Jason Deas - Cameron Caldwell 01 - Private Eye (2 page)

Cam saw Claude as a younger man taking a painting off a wall. The vision flashed and Claude was burning the canvas in hiding. He had destroyed a friend’s work in jealousy. Cam’s head jerked again sending him back to the present.

“That’s better,” Claude said. “You have pretty eyes. Can we go now? I don’t have all day to wait around on a gun toting aggressive male.”

Cam threw his hands up in the air, completely flummoxed with Claude and said, “Let’s go.”

As Cam was about to shut the door, Claude said, “Leave it unlocked and I’ll come back while you’re at work to see what I can do with the place.”

Cam had not been in his office for a full five minutes when a young man walked through the door. Cam’s hand instinctively patted his pant’s pocket for his flask. Coming up empty he looked the bearded fellow in the eyes and wished him a good morning. The kid was clean besides stealing a sleeve of communion wafers from his church as a child and eating every single one of them in his tree fort.

“You owe me $16.50 plus tip,” the young man said, without introduction.

It took Cam a second before he remembered the pizza. He blushed.

“Ah, Jesus. I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” Cam reached into his pocket and pulled out two twenties. “Here. Keep the change for your trouble.”

The young man didn’t quibble with Cam and pocketed the money.

“You want a menu?” Cam shook his head. “Name’s Turner by the way.” Turner pulled a menu out of his back pocket and handed it to Cam. “If I may make a suggestion, next time you order, don’t call the guy who answers an ass hat. You really shouldn’t offend the people who are making your food.”

“I didn’t even know that word was in my vocabulary.”

“Luckily it was me that answered the phone. You may have a much more colorful vocabulary than you realize. You told me if I looked you in the eyes that you would punch my ass through my throat. I’m not exactly sure how you were planning on doing that, but I thought it was pretty creative and it made me laugh. Somebody else answers and you say stuff like that, you may not be so lucky.”

I need to tell somebody before I tell a complete stranger
, Cam thought.

“Can we change the subject? I don’t want to hear anymore. Again, I’m sorry.”

“Sure, plus, there’s no more to tell. When I got to your house you were asleep on the floor.”

Cam looked at the menu. “Pizza Chalet, huh?”

“World’s best pizza. Did you try it yet?”

“I was able to stomach a few bites this morning. Pretty damn good.”

“It’s better fresh out of the oven.” Turner looked around the office.

Cam had set up a metal desk accompanied by a rolling chair. He also had two folding chairs and a telephone.

As Turner took the incredibly short visual tour of the room, Cam checked him out. Cam guessed twenty-something. He had the kind of beard that looked as if he shaved once a week and it was creeping toward the end of the seven days. The thin, rusted red beard matched his wispy hair. Cam thought he looked at ease with himself and the vibe Turner sent out said the same.

“This place blows. How do you expect to get any business with this setup? Do you expect people to trust you to find answers for them when you can’t even find respectable office furniture?”

I need a drink.
“Point taken.”

“What if I shake up some business for you? Will you give me a cut?”

“Yeah, ten percent. I charge five hundred a day, so that means fifty bucks a day for you on the jobs you send my way.”

“You’ll have your first job tomorrow or later today. Is that ten percent a promise?”

“Yeah. I’m a man of my word.”

“If you cut me out, I’ll post the video I shot of you last night on the Internet.”

“You took video of me passed out on my living room floor?”

“Maybe I did,” Turner said, raising a hand and walking out the door.

Cam paced the room after Turner drove away. As he walked back and forth he wanted to go to the liquor store and as he strolled a bit more he talked himself out of it. Back and forth. Back and forth. His stomach finally told him he needed to go get something to eat.

Cam hated crowded places. It increased the probability of making eye contact with people. He had a hard time letting evil hide. Once at a busy shopping mall he made the mistake of looking a man in the eyes who’d been stealing his mother’s social security checks. He sucker punched him in the gut and while pretending to help him whispered in his ear that he was watching him. He went on to tell the man if he ever stole from his flesh and blood again he would cut off a very important part of his body.

