There were chants and the sound of wood being struck echoing as if primitive instruments were being beaten upon. The scent of the mystical loomed in the air. Images of indigenous primitive dancers performed around an intense fire. These images began when they waited to be connected to Richard, and they flashed throughout the night. However, the men were unaware of these rituals being performed within the deep expanses of the unknown.
This had been going on ever since the foreigners arrived with their selfish intentions. Every night this ritual was being performed—every night since Richard laid eyes upon one of the natives. This ritual required consumption of rare plants and mushrooms to invoke psychedelic effects and constructive hallucinations. Although the intruders could not hear it, the spirits were being called upon. No matter the reality, the sounds grew louder and the images flashed more intensely.
"Richard here!"
"Rich," Nick said, with impudence and exasperation in his voice.
"How dare you," exclaimed Richard.
However, Nick paid little attention to the fact that his address had disgruntled the other man.
"Well Rich, how about you get your ass right here to South America and get us the fuck out of here. I hope you have your checkbook as well."
Nick stood awaiting an answer, and the remaining members of his crew were paying full attention.
"Well, who am I speaking to first?"
"Fuck all that. You know who you brought down here. We don't have time for name games and all that bullshit. Man, my boss was just eaten, and you're lollygagging! What the fuck?"
"OK. OK, wait a minute! Did you say Mr. Evans?"
"Oh, now you know who we are."
"What happened?"
"Just please get us the fuck out of here before we call the National Guard for rescue, and I'll tell them you left us out here stranded. Lawsuits up your ass."
"Hold up, sir. There's no way I can get there tonight. The contract was for a minimum of two days. Besides, how do I know that this is not some prank call?"
Nick failed to respond because the rage boiled so deeply and stymied any focus for his emotions, which were in a state of flux. He thought, I didn't want to be here, but somehow I had no choice.
Gary was paying complete attention to this conversation, but Ron glanced off periodically to notice those eyes again. He tried not to look, but something compelled him to do so. He wanted to avoid staring directly into those eyes, but the tendency to look was too strong. He fought hard by looking in different spots, only to notice there was no escape because they were all around. His awareness had veered away from Nick's verbal assault on Richard.
Just before alerting the others, he looked in one direction and noticed eyes that didn't look like the others. These were even spookier and remained in one particular spot longer than the others. The darkness in combination with thick masses of trees made seeing clearly nearly impossible. These eyes that now had Ron's full attention were even more still and shined more brilliantly.
"Hey fellows, I think we're being watched."
Gary redirected his attention from Nick's conversation to Ron. "What's up, Ron?"
"I think someone is watching us! Look! Those eyes!"
Ron pointed at the mysterious eyes watching them, and Gary took heed when he too noticed the sharply cut eyes.
Nick saw that his companions were staring and said, "What are you all looking at?"
He approached their position to try to get an equal view to his comrades, but his sight was not as keen. "What do y'all see?"
The men didn't reply but remained focused on the hypnotizing eyes. Nick reached for his flashlight, simultaneously flicking the switch and pointing the beam of light directly at the eyes in a smooth motion. This startled the eyes, and the sound of a crackling roar followed by a suspended hiss came from directly in front of them. The eyes darted towards the gentlemen.
Like a stalker in the night and a keen predator, the jaguar chased the men like it had cubs to feed.
Ron blurted, "Oh shit, a lion."
"I don't think lions are in this part of the world," exclaimed Gary, standing there still.
Nick had jetted before any conversation, and Ron followed before Gary could get the last words out. Nick darted faster than a track star getting out of the blocks and had a few meters on Ron. The wild slick cat was in hot pursuit, while Gary stood in the same spot and watched the cat and mouse game unfold. The two headed towards the woods instinctively, and it was unclear who exactly the cat had his eyes on.
Tree branches and limbs crackled from the panic in Nick and Ron's decampment. The cat's movements were silent and stealth itself, the creature gracefully fast. They probably intended to stay together when they first scampered off, but instincts proved Ron and Nick had different fates. Ron seemed to be slightly quicker, for his fear propelled him considerably. They began to drift apart like a 'V'—and definitely not a straight one. The jungle brush made it difficult to work their way ahead, and this hungry animal closed fast.
Gary was amazed that brief moment he viewed his colleagues' escapade. He had even stood there moments after they were out of sight, his eyes staring into the night. Paralyzed for just a moment, he darted for camp with severe clumsiness. He hadn't smoked a cigar, and this was the longest he had gone in a while.
Desperately arriving at the camp, he began immediately to fumble with the radio. Static fuzzed from his constant attempts to establish a frequency.
"Please come in! This is Gary needing rescue assistance. I am transmitting from 61 degrees latitude and 15 degrees longitude, please respond. If anyone can hear me, I beg that you please respond."
Gary's breath was ragged and he was raving into the headset. He then attempted other frequencies, not realizing the radio was already set.
"Do you read me, please come in. This is a distress call!"
This was repeated constantly before hearing Captain Briscoe.
Meanwhile, Ron and Nick's fate was just about to be decided. Their voices echoed in terror. Not really sure of where to run, Nick had chosen a tree to climb. This seemed silly initially, since cats have no problem in that department. However, the cat didn't chase after him—it decided to pursue Ron.
Nick looked down with breath gasping enormously from mouth and nostrils, clinging tightly to the lower branches of a winding tree.
"Oh shit man, run! Run! Run!" Nick yelled louder and louder until his breath now had control over the volume of his vocals.
Ron didn't need his advice one bit, nor did the wild and arcane feline, which was closing fast. The two played a brief zigzag game. Ron tried to evade the fierce cat's agility by ducking, dodging, and running with all his might. Despite his efforts, the cat continued to close on him rapidly. He used the bushes to weave through, hoping to compensate for his predator's superior quickness. That didn't help, because the cat sliced through the jungle, proving it was at home and Ron was not.
Nick had remained in his tree, shattered with disbelief, and he showed no signs of coming down.
"Captain Briscoe responding to the stress signal transmitted on delta/gamma frequency, copy!"
"Hello! Hello! Captain, please, we need rescuing!"
"What seems to be the problem... copy."
"One of our crew members is dead, and we're being chased by wild animals."
"Is this the crew I flew to the site?"
"Yes, you dimwit."
"Well, if you would have said who it was."
"Just get here in a hurry!"
Gary spoke his last words as if that is exactly what they were.
Captain Briscoe immediately reported in to show his loyalty to Richard. "This is Captain Briscoe, assigned to project Rainforest."
"John here."
"I have a distress call from your crew."
"Are you still communicating with them?"
"I have them on delta/gamma frequency."
"Keep them calm. I need to get Richard on line."
"This is Briscoe. Crew, are you still transmitting?"
Gary did not answer because he had just departed with some sort of manmade weapon carved out of leftover material from building the camp. He was going on a mission to help his comrades.
"Do you read me? Crew, please respond."
Gary had forgotten something of importance and heard the incoming transmission accidentally as he returned to the camp. "Yes, this is Gary. Are you fucks on your way?"
By this time Richard had been patched in for the conference call. "What's the problem?"
"Look, you all have dropped us off in the middle of nowhere, basically unprepared. Shit, if I would have known, I would have brought my goddamn rifles. Shit, I did know, but this was such a rush I didn't have time to bring 'em, but I'll be goddamned!"
"OK, OK, tell me what happened."
"I really don't have time to tell you a story. You better get here ASAP. I need to go and find the other surviving crew members."
Gary turned away from the radio, but he then turned and stared at it as if it were responsible for their delayed rescue. He reached for a cigar with one hand and had a weapon clutched in the other, and then he darted off to find where his friends and co-workers could be.
Gary's demeanor resembled Milo's when he was trying to conquer the stream. It was also similar in the sense that the adrenaline level was a hindering factor. Not to mention the fact he didn't know where to start searching. All he knew was the general vicinity where the chase initiated. They scattered so quickly, and it all happened so fast, that it was tough to know which direction to take.
Somewhere in the middle is what he was thinking, following the river until he reached the spot where the cat first lashed out.
He spoke to himself aloud, "Just follow along that path. I should find something. If I turn my back towards the river and search directly in front of me, I should run into Nick or Ron."
He proceeded with vigor.
Ron now grew silent, and the only sounds that came from his direction were his feet clashing with brush. A pure rush of adrenaline fueled his movements, which also gave Ron the ability to survive one more thing. He made a sharp cut and tumbled down an abrupt incline. The bruises and dirt accumulation went unnoticed—he seemed immune to the pain because his life was more important.
After getting up, he quickly resumed running, Ron's fear pulsating in an invisible aura around him. He could feel the eagerness reverberating in the cat's eyes, and then he could hear the roars. Ron's next step was vital because it not only sealed his fate but rearranged it totally.
The bushes crackled, so did the leaves, and the brush that was pushed aside. A deep and desperate southern accent cried out.
"Nick!"
A pause followed, but the night was far from silent because the forest was filled with creepy sounds. It was pitch black by this time, and Gary only had a simple lighting utensil.
Another cry uttered from Gary's mouth. "Ron."
Panic loomed in Gary's mind, but he struggled to keep it under control. Lighting a cigar, he stood there wondering if he should continue to go straight ahead. Puffing rigorously to assure it was lit, he felt a sudden calm from the initial inhalation. He walked forward like a soldier experiencing guerrilla warfare.
Little did Gary know, the spirits of the forest were literally his counterparts in some ritualistic battle. The chants didn't stop. In fact, they got louder and eyes pierced throughout the forest. Gary penetrated deeper, looking very hard while calling out for his colleagues.
Deep sounds of bass echoed from some primitive instruments within the forest and slowly became noticeable to Gary's ears. The harmonic thumps caused curiosity in Gary's mind and began to severely distort it. He now veered off a little from the task of finding Ron and Nick, but instead opted to investigate the sounds that intrigued him.
It required splendid effort to cut through the brush, and darkness was not an ally. Sweat poured, and he probably burned a few pounds in his efforts. His breath was also depleted to the point that he discarded his cigar gratefully. Ascending a slight slope was partial cause for his lack of respiration, not to mention his obesity.
Tired from the sudden trek, he yelled, "Shit!" Deciding to sit down near a tree that sat at the top of this slope, he received an unexpected view in some uncharted section of the jungle. He tried to regain his breath in huge heaps.
Gary rolled over on his stiff stomach, which resembled a sturdy blubber pad. The mist was heavy, and his eyes struggled to see through it. The thick jungle brush also played a tag team partner in his vision impairments. If only his hearing senses were impaired, because the sounds of owls, unidentifiable insects, and other miscellaneous creatures were enough to make him crazy. The thumps also got louder and chants were now becoming recognizable.
Gary's breath had finally achieved equilibrium, and the mist drifted apart just a bit. The right breeze helped in the manipulation of the mist and made it manageable in eyesight terms. However, the view was little and required that he squint, confirming that the breeze did a lousy job. Nevertheless, he began to focus just a little, and he noticed darkness all around him.
His pupils dilated severely as he adjusted to the simple light at an angle. The dark patch began to become a little clearer, as he noticed a huge tree that was larger than any in the immediate forest. He even looked up at the tree next to him and thought, Wow! There were huge trees virtually everywhere, but he refocused on this one because it had an attractive aurora that captured anyone who looked too long.
He stared at it, and the dark area became clearer. He noticed people, and he thought of Ron and Nick, but he knew it couldn't be his friends he was seeing. The tree's magnetism, and maybe even some telepathic essence, stunned Gary and left him speechless. All he could do was look, and it was strange that these people were all black people, or no! He realized they looked like Indians. This conclusion was drawn from the programming of a child, when cowboys and Indians were the main theme in his culture.
These people with paint on their faces, wild briefs, and tattoos fit that very description. They were doing exactly what the childhood hoopla portrayed—dancing around that same gigantic tree with primitive instruments, chanting something harmonically that was undecipherable. There was also a spiritual essence that got stronger, and so did Gary's eyesight. The chants and praises seemed to pulsate vibrantly and helped him overcome his visual constraints. He tried to think about Ron, but his thoughts were vague.
In fact, at that very moment, Ron was making that step to the left to avoid being razored with claws, but where he stepped was a soft spot that soon collapsed. A screeching shout escaped from Ron's mouth as the ground beneath him gave way. The fall wasn't long, but it wasn't easy to get grip to pull oneself up. Realizing he had fallen in some kind of hole, panic raged in his efforts to raise himself out. Grunts and groans were the sum of his attempts until he thought he needed to settle down. He figured that he shouldn't be hasty anyway and climb into the paws of a hungry feline.
Ron leaned up against the dirt walls of the hole that captured him. Covered in grime, his fears convinced him he was doomed.
"Help! Help!" screamed Ron to the top of his lungs.
Not only was this a hole, it was also a home, but Ron was just finding that out. He noticed huge red spots darting across his shoes and ankles at great speeds. The red spots Ron observed also had darker red spots on them. There were so many now.
"Oh shit!"
Panic and fright filled Ron's soul as hundreds and hundreds crawled all over his body, and they bit hard. Hundreds of thousands of bites from head to toe is what Ron experienced, and it wasn't pleasant. He must have jumped, skipped, and danced all over the tiny space trying to run, climb, and pull himself up, but to no avail. He screamed and raged in agony.
"Ahh shaaaahhhhhtttt... Shit! Help! Oh my God, please, please. Get them off me, ahhh!!!"
This yelling should have been heard throughout the forest, because the small bites came by the hundreds. He must have slapped, punched, and clawed himself to misery because of the little critters. He even tried to scrape them off frantically, but that didn't help because he was caved into a nest. Hundreds even thousands overlapped his body entirely. They bit and bit until they eventually caused him to faint.
He was now unconscious and being eaten alive slowly but surely, their bites and stings seeping slowly into his bloodstream. Ultimately, the toxins were the cause of his fainting, but the rest was taken care of by their enormous appetites. A body this huge would take a while, but that didn't matter. They were accustomed to working hard to stockpile enough food for the harsh seasons. Besides, there was a queen to look after, and this was enough to feed their nest for many seasons to come.
Ron now had an out-of-body experience, drifting about the forest to never return to his tomb to officially die, but instead to loom forever, trapped with the spirits of the forest. The ants sure didn't mind one bit.
The strength in the chants grew and the essence of the forest seemed to need feeding. Gary was another possible meal as he stood entranced by that stunning tree. He still stared at it vigorously, even though naked men danced around this very object. The focus he maintained became eerie, and images pulsated in Gary's mind. The forest sounds began to mute and the chants and praises were heard only as background noise. There was a connection between the huge tree and the one he was standing under.
Suddenly, all sounds muted entirely. The focus on the tree before him grew stronger, and the only sound he noticed was a crackling, which was very loud, since it appeared to be the only sound that penetrated Gary's zone. It was the branch above him snapping and descending with full force. The rapid descent in combination with the branch's mass crushed Gary's back. It squeezed the life out of him.
It was near dawn and things had subsided. There was one rule even the bad spirits adhered to, and that was no foul play while in the presence of the King, the Amazonian sun—Your Majesty was due and the mist turned into morning dew. The breeze blew pleasantly as if this were paradise. The birds chirped pleasant tunes and whistles, and even the frogs croaking had a good sensation.
Near camp, the sound of helicopter blades twirling through the beauty of the natural sounds could be heard. They landed the best they could, and with no delay, Richard and Briscoe jumped out.
"This is where the crew should be."
Richard scanned the immediate area while standing in one place before replying, "Yeah, I know! This is where I instructed them to build a work station. Let's check over there."
After pointing his hands in the direction of the camp, Richard led the way.
"It sure gets hot early here."
"Yes, so I see. The sun wastes no time in this part of the world."
Richard arrived at the camp an instant before Captain Briscoe, but lingered on while the Captain looked inside Gary and Nick's hasty creation.
"Hello," Briscoe said timidly, as he arched his head around to peek through the entrance. The echo was vaguely clear, but it was also clear the room was empty. "Hello, I'm responding to your stress call."
His boots clattered against the frail floor as a search of every square inch was performed. "There is no one in here. Who are we expecting, the same gentlemen I transported, correct!?"
Richard looked as if he didn't want to talk about it and blatantly ignored him. Richard continued to walk forward, paying the questioner no attention.
"Hey excuse me." Briscoe blurted in a real effort to break Richard's silence. He stood there, hand on chin with his elbow rested upon the arm folded beneath, and refused to take another step.
Richard did not let that stop him and he carried on, looking around but not appearing to be searching for the missing party—just browsing casually. You could only imagine what was in his mind at this point, especially if judged by the way he looked around. Traveling far off from Briscoe, he remained in an up, down, left, right, scan pattern that seemed systematic. Richard was indeed keenly aware of certain dangers, because he walked in a specific pattern so as to easily trail back. It was almost as if he felt his way around, and this was just the beginning.
Richard wasn't trained in safari ordeals, and he was an amateur when it came to natural habitats. The fact that he walked through the forest without fear seemed strange, but maybe the sun was out and vision was sufficient, giving him that courage.
"Hey! Hey! What the hell are you doing up there? What are you doing here?"
He stretched himself for a better view of the man in the tree, only to realize he was partly asleep. There was no other choice but to climb up.
"OK! Let me see! I probably can, nah! I should hmm... If I can just."
His mumbling and muttering went on, but soon he began to dart his way up the tree. He propped himself on the same branch and scooted his way over to make contact with the slouched-over Nick. Richard placed his hands upon Nick's shoulder and spoke softly, "Hey, excuse me!" while shaking him softly but assuring not to stop his utterances. "Sir, wake up! Wake up!"
His requests became louder, sharper, and even the hand-shoulder relationship got rocky. "Hey! Wake up," he said softly but with a sense of aggravation.
"Oh shit!" shouted Nick in an amazing effort to hold on to the branch. The assaults on his sleeping had nearly startled Nick to an uncomfortable fall. Both men experienced unsteadiness, grabbing each other's shoulders to try to maintain a sudden interruption of their balance. That attempt failed, however, and Richard and Nick plummeted to the ground.
Richard ended up slightly on top of Nick after the fall and caused temporary damage to his leg. Nick yelled at the top of his lungs, "Shit! What the fuck is going on? I! Hold up... it's about time. Damn, where are the others, we need to find them. Oh... Oh... shit!"
The pain from Nick's leg pulsated and caused agony to the third degree, which caused unclear thinking mixed with the trauma of the night before.
"Hey, calm down. Nick, that's your name right. I need to get you back to the helicopter—you're injured."
Nick's mood did not get much better after those seemingly sincere comments. "Have you found my friends? Oh shit... Milo! He's fucking dead, oh no!"
Richard watched Nick descend into sorrow and was curious as to why, but he refrained from asking for details. "We haven't found your friend yet, because you are the first one we have run into. I will send a search crew."
"Good! I'll lead them."
"No, I'm getting you out of here. You're in no condition to be searching for anyone."
"No, fuck that! Look, I lost my boss, man. I won't listen to the shit you're talking. Matter of fact, you better have your checkbook ready, because you owe four gentlemen major bread. If I don't leave here with something, for all this bullshit I done been through, shit, I'll have the National Guard out here. This is the perfect story for a book, with the sinister character's name slandered all in the mud, so don't fucking play with me."
"Calm down, Nick! Listen, I just have to get you safely back home. I assure you that all of your finances will be taken care of."
