If you're joining the story for the first time, you've really missed a lot, and you should be ashamed. Why don't you get caught up while the rest of us tap our feet impatiently waiting for you?
Lunch with Miss Nomer and Mr. Happy's thugs was uneventful, with the exception of a Corvette that crashed through a window in the non-smoking section with its engine on fire; the driver was asked to leave. We did the usual routine; small talk, breadsticks, a shootout or two. Actually it was just one shootout that got interrupted by one of the waiters asking us if we wanted ground pepper.
I came out unscathed, mainly because I spent most of the gunfight in the kitchen complaining about the noise. By the time it was over the diner was a mess with broken glass everywhere, although most of that wasn't us, it was just the décor. That was the diner's gimmick: great food, and broken glass everywhere.
Miss Nomer had survived the ordeal the old fashioned way. She didn't get shot. I couldn't say the same for Zanzibar and Jake because the pronouns didn't match up. Jake had run out of bullets pretty quickly because he'd neglected to buy any. On the other hand, Zanzibar had plenty of bullets but he kept forgetting to load them into his gun. In the end, every bullet fired happened to hit the same patron, and he luckily turned out to be a pimp with a criminal record and several library fines.
Miss Nomer and I were left alone after that, Zanzibar ran off to take a phone call and Jake started filling out his college application. "Miss Nomer," I said. "May I call you Russell?"
"Why Russell?"
"I just wanted to see if you were listening." I took out the card she'd given me and set it on the table next to her, whereupon we got up and moved to that table to look at the card. "What is this about?"
"Have you read it yet?"
"I try to avoid reading if I can help it. I read somewhere that you can't believe everything you read."
She drew in a breath; not to say she hadn't been breathing the whole time but she had one of those femme fatale voices that she wanted to practice. "Mr. Guffey, I was hired to steal a priceless diamond."
"Everything's got a price," I said.
"Well this didn't. The tag had fallen off."
"And let me guess, you and your buyer couldn't agree on what it was worth. And with no price tag to settle the dispute, the deal was off."
"I ran."
"Did he threaten you?"
She swallowed hard. "I've never seen a man shake his fist so angrily. Please Detective, he's hired a specialist."
"Specializing in what?"
"Nothing special."
I pretended to take a sip of the empty glass on the table. "That doesn't sound good."
"If he finds me, my life won't be worth the scrabble tiles it takes to spell."
I agreed. "Those are pretty common letters. So why come to me? I mean, if there's no price on the diamond it's not technically theft. You could go to the police and say you just found it while you were trespassing in somebody's house."
"It's not that simple, Detective Guffey."
"Really? Why is that?"
"It just isn't."
"I think it probably is that simple."
"Well trust me, it isn't," she sneered. "If it were that simple, I would have done it. I didn't, so it's obviously not that simple. Can we please move on?"
"Have you tried going to the police? I bet if you gave that a shot you'd see how simple it-"
"That's it." She stood up, adjusted her dress, and walked over to the server who had just brought out a plate of spaghetti and two salads. She picked up the first salad and threw it onto the floor where the bowl smashed into ceramic pieces. The second followed suit.
I sighed. "All right. You've made your point. It's not that simple." The spaghetti plate went next. Then she broke the serving tray over her knee and threw it at the bottles behind the bar. "I said I believe you," I told her. "There's no need to make a scene."
"I know. I'm just having fun." She overturned three tables before sitting back down.
"So where is the diamond now?" I asked.
"I have it in a secret place."
"Can you tell me?"
"No. Then it wouldn't be a secret."
I was getting in over my head. I thought about bailing on her before the waiter brought us the check, but she abruptly stood up and pointed to one of the booths behind me.
"Don't look over there!" she advised. "There's a man at that table."
"What's he doing?"
"Ignoring us."
That seemed a little too suspicious. I moved over to where he was (without looking, as per Miss Nomer's request) and grabbed him by the collar. "What's the big idea of minding your own business?" I demanded.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a rubber chicken and hit me in the head with it, all the while sticking his tongue out going "bleah bleah bleah".
I shook him. "Don't be silly. I asked you a question."
Miss Nomer scurried up next to me. "Who is he?"
"He's an irritant," I said. The guy repeated my words in a mocking impression of me. "Somebody's toying with us." I shot him a look for continuing to copy me.
Miss Nomer looked back and forth between the two of us nineteen times. "Should we get out of here?"
"Yes," said the entire restaurant in unison. She flipped them off.
"Come on," I told her. "I know a guy who knows a guy."
"Can he help?"
"Who? The first guy or the second guy?"
"Either one!"
"Nope. We're on our own."
We pushed our way through the diner, bumping into each other the whole way (made all the more complicated by the fact that I was still holding on to the irritant's collar) and got stuck in the door. Somewhere, somebody had answers, that much I was sure. I could only hope that: one, I could find this person; two, their answers applied to my situation; and three, actually I miscounted, there were only two things. But one lesson that only life will teach you, because nobody else wants to, is sometimes your biggest obstacle is an open door.
In the interest of maintaining predictability, Chapter Five is next.
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