Gone Fishin'

I hope you enjoyed a week in the life of a New York private detective. I have to say that this has become much more popular than I’d expected. I’d like to continue as long as you’re interested in reading.

In the meantime, I’m going to relax this weekend, and maybe take a day or two off at the beginning of next week (Jack is a very generous customer). If I get a chance, I’ll write one or two quick stories about smaller cases I’ve had that stand out. Otherwise, it’s back to the grind next week.

Caroline and Jack - Part 11 - The Solution

If you’ve learned one thing from reading about my busy week dealing with an entourage of people all fit to win Shadiest Person of the Year awards, I hope it’s that real life is not like detective novels. Lit dick Sherlock Holmes is quite famous for looking at a crime scene and figuring out a mathematical equation leading to the solution. Trace of blood + ripped scarf + missing pearls = Lord Balderdash is the killer. 1 + 1 + 1 = 3.

But in real life, 1+1+1 can equal many things, because 99% of the time, you don’t know the full equation. In fact, there are some cases in which the full equation is too long and complicated to be known or understood by anyone. However, there are very frequently ways to circumnavigate the equation easily enough, which is what I chose to do in this case. Acting on my hunch that whomever was behind it all was either in my video of the drug deal or closely connected to one of the participants, I started on a course to blackmail the blackmailer by handing over a copy of my video. In other words: “Hey, I know you were involved too, asshole.”

After the video was delivered on Friday, I returned to my office and sat for a while trying to prepare myself for who would come through the door and why. Moustache seemed the most obvious, and again I have to remind you that this is real life. While in books, the least likely suspect is frequently the killer, in reality, the least likely suspect usually has jack to do with the case. Reality is simply not a great writer.

At the same time, it is very possible that either Caroline, Blonde, or Jack was behind it for reasons I had not yet uncovered. I go back to my earlier point: I can either work my ass off for the next few weeks to uncover new facts, bushwhack my way through countless lies, and complete the full equation, or I can circumnavigate the equation by bringing the culprit to me. If less work will bring me the same results, then I’m the laziest man on Earth.

By 5:00pm, no one had arrived and I was preparing to explain to Jack why the blackmailer now had even clearer footage of the drug deal to threaten him with. Shortly after, however, I heard the outer door open and someone walk in. My secretary buzzed me: “Someone to see you.” What a bitch - She knows I’m as anxious as hell to hear who it is. Like telling a new mother, “It’s a baby.”

I hit record on my tape recorder just as the door to my office opened, and Moustache strode in. He had his usual esteemed manner about him, but something on his face looked slightly different – like he was confused, or trying to figure something out.

“Cat here?” he asked when he saw me. I shook my head. “Oh, don’t get up and don’t get excited, Dick,” he continued as I rose to my feet. “I’m not the one you’re looking for. I’m here on someone else’s behalf.”

Interesting. Moustache took a seat across from me and shook his head, chuckling. “Blackmail…Do you have any idea how much money I make presently? The amount of work to be a successful blackmailer – it’s just not worth it.”

“So cut the crap. Who are you hear for?” I asked.

For a moment he looked hesitant. Then, finally, he said: “Blonde.”

“Neat,” I replied. “Now explain why the fuck you’re here for Blonde.”

“Despite being a very shrewd and self-sufficient person, she simply could not bring herself to come down and talk with you this evening,” he said. “Maybe it’s an issue with pride or embarrassment, or maybe even fear. She called and asked me to come down in her place.

“Let me ask you a question before I continue. How did she describe our relationship?”

“She said she loved it, up until she learned about where your money was coming from. At which point, she ended it,” I replied.

He laughed. “Very interesting. Perhaps I might offer an alternate version. She loved it, up until the point when I left her. That’s right, Dick, I left her. She’s an unbearable control freak, if you want to know the truth. To make a long story short, I grew tired of it and ended the relationship. This devastated her, and she began hounding me to get back together with her. Letters, phone calls, e-mails – it was never-ending, and I even considered at one point getting a restraining order against her. Then, suddenly, all communication ended. I didn’t hear from her again, and I was happy not only to be free, but that she had finally accepted the inevitable.

“A year later, I get a phone call from her. She says she’s in a bit of a bind, and wants to do business. I think about this for a long time. Is she actually at the point where she can maintain a neutral relationship with me? While I didn’t doubt she harbored some sort of inner grudge, a year is a long time for anyone. Furthermore, Blonde is a businesswoman, and a hell of a good one at that. I’ve never, ever known her to mix emotions and personal life with business. Ultimately, I said yes, and ultimately, this turned out to be a mistake.”

“At what point did she hire the detective to take surveillance of the deals?” I asked.

“Almost from the beginning. In her twisted head, she reasoned she would get one of two things out of it: either blackmail me back into her life, or revenge for how I had treated her.”

“But what about Jack?” I asked. “They’re friends, right? Why would she want to hurt him?”

“She wouldn’t,” he replied, “and that’s why I’m here. Blonde doesn’t give a fuck about what happens to me, and at this point only mildly gives a fuck about what happens to herself. But she does care about Jack, who she has known for a while and respects greatly. Which is why she has agreed to end this whole scheme. She only sent him the initial photos to maintain the charade. After all, it would be very suspicious on numerous accounts if only Blonde and I received blackmail warnings. She had to include him at least in the beginning. As she had predicted, one of my first steps was to call Jack to see if he had received photos, and I’m a tough interrogator. If Jack was lying, I would’ve known.”

