The Cool Blue Blog

Third Eye

SIX

It was midnight by the time I made it back to the office. Izzy was there.

“Anything?” I asked.

“Nada,” he said, then opened his notebook. “According to Isaac’s notes, Ms Parker was staying at the Windom Arms on Central and 56th. So I took my ass over there and let myself in.”

“You engaged in no criminal activity I hope.”

Izzy deadpanned.

“Just as I thought,” I said, “Continue.”

Third Eye

FIVE

Isaac was working a protection case. The lovely, if somewhat self-absorbed, Ms. Bethany Parker felt threatened by her former boss, a minor mob enforcer who was under the impression that Ms Parker had done him wrong. Exactly why she (or he) felt that way was unclear to both Izzy and me. Now that Isaac had been murdered and the whereabouts of Ms Parker unknown, we decided that our first approach was to assume the two facts were related. So Izzy was to go through Isaac’s notes and see if he could locate Ms Parker while I would investigate the murder scene.

It sounded reasonable at the time.

Third Eye

FOUR

I got back to the office around 9pm. Lieutenant Corrizo was sitting in my chair which was fairly unusual. Izzy was in my client chair.

“Corrizo,” I said, “Slummin’ late, ain’t ya?”

“Ian,” he said as he stood. He looked serious.

“Drink?” I offered.

“Nah, I’m working. Thanks.”

“Izzy?”

“Sure, boss.”

I went to the cabinet and did some mixing. “So what you workin’ on?”

I delivered Izzy his drink and Corrizo pointed to the desk where, on top of a plastic baggy sat my 9mm automatic.

“That yours?”

I reached for it but Corrizo stopped me.

“Don’t touch,” he warned, “Is it yours?”

I looked at it. “Yeah, looks like it. Where’d you find it?”

“At a murder scene.”

“Oh yeah? Who got killed?”

His face grew more grim and he looked at Izzy. Izzy looked grim. I got a bad feeling.

Izzy spoke. “Ian,” he began, “Isaac’s dead.”

That knocked the wind out of me. I felt dizzy all of a sudden and I swayed imperceptibly (I think).

“How?” I stammered.

“Shot twice. Once through the heart.” Corrizo said.

I regained myself. “Do we know who did it.”

“Well, you’re the prime suspect, this being your gun and all. He was killed with a nine and we’re doing the ballistics now. But it’s likely the bullet came from this gun. So I need to know where you been in the last 2 hours or so.”

I nodded. Izzy was studying me. Even though I know he didn’t think I killed Isaac, I also know he was looking for reassurance.

“I was down in the Sty, detecting. Visiting with a woman psychic a client asked me to look in to.”

Corrizo nodded. “You can give me a name?”

My thoughts were racing and I almost didn’t hear what he said. But I know the drill and I caught the last part and knew what he wanted. I wrote down Isis’ name, address and phone number on the back of my business card and handed it to him.

“Has someone told Jenny yet?” Isaac’s wife.

Izzy looked at his shoes, convinced I didn’t murder our partner.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “She knows.”

“One more thing,” Corrizo said, “I need to test you for cordite.”

“Sure.”

Corrizo produced some swab packets, broke one open and swabbed my right hand. Then he used the other packet on my left.

“Looks clean,” he said and he put these safely away, “but the lab will decide, you know.”

“I know. I’m clean.”

“Good.” He nodded.

Corrizo took a hankie and put the gun in the bag, and then he put the card I gave him away and headed for the door.

“I’ll look into this. And Ian…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry about Isaac,” he said. “He was a good man.”

“Yeah, he was,” I said. “Hey, Corrizo…”

“Yeah.”

“Where was he found?”

“In an alley in Ohi.”

“What the hell was he doing there?” I said.

Corrizo shrugged. “I’ll be in touch” he said, then left.

I sat down in my chair and looked at Izzy. He looked at me.

“Damn,” I said.

“Damn.”

Third Eye

THREE

It took me an hour to drive across town in rush-hour traffic. All that driving made me hungry so I stopped at a joint I knew that served a good steak and beer. The waitress was moderately notable.

When I finished, I drove the 10 minutes to the place of employment for Ms. Isis Grant, alleged psychic and con-person. It was a residential address in a working-class neighborhood known locally as The Sty. Back in the sixty’s, the development was called Stuyvesant Acres. None of the smallish mix of colonial and ranch-style houses had more than a quarter-acre of property, but there you have it. Over the years, those who bought these modestly priced starter homes in suburbia moved on and the area moved down a notch or two. The homes were still rather nicely kept for the most part, but The Sty is what it was called anyway, even by the residents.

The sun was nearly down, and the lone Willow in the front yard cast a shadow long enough to reach into the street. There was a sign on the lawn advertising Isis’ abilities: Astrology, Palm Reading, Tarot Cards, Crystals. I thought that was a pretty impressive array, though I didn’t know how “crystals” fit in. I’m so uninformed about some things.

I knocked on the door and after a while, a rather remarkable looking woman in her late 20’s early 30’s answered the door. Debunking was going to be harder than I thought.

