Bad Moon Rising

“Minutes,” I said, “Not seconds. Cars can go a long way in five minutes.”

He sneered so hard that his pencil-thin moustache quivered like a tuning fork, “You…inept, bumbling amateurs. She was right there in your grasp. And you let those kidnappers waltz away with her.”

I wagged my index finger side to side at him and said, “Nope, nope, you’re wrong again.” He waited. I said, “They didn’t waltz, it was a tango.”

Franco’s nostrils flared and his eyes bugged. “How dare you be so impertinent.”

“Or you’ll have us flogged?” Hondo said. My buddy was in the game now.

Troy put a hand on Franco’s shoulder to calm him, then said, “I think it’s a stressful time for all of us.” He looked at Sylvia, “Especially my fiancé.” He stood, walked to Hondo and me and extended his hand. We hesitated before shaking it as he said, “I want to commend you for your efforts. I understand how hard it is to do what you do, because I’ve portrayed several private eyes.”

Hondo, without smiling said, “So it’s like you actually did it.”

“Yes. I think I’d make an excellent P. I., probably an outstanding one. Well, either that or a professional soldier. I played men in combat, too, in some very intense scenes with explosions and loud guns, just like the real thing.”

Hondo, still not smiling, “The real thing, you bet.”

Sylvia said, “Troy, please sit down.” He looked at her, and at Derek still holding her hand. He nodded, bowed at the waist and said, “As you wish,” and sat like an obedient cocker spaniel.

Now he’s quoting The Princess Bride, I thought. I said, “Ms. Artell–”

She stopped me and said, “Call me Sylvia.”

“Sylvia, then. Unless you have more questions, we are staying on this.”

Wilson pushed off the wall and Hondo and I stood. Hondo said, “We’ll let you know everything we find.”

She said, “That’s the way we want it,” and she patted Derek’s hand.

Derek said, “If you need anything, let Sylvia or I know.”

Troy raised his hand like a second grader with the right answer, “Or me, I can help with the investigation.”

Hondo said, “I know. We’ll keep the offer in mind.”

I couldn’t resist and said to Franco, “Can we count on your help, too?”

He clenched his jaws so the knots bulged below his ears. With a small, stiff movement Franco nodded his head a half-inch for his Yes.

“Much appreciated, Frankie Boy,” I said.

Wilson got us out of there before Franco pulled a gun.

I asked Wilson, “What’s with Franco being so angry?”

“He’s in love with Bodhi.”

I stopped. “What?”

“Yep. I went into his office yesterday and saw some writing on a lined pad on his desk. It was a list of all the reasons he loved Bodhi. Like some school kid might write in eighth grade.”

“I’ll be.”

“He never sent them to her. I found them torn up in the trash basket the next day. He did it again this morning. No one else knows.”

Wilson shook his head and looked at us, “I did some quick background checks on everyone when I first started here, and Torelli stood out. He went to UCLA when he was fifteen, graduated in three years, then got his Master’s in Business Finance and went to work for a Fortune 100 company in the Valley. He boosted the company’s profits and made an excellent salary, plus big bonuses, and I mean big, like six figures. Funny thing though, he lived in a one-room efficiency and never socialized unless it was mandatory.”

Wilson scratched his jaw and said, “Then he met Sylvia and Bodhi at a function. Three months later he quit the firm and went to work for Sylvia, for less money.”