Read Online Gumshoe Gorilla by Keith Hartman, Eric Dunn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Keith Hartman, Eric Dunn
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the coffee bar.
OK, Drew. Stop. Don't panic. They probably just wandered to another section of the store. I did an aisle by aisle search. No dice. I checked the porch. Nada. Having a nasty mind, I checked to see if the women's restroom key had been taken. No, it was still hanging on its peg by the bar. So where did they go?
I kept looking, and eventually found the two of them out in the parking lot. They were pressed up against the mark's black convertible, getting to know each other a little better. I'll spare you the graphic details. Let's just say that if either of them was carrying any concealed weapons, the other one would have found them.
Well, I did ask Daniel to keep the guy busy.
I walked up behind them, and then dropped the palmtop on the pavement by the mark's feet while loudly clearing my throat.
I really wish I'd brought a camera. From the expression on the mark's face, you'd think that someone had fired off a gun behind him. He spun around, the gold buttons on his elegant plum waistcoat all undone, his shirt hanging open.
"Sorry to interrupt," I said. "But Daniel asked me to remind him when it was eight o'clock."
"Oh yeah," Daniel said, putting on his sheepish face. "I didn't realize it was so late. My parents are in town, and I'm meeting them for dinner."
"Sure," the mark said. He was trying to act cool about it, but he looked like a kid who's been told that the amusement park is closing early. "No problem. Let me give you my number, though."
He reached into his waistcoat and noticed that his palmtop was missing. He looked around and spotted it on the ground. Must have fallen out in all the excitement, I guess. He dusted it off, and then he and Daniel bumped ports long enough to swap numbers. Daniel gave him a last kiss, and then made his big exit.
I turned to go as well, but the mark stopped me.
"Wait," he said, as he buttoned up his shirt. "I've been meaning to ask. Aren't you a private detective?"
I tried not to look surprised.
"Uh... yeah. I am."
"I thought so. We met at an AEN function about a year ago."
Oh yeah. The Atlanta Executive Network. Sort of a gay version of the Rotary Club. They throw a big networking party every month for all the gay owned businesses. Most of the people who turn up are lawyers and real estate agents. I go twice a year to pass out business cards.
I looked at the mark's face, but he could see that I wasn't making the connection.
"I had blond hair at the time," he explained.
"Oh yeah," I said, pretending to recognize him. "You and your husband own a travel agency, right?"
"Well... that's actually what I want to talk to you about. We're in the process of filing for a divorce, and I think that he may have taken some money out of the company and hidden it. You know, put it in an offshore account or something. Is there any way that you could...?"
"You still got my card?" I asked.
He did a quick search on his palmtop for the key word
Investigator
and found it.
"Call me tomorrow," I said. "We'll set up a meeting."
It wouldn't be the the first time that I'd been hired by both sides in a messy break up. And it's not like either of these guys was an angel.
I said goodbye to my new client and walked up Piedmont Avenue in the direction of Daniel's apartment. It was a nice night to be out. Say what you will about Atlanta, but there are a full three weeks a year when it doesn't suck. And two of them are in April. The weather turns warm all of a sudden, the breezes blow off the smog, and everything bursts into bloom. Particularly the dogwoods. They're everywhere, covered in white. It always takes me by surprise. I don't know why. Maybe it's just my natural pessimism, assuming that someone is gonna cancel spring this year.
I found Daniel a block away, lying on the grass in front of some expensive condos, looking up at the clouds. He smiled as I walked over. He had a long
OK, Drew. Stop. Don't panic. They probably just wandered to another section of the store. I did an aisle by aisle search. No dice. I checked the porch. Nada. Having a nasty mind, I checked to see if the women's restroom key had been taken. No, it was still hanging on its peg by the bar. So where did they go?
I kept looking, and eventually found the two of them out in the parking lot. They were pressed up against the mark's black convertible, getting to know each other a little better. I'll spare you the graphic details. Let's just say that if either of them was carrying any concealed weapons, the other one would have found them.
Well, I did ask Daniel to keep the guy busy.
I walked up behind them, and then dropped the palmtop on the pavement by the mark's feet while loudly clearing my throat.
I really wish I'd brought a camera. From the expression on the mark's face, you'd think that someone had fired off a gun behind him. He spun around, the gold buttons on his elegant plum waistcoat all undone, his shirt hanging open.
"Sorry to interrupt," I said. "But Daniel asked me to remind him when it was eight o'clock."
"Oh yeah," Daniel said, putting on his sheepish face. "I didn't realize it was so late. My parents are in town, and I'm meeting them for dinner."
"Sure," the mark said. He was trying to act cool about it, but he looked like a kid who's been told that the amusement park is closing early. "No problem. Let me give you my number, though."
He reached into his waistcoat and noticed that his palmtop was missing. He looked around and spotted it on the ground. Must have fallen out in all the excitement, I guess. He dusted it off, and then he and Daniel bumped ports long enough to swap numbers. Daniel gave him a last kiss, and then made his big exit.
I turned to go as well, but the mark stopped me.
"Wait," he said, as he buttoned up his shirt. "I've been meaning to ask. Aren't you a private detective?"
I tried not to look surprised.
"Uh... yeah. I am."
"I thought so. We met at an AEN function about a year ago."
Oh yeah. The Atlanta Executive Network. Sort of a gay version of the Rotary Club. They throw a big networking party every month for all the gay owned businesses. Most of the people who turn up are lawyers and real estate agents. I go twice a year to pass out business cards.
I looked at the mark's face, but he could see that I wasn't making the connection.
"I had blond hair at the time," he explained.
"Oh yeah," I said, pretending to recognize him. "You and your husband own a travel agency, right?"
"Well... that's actually what I want to talk to you about. We're in the process of filing for a divorce, and I think that he may have taken some money out of the company and hidden it. You know, put it in an offshore account or something. Is there any way that you could...?"
"You still got my card?" I asked.
He did a quick search on his palmtop for the key word
Investigator
and found it.
"Call me tomorrow," I said. "We'll set up a meeting."
It wouldn't be the the first time that I'd been hired by both sides in a messy break up. And it's not like either of these guys was an angel.
I said goodbye to my new client and walked up Piedmont Avenue in the direction of Daniel's apartment. It was a nice night to be out. Say what you will about Atlanta, but there are a full three weeks a year when it doesn't suck. And two of them are in April. The weather turns warm all of a sudden, the breezes blow off the smog, and everything bursts into bloom. Particularly the dogwoods. They're everywhere, covered in white. It always takes me by surprise. I don't know why. Maybe it's just my natural pessimism, assuming that someone is gonna cancel spring this year.
I found Daniel a block away, lying on the grass in front of some expensive condos, looking up at the clouds. He smiled as I walked over. He had a long
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