Third Saturday Fiction

Chapters 2 & 3 from the novel Frank O’Hara – The Last PI

By D. Michael Pain

[Editor's Note: Chapter 1, published here on December 29, described the contract killing of an unidentified woman. In today’s excerpt we learn a bit about her and meet the novel’s eponymous hero.]

Chapter 2. Where’s Brenda? When Brenda failed to show for work the following morning her co-workers were a bit alarmed – it was not like her. She was never late and never missed work. After three hours, her close friend Kim tried calling her. First her home, and then her cell. No answer. She left messages. “Hey best friend, where are you?”
    Lunch came and finally she called Brenda’s next-door neighbor, whom she knew. The neighbor also knew Brenda well and said she should check on Brenda. Within the hour the police were called...It took little time after they arrived to discover the mess of death. The yellow tape went up. The chalk line around the body. The photos. It was an investigation that found no obvious motive, just the brutal death of a young woman. The book in her lap. Classical music playing. Part of her head pulverized. And blood, lots of blood. Homicide was there, forensics were there.
    Lead Homicide Detective John Fordham was there. His first thoughts were, What the hell is this about? He repeated that thought several times during the next hour.
    The medical examiner finished his initial work and left telling Detective John, “No sexual attack – just one brutal-ass murder. I’ve ordered an autopsy...but the cranial damage – looks like one blow by a hard object. I’m going to bet it was a hammer or something damn close to one.” He was muttering to himself as he walked away.
    Detective Fordham made no reply. He knew it was going to be a long night. He was already informed by other officers that it didn’t look like a robbery...Two twenties still in her purse, jewelry still on her dresser. Just ransacked drawers, as if somebody was looking for something this dead girl had, that they wanted. Detective Fordham said out loud for the third time....“What a shitty mess.”

Chapter 3. Meet Frank O’Hara. Frank O’Hara had been hiding from his creditors for the past nine months – ever since the divorce was final. He began answering his business phone by saying “Hello” rather than “O’Hara here” or “This is Frank.”
    His life and his money had been on a slide since the judge hit the gavel and said “granted.” The divorce had been both mentally painful and financially debilitating. He gave her anything and everything she wanted. His guilt more than her request demanded such payment. He wished he could have given her more.
    On some occasions, when he didn’t recognize the number, he would answer his phone with a Hispanic accent and as soon as he realized it was a bill collector, he would say “No speak English” and quickly hang up. There was no chance he would answer when the phone immediately rang again. He thought recently that one of the best things to come along for people who owed money was caller ID.
    Sides were taken by their friends in the past year and the majority of those he had considered his “friends” laid their sympathies with his ex-wife, who had done no wrong. There was no question he had been on the wrong side of the marriage vows. He gave her everything in the divorce he could except the one thing she wanted above all the rest – something to take the pain of his actions away....
    Frank lately had been playing a song from the 80’s over and over in his mind. He remembered the words from the part that reverberated in his head,

I want you, I need you,
but there ain’t no way I’m ever gonna’ love you….
now don’t feel sad, two out of three ain’t bad.