“But why would she include Jack in the first place? Why didn’t she just conduct the dealings with you alone?”

“Because as I’ve said, the businesswoman in her trumps all else. She legitimately began doing business with me for legitimate career-based reasons. I suspect she even thought she was emotionally stable enough to handle it. But she wasn’t, and ulterior motives sprung up. She quickly regretted having ever involved Jack.

“But, then she received your little video today, and realized that someone else had leverage in this little scheme. I doubt she ever planned on exposing me. But now, suddenly, someone else had the ability to expose all three of us. And that was the last thing she wanted to happen.

“So she called and confessed everything to me, confused as to why Jack would give the video instead of money. I immediately put the puzzle pieces together and realized you’ve been in on this for a while – Caroline hired you, no?”

I nodded. Like many criminals, Moustache would make a great detective.

“And that’s what brings me here. Blonde has assured me that all issues with blackmail have ended permanently, and she begs you to keep the tape from ever being played again.”

“Do you trust her?” I asked.

“I do, Dick. Because as much as she wants to see me hurt, as little as she cares about what happens to herself, she wants Jack to be safe. As long as you have that video, this is finished.”

“It’s in there,” I said, indicating the large safe in the corner of my office. “And there’s no reason to remove it.”

“Very good.” He started to leave. This is the second time he’s gotten up in the middle of a conversation, which I’ve just realized really pisses me off.

“Hang on there, Moustache,” I said. “Caroline – were you serious about what you said about her?”

He reluctantly sat down again. “I was, and I was wrong. Everything I said about her was true. As Jack can confirm, she has had quite a tough time dealing with Jack’s career and subsequent absence from her life. Jack firmly believes that therapy has cured her. But given that she hired you less than a week ago, I’d say he’s being overly optimistic on that account. To tell you the truth, until I received the call from Blonde, I was convinced it was her. Oh well. Even the smartest of us are wrong sometimes.”

“So if I call Blonde to ask her about this, it won’t be a problem? No offense intended, it’s just that I’m not yet fully comfortable at this point in my life trusting coke dealers.”

“Cheap jab, Dick, but call away,” he said without hesitation. “I doubt she’ll be as verbal as I have been, or she would’ve come herself. Anything else?”

“Just a warning: If I hear a word that the blackmailing has started again, I’m going to assume it is you and give that tape to the right people.”

“Not an issue,” he said, then laughed. “I still can’t believe you think I – I – would take up blackmailing. Waste of time, Dick. Waste of my time.” He headed for the door, chuckling, and this time I let him go. The door opened, and my cat shot through his legs again, startling him. Sammy hates to be closed out of my office.

After I was sure Moustache was gone, I had two phone calls to make. The first was to Blonde. She answered halfway through the first ring.

“It’s Dick,” I said. “You know, I hate liars.” Silence on the other end. “Look, I want to know one thing – you’re off the whole blackmailing kick, right?”

“Y-yes,” she said, and her voice sounded like she’d been crying. “So long as you keep the tape to yourself.”

“Agreed. And not to worry, I won’t tell Jack.” More silence. Well, that was that. I said good-bye and hung up, then gave Jack a call and told him to come down to my office.

At 8 o’clock, he barged in the door, a nervous wreck. I told him to sit down and take a breath. He was panting like he’d run all the way from midtown.

“The problem is solved,” I said. “You will never hear anything about those pictures again.”

“Really?” he gasped. “Who – how do you know?”

“Part of my deal with the person responsible is that I don’t reveal his or her name to you. I’m afraid that if I am to trust the blackmailer to stick to our arrangement, the blackmailer must in turn be able to trust me.”

He still looked unsatisfied. “It wasn’t your wife,” I added, and the expression gave way to relief.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and I nodded. “Thank God. I … I started to think about it – that I had found your card in the apartment … that maybe she had hired you to spy on me … and you had taken the photographs … and that maybe … maybe I had hired the person who was helping her blackmail us.”

I shook my head. “Not me, brother.”

A small laugh escaped him, and he shook his head warily. “What a week,” he said.

“What a week,” I agreed. “Now let’s talk about billing.”

At this point, we discussed the most important aspect of my work.

Caroline and Jack - Part 10 - The Plan Revealed

The bag has been delivered, and I’m back in my office waiting for the blackmailer to drop by.

The bag I gave Jack to leave at the drop-off point contains a video copy of the surveillance footage I took while at the Hotel Charmant. Four crystal clear camera angles show Jack, Moustache, and Blonde all engaged in their disreputable business practice.

The blackmailer is currently under the assumption that he or she is the only person to hold any evidence of the dealings. I suspect that he or she will be very surprised to know that I also have a copy. An accompanying note specifies that I have absolutely no qualms in making it public should I feel it necessary.

Now to wait and see who comes by.

Caroline and Jack - Part 9 - Planning

There are two major goals I have to reach in order to fully satisfy my client Jack:

1) Find out who is blackmailing him
2) Get he or she or them to stop blackmailing him

It’s the second that I’m far more concerned with. After all, knowing who your blackmailer is doesn’t mean he or she will stop blackmailing you.

I don’t know without a doubt the answer to the first question. But I do have an answer for the second.