Nick continued his raving, but he was a bit calmer after Richard's guarantee of compensation. The men followed the path Richard had set out before and made it back fairly quickly. Briscoe had stood in the same spot, but now squinched over watching the ants crawl and other miscellaneous creatures linger about. He instantly stood upright when becoming aware of someone slouched over Richard for assistance.
"Help me get him in the helicopter."
Briscoe opened the door and allowed them to use his hand as leverage. They slumped Nick in ruggedly and proceeded to secure themselves. Briscoe commanded the helicopter to lift off.
Richard's eyes were the reflection of patience running thin as he glanced upon the white fluffy clouds above them. "What happened?" Richard exclaimed, while turning his full attention to the answerer.
Nick looked at him, his eyes emotionless, and he remained quiet.
Briscoe looked at Richard after giving Nick a strange gaze. "If I would have known this was loud mouth here, I might not have answered that radio."
That got both of the men's attention.
"Fuck you! What the hell, who is this guy?"
Richard sat back and looked at Briscoe, wondering why in hell he made that comment.
"First of all, you muthafuckas are crazy. I know you wouldn't have left me out here, and you better not leave my friends out here. Milo's already dead, if anyone else is..." Nick paused as if he had to hold back any soggy emotions because he was a man. "You all won't hear the last of old Nick."
A silence loomed for a brief moment.
"Wait a minute. There's more people back there, and someone's dead?" declared Briscoe with disbelief. "I assumed the others were already gone. I only spoke to one person on the radio, but... I think he did mention someone, or he had to find somebody."
"Yeah, you must have spoken to Ron or Gary, and matter of fact, it was Gary. It had to be, because me and Ron had to make a break for it."
"A break for it?"
"Yeah, a lion or something attacked us."
"No, it wasn't a lion. It had to be a jaguar, or something."
"Well, whatever the fuck he was, he was trying to eat us. I don't know if it got Ron, oh no."
Richard blurted sympathetically, "Calm down, Nick. Calm down. We will find your friends."
Briscoe still wasn't through with all of his inquiries. "Well what happened to your friend Milo?"
"I don't know, man. It's strange."
"What do you mean you don't know?"
"Look! All I know is Ron and Milo were establishing dimensions of the site, and he mysteriously fell into a stream."
"So he drowned?"
"No, not quite. He got eaten by piranhas. Don't ask me how it happened, because it's beside me."
Nick stood there looking ignorant, as someone trying to reason with logic itself. Stupefied by his own gestures, he listened in that same manner.
"You don't think your friend Ron might have pushed him in."
Nick snapped out of his condition and initiated his normally defensive attitude. "What the... that's idiotic. That couldn't happen. Ron couldn't push anyone in any way. I don't care if he sneaks up from behind, he still wouldn't succeed."
Nick began to find brief humor in Briscoe's acquisitions, but he remained defensive. "So, Rich. Are you going to call the police?"
Richard snapped, "What police? Forget the police. We're all the way in South America."
"I tell you what then, I'm calling the National Guard."
"Look, I have a friend high up in the FBI, and I'll pay him to get a scout troop," said Richard.
"Yeah, and you better pay me, or like I say, I'll have the National Guard out here. I'm sure the media would love a story like this. A greedy businessman stranding his workers to perish in the deep expanse of the jungle. As a matter of fact, don't find my friends and I'll have a lawsuit so far up your ass you start shitting me money. Turds of thousand-dollar bills, muthafucka."
Rich's face grew red, but he remained calm as he noticed Briscoe's gestures appearing to favor Nick's arguments. "All right now, we have a long plane flight ahead of us, so no need for the bickering."
Everyone was tired, so they pretty much remained silent the entire flight. Briscoe remained in South America, at the tower where he was stationed. Nick and Rich were a third of the way home, and that's where they wanted to be—short of being all the way home. It was late afternoon and approaching evening, and their wives were waiting. However, the hospital would intercept Nick to take care of his dehydration and busted leg.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Dickenson had dinner prepared and even nurtured the little one until she retreated to her room to indulge in computer games.
Mrs. Geshy was trembling from the constant accusations from her mom. "Goddamn it, I knew that muthafucka would waltz up and leave. Oh dear... Is there anything I can do, just ask."
A simple cry issued from Mrs. Geshy's mouth, then she said, "No matter, hey I'm fine... I'll call you back."
Claira seemed stunned, locked in a meditative glare, but her thoughts were extraordinarily intense, as indicated by her swollen and throbbing temple. Sweat ran down her face. Fire is what was actually going on inside her, because she felt she was in control of the relationship, and it would have been her to leave him. The fact that he up and split was out of the question, and with that notion she picked up the phone.
"Precinct seventeen. Detective Andrews speaking."
"Yes, I would like to report a missing person."
The detective knew there were tears when he heard the soft cries pour from Claira's lips. "Ma'am, what is your name?"
"I'm sorry! My name is Claira Geshy."
"Let me transfer you to missing persons, one moment please."
Claira continued crying while waiting for someone to respond.
"Hello! Mrs. Geshy, this is Lieutenant Harrington. I would like to ask you a few questions. First, who are you reporting missing?"
"Joe Geshy, my husband."
"When was the last time you saw your husband?"
"Oh dear, he was supposed to go on a trip to South America several days ago, and I haven't heard from him."
"Well, have you and your husband been going through any problems."
Claira replied defensively, "No!"
"Well, what business did he have in South America?"
"He was to go with a friend, and as a matter of fact, I talked to the wife of my husband's friend, Mrs. Dickenson. She said they haven't heard from them."
"I take it that you all were friends."
"Yes, but look! My husband was happy with his relationship at home."
"I'm not disputing that, Mrs. Geshy. It's just that..."
"Look Lieutenant, all I'm asking is for you to look into it."
"I'll do what I can Mrs. Geshy."
The phone hung up abruptly and Claira sat there crying, for her life was now in shambles, with no explanations as to why. Liquid overflowed the rim of her eyelids triggering a waterfall effect. She asked herself over and over, why? She questioned her confidence and started wondering about what her mom said. The questions agitated her: Did something terrible happen, or did he really leave?
"No, he didn't leave! Something terrible has happened." Her tears increased like developing cumulonimbus, and sadness soaked in.
Harrington had a sneer lingering on his face that captured the attention of his team members. "Who was that?" exclaimed Rick Powers.
"Oh that was some broad crying about her husband leaving her."
"Yeah," said Rick, "I mean, what do they want us to do? I mean, there's nothing we can tell the husbands, you know. What do we say? Hey come back to your wife? You vowed until death do us part when you married the silly heffa."
Rick's colleagues found tremendous humor in the subject. He even provoked a few laughs from his fellow officers. Rick's direct supervisor, Lieutenant Harrington, was also finding humor in his comments, but he responded ironically. "Since you find so much humor in this matter, I'm assigning you to the case. I know you understand we still have a duty to our civilians."
Immediate discomfort filled Rick when assigned to what he thought was a repugnant case. He glanced at the address Steve displayed. "These people must be well off to live in this district. What do these people supposedly know?"
"Well Rick, that is what you are to find out. Mrs. Geshy said he was to make a trip with Mr. Dickenson, but they claimed the trip never materialized."
"Well why didn't it?"
"The guy never showed up. Hey, I'm not telling you to be Sherlock Holmes. Just get over there and question them, so we may get the report concluded."
Rick sipped his coffee and looked like, Oh well, another day, another dollar.
Exiting the precinct building, Rick caught a discomforting glare from the late afternoon sun. However, that did not stop him from executing his duties. That same glare also indicated Rich and Nick were just about home. They had not broken their silence because the bickering, trauma, and shock created deep exhaustion.
Nick was hurt a little, but getting paid was always revitalizing. He also knew to use that as leverage, if he told before he could get flimflammed. Nick just stared at Rich, and that stare intensified by the moment. The thought of his plans had to be just as intense. Nick had not decided who he would tell yet, but he knew he probably would tell someone as soon as he was paid.
Richard sat in front of Nick and stared steadfastly into his own world, unaware of the plot the other man was conjuring. Flashes overwhelmingly consumed him. He gazed and gazed, and tried to wait patiently the rest of the flight. Only about forty-five minutes remained before arriving home, but this was not soon enough. He shifted constantly in his seat from the violently flickering thoughts that assaulted his brain: images of Joe and what happened to his workers. He also had images of his wife, and that caused him to dismiss his friend's death as purely accidental, to tell himself that everything would turn out fine.
Thinking of her helped soothe the stress that was growing significantly. There must have been some type of mental connection, because as he thought of her, she thought of him as well. As she tended to the pots that brewed on the stove, his presence filled her thoughts and created eagerness in her cooking.
Susan was actually upset with her husband, but she really missed him and waited impatiently for him to arrive. It was now less than thirty minutes before his arrival, and everything was about done. She sat down and began to read her book, while periodically glancing at their home's entrance hoping he would burst through the door. An extremely anxious demeanor was reflected in every grunt and gesture. It was not that something was extremely wrong. She just missed her loved one a lot.
It was not that he was ever gone long, but he was gone frequently. Jealousy soaked in her consciousness like liquid into a sponge, and she knew this silly project assured a good reason for her envy. She tried to find comfort in dozing off on her cream velvet sofa in her casual living room, the one hardly anyone sat on. Moments after she set her drink on the luscious glass of the cast iron end table, it was half gone and half watered down. She wasn't totally asleep because she took sips periodically. The brief sleep she did get was thin in substance, and any little sound would awake her.
A sudden exclamation blurted from Susan's mouth. "Oh shit!"
Partly startled, she awakened not really sure what the cause was. She looked around like surprise filled her eyes. Redness also filled her eyes from the brief respite she did get. The bell on her door rang loudly once again, and she finally realized what had awakened her. Wonder drifted upon her face as she pondered who could be at the door.
Approaching the door slowly, curiosity loomed in her head. She wasn't convinced her husband had returned, but she didn't know if his flight had arrived early or not. One thing she did know was that he wouldn't be ringing the doorbell. Gathering herself together, she made her way for the door. Hayword had already screened the guest, so there was no effort to ask who it was. The fact that they rang proved it wasn't her husband.
Shock waves rippled across her face when she stared at a stranger on the other side of her huge oak doors. The man stood there briefly without saying anything.
"May I help you," exclaimed Susan.
"Yes ma'am. I'm detective Rick Powers!" he said, showing his badge briskly. "I am responding to a missing person's claim. I will need to ask you and your husband a few questions. Is it OK for me to come in?"
Susan was still groggy from her short sleep but managed to say, "Sure!" This visit was truly unexpected, and she tried to figure out why the visit was taking place. "Here, sit down... Did you say Detective Powers? So, what missing person are you speaking of, and what does this have to do with us."
"Well, Mrs. Dickenson! It may not have anything to do with you, but we just want to make sure we gather all the information that we can."
"Yes, yes. Sure! Would you like some tea or coffee?"
"Sure, coffee please."
He sat down and skimmed through his notes, while she fixed him a hot cup of coffee. Returning with two steaming hot cups, placing his next to him while hers remained in her hand. She preferred to sip her tea while it was scorching hot.
"So, who's missing?" Susan asked.
"Well, we received a call from Mrs. Geshy, and she indicated that her husband was to accompany your husband on a trip to South America."
Susan's eyes lit up in disbelief. "Like I told her when she called me, Joey was supposed to meet my husband, but never showed."
"OK, so when was the last time you saw him?"
"To be honest with you, I can't remember. My husband offered to take him on this trip and he never showed for the flight."
"How long have you known the Geshys?"
"Oh, it's been years."
"Were they having any problems?"
"Claira did talk once about leaving him, but that was years ago. I figured they had worked things out."
"OK Mrs. Dickenson, you have been a big help."
Rick rose, leaving his half-empty coffee cup on the table, and shook Susan's hand to show his appreciation. "Oh, by the way, where is your husband?"
"He's out of town."
"In South America, I presume. What's going on in South America?"
"He is working on a land development project."
"OK! That's all I need. You've been a great help."
He shook her hand again and made his way to the door quickly. Closing the door behind him, she thought that something appeared strange, but she dismissed it casually as her imagination. Suddenly in panic, she is reminded of the cake she was baking when she fell asleep.
The plane descended and Richard had an escort waiting for them. He helped Nick limp off the plane and they exited eagerly. Neither of the men had bags to unload, so they quickly debarked and jumped into the escort vehicle. Nick moaned and groaned from his aching body, which made Rich grow more concerned about his mouth.
"Look Nick, I'll take you to my doctor. The best in the business. I'll take care of you man, and your friends will be OK as well. As soon as I get you cared for, I will send a group of people to recover your friends. Whether they're dead or alive."
"What do you mean dead? They better not, I..."
"No, no I said that because of Milo. Look, I didn't want this. Milo has done much work for me. He was a good man. Everything will be fine. You see, we are home—you're home!"
Nick looked at Richard with pain and discomfort, but not just solely from his injuries. "That's fine and dandy, but you put me through hell. I expect to be compensated accordingly. If my friends end up like Milo, I know something!"
"Everything will be OK. I'm sure they got lost briefly and now have found their way back."
"Lost in that jungle means doom because of all that wild shit roaming around."
The two gentlemen arrived at the hospital's emergency room and wasted no time entering. Richard walked to the service desk and immediately requested his doctor. He was well known, because even the healthcare assistant knew him, and she quickly adhered to his request.
While waiting for the doctor, Richard secluded Nick in the corner of the hospital and said, "Nick, here!" Richard had previously pulled out his checkbook and began to write fast. "This is compensation for the job, for you and your comrades."
He handed Nick the check and watched his eyes glow significantly. "Nick! I know this is perilous times, but all I ask is you to be quiet and allow me to handle this tragedy. I have all the sympathy in the world, but the man that I am, someone's probably waiting to use this ordeal to beef up their careers and..."
Nick interrupted with slickness, "You mean to tell me people are dead and missing and you're worried about your reputation—this is unbelievable. Is this a bribe or something?"
"Wait a minute. This is not a bribe! That check is for services rendered, and maybe a trip for hard labor."
"Hard labor, huh..."
Nick was flabbergasted, but he couldn't help but be amazed at the amount of money he had in his hands.
"All I am saying is I can do the job. As you can see, I have enough money to pay anyone to find your friends. I just need to keep this private."
Nick eased back and looked hard at Richard. "I don't know, man. This shit is crazy. There is something eerie about that jungle. Now if I accept this, then I'm gonna be 'noid', because I got this shit on my conscience. I don't know, man?"
Nick continued to shake his head negatively.
Richard reached for his check and uttered, "Well just hand me that back and you do as you will."
Nick jerked his hand back swiftly and refused to give his check back. He looked at the check, and the realization of nearly a half million dollars made Nick blurt, "You better find my friends, or you haven't heard the last of me."
The men stared each other down like cowboys in a draw to the death.
Richard replied, "I thought you would see it my way." He walked towards the approaching doctor. "Hello Mr. Dickenson, what can I do for you?"
"My worker has been injured."
"What is wrong with him?"
"Doc, I believe delusions and dehydration, and possibly hyperventilation."
"How did this happen?"
"In the forest."
"Forest?!"
"Well, actually in the jungle. I am building a shipyard."
Richard grabbed the doctor and spoke to him now with a whisper, assuring Nick couldn't hear. "Doc, you know! Fix him up permanently."
"Sure, I'll take care of you."
Richard gave his doctor the special cue and waited for a confirmation.
"Mr. Dickenson, consider your problem eliminated."
A smile flashed on the doctor's face, as he knew this was a big task and lucrative opportunities were available.
Richard walked past Nick again before exiting, declaring softly, "If you speak of anything, especially to the authorities, I'm calling that in as a forgery."
He continued to walk gracefully out the door. The doctor proceeded to introduce himself to Nick, who wasn't very responsive. All he could think about was getting the check transformed into cash.
"This way sir! Go into that room and wait for the nurse. She will need to get a few readings. I'll be with you shortly."
The doctor closed the door and the room was coldly silent and extremely bright. Nick thought about his bank, that it was a twenty-four hour banking center, and that he should make a late deposit drop. If this man is rich like he says he is, then the funds should be available soon, maybe even by 2 pm tomorrow. He literally licked his chops, and his thoughts of his crew dimmed, but thoughts of his future surely lit up.
The doctor had put together a special mixture as commanded by Richard, for which he knew he would be paid handsomely. A pale, cold, and cunning look supplemented his actions, as he prepared himself to convince Nick this was the medication he needed. The doctor walked out of his preparation room connecting his needle and testing the injection device in full stride—he was eager to get this done.
Nick was unaware of his fate, as the doctor planned to play a grandiose part in it. The fact that the money was on Nick's mind probably played a role in his ignorance. He couldn't contest the doctor; besides, doctors were to be trusted with one's health.
The doctor entered Nick's room and noticed he was gone. Just moments before, he got up and walked out the door and down the hall. Nick exited the hospital without treatment, and his fate was still undecided. He called his fiancée collect and told her it was an emergency.
"Hey baby, I need you to meet me at the downtown bank. I can't answer any questions, just do it."
He hung up the phone and sprinted down the busy downtown streets. Nothing would stop Nick from getting this done, and all he had to do was wait until tomorrow to get the money. He had treated this like a bank robbery, and the next step was to launder the money.
His fiancée pulled up in what instantly became the getaway vehicle.
"Let's go!" Nick declared with sweat pouring down his face, and the smell of a bum was the dominant aroma. Nick was clearly in a rush and his fiancée couldn't help but say, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Just drive!"
"What is wrong, Nick. You look like shit, and where the fuck have you been? I know, some project, you claim, but that wasn't due to be over until two more days, and pee-uuu... smelling like that. What, some bitch got you drunk and made you sleep on their back porch, and her dog pissed on you. Maybe even shit on you, I don't know. I can't even identify the smells on your ass. Not only did the dog get your ass, but it smells like..."
Nick sharply interrupted, "Man...!" Slightly dragging the word out, and then with a bit of sarcasm, he continued, "We rich! Shut your ass up and drive!"
An ignorant look loomed across Tameka's face. "What! What have you done?" Looking at Nick, she suspiciously yelled, "Nick!?"
"What? Look, I don't want to talk about it. I'll talk to you about it later—just drive. Get me home safely, will ya, please!? That's all I'm asking. How about saving the interrogation for later. I just want to get home, baby, I didn't know if I would even see you again, baby! I just want to get home."
He slouched his seat back as far as it would allow, and laid himself back to rest. Tameka was boiling to know what was going on but didn't make a sound. The car was the only thing heard: the bumps, the grazing winds, and other miscellaneous sounds from the car's interaction with the natural elements. They did have a peaceful ride home.
Richard walked through the door to find his wife asleep on the sofa. He walked past her and into the kitchen. He noticed dinner but could not summon an appetite. The only thing he wanted to do was to sit and relax, and that is exactly what he did. As soon as he was through diving on the den sofa, he began to switch stations with the remote. He wasn't interested in anything he saw and pressed the buttons carelessly. Finally, the station remained on some sports news network, where he glanced at some football report, but the relaxation of his gaze caused him to slowly lose hold of the remote.
