Double, Double Cross

Copyright © 2021

Foreward: I have always been a fan of Mickey Spillane's, Mike Hammer books. In fact, I got in trouble in high school for doing a book report on, "My Gun is Quick." So, when ChloeTzang came up with an idea for Mike Hammer inspired stories, I jumped at the chance. My thanks to her for a wonderful idea.

I hope you enjoy my submission for, "Hammered," and as always, I love reading the comments so please keep'em coming.

*****

Double, Double Cross

Ever notice that air conditioners never take a crap in the winter? It was summer in Chicago, and so damn hot you could light a cigarette by just sticking it out the window. The small air conditioner I had in my office gave up the ghost two days prior, with a death rattle and a groan. I could literally feel the sweat dripping from my armpits.

I would have preferred to be sitting on a stool in Plato's Place sipping down a cool one, but unfortunately, or fortunately, whichever way you wanted to look at it, I couldn't leave. I was waiting for my one o'clock appointment, and there was no way I was going to miss getting a gander at the dame who was coming to see me. The last time I'd heard a voice as sultry as the one on the phone, Lauren Bacall was telling Bogie to pucker up and whistle. I didn't even get her name. She hung up before giving it to me. All I knew so far was that her husband was missing.

I could hear her high heels echoing in the hall and saw her shadow as she stopped to read the black lettering printed across the frosted glass of my door, 'Blake McDaniels, Private Investigations.'

I quickly buttoned the top button of my shirt and straightened my tie as the door opened. I've seen a lot of beautiful broads in my day, but this one was straight out "Vogue," or "Vanity Fair."

I stand six-two, and she looked to be only four or five inches shorter. Her long blond hair was professionally styled to frame a gorgeous face with high cheekbones and flashing blue eyes that could devour a man's soul like a Doberman with a piece of raw meat. The expensive women's suit she wore did little to disguise the body it covered, and the longest legs I'd ever seen disappeared into a shortened skirt to hide treasures a man would kill for.

I stood and stretched out my hand as she crossed the ten feet between the door and my desk on the other side of the room. "Blake McDaniels," I announced, "Mrs..."

"Richardson," she replied while sitting in the chair opposite my desk and crossing those long legs, "Mrs. Arthur Richardson." I could see her amusement with the shock on my face. "Yes, that's right, Mr. McDaniels, the same Arthur Richardson who made a fool of you a couple of years ago."

She wasn't kidding. Her asshole husband was embezzling funds from his company. His business partner knew it but couldn't prove anything, so he hired me. I ran a con on Richardson that forced his hand and caught him with it in the cookie jar. He was indicted and went to court for what everyone thought was a slam-dunk. Unfortunately, he'd hired a slick out-of-town shyster who discredited me, the star witness, and got Richardson off. Not only was it bad for my ego, it was bad for business. It took me over a year to live it down.

"I have to say, Mr. McDaniels, you're exactly what I imagined a PI would look like."

"Oh, and what is that?"

"Tall, nice physique, kind of intimidating--that nose looks like it's been broken more than once, and the scar above your left eye and the other one on your cheek tells me you take no guff from anyone."

I had to chuckle. She had me pegged pretty good. "So, Mrs. Richardson, how can I help you?"

"I'm offering you an opportunity to balance the scales, Mr. McDaniels. Somehow, Art got wind that I was going to divorce him and took off for parts unknown. He doesn't care about me, but a divorce will financially cost him dearly and he knows it."

My ears stood up when she mentioned costing that jackass money. "How long's he been gone?"

"A little over a month."

"Did you go to the cops?"

"Yes, they had me make out a missing person's report but they didn't seem too interested. Like me, they assume he's playing house with his girlfriend, somewhere. They did show me how to download something to my phone. They said it would show me the location of his cell as soon as he used it, but nothing has ever shown up."

"I know you don't accept infidelity cases but you do take missing persons, so here's my proposition, I'll pay you twenty thousand dollars plus expenses to find my husband, and a bonus of fifty thousand dollars if you just happen to find evidence of him cheating on me at the same time."

"Do you suspect him of cheating?"

"Oh, I know he's cheating. He has at least two mistresses, and I'm sure he's shacked up with one of them as we speak. Which one? I don't know and I don't care; I just want him found so I can have him served."

I reached over and pulled a contract out of the bottom drawer of my desk and filled it in to reflect her offer, twenty grand to find her hubby, another fifty if I get evidence of infidelity, and a five thousand dollar retainer to get started. She signed without even reading it. "I don't have the full five thousand with me," she said while digging the cash from her purse, "but I'll have someone drop it off to you tomorrow afternoon, if that's okay?"

"I do take checks," I informed her.

"I want you to start right away. I don't want you having to wait for a check to clear," she explained.

I took the three grand in cash and gave her a receipt, then spent the next hour asking questions. Did he have any friends or relatives he might stay with? How much cash did he take? Did she know where he might have more money stashed? Did he own property out of state? Did he drive his car?

She gave me his driver's license number, all the credit card numbers, social security, and bank accounts she knew of, but suspected he had others she didn't know about. She knew nothing about any of his business dealings or associates. I knew he had been forced out of the company he was embezzling from, but didn't keep track of him after the trial.

I watched her ass sway from side to side as Mrs. Richardson left my office and noticed no panty lines under that tight skirt. Damn, she had been sitting there commando the whole time. I wondered if it was because of the heat, or was she trying to use her feminine charms as an incentive to take her case? If that was it, she needn't have bothered. I was going to serve those papers on him myself when I found him, just to see the look on the SOB's face.

Off and on, I had been working on another case for myself. Our state's Lieutenant Governor was as crooked as they come. A couple of months prior, I'd gotten an anonymous tip on a real estate scheme he was involved in. Just a little preliminary investigating convinced me the tip was legit. I hate dirty cops and politicians, but I had to be extremely careful; I was playing in the big boy's sandbox. If I showed my hand before getting proof, I could lose my license and possibly wind up behind bars myself. No thanks!

The missing person's case would give me a little distraction as well as let my scent fade in case somebody from the LG's office was sniffing around; besides, I owed Richardson. He made a monkey out of me once; it was time to return the favor.

I got on the computer and started a rundown using what info I got from the wife, but came up empty. I didn't think it would be easy. The asshole was smart. I made the mistake of underestimating him once; I wasn't going to do it again.

I needed a starting point, a lead of some kind; I'd take whatever I could get. Where better to start than at the end. It had been two years since I'd been in the offices of Richardson and Walker Industrial Lighting, although now it was just Walker's Industrial Lighting. From her expression, I knew his secretary recognized me as I walked in. I went for a business card.

"I know who you are, Mr. McDaniels, but I don't see your name on Mr. Walker's appointment calendar and I honestly don't expect to see it there any time in the future, either."

I couldn't say I was surprised at the reception. "Look, doll, just tell him I know a way to get some revenge on our mutual nemesis."

She just stared at me for a few seconds. "Go sit over there," she commanded, "I'll see if he'll talk to you."

Not knowing how long he'd keep me waiting, or even if he'd see me at all, I took a seat and reached for a magazine. I barely had time to open it when I heard his door open on the other side of the room. I looked up as he stood there with a scowl. "What's this about, McDaniels, did you get our money back?"

"No," I replied, "that's probably gone forever, but with your help, we may be able to get some revenge."

He turned and retreated back into his office, but left the door open. I took that as an invitation. I walked in and took a seat as he sat behind his desk with that same scowl on his face. "I don't even know why I'm listening to you. The last time I did that you assured me the company would recover the money that asshole embezzled. Not only did we NOT recover any of the money, but I had to pay your fee on top of it, so say what you have to say, and it better be good; otherwise, I might just have security throw your ass out the window."

I knew he was pissed, but come on, as far as I knew they didn't even have security. I wasn't about to antagonize him, though; I was hoping he could give me a lead.

I told him about Richardson's wife hiring me to find him and told him why. "I'm hoping to serve him with those divorce papers myself," I told him. "When I do, I can always say they're with your compliments, as well." I wasn't really expecting it, but that brought a small smile to his face.

"What do you need from me?"

"Anything you might know about his habits when he worked here: people he knew, places he went to get away from it all, anything you can think of that might help me locate him, maybe a little hide-a-way where he took his women. His wife thinks he's shacked up with a girlfriend but doesn't know who it could be," I said.

"Shit, guys like that go through mistresses like an alligator through a swamp," he said. "I know of two women he was banging back then, but that was two years ago; who knows how many girlfriends he's had since then?"

"Anything you can come up with," I reiterated. "An old girlfriend might know his new girlfriend. You know what they say about a woman scorned."

He reached for the intercom button. "Dorie, could you come in here for a minute, please?" Just a few seconds later, Walker's good-looking secretary was standing at his desk, smiling at him while glaring at me. Damn, she was good at that. I'd bet she was one hell of a Girl-Friday, not to mention a tiger in the sack. I wondered if Walker had intimate knowledge of both.

"Dorie, you had more contact with the two women Richardson was seeing than I did. Do you remember their names?

"I have their names, addresses, and phone numbers, Mr. Walker."

We both looked at her in shock. "He used to have me send them flowers. I have their info in the computer. He also used to have me dial their number for him before he'd pick up the phone."

I'd just hit the motherlode. I got excited and pushed for more. "What about a secret little love nest, someplace he'd take his honey overnight, someplace where his wife could never find them?"

"Sorry," she said, snidely, "I don't know of any place like that."

"Dorie, can you print out everything you have on the two women and anything else you think might be instrumental in finding Richardson. He's disappeared and we're going to help McDaniels find him."

She looked at her boss with an expression that said, 'I'll do it, but I don't like it.' She turned and walked back out to her desk.

Walker turned his attention back to me. "Okay, hot-shot, Dorie will have a printout for you. Leave her your card in case she comes up with anything else. You know I'm only doing this because I'd like to see Richardson hurting, right? Don't get the impression that I think you're anything more than an asshole."

I stood up without offering him my hand and joined Dorie at her desk. She already had the printout.

"This is everything I have," she said, handing me a piece of paper.

I reached into the pocket of my sport jacket and took out the same business card she had refused when I first walked in. "Your boss said I should give you this in case you come up with anything more," I said as I laid it down on her desk.

I was feeling pretty good. I at least had a lead, maybe two. The outside heat hit me like a blast furnace as I left the air-conditioned building. I was thinking about a quick stopover at Plato's when I got an eerie feeling that I was being watched. If my twenty years as a PI has taught me anything, it's never to ignore a gut feeling.

I subtlety looked around as I lit a cigarette. I didn't see any suspicious looking characters, at least no more than you usually find in downtown Chicago, but I couldn't shake the sensation. If I was being followed, the last thing I wanted to do was lead them straight to my only two leads. I decided to go back to my office.

As I walked in, the first thing I did was take off my coat and shoulder holster. I took my Beretta and stuck it in the top drawer of my desk then went to the top drawer of my filing cabinet and grabbed my bottle of Dewar's White Label and a glass. I had to think. I only had two cases, Richardson's and the Lieutenant Governor's. Then it hit me. Of course, if I was hiding from someone, I'd want to know what they were doing to find me. Richardson was having his wife followed. That way he'd always be one step ahead of her. Damn, the S.O.B. was smart. I looked around my office. Could he have had it bugged while I was out? At that point, I decided paranoia was my friend.

I put everything back on and left my glass of Dewar's on my desk as I left my office. I walked around the corner to a little diner for a bite to eat. When I was done I walked into the back, past the men's room sign, and out the back door. I doubled back to my car and drove to a little-known electronics shop. Angelo, Angie, for short, was always my ace in the hole. He heard the little bell over the door as I walked in and came out from the back room to greet me.

"Hi, Blake, what's shaking?"

"Hi, Angie, ever had the feeling you were being watched?"

He laughed. "Not in my business."

I took out my phone and laid it on the counter in front of him. "Could you scan that for me? I think I'm being followed. They may also have bugged my office, I'm not sure."

Angie plugged my phone into his computer and ran a check. "The phone is fine, Blake."

Good news, I told myself. "Okay, thanks. Is there any way you can come over to my office and scan it?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, looking at the clock on his wall. "I can leave here in an hour."

"That'd be great, Angie, thanks. I'll be there."

