The Trench Coat

I was about to point out a couple of other features, but Mae stood and came to the desk to look at the computer screen. She put a hand on both of my shoulders. Her hair brushed the back of my head as she leaned close. I caught a whiff of her scent. Woody, spicy, earthy, primal. Like the woman herself.

"What's next in the story?" She asked, leaning a little closer. I felt pressure from her hands on my shoulders, and softness behind my head. Was that her breasts pressing against me?

"I don't remember specifically. I think Sam, Caspar, Joel and Brigid meet to make a deal for the bird, find a patsy to take the fall and move on. It's sort of complicated. Sam is falling for Brigid, but he knows she killed his partner, Miles Archer."

"So, happily ever after?"

"No, Sam has tipped off the police. They show up and arrest Brigid for murder. Bogie / Sam says he'll wait for her. 'I hope they don't hang you by that pretty little neck' he tells her. Caspar and Joel leave to pursue the Falcon. That's when Bogie delivers the line about the stuff that dreams are made of. Fade to Black."

"Do they ever find it?" her hands fell from my shoulders to rest on my chest.

"I don't know," I said "This was before the invention of the sequel in 1957. For which I blame television."

"What are we going to do?"

"I need to concentrate. Focus. Clear my mind." What would a real detective do? Mike Hammer would have another shot of whisky. Travis McGee would down some Boodles Gin. Archie Goodwin would sip milk as he retrieved a gun from the safe. I thought about Mae being naked under my trench coat

"You know a great way to clear the mind?" She asked in a hoarse whisper.

"No."

She removed her hands. I heard the rustle of fabric and a soft plop.

"Sex. Nothing like a good fuck to clear your head. Both of them. Stand up Ted."

I stood and turned to face a beautiful woman, naked except for her pumps and necklace. I was able to confirm my brief impression from earlier. She was stunning. I moved closer, eager to feel the embrace of that body. A piece of ripe fruit, willing and ready to be picked. I started to unbuckle my belt.

The doorbell rang.

"What the actual fuck!" I snarled. Mae slipped the coat back on while I went to see who it was that I hated.

As it turns out, it's remarkably hard to hate a pretty young woman in a bright red bikini. That's who had disturbed us. She was about nineteen or twenty, slender, but not skinny, with large brown eyes. Everything about her was long. Her face was long and somewhat angular, with a pointed chin and a slender nose. Her lips were full, and her broad smile showed an expanse of white teeth. She was tall, with a long body, nice firm grapefruit-sized breasts that fit her well. Her stomach was flat and rippled with muscles, practical, not gaudy. Her legs showed the same fitness. She wore red flip flops to go with the bikini. She held her head tilted down, so her chin nearly touched her throat. This made her look up at me under heavy eyelids. She wore a silver whistle on a chain around her neck. The bikini was brief to say the least. It highlighted her tan, which, like Mae's, didn't seem to end at the fabric.

"Hi! I'm Steve. You must be Ted."

"Yes, that's me." Nobody else could have this kind of luck I thought to myself. "I bet you get this all the time, but you don't look like a 'Steve'."

"It's short for Stephanie. Stephanie Williams. My Uncle Vince gave me that nickname when I was a little girl." Which, I calculated, could have been a few weeks ago.

"Uncle Vince? Vince Delgado, two doors down?"

"Yep. He's away for a month in the Yukon on a consulting job. I'm house sitting." She said, "Just ended my second year of Aeronautical Engineering at Western. I want to be an astronaut."

"He mentioned you'd be by. What can I do for you?" *Preferably something that won't take long* I said to myself. I left a hot woman on the simmer. As if I had summoned her by pure will, Mae appeared behind me.

"Hi there." Said Mae coldly. She clearly didn't appreciate being interrupted either. She seemed to have less trouble hating a girl in a bikini.

"Mae, this is Steve. She's watching her uncle's place two doors down. She was just about to tell me what was up."

"A couple of things. Can I come in?"

I sighed just a bit and swung the door wide. I lead Steve and Mae into the kitchen. Brutus appeared, barked twice and retreated to his bed. He kept a watchful eye on us. I think he was just astounded that the boss had two beautiful women here at the same time, one naked, one nearly naked.

"So, what's up?" I asked

"First, Uncle Vince said I should come by and introduce myself. Hi"

"Nice to meet you, Steve." Mae offered, a little less frosty, but clearly impatient. "And?"

"Uncle Vince said your deck was the best spot in the complex to grab some rays during the afternoon. Would you mind if I used your deck between say 1 and 3 pm, while you're at work?"

