Spooky Story

She walks into my office, elegant refined attractive, makes the place look cheap, second rate. Looks me in the eye "you're not very sophisticated." "No" I tell her, as if looks could be deceiving. She sits down, like she's sized me up and I passed somehow. "I suppose you're good at this" as if to just start conversation. "It's a hundred dollars a day" I tell her "plus expenses. And if you're in a jam, I can get you out of it, if anybody can."

"I need you to find someone" she says "a friend of mine. But I don't know how to get in touch with him." She reaches in her purse, places a photo on the desk. Ordinary enough fellow, maybe a long-lost cousin or somebody, not sophisticated enough to be a husband or a lover. But you never know. 

She fills me in on the details. They were friends, good friends, but then he disappeared. And she wants to know why, maybe something bad happened, or maybe he got swallowed up in the fog, who knows. Just that it's important. I don't buy it. Sketchy story, could be anything, could be in over my head, with these type people. But she drops five c-notes on the desk, and I'm good with that. "Okay" I tell her "I'll be in touch."

She gets up and turns to leave, those slinky hips in that tight skirt "nice....... to meet meet you" I stammer. "Yes, you too" she says, without looking back. Then she walks out. I sit there for a moment, dazed, like I been punched in the nose. This morning I was nobody, in a world of nobodies, trying to get by. Now I got money, a job to do, and a reason to do it. Seems like a hustle, but I'm all in. Take a deep breath to clear my head, maybe I should get to work.

Sit back, light up a smoke, pick up the photo. Chan Bartok she said his name was. Last known address over on Piedmont. Interesting neighborhood, might have to get my suit pressed just to go over there. But first things first, need to check out the lady with the dough. Clara Mistlelow, sounds like a Christmas present come early, but you never know.

I grab the phone, ring up this gal I know at the station. "Ya Shirley, me Rick, need some info on a couple of names. A high class chick, and a fellow who's a friend of hers." "What'd they do?" she asks. "I don't know, maybe nothing. The lady hired me, and didn't give me much to go on. So I wanna find out what I can, about both of 'em." She says she'll get back to me if anything turns up.

I leave the office and go to the little diner across the street, grab a cup of coffee. In my job you need to have a plan, a sketch to go by. But I was never any good at planning, and I suppose that's why I'm scraping to get by, doing other people's dirty work for them. Doesn't matter, what else would I be doing.

Drive over to Piedmont, 1687 West, apartment 23, is what she said. Nice place, kinda sterile, kinda homey, like it's trying to be without getting dirty in the process. Knock on the door. Middle-aged guy answers. He's neatly dressed, moustache, looks like he works for the well to do. "I'm Rick Granger" I tell him "looking for a fellow who used to live at this address." Guy says he only moved in a couple of months ago, doesn't know who was here before that.

Ya, about what I expected. If the lady was looking for this Bartok guy, she'd have already been here and checked. And asked the other tenants or the landlord, and that sort of thing. I could do that too but places like this don't give out information about tenants, or when they left or why, because it's nobody's business if you can afford to live in an upscale place like this.

Best bet is to drive around, see if anything stands out, might could lead to something. There's a small park a few blocks over, green and sunny, with a little duck pond, and benches to sit on in the shade. Ladies walking their dogs, that sorta thing. Seems pretty swell to me, little bitty dogs on a leash. Don't cause no trouble but think they're the cock of the walk cuz they been brought up that way. Kind of a nice life, if you think about it.

There's a deli across the street, and I go over and grab a sandwich and cup of coffee. Feels good to have spending money. Show the guy at the counter the photo. He says Bartok was a regular customer, good tipper. Sounds like a hint. But that's all he's got. Bartok would drop in for lunch, but sat by himself, ate alone, spoke to no one. That's it. Well, maybe he knew a good sandwich when he saw it. Not much to go on though.

Back at the office, I check with the girl at the insurance firm. She takes my calls when I'm not in. I do favors for her too. Says Shirley called, and also Bill Fritz, the guy at county records who I rang up after I called Shirley. Tell her thanks and head up to my office. It's different when I walk in. Shabby little room, poorly furnished, all of a sudden it has a meaning. That's what a job will do for you. And this one has some dough behind it. Gives meaning to everything, even me.

On the phone with Shirley, she gots nuthin' on the rich lady, but Bartok's had a few run-ins with jealous husbands, and cops showing up to handle the violence. Seems he's quite the lady's man, or at least a rake who gets into a few scrapes now and then. I ring up Fritz and he says the Mistletow woman is high society, top tier of the upper crust. Apparently, the wealthy heiress to several deceased husbands, old guys who left her a fortune after brief stints of wedded bliss. I can believe that. 

