L is for Lawless (Kinsey Millhone 12)

I could feel my anxiety begin to mount. I'd followed this pointless piece of luggage across three states, operating on the assumption that it contained something worth pursuing. Now it looked like all I was ending up with was a pile of secondhand lingerie. What was I to tell Chester? He was going to be furious when I told him I'd flown all the way to Dallas for this. The man didn't have the money to send me barreling across the country on the track of cotton panties. I'd broken the law. I was flirting with jail. I'd risked both my license and my livelihood. I began shoving items back into the zippered compartment. Happily, the panties looked like they'd fit, and I could use a clean pair. I hesitated. Nah, probably not a good idea. If I were arrested for theft, it might be better if I weren't wearing the evidence on my butt.

I emerged from the stall, trying to look nonchalant instead of like some big-time fugitive underwear bounty hunter. I couldn't bring myself to abandon the duffel. Basically, I was still clinging to the notion that it represented some rare and priceless artifact instead of my ticket to the joint. I glanced left across the lobby toward the house phone, but there was still no sign of Ray. I planted myself at one of the public telephones. I fumbled in my blazer pocket, emptying the contents in my search for change. On the metal shelf I laid out the movie receipt, the ballpoint, my five-dollar tip, two quarters, and the paper clip. I dropped one of the quarters in the coin slot and then put a call through to Chester in California, charging it to my telephone credit card. I got my quarter back and placed it with the first, idly rearranging the items for the calming effect. I didn't think Chester would be happy. I was hoping he'd be out, but the man himself picked up on the third ring. "'Lo.'"

"Hello, Chester? This is Kinsey."

"Can you speak up? I can't hear you. Who is this?"

I cupped a hand across the mouthpiece, turning my body away so I wouldn't be shouting my name across the lobby. "It's me. Kinsey," I hissed. "I got the duffel, but there's nothing of significance in it."

Dead silence. "You're kidding."

"Uh, no, actually I'm not. Either the goods were moved or there wasn't anything stolen in the first place."

"Of course they stole something! They ripped the friggin' kickplate off the kitchen cabinet. Pappy probably hid cash."

"Did you ever see any cash?"

"No, but that doesn't mean it wasn't there."

"That's pure speculation. Maybe the guy busted in and didn't find anything. The duffel might have been empty." I began to rearrange the items on the shelf, placing one of the quarters over Lincoln's face on the five-dollar bill. On the quarter, George Washington looked naked, while on the bill, Lincoln was all dressed up in his Sunday suit. They must have caught George in the sauna with his hair pulled back.

Chester, sounding cranky, said, "I don't get this. Why call me just to lay out a line of horseshit like this?"

"I thought you should get an update. It only seemed fair."

"Fair? You think it's fair I spent all that money flying you to Dallas for nothing? I expected results."

"Wait a minute. So far you haven't spent a dime. I've spent the money. You're supposed to pay me back." I uncapped my ballpoint pen and gave Lincoln a mustache, which made his nose look smaller. I'd never paid attention to what a hooter he had.

"Pay you back for what? Air and sunshine? Forget it."

"Come on. We made a decision that turned out to be wrong."

"Then why should I pay? I'm not going to pay for your incompetence."

"Chester, believe me, I'm earning my keep. I could get my license yanked for half the things I've done. I'm not even allowed to do business in this state." I put the two quarters over opposite corners of the five-dollar bill to anchor it.

"That's your problem, not mine. I wouldn't have agreed if I'd known you were off on some wild goose chase."

"Well, neither would I. That's the chance we took. You knew as much as I did going in," I said. To amuse myself, I wrote a bad word on the front of the five-dollar bill. It was the only way I could think of to keep from screaming at him.

"To hell with it. You're fired!" I heard him say, "Goddamn it!" to himself just as he banged the phone down in my ear.

I made a face at the dead receiver and then rolled my eyes. I hauled up the phone book and started looking up the reservation number for American Airlines. It was embarrassing to admit this had all been for nothing, but I couldn't see what good it would do to stay in Dallas. I'd made a mistake. I'd known at the outset my actions were impulsive. I'd been operating on the best information I had, and if my judgment turned out to be misguided, there was nothing I could do about it now. I noticed I was busy defending myself, but I really couldn't help it in the wake of Chester's disgruntlement. Who could blame the man?