First, there are several assumptions that have to be made:

a) This whole thing is an inside job
b) One of four possible suspects is ringleading everything: Caroline, Blonde, Moustache, or, though unlikely, Jack
c) Panama Hat is a hired hand for one of them
d) I have been lied to at some point
e) there is a secondary motive to financial gain

Of course, I could be completely wrong. The blackmailer could simply be a business associate of Jack or Blonde who learned of their dealings, and decided to make some money out of it. It could be a cleaning person at one of the hotels they frequented who found out about their business and hired Panama to help them make some side cash. So what makes me so willing to take a bet on this?

While pacing my office and going over every aspect of the case, I finally re-examined the grainy pictures Jack received of the drug deal going down. It was then I noticed that only one face is completely distinct in each of the pictures: Jack’s. I should’ve realized before that I only recognized Blonde as Blonde and Moustache as Moustache because I’d seen them all together live. At best, these pictures could be used for questionable tabloid articles if Blonde and Moustache were celebrities; as it stands, there’s not enough to prove anything on those two. My suspicion is that Blonde is the only distinct face in the photos she received, and Moustache the only distinct face in Moustache’s, and I’m an idiot for not having examined them more closely. I’ve called both several times, but neither are answering.

The point of all this is that I highly suspect the blackmailer might not want one or more of the faces in the photographs to be exposed. I am thus going with my above assumptions.

If I’m correct, the plan I have will put an end to the threat of exposure. Jack has been instructed to put $1,000 in small bills in a brown paper bag to be left precisely at 1pm at a certain location in New York. He is then to leave the area. Only when the blackmailer feels safe will he or she make the pick-up.

Jack will not be leaving any money in the bag. Instead, he will be putting in something that I am almost positive will bring the blackmailer right to my door, begging me to be reasonable.

Again, I could be wrong, and I’m taking a risk. But it’s an educated risk. And hey, if I’m wrong, it’s Jack who gets the shaft. Not me.

xxx

I can't believe it didn't occur to me earlier. It's so damn obvious.

Caroline and Jack - Part 8 - Moustache Speaks

The best days are when my work comes to me. I woke up this morning expecting to spend most of my day running around New York looking for the next lead in this case. Instead, I spent nearly the entire time behind my desk. No complaints here. Too damn hot out.

I’d been trying to get in touch with Moustache since yesterday but never got through. It reached the point where I could recite his message word for word, complete with pauses, in his same type of oily voice. As I’ve already had conversations with both Jack and Blonde, I was hoping that Moustache would hold some missing piece to the puzzle. Turns out, he does.

At around 11am this morning, I got a call. I recognized the voice right away, and surprised him by answering “Hello, [Moustache]” to his “Is this [Dick]?” Caught off guard for a moment, he told me that he was going out of his way to come down to my office at noon, and it was his only free time for the next week, so I best be there. Generally, I cop a little more attitude when people tell me where to be and when to be there, but I held back this time. Like I said, I really needed to hear what Moustache had to say. I fed my cat, then tried to come up with a basic line of questions to ask.

A few minutes after 12pm, my secretary buzzed me over the intercom to announce Moustache’s arrival. I started a small hidden tape recorder I have in my desk (quite illegal, of course, but no one complains if no one finds out), then got up and opened the door to my office. It’s always strange for me to see someone drastically removed from the setting in which they’re most familiar to me in. In this case, I now had a slick, well-dressed, wealthy cocaine dealer sitting in my dingy waiting room. He looked as much out of his element as a penguin in Africa.

I ushered him into my office. He took a seat, than looked down at my cat. “I’m allergic to that. Remove it,” he said, his voice unwavering.

I stared at him calmly and tested the water. “I’m sorry, but she just ate, and she really doesn’t like to move on a full stomach.”

“Remove it at once, or I will have to leave.”

The staring contest continued. After a moment, I relented. Honestly, I hate pointless face-offs. It’s one thing to come eye to eye over a serious piece of information, a girl, or money. It’s another when it’s a cat. I called my secretary, who came and moved Sammy into the other room. She gave me a quick roll of the eyes, then shut the door. The following is a rough but accurate transcription of our conversation from my recording.

“All right, I did something for you,” I said. “Do something for me.”

He kept staring, and I began to notice that he was controlling the frequency of his blinking. If these intense silences continued, this conversation wouldn’t be over till sometime next week. Finally, he gave in.

“I will be honest with you. When I learned that Jack had hired a private detective to look into this matter, I was furious. Beyond furious.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Frankly, this situation has one, and only one, solution, and it’s very simple. We pay what is asked of us.”

“Maybe Jack doesn’t want to.”

“Nor do I, but I will do so without hesitation. Has Jack been contacted by our new associate?” He put sarcastic emphasis on the last two words.

“Not to my knowledge. Have you?”

“I have,” Moustache replied. “This morning I received a phone call. A modest figure was named, and I was told to deliver the money tomorrow.”

“And?” I asked.

“Let me address all reasons for why this situation doesn’t require difficult thinking. We'll start with the most important factor: money. I will tell you that what has been demanded of me is far less than what I expected. Far less, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the same for my colleagues. Granted, the payments may continue indefinitely, but if they stay at the current sum, it means mere pennies compared to my annual income.

“My options are thus to pay, or not to pay. I pay, nothing happens, and I am allowed to continue on, albeit a slightly poorer man. I accepted such a risk when I got into my business. In fact, of all the potential risks, it is among the least damaging I can imagine.

“Now let’s say I don’t pay; that I resist paying; that I attempt to figure out who my blackmailer is by hiring someone like yourself, or some similar such nonsense. Suddenly, I am in a much more dangerous situation. Suddenly, the risk grows immensely. There is a far more definite chance that the pictures, which otherwise would have stayed hidden, may come into the public eye. And that is not a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Jack and Blonde are willing to take that risk,” I replied. “And what if the blackmailer decides to raise the amount?”

“She won’t.”

I forced myself to keep a blank expression. “She? Who?”

“Caroline.”

A smirk I couldn’t prevent landed on my face.

“Jack’s Caroline? You think the blackmailer is Caroline?”

“Yes.”

“OK, I’ll bite,” I continued after a moment. “Why Caroline?”

“There is no chance that a casual outsider stumbled across my business dealings with Jack and Blondie. However careful they both are, I am moreso. I have been doing this for a number of years, and I am good at it. I think it is very likely that Caroline learned about this recently, and has decided to exploit it.”

I had to remind myself that Moustache knows nothing about my dealings with Caroline. “How might she come across this information? I’m pretty sure Jack wouldn’t discuss anything in their apartment.”

“He certainly wouldn’t. No, she found out another way. You see, Caroline has a little problem. She has an obsessive-compulsive disorder. Disturbingly so. Jack didn’t tell you?” I slowly shook my head. He smiled and continued. “After Jack began working his 100 hours a week at the office, he saw his wife very, very little. Depression set in, and the condition only got worse as time went on. She became convinced that he was having numerous affairs, that he was going to parties and clubs at night without her, that he had started a new life and was casting her out of it. She began hiring people to watch Jack, to spy on him. People like yourself.”

There was a momentary pause, and I could feel him scanning my face for any admittance that she had indeed come to me. Lucky thing I’m good at poker.

“Jack ignored it at first, but it became more and more of a problem. We had to take even further precautions when conducting our business deals.” Jack had seemed more nervous than Moustache and Blonde at the hotel on the two occasions I saw him. “Again, I’m a professional. I’m used to this sort of thing, and I’ve made sure to be extra cautious. Jack tried to put a stop to her behavior, but she firmly denied the evidence. And since members of your trade are notoriously reluctant to ever speak the truth, he has had trouble proving it.”

“So bottom line,” I said, “How does this have to do with the blackmailing?”

“One of her hired eyes got lucky. He scored some pictures of us doing business, passed them on to her, and now she’s playing a little game called Pay Attention To Me.”

“Who called you today? Was it a man or woman?” I asked.

“A man,” he said with a slight falter. I gave him a questioning look. “I suspect she is working through whomever was lucky enough to take the photograph,” he continued without missing a beat. “Those in your trade are also notorious for having loose morals. The fact that such a small sum of money was requested only further suggests that this situation has nothing to do with the financial element.”

He stood up. “And that is why I am perfectly happy to pay what she wants, and why I think that your involvement is unnecessary. I believe that this will eventually fizzle out, until only Jack is the target. At that point, I will be able to continue like before with nothing lost and nothing to fear. However, if you are going to continue on with this case, I felt it important that you know this. Jack is fully convinced that his wife has nothing to do with any of this, and will never bring it up with you.”

He began to walk toward the door, and I quickly got to my feet. “Wait – how do you know any of this?”

“Blonde,” he replied simply. “When she first started doing business with me after our separation, she attempted to build up what was clearly an artificial friendship. This involved numerous tedious conversations about her new life. Eventually, the subject of Caroline came up, and I probed a bit. After all, I was doing business with Jack, and it’s good to know something about your clients' backgrounds. Now I must be going. Business calls.”

He opened the door, and my cat bolted in through his legs, startling him. I silently praised Sammy, while Moustache stormed out. After he was gone, I closed the door and sat down to think.

I didn’t move for at least an hour, when the phone rang.

It was Jack.

The blackmailer (a man, by the sound of his voice) had called and demanded $1000 to be delivered tomorrow at 1pm in a certain central Manhattan location. I agreed to call Jack sometime late tonight with instructions on what to do next. But it’s 11:00pm now, and I’m still not sure what to tell him. I thought that writing it all out might give me some further insight, but now I’m just more confused. I lightly questioned him regarding his wife's tendencies, and he confirmed that while it had been a problem in the past, it had been cured through counseling and therapy. He clammed up about it after that.

Any thoughts on the matter are welcome.

Caroline and Jack - Part 7 - Blondie

At noon, I went to the hotel to see my friend the Puerto Rican doorman (who we’ll call Hernando) to try and get info on Panama Hat. I asked Hernando to check the registry to see who has been staying in room 25 for the past week or so. Unfortunately, Hernando was a lot less eager to help out when it meant he had to actually put his job on the line. He made it painfully obvious early on that it was extremely risky, and that I would therefore have to pay him a lot of money. As I didn’t have much of a choice, I offered $100, $50 up front and $50 on delivery. A bit of haggling ensued, until we finally settled on a price. He told me to return after 2 pm.

I then gave Blondie a call on her cell phone. Jack had been very hesitant to provide information for either her or Moustache, but finally relented on Blondie (he claims to not have any info on Moustache). He had apparently given her a heads-up because when I called, she knew more about me than I did about her. Saves on introductions, which is always a plus in my book. She agreed to meet me for lunch, and fifteen minutes later, we were sitting in an outdoor café around the corner from her office building. The sky was looking pretty damn ugly, but the rain held off.

