Mister Petty #2
I changed my face as I went. I had a default face I used that might have been the original.
I wasn’t sure anymore. Being born with shape-shifting as a legacy gave me a certain number of advantages, but the largest was the ability to vanish into crowds whenever I needed to do it.
That meant I had to do a little planning ahead.
“Excuse me, Mr. Petty?” I said to Petty in a friendly tone as he reached for the club’s front doors.
He paused and looked back, a tall, lean man maybe in his early sixties, with sharp, severe features and teeth that looked like they’d cost him at least six figures. He arched an eyebrow at me. “I am.”
“I wondered if you might have a moment to speak to me,” I said. “It regards Mrs. Petty.”
He rolled his eyes, took a slow breath, and exhaled through his nose. “Ah. So, we’ve gotten to this part.”
“What part is that?”
“I’ve been expecting either hired muscle, a process server, or a private investigator, hmm?
” He opened the door to the club and waved his hand for me to precede him.
“And since you aren’t large enough to be the kind of bruiser she’d choose, and you aren’t carrying an envelope, I’m going to assume you’re an investigator. ”
“Sharp guy,” I said.
“Your name?”
“Not terribly important,” I said, and handed him one of my phony cards.
“Jake Stonehard,” he said, amused. “Sounds fictional.”
We went into the club, and he turned left into a small coffee shop. He greeted the barista, who began an order without being told, and then he went over to a table in a back corner of the shop, sat down, and invited me by gesture to join him.
“Very well,” he said when we sat. “What is she upset about now?”
“Money,” I said.
His mouth quirked wryly. “I’ll need you to be more specific.”
“She’s upset you’ve cut off her line of credit,” I said.
“Perhaps she should have taken a few dozen fewer lovers,” he noted. He waved a hand. “I’m not sure what she’s told you, but I can tell you from extensive experience that she’s unlikely to have been honest with you.”
I frowned. “If that’s the case, why not simply divorce?”
“Our prenuptial agreement,” he said. “If I end the marriage, standard divorce law will decide the division of assets.”
“And if she ends it?”
He smiled faintly. “She gets little. She has been trying to provoke me for years with her behavior.” He studied my face with sharp eyes. “She didn’t mention that part to you, did she?”
“She did not,” I said.
“She’s playing to form,” he noted. “What are you here to do?”
“Getting an idea of what’s going on,” I said.
The barista came over with a small cup of thick espresso and put it down in front of Petty. He didn’t look at her, picked up the cup, and eyed it. “In a clean cup, if you please,” he said absently, putting the cup down and pushing it toward her with his fingertips.
“Yes, sir,” she said in a very neutral voice. “My apologies. Just a moment.”
“Mmm,” Petty said, not really listening. He wasn’t the kind to pay much attention to the help. “I assume she paid you a retainer?”
I shrugged.
He regarded me for a moment and then said, “Ah. She’s angling for divorce via adultery.” He pursed his lips. “I’ll pay you five times what she did.”
“To do what?”
“Take some time off,” he said.
Ah hah. So he was cheating, too.
People can get into such weird relationships.
“Wouldn’t be professional,” I said.
Something flickered in his eyes. I’d crossed him and he didn’t like it.
“I assume,” he said, “that you know who I am, ‘Jake.’ ”
“Yes.”
“And who I work for?”
“Yes.”
“Reconsider.”
I frowned. “Okay.” I paused. “Still wouldn’t be professional.”
The barista came back. Petty spoke quietly to her. Then he examined his new espresso and sipped it, giving me a hard look. He knew how. “This can be profitable for you,” he said, “or it can cost you.”
“Mr. Petty,” I said, “I’ve got nothing personal in this. I’m just a guy doing a job.”
“It’s rather personal to me,” he said. “We’ll both be happier if you take the money.”
Maybe something in his tone annoyed me. Or maybe I don’t react too well to being crossed, either. “I’m a pretty happy guy, naturally.”
“Things change.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” I replied amiably from behind my false face.
Light footsteps came from behind, and a young woman in a tennis outfit, blond, fit, and pretty, threw herself into the seat beside him and planted a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Good morning,” she burbled.
He glanced from me to her, his expression frustrated. “I’m doing business, Cammy.”
She blinked at him, and then flushed, scowling. “Oh. Oh, then excuse me,” she said in a stiff tone. She glared at me. “I can’t believe you’d speak to me like that in front of strangers.”
Petty started to snap something and then visibly controlled himself. “Stop talking. Now. I’ll meet you on the court in a few minutes and explain.”
“You’d better, stupid,” snapped Cammy. “You don’t want things to get out of control.” She stood up and walked away. I watched her go. Great calves.
When I looked back at Petty, he was staring after her with a mix of venom and lust in his eyes. He noticed me watching him.
“Push this,” he said, “and you won’t need a five-year plan. Work with me, I could arrange more business for you.”
“Generous,” I said. “But.”
A couple of sets of heavier footsteps approached, and a pair of beefy security guys showed up in white shirts with epaulets and walkie-talkies and belts with gadgets. Ah. He’d asked the barista to call them.
“This conversation is over,” Petty said. “Think about my offer. While you can.”
“You’re kinda fun,” I said. I smiled up at the security guys and stood. “No problems here, fellas.”
Petty nodded at them. They took me by the arms, one on each side.
“Oh,” I said. “It’s like that.”
My origins aren’t pleasant. My father was one of the more savage species of beings on the planet. I had a sudden and violent urge to start snapping off hands at the wrists. Maybe with my teeth.
But I pay The Rent for a reason, so that I have a choice.
I chose to stay calm and let them walk me out.
Outside, I got on the phone. I was shaking a little from adrenaline. I don’t like it when hands get laid on me without my permission.
“What else did you get?” I asked Viti.
“It’s only been two hours, Grey,” Viti said with a sigh.
“But what else did you get?”
There was a moment of piqued silence. Then Viti said, “It would appear that Mr. Petty has recently become a gambler. He’s placed a number of large bets on sporting events in the past six months.”
“How’s he doing?”
“If what I’ve found is representative, he’s down five percent,” she said.
“So, he’s having money troubles recently,” I said. “Hoping for a lucky windfall?”
“That seems plausible.”
“Huh. I wonder if he cut Sheryl off for reasons other than marital issues.”
“Finding out more on his financials will take more time,” