Eileen Slovak

Chapter Forty-six: Double-O-Stupid

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and locales are products of the author’s imagination. They are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental. Copyright © 2024 by Eileen Slovak.

Scott

There’s a message from Slumansky demanding a mandatory meeting. I can’t imagine what the creep wants that’s so urgent. In the office, I find him sitting at his desk with his feet up. He’s looking through the contents of a large manila envelope.

      “Good news Boy Scout, I came up with a better nickname for you, Double-O-stupid.”

      “Well, that’s fantastic. You couldn’t tell me that over the phone?”

      “No.”

      I sit in the chair across from him. He’s licking bacon juice from his greasy fingertips, while gobbling up a club sandwich. A glob of mayonnaise stuck in the corner of his mouth, bounces whenever he speaks. Feeling bile rising in my stomach, I avert my eyes. The calico perched on the sill behind Slumansky’s head is looking plump around the middle. Probably feeding it too many of his leftovers. I pity the animal.

      “There’s more. I wanted to give it to you in person.”

      He tosses the envelope across his desk at me.

      “Go ahead. Consider this a gift.”

      I opened the envelope carefully, not sure what I’ll find inside. It’s a stack of photos of me with Scarlet at the restaurant. Some were shot through Scarlet’s apartment window the next day. It takes all of my will to fight the urge to lung across the desk. I want to beat the crap out of him. I grip the arms of the chair to steady myself.

      “Look, I know you’re a rookie, so I’m going to give you some free advice. The first rule of being a PI is don’t bang the prime suspect. Thanks for that though, I enjoyed her almost as much as you did.”

      He’s smirking and licking the glob of mayonnaise. I feel myself color, wishing I could control it.

      “Anything else?” I ask.

      “Yeah, I know all about why you left the Navy and about dear old dad. So, if you fuck around again, you’re fired. I don’t care who your friends are at the agency. I don’t have time to waste spying on my own investigators. Don’t bother expensing that dinner.”

      My loathing of Slumansky has reached an all-time high. I leave before things take a seriously bad turn. I know I screwed up royally. I knew even as I was doing it. I need this job. I don’t need to do jail time for beating this slime ball into a bloody pulp. Even though he deserves it. I’m pissed at myself for my lapse in judgment. Besides, I’m supposed to be getting the goods on Slumansky, not the other way around. This pig is slicker than I thought.

      Back at the hotel, I place the photos in Sean’s file. I can’t see much in the shots he took through the window. The bastard’s oily paw prints are all over the pictures. He gives new meaning to creepy stalker. I have to finish the job, then distance myself from that jerk. But I also want a little more time with Scarlet. Part of me isn’t ready to break it off yet. He has no access to my hotel, so having her meet me there is a better option. Risky, but I do need to interview her.

      I go through the file again. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something crucial. The good thing about paper files is you can spread everything out to connect the dots. Summarizing it all in a computerized report is easy later. I find it’s better to make connections if you have something tangible to look at. My stomach tightens reading the note: Late December flight from Providence to Arkansas? I need to find out if they saw each other that day. If she was anywhere near Sean at the time of the accident. Why else would she be in Arkansas? There’s nothing there. Did she merely break his heart or was she somehow involved in what happened and covering it well?

I’m ashamed to admit I’ve allowed myself to get side tracked. It’s imperative that I remain out of focus as far as Slumanksy is concerned. At least until I figure out how to handle the situation. I’m a professional. I can outmaneuver that clown.

      Reviewing all of the data, I start my recap report on the FMPI issued laptop. According to the mechanics report, the BMW had no defects in the braking system or the steering. The functionality of the vehicle seemed to be normal. The airbags didn’t deploy, but according to the mechanic, he couldn’t find a reason. He did say that if Sean placed something light on the right front seat, that could have been the issue. Since everything in the car gets tossed around on impact, it’s hard to say. Officer Hardesty said the same thing. The toxicology report showed Sean was sober. His blood alcohol was clean with no signs of drug activity.

Looking at the photo of Sean, I think the kid was a saint. He had no enemies. He was a model employee. Everyone I’ve spoken with only has good things to say. Maybe that’s because he’s gone. Hard to know. But it sounds like he was a guy you’d want to share a foxhole with or have as your best man. Despite Kevin’s protests, there’s only one thing that still makes any sense, but I need to be sure. It won’t be easy for Sean’s parents to hear. I post a sticky note on the cover of the master file: Suicide? Would he do himself in over a woman? Scarlet isn’t just any woman. She’s a woman you would chase after. She may even be a woman you would die for.

      Patricia Iannuccilli is pissing me off. Since she still refuses to answer any of my calls, I have to track her down. I’ll question her face to face. Her current address is in Boston, but her parents and brother still live in Rhode Island. I plan to trail her first, then confront her, so she can’t avoid me. The trip will get me out of town for a few days which is good. The distance will help clear my mind.

      Back to where I started. Is there be more to Scarlet O’Brien than I had first believed? I call Scarlet, hanging up without leaving a message. I have to figure out what to do. Telling her the truth would have been the right thing if I’d done it from the beginning. But then again, what if she has something to hide? How will I ever know? I’ll have dinner with her as planned, then figure out my next step.