One of Those Nights

It was one of those nights. The kind of night that brings the wild out of some and makes the rest tuck into their beds with the lights still burning. Just over six months ago, I hired on as muscle for a sweet little number named Queenie Delgado. She’s tough, claims she’s walked the worst streets of London, LA, Rome and now, New York. Who knows, maybe she even has. She’s a PI, and she’s got a well earned reputation for being one of the best.



“Hey, Mountain Man. Come over here and dance those fingers of yours through these newspapers while I check these blogs for mention of Johnny Rose.”

I ambled over to the table where Queenie had stacked three or four of today’s papers.

“You know I don’t like it when you call me Mountain Man. Makes me sound like some kinda hillbilly hick with nothin’ but a goat, a dog, and a shotgun.” Our eyes connected and we finished the last line of our strange ritual together.

“And the shotgun is only to keep the goat from refusing unwanted advances.”

Queenie’s laugh was like rainbows breaking through the clouds. The sound would nudge you out of whatever bad mood happened to have you in its clutches and bring a smile to your lips before you knew it.

“Man, I never get tired of that one.” She let out a gusty sigh then turned back to the computer screen once more. “Seriously though, we gotta figure out where this jerk is gonna be tonight. We need something solid on him. Something he can’t wiggle out of or twist to make himself look like the victim.”

We settled down to our respective reading, me looking for a social event to fit Johnny’s MO and Queenie to see if he or his friends were doing any bragging in cyberspace. You’d be amazed at how many idiots think the Internet is a safe place to air your dirty laundry. An anonymous world where nobody can track you down, knows your real name or what you look like - as I said, idiots.

All you need is somebody like Queenie on your side. She parks her cute little keister in front of the monitor, starts chewing on her lower lip in a way that you know she’s not even aware of and then her fingers start whirling over the keyboard. If you left your junk on the Web, she’ll find it.

“Hey, Q, I think I found-“

“Gotcha!”

I’d been looking down when Queenie hollered and threw herself onto my lap, startling a couple years off the end of my life. In her enthusiasm, she came close enough to damaging her favourite toy to make me wince in anticipation of pain that – thankfully - didn’t come.

“What did you find, Sugar?” She started to nuzzle my neck and my concentration deserted me until she stopped teasing. Grinning, she repeated her question.

“Oh yeah. There’s a high society shindig goin’ on in Central Park, lots of jewels, lots of avenues for escape. Bound to be security but how do you stop everyone from going for midnight strolls?”

“You can’t. It’s perfect.” She stood and cast me a hazel-eyed wink. “Pull on your penguin suit, Boyo, we gotta party to crash.”

***

“Stop pullin’ at your tie.” Queenie spoke to me in a low undertone. Her toothy smile didn’t alter in the slightest. She was in her element, nodding and chatting as if she were the hostess being gracious to her guests – basically living up to her name. She looked stunning in a black sheath dress, her hair piled in a mass of auburn curls atop her head, her make-up giving the illusion of sloe-eyed, exotic beauty and enchantment. We were trying to ‘see and be seen’, trying to show off the gaudy paste hanging from her neck and earlobes, circling her wrist and dripping off her fingers.

The idea, Queenie’s of course, was to become the perfect bait for our elusive jewel thief. Let him ‘see’ the goods, then, the two of us would not so discreetly touch and caress and discover an overwhelming urge to take a walk in the air of Central Park – away from the party - alone.

We were hired by a casualty of Johnny Rose; dubbed this by the papers because of his penchant for leaving a red rose in place of his victim’s baubles. Personally, I think the guy watches too many movies. Seems our employer and his paramour were wandering drunkenly towards their love nest after a particularly high-end celebration. According to the lovely miss in question, Johnny was very polite and dressed impeccably behind the gun he pointed in their direction.

For the sake of protecting client confidentiality, we will call the man who hired us, Mr. X. Now, Mr. X didn’t phone the cops because he didn’t want Mrs. X to become aware of his cheating ways but neither did he want Johnny Rose to get away with the very expensive trinkets he’d given to his perky young lady. So, now we’re dressed to the nines, doing our best to appear like flighty, harmless social climbers with more money than sense. Easy.

“Okay, tough guy, are you ready to take a hike into the wilds of New York? Things are showing signs of winding down now. He usually takes his vics towards the end of the evening.” Queenie draped her arms around my hips, drawing them nearer to her own.

“Lead on, Milady.” I stepped back from her and executed a bow, my right arm held out towards a path leading deeper into the park. She hooked her arm through my left one and leaned in to whisper in my ear.

“Nicely done, Romeo.”

We wandered down the darkest path, leaving the festivities behind, giving the impression of being in our own personal bubble while actually keeping all of our senses wide open.

It was close to an hour later when Queenie drew my attention from the surrounding area.

“Do you think Johnny Rose is skulking behind a bush somewhere up ahead?” I knew the breathy quality to her question was caused by anticipation rather than fear.

