it all makes sense,” Todd said.
“Doesn’t make any sense at all. You’re a young guy, you’re pissed off at the world, so you put on a pair of tights and a mask to fight crime? Come on. Try it. See how far you get.”
“I don’t fight crime,” Todd said. “I clean it up.”
“Not only does the public accept this nonsense, it flocks to movie theaters to see it. These movies aren’t just popular, they are phenomenal hits all over the world. I don’t get it, I really don’t.”
“That’s why all these movies are set in big Northeast cities,” Todd said. “Can you imagine your average superhero in tights and a mask down here? Too hot. He’d have to wear a bathing suit.”
The electric keyboard player crooned “My Heart Will Go On.” Freddie nudged Tree. “Who can resist?”
“Not me,” Tree said.
She put her drink on the bar and led him onto the dance floor. Tree told her about his encounter with Elizabeth Traven.
“Elizabeth Traven came to see you?”
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
“This afternoon?”
“This morning, first thing, actually.”
Freddie shifted against him. He held her close.
“No comment?” Tree said.
“She’s a hottie.”
“A hottie?” His mind flashed to a view of Elizabeth Traven’s legs. “She’s too old to be a hottie.”
“Tree, she’s still a hottie.” Freddie, adamant.
“She wrote a book on Marx. The philosopher. Not one of the brothers.”
“Stalin, too. She’s very anti-communist.”
“She’s doing Trotsky. One of my favorite communists.”
“Her books are doorstoppers,” Freddie said. “I’m surprised she has the time, what with her interestingly checkered past.”
“We all have one of those.”
“An interestingly checkered past? Not me.”
“Two ex-husbands? That’s checkered.”
“Just seems boring to me.”
“Maybe that’s how Elizabeth sees her life,” Tree said.
“The rumors about Bill Clinton?”
“There are rumors about Bill Clinton and everyone.”
“Not about Bill and me,” Freddie said.
“One of the reasons I married you,” he said. “Everyone else was sleeping with Bill Clinton.”
“Either that or you had already married them.”
“Ha. Ha,” Tree said.
Across the bar, Ray Dayton let out a victorious whoop. A helmeted gladiator on the big screen TV had won his approval. Mr. Ray didn’t attend Fun Friday every week but when he did, he dragged Freddie along. She insisted Tree be present for moral support—and also to provide the escape route when the combination of beer and sports took their toll on her boss.
The song ended. They moved off the dance floor. Freddie said, “I hate to say something cliché like, ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’”
“But?”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Tree had been wondering the same thing but he didn’t like to admit it to Freddie. You could say you were a detective all you wanted, but actually being a detective with a client, well, that was something else.
“To me this sounds like another situation where the person ought to go to the police,” Freddie continued.
“Elizabeth Traven should go to the police?”
“Don’t you think so?”
“She shouldn’t have come to me?”
“Let me put this as gently as possible: why would she come to you?”
“She saw my ad. She said she was driving past and decided to stop. On a whim.”
“For which she paid fifteen hundred dollars in advance.”
“Small change as far as she’s concerned,” Tree said.
Freddie didn’t respond.
“I can do this,” Tree said, as much to convince himself as Freddie.
“Can you?”
“Supposing she goes to the police. What does she tell them? ‘This woman has done nothing to me, but I’m nervous and suspicious.’ The police aren’t going to do anything. They can’t.”
“Okay, the police can’t do anything. What can you do?”
“Something,” said Tree.
“Something doesn’t sound like much of anything,
“Doesn’t make any sense at all. You’re a young guy, you’re pissed off at the world, so you put on a pair of tights and a mask to fight crime? Come on. Try it. See how far you get.”
“I don’t fight crime,” Todd said. “I clean it up.”
“Not only does the public accept this nonsense, it flocks to movie theaters to see it. These movies aren’t just popular, they are phenomenal hits all over the world. I don’t get it, I really don’t.”
“That’s why all these movies are set in big Northeast cities,” Todd said. “Can you imagine your average superhero in tights and a mask down here? Too hot. He’d have to wear a bathing suit.”
The electric keyboard player crooned “My Heart Will Go On.” Freddie nudged Tree. “Who can resist?”
“Not me,” Tree said.
She put her drink on the bar and led him onto the dance floor. Tree told her about his encounter with Elizabeth Traven.
“Elizabeth Traven came to see you?”
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
“This afternoon?”
“This morning, first thing, actually.”
Freddie shifted against him. He held her close.
“No comment?” Tree said.
“She’s a hottie.”
“A hottie?” His mind flashed to a view of Elizabeth Traven’s legs. “She’s too old to be a hottie.”
“Tree, she’s still a hottie.” Freddie, adamant.
“She wrote a book on Marx. The philosopher. Not one of the brothers.”
“Stalin, too. She’s very anti-communist.”
“She’s doing Trotsky. One of my favorite communists.”
“Her books are doorstoppers,” Freddie said. “I’m surprised she has the time, what with her interestingly checkered past.”
“We all have one of those.”
“An interestingly checkered past? Not me.”
“Two ex-husbands? That’s checkered.”
“Just seems boring to me.”
“Maybe that’s how Elizabeth sees her life,” Tree said.
“The rumors about Bill Clinton?”
“There are rumors about Bill Clinton and everyone.”
“Not about Bill and me,” Freddie said.
“One of the reasons I married you,” he said. “Everyone else was sleeping with Bill Clinton.”
“Either that or you had already married them.”
“Ha. Ha,” Tree said.
Across the bar, Ray Dayton let out a victorious whoop. A helmeted gladiator on the big screen TV had won his approval. Mr. Ray didn’t attend Fun Friday every week but when he did, he dragged Freddie along. She insisted Tree be present for moral support—and also to provide the escape route when the combination of beer and sports took their toll on her boss.
The song ended. They moved off the dance floor. Freddie said, “I hate to say something cliché like, ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’”
“But?”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Tree had been wondering the same thing but he didn’t like to admit it to Freddie. You could say you were a detective all you wanted, but actually being a detective with a client, well, that was something else.
“To me this sounds like another situation where the person ought to go to the police,” Freddie continued.
“Elizabeth Traven should go to the police?”
“Don’t you think so?”
“She shouldn’t have come to me?”
“Let me put this as gently as possible: why would she come to you?”
“She saw my ad. She said she was driving past and decided to stop. On a whim.”
“For which she paid fifteen hundred dollars in advance.”
“Small change as far as she’s concerned,” Tree said.
Freddie didn’t respond.
“I can do this,” Tree said, as much to convince himself as Freddie.
“Can you?”
“Supposing she goes to the police. What does she tell them? ‘This woman has done nothing to me, but I’m nervous and suspicious.’ The police aren’t going to do anything. They can’t.”
“Okay, the police can’t do anything. What can you do?”
“Something,” said Tree.
“Something doesn’t sound like much of anything,
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