This is Chapter Five. If you're looking for an access point other than Chapter Five then I would happily direct your attention elsewhere. But if Chapter Five is all that matters to you, then you may as well stay where you are because this is where Chapter Five is. Thank you.
I dropped Miss Nomer off at her house. I think it was her house. It was a house. She got out of the car. Admittedly I had to force her out, and she chased me down the road for three and a half miles, but I'm pretty sure it was her house.
The irritant from the restaurant made himself at home in the back seat, demanding at regular intervals to know if we were there yet. His name was Joe, although I didn't know it at the time. Or now. But he looked like a Joe. Or a Marcie. Maybe a Marcie Joe if I had to guess, which fortunately I didn't. I only had to drive and ignore him, even as he started kicking the back of my seat.
There's an old saying that I can never remember. I only bring it up because it reminds me of something else that I try really hard to forget. Which reminds me, never try really hard to forget something; it just makes you think about it more. And speaking of more, you know the kind of people who always want more? We need less of them. And when I say less I mean fewer in number, and not that I expect them to lose a few pounds. Although the easiest way to lose a few pounds is to get mugged in London. I've never been to London, but there was this real nutcase in town who kept mugging cameras. We had plenty of evidence against him, but it still took a while to put him away because he kept squirming.
Well I'd obviously taken a wrong turn somewhere, and I had to backtrack a few streets to figure it out. Let's see; -cameras -mugging -London -pounds -fewer -more -forgetting -That was it. I was forgetting something. The price tag on the diamond; if I find that, I close the case. Everybody goes home happy, assuming they like being at home.
Locating missing evidence is never about where to start, but where to end. It's always in the last place you look. The trick is, figure out where you're going to look last, and start there. So I guess it is about where to start. Now I was confused.
I pulled into a seedy service station called "Nothing to See Here" and hopped out of the car, which rolled a few more yards before coming to a rest. "Wait here," I told the irritant, which prompted him to defiantly reach for the door handle. "Simon says, wait here!" That works every time. Not even the underbelly of society would challenge that name drop, it's more powerful than the double dog dare.
Everything about "Nothing to See Here" said 'go away' except for the sign on the door that said 'nah just kidding, come on in'. I took it as an invitation and put it in my pocket. The door had clear glass panes, painted over with translucent nail polish. Someone had tried to obscure the meeting on the other side of the door, but I could see right through it.
There they were. About a dozen of them. I could tell by their suits and briefcases and the PowerPoint presentation that they meant business. The odds weren't good; and with an even number in there, my arrival would make me the odd man. Fortunately I know a thing or two about stuff.
I threw the door open and ran inside the station like somebody who really wanted to be in there. "Hey!" I yelled, pointing in the direction from whence I came. "There's a guy in that car!" In unison, three of them dove behind the counter. Two leapt through the window. One jumped up and ran around the aisles screaming and waving his arms a lot. One just started crying where he was, and had to be escorted to the back room by four of his buddies to work through some emotional residue. Unless my math is wrong, that left me alone with just the ringleader, evening the odds. I pulled out the chair that was across the table from him. He glared at me as I sat down, as well as after.
"Detective Nathaniel Guffey," I said, "That's my name, in case you're wondering. I'd like to ask you a few questions." I placed Miss Nomer's card on the table and slid it in his direction, tossing it the rest of the way because it was a big table. "Tell me what you know about the owner of that card."
"That wasn't a question," he pointed out observantly.
"What can you tell me about the card's owner?"
"Jewel thief," he said. "That's her SUV outside."
So that's why she was chasing me earlier. "Can you tell me something I don't know?"
"Do you know about the pawn shop on East and Seventh?"
"No I don't."
"Well, there is one."
I hadn't known that. I did know about the pawn shop on Northeast and Seventh. The place had gone south after a deal with Mr. Happy had left her slightly displeased. I thanked the station's owner for the tip. "You've been very helpful for some reason."
"Detective Guffey, I'd run if I were you."
"And why is that?"
"You have the build of a runner."
I took his compliment seriously and sprinted out the back door. The irritant followed me in the SUV, getting as far as the front seat before having to turn the engine on.
By the time I got to the pawn shop it was a little bit later. The place was closed for renovations, but they let me in when they figured out I wasn't a renovation; some people never change. I went up to the counter and asked to be shown the finest price tag available. When it didn't answer, I turned my attention to the clerk behind the counter, and posed the same request. Without so much as a word, he explained in great detail how he had nothing to say to me on that subject. I politely asked him to shut-up, and reminded him for the first time that I wasn't somebody who took 'no' for granted.
He reached into his shirt's front pocket and pulled out a revolver. He tried pointing it at me but it kept spinning, so instead he threw it at my head. Everything went black, due to a power surge. By the time the lights came back on I was face down on the floor, unconscious, and completely unaware of the terrible things my captor was saying about my mother. I had a dream that I vowed right then and there that justice would be served, whether I had a hand in it or not.
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