Nobody answers,instead, they turn their backs and resume talking to each other.What a rude bunch of punks. I decide to give it one more shot,“Hey, I realize you’re probably discussing issues a lot moreimportant than mine,” I say sarcastically, “But if any of you canquickly look at this picture and tell me if you recognize thisstudent, I’ll quit bothering you and be on my way.”
Then, a guywearing a blue hoodie and expensive matching runners walks quicklytowards me and stops only inches from my face. “Why are you up hereasking questions? We don’t even know who the hell you are. By thelook of you, you’re probably a private investigator snoopingaround. Nobody here is going to tell you shit, got that?”
What anaggressive little bastard. I feel like telling him that justbecause he’s attending a prestigious university, doesn’t give himthe right to speak to people so disrespectfully. Instead, I turnback and walk toward the truck. I know I’ll need to come back hereto do more investigating so the last thing I want to do is create ascene. When I unlock the door and am just about to get in, I hear afemale’s voice call out. I turn to see the mob dispersing and ared-haired girl walking toward me. “Hey, wait,” she says.
I shut thetruck door. She’s about twenty and is dressed in an oversizedsweatshirt, leggings and expensive looking boots. If she’s tryingto look hippy-poor, she should rethink the posh footwear.
“What’s up?” Isay, hoping that she isn’t likeminded to her mob buddy and wantingto unleash more verbal venom on me.
“Can I see thatphoto?” she asks, holding out her hand.
If she grabs itand rips it up, I swear I’m going to tackle her. “Sure,” I say,handing her the picture. It only takes a moment before she hands itback. She takes a quick look over each shoulder and then stepscloser to me, “I know Allen, most of the skids do. The cops werealready by asking all kinds of questions. I don’t think they foundout much,” she says.
“So, do youhave some information that might be able to help me?”
“I don’t know alot. All I know is he drives around in a white car with some otherguys.”
“What kind ofcar?”
“I think it’s aMercedes.”
Of course, itis.
“Does the carhave any discernable markings on it?”
“No, notreally, but the license plate says high life, spelledH.I.L.I.F.E”
“Thanks. Iappreciate it.”
“No problem.I’m only telling you this because I felt bad about the way that guytreated you back there when you were being so nice, so I wanted tohelp,” she says.
“Thanks.”
* * *
On my way backto the office, my cell rings. I pick it up and look at the screen.It’s Katie. A wave of excitement comes over me, and I pull over tothe side of the road.
“Hi,” I say,trying my hardest to sound composed and not overly excited.
“Hi. I justwanted to call and see how your first day at work is going.”
This girl isunbelievably cool.
“It’s alright,definitely different.”
“How so?”
“Let’s just saythat I’ve had a bird’s eye view of how the overly rich live, and Idon’t feel so envious anymore.”
She laughs.
“So, I thoughtmaybe you were calling to ask me out for dinner? Oh, you were?Wait, let me check my schedule…yep, I’m free.” I tease.
“You’re prettysure of yourself, aren’t you?” she giggles. “As a matter of fact,I’d love to have dinner with you. Unfortunately, I have my parentscoming over this evening, but the rest of the week, I’m free.”
“Sounds great.Just give me a shout when your company leaves,” I say.
“So, you don’twant me to phone you before that? I was kind of thinking I’d callyou every day, unless you find that too stalker-ish?”
“No. Imean…yes…stalk me!” I quickly respond.
She laughs,then tells me that her boss just walked in and she has to go.
I pull backinto traffic and head to the office. After speaking with Katie, I’mpretty sure no matter what happens today, I’ll feel good.
* * *
When I get backto the office, Ed is in his usual spot behind the desk. He asks mehow my interview went. After giving him a quick recap of mymeeting, he tells me that it’s my job to find Allen Caulfield, nomatter what it takes. He suggests that I go home and come up with astrategy that will get results.
As soon as Iwalk through the door, the most incredible smell hits me. Myfather’s back is to me as I enter the kitchen. “Hi, Dad.”
When he turnsaround, I see two oven mitts on his hands. I look up at his faceand gasp, “You got a haircut and a shave?”
He smiles,revealing small dimples in his cheeks. His cleaner look takes meback to when I was a child. No matter how poor we were, my fathernever left the house without shaving his face and combing his hair.He used to always say, “Just because we’re poor, doesn’t mean wehave to look it.”
“Youlook…better,” I say.
“I thought I’dmake an attempt to look more respectable for our celebration.”
“Whatcelebration, you getting out of jail?”
“No, silly.Your first day on the job as a private investigator.”
A warm feelingcomes over me.
“So, what areyou cooking?” I ask, smiling.
“None of yourbusiness. Go find something to do and stay out of the damnkitchen,” he says half-jokingly.
I grab somepaper and sit on the sofa. I’ve got to create a plan of attack tofind Allen. As Dad clanks pans and rustles around in the kitchen, Iwrite down what I know so far, Allen’s age, his home address, wherehe goes to school and the word abduction, with a question markbehind it.
The only courseof action that comes to mind is for me to go back to UBC and waitto see if the white Mercedes shows up. If I can talk to whomever isdriving, maybe they’ll be able to give me some clues to help findAllen. It’s not much of a lead…but it’s a start.
“Ok. Come andget it,” says Dad.
On the counterare two bowls of chili and a plate of fresh buns.
“There’s no wayyou made