Damn, he thought, that guy Meatloaf was right on. He recalled not being that familiar with it when it first hit the radio waves...but now those words seemed to play in his mind and came to him at the oddest hours. Like a mantra explaining the reasons for his past year’s actions. Explanations, he knew, were based on the assumption that he had reasons. But the guilt yelled inside his mind that he was selfish at the very least and more a selfish prick at the worst.
    It wasn’t sex, as most thought, that had pulled him to the new, young love that Frank had, without looking, found. It was simply the look of her. The smell of her, the sound of her voice, her singing off key....the idle conversation, her eyes…she wasn’t young or old…she was just her. Every day and time he was with her was like meeting her for the first time all over again. For four years it was love magnificently returned. Then she left.
    There was no doubt, as Frank looked back, that he could see her exit coming.
    His marriage finally ended when his good wife found out and moved out. Frank filed for the divorce, which he believed was the right thing to do. The reason for a divorce, which had shocked all of their friends, was actually no big secret. It had but one issue...which in a no-fault-divorce state like Arizona was never listed...but common knowledge if people were interested...and in Frank’s case they were.
    It was another woman. Most of Frank’s friends were well aware and, unlike the hit man, shared their knowledge with their wives. And the information was passed along faster than flowers on Mother’s Day.
    Not just a woman...a younger woman. Thirty years younger. The worst scenario for most – no make that all – jilted wives…and their friends…and relatives…and Frank’s friends and relatives. A love affair that went against the laws of nature. It was perfect for great gossip and better yet, perfect for failure.
    Frank thought they’d never understand: it was a real relationship, simple as that He never felt like he needed or wanted to explain it. There didn’t seem to be a starting point for him to talk about it, and, other than the bartender who had to listen after the third margarita, no one else much wanted to listen...or understand his side. Whatever that side was. Or the sad story of the ending. He was alone...and everyone, including his lost love and now ex-wife, thought he deserved it. Frank silently and sadly agreed with them all.
    Even younger men who had never met him and heard of his affair didn’t like him. Simply for being an “old” man who was operating in what they perceived to be their territory. And of course the prevalent idea that it was all about sex for him and money for her. Neither of those applied. Frank tried not to give “a shit” about what anyone thought. Other than the true fact that he did not like hurting the good woman who had married him twelve years earlier, or his daughter and son, who before hearing about “it”…had him up on a pedestal superman couldn’t climb.
    She had been gone more than three years. He had thrown away all the photos, all her notes, and all the items that one has from a four year relationship.
    But he couldn’t throw away the memories and pictures of her that still played in his mind.
    Everything turned out the same, he thought. Didn’t make a damn bit of difference. He should have moved in with her like she wanted. But deep down he knew she wouldn’t have stayed around forever. The age factor didn’t bother her – so she said. She would sometimes tease him by telling him when he got too old she would just put him in a closet – “with some good books and snacks.” Frank loved her not as a younger woman, but as the person she was to him...and the age difference was not a factor.
    As much as he hated the thought, he had reached the sad conclusion that he didn’t blame her for leaving. It was actually the right move to make. But that harsh conclusion didn’t stop the hurt. He sometimes just missed talking to her about nothing. It was that bad. It wasn’t until the past month that he quit calling her phone just to hear the recording of her voice saying, “Leave a number and I will be happy to call you back.” He knew that message was for everyone but him. Shortly after his last unanswered call, her phone was disconnected. Frank knew it was a move against him. A loud banging message of silence telling him again “it’s over.”
    He had heard she became seriously involved with a wealthy man from Norway, or somewhere cold. Got engaged and soon married. He truly found himself happy for her. He knew from his many talks with her about her tough growing-up years and was glad to see a happy ending finally heading her way. It was hard but he knew in his mind he had to let go. Though it wasn’t his choice...it was, he knew, the right choice.
    His life had too many chains attached at the time he fell in love with her...carried too much guilt. The one thing he didn’t have was the guts and moral fiber inside that it takes to make the kind of decision to end a marriage that outwardly and inwardly had no garbage. In fact, his wife often said she had the happiest marriage she knew – all through the time Frank was seeing another woman. He never treated his wife badly and when he finally did made the decision to ask for a divorce, it was without question a shock to his wife and the hardest thing Frank had ever done. The “other woman” had already left his life by this time – she had no more “wait” left in her. The divorce, when it came, was a big empty and very late gesture...and Frank still wasn’t sure he even wanted it. He had too many religious values that always seemed to return to the vows he had given and mentally block a move towards divorce...and the harsh reality that his wife always believed in him. More importantly was always good to him.