"Sure, do you like dogs?"

"Absolutely." She answered.

"Ok. Brutus!" I called my hound over and he came, wagging enthusiastically. "Let Brutus out when you get here, and make sure he's back inside when you leave. Oh, ignore him at your peril. The cat comes and goes as he pleases. Was that it?" I asked hopefully, thinking already of Mae riding me, making me forget the Bird and the dead guy who got better.

"That's all I came for," she began. She picked up the whistle from between her perky tits and started to play with it. "But, there's a creepy guy in an old car who's been sitting there for a while. He seems to be watching your place."

I glanced out the window discreetly. There was a battered dark gray four-door Ford sitting by the curb across the road, one door down. This nondescript car, clearly a former Toronto Police unmarked car, stood out like a sore thumb in a neighborhood dominated by minivans, trucks and SUVs. The closest thing to a sedan in the neighborhood was the kid at the end of the block with the tuned up Civic.

I couldn't make out the guy behind the wheel, but I could make out the huge telephoto lens on his camera. Surveillance. But who? I had an idea.

"Steve, do you want to help?"

She nodded, setting off a chain reaction of motion.

"Okay. You go to the car and engage him in conversation. It doesn't matter what, just get his attention. Can you do that?"

She and Mae both looked at me doubting my own powers of observation.

"Yeah, good. Get him talking. I am going to sneak up on the passenger side. When I get there, you reach into the door console and unlock the doors so I can get in. Then run! Mae, go get your car and pull up behind him as I get in. Steve, get in Mae's car and you two go and call the cops from someplace safe." I thought for a second "Mae, what kind of car do you have?

"A blue one" She answered.

"We are all gonna die," I mumbled to myself.

"I saw it! Super cute little metallic blue hatchback. License Mae-1?" Steve said.

"That's it!" Mae answered.

"Jesus!" I mumbled "You speak the same language. Okay, Steve, go now. I am going to go behind my place and come out by your Uncle's unit so I can sneak up on him. Mae go now too. You two do not come back without the cops. I can handle Mike Hammered out there."

Steve bounced out the door.

Mae had brought the bird with her. I took it "Open the basement door please, Mae."

I Stepped down two steps and slid the bird between two studs in the unfinished wall. There was a bag of cat food on the top step. I set it in front of the bird.

"That should do for now." I said closing the door.

"She's going to be a great Juggernaut." Mae said, pulling the trench coat tight and flopping on the fedora.

"The correct term for a woman astronaut is not juggernaut!"

"Did you see those boobies, Ted? Jug-ger-naut. Trust me." She bowed, showing an expanse of cleavage of her own, and was gone in a flash, knocking over a plastic plant on her way. The most beautiful klutz I know.

"We are definitely gonna die." I said out loud to Brutus as I headed out the back door.

***

As I rounded the corner of Vince's unit, I could see Mae getting into her car down the block. Steve had the car driver's attention. His back was toward me and his gaze was locked on the juggernauts, ah, I mean Steve's breasts. His head moved in unison as she moved, speaking loudly and in a very animated fashion. She had obviously been introduced to the same old movies her Uncle Vince and I loved because as I approached I heard her say the famous line:

"You know how to whistle don't you? You just put your lips together and blow."

On "blow" she unlocked the door and I ripped the passenger side open and sat down as she ran off. She was getting in Mae's car before he turned to look at who had wrenched the camera from his hand.

"Just who the fuck are you, and why are you pointing this thing at my home?" I snarled.

"Hey, easy on the hardware there bud. That thing cost me fifteen hundred bucks on eBay." he gasped.

I shouldered the camera like a rifle and stared at him. Fifty or so. Unshaven. Salt and pepper hair in a mess. Nondescript clothes. At least he had that part right.

"I am just trying to make a living. Here, see?" He produced a business card from the driver's side visor. It read:

RYAN WATTER, PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS

SURVEILLANCE, SECURITY, MISSING PERSONS

DISCRETION ASSURED

SATISFACTION GUARANTEED

The phone number had a rural area code.

"And you are Ryan Watter? Really?" I asked, a bit incredulous.

He hung his head for a moment. "No, My real name is Stacey O'Donovan. But people expect a tough guy. I mean I was on the Toronto police force for 23 years. Homicide, Vice, Narcotics, uh, well Traffic too. I needed a name that made it sound like I play poker with Mike Hammer, Travis MacGee and Jim Rockford"

"Twenty-three years on the Metro Cops and this was the best you could do for a stake out? This car still says 'Police Interceptor' on the trunk."

