Goodbye Natalie
Chapter Three: The Price of Greed
Alan Rassmussen managed a living by digging through garbage cans, peeking through windows, and following unfaithful spouses around. He had once thought that by becoming a private investigator it would mean an upgrade in lifestyle from the two bit hustler he used to be, but sometimes he wondered. He maintained an inexpensive Hollywood office and picked up occasional work from his office partner, the attorney Burl Barnes. He hadn’t made it into the office for the past six months and hadn’t even met the new receptionist. Barnes said she was a real looker, and dependable. He hoped the latter was true because he’d entrusted her with some very valuable merchandise. Fifty-thousand dollars worth to be precise.
He eyed the stack of crisp cash on the table in front of him and his mind raced with the possibilities of what the windfall profit might mean to his fledgling family. With Christmas fast approaching he’d agonized over the thought of disappointment on the faces of his kids when they’d run down the stairs on Christmas morning only to discover a hodgepodge of dollar store reject toys. With the money he could afford something special for his wife too, maybe once again see a light in her eyes after all these years of hardship. The fact that he was selling out one client for another was something he was going to have to square later. He wondered what the price would be for his greed. But with the fifty-thousand he was getting for the sellout he figured he could split the pie in half and still be jake.
Jake. An old time term for things turning out alright. Sitting in tall cotton. Ironic that Jake was also the name of the client he was screwing. Jake Barnes, the nephew of his office partner. His given name was John, but people always called him Jake because things always seemed to work out for him. Jake had come to him a few months earlier and asked him to look after a sealed envelope for him. Just a regular nine by twelve Manila envelope. But, Alan hadn’t heard from him in weeks and he was almost certain he’d have agreed to the deal. He looked around the lavish Beverly Hills home of his most recent client. ”Man, these actors got it made!” He thought to himself. ”Actor, ha! I ain’t seen this guy in a movie in ten years. Now he’s selling out his former fame for a paycheck on a weekly TV series.” Another irony, he was playing a P.I. of some sort.
Alan’s attention drifted to the TV star’s photo gallery on display. He focused on one striking picture of the actor’s deceased wife. He was thinking, ”Now THAT was a movie star.’ Beautiful, talented, sexy...what a tragedy.” She had washed up near Catalina Island a few months back, a boating accident. He scoffed at that, boating accident. Even a two hit P.I. could see there was more to that story than would ever see the light of day. But, that wasn’t his business. He nervously glanced at his watch. The new client entered the mahogany walled sitting room.
Alan spoke. ”I really should be going, she’ll be there soon.”
The client casually poured a drink. ”Is she reliable?”
Alan knew he meant discrete. ”I was very clear in my instructions. Don’t talk to anyone, don’t look in the package, don’t be followed.”
The client swirled the ice in his very expensive glass. Alan couldn’t help but think that this guy’s bar set probably cost more than his own house.
”And you’re sure she’ll follow those instructions to the letter?”
Alan attempted a confident smile. ”Absolutely!” He hoped he wasn’t over selling it, after all, he was going on Burl Barnes word that the new girl could be counted on. The client seemed to be buying it though and Alan thought, ”So who’s the real actor here?”
”JIMMY!” Alan eyed the hired muscle as he entered from some unknown passage, appearing like a phantom in a medieval play. He wondered if the client had choreographed the whole scene prior to his arrival as a sort of intimidation factor, scare the poor bum to insure he’d tow the line. It was working. The whole thing was creepy and getting creepier by the second. The sooner Alan could make the pick up and get his money and go, the better. The bone crusher eyed Alan equally suspiciously. He was dressed in all black, no neck, thick shoulders, no smile, no soul. Alan hoped the receptionist wasn’t late. ”Go with him Jimmy, make sure everything’s intact.” Alan swallowed hard, with great difficulty...why he’d have to say it like that?
As Fallon Dawn Hunter drove the twisting streets to the appointed meeting place, a barrage of thoughts flooded her imagination. She’d never met the A-1 Detective Agency boss, yet she had followed his instructions over the phone without question. Well, she reasoned, he knew where the key was, the location of the hidden safe and the combination. She eyed herself in the rearview mirror, ”Get a grip girl, you’ve been reading too many mystery novels.” Fallon Dawn shook it off and talked to herself to quell her many misgivings. ”This is a routine delivery, I’m the logical choice for the assignment because I was the only one in the office. This is NOT a big deal.” The self consolations didn’t completely settle her nerves.
As she wound the final turn to the top of the road that lead to the Griffith Park Observatory, she recognized the building from an old James Dean movie. She was wondering what the name of that girl in the movie was. It nagged her when she couldn’t think of something like that. No time for daydreams now though, there was only one other car in the parking lot and as she coasted to a stop, a man stepped from it and crossed to hers. She cracked the window slightly.
”Fallon Dawn?”
He was an imposing figure, not at all what she imagined Alan Rassmussen would look like. ”That’s me.” She attempted an air of nonchalance.
The stranger eyed her. ”You bring it?”
Fallon Dawn hesitated. ”How do I know who you are?”
The man cracked a crooked smile and pulled a business card from his pocket. ”I’m glad you’re careful, anybody follow you? You talk to anyone?” The card read, ’Alan Rassmussen, A-1 Detective Agency’. She relaxed a little bit.
”Nope, just like you said, no calls, nobody followed. What’s the safe combination?”
The stranger locked eyes with Fallon Dawn, again the smile. ”Thirty-eight, twenty-four, thirty-six...what else?” She didn’t know anything else to do but complete the delivery; she slid the briefcase from under the car seat through the window. The man sat it on the car hood and adroitly dialed the case lock. He flipped it open and examined the envelope. His next move made the hairs at the base of her skull stand on end. He casually looked around the parking lot as he began moving toward the driver’s side window once again. His hand was reaching inside his jacket about mid-chest. Fallon Dawn’s danger sensors were exploding as she focused on the bulge in the man’s jacket. Suddenly, car lights traced the trees as a noisy carload of teens pulled into the lot, the man momentarily turned his head. By instinct, Fallon Dawn cranked the ignition threw the car in gear and floored the accelerator as hard as she could. As she sped away, the briefcase flew off the hood and the man scrambled to keep his footing. Maybe he was just reaching for a tip for her trouble, maybe she was over reacting, maybe not. Better safe than sorry, and she felt anything but safe as she skidded out of the park onto Los Feliz Boulevard.
Back at the mansion, the client excitedly tore open the envelope and checked the contents. ”It’s a copy!” His eyes narrowed on Alan Rassmussen.
”This is a photocopy. Where’s the original?”
”That’s what he gave me, that’s all I got! He gave me the envelope, asked me to hold on to it, I never even opened it!” Alan felt the hope of a nice Christmas and the fifty-thousand slipping away. Maybe he could bargain for a reduced payment. The guy’s loaded, and after all, he gave him what he had. Maybe the wife would get a kick out of an autographed photo of him and the Hollywood bigwig. And maybe the kids could make do with a new puppy from the shelter. He was sure that things could be worked out.
* * *
When Fallon Dawn arrived at work the next morning, Burl Barnes called her into his office. He was grim. ”I’ve got some bad news Fallon...my old office partner, he’s dead.” She felt faint. ”They found him early this morning, suicide, carbon monoxide poisoning.” Barnes slumped, shaking his head.
Fallon said. ”You mean Alan Rassmussen? The detective agency guy?”
Barnes just nodded his head. ”I have to go i.d. the body, you can take the rest of the day off.”
Fallon Dawn was in stone-cold shock, she couldn’t speak. Barnes stood and stared plaintively at a wall photo of himself and another man, grinning broadly at the camera. ”That poor, poor family.” The floor was spinning from under Fallon Dawn’s feet.
”Mr. Barnes, that photo you’re looking at...is that Alan?”
”Oh, I forgot, you never met him, did you? Yes, that’s Alan, we’d just closed a big case and were celebrating...I can’t believe he’s gone.”
Fallon Dawn’s throat became unbearably dry and it felt like her heart was stuck in it. Her head felt light and her breathing was stilted. The man in the photograph was not the man she had given the briefcase to.
* * *
Locked in his car on a lonely road that lead to nowhere, Alan Rassmussen had finally learned the price that fate charged for deceit, treachery and greed. Everything.
