Steve Chase - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I should have started to worry when someone I don't remember ever having seen before, walked right into my office, called me an ass-hole and hit me in the face.

"This must be a mistake, there has to be more than one ass-hole in this town. He must have me mixed up with one of them", I thought.

I could tell that it was going to take him a while to realize his mistake, so I thought I'd just give him some room and time to refresh his memory. Unfortunately, having been knocked back over my desk and with him moving towards me with that same ass-hole hating look in his eyes, I saw that time and space were not on my side.

Finding myself on the floor with all my pens and papers lying conveniently around me, I figured I'd take this oppurtunity to try out a new pen that I had been given for my birthday. As this very weird unknown person walked toward me, I grabbed my shiny new fine point.

I could tell that he was getting ready to hit me again, I recognized the pose, having just seen it a couple of seconds before. This time I was prepared, I was already on the floor. This is not to imply that I am a coward or that I expected to get knocked down again, it just meant that I was in the perfect position to use my pen. So use it I did. With all the style that I've come to be known for, I took that pen and jammed that baby so deep into his thigh that I could sign my name on the the back of his leg from the inside. Suddenly I got an urge to check and see if my name was showing up in reverse on the skin on the back of his leg. Wouldn't that be a scream. Well, at least for one of us it was a scream.

Sometimes one has to get hit in the face, before trying something new. So, today I tried a new way to get out of my office in the shortest possible amount of time. As I grabbed my hat and coat I remembered my pen and called back, "Oh, and would you mind leaving the pen on the desk when your through with it." A bit cliche, but I figured that it was expected of me.

As I was running down the stairs I couldn't help but think again about writing on the underside of the skin and having it show up in reverse on the outside. I decided that if I ever became a gangster that would be my calling card. All it would take is for one person to see that and people I don't even know would find me to ask me to protect them from me.

Just as I reached the front door I heard someone falling down the stairs a couple of flights above. Who ever they were they were making pretty good time. I pulled open the door and ran over to my private parking space.

I have an interesting deal with some of the kids in the neighborhood. They get to steal any car, other than mine, parked in that space. This means that I always have a parking space, and they very often get the use of a fairly fine set of wheels. The interesting part is that they feel they have entered into some form of honorable contract and leaving my car alone gives them the right to take any other car. I must admit when I suggested this idea, I really didn't appreciate all the ethical levels involved. At Christmas time I try to get to an offending car before they do and leave christmas cards under the windshield wipers. It's a little thing, but it seems to make the children happy.

Running over to my car, I reached inside and pulled the cord that opened the door. I started hoping that anyone chasing me was chasing me on foot, hopefully with a pen sticking out of his leg. My poor car couldn't hope to outrun another car, and I wouldn't bet that it could win a race against two good legs, but I think it could hold its own against one good leg and a leg with a pen in it. It's not that my car is old or running poorly, its just that the engine is fairly small. Austin Healy Sprites are cute, but they are not for those that like to wear scarves that point straight back. However, for all its lack of power, it started right up and I was on my way, where ever that was.

I wasn't sure what I wanted to do but I thought since I was out of my office I'd run some errands that I'd been putting off for quite some time. I had some laundry that I'd left at the cleaners a while back and since it was in the direction that I was headed I thought I might as well go pick it up. I stuck my hand out and turned down the street to where the laundry was located. When I pulled up in front of what I thought was the entrance, I noticed where the laundry once stood, was now a Mexican restaurant. Then it came to me. It wasn't clean shirts that I really wanted, it was a sizzling frajita and few Maguaritas.

As soon as those smoke filled shadows hit me I knew I was at home. From the black velvet painting on the wall with the cute little peasant standing next to his burrow to the Spanish music coming out of the ceiling, everything was perfect. The Spanish version of "I Did It My Way" was was the ultimate mood maker.

"Table for uno?", a very Spanish hostess asked me.