His mind pondered many things as to what went wrong. Joe was the first thing, but now he had more to think about. The images of what happened in his mind were only fragmentary, and this restricted him from accurately ascertaining what exactly happened to Joe. Then he caught a glimpse of his survey crew's job undone, and he knew he needed to go back immediately, but time was not in his favor. These thoughts gloomed through his head as the television became an annoyance, but he remained locked to the sofa.
He noticed soothing hands begin to caress his chest, but he swiped them away abruptly. "I don't feel like being bothered."
Susan's drunken condition made for a slurred reply. "Fuck you!"
She walked off as Rich returned to his meditative agony. Then he heard a soft cry uttered. "Daddy, are you watching this?"
He was hesitant to answer, and so his daughter slipped the remote from his loose grip. She began flipping through channels as her father began to notice, "What does my Boo want to watch?"
"Ohh Daddy, snakes!"
Home box office had a presentation of a bounty hunt on a huge mythical anaconda, and the excitement the actors presented on screen from chasing and being chased by this huge snake brought amazement to little Dainisa's eyes. Father and daughter continued to watch the movie with intrigue. Richard had inner thanks for his daughter's rescuing him from his dark thoughts.
The movie was winding down to the near end, and the surviving actors floated on a river winding through the thick jungle. In their sight now stood a group of indigenous peoples of the jungle who had never before been confronted by or communicated with outsiders. They stared in awe at the surviving actors.
Richard stared in awe, and then he jumped up and darted for the phone. Anxiousness controlled him as he tried not to fumble with the phone receiver. Eagerness was his foe, because he had to repeat the dialing process due to his shaking fingers striking the wrong buttons.
The phone rang! "Hello, Julian! This is Richard!"
"Oh, hello Richard, you sound so hyper."
"Oh no, I just needed your help. You remember, you said if I need you to call."
"OK, what's up Richy?"
"Well, let me ask you first! In South America, particularly, central Brazil, do you think Indians are living there?"
"Well, the Indian population is scarce, but I guess so, depending on who you classified as such."
"No, no! That's not what I'm saying."
"Well what are you saying?"
"Are there tribes of barbarians living in the jungles of South America?"
A chuckle spilled from Julian's mouth. "No, I don't think there are barbarians, but indigenous tribes. I'm sure they are all over in the forests of Brazil."
"Oh, yeah!?"
"Yeah, some of which civilization has no idea exist, or we haven't communicated with them at least."
"Do you think they are violent?"
"They could be territorial, especially toward Europeans."
"I have a proposition for you. Would you like an expense-paid trip to study these savages?"
Julian sat silently as he pondered Richard's request. "I'll also pay you for your services. I will need you just in case we have any confrontations with a tribe. You will be the best choice in attempting to communicate with them."
"Yes, you're right! I also have an Indian colleague whose ancestors are from the central Brazilian rainforest, and he speaks some similar dialects. I have mastered that particular language from dealing with him for so long."
"Oh great, what is his name?"
"Poncho-twinytoe!"
"Great. Can we meet tomorrow morning?"
"Wait a minute now. You're rushing me. I can not act on such short notice."
"Julian, I know! I know, but don't you want to study these people up close and get paid significantly for doing it."
"OK! I never could say no since you always stood up for me in college. However, I don't believe my friend Poncho... I might not be able to contact him on such a short notice. Richard, now. How about giving me until the next morning, because I believe he is out of town? I'll call you tomorrow evening to confirm the final departure arrangements."
The men terminated the call and Richard immediately headed towards the bed. He crashed mentally into a deep sleep, tossing and turning as nightmares filed on through his brain. He rolled in agony, but he was sleeping hard, and thoughts of death brewed from his nightmares. He awakened in the wee-hours of the morning dripping in sweat and truly glad his sleep was interrupted.
Richard glanced at his wife, and he was not the only one having trouble sleeping. The visions of her husband not returning saddened her, and she sat there in her dark bedroom weeping. Richard watched her until his exhaustion once again got the best of him.
The next morning shined brightly and the temperature wasted no time increasing its intensity. Richard had a streak going getting up ahead of his wife in the morning, and this time was no different. Actually, he was already at the office drawing up his plans. He used the phone frequently to call many different numbers, haste exuding from him. The worry that this project might be slipping from under him pounded his neural pathways. A plan was needed, and he began conjuring up all schemes imaginable. He considered all the people that could be used, but this needed to be a private ordeal.
Richard picked up the phone once more and began dialing viciously. After ringing for a good minute, a pleasant voice answered, "Federal Bureau of Investigation! How may I direct your call?"
Richard responded boldly, "Yes! Kyser Finley, please."
"Who may I say is calling?"
"Advise that Rich is on the phone."
The receptionist placed Richard on hold while she patched through to Agent Finley's office.
"Hello Rich! How you been?"
"I've been very busy."
"Yeah, but how are you?" Kyser exclaimed with a delighted chuckle, glad to hear from his old pal.
"Oh I've been fine, except for one problem."
"What's the problem," declared the agent. "What's the problem, Rich? You know I'm here if you need me."
"Well Ky! I have a project going in South America, and I suspect there may be a tribe of people, or some jungle savages, who are trying to sabotage this project. I paid a great deal to acquire this land, and..."
"Well hold up, Richard! First, you sound like you're juiced up, and what exactly are they trying to sabotage."
"I'm building a shipyard on the Amazon. I'll have to cut a tremendous amount of trees in doing so."
"Richard, what makes you believe a tribe of savages, as you say, are the problem?"
"I have a friend, a professor at the University of Saint Helen's, and he has indicated there are tribes living in the area that could be territorial. I'm bringing him along because of his understanding of the many dialects of central Brazilian languages."
"So, I guess you want me to go to South America."
"Yes, and a few of your agents. Just to look out for things. There will be substantial pay for your services. Just consider it an overtime gig."
"Oh yeah? This project must be very important to you. How much will this compensation be exactly?"
"I'm paying you and three others fifty-thousand dollars for three days. If I need you longer than that, then there will be more money, but I really don't think you want to talk about this over the phone."
"It's fine. This line is secure."
"All you need to do is patrol the area and investigate any out-of-the-ordinary occurrences."
"OK, Rich! I'll assemble a team. When exactly did you want to leave?"
"In the morning!"
"My! Aren't we in a hurry!"
"Yes I am. So, I'll have someone pick you and your crew up in the morning."
Agent Finley gave a peculiar look after hanging the phone up, but the money was good, so he shrugged off Rich's apparent urgency. Finley continued to fog his office up with a large pipe, and allowed the aroma to soothe his pondering.
Richard, on the other hand, didn't have time to sit and smoke leisurely. He was too busy. He frantically called every individual that he could beg, plead, or bribe into helping. He called the professor to assure his arrival would be tidy. He checked with his assistant, John, to make sure he had called the engineer. There was a tremendous effort to get some work done, because he disliked being behind schedule. The investors would be looking for a report on the land and its constructability, and he did not want to disappoint them, nor did he want to disappoint himself. Everything had to be in place, which is why he called the FBI, so there would be no screw-ups. Whatever was delaying this process must be stopped.
Richard again dialed ferociously, and a few rings later, Julian answered. "Yes Rich! What is it now?"
"How are we coming?"
"Oh just fine. Just like the last call."
"I'm just checking."
"Look, I'll be there, and on time, and we can get on your plane to South America. I still haven't figured out what you want from me. Do you want me to speak to them? If we even see any tribesman."
"That is exactly what I want from you. In case we do encounter these folks, you'll be the most qualified to handle any communication efforts. I mean, we do have to tell them to move and that we plan to build there."
A sarcastic laugh pearled from the professor's lips. "OK. Whatever! I don't have a life anyway, so it's probably meant for me to go on some endeavor. Maybe I'll find a new life or something."
"Well Julian, I can't promise that, but I'll give you a little bit for your troubles."
"Oh man, I have enough money. Besides, I would love to help you while honing my skills."
"We will see you at the airport."
"Great, great. This is going to be an enlightening experience."
The phone was hung up with a bit of satisfaction in Richard's heart, but before he could enjoy it, he was yelling to the top of his lungs. "John, John! I need you in my office."
Richard had placed John's office next door, so he couldn't help but hear the shouts. John walked to Richard's office with the usual look of disapproval. "What is the update on the civil engineer. Have you been able to get one to accept the job."
"No problem at all. You were offering a substantial amount of money, so there were many offers."
"Well, I don't have time to go through an audition. Who do you suspect is the best for the job? Come on John, that is why I hired you. You are my right hand man. You better have an engineer and crew ready to go by morning."
John had already decided on Brutus Salapore. Research was done and John had noticed that the privately owned contracting company had done several jobs dealing with forests and marshlands. It was a large engineering firm with survey crews of their own, which would be the perfect accommodation for Richard's needs: a navigator was needed to sail boats to and from the site, and as many helicopter pilots as possible would be helpful. These positions were filled easily upon signing Brutus and his contracting firm.
They were all to meet at the airport at the same time as the FBI crew, and Julian was to arrive soon thereafter. Richard was thorough, and his arrangements were precise. They would all catch the same private Lear jet to Macapa. He felt his first sense of relief in a while, and the departure day was approaching fast. He decided to turn in early, to rest well before morning.
The ride home was pleasant, but his thoughts about Joe grew more compassionate, and he began to miss him. However, he wasn't the only one thinking about Joe. So did Claira, and in fact, at that moment she was deciding that she was finished thinking about her husband and going to do something about her circumstances. She needed to know what had happened to him.
She picked up the phone and dialed precinct seventeen. It rang severely before an operator could answer. "Is Rick Powers available?"
The operator contacted Rick Powers instantly, and in the background she could hear his colleagues acknowledge his call. One officer had even blurted, "It's that silly broad whose husband left her." Laughter followed.
"This is Rick Powers. How can I help you?"
"I was calling to find out how the investigation was going?"
