Chapter 13 "Nancy Drew"

I am a sheet white sweaty mess. Stupid Wyatt! Now I’m running several blocks to meet up with Jaime at the King Soopers. Drunk. This was a bad idea, but I was locked in to this nightmare and I had to ride it out. I don’t want to be late.

It's funny, you would think that arriving drunk and exhausted for our much anticipated date would deter me, on the contrary, it emboldens me.

Hey, not only do I have the dog mauling to talk about, but the Chloe mission as well. I've got some cool date convo to lay down if the normal listen-to-everything-she-says approach isn't working.

Jaime was waiting on the northwest corner of our King Soopers staring into the scene where the dog attack occurred. I spied her from a block away and stopped jogging so that I could catch my breath. She was just as breathtaking as she normally was, even from a block away, even in this failing blue evening light. She was a shimmery raven Japanese silhouette being caressed by a gentle wind, staring with purpose into the scene of man v. dog carnage.

It hadn't occurred to me for quite some time that the reason Jaime and I were meeting was because of the dog! The collar!

"Shhhhhhh..." I uttered, "...iiit! If she thinks she's gonna get me into some freaky Nancy Drew adventure, I am out."

"I mean, we're on a date, right?" I'm talking to myself and realizing that I might be over thinking this whole date/dog thing. Were we flirting, or was I just making a big thing about this? I could be mistaken about the whole interaction between her and I earlier today. I mean, how much do I truly know about this chick, anyway? Oh, the cold feet jitters. I'm probably going to play Wadsworth to her Sherlock all night.

On second thought...What the fuck, saying it like that doesn't make it sound half bad. I lit a cigarette and paused. She hadn't seen me yet, and I considered her. She could be stark raving mad, all this time, co-workers, and not really even a glimmer. Then, a little blood gets spilled, and now her panties are slippery? I chuckled out a little smoke and started walking towards her again.

"HEEEEYYY!!" She yelled. "GET OVER HERE!!" Jaime was motioning with both arms, like a flight attendant. Maybe she was more like one of those dudes with the flashlights that guide jet liners into their parking spots, anyway, she had great form.

I was about a half a block away, and I broke into a half-assed jog. She started walking into our loading dock.

"Oh here we go, Nancy Drew," I muttered to myself.

By the time I got to her, she was nosing around the dumpster where Dade had met his untimely disfigurement. I nudged at her waist with my hand to no avail. She said, "Damn, it looks as if they sprayed out most of the blood." She was right, I couldn't see anything. She got down on her hands and knees and started searching about like a CSI. Like a David Caruso and shit. Oh god, she even sniffed the ground. She got up and got close to me, and held up the dog collar and said,
"This is our lead, right here."

"Jaime, Hi, I, uh..."

"Shut up."

"Okey doke." She thoroughly inspected the dumpster, and as I protested, she shut me down at all points. Then she walked the scene, as if she was an expert. I sighed and grunted over a few minutes of true crime investigation. Then she said that she was through and that we should go to the bar. At least she didn't have me pick up some tissue and or blood which I could clearly see on the edge of the dumpster door. I decided to keep quiet. I could imagine Mona hosing the scene down with a big pressure washer.

So we went to the bar. It was a gay bar. I like gay bars, not because I'm gay, but you usually get good service. We sat at a table just outside the side door, near the bathrooms. I could smell urinal cake every time a flaming twink went into the men's room. There was exactly two women in the bar, and I walked in with one of them. I was already a little drunk, so I ordered a beer, and Jaime ordered a Long Island. At this point, I didn't know if this was a good sign, or not.

If it seems like I'm glazing over details of conversation at this point, I am, because there wasn't much. There was the point by point account of the dog mauling, and the somewhat less interesting, but funnier Chloe extraction, but I was starting to get antsy and my bed, and my apartment was looking sweet. Halfway in to her gigantic drink she said, "I've always liked you, what took you so long?" I was taken aback.

"I'm not sure, I've always liked you too."

"I mean, a year and a half..."

"I know, I don't know...It's weird for me, I mean, I haven't had a girlfriend, a proper one, since college."

"Weird."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's just weird...that's all."

I was a little deflated, and I gave a little sigh and regarded her for a second. I was trying to figure out where this was all going. I wasn't sure and the fact that I was slightly drunk wasn't helping. I went for the gusto.

"So...you like me, huh? Are we going some where with this or are you just a fan of man on dog violence?" I was treated to that hearty Kathleen Turner type laugh. It was loud. It was long.

Then she said simply, "Yes, a little."

“A little of what?”

“A little of both.”

"Really? It's stupid, I've had a crush on you for, god knows, forever."

"Don't get crazy there, Red. We work together." I was squinching my eye brows together. I felt a headache coming on. I stared across the table from her, and took her in at this point. She looked like an old school film noir temptress. Hair black, skin white, lipstick red, BlackFlag tee shirt. I sighed and let out a secretive fart. It was odorless, thank god. Just to nullify the effect of the fart, I pulled out a cigarette and lit it. She looked at me and made two fingers in a peace sign and put them up to her lips. I gave her one of my American Spirits and lit it for her.