He picked up the phone on the second ring. It was a number he didn’t recognize, but he was only an inch away from the Spanish accent.
    “Hello.”
    “Hello. Frank O’Hara, is this you?”
    Frank did not answer.
    “Is Frank O’Hara there?”
    Finally Frank replied, “Who wants to know?”
    “Kim Dawson. I’m a friend of your ex wife, Julie. She gave me your number and said I should talk to you.”
    Doesn’t ring a bell, he thought. “Who are you”?
    “Kim Dawson. I work at the bank where your – or at least your ex-wife’s – account is.”
    “Shit,” he said softly, then said, “‘I’ll get a payment in as soon as a check I’m holding clears, okay?”
    “No, no,” she said before he began with his next excuse sentence, “I’m not calling about the bank. This is a personal matter. Your ex-wife said you could help me. That you could give me advice – and tell me what to do. That she knew you could help me. Said you know all the right people and if she was in trouble she would call you...you’re the best ‘PI’ there is. Gave me your number and told me to call.”
    Frank sipped his coffee, making sure to wipe the corners of his mouth with his napkin.
    “I’m in trouble...it can’t wait,” she continued.
    His first thought was, Julie’s like that, doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.
    After all the crap he had heaped on their marriage, she still referred him a client and probably gave him a hell of a recommendation. She had forgiven him – and in her own way loved him still. She remembered the good in him, and as she told him when she left his life, “I was your biggest fan, and probably always will be.” His guilt was the way he said he was sorry he had hurt her – a phrase that seemed too trite, too insincere. But that’s where it ended.
    “Yeah, well, okay,” he said, “what can I do for you?” He was still apprehensive. His years in the business had taught him not to trust to quickly.
    “A friend of mine was murdered, and I know some things. I m afraid.” Her speech grew quicker and her voice rose along with the speed.
    “She told me what she did and I warned her something bad would happen…But not murder—” She began to cry.
    “It’s bad. I can’t talk to anyone. Why did she tell me? How did I get myself into this? I think they might get me too...I really wasn’t her best friend, it’s just when someone…needs help, I felt…I thought—”
    Before she started her next word, Frank interrupted.
    “Slow down; slow down. Who is going to ‘get you’?”
    “I...don’t know. I don’t know.”
    A brain wave flashed in his mind. A looney-tune, my wife sent me a looney-tune.
    “Well, if you don’t know who they are....Why are ‘they’ coming after you?”
    She didn’t notice the sarcasm in his voice. “Brenda told me – she told me some things. She took some files from her work. This guy she was seeing, she did it for him. She didn’t want to do it…I guess it was more than just seeing...She told me she was falling in love with him. She told me not to tell anyone. He needed help. His family was going to be in trouble – lose lots of money…their life savings…Brenda was killed two days ago. The police told me she had been beaten. I heard another one say her head was bashed in...brutally bashed in.”
    Frank thought, as if there were another way.
    She inhaled, then exhaled a large sigh.
    “Can I talk to you in person...I’m uncomfortable telling this to you over the phone...I’m still at the bank. But I can leave. I’m too upset to work now.”
    Before agreeing to a meeting with someone he didn’t know...that concerned somebody being killed...Frank wanted and needed more information.
    “Tell me again, how did you get my number?”
    “I spoke to your wife when she came into the bank this morning and saw that I had been crying and was scared...She’s always been so nice to me. I told her that my friend had been murdered and I needed to get some advice real fast and I had no one I could trust or talk to. I don’t think…or better yet...don’t trust the police. Brenda specifically said not to tell them…I wanted to find out if you think I should or need too...It sounds crazy, I know.”
    She paused briefly. “And she said you were a private investigator and you would be able to tell me what I should do. That you always helped people and could be trusted. I’m afraid to go to the police...and she said—”
    Before she could finish, Frank interrupted.
    “Is my ex-wife connected to any of this?”
    He had a passing thought that this was a ruse set up by his ex-wife for some reason. It was the word “trusted” that bounced off the inside of his mind.
    “No, I talked to her after the police interviewed me. And I didn’t tell them everything. I’ m scared. I answered all their questions truthfully...but—”
    She took another long breath. “I have something I should have given them...told them. Can I tell you? Can I trust you?”
    Frank did not answer.
    She broke the silence. “Can you tell me who I should go too? What to do? Do you think I…? Your wife said you always knew what to do in dealing with the police...and I know she is a good person....”
    Frank put his hand up like greeting an Indian in peace.
    “Hold it right here,” he said. He pushed the phone away from his ear. This was moving too fast.
    Life had taught him that there were some things not worth knowing unless you first established the “rules of engagement.” His first rule lately was to get paid. He was not against helping someone, but if this is going to be an investigation case, with a murder in the mix, if he was even going to take the case, then he needed to let her know what he wanted for his time...before he heard anymore. It wouldn’t be the first time that he felt sorry for someone and ended up giving him or her his thirty years of investigative knowledge for nothing.
    This young lady had the misfortune to call right after he had opened his mail and read the second-notice and third-demand-for-payment envelopes.
    He had also learned from past experience that if it were not going anywhere, then it would end sooner when money was mentioned.
    “Okay,” he said,” first of all, my fee is $150 an hour – plus expenses, and I’ll need, uh—” He went into a fast second level of thought as he added up what he was short for rent.. “Make that a thousand up front, in cash. You got that kind of money?”
    Frank needed the cash, and if some looney-tune wanted his advice, he would give it to her and pay on a bill or two and even send a little to the daughter and son he had not spoken to in months, and had neither of them yet forgiven him or forgotten.
    “Yes, I have a savings,” she said. “Can I completely trust you? I’m still very frightened.”
    “You can trust me,” he dryly replied. Evidently she hadn’t got the whole story from his ex-wife – or maybe she did if she asked that question. Either way, it’s ok, he mentally shrugged.
    “You got a coffee shop by your house, somewhere we can meet?” he continued.
    “Yeah, Denny’s on east Camelback,” she said. “I can be there in an hour.”
    “Get the cash and I’ll see you there. Until then,” he said, wanting to sound like he knew that he was on top of things and she was lucky enough to have gotten him on the first phone call.
    “Don’t talk to anyone else about this. And wear a red sweater – or something red – so I’ll recognize you...I’ll find you, don’t worry. I’ll see you in one hour…Oh, don’t tell anyone you spoke to me.” Frank at this point wanted no connection to her. Too many looney-tunes running around.
    They hung up at the same time.

Copyright © 2015 by D. Michael Pain