"Investigation!" A smirk spilled from Rick's mouth, but miles of fiber optics concealed that. "Mrs. Geshy, there's really nothing we can do at this point, not until someone calls in with a tip or evidence of foul play turns up. There's nothing..."
"I don't like your attitude! Let me speak to your superior."
"Sure," he said with a sense of pleasure. Rick transferred the call to Lieutenant Steve Harrington.
"This is Harrington!"
"Yes, this is Claira Geshy. I spoke to you before about a missing husband."
Claira wanted badly to continue her statement, but Steve had orchestrated a smooth interruption. "Yes, and like I told you before, there are many calls similar to yours, and really, there is no way to determine if his vanishing was voluntary or not. You know, sometimes when you don't expect it, these things happen."
"Look! You people are not listening. I told you that was not the case, and you have just the same attitude as that slick Rick guy. I can't believe this. In fact, I'm not getting anywhere with you. Who's your superior?"
"That would be Captain Gunther, and I believe he is on a call. I don't know if..."
"I'll hold on!" Claira declared with no retreat. "Don't make me come up there to talk to Captain Gunther. I'll be sure to exercise my first amendment rights in the middle of your facility."
"Calm down, Mrs. Geshy. That won't be necessary. I'll go to his office and brief him on your call, and we will see if he will accept the call."
"Yeah, you go do your briefing."
She waited patiently, not doubting one bit that he would get on the phone. Harrington proceeded around the corner to softly tap on and then open the captain's door. He signaled him silently with a look of shame. The captain muted the phone in an old-fashioned way, wondering why he was being interrupted. He cocked back in his chair, impatience showing in his eyes.
"What!"
"Captain, there's a woman who insists on speaking with you."
"Well, who is this woman?"
"Her name is Claira Geshy."
"And why does she want to speak with me?"
"She called in a missing report for her spouse, Joe. We have done everything routinely and strictly by the guidelines, but there's no evidence of anything. I told her it's possible her husband has decided to go off for a little while. She is very rude and continues to ask for someone up the ranks, but like I told her, that doesn't change the procedures."
"Pass the call through... Yes, let me give you a call back."
The captain hung his previous call up, and awaited the transfer. "Yes, this is captain Gunther! How can I help you?" George exclaimed very friendly as if a sales pitch was to follow.
"Hell, Captain! My husband is missing and nothing is being done about it!"
"That is not true. My officer has told me everything has been done, at least all that can be done."
"According to your officers, hmm. That is a damn lie. What the hell has been done?"
"Mrs. Geshy, what do you expect us to do?"
"Have you questioned the Dickenson's?"
"Yes we have! You see, we have been doing our job."
"Well who did you talk with? Have you even spoke to Richard?"
"We spoke to his wife, Susan."
Claira really began to blow off some steam, and her tone increased. "I don't give a damn what she has to say—she has nothing to do with this case. In fact, she doesn't know shit. My husband was to go off with Richard, not Susan."
"Mrs. Geshy, please calm down the foul language. He was out of town at the time."
"Out of town, oh that's just great. When in the hell will he be back?"
"Look! Calm down. Your profanities will not speed this matter up. He was in South America."
"South America," yells Claira with severe disappointment. "What the hell is going on in South America? My husband goes there and never returns, but this Richard is always in South America. What the fuck is this? I definitely need to speak to my attorney. Richard is a multi-millionaire, and that is why my case is being neglected. I'll slander your so-called police force. You'd better have Mr. Dickenson questioned, and I will be checking."
The phone was slammed down roughly, and the captain was baffled. "Harrington, get in here."
"Yes captain!"
"Why was I not informed this case involved Richard Dickenson."
"Well sir, we treated it like a normal call."
"What do you mean a normal call? Richard is far from normal, you morons!"
The captain was getting angry, his tone rising a few octaves. "I don't know? In all my years on the force, I still couldn't tell you what a normal call is."
Captain Gunther chuckled but had business written all over his face. "Harrington, one question. What is an above normal call, or better yet, what is a below normal call? You idiot! Who could you put on this case? Because if Rick slanders Richard's name and is incorrect, Richard won't stop until Rick's career is destroyed."
"That's only if there was some suspicion of foul play. There's no evidence of that."
"I know, but I have a feeling this case has mud all over it."
"Why do you say?"
"This Dickenson is always in South America, according to Claira."
"Oh! I see. I wasn't aware of that."
"The missing husband was to join Mr. Dickenson. That is what happens when you refuse to listen, but do you see how this can get ugly in an investigation? All types of personal questions will have to be asked."
Captain George Gunther sat back and pondered the situation, while giving Harrington a keen stare. All of a sudden he blurted, "Put hot shot Pullins on the case. He's been causing a stir lately, and since he wants to be a hot shot, this will be the case that makes or breaks him. And call old Edward Bot in my office. I know when he first questions Richard, oh man. I would love to see that scene."
"You think Richard would be offended when you send Edward to question him?"
"Yes, I'm sure he would be, especially if he had nothing to do with it. Go and get Mr. Hot Shot."
Captain Gunther sat patiently while he waited for Edward to be fetched.
"Yes Captain, you wanted to see me." The man spoke firmly, but only because a trip to the captain's office usually meant being written up. "What seems to be the problem, Captain?"
"There is no problem with you, but there is one I would like you to solve."
"Oh!" A pause followed and Edward again responded in an unconvinced manner. "I'm being assigned to a special case, oh boy. I know something's about to fall out the sky."
"OK Edward, cut the small talk. I want you to question Richard Dickenson at this address about the disappearance of Joe Geshy. Read this report. It will tell you everything you need to know, so go by there this evening if you want, and choose a partner if you like."
The captain knew he would choose Gary Stevens, the one he had been fooling around with. The plan worked, because there was no one else Edward could dig up. The two left for dinner before they took the trip to the Dickenson's.
The two detectives departed the precinct eager to solve a mystery. "So Ed, what's up? Catch me up to speed."
"Read the report that summarizes the issues."
"No! Man, forget a report. What's going on?"
"Some guy name Joe is missing, and his wife said he was supposed to go to South America with that rich guy named Dickenson. We are to question him and search for any clues as to why he is gone."
"Do you think maybe her husband just left her?"
"I don't know, Gary. I really can't say." Edward shook his head.
Gary said, "We will see soon." They stopped at a casual restaurant to get a quick bite to eat.
Food was far from Richard Dickenson's mind. He was home in deep sleep, and the prospects for any change in his consciousness status soon looked bleak. Mrs. Dickenson took care of some chores around the house, and everything was peaceful until Hayword alerted her that two gentlemen were requesting to see her husband. The urgency was obvious in Hayword's voice, which compelled Susan to move quickly. Richard remained asleep through the initial commotion.
Finally, Hayword was face to face with Susan and said, "Mrs. Dickenson, there are two detectives who want to speak to your husband. Mr. Dickenson is not in trouble, is he?"
"No Hayword, no! Now run along. I will handle this."
Susan saw Mr. Reynolds on his way, and then she headed to face the detectives. "Yes," replied Susan curiously. "How can I help you gentlemen?"
"I'm detective Edward Pullins, and this is my partner, Gary Stevens. We would like to speak to your husband."
"OK..., just a moment. Let me notify him of your presence."
Susan walked swiftly to get her husband, wondering why the police were back at her home. The fact that there were different detectives caused more concern.
"Richard! Richard! Honey, honey, wake up." Susan spoke sharply, and her words were followed by a few jolts. "Wake up, the police want to talk to you."
Richard woke up groggy. "What, what! What Dear?"
"There are two detectives out here who want to speak to you. Some other detectives came by yesterday evening to ask a few questions. What is going on dear?"
"What kind of questions—and a fine time to tell me?"
"First of all, you've been ripping and running all over the place, and I haven't had the chance. You're up in the morning and gone before I know it. So what the hell am I supposed to do? It's not like I could have called the office real quick."
Richard headed for the door to let the detectives in. They introduced themselves to Richard, and they were offered a seat. "Well what can I do for you gentlemen?"
"We just have a few questions for you. When was the last time you heard, or have seen Joe Geshy?"
"Well he was supposed to meet me in South America, but his plane was due late. When I went to pick him up at the airfield in South America, he wasn't there."
"That is not what I asked you."
"Hah, pardon me?"
"I said that is not what I asked you!"
"What! What are you talking about?"
"I asked, when was the last time you saw Joe Geshy?"
"What, oh! I... I don't know. I mean it's been a while, I guess. That is why I invited my friend to go along. I hadn't seen him in some time."
The two detectives stared at Richard as he answered their questions. Edward was good at smelling fish.
"What were you doing down there, if you don't mind me asking?" asked Detective Pullins in the calmest tone imaginable.
"Well it was a mini-vacation, in celebration of a project I am building."
Gary sat quietly for a while, then said, "Were you and Joe friends, or primarily business associates?"
"We were friends! Look I don't know where this is taking us."
Edward was not convinced, declaring abruptly, "You say that his plane was late. Was that flight booked out of the local airport."
Richard only nodded his head as if still listening to Edward's questions.
"What flight? Do you know what flight he was to be on?"
"I'm not sure what flight."
"Well Mr. Dickenson, Joe's wife indicated that he was to fly in your private jet."
"Oh yes, but I'm not sure what flight it was numbered, or if they even bother with private flights."
"There's a record of every flight and a passenger count," replied Gary.
Richard's look became that of someone gone numb, but he tried hard to conceal it.
Edward demands, "I need the dates and times of your flight reservations. I'm sure you wouldn't send me to get a warrant and have me tearing up your house for a simple piece of information I know you have."
Richard looked at the gentlemen and appeared concerned, but his cool sustained adequately. "Sure I'll get that info no problem."
