Fletch Won

“Nothing. I was in this lawyer’s office in Miami, and Donald came in to see a friend. At that time they were going to send me to St. Louis when I was done, and my girl friend, this Hispanic chanteuse, said that’s where the Bibles are printed and it’s awfully muggy there, and that didn’t sound like me. Donald invited me for a drink. Two days later I came back here with him. We was never married.” She concluded with, “My real name isn’t Jasmine, of course.”

“Of course.”

“No one’s is, I think.”

“I suspect not.”

“I mean, have you ever actually met anyone named Jasmine?”

“Never before. Not even now, I guess.”

“That’s why I chose it. If I had to go be anoniminous, at least I wanted an outstanding name. Wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose so.”

“So what should I do now Donald’s dead? Call someone in Washington, or what?”

“What federal officer did you deal with in Miami?”

“That’s the trouble. I can’t think of his name. It was either John or Tom.”

“What about Habeck’s partners? Do they know you are in the Federal Witness Program?”

“I don’t think so. I think they thought I was Mrs. Habeck Part Two. The few times we were together they never spoke to me. I mean, except for, ‘Get me a drink, will you, Jasmine?’ Pete and those guys were much nicer. At least they knew I was a woman, you know what I mean? They didn’t treat me as no equal, for God’s sake. I’m glad I came out here with Donald before I finished testifyin’ against them.”

“I see.” Fletch looked at a few of his toes through the tops of his sneakers. “So you’re sitting here without any money, any friends….”

“Yeah. I want a friend.”

“You’re not Donald Habeck’s widow, you’re not even Jasmine….”

“I’d be little Miss Nobody, ’cept I was married twice once.”

“Do you have any idea of Donald’s plans for you, if he went away, if he went into a monastery?”

“I had no idea he was going into a monastery. It must have come over him sudden like. I had a girl friend like that. Suddenly it overcame her to be a WAC.”

“I guess we’d better get you in touch with some federal officer here in town.”

“I thought of talking to the mailman about it. Well, I mean… really.”

“Someone will call you.”

“Plus, I’m locked out of the house.” She turned around and looked at the quiet brick house floating on rhododendrons. “My fur is in there.”

He started toward the house with her. “Is there a burglar alarm? I didn’t notice.”

“No. Isn’t that stupid? Think of a big criminal lawyer like that, and his house don’t even have a burglar alarm. He should have known some of the guys I knew!”

“I think he did, Jasmine. I think he knew all of them.”

“I see someone’s arse sticking up from the bushes!” Definitely, that was Frank Jaffe’s voice. No other voice was that gravelly. “And on that arse is written ‘Ben Franklyn Friend Service’!”

In the dark, in the bushes in front of the News-Tribune, momentarily Fletch wondered if he went all the way in his imitation of an ostrich and stuck his head into the ground he would disappear entirely from view.

Instead, he stood up and turned around. He had not realized he had moved so far into the building’s security lights.

“’Evening, Frank. Time you’d gone home.”

“Oh, it’s you!” Frank Jaffe exclaimed in mock surprise. “Don’t you think we’ve given that particular institution of physical excess enough free advertising this week?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Then why are you in front of the News-Tribune building waving a flag at passing traffic advertising their services?”

The manila envelope and the pencil Fletch had taken from his car were on the ground behind the bushes.

“That’s not really what I’m doing, Frank.”

“What else are you doing?”

“I’m looking for a gun, Frank.”

“You’re looking for your gum?”

“Okay.”

“How could you drop your gum way over there in the bushes?”

Fletch held up his index finger. “Don’t you feel that wind?”

“You were trying to throw up in the bushes,” Frank accused.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You were trying to catch a buggerer?”

“Frank…”

“Besides advertising their services across your arse, have you penetrated any deeper into the whorehouse story?”

“I wanted to talk to you about that, Frank.”

“Clearly you’ve exposed yourself. Are we going to expose them?”

“Frank, I think the story is going to take a little longer than we originally thought.”

“Ah,” said Frank. “Really getting involved, are you, boy?”

“Something unpredictable has happened … a setback….”

“Discovered you really dig this assignment, that it?

Getting your bones ground at office expense, who wouldn’t? Ah, Fletch, I wish all the employees at the News-Tribune threw themselves into their work as enthusiastically as you do! I knew you’d like this assignment, once you got into it!”

“I threw myself into it, all right, Frank—”

“That’s my boy!”

“Trouble is, you see, this girl, Cindy—”

“Now, I’ll bet, even you’re asking yourself why you’re getting married Saturday!”

“Well, you see, Barbara—”

“Carry on, Fletcher, whatever you’re doing. But, please! The publisher and I would both appreciate it if, in keeping your chin up, you keep your arse down!”

“All right, Frank.”

“Good night, Fletch.”

“Good night, Frank.”

“Is Lieutenant Gomez in?”

The counter in the lobby of the police station was so high it made even a helpful citizen feel like a humble miscreant.

“Why do you want to know?” the desk sergeant asked.

“I want to talk to him,” Fletch said. “I want to give him something.”