"Okay, not Toronto exactly." He began

"Hamilton? Ottawa? Montreal? What?"

"Peterborough". He named a resort town of 80,000 two hours east of the City.

I shook my head. I was being watched by Barney Fife.

"So 'Ryan', who hired you to watch me?" I asked.

"Technically, I am not watching you. I was following Captain McGuffin. I saw him enter your garage. You really should lock that by the way. Then he went to your house. I didn't see him leave. So I assume you are harboring him?"

"Captain McGuffin?" I asked.

"Captain Bill McGuffin, Master of the MV Genoa Borealis, tied up in the Toronto Harbour. Her most recent ports of call were Montreal, Halifax and Marseilles."

"And?"

"He was known to be in possession of an object. A very rare object. I believe it was what he was carrying when he entered your house."

And why would he bring me something so rare? I never heard of him or his boat."

"Ship. He wasn't. He was taking it to number 43." Said Ryan, pointing to the house two doors down from the position of his parked car. I think the knife in his back got him confused and he took it to your number 34." He pointed to my place, across the street." He carried the package to your garage, entered, was in there for, oh, fifteen minutes and left with the big, scary knife in his back. He went to your door and a woman let him in. Next thing I know that little girl with the magical knockers is trying to distract me."

"I think she succeeded. Okay, come on over. My head is spinning. I need a drink. How about you?" I asked. I opened the hatch on his camera and extracted the memory chip.

"Sure pal. I could use an appletini." he said

"You're not very good at this, are you?" I said as we headed to my condo.

"What?" He asked, vaguely insulted.

"You are supposed to drink cheap whisky neat. Or something simple. Or live up to the pun from your pseudonym."

"What pun?" He asked

I actually did a face palm. "Jesus. You are the worst PI in history. You're having rye and water in a dirty glass." I said opening the front door.

I was expecting to be greeted by Brutus and or Charlie. Instead at the top of the stairs I saw a pair of black pumps, a pair of red flip flops and a pair of expensive looking Italian loafers. The pumps were attached to Mae's shapely legs. The flip flops led up to Steve's red bikini. The loafers were attached to a very well-dressed slight man holding a nasty looking little nickel-plated automatic. His suit was clearly silk and cut tight to his small frame. His tie was a multi-coloured paisley pattern, vintage from the 60s perhaps, a large matching silk puff sat in his suit pocket. I swear I could smell Chanel Number 5. Mae was wearing an earthy scent and Steve was wearing Coppertone. So, Mr. silk suit?

I was about to start asking some polite questions when Ryan piped up and said "Hi Mr. Unger. I see you found the place. Hey! Bikini Girl! I never did get your name?"

The little man with the gun answered "Shut up! You are the worst private detective in the world! Now they know my name. Honestly!" His voice was a soft whisper. A caricature gay man from a 1970s TV show. I didn't know what to do but good old Ryan saved the day.

"I guess I should just have called you Jason. That way they wouldn't know your last name is Unger. Hey we were getting a drink. Are you thirsty Mr. Unger?"

"The bar is in there." I said pointing them towards the den.

"I would kill for an appletini," said Unger.

"Look, I don't really know what an appletini is, but I am certain I don't have the ingredients. Let me see what I can do." I headed for the bar.

"No!" said Unger "The Blonde lady will make the drinks. See what you can find me that's strong and sweet, sweetie" he added.

Mae slipped behind the bar and started clinking bottles.

"How about a Singapore Sling?" She came up with a bottle of Tanqueray and a bottle of Cherry Brandy.

"Perfect dear. Hurry up!" He flopped in my red leather easy chair. Watters and I both took a barstool. Steve sat slowly on the arm of the leather chair. Watters and Unger both watched her slowly settle her red clad butt into the butter soft leather.

Mae appeared with his drink and bent forward to serve it. He took a good look at Mae's cleavage. Maybe my first impression was wrong.

"Ooo! I'll have one of those. Looks delish! Got any of those little umbrellas?" Said Watters.

I cleared my throat and shook my head at him.

"No, I will have dirty whisky in a neat glass," he said, smiling at me. So close.

"Oh, give him a Sling." I said reaching for a bottle of Rye. I poured a healthy shot and raised it towards Mae who held up a glass with what I assumed was Gin and Tonic. "Steve, what would you like?"

"I'll just have Diet Coke if you have it?" She answered.

I found one in the fridge, poured it into a large beer glass and handed it to her.

"Okay Mr. Unger. We all have a drink. You have the gun. What do you want?"