Blondie’s story: A year ago, she and Moustache were a couple. They had been dating for sometime, and she loved the fact that, among other things, Moustache seemed to be damn rich. He always had plenty of cash, they went to the best restaurants, gifts were always waiting for her at home, and she never had to pay for anything. Somewhat unnecessary given her current salary, but exciting nonetheless.

That is, until she learned where the money was coming from. See, as we all know, Moustache isn’t one of those wealthy Wall Street types, though it’s easy to mistake him for such. He makes his money selling drugs to wealthy buyers throughout the city. That was the end of that relationship – she dumped his ass that day, and refused to have anything to do with him.

Then, a year later, one night, she’s working in the office after hours. While searching for a missing file, she accidentally walks in on a very frank conversation between two of her superiors on the subject of where one might obtain cocaine at a reasonable price in the city. Though she has only been in the room for a brief second or two, certain key words hang in the air, and there’s no going back. Awkward silence.

But Blonde is a savvy business woman, and knows how to best exploit any potentially rewarding situation at a moment’s notice. Without missing a beat, she closes the door, sits down next to them and says quietly that she knows a good, cheap, and trust-worthy dealer: ex-boyfriend Moustache. And furthermore, she can get a discount. The execs are a bit wary at first, but finally decide to go along with it. She tells them she’ll let them know when she can deliver, then gets the fuck out of there.

So how does Jack become involved? Jack is her friend and confidant. She and Jack both began working at the same time, and formed a bond while suffering through all the early shit that newbies are put through (no sex involved, lucky for Caroline; Blonde is, I must say, much better looking, and far more interesting). She tells Jack what went down, and voices her growing hesitations about the situation. She’s not sure she feels good about doing this alone. Jack cares about her, and is similarly intrigued by the positive benefits of such an idea. After a few days, he agrees to help her, and a call is placed to Moustache. And so it began.

This has been going on for about a month now. Jack, Blonde, and Moustache all independently arrive at a location in the city (for the past two weeks, the Charmant) and the exchange is made. Word got around quite quickly among the right people, and Jack and Blonde were soon taking more orders than they had ever planned on. At the same time, Jack and Blonde have both received modest raises over the past month, so it’s not like they haven’t been rewarded.

Then, like Jack, Blonde received pictures of herself engaged in one of these transactions yesterday, along with a note warning that if she didn’t pay what was demanded of her, she would lose everything. She confirmed that the pictures were taken a week ago, but was completely baffled as to how anyone could know about her small side business. She and Jack had always been extremely careful and discreet about everything. I almost suggested she be on the lookout for 3mm wall holes during future dealings, but decided against it.

She had already spoken with Moustache, who was similarly shocked, and gave me his cell number. She warned me that he’s “quite busy” during the day, and so far, I haven’t gotten through to him.

We finished up our lunch just in time for me to scoot back over to the Charmant for my 2 o’clock appointment with Hernando. Hernando was waiting outside, opening doors and flashing his phony, toothy smile. He saw me and nodded, and I handed the payment to him. In exchange, he gave me an invoice. I thanked him with another nod, then began walking down the street. After I had turned the corner, I opened the paper to read the name and address. “East 42nd and Park Ave.”

East 42nd and Park is Grand Central Station.

I rounded the corner again and got right in Hernando’s face. I’m a fairly big guy, certainly bigger than Hernando, and I think he could sense the anger flowing through my veins because he immediately lost whatever bullshit cocky attitude that had been present before.

“Problem?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “You have one chance to answer, and if I don’t buy what you’re saying, I’m going to go in, hand this print-out to your manager, and get your ass fired. So be careful what you say, ‘cause you only get one chance.”

Hernando kept looking around and struggling to say something, but no words came out.

I continued: “Is this really all there is for room 25 in the registry?”

He nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes, I check one week back and always the same.”

“Same name, same address?”

More excessive nodding. Anyone watching might think Hernando was suffering from a bout of epilepsy.

“What about credit cards? Can you get me a receipt with his payment info?”

Hernando pointed to the invoice. “No sir, he pay cash.”

Cash. Big fucking surprise. I backed down a bit and Hernando composed himself. Though a bit of a schmuck, he was willing to put himself on the line to get me info, and I might be able to use him again sometime in the future. I gave him an extra $20, then headed back to my office. The rain started pouring just about now.

So at the end of all of this, I’m not that much closer to finding out who Panama is. He could be someone connected to these drug trades directly or (more likely) indirectly somehow, or maybe he’s just a guy who came across it all by accident. Hell, maybe you’re all right and Caroline is involved. I really doubt it, but at this point, I’m not ruling out anything.

Caroline and Jack - Part 6 - From My Notebook

1) Stop at Hotel Charmant, bribe doorman to find out who has been staying in Room 25

2) Check out the address, check out Panama

3) Meet with Blondie, get any additional info

4) Persuade Jack to let me meet with Moustache - I don't know thing one about this guy

Busy day ahead. Wish my head wasn't pounding so damn much.

Caroline and Jack - Part 5 - Jack's Dilemma

It’s time to talk a bit about Jack, because Jack is in a shitload of trouble and is willing to pay me anything to help him out of it. In fact, the agreement I’ve made is only to “do the best I can,” and he’s already paying me my full daily wages for it.

Jack and I met for a few drinks, though it was clear Jack had already put a few down before arriving at the bar. The reasons for him contacting me are pure chance. After receiving the shocking news I am about to divulge, he returned home to find one of my cards which Caroline had left carelessly about. Without giving a second thought as to why it was there, he called my number.

