to be asked what he wanted. On the other hand, the
detective knew John had called for some reason or John wouldn't
have left a message on the man's machine. Worried, tired,
discouraged, John was now arguing with himself. "What I phoned
about is a missing person." Silence on the line. "A girl is
missing."
"Daughter?"
"Not my daughter." Silence again, the
P.I. not making this any easier. "A ... friend."
"Call the police?"
"Ah ... no." What did John say next?
Not the truth, certainly. "She's just a friend. Staying with me.
She may not even be missing. That's why I haven't notified the
police." Another profound silence. "She's been staying with me to
escape ... an abusive husband." Pretty lame. "I'm a college
instructor at Hill Top College." Maybe that would make it sound
like John wasn't hunting down his own girl friend.
"How young?"
An interesting question. John had
never decided. While Platinia had the physical look of a child, she
had ... experienced eyes. "Early twenties. But she looks younger.
Is small."
"Two-hundred a day." That was a lot of
money for John.
"That's really more than I can
...."
"Includes expenses." The detective was
still using that whisper of a voice -- perhaps the man's normal
sound.
"Still ...."
"Results Guaranteed."
John thought of his abused bank
account. He could hardly afford one day at those prices. Still,
John had to try something. He guessed he could get a
loan.
"I can only buy a couple of days of
your time. Three, at the outside."
"I don't find her, you don't
pay."
"Sounds fair." More than fair,
actually.
"1836 Chouteau."
"What?"
"Office. In the Ludlow Building. Need
some facts. The number is 16. At 2:00."
"I'll be there."
* * * * *
The phone conversation -- if that's
what you could call it -- followed by the interview, had taken
place four days ago.
Four days!
Call him Z, the man had said as he
began to take John's description of Platinia.
A big man with a limp, was John's
first impression when the P.I. answered his office door. Short gray
hair. Lined face. A taciturn man with a voice as strangled as his
eyes were pale.
Entering, John had found the two room
office to be as ratty as the man. But what did P.I.s -- to say
nothing of their offices -- look like, anyway?
The phone rang, returning John to his
own office.
Paul picked up.
"Hi, hon."
Had to be Ellen.
Another moment of listening before the
big man scraped back his chair.
"I'm on my way!"
With that, Paul slammed down the
receiver, was up and reaching for his coat on the hook behind the
door.
"What?" John asked, alarmed. Paul
never moved that fast.
"The baby's coming," Paul barked, his
forehead a scowl of wrinkles. "She's taking the other car to the
hospital. No danger of it coming yet. Said not to
worry."
"You don't look worried." By this
time, Paul had his hat on -- backward. Was scrambling into his
overcoat."
"What?"
"Never mind. Can I do
something?"
"Get my classes posted for tomorrow --
just in case. Call the secretary. Tell her I'm off campus for as
long as it takes."
"Right. And listen, Paul. Good
luck!"
Paul tried to grin. "Thanks, John.
We're due for some with this one."
"I know."
Beautiful Ellen had a difficult
pregnancy.
"Everything's going to be all right,"
John said, Paul already rolling like a bowling ball angry at the
pins.
* * * * *
A baby girl. Though, like the
pregnancy, the birth hadn't gone well, Ellen with bleeding
problems.
John had seen a haggard Paul briefly
on Friday when Papa Bear had come to school, cheap cigars in hand,
Ellen off the critical list by then.
With permission, John had gone to see
Ellen on Saturday, finding her weak, but obviously on the
mend.
After a deliberately short visit, Paul
took John down the hall to the nursery to see the new baby. Like
all new babies, looking like ... bait.
* * * * *
Nothing on Platinia's whereabouts by
that Saturday afternoon.
To keep his mind off both Platinia and
Ellen, John decided to carry the
detective knew John had called for some reason or John wouldn't
have left a message on the man's machine. Worried, tired,
discouraged, John was now arguing with himself. "What I phoned
about is a missing person." Silence on the line. "A girl is
missing."
"Daughter?"
"Not my daughter." Silence again, the
P.I. not making this any easier. "A ... friend."
"Call the police?"
"Ah ... no." What did John say next?
Not the truth, certainly. "She's just a friend. Staying with me.
She may not even be missing. That's why I haven't notified the
police." Another profound silence. "She's been staying with me to
escape ... an abusive husband." Pretty lame. "I'm a college
instructor at Hill Top College." Maybe that would make it sound
like John wasn't hunting down his own girl friend.
"How young?"
An interesting question. John had
never decided. While Platinia had the physical look of a child, she
had ... experienced eyes. "Early twenties. But she looks younger.
Is small."
"Two-hundred a day." That was a lot of
money for John.
"That's really more than I can
...."
"Includes expenses." The detective was
still using that whisper of a voice -- perhaps the man's normal
sound.
"Still ...."
"Results Guaranteed."
John thought of his abused bank
account. He could hardly afford one day at those prices. Still,
John had to try something. He guessed he could get a
loan.
"I can only buy a couple of days of
your time. Three, at the outside."
"I don't find her, you don't
pay."
"Sounds fair." More than fair,
actually.
"1836 Chouteau."
"What?"
"Office. In the Ludlow Building. Need
some facts. The number is 16. At 2:00."
"I'll be there."
* * * * *
The phone conversation -- if that's
what you could call it -- followed by the interview, had taken
place four days ago.
Four days!
Call him Z, the man had said as he
began to take John's description of Platinia.
A big man with a limp, was John's
first impression when the P.I. answered his office door. Short gray
hair. Lined face. A taciturn man with a voice as strangled as his
eyes were pale.
Entering, John had found the two room
office to be as ratty as the man. But what did P.I.s -- to say
nothing of their offices -- look like, anyway?
The phone rang, returning John to his
own office.
Paul picked up.
"Hi, hon."
Had to be Ellen.
Another moment of listening before the
big man scraped back his chair.
"I'm on my way!"
With that, Paul slammed down the
receiver, was up and reaching for his coat on the hook behind the
door.
"What?" John asked, alarmed. Paul
never moved that fast.
"The baby's coming," Paul barked, his
forehead a scowl of wrinkles. "She's taking the other car to the
hospital. No danger of it coming yet. Said not to
worry."
"You don't look worried." By this
time, Paul had his hat on -- backward. Was scrambling into his
overcoat."
"What?"
"Never mind. Can I do
something?"
"Get my classes posted for tomorrow --
just in case. Call the secretary. Tell her I'm off campus for as
long as it takes."
"Right. And listen, Paul. Good
luck!"
Paul tried to grin. "Thanks, John.
We're due for some with this one."
"I know."
Beautiful Ellen had a difficult
pregnancy.
"Everything's going to be all right,"
John said, Paul already rolling like a bowling ball angry at the
pins.
* * * * *
A baby girl. Though, like the
pregnancy, the birth hadn't gone well, Ellen with bleeding
problems.
John had seen a haggard Paul briefly
on Friday when Papa Bear had come to school, cheap cigars in hand,
Ellen off the critical list by then.
With permission, John had gone to see
Ellen on Saturday, finding her weak, but obviously on the
mend.
After a deliberately short visit, Paul
took John down the hall to the nursery to see the new baby. Like
all new babies, looking like ... bait.
* * * * *
Nothing on Platinia's whereabouts by
that Saturday afternoon.
To keep his mind off both Platinia and
Ellen, John decided to carry the
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