An odd pair this Bartok and Mistletow, seems they go through lovers like I go through cheap whiskey and cigarettes, burn it and toss it aside. I guess we all do what we can. Anyway, Fritz gave me an address on the girl, so maybe I'll check that out after I ponder this a while. Like to know who I'm dealing with, and why they're pulling my chain.

Spend the rest of the day sprucing up, even got my other suit back from the cleaners. Then head on up to rich folk country. Nice drive, everything looks like you died and went to paradise, up on the hills above the city. Like living in the clouds. Find the place, and the guy at the gate asks me what I want. Kinda like "what are you doing here?" Tell him the lady of the house sent for me. He calls it in, then lets me through the gate. "Yeah partner, I'm one a them, who'd a thought?"

A butler-type shows me in and leads me to the dining room. Pretty dang fancy get up. Like a castle up here in the lofty heights. Waste of time sprucing up for these folks, the hired help dress better'n I do. The fancy lady, Mistletow looks at me and doesn't even flinch. Just says "welcome, won't you join us?" Ya, don't mind if I do. Long table under the chandeliers, looks like a royal feast. But probably just supper to them. 

Mistletow has herself surrounded by folks in fancy dinner dress and evening gowns. An elderly lady's chatting away about an original Rembrandt she's giving to Mistletow "it's been in the family for countless generations, and I'm sure it'll find a good home here with you." The dapper youngish guy seated beside her is likely her son, waiting for his turn at something, I suppose. I grab a seat and the serving staff dishes me up a plate full of food I couldn't afford on a year's worth of work and sweat. Almost forget why I'm here.

"What brings you up this way?" says Mistletow, with a smile. "I was hungry" I tell her, and the table chuckles at that. "Mr. Granger is assisting me" she explains to the others. "You are, aren't you?" she adds. "Yep" I tell her "we can talk about it after dinner."

Later I pull her aside, and ask her what all the mystery's about. Like why'd you pick a peasant like me for your fishing expedition. "I need you to find Chan Bartok" she says. "Okay, but why? He aint no long lost friend of yours." "We can go out to the balcony" she says, leading me along and handing me another glass of champagne. It's cool out here, nice breeze, and the drink sort of calms my nerves.

"What do you think" she says, looking out over the lights high above the city. "It's enchanting" I tell her "like another world. But Barton's gotta be worth more to you than five c-notes." She nods "if I gave you ten times that amount, or a hundred times, would you be happy?" "Ya sure" I tell her "I'm happy right now, just wanna know what I'm doing."

She smiles at that. A smile that could make you forget your own name and where you live. "Finish your drink" she says "and I'll get you another." Ya, what can I do, she's paying for my time, so it's kinda hers to do what she wants. She brings me another glass of champagne and we sit down to relax or get down to business, I hope. Doesn't much matter after that meal and all the booze.

"I'm the last living descendant of Helen of Troy" she says "and of the Romanovs and Hapsburgs." "Ya" I say "and I'm the king of England." She chuckles and sips her drink "then we're related." Again, that smile "but I wouldn't expect that you'd believe me. Who would?" "Okay, so what if I do, what's that mean?" "It means" she says "I need an heir. A child, to continue... this" she waves her hand, as if this was was 'all of this' and maybe 'all of everything.' I don't know.

"And you need.... this fellow Bartok?" Can't imagine why, she could have her pick of anyone, or everyone at once, if you ask me. "Exactly" she says "he's the missing.... ingredient." "Ya so, put an ad in the paper 'stud wanted' urgent." She laughs out loud, maybe feeling the drink as much as I am. "it is" she says "more than you could ever know." "Go on" I say, looking straight into her deep enchanting eyes.

A fellow could get lost in those eyes, and never even care. She seems to be aware of that, and looks away. "We ruled... the world" she says "for much of our history. And now, this country is what's left of that." "No kings here" I tell her "or queens either." "That's why I need your help" she says. "Okay then" I say "whyn't we just grab that fancy pants in there, and call it a day."

"At some point, maybe" she says "but it's not that simple. You see... well, you know what a black widow spider is?" "Sure, it mates and devours." "Yes" she says "and that's the thing. You see, the mating process...is quite fatal...in my case. Not immediately, but the male won't long survive." She looks at me "it's kind of intense, you see." Not at all, but I can imagine. Sounds like a drunk fairy tale. I try to put the pieces together. 