“Don’t know. We’re far enough away from the lights and security of the party.” I tugged her closer to me. “If I were in a skulking frame of mind I’d probably be waiting in that patch of darkness between the lights. It’s the best place I’ve seen for an ambush so far.”

“You remember what to do, right?”

“Y’betcha, babe.”

My heart began to pick up its pace to match Queenie’s. I could feel her pulse burning a tattoo into my arm where she had her chest pressed tightly to me. Then a chill as she loosened her grip to prepare for the encroaching gloomy spot just steps away. Before you could say ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash’ we were in the next pool of light.

I stopped and turned towards Queenie. “I’d say this is a wash.”

“You’re probably right. Dang it all! I was sure this would work. Guess we should call it a night and head for the apartment. My dogs are killing me.”

She slipped her arm around my waist and I cradled mine around her shoulders. We made plans for how to proceed with the investigation while heading back towards the lights of the party.

“Excuse me.”

The voice came from behind us. Queenie tensed. I tensed. We both turned. Lo and behold, the infamous Johnny Rose stood behind us wearing a politely curious smile. His right hand pointing what looked to be a flat-black Heckler & Koch in our direction, his left was clutching a single long-stemmed rose and a small velvet bag – presumably for the loot. Queenie launched into flustered debutant mode.

“Oh my! What do you think you are doing? What’s happening? Honey?” She pivoted to face me, winked, and fell into a dramatic swoon. Playing my part, I caught her and pretended to stumble with her weight to within grabbing distance of Johnny Rose. His mother must have drilled at least some manners into his head before he turned to a life of crime, because the hand holding the gun dipped and he moved half a step forward before catching himself.

That was all the opportunity I needed. I dropped Queenie and reached up. Grabbing hold of his arm with the piece in it I pulled him hard towards me. His face filled with shock and he let out a sharp yelp of surprise as he stumbled to one knee, releasing the bag and the rose. When he pulled back his free arm to clock me one, I shot my own across to break his nose. The pain must have been something awful because he forgot all about the gun in his hand and allowed Queenie to take it without much of a struggle while he set to howling. Kind of an oddly wet sound mixed with a lot of profanity I won’t repeat.

The moment I let go of his wrist he turned tail and ran, shouting promises of retribution. I guess not all of his mother’s lessons sank in.

“Somebody’s coming. You hear that? Sounds like a horse.”

“It’s a mounted police officer. Quick, ditch the gun.”

Queenie tossed it into a nearby bush and then managed to produce real tears. She threw herself into my arms and began sobbing just before the cop came cantering up.

“What seems to be the problem here?”

“Oh, Officer! That dreadful Johnny Rose just tried to steal my jewellery. Look, there’s his rose. He must have heard you coming because he ran off in that direction.” She pointed down the path. “Quick! He’s going to get away if you don’t hurry.”

I could see dreams of glory shining in the young patrolman’s eyes. “You two head for that lamp post right there and stay put. I’m going to call this in and another officer will be right here to get your statements.” And with that, he spurred his horse in the direction of the now luckless Johnny Rose.

“Did you get it?”

“What kind of schmuck do you take me for? Course I got it.” Beaming like a couple of teens playing hooky, we ignored the cop’s instructions to stay by the light post and hustled towards the nearest park exit after we retrieved Johnny’s gun from the bushes. Wiping it down, we left it with the bag and the rose where the police would be sure to find it. Hopefully this guy was dumb enough to carry a gun registered in his name.

We didn’t speak until we were safely inside of one of New York’s finest yellow conveyances.

“Show me.”

I grinned at the impatience in Queenie’s voice and deliberately drew out Johnny’s wallet in a slow, teasing manner. She snatched it from my hand and crowed with delight while she riffled through its contents.

“Mr. Victor Peterson! No wonder he liked Johnny Rose so much better. His real name is so ... generic. Should we head straight for Mr. X with this? Big payday once we do.”

“Nah, we should wait. Listen to the police scanner and see if that cowboy cop got his man. If he did, then we hand over the address. I think it might be safer for Johnny if he’s in jail when Mr. X searches his apartment for his missing belongings.”

We paused our conversation to pay the cabbie and head into our building. Queenie appeared thoughtful before finally saying, “You’re right. And by the way, Mister, if you ever drop me on my best asset like that again I might have to give you the boot.”

She laughed as she put a hand on either side of my face and pulled me towards her for a passion filled kiss.

The police did capture Victor Peterson, aka, Johnny Rose and no, the gun he carried was unregistered but it did have enough partial prints on the bullets to mark it as his. The missing ‘couple’ is being encouraged to go to the nearest police station and present themselves for questioning. Mr. X paid us for Johnny’s address but the guy he hired to steal back his mistress’ jewellery wasn’t very good. He got caught and sang like a canary. Mrs. X is currently filing for a divorce.

Queenie and I created a few more memories that night, but my mother raised me right so you won’t hear any details from me. I’ll only remind you of what I said earlier; it was one of those nights. The kind of night that brings the wild out of some and makes the rest tuck into their beds with the lights still burning. Maybe we indulged in a little of both.