Cam opened the door to the diner and walked inside. The place was packed, but he was still able to find an empty booth at the back. He watched his feet shuffle as he headed that way.

I need a drink
, he thought.
I need a drink
.

“Your hand is trembling,” Daphne said, as she set a menu in front of him.

Cam looked up, surprised by her quick arrival. He looked over her shoulder and back down to the table.

“I don’t like crowded places.”

“I’ll get you a drink and be right back.”

Cam thought it was strange that she didn’t ask what kind of drink he wanted. He stared into the menu without reading. He let the letters and numbers dance in front of his eyes. A moment later a glass of what looked like ice tea appeared in front of him.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t get used to this kind of service.”

Cam picked up the glass, which he thought was tea, and brought it to his lips. Halfway to his mouth he smelled the alcohol and realized it was a glass of whiskey on the rocks, mixed with enough water to make it look like ice tea. He drank deeply and felt his insides unfold and relax. Cam set the glass down for two seconds and picked it back up again. He drank deeply again and breathed a huge sigh of release. He knew he needed to stop drinking, but he also knew that it wasn’t going to be today.

“What do you think of my brother?” Daphne said, reappearing again.

“Interesting for sure. Thanks for the drink.”

“Like I said, don’t get used to it. It’s not on the menu.”

“Is your brother…”

“Gay?”

“Yeah. Is he?”

“No. He is flamboyantly himself. Whatever that means. He’s hard to describe.”

“I’ll say.”

“I would love to sit around and chat, but I’m busy as hell.” Daphne grabbed the menu out of his hand. “I’ll bring you another crowd favorite. You won’t be disappointed.”

“And I’m still thirsty,” Cam said, finding his happy voice.

With a drink in his belly that also swam around his brain, Cam was able to look around the room without the fear of uncovering wicked deeds. He saw all types. White collar men and women, blue collar men, retired couples, and a scattering of young people and moms with kids. He even saw a biker sitting alone making goo-goo eyes with his pastrami sandwich.

Daphne dropped his sandwich a few minutes later and a new drink without saying a word. She also left the check. On it she wrote, “Price = Honesty at four o’clock.”

What the hell does that mean?

Cam put the thought out of his mind and bit into his sandwich. He wanted to scream it was so good. He turned to see if he could find Daphne. She stood behind the counter listening to a customer, but watching him. When their eyes met he smiled and gave her a thumbs up. She nodded, winked, and turned her attention back to the customer in front of her.

He finished the entire sandwich and drink before reading his check again. “Price = Honesty at four o’clock.” Cam put a hefty tip on the table, pocketed the check, and shuffled out.

Chapter Three

Cam sat at his desk and watched the clock for an entire hour. His brain tried to rewind and play back some earlier memories but he wouldn’t let it. It knocked softly at first asking to come into the vault of images and sounds. Cam pushed it away. As the hour wore on the tapping evolved to pounding and Cam popped up. He had seen a gas station less than a mile down the road. He started walking.

The gas station looked like a residence aside from the four gas pumps. A brown, one-story building stretched across a wide paved area. The color changed at one point and the building stretched on. Railing also stretched the distance hiding rocking chairs and small tables for dining. A ratty screened door marked the entrance.

The inside took Cam back in time. Glass jars lined the counter with stick candy in at least fifty different flavors. The walls held antique Coca-Cola signs and other odd relics. The shelves were lined with unusual offerings nestled alongside household brands.

“First time?”

Cam turned and realized he had been standing and staring.

“Yeah. Nice place.”

“Thanks.”

An older man walked around the counter toward him. He was a little under six feet with white balding hair and a heavy build. His warm smile made Cam feel immediately comfortable.

“Hank,” the man said, extending his hand.

“Cam.”

“Oh! The new private eye in town. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

“How did you hear about that?”

“The Pizza Chalet rents out the space next door. Sign blew off in a storm last week so you wouldn’t know that. Turner told me about you.”

“Oh, God.” Cam dropped his head.

“Head up, son. Turner ain’t the gossipy type. He just told me you were in town.”

“All right.”