"RIght to the point Mr. uh?" He began.

"Just call me Ted." I answered.

"Good. First names. Call me Jason. I want the Maltese Falcon of course. It did not leave this home so I know you have it somewhere. Please get it. I am growing tired of all this." He answered.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I said.

"Mr. Watter saw Captain McGuffin carry it in here and it did not come out. Neither did he. Therefore, you are hiding both. Bring me the Falcon. I really don't care much what happens to the Captain. He stole it from me."

I stared at him. "I don't have it."

He pressed his gun against Steve's left breast "To quote another movie, 'There's a shortage of perfect breasts in this world. It would be a pity to damage yours.' Last chance." He said.

Fine. In the foyer you will find the door to the basement. Just behind the door in the unfinished wall, behind a bag of cat food."

"You, Blondie, go and fetch it" He said to Mae.

Unger pulled out a cell phone, selected a number from its memory and waited. "It's here. Come in the front door"

I listened to Mae cross the room, descend the stairs and open the door. Then she screamed. I had always hoped she was a screamer, but this wasn't what I had in mind.

We all rushed to the top of the stairs. The pets got there first. Mae came out of the basement, a blank look on her face. A figure lay at the bottom of the stairs.

"We have two problems." She began. "The Falcon is gone'. And Mr, Ungh, that is the Captain is back and he is very dead. No knife, just this bullet hole in his head." She pointed to a ragged hole in the back of his head.

'I was trying to do the math on our situation when Unger screamed "He's here!" pointing out the window.

"Oh! I love those big old Chryslers!" Said Steve.

"No dear, that's not a Chrysler 300, that is a real Bentley Continental." I said.

"Is there a difference?" She asked.

"Several hundred thousand dollars." I answered thinking it might be more.

A large black Bentley pulled to a stop in my driveway. A tall muscular redhead in a tight short cocktail dress and impossible heels got out and opened the back door.

Now, I am a big man, so when I say this guy was huge, just take my word. He was easily 6'-5", likely close to 400 pounds. He had blonde hair and a full beard. About 60 or so; a bit older than me. He carried a blackthorn walking stick and was smoking a large cigar.

I was tired of hearing the doorbell, so I opened my front door just as they got to the top step. "Welcome to my humble home. Come in, make yourselves comfortable."

The big man grinned "We won't keep you long sir. I just want my bird." He said.

"My bird Nero. Mine!" whined Unger.

"Let's not start that here Jason. Our bird, at least for the time being." I said. "Is there a place to talk?"

"Come to the den. Drink?"

"Neat scotch, water back. Ms. Olga will have water only."

I turned to Watter. "That boy, is how it is done."

I poured my new guest a drink as he settled into my chair. Watter and I took our barstools. Mae, Steve and Unger sat on the couch.

The big man took a sip and smiled. "Fine whisky indeed. Eighteen year old Laphroaig, isn't it?" He asked.

"Correct sir. I figured you for a connoisseur."

He took another sip. "Thank you very much." he set the glass down "I suppose I owe you an introduction and an explanation."

"You have the floor sir." I said.

He stood and offered his hand "I am Nero McTavish."

I shook it "Ted Lyon. Your host."

"Down to cases. I am a wealthy man."

Unger snorted and added "Obscenely."

"Enough Jason. I made a great deal of money as a young man, in, shall we say 'Security'?"

"You were what? Hired muscle for some gangster and did a hit or two on the side?" I said, translating.

"To be blunt, yes. That Gangster as you call him introduced me to an appreciation of the finer things in life. On his unfortunate demise, he left me that car you see outside, and some money and the briefcase used by Sean Connery in 'From Russia with Love'. That got me started collecting memorabilia from popular culture. I have Carrie's prom dress, The Rita Hayworth poster from 'The Shawshank Redemption', One of Marshall Dillon's tin stars from 'Gunsmoke'. That's part of a collection of fake law badges. Lenny Briscoe, TJ Hooker, Popeye Doyle, a dozen more. A pool cue used by Jackie Gleason in 'The Hustler', one of Lassie's collars. Four Batman Utility Belts...it goes on."

But, no Maltese Falcon?" I asked.

"No. I have three. One from the 1970s parody film. It is slightly different, hunched over more and a little bigger. One in plaster cast in about 1947 from the original mold. And one of the bronze replicas that Jack Warner gave to people. The feathers are indented diamonds instead of overlaid triangles. All 'real" whatever that means, but none used in the movie. Which brings us to the one in your possession. It is no doubt quite heavy?"