"So... you've had husbands, but no heirs." "Yes" she says "elderly wealthy men. They... weren't up to the requirements. But their wealth was, is, useful. And they were in a sense, satisfied with our arrangements." I can imagine that too. Who wouldn't be. "And this Bartok fellow, he's up to the task?" "Yes" she says "far as we know, he's the only one who is." "So, you'll mate, produce an heir, and then Bartok just crumples up to dust?" "Well, withers away, more likely" she says "but in short order."

Makes me chuckle "lady, you got problems." "Hmm" she says "I'm sure it's nothing you can't handle." Ya, I'd like a shot at it, but apparently I'm not the chosen one. She smiles, as if she could read my mind "it's a bit complicated, isn't it?" "Well" I say "about the money..." "Whatever you want" she says "it's not important. Just that we have to do this...thing." I guess she figures that's all I can handle for now. She goes back to her guests, and the butler-type shows me out.

Crazy girl. I got no idea what she's up to. Her story makes less sense than if she'd left me wandering in the dark. But it's her money, so what do I care. Get back to my place and somehow fall asleep, even with all those crazy ideas running through my head. Don't even remember driving home.

Next morning, I go over to the diner for breakfast. Really nice to have spending money, makes the whole world feel different. But I realize, even with that crazy girl's crazy story, it doesn't make finding this Bartok character any easier. In fact, if he's clued in on this tale, then clearly he don't wanna be found. And even if I find the guy, then what? He gets devoured by the spider? I don't know, it's too crazy to try to think about.

The breakfast is good though, and I can see that girl as descendant of Helen of Troy. She definitely gots the look, and the attitude to go with it. I wonder what that makes me? A knight of some sort, perhaps. The finder of the poor slob who's gonna get et. Ya well, maybe he deserves it. Maybe that's his purpose, and mine too.

I go back to the office and there's an envelope under the door, with a cashier's check for fifty large. Dang, that girl wasn't kidding. Money doesn't mean anything to her. But why would she trust me with it? Then it hits me. She knows. She knew from the first time I saw her, and when she walked out of the office. I gotta do her bidding because she's got me hooked.

I stop at the bank, then head over to the station. Walk into Detective Bigelow's office like I own the place. He looks up from his cluttered desk "so Granger, you come to turn yourself in?" I reach in my coat pocket and accidentally drop an envelope of cash on his desk. "I need a Chan Bartok. Just an address. No questions asked, and nobody knows anything about it." Bigelow looks at the bills poking out of the envelope. "You must want this guy pretty bad." 

I accidentally drop another envelope of cash on the desk. "Just an address. Bartok's untouched unharmed and doesn't even know about it. And nobody else either." Bigelow leans back in his chair, lights up a smoke. "So...as I understand it, you were never here." "You understand it" I tell him. He puts the envelopes in his coat, and I leave. Nice to do business with people who understand business.

Now I just have to wait...and worry. Bigelow's smart enough to do whatever it takes to get a line on Bartok. And just dumb enough to try to shake him down for more money for protection from whoever's looking for him. But that's a risk worth taking. There was an urgency to Mistletow's needs and I reckon time isn't on our side. And whatever crazy plan she's got in mind, I wanna see how it plays out. Damn sure pays well, that's for sure.

I drive over to the park on Piedmont, sit on the bench, watch the ducks float by on the pond. It's relaxing, like the they don't got a care in the world. Might get me a sandwich at the deli in a little bit. A woman in a baggy overcoat sits down beside me, she's wearing sunglasses to block out the beautiful sunshine. "Did you find him yet?" she asks. "I thought that was you" I tell her "nice outfit." You learn not to act surprised, in this business. 

"I like it here" she says "it's pretty." I tell her about the meeting with Bigelow, probably shouldn't have, but I want to see her reaction. She's pretty good at not being surprised too. "You're smart Rick, I like that. But I want Bartok's location when you get it. Just me, not you." "You're paying the bills Clara, so we'll play it your way, that's fine with me." She gets up to leave. I wait a while, then wander over to the deli. 

That gal is crazy, pure plumb crazy. But the sandwich is good. Obviously she's got me followed, to keep tabs on what I'm doing. Oh well, it's makes sense. She can afford it. Probably put a tail on Bigelow too. That's okay, he needs a leash. Odd to think that we're all just little pawns in her game though. But, at least the sandwich was good, and the coffee too.

She couldn't go to Bigelow directly, too many complications. If you have to get rid of him later, that's messy. People can track you. That's why she needed me. Odd that she doesn't trust me though. She oughta know I'm gonna do whatever she wants. Likely most people do. Then again, maybe she's not the trusting type.