“Now,” Hank said, slapping Cam on the back, “If I hear of any work for you, I’ll send it your way as well.”

“He’s already beating the bushes for me, huh?”

“I told you, he’s a good kid. Now I gotta get back to work. Beer’s in the cooler over there,” Hank said, pointing toward the back. “And get yourself a pack of gum or mints over there,” Hank said, pointing to a different part of the store.

Cam grabbed a twelve-pack from the cooler and a pack of cinnamon gum.

Two beers later, at four o’clock, Daphne walked through the door.

“Is this an early casual Friday?” she asked, pointing to the beer.

“Where I’m from we do casual Tuesday,” Cam joked. “Can I get you a beer?” he asked, pointing to his cooler.

“I see you have invested in some office furniture. That’s a very nice ice chest. It complements your desk. And yes, I’ll have a beer.”

Cam dug into the cooler and pulled out a nearly frozen can.

“Your office sucks.”

“That’s the second time I’ve heard that today. Turner actually used the term blows, but close enough.”

“Get your cooler and let’s grab a booth at my place. Claude can take both of us home.”

“Fine.”

Daphne finished her first beer and picked a dollar’s worth of songs on the jukebox.

Settling into a booth, Cam asked, “So, what do I owe you for lunch?”

“The ticket said honesty.” Daphne paused and took a long drink of her second beer. “I’ve always been a very perceptive person. I know things about people that they don’t even want me to know. It’s just the way that I am. Maybe it’s because I’ve been working in a diner forever and around different people all day, but somehow I just know.”

“What do you know about me?”

“I know you want to tell me something. Let me rephrase that. I know you want to tell somebody, something. You need to get something off your chest. You need a release of some sort. And I think you need to let somebody else into your mind.”

Cam didn’t say a word. He reached under him, pulled the top off the cooler, and retrieved a beer. With a fluid motion he pulled the beer into his line of sight, popped the tab, and touched the can to his mouth as he tilted his head. When the can was empty, he set it down, wiped his mouth, and said, “Here goes.”

Before speaking he reached into the cooler again and pulled out two more cans of beer. He set one in front of Daphne and opened one for himself.

“This is going to be the craziest story you’ve ever heard.”

“OK,” Daphne said.

“It’s not a long story. Just unbelievable.”

“OK.” Daphne opened her third beer. Her face showed gentle concern.

“When I was growing up, my mother’s side of the family had a reunion every year. It was always somewhere different. When I was thirteen it was held at one of my uncle’s houses. He had a swimming pool with a diving board. The deep end was only six feet deep. I didn’t realize that and did a one-and-a-half off the board. I made a perfect entrance into the water. My face met the bottom of the pool and I instantly blacked out. It was the worst millisecond of pain I’ve ever felt.”

“Ouch,” Daphne said, taking a sip of her beer.

“I regained consciousness in the hospital. When I opened my eyes, a doctor was hovering above me and the first thing I saw was his eyes. I looked into them and it happened for the first time. I saw his darkness. I saw him hitting a cyclist with a blue BMW. He was making a phone call. I saw it from different angles like a movie. It was strange. I thought I was under the effects of medicine or something and closed my eyes again.”

Cam took a long drink.

“I wasn’t so lucky. When I reopened my eyes, my mother was there. I looked into her eyes and saw her in bed with a man who wasn’t my father. My father looked at me next and I saw him changing numbers on papers from his work. Every person that came to my bedside and looked into my eyes had a different story to tell—and they were all terrible. Some were worse than others, but they all seemed to stop time and take me away on some sort of visual trip. I thought it was the pain meds at first, but soon realized that it wasn’t. Somehow, the collision my brain had with the bottom of the pool had given me the unwanted gift of being able to see a person’s darkness.”

Cam looked at Daphne. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes.”

Cam took a drink.

“And let me guess,” Daphne said. “Alcohol impairs your ability to do it.”

“It does.”

Daphne took swig from her beer. The jukebox shuffled songs.

“I can still do it after drinking, but I have to concentrate and look deeply. It doesn’t happen from casual eye contact.”

“Do me,” Daphne said, without thinking.