Jack, I can confirm, has been meeting Moustache at the hotel with his co-worker Blonde to score coke. He and Blonde then return to their place of business, a rather well-known investment banking firm in Manhattan, and sell it to high level execs for less than they bought it for. See, while Jack and Blonde lose money on each sale, they gain a lot of leverage in that: 1) they are willing to take risks (the kind that could land them both lifetimes in jail), and 2) they keep their mouths shut about it. We already knew this, of course, but it’s nice to hear it from the official source.

So what is Jack’s problem?

Jack just learned today that he’s being blackmailed. After returning to his office after the meeting at the hotel, he received a courier package containing pictures of one of his drug deals going down. He believes they were taken a week ago, but is unsure. He showed me a copy of the pictures, and while grainy and obviously not enough to get him thrown in jail, they will definitely get him fired and blacklisted within his particular community. After all, Jack is a well known guy, a hot young new-comer with promise. And a nice juicy photograph of him passing a pile of Franklins in exchange for a baggie of white powder isn’t going to help him much in life. I suggested he could claim it was flour, and that he, Moustache, and Blonde were going to bake cookies. But Jack didn’t find that so amusing.

My job is clear. Jack can't go to the cops, so I'm the one to turn to. Find Mr. Blackmailer, and use my magical powers to stop him from blackmailing Jack.

Of course, I’ve seen Mr. Blackmailer. There’s no question in my mind that the guy in the Panama hat at the hotel is the anonymous photographer. But how to find him? Apparently, Moustache and Blonde received similar packages containing incriminating photographs, so Panama Hat is going all out on making a small fortune very quickly. This is a delicate matter. Panama Hat could release the photographs at any time, though I have a feeling he’ll sit on them for as long as he can hold out.

First stop tomorrow: the Hotel Charmant to meet my new doorman friend and see if a few 20’s under his nose won’t convince him to take a look at yesterday’s hotel registry. Panama was in Room 25, and probably has been for a while.

I would like to add that this has been one of the busiest weeks in months, and my fingers are beginning to ache from all the typing. I realize that many of you haven’t decided whether or not I’m full of shit. Take your time. I’m not going to go out of my way to prove anything to you, so you can either come along for the ride, or scream “HOAX!” and go elsewhere. I’m certainly not typing this all for my health. Suggestions and comments are welcome (even of the “you should’ve nabbed Panama Hat when you got the chance” variety).

Also, you may be wondering why I'm choosing to help Jack. After all, he was dealing in coke, and now he is simply being punished for his unlawful actions. Reason 1: $$$. Reason 2: two wrongs don't make a right (though it's mostly just Reason 1).

Caroline and Jack - Part 4(?!) - A Strange Call

I'm glad I posted several hours ago that I had a feeling this case wasn't over. If I ever decide to give up the dick trade and become a psychic, I'll use it as proof of my abilities.

No, the surprise didn't come from Caroline. I called her a few hours ago, and our conversation was short and sweet. She was more than eager to hear that her husband wasn't cheating on her, and accepted my facts without asking for proof. After passing on her credit card info, she said good-bye, and I don't expect to ever see her again (unless she decides to back out on paying the bill, which wouldn’t be a first).

The surprise came 29 minutes ago, at 6:00pm. I was closing up the office and had sent my secretary home when the phone rang.

It was Jack.

Unlike men who have recently discovered their wife hired a private detective to spy on them, Jack's voice was quite nervous. Tense. Anxious. Scared. It was wavering all over the place like a 13-yeard old boy who's just stumbled into the girls locker room.

All he would tell me is that he has to meet me now to discuss a case, that he will pay me well, and that his life depends on it. He wouldn't tell me how he found my name and number, and I got the impression that he has no clue about my interaction with Caroline, so I made sure to keep her out of it. Then again, I wouldn't rule her out completely.

He tried to get me to meet him at a bar around the corner from his office building, but screw that. I'm not officially working for anyone yet, and until I am, you come to me. I suggested instead that he come to my side of the city, and he agreed without hesitation. He told me he'll be there at 7:00pm, meaning I have to leave now in order to just be finishing a scotch on rocks when he walks in.

I'm off.

Caroline and Jack - Part 3 - Surveillance

I know I planned on arriving at the hotel this morning at 11:45pm, but I decided to be safe and was there at 11:30. I showed up with a suitcase full of tricks, and politely told the bellhop I could carry my own bag, thank you very much. Not that he’d open it or anything, but if he did, my reasons for being in the hotel would suddenly become very obvious. I was given the key and brought up to room 21, located to the right of room 23, where Jack, Moustache, and Blonde would hopefully go to a little after 12. The door to Room 23 was ajar, and a maid’s cart was parked out in front.

I hadn’t relied on it, but a small part of me was hoping that I might be able to find my way into 23. Surveillance work is always so much easier if you have access to the room you’re trying to spy on. After leaving my suitcase in my room, I walked into the hall and approached the door. I took the key to my room out of my pocket and pretended as if I had just arrived at 23.

“Oh! I’m sorry, are you still cleaning?” I asked, key in hand and a dumb tourist expression on my face.

“No, no,” the Portuguese maid said ecstatically in broken English, probably happy at the fact that someone was talking to her. “I finished here!” She tucked in the last corner of the bedcovers, left a mint on the pillow (I didn’t think anyone still did that), and walked out of the room.

I surveyed the room: twin beds, nice green flower wallpaper, a few fake paintings on the wall, and big windows looking out on the street below. Everything was easy from here on out. I have a device I’ve been waiting to use for a long time now but have never had the chance. Given to me as a gift by a fellow detective who swears by it, it’s a fire detector with four small, hidden CCD b/w cameras inside (this is similar to the one I use). It normally feeds through RCA cables, but I rewired it with a small transmitter. I mounted it to the ceiling with gaffer tape, and it held strong. The real fire detector in the room was closer to the bathroom, meaning that the appearance of two would not draw suspicion. Also inside the fire detector was a small wireless mic, which again works through a transmitter.

I double-checked the rig to make sure it would stay, then went to the door lock to disable it. I would obviously need to retrieve my equipment when they left, and I didn’t want to have to climb out on the window ledge to do so. The lock was old fashioned, a separate apparatus from the doorknob, and with a few screwturns, the lock would spin on a key turn but not actually lock. Think about it this way: they approach the door and naturally assume it’s locked. They stick in a key, turn it, and assume they’ve unlocked the door. Upon checking-out, they may again lock the door, though in my experience, people tend to leave hotel doors open in case they realize they've forgotten something. Regardless, the worst that might happen is that they find out the the lock is broken, and report it to the management.

I returned to my room at 11:45pm and set up the transmitter. I usually carry a small portable TV to do so on, but my room’s 40 inch widescreen television suited just fine. With everything connected, I flipped the TV on and got four crystal clear images of the room. I connected a pair of BOSE headphones to the audio output jack and could hear the hum of the air conditioning in the room. All was in place. I hit record and sat back in my chair to wait.

At 12:14pm, the door opened, and Jack, Blonde, and Moustache carrying a briefcase entered the room without speaking. If they had noticed that the lock was broken, they didn’t show it. Blonde safety-bolted the door (I obviously had left that alone), while Jack rushed over to the windows to close the shades. Neat. Now to see if they were both boffing Blonde, which would rank only slightly above normal in the list of sexual escapades I’ve been privy to view over the years.

However, no one made any attempt to remove their clothing. Jack and Blonde sat on one bed facing Moustache on the other. They all stared at one another for a while without talking, like it was some kind of face-off. Finally:

Moustache: How much?
Jack: Same.
Moustache: Same price then.

Blondie reached into her purse and pulled out a thick wad of cash. Moustache counted it – more than a thousand, though I’ll have to watch the tape again to verify. Then, he opened his briefcase, revealing a pile of neatly organized folders and legal pads. His hands disappeared under the fold of the suitcase, and with a snap, the inside of the suitcase fell down, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside were several bags of a particularly famous white powder.

Great. So this wasn’t infidelity, it was just a stupid, everyday drug deal. Blondie and Jack probably act as distributors for the particular company for which they work. And I don’t mean they’re selling to Annie the Secretary just so she can slip up and get them all busted. This is high level shit. And if they’ve been coming every day, the demand must be high. Jack took the coke, tasted it, approved, then passed it to Blondie who also tasted it, approved. Conversation began again:

Moustache: Don’t you trust me?
Jack: About as far as I can throw you.
Blondie: We should be getting back.
Moustache: Oh come on, Jane, wouldn't you like to stick around here for another hour?

Moustache’s hand drifted to his crotch.

Blondie: In your dreams.
Moustache: I’ll throw in something extra…

For a very slight moment, Blondie hesitated – the mark of a junkie in training. Then:

Blondie: Uh uh. Let’s get going Jack.

Moustache shrugged, closed his suitcase, and they filed out of the room. Moustache gave a final glance over the room, then headed out. Door closed. Didn’t open again. They didn’t notice the broken lock after all.

Yep, just a stupid drug deal. It’s not my job to care, and Caroline will only be getting the answers she wants: no, I can assure you your husband is not having an affair. Not going to cover up for Jack, but there’s plenty of ways to get out of going into the powdery details.

I waited for several moments, then went into the room to gather my things. Then I noticed it.

If I weren't in this business, I wouldn’t have noticed. But I am, and so I did.

In the high corner of the room was a small black dot – on closer inspection, a hole, about 3mm thin.

Exactly what I would have had to drill if I had wanted to sneak a snake camera – a very small camera head on the end of a long wire – into the room.

Exactly what I would have done if I hadn’t been able to get in the room in the first place.

So what does that mean? Was I not the only one watching Jack, Blondie, and Moustache trade green for white? After taking down the fire detector, I quickly stepped into the hallway (didn’t fix the lock – let that show up on Jack’s bill) and saw a man in a white Panama hat entering the elevator. He was carrying a very large briefcase.

“Hey!” I called, but too late – he was through the door. Now while I don’t like the idea of someone eavesdropping without telling me, my interest in the case officially ended at the sight of two people not having sex.

I’ll call Caroline and report the news later tonight.

But somehow, this whole thing doesn’t feel like it’s over just yet.

Caroline and Jack - Part 2 - Hot Pursuit

I went to Jack’s office building at 11:45 AM this morning. Caroline told me that he takes his lunch breaks every day at noon like clockwork, but I didn’t want to miss him. This is the type of job that should be wrapped up in a single day with a single photograph and one of two choice responses: “he’s screwing the blonde” or “he’s eating sandwiches at the local deli.” Expect either immense gratitude or endless crying, depending on the which.