I head back to the office, check in with the secretary. "Your friend called" she says. 
"Any name?" I ask. "He just said 'your friend' that's all." "Thanks" i tell her. Would've added 'i owe you one' but then she'd wanna know about collecting it, and I'm kinda busy right now. 

Go up to the office and ring up Bigelow. "I might have a lead on your boy" he tells me. "Ya, friend, gotta tell you though, cash in hand is better than not being able to spend it." "Yeah" he says "I get that. There's a pause, then he says "your boy's holed up over in Minton. A place called the Black Cat." "Thanks friend." "You got it" he says. Kind of surprising, but maybe Bigelow's got more sense than I give him credit for. 

I figure I should ring up Mistletow, let her know. But maybe I oughta check things out first, just to make sure. Go down to the car and the lady in the overcoat is waiting for me. "Let's go" she says. Okay, so she has my phone bugged. No harm in that. Caution is good. Makes me leery though. If nobody trusts anybody, there's gotta be a reason. And usually that means danger can't be far behind. Bigelow sure backed off quick, maybe he knows more'n I do.

Minton's a couple of hours away, up the coast. Long drive, plenty of time for her to fill me in on her 'rule the world' scheme. So of course we both just sit there in silence, watching the road and the miles tick by. Maybe she thinks I'm smart enough to figure it myself. A royal bloodline, since... time began and all points in between. Wealth, power, and an heir groomed to run it. Well, not really my business anyway. I'm just a pawn. And she's the broker.

I let my mind wander, watching the road. Most people never heard of Minton, a nowhere, out of the way place. Except for the Black Cat Club, a dive for low-lifes and underworld types. Not a bad place, I been there. But you gotta feel lucky to have been there and come out alive. Wonder if she knows that.

After all the miles and minutes, we finally get to the place and it's deserted. Dead inside except for a couple of stragglers lounging around. Sit at the bar and order a drink. "Looking for Chan Bartok" I say, handing the bartender a c-note. "You a friend of his?" he asks. "We're all friends" i say, handing him four more. "Ya" he says, pocketing the bills "he was here. Left a little bit ago, went down to the beach. It's the dirt road, out back, just follow it down." 

We get back in the car and start it up but a hooded figure with a gun pops up from the back seat. "Just drive" he says "I'll tell you where." The girl takes off her sunglasses "Chan, good to see you. It's been a while." "Not long enough" he says "who's the driver?" "Chan, this Rick. Rick, Chan." "Pleased to meet you" I say. "Not likely" he replies "by the way, Driver, steer with your right hand, reach in your coat with your left, and hand me that little pocket pistol you got." I do as he says. Seems nobody trusts anybody around here.

He directs us to a winding road along the coast, tree-covered in places, poorly maintained, ruts everywhere. Like a path to nowhere. We get to a clearing, and there's a giant old mansion, up on a hill. Overlooks the ocean. Likely gonna tumble down and fall in one day. Getting dark now but we get out and go inside. Fine by me, every minute he doesn't execute us, is a good thing. 

It's creepy, spooky, in the old place. Musta been a swell mansion in its day though. Solid, massive, impressive. "Tie him to the railing" he tells the girl. There's length of rope at the base of the stairwell. Apparently he's got this planned out. They go up  the stairs and into a room off the hallway. I sit there, wondering how tightly she tied me up. But she did it too good, can't get loose, can't hardly wiggle. 

I can hear them, though, thrashing and shrieking, tearing the place apart, like alley cats fighting over a dead rat. Cats got better manners though. More sophisticated as the girl would say. And pitch black out now, can't see a thing, except a pale ray of moonlight draping down the stairway. Must be a full moon, cuz i can see the dust flittering though the dim light. It goes on forever upstairs, hard to tell who's winning. Not me, that's for sure.

The door creaks open and the girl stumbles out, toward the stairwell. Looks like she's dead, hard to tell in the darkness. Hair disheveled, naked except for a torn and bloody silk slip, and white as a ghost. Like she's been through hell. Bartok appears at the top of the stairs, behind the girl. He's beaming, glowing like a mad man or a vampire who's sucked his victim dry. 

The girl stumbles backward, and he catches her as she falls. She takes hold of his hand with hers, and you can see the life drain out of him. Her eyes glow and suddenly she's radiant and fully alive. "It's finished" she tells me "we can go home now." "And Bartok?" I ask. "He was one of us" she says "part of the lineage. But it took a while to find him."