to prove it. Whether or not a jury believes me isn't my focus right now."
"Good enough for me. What can I do?"
"Okay," I said. "I may have burned a few bridges with the Pismo Police Department. I need you to check and see if there are any missing person’s reports out on a slim blonde woman. Actually, any woman at all. I just need to get my foot in the door. I hope that there is a report out there, and hopefully Enzite gets me a name on the car. I'm spinning my wheels here."
"Okay, I can find a different counties M.P. reports with no problem. I'm not at the office right now but I'll pull it up as soon as I get there. Give me an hour or so."
"That's great, Detective. Thank you."
"Anything else?"
"If I think of anything else I'll call ya back."
"Okay. I'll check the M.P.s and give ya a call."
"Thanks Detective. Seacrest out!"
Gayest call ender ever!
I hung up and dialed Max's number this time. While the phone rang, I glanced over at Elise
drinking her drink and enjoying the view from our park bench. I smiled at her.
"Hey Cocks," Max answered.
"Hey buddy. It's me again. Ugh, sorry. Have another favor for ya."
"You got it. I ran a background check on your stalker lady. I gave ya a call but I don't think you had a signal or something. Went straight to voicemail and I forgot to call back. Sorry man."
"No worries, I'm done with her anyway."
"Love 'em and leave 'em."
"Yeah, Max. Something like that. Hey, you said Brad Jackson was clean right?"