It wouldn't be the first time he'd scanned my place for bugs. We had a regular routine. He would say he was in the neighborhood and stopped in to say hello. We'd carry on a regular conversation while he scanned the room. That way, if he found a bug, we wouldn't tip off whoever left it.

Sure enough, he found it in fifteen minutes. It was very professionally planted in the headrail of my Venetian blinds. Whoever Richardson hired was no amateur. We left the bug in place.

"Come on, Angie, I'll walk you downstairs," I said for the benefit of our spy. Once I got in the hallway and out of the range of my eavesdropper, I called my client. She answered on the third ring.

"That was fast. I only left your office a few hours ago."

"Well, I have good news and bad news, Mrs. Richardson." I heard her sigh.

"Okay, tell me the good news first."

"I have two promising leads," I told her.

"That IS good news. What's the bad news?"

"Your husband is having you followed."

"What?" How do you know?"

"In this business, you develop kind of a sixth sense, sometimes. Mine told me I was being watched earlier today. On a hunch, I had my office swept for listening devices and found one."

"How do you know it's Art? Maybe it's from one of your other cases."

"Think about it, Mrs. Richardson, what better way to keep you from finding him than by knowing your every move."

"That sneaky son of a bitch," she growled.

"Your husband's no dummy, that's for sure. Anyway, we can actually use this to our advantage."

"How?"

I explained my plan but it was getting late so we decided to wait until the following day. At ten o'clock the next morning, she came storming into my office.

"Why didn't you tell me you were the same PI who caused all the trouble a couple years ago?" She yelled. I quietly handed her a burner phone with a note telling her to use it from now on if she needed to call me. She nodded her head acknowledging she understood and put the rest of my retainer on my desk before continuing. "If I had known who you were I would never have hired you. Well, I'm going to fix that right now... YOU'RE FIRED!"

"Wait a minute," I begged, but she turned and walked out, slamming the door behind her, damn near breaking the glass. "Shit," I said aloud while leaning back in my chair with a big smile.

I didn't like Derick Knutson; he was a private dick. I use that term for him, specifically because he gave private investigators a bad name. Mrs. Richardson was on her way to his office where she'd give him a fake name and a line of bullshit. After wasting a bit of his time, she'd flash her baby blues at him and go, leaving him to wonder what it was all about. Of course, whoever was following her would assume she fired me and hired him. Like a tick on a dog, they'd concentrate all their efforts on Knutson and leave me alone. I still had to give it some time to make sure my plan worked, so I ran out to do some chores before stopping off at Plato's Place for a few cold ones.

Stan, my favorite bartender, saw me walk in and had a frosty Mic waiting by the time I sat down. We'd known each other for a long time. He even dated my ex-wife for a little while. We shot the bull for a couple of minutes before he got busy and actually had to go to work. That left me to ponder my new case. The usual war cry in my profession is, "Follow the money." Unfortunately, I tried that two years ago and got nothing. Richardson was the best I'd ever seen at burying dead presidents.

The thing is, everybody's got a weakness, a vice of some sort that makes them vulnerable. From what I knew of Richardson, his appeared to be women. Instead of trying to follow the money again, I decided following the trail of broken hearts would be a better use of my time. As I mentioned to Walker, you know what they say about a woman scorned... speaking of which...

I wondered what Stacy was doing? Forty minutes later, I found myself ringing her doorbell. The door opened and an absolute vision of feminine pulchritude stood on the other side. With her natural red hair and sparkling green eyes, Stacy stood out in any crowd. The black, slinky dress and high heels showed off a figure that would rival any supermodel.

"Damn," if you weren't my ex-wife, I'd drop to one knee and propose right now."

She chuckled, "Excuses, excuses."

"I'm sorry, Stace, I should have called. I didn't know you had a date."

"Yeah," she said, opening the door a little wider. "Come on in; I just have to get my purse."

I stepped inside and looked around for her date but didn't see anyone. "I don't want to intrude, Stace, I'll take off."

"Not without me, you won't." She stood there, looking at me with purse in hand. "Have you decided where we're going yet?"

I was at a complete loss. "Ah, I don't get it. You're all dolled up. Don't you have a date?"