No Such Creature

Roof pretty early.

“Now, Lord, I ask you to grant unto Sabrina the perception to see into my soul and recognize that my life is consecrated to her, second only to You, almighty Lord. Let her see that she is enthroned in my heart in a place inviolable.”

He opened another JD and drained it.

“Lord of the Covenant, if that is asking too much, or if you feel I must be further tested, I beseech that you vouchsafe unto me the strength, the wisdom and the tenderness to win her heart. I hope and pray with your help to win her back, not just for me but for You, that I may set her feet once more upon the path of righteousness.”

There was no more Jack Daniel’s. He opened a Remy this time, sucked a little out of it, and made a face.

“Oh, and please don’t let me hit her anymore. Grant me the strength to keep my temper. I mean, except in the most egregious cases.”

There was a knock on his door. He got up and opened it to a man in a blue suit, white shirt, red tie, holding up an ID card.

“William Bullard?” Zig said. He’d conned the name out of the front desk, using the room number. “My name’s Zigler. I’m a state-licensed investigator. Would you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Bill looked closer at the license. Nevada. It appeared to be genuine, but you could buy anything fake these days.

“Questions about what?”

“May I come in? I won’t take up much of your time. My car’s out front begging for a ticket.”

Bill let him in and shut the door. He sat down in a chair near the balcony and motioned for Zig to do the same. Zig looked around, taking his time the way a real PI might. The suite was impressive-couch and chairs, huge desk, flat-screen TV, and that was just the living room. This Bullard character must have some dough.

Before Zig could ask his first question, the guy pointed a finger at him. “You musta had to be a cop before you became a PI. Where were you on the job? Vegas?”

“Santa Barbara.”

“Yeah? Who’d you work with?”

“Mr. Bullard, are you on intimate terms with the staff of the Santa Barbara police service?”

“No.”

“Then maybe you could just let me ask my questions.”

Bullard sat back with a smile. “Fire away.”

“I’ll get right to the point. I’m working for a client who needs to get something of his returned. Something precious that was taken from him.”

“Blackmail, you mean.”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” Zig cleared his throat. His only contact with private investigators was through the movies. He didn’t have a clue how they might act or what they might say in real life.

“In the course of our investigation, my associates and I keep running into you and your green Chevy Blazer, and frankly we’re wondering what your interest in this case might be.”

“Case? I’m not involved in any case. I just happen to be looking for something myself. Some one. You used the word precious. Well, this person is very precious to me.”

Zig smiled. “I can understand that, Mr. Bullard. She’s very beautiful.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Judging by the way you’re keeping tabs on her, you probably know she’s been staying with one Max Maxwell and an individual who may or may not be his nephew, called Owen.”

“I’m aware of that,” Bullard said. “I didn’t know their names. That who you’re interested in?”

“Very.” Zig sat forward and spoke in a low voice. “May I tell you something in confidence?” He was happy with that may. Never used the word himself, but a private investigator would for sure.

Bullard shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”

“These men are professional thieves.”

“Uh-huh. Why you telling me?”

“I’m trying to be helpful to you. Because I’m hoping you’ll be helpful to me. I need to interview the young lady in question. I believe she has information crucial to my case.” Crucial. Another good word.

“I doubt very much that Sabrina knows anything about their business. She only met these yahoos a couple of days ago.”

“You know she’s been staying with them? And where?”

“A trailer park,” Bullard said.

Zig laughed. “I have to say, Mr. Bullard, you’re outclassing us on every level. You must be on the job yourself. How did you know about the trailer park?”

“You oughta try praying now and again, Mr. Zigler. You’d learn a lot of things.”

“No, really, I have a professional interest here.”

“I just pray for insight. You should try it.”

“Do you have any reason to think she might be coming back to you? Have you talked to her?”

Bullard shook his head. “She doesn’t answer her cellphone. She’ll come back, though. I’ve prayed on it, and I believe with the Lord’s help I can persuade her.”

“I see. You prayed on it.”

Bullard just shook his head again, slowly this time, as if in pity, as if there were secrets too deep for the likes of Zig to fathom. His cellphone rang and he peered at the tiny screen before answering.

Zig stood up and mouthed the word “washroom.” Bullard pointed.

“Who’m I talking to?” Bill said, stepping out onto the balcony to take the call. It was sunny now, but humid from yesterday’s rain. The screen on his cell said Sabrina.

“You can call me Owen.”

“You’re using Sabrina’s phone. Put her on.”

“She isn’t here. She left the phone behind.”

“Don’t bullshit me, boy. Sabrina wouldn’t do that.”

“Okay, you’re right. I took it from her. I didn’t want her calling you.”

Bill looked over toward the washroom. He did not trust this so-called PI, not by a long shot.

“Are you who I think you are, boy?” he said into the phone.

“We met the other night in Vegas. You beat me up in a parking lot.”

“You’re the kid tried to interfere?”

“It was nothing personal. I just wanted you to stop hitting her.”

“You got spunk, kid, I’ll say that for you. Short on common sense, though. Tell me something, boy.”

“What’s that?”

“What did I get clocked with that night, a baseball bat? I woke up with one hell of a headache.”

“Parking meter.”

“Parking meter. There ain’t no parking meters left in Las Vegas.”

“They were taking them out, I guess. There was a whole bunch stacked up at the edge of the lot.”

“That a fact. Well, I give you credit for resourcefulness.” Bill glanced through the reflected Dallas skyline toward the washroom door. “I got company right now, why don’t you state your business?”

“I have something for you from Sabrina.”

“What would that be?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t open it. Kind of a fat envelope.”

“Sabrina’s got my number. Address, too. Why would she give you something to give me, that being the case?”

“Look, I’m doing you a favour. I didn’t have to call.”

“Why’d she give it to you, boy? Answer the question.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know why she does anything she does. She’s a confusing person.”

“That’s a understatement right there, is what that is.” Bill raised a boot toward a pigeon that was sidling