Richard did just that and the men were on their way.
Richard was furious after their departure and let off some steam that showed he was in no mood to talk. His wife was the first to find that out as her condolences were lashed at. His concerns now showed, and if the detectives were here, he would be near a confession. Then Richard thought, a confession of what? I haven't killed anyone. They would even have to prove he's dead. Richard's logic got full firing support from his neural net. Joe's way down in South America, in the jungle. Who's going to find him? He considered many scenarios to try and calm his nerves. It finally worked because Richard was back to sleep.
The next morning was hectic. Richard was up early as usual, assuring that his team arrived on the plane. Detective Pullins was eager to check the airport records, and that was the first task he would complete. He went alone while his partner did some research on their suspect. Ironically, Rich and Ed were at the same airport, but Richard was a step ahead and his posse on their way to South America.
Edward immediately asked around when arriving at the airport, and specifically searched for who had private flight records. After talking with many people, he was finally directed to the same gate Richard departed from.
"Excuse me," he said politely. The attendant behind the ticket counter gave him her complete attention. "I'm detective Edward Pullins." He flashed his badge while continuing his polite manner. "I need some information pertaining to private jets and their flight schedules for the last two weeks. Also, if you know of anyone arranging flights by the name of Richard Dickenson, he usually has private jets departing from here."
The attendant took a moment to review her records, and responded gingerly. "Yes! I think so. He and a large group of people just departed."
Edward squinted his eyes and grew eager to hear some more, but he asked, "Their destination wouldn't happen to be South America."
"Yes, I believe so, but they are not required to release that information; however, I could hear some of them speak of a rainforest, and... South America!"
A grim look surfaced upon Edward's face, and he began to feel like a hound dog hot on a trail. "He has actually had more than one flight, and they were all to South America."
"Hmmm...," responded Edward.
"That's funny," declared the attendant, but then she visibly shook it off as nothing.
"What's funny?" Edward asked.
"Oh nothing. It's just that his last flight had only one guest."
"OK, thank you. You have been an extreme help!"
Edward jetted out of the airport fueled by his ecstatic emotion from what he had just heard. He hauled ass back to the station to inform his partner. The hasty driving caused him to curse a few drivers along the way. Nevertheless, he arrived safely, and there were no casualties.
"Hey Joseph! Have you seen Gary?"
"Stevens!?"
"Yes, where is he?"
"He should be back there."
Ed accelerated in the indicated direction. "Hey Gary, do you know that Joe guy did get on that plane of Richard's. So he did make it to South America, but Joe, hmmm! Apparently he didn't make it back."
"We still don't know if he just wanted to leave his wife."
"You're right, but why did he lie? He knew all along Joe was on that plane."
"Yeah, but maybe he is covering for him. You know, if I had a million dollars, I'd probably up and leave my wife too. That is if she doesn't get half, then it's cheaper to keep her. You know they are friends. Richard probably assisted him in his departure."
"Friends!? According to him, but I just don't know? Something about this feels unbelievable."
Edward Pullins had to ponder deeply after that final comment. He snapped out of his reverie and said, "Let's get a bite to eat."
The detectives were just about to walk out of the precinct, but a fellow officer called out, "Pullins! Someone is calling in a missing report. I think you want to take this call. The guy is very irate and he's saying something about South America. Should I just hang up on this guy—it may be a prank call."
"Oh no! No!" Edward grabbed the phone after a few short steps. "Hello, this is Edward Pullins."
A voice on the other end raged. "Hello, Hello! Hey that Richard guy left my friends to die."
"Who is this? What are you talking about? Is someone dead?"
Edward signaled the fellow officer to begin recording the conversation in pursuit of a trace.
"He left them. My friend Milo is dead, and I haven't heard from the others."
"Hey wait a minute. What others?"
The anonymous caller terminated the call just before they could get a trace.
Edward took the tape and the statement of the ticket clerk to seek a warrant. "Gary, let's get a warrant. This scum bag is hiding something."
The officers did just that and headed for the home of Richard and Susan Dickenson. The captain was glad to issue the warrant because he still believed they were barking up the wrong tree. The search of his home, and the temporary detaining of Richard, would be very embarrassing to his reputation. In fact, the captain felt strongly that Edward could jeopardize his career for wrongly accusing a well established man. George wanted Edward out of his way anyhow, and this was the apparent way to accomplish that goal.
George Gunther sat back in his chair and wondered about the situation, concluding everything would turn out for the better.
Gary and Edward were already driving off in a dark grey Crown Victoria with dark tinted windows and no signs of police decals visible. Gary took the honor of chauffeuring while Edward scanned a few issues. Gary looks at Edward a few times, but only briefly due to the congested traffic. He was dying to say something, and finally he did, "Well Ed! Do you think this could be foul play?"
Edward gazed up at Gary and treated his comments as premature. "I really can not say! I know he's hiding something, and that's exactly why we're on our way to his house. His dishonesty caused that, and we'll find out why."
"What did the captain say?"
"Well he seemed eager, but I don't know why. I have wondered why I was put on this case, especially since someone else was already on it."
"Maybe you're being set up—I don't know? Just be careful."
"Don't forget you're my partner, so more than likely, whatever happens, you're coming with me." Edward turned to look through his side mirror and continued, "Well, whatever the case maybe, I drug you into this shit. So, I fall, you fall!"
"Oh no buddy, because I'm covering my ass."
"Yeah you do that."
"Oh I will! You just don't do anything stupid."
A brief silence loomed momentarily, but Edward snapped that by directing Gary to "Turn up here!"
The detectives were approaching the Dickenson's estate. "Damn, every time I see this house I'm awed. It's lovely."
"Yes it is! That is why I'm not quite clear on how to approach this case."
"Yeah, I see. I wonder why he put you on such a high profile case. The media may be all over this. Yeah, the captain is setting you up alright, either that or testing you."
"Well maybe, but I will do my job the best way I can."
"Oh man, that is what scares me." Gary paused and looked upward. "Look at these gates."
Hayword had recognized the men and let them in. "What can we do for you gentlemen this time."
Edward responded instantly once he was fully out of the car. "Are Mr. or Mrs. Dickenson available?"
Hayword gingerly replied, "Yes, she is in there. Let me get her for you."
He walked toward the house but wondered why they followed so closely behind him. Hayword hollered, "Mrs. Dickenson... We have guests!" He repeated his shouts as the door flung completely open. There was amazement when he realized the detectives followed right behind him.
Susan proceeded down the stairs, a shocked response upon her face when she realized that Hayword had allowed the detectives to barge in. "Yes, may I help you. What is it you want this time?"
Edward replied, "We have a warrant to search the premises." He flashed the document with the judge's John Hancock scribbled illegibly.
"On what grounds?"
"I'm sorry, but I reserve the right not to disclose that information, only to the owner of this house."
"What! Does marriage mean anything anymore."
Susan felt the fire of anger up under her skin, but she couldn't say a word that would help quench her anger. The detectives looked around, not sure what they were looking for, but it scared her as she didn't know what was going on. Hayword looked on in amazement. Susan gave him a look that said he should get lost. He took heed, but his nosiness allowed that to be but brief.
Hayword headed for Richard's private room, knowing she was programmed not to approach that room, especially when Richard was gone. Hayword was a smart fellow, understanding that this search was about Richard and everything they were looking for was in here.
Susan couldn't bear the fact that her home was being ransacked, and to top it off, her little one ran into the house to see what was going on. "Mommy, mommy. Who is that? Why are they here? Are they Daddy's friends? Mommy, tell them to leave. Why are they messing up everywhere?"
Susan grabbed her little one and hugged her tightly. She walked her to the den's sofa and sat down to cry.
"What's the matter Mommy. I'm scared of those men—they're ugly. They are monsters."
"Oh dear, don't say that. They are not monsters. They're just doing their job."
"Well, why are they making you cry?"
"Baby, they're not making me cry. I just feel sad because I miss your father."
"I do too, Mommy."
The men searched room after room before searching the one Hayword had retreated to. They opened the door and Hayword looked as if he was caught red-handed.
"We need to search in here now," announced Edward.
They began looking while Hayword stepped aside and watched on. Edward asked Hayword, "Do you know where he keeps his information on his back-and-forth trips to South America."
"Well if I did, what's in it for me?"
Gary replied anxiously, "You get to live!"
"So, what! Are you going to beat me up right here? That wouldn't be smart of you, especially with Mrs. Dickenson in the next room."
Edward immediately thought of the captain's hidden agenda and restrained Gary from any assaults while beginning to negotiate. "Well what did you say your name was again?"
"Hayword!"
"Oh, Hayword! Look, my partner isn't going to harm you or anything."
Gary lowered his voice to growl and said, "Let me get a hold of his smart-mouth ass."
Edward continued, "Look Hayword! We are just trying to conduct an investigation. Tell you what! Tell me about yourself. Tell me about your dreams and aspirations. Maybe I can help you."
"Well first! I am tired of this boring ass job, securing his home. Hardly ever shit happens here, so of what use am I. Just greeting people like you. I have a lot more potential, and all Richard does is pass me off."
"Well why does he get you angry?" replied Edward in the softest of voices.
"I've been trying to get him to post me at one of his office buildings or something. Anything to save me from this agony. I even asked him to take me along on one of his trips to South America. I could secure things there, but no, I get left here. The same old-same old!"
"You said South America. Where does he keep information on that."
"I was snooping around one day, and right under here, you see it, is a concealed compartment under this chair." Hayword pulled out a couple of maps and documents of Richard's detailed plans.
Edward read the city that was circled in red. "Macapa!" He also noticed a little area Southwest of Macapa that was circled as well. "Gary! I think we have what we were looking for, and we now need to start looking elsewhere."