"No, for duo, but I am not going to wait." I don't like people to think that I am eating alone. Saying that you expect someone else but are not going to wait has the same effect as saying you are alone. The difference is that the hostess doesn't realize you couldn't find someone to eat with you, she just thinks that your rude.

While I was sitting there, drinking my drink and reading my "Globe", my waiter came up, put down another plate, and said, "Do you wish to wait and have desert with your guest". I thought that this game was going a little too far but I thought that I'd play along. So I put down the paper, and was about to say something quite witty, but there sitting across from me was a woman of, well, how shall I put this. This was the only time in my life I pondered what it would be like to be a ceiling fan, with a good view, or even a snowflake as it falls down into a cosy warm bit of exposed neckline, melts and takes a little journey through the Cleavage Canyon. Then from a direction somewhat above my line of sight, I heard, "You are Mr. Steven Chase?".

"That's me. Should I know you?", I asked.

"No, heavan forbid, you should not!", she said with a tone that I could feel was not a particularly complimentary one. "I went to your office and noone was there. It's a good thing, too, because as I got outside, I caught bunch of kids trying to get into my car. However, they seemed to know your car quite well and gave me a good description of it. As luck would have it I noticed it parked outside, so I walked in to see if you were here, and here you are."

"Well, you should be the detective." I said. "How did you know that I was the one that went with the car out front".

"I figured that the person behind the sports page went with the bumper stickers that said 'Red Sox - They're not just a team they're an Adventure' and 'Hell is a town without the Celtics'".

I certainly couldn't argue with her logic. "So what can I do for you?"

"I want you to find someone for me?"

This was just what I wanted to here. Finding someone was like being a Chiropractor. Once you get started on someone, you can go on and on forever. One person can become a career. In fact one person has been my career. Now I think I know who that guy was who was in my office today. He was a client who wanted me to find his wife. I outdid myself, I found her last year but I never quite got around to telling him that. You know, I wanted to make real sure, and for $75/hour you can't be too sure.

"So, who do you want me to find, your husband, your brother, your long lost rich uncle?" , for some reason I always assume a woman wants to find a man and a man wants to find a woman.

"I'd like you to find the man in this picture", this she said as she handed my a not very clear picture of a man standing on the top of one of the mountains that people in this area like to bust their butt trying to get to the top of. I couldn't help but think that if that were me in that picture, that there would be one other person there with me, and he'd have a gun, cause that would be the only way I'd be up there. For just this reason I decided that this must be the luckiest day I've ever had. First I discover a new use for a fine point pen, then I discover a new Mexican restaurant, now I am being asked to find a person who looks like he is going to be anyplace but where I'm going to be.

I could just hear that cash register ringing.

"So, who is this guy", I asked. "Any relation."

"No, just someone I want to meet. My roommate moved and left this picture behind. I was intrigued by it and then felt that I'd like to meet this person." As she said this I could just imagine little lie-detector needles swinging back and forth, jumping all over the place. But, hey, what do I care who this person, is I'll never meet him, but he'll be my sole means of support for as long as I can milk it out.

"Ok, fine...I get $100 a day plus expenses, and I'll let you know if I have anything. Don't come around bugging me. So, I guess you might as well give me that picture and a number where I can reach you." I was quite pleased with myself. That was the most responsible sounding line of crap I've spoken in some time. If I didn't know me better I'd think I was serious. Actaully, I was mostly serious. I didn't want her to come bugging me, and I did want the money, but the only thing I hoped I'd ever use that number for would be to tell her where she should send my money.

"Here is my number. Call it any time, day or night. If I'm not there my machine will pick it up." She paused for a second and reached into herpurse. Being the normal curious kind of guy I am I leaned over and followed her hand with my eyes and...Whoa!...There in her purse, which I think at this moment was the location for the annual meeting of the International Order of All Things Facial, was the sweetest looking chrome plated revolver I have ever seen. Call me sentimental, but I am a sucker for a lady that carries a gun.

With picture and money in hand, I had it all. Well, actually I thought I had it all.