“Makes as much sense as a guy saying he axed a family because he saw a horror movie or read a horror novel. There’s got to be more to it than that, of course. Rotten childhood, genetic makeup. Most people who see or read horror novels, romance novels, whatever, get their thrills vicariously. It’s a catharsis. But in the same way a horror movie or book might set someone off who’s already messed up, someone wound-up and ready to spring, the Harlequins do it for our man. He has so little idea what real life is like, he expects it to be like the Harlequins, or desperately wants it to be that way, and when it isn’t, his frustrations build, and —”
“He kills women, cuts them up, disposes of their bodies. It’s delicious. Really delicious.”
“It’s silly. There’s a sleeping bag in the closet. Get it out when you get sleepy. Me, I’m going to go to bed. I got a part-time job downstairs at Martha’s, and I start tomorrow.”
“That’s great, Daddy. Mom said you’d never find a job.”
On that note, I went to bed.
Next morning I went down to Martha’s and started to work. She had a storeroom full of books. Some of them were stuck together with age, and some were full of worms. Being a fanatic book-lover, it hurt me, but I got rid of the bad ones in the dumpster out back, then loaded some boxes of good-condition books on a hand truck and wheeled them out and began putting them up in alphabetical order in their proper sections.
About nine that morning, Jasmine came down and I heard her say something to Martha, then she came around the corner of the detective section and smiled at me. She looked so much like her mother it hurt me. She had her hair pulled back and tied at her neck and she was starting to sweat. She wore white shorts, cut a little too short if you ask me, and a loose red T-shirt and sandals. She was carrying a yellow pad with a pencil.
“What you doing?” I asked.
“Figuring out what Waldo the Great’s up to. I been working on it ever since I got up. I got lots of notes here.”
“What’d you have for breakfast?”
“Same as you, I bet. A Coke.”
“Right. It’s important we pay attention to nutrition, Baby Darling.”
“You want to hear about Waldo or not?”
“Yeah, tell me, what’s he up to?”
“He’s looking for a job.”
“Because he got fired for the dog-kicking business?”
“Yeah. So, he’s staying in the trailer park here, and he’s looking for a job. Or maybe he’s got some savings and he’s just hanging out for a while before he moves on. Let’s just say all that for ‘What If’s’ sake.”
“All right, now what?”
“Just for fun, to play the game all the way, let’s go out to the trailer park and see if he’s living there. If he is, we ought to be able to find him. He’s got all these dogs, so there should be some signs of them, don’t you think?”
“Wait a minute. You’re not planning on checking?”
“Just for the ‘What If’ game.”
“Like I said, he could have moved on.”
“That’s what we’ll find out. Later, we can go over to the trailer park and look around, play detective.”
“That’s carrying it too far.”
“Why? It’s just a game. We don’t have to bother him.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” It was Martha. She came around the corner of the bookshelves leaning on her golf putter. “It’s just a game.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be counting your money, or something?” I said to Martha. “Kill some of those roaches in your storeroom. That club would be just the tool for it.”
“I couldn’t help but overhear you because I was leaning against the other side of the bookshelf listening,” Martha said.
“That’ll do it,” I said, and shelved a Mickey Spillane.
“We’ve spoke, but I don’t think we’ve actually met,” Jasmine said to Martha. “I’m his daughter.”
“Tough to admit, I’m sure,” Martha said.
Jasmine and Martha smiled at each other and shook hands.
“Why don’t we go over there tonight?” Martha said. “I need something to do.”
“To the trailer park?” I asked.
“Of course,” Martha said.
“Not likely,” I said. “I’ve had it with the detective business, imaginary or otherwise. It’ll be a cold day in hell when I have anything else to do with it, in any manner, shape or form. And you can take that to the bank.”
That night, presumably an example of a cold day in hell, around nine-thirty, we drove over to the only trailer park in Mud Creek and looked around.
Waldo hadn’t moved on. Being astute detectives, we found his trailer right away. It was bright blue and there was red lettering on the side that read: WALDO THE GREAT AND HIS MAGNIFICENT CANINES. The trailer was next to a big pickup with a trailer hitch and there were lights on in the trailer.
We were in Martha’s old Dodge van, and we drove by Waldo’s and around the loop in the park and out of there. Martha went a short distance, turned down a hard clay road that wound along the side of the creek and through a patch of woods and ended up at the rear of the trailer park, about even with Waldo’s trailer. It was a bit of distance away, but you could see his trailer through the branches of the trees that surrounded the park. Martha parked to the side of the road and spoke to Jasmine. “Honey, hand me them binoculars out of the glove box.”
Jasmine did just that.
“These suckers are infra-red,” Martha said. “You can see a mole on a gnat’s ass with one of these dead of night during a blizzard.”
“And why in the world would you have a pair?” I asked.
“I used to do a little surveillance for a private investigation agency in Houston. I sort of borrowed these when I left. You know, boss I had hadn’t been such a dick, I’d have stayed with that job. I was born to it.”
“Sounds exciting,” Jasmine said.
“It beat smelling book dust, I’ll tell you that.” Martha rolled down her window and put the glasses to her face and pointed them at Waldo’s trailer.
“He’s at the window,” she said.
“This has gone far enough,” I said. “We’re not supposed to be doing this. It’s an invasion of privacy.”
“Settle down. He ain’t got his pecker out or nothing” Martha said. “Wish he did, though. He’s an asshole, but he ain’t bad-looking. I wonder what kind of rod he’s got on him?”
I looked at Jasmine. She looked a little stunned. “Listen here,” I said. “My daughter’s here.”
“No shit,” Martha said. “Listen, you stuffy old fart. She’s grown up enough to know a man’s got a hooter on him and what it looks like.”
Jasmine’s face was split by a weak smile. “Well, I know what they are, of course.”
“All right, we’re all versed in biology,” I said. “Let’s go. I’ve got a good book waiting at home.”
“Hold the goddamn phone,” Martha said. “He’s coming out of the trailer.”
I looked, and I could see Waldo’s shape framed in the trailer’s doorway. One of the poodles ran up behind him and he back-kicked it inside without even looking, went down the metal steps and closed and locked the trailer, got in his pickup and drove away.
“He’s off,” Martha said.
“Yeah. Probably to a fried chicken place,” I said.
Martha lowered the binoculars and looked over her seat at me. “Would you quit fucking up the game? ‘What If’ is going on here.”
“Yeah, Daddy,” Jasmine said. “We’re playing ‘What If’.”
Martha cranked the van and followed the clay road as it curved around the park and out into the street. She went right. A moment later, we saw the back of Waldo’s pickup. He had an arm hanging out the window and a cigarette was between his fingers and sparks were flaring off of it and flickering into the night.
“Smokey Bear’d come down on his ass like a ton of bricks, he seen that,” Martha said.
We followed him to the end of the street and out onto the main drag, such as it is in Mud Creek. He pulled