The gentlemen quickly headed back to the car, for they were eager to get back to the station. All you could hear was burning rubber from the tires of a well-maintained Ford.
Gary said, "You still haven't told me what we have found, and especially why we left without completing the search."
"Let's just say we have more insight thanks to his travel agent."
"What!"
"We're going to see just why he's constantly in South America, and maybe, just maybe, we can find out why in the hell South America is so damned important."
"Are you suggesting we go all the way to South America? I don't believe the captain will go for that. In fact, he may just say wait until he gets back."
"We can't wait."
"Why?" asked Gary with a curious look.
"Because, I think we will find whatever we're looking for right down there. I'll bet Joe went down there with Richard, whether it was voluntarily or involuntarily remains to be seen."
Gary's face contained a stunned look; he knew they were on to something, but exactly what was unclear.
Edward parked the car quickly and exited the car. Gary wasn't as eager to get into the building, but was one-hundred percent with his partner.
"Hello Ed!"
"Edward."
"Yo Pullins!" And many more hellos went unanswered as he focused on Captain Gunther's office.
"What's wrong with Edward?"
Gary shook his head and replied, "Well, He's... I guess you can say, he's on a mission."
"Oh yeah, what now? He doesn't plan on getting into anymore trouble?"
Gary knew that was a possibility when recalling the last incident. Gary's head had throbbed briefly knowing Edward knew for a fact those gangsters were dealing, but he rushed them with no regards for their rights—no warrant and just a hunch for a probable cause. Gary understood because they did witness illegal activities, or what appeared to be illegal, but sometimes there are procedures that must be followed. Edward seems to forget that at times, and with that very thought, Gary exclaimed, "You're right! I will be sure to keep an eye on him."
Gary followed the path his partner had taken through the precinct. As he came around the corner, he saw that Edward Pullins had opened the captain's door. He heard the sternness reflected in a grumpy voice from just beyond Pullins' entryway.
"What do you want Pullins."
"Well sir, I have to report!"
"Yes, I'm listening."
"Well, I questioned Richard Dickenson. He's guilty of obstruction of justice."
"Oh! How so?" This really got Gunther's attention.
"Well, you already know he said he had no knowledge of a flight, when in fact, it was his plane that provided the transportation for the missing man. The attendant at the airport reported this mysterious flight, because it was only one passenger. He did get on that plane Richard provided and went to South America. That is why we can hardly ever speak with Richard—he's always in South America."
"Hold up! Slow down and hold your horses for just a minute. Did she identify the passenger as Joe... well did she?"
"No, I don't believe so."
"You see! Even if it was the missing man, then you still have nothing. Nothing but a one way trip without evidence to suggest otherwise, as far as I'm concerned. It was an unexpected one way trip, or maybe expected, would be a better way to put it. Detective Pullins, you're not married are you? I didn't think so. The fact that Richard is constantly in South America makes it seem to me this missing guy is in fact not missing at all. A new tropical life in South America does sound splendid."
Edward was not amused by Gunther's unwillingness to reason, and he replied shrewdly. "If that's so, why did he have to withhold all this information?"
"Look, just because he didn't want you snooping around his affairs doesn't mean he's committed a crime. Maybe he doesn't want the guy's wife to know it was deliberate. Have you considered that they may be dating each other?"
"Oh come on be serious," replied Edward in a most disturbed tone.
"I'm serious, and I find no grounds to think otherwise. Besides, to go all the way to South America would be futile."
Edward stood there staring through furious eyes, but it mattered not. The captain raised his voice. "That's all Pullins!"
Edward's heart dropped and disappointment filled him. He turned slowly and exited the door, slamming it behind him.
"Whoa! Hold up! What's up," asked Gary.
Edward said nothing while walking to his desk. Fellow teammates observed his tirade and Gary did the same. Ed sat there thinking of his predicament, but only shortly due to Gary's interruption.
"I guess the captain wasn't buying it."
Edward replied sarcastically, "No he wasn't. I don't know. He was eager to get me on this case, and as soon as I get a lead he shoots it down." Edward continued to shake his head in disbelief. "Wow, I have to tell this lady we aren't going to do shit about her case."
Gary looked on with empathy. "Tell you what, Ed! Let me go shut down my pc, you make the call, and I'll treat you to a few drinks. The Taj Mahal downtown maybe, hang out for the rich and famous."
"The drinks there are expensive."
"Just an act of appreciation for a partner and friend."
"OK," he said and picked up the phone while Gary went to shut down his system. He allowed the phone to ring three times, finally a frail voice answered.
"Hello!"
"Mrs. Geshy, this is detective Pullins."
"Yes!"
"I'm sorry to inform you, but there's nothing else we can do at this moment."
Claira's profanities were exhausted, she just cried. "Mrs. Geshy, Mrs. Geshy!" Edward said repeatedly with a caring voice. "I know how hard this is for you. I found a few leads; however, my captain is restraining me, so be patient. I promise you I'll get to the bottom of this, OK? That is my promise."
Claira responded finally after trying so hard to break her crying spurt. "OK, Mr. Pullins! What leads are you referring to anyway?"
"Well, I believe Richard's plane did have your spouse on it. He lied as well, so I have to go to South America to find out. This is where I'm currently restricted, but you just hold on and I'll figure something out."
He terminated the call and joined Gary in exiting the building. They jumped in that same Crown Vic and sped off. Gary drove quickly through the streets while trying to cheer Edward up.
"You know you'll like this place, lovely women and good music. I also know the bartender, so we can get as many drinks as we like. They have the best wings in town, and I want to beat your ass in some eight ball. Take a few of your dollars in the process should be fun, to me at least." Gary gave Ed a sharp shove, "Man, cheer up."
Gary failed to get a smile out of his partner, but did get a response. "First of all, I'm as cheerful as I'm going to get. Secondly, you won't do shit in pool. I own you, eight ball, nine ball, or whatever! You can't touch me."
Gary surely disagreed. "I hope your money is where your mouth is, because here we are."
Shortly after parking the Crown Victoria, the men entered the building. Upon doing so they could instantly pick up on the cluttered sounds of adults mingling. The air was stuffy from the many smokers, but the temperature was cool from the facility's high powered carrier unit. Ed was still in a grim mood, but he couldn't help but smile as beautiful women smiled at him. Gary patted Ed on the back and yelled, "You'll love it here. I know you noticed the chicks checking you out. Get relaxed man, and don't worry about work. It's time to play."
Gary slapped his comrade on the back again, but he took heed of Ed's don't-do-it-again stare. "Come on! Let's get a few drinks," shouted Gary as he directed them to a particular section of the bar. The bar was packed, but fortunately two stools became available. Gary reached for a menu while Ed sought comfort on his stool. Looking around at the many people was probably what restricted his comfort, but suddenly his attention was redirected.
A smile coupled with an eager voice greeted the detectives from behind the counter. "Hey!" A triangle eye contact, each person looking at the other in turn, was accompanied by a vibrant voice, which continued. "Gary! I haven't seen you in a while. Good to see you again."
"Yeah, you the same Tee," replied Gary. "What can I get for you gentlemen?"
"I'll have a martini on the rocks," said Gary, his voice nearly sparkling. "What about your friend?"
"Oh, I'm sorry Tee! This is my partner, Edward Pullins." Ed gave her a hand gesture.
"I'll have a bud draft."
"Any appetizers with this tonight."
Edward didn't pick up on that final comment; instead, he was trying to get the attention of someone. He thought that maybe eye contact would get her to notice him like he noticed her.
Gary's voice grew prominent and it was evident as he uttered, "I wouldn't mind those hot wings. Twenty pieces would suffice, and maybe some breadsticks. I'm getting a little hungry, I don't know about you!" Gary looked at Ed after jolting him on the shoulder a few times. "Ed! Ed! Oh... I see you got your eyes on something."
By this time, Ed had her attention and both were gazing at each other. "Hey man, do you want anything to eat."
Edward snapped out of his trance. "Yes let me get the house salad, with Italian dressing. Extra dressing please."
The entire brief moment Gary watched Edward place his order. "I see you enjoying yourself already. You haven't even mingled around—oh let me check that—you've already started." Gary now gave a stunning look at his partner and continued his verbiage. "When I whip your ass in pool, don't let me damage your attitude."
Edward gulped his draft to the halfway point and then looked back for the mysterious woman, but she was not in his immediate sight. He returned his head and drank on.
The two indulged in small talk while sipping and waiting for their meals. You could hear the bar get a little more rowdy, and crowds began to clutter together. They noticed a particular gathering at the far end of the bar, but chose Tee's delivery instead. The crowd in that far end became more noticeable, but their foods kept them concentrated. There was no violence appearing to brew, but profanities could be heard spewing from the thick crowd. The grub was glorious, so the men ignored the commotion and dug in. You could tell the place had good food because the entire bar seemed to have hearty appetites.
The detectives were a bit tipsy from the alcohol and their contents of their plates were pulverized. Edward thought he now had the energy to mingle, when suddenly, he spotted the woman who had captivated him previously. He quickly darted towards the beauty to ask her to dance.
Gary walked about making lewd comments to every human of the opposite gender. "Pssst...pssst... Hey sexy thing." His comments seemed to be something these women wanted to ignore. He started sensing that, so he gave up and headed back to his seat at the bar. The women in here were particularly in search of the rich and famous, or at least someone pretending to be well established. It was hard to tell the difference because everyone did their best to spend money, which is why the place prospered and so did the women. The experienced women could tell the difference between a rich man and average one, which is probably why Gary got no play.
Edward was smooth and had an aurora about him, so the women could easily become attracted to his pure honesty. The woman he danced with proved his fox instincts as she showed all signs of enjoyment. The detective was single, so he welcomed her eagerness. The men enjoyed themselves, and continued to dance and drink.