“Yes?” she said.

“Hello, I heard you help people talk to relatives who have passed to the other side.” I thought that sounded about right. But she gave me a hard stare and didn’t answer.

“I would like to contact my recently deceased Uncle Ted,” I continued hoping for some response.

“Uh huh.”

Great, I thought, progress.

“So can you help me?”

She continued with the hard look, then threw open the door, “This way,” she said and I was lead into a small living room, nicely appointed in a sort of modern kitsch.

She motioned me to the couch and she sat in a severe leather chair.

“This is where you, um, work?”

“No, this is where I find out what you’re doing here.”

“I told you, I have an Uncle…”

“Ted.”

“Yes, and…”

“You do not have an Uncle Ted.” She said matter-of-factly.

Hmmmm. I studied her. Raven dark hair; pale green eyes; nice rack; healthy. And she wasn’t buying a word I said.

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. People often can’t stand silence between strangers and usually they start talking just because they are uncomfortable. Isis was not at all uncomfortable and just sat there waiting for me to say something.

Steely-eyed.

A beautiful, steely-eyed psychic. Just my luck.

Finally I said, “Do too.”

She smiled, looked down and shook her head. Beautiful. But I was on the job and revealed nothing.

She looked up at me and said, “OK, you want me to tell you what I know? I know you’re a private detective. And you have come here to reveal me as a charlatan.”

“Charlatan,” I said.

“But you have a problem,” she continued.

“And what would that be?”

“I’m not. So you can go back and tell your client, which would likely be Mr Roberts, what you have found out and you can get your money and go catch a murderer or something. ‘Kay?” She popped up. I got up too. Actually, I didn’t know what else to do. Her being right and all caught me off guard.

“Besides, I don’t see his mother any more. She’s found peace and no longer requires my talents.” She walked to the door and opened it. She looked great coming and going.

She looked me in the eyes and said, “Will that be all?”

My mouth wanted to drop open but I maintained my cool and kept it shut.

“Um, yeah,” I didn’t like this gig anyway. I headed out the door then stopped, turned around and was about to ask her for a date when she said:

“I suppose.”

“Excuse me?”

“I suppose we could try one dinner. You are kind of cute. And I sense you’re a better conversationalist when you’re not quite so off balance. Tomorrow at eight, you pick me up here” she said as she was closing the door.

“Don’t be late,” she said and closed the door.

Wow.

Third Eye

Two

I’m not a technical guy. I’m more of a shining knight-handsome rover-silver tongued devil kinda guy. Izzy is the technical guy.

Izzy was trained in the US Special Forces as a commo guy. He has a wizzy military issue communications implant, lovingly upgraded and enhanced by the best black market profiteers in the world. He keeps the office computers running smoothly so I can e-mail women whenever I want. It also helps when I need to do detecting which is how I earn my daily bread (and meet women).

So when I picked up the phone on my desk, I knew it would work because Izzy makes it so.

“Hey Izzy.”

“Yeah boss.” Izzy called me that but I’m not his boss. He, Isaac and I are equal partners.

“Has Isaac checked in yet?”

“Nope. Last heard from him about three hours ago. He was still hanging with the babe.”

“You mean the protectee?”

“Yeah her.”

“OK. I’ll be checking out of the office for while. I have to do some detecting for the new client.”

“The nerdy guy?”

“Who you callin’ a nerd?”

“OK, the mama’s boy?”

“That’s him.”

“Anything dangerous?” I could hear the hopefulness in his voice.

“Nah. I must debunk. But I may get to talk to dead people.”

“Huh.”

I hung up and went to the weapons locker, pressed my thumb against the lock, and it slid open. Something was missing. I signed out a Glock and went back to the phone.

“Hey Izzy.”

“Yeah boss.”

“You seen my nine?”

“Nope. Maybe Isaac took it.”

“Yeah, maybe. But his Smith is gone too. Do me a favor and check the logs, willya?”

“Yeah.”

“OK, later.”

I left the office but the missing nine bothered me.

Third Eye

One

He dressed well, I’ll give him that. I’m not one to turn down work from someone who could pay and he certainly looked like he could pay. Still, he didn’t seem to have much in the way of social skills and that always makes me a bit uncomfortable. I just never know how such people are going to take things. He sat straight in his chair, hands clasped between his legs. It looked uncomfortable to me.

“My mother is visiting a psychic,” he said.

“Uh huh.”

“I would like you to debunk her.”

“Your mother?”

“No, the psychic.”

“Debunk?”

“Yes. You know, discredit her. Show her to be a phony con-person.”

“Con-person.”

“Yes. Can you do that?”

“Sure. But what if she’s not a, you know, con-person?”

He stared at me in disbelief.

“Well of course she’s a con person. She’s convinced my mother she can contact the dead. Specifically, my father.”

“Ah.”

“So you’ll do something?”

“Of course. I’ll need the name and address of the, um, con-person and a retainer.”

He handed me a piece of paper and an envelope with money.

“So what’s you’re strategy?”

“I shall debunk.”