Robert Crais - The Monkey

Im sorry, Mr. Cole, this has nothing to do with you. Please excuse me. Ellen Lang stood up out of the directors chair across from my desk. Id had it and its mate fitted in a nice pastel burgundy a year ago. The leather was broken in and soft and did not crack when she stood. We shouldnt have come here, Janet, she said. I feel awkward.

Janet Simon said, For Christs sake, Ellen, sit down.

Ellen sat.

Janet Simon said, Talk to him, Ellen. Eric says hes very good at this sort of thing. He can help.

Speak, Ellen. Arf. I rearranged two of the Jiminy Cricket figurines on my desk and wondered who the hell Eric was.

Ellen Lang adjusted her glasses, clutched her hands, and faded back into the directors chair. She looked small, even though she wasnt. Some people are like that. Janet Simon looked like a dancer whod spent a lot of time at it. Lean and strong. Good bones. She wore tight beige cotton pants and a loose cotton shirt striped with shades of blue and pink and red. No panty line. I hoped she didnt think I was declasse in my white Levis and Hawaiian shirt. Maybe the shoulder holster made up for it.

Ellen Lang smiled at me, trying to feign comfort in an uncomfortable situation. She said, Well, perhaps if you told me about yourself.

Janet Simon sighed, giving it the weight of the world. Mr. Cole is a private detective. He detects for money. You give him some money and hell find Mort. Then you can get Perry back and kiss off Mort and get your life together. She said it like she was talking to someone with brain damage. Great legs, though.

Thanks, Mom, I said.

Janet Simon gave me a look, then turned away and stared at the Pinocchio clock. Its on the wall beside the door that leads to my partners office, just above the little sign that says The Elvis Cole Detective Agency. As the second hand sweeps around, Pinocchios eyes move from side to side. Janet Simon had been glancing at it since they walked in. Probably thought it was peculiar.

Ellen fidgeted. I was just curious, thats all. Im sorry.

You dont have to be sorry, Mrs. Lang, I said. Im thirty-five years old and Ive been licensed as a private investigator for seven years. The state of California requires three thousand hours of experience before theyll give you the license. I spent that time with a man named George Feider. Mr. Feider was an investigator here in L OS Angeles for almost forty years. Before that I was a security guard, and before that I spent some time in the Army. Im five feet eleven and one-half inches tall, I weigh one hundred seventy-six pounds, and Im licensed to carry a firearm. Hows that?

She blinked.

Yeah, it impresses me, too, I said. I dont take custody work. I might find your husband and your son but after that its up to you. I dont steal children unless theres reason to believe the child is in danger.

Ellen Lang looked as if Id kicked her. Oh, no. No, no. Morts a good man, Mr. Cole, please dont think he isnt. Janet Simon said something like shumphf. You have to understand. Hes been under enormous strain. He left ICM last year to start his own talent agency and things just havent gone the way they should. Hes had to worry about the house payments and the cars and schools. Its been terrible for him.

Janet Simon said, Morts an asshole. She was standing by the sliding glass doors that lead out to the little balcony. On a clear day I could go out there and see all the way down Santa Monica Boulevard to the water. The view had been the selling point. Janet Simon fit nicely with the view.

I just want Perry home, thats all. Ellen Langs eyes went from Janet Simon to me, sort of like the Pinocchio clock. Mort will settle for McDonalds. Hell let Perry stay up all hours-

I cleared my throat. Mrs. Lang, I dont bill by the day. I charge a flat fee exclusive of expenses and I get it in advance. Youre looking at about two grand here. Why dont you wait? Mort might call. McDonalds. Christ.

Yes, Ellen Lang said. She looked relieved. Im sure youre right.

Bullshit, Janet Simon said. She turned away from the balcony to sit in the other directors chair. Thats not right and she knows it. Morts been threatening to leave for almost a year. Mort treats her like a sop. He runs around. Ellen Lang made a little gurgling noise. Hes even hit her twice that I know of. Now hes taken their son and disappeared. She wants her son back. Thats all she wants. Its very important to her.

Ellen Langs eyes widened but didnt seem to be looking at anything. Ms. Simon, I said evenly, as much as Id like to lick chocolate syrup off your body, I want you to shut up.

Ellen Lang said, Oh, my. Janet Simon stood up and then Ellen Lang stood up. Janet Simon put a hand on Ellen Langs shoulder and shoved her back down. Who do you think youre talking to? she said.

A woman whos very concerned with her friends problem. But a woman who, right now, is acting like a royal pain in the ass. If the sexual nature of my comment surprised you its only because I needed to be shocking to get your attention.

She chewed at the inside of her cheek, trying to decide about me, then nodded and took her seat.

Also, I said, I find you devastatingly attractive and its been on my mind.

She leaned forward and said, Eric told us you had a partner. Maybe we should speak with him.

Eric again. The Mystery Man. Fine by me.

Janet Simon looked at the door beneath the Pinocchio clock. If she looked close enough shed see the little ridge in the jamb from the time someone had forced the lock. Three coats of paint, and you could still see the crack. She didnt notice. Is that his office? she said.

Unh-hunh.

Well?

Well, what?

Arent you going to introduce us?

Nope.

Janet Simon stood up, steamed over to the door, and went through. I smiled at Ellen Lang. Ellen Lang looked nervous but smiled back. After a while Janet Simon rejoined us.

Thats no office, she said. Theres no desk, no furniture, nothing. What kind of office is that?

Italian moderne?

She cocked her head a little to the side. Eric said youd be like this.

Eric. How do you know Eric? I smiled. Mr. Sly. I have quite a charming smile. Like Peter Pan. Innocent, but with a touch of the rake.

We worked together when I was in the legal department at Universal.

That brought it back. Eric Filer. Three years ago.

He said you found some film negatives for him. He said it wasnt easy. He recommends you highly.

Mman Eric.

He also said you were like this.

Were you ever a dancer? I said.

If she wanted to smile, she fought it. She took out a pack of Salem Lights, lit up in the office but stood in the balcony door, blowing smoke out over West Hollywood. I liked the way her neck looked when she lifted her chin to send out a plume of smoke. Some woman. I bet her mouth tasted like an ashtray.

Listen, Mrs. Lang, I said, turning back to Ellen, I dont know if Mort is going to call or not, or what you want, or what Mort wants. A couple hundred women have sat where youre sitting, and usually their husbands call. But not always. Youre going to have to decide which way you want to jump.

Ellen Lang nodded. Pinocchios eyes shifted back and forth a few times. Janet Simon smoked. After a while Ellen Lang took two photographs out of her purse and put them carefully on the desk. On Friday Mort always picks up Perry from school. Perry goes to Oakhurst and the girls go to Westridge. Thats Cindy and Carrie. Fridays, Perry gets out two hours earlier. Only this past Friday they never came home. I tried all weekend to find Mort. I phoned Oakhurst Monday but Perry wasnt there, and I phoned again this morning and he still wasnt there. Theyve been gone for four days.

I looked at the pictures. Mort was four or five years older than me, balding on top with a round face, thin lifeless hair, and skinny arms. He was wearing a tee shirt that said U.S.S. Bluegill, Maui, Hawaii. He had the sort of eyes that had just been looking somewhere else. On the back of the picture someone had written Morton Lang, age 39, 5? 10?, 145 lbs, brown hair and brown eyes, no visible scars or tattoos, mole on right forearm. The writing was even and firm, all of the letters identical in size.