Twelve o’clock arrived, and Jack came out of the building. He matched the photographs exactly, right down to the perfectly pressed business suit. A few quick glances over his shoulder led me to believe that perhaps there was something more antagonizing on his mind than which type of meat to get on his hero. The job, as far as I was concerned, was nearly finished. Just had to wait for the blonde to show up, grab a few photos, and courier them over to a sobbing Caroline with the bill. All in a less-than-reputable day’s work.

He stood outside his office for a moment doing his owl impression, then started to walk. I’ve lived in New York for a long time and know most of the places to shack up during the day in the city, so I pretty much knew where he was headed – a small hotel located off of Park Avenue a few blocks up. Very expensive, but expensive equals privacy. I was so sure of this that I almost doubled around and took a different and faster route to beat him there. However, no time to play games. Again, this is the type of thing that is worth an afternoon of my time, no more. There are plenty of other wives worried that their husbands are cheating, and willing to pay for the truth.

As I had predicted, we made our way to the hotel, which we will call the Hotel Charmant. I saw her just as I rounded the block standing in front of the hotel under the awning – a blonde with hair so platinum it radiated sunlight all the way up the street. Jack walked right up to her and stopped in front. Standing behind an SUV across the street, I readied my camera for the initial kiss.

But no kiss came. These two were playing it safe. I took a few pictures of them together, which would no doubt clinch the case for Caroline. But still, I needed the money shot, and they were playing it safe.

Then I noticed something else that was a bit odd. They were not going in the hotel. Clearly not the typical behavior for two lovebirds avoiding detection. They were standing outside, waiting for something or someone. Blondie seemed fine, but Jack was growing anxious and kept glancing at his watch.

At 12:25pm, a black TownCar pulled up and a man stepped out wearing a suit even more crisply pressed than Jack’s. The man had slicked black hair, a thin moustache, and carried a brief case. Jack looked incredibly relieved to see his friend, and greeted him with a vigorous handshake, while Blondie continued to look uninterested. After their initial greetings were over, they disappeared into the hotel.

What to do now? Follow them in the hotel? Are they meeting for some sort of bizarre white-collar ménage-a-trois? Or is it something more legit? Unfortunately, the Hotel Charmant, as I’ve previously stated, respects the privacy of their guests and has no desire to see my kind of ilk lurking the hallways with ears pressed to doorways. I’m definitely not in tight with any employees to get inside dirt, but that doesn’t mean such a situation can’t be rectified.

I approached the doorman, a Puerto Rican guy who looked like he’d rather be just about anywhere rather than opening doors for old rich white guys. A couple of 20’s got him talking: Jack, blondie, and moustache have been coming to the same room for two weeks. They arrive sometime after 12:00pm, and leave sometime around 1:00pm. The room is always the same: 23.

I stuck around until they emerged, at 1:02PM. Moustache and Blondie hailed cabs, while Jack began his walk back to the office. No kisses good-bye for this group; just handshakes and nods.

I got back to my office at around 2 and considered my options. Then, I called Caroline to report that I couldn’t give her a definite answer regarding her husband’s infidelity just yet, but $200 for room 21 at the Hotel Charmant for Tuesday afternoon would most likely lead to the information she wanted.

She agreed immediately. I love having rich clients.

Room 21 is now booked under my name, and I will arrive early enough to prepare for the arrival of Jack, blondie, and moustache. A one-day job with has suddenly turned into something more.

Caroline and Jack - Part 1 - The Call

A good majority of the stuff I deal with has to do with marriage fidelity (or lack thereof). Today, I got a call from a woman who we'll call Caroline. Caroline lives in a very plush 5th Ave. apartment near the Met. Her reason for calling was to inquire about my wages for checking-up on her husband, a successful young up-and-coming investment banker who we will call Jack. I charge a fairly modest fee for Manhattan, and raised the price only slightly based on her location. She agreed, and as they say in cheap detective novels, I took the case.

Her suspicion is that Jack is using his hour lunch break to sneak off with a busty blonde co-worker to a small hotel nearby his place of business for more than just sandwiches. My job is to either confirm or reject her suspicions, and I'll begin tomorrow.

The question becomes: how much preparation needs to be done for this particular situation? Seems like a simple tailing job with a decently-lensed camera. Caroline e-mailed me several pictures of Jack from just about every imaginable angle, though she needn't have - a quick search of his name brought up several pictures as published in several business and marketing publications. Jack is, apparently, quite a hot new-comer.

I love when my clients don't go into detail.

Jack and I have an appointment tomorrow, though he doesn't know it, and there's a definite chance we won't even see each other. More later.

Who am I ...

I work in New York City as a private investigator - call all the names in the NYC phone book under that heading, and eventually you'll hear my voice say "Yeah?"

No, I'm not another Philip Marlowe or Sam Spade, though sometimes my work gets dark and gritty. As a kid, there were two things I wanted to be: a writer, and a cop. I tried writing for a while, but I began to feel sorry for all the trees being sacrificed for my rejection letters. The cop thing didn't work out, for reasons I may or may not choose to post one day. In the end, I decided to work as a private detective, setting up shop in Manhattan.

I've been working for 20 years now, and I've got some stories to tell. And with the advent of blogging, it seems as if I might be able to live out my boyhood dreams of writing for ... dare I say it ... an audience? Time will tell.

Anonymity will be practiced, but the stories will be unchanged.