"Jaime, what kind of music do you play?" I asked. She smirked and blew out a plume of smoke. Now she regarded me for a second. It made me feel naked. She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her huge ass drink.

"Why do you care?"

"I like music, and I think you're funny." I meant to say interesting, but I let that ‘funny’ comment hang in the air like a bad fart.

"Funny?"

"Interesting, I meant interesting."

"You farted."

"Yep." Oh the horror.

"I know, I smell it, it's not that bad, you smell like you have good digestion." She snickered slightly. I was deflated, literally. She continued, "It’s chick punk. Have you ever heard of 'The Donnas'? Well, we’re a lot like them, but better." She has the lightest bluest eyes. I'm about to kill myself with lust. I’m also thinking that maybe the reason for the odorless fart was because of my years of liver pickling good times. All right!

"I saw the Donnas at the Bluebird a few years ago, they weren't that good, but their newer album is fucking sweet," I said.

"We have a hip-hop producer that's taken an interest in us." I'm nodding like an idiot. She changes the subject, "Do you buy Q-Tips?" I blink at least seven times.

"Yes."

"How are your ears? Let me look at them." She grabs what little scrubble of hair I have and and cranks my head around from across the table. She inspects both of my ears and nods approvingly.

"You...you're good. You're good, you. I’ll bet you’re yummy.” She says in a low voice as she disconnects her fist from my hair with a push. I blush, blink again about four times. "You know your eyelashes are blonde?" I just nod. "Your eyebrows are too."

"I shaved them in seventh grade, and they haven't come back the same since," I shrugged.

"I've never really liked a red head, before."

"Who says you even like me?"

"Me."

"This could get interesting," I said.

"Oh, It's already interesting," she said. Then she produced the dog collar. "1238 Humboldt St."

"Oh no," I said. She tossed the rest of her drink...down her gullet.

"Oh yes," she stared at me without even wincing. "The dog's name is...Killer."

"Here we go, Nancy Drew." I sigh, she smirks and picks up her bag. I leave a twenty on the table.

"Where's your car?" Jaime asked.

"It's a long story."

"What?!"

"Hey, baby, if you want to get my car, we're up on 14th and Euclid style.

"Chevrolegs?" She asked. I just grunt in the affirmative. I smiled that she said 'Chevrolegs'.

We only had to walk several blocks, and I asked her why it was such a problem to do so. She was noncommittal in answering that question. I asked if she had a car, and she said no. At this point, I left it at that. We walked down through Cheesman Park and cut towards the city. We talked about music and life and ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends. She found it astonishing that I hadn't had a girlfriend in over three years. I didn't want to reveal the fact that I am a small time crook and that the business had its ups and downs. It's probably a little much for a first date to deal with. The fact that I am a full time alcoholic probably wouldn't be cool to admit either. She sensed this and said, "I drink a lot."

I said, "Me too," coolly.

After some silence, she said, "I do, because of me. I have a condition."

Oh, here we go. "Hmm?" I queried.

"I'm an epileptic; I can't drive, sometimes I even space out for a few seconds. I have small seizures."

"Oh," I was a little disappointed. I wanted some blood and guts stuff, a vehicular manslaughter charge or something like that. It switched my conversation just slightly because I was unsure what exactly this meant for me and her. I have a brother that's diabetic and a dead uncle that had epilepsy. When he had a seizure in front of me once, I thought he was joking. That was until the orange juice and blood came out of his mouth in a smooth and frothy foam as he wriggled around on the ground. We were eating breakfast at the time. I was twelve years old and I didn't know what to do. My brother had a seizure once because of low blood sugar and I was just as helpless. I took a Red Cross course in college, and now I know what to do, but I'm still not sure of what epilepsy does to people. Does it make them a little crazy? How does it work? I decided to pretend like I wasn’t completely ignorant.

"Yeah my uncle had epilepsy," I said.

"Hm," Jaime sighed.

"Why can't you drive?" I asked.

"Seizures. Even if I have a small one while I'm driving." She made a raspberry sound and clapped her hands together.

"Don't they put you on drugs?"

"Yeah, but certain ones, the good ones, mess with your fertility and stuff, so I take ones that are less powerful, and I drink."

"The old alcohol treatment, eh. I just drink because I’m bored, and Irish.

"Yeah," she said. "For me, it seems to calm it down a bit. Look, can we talk about something else?" I shrugged and we walked in silence for awhile. It was for a very long while, in that time, she took my arm and hugged it firmly to her side. I felt like I was the most pimp-style guy on the planet. I was just holding her arm as we walked street to street. There were amazing things that were about to happen to us, this was just the beginning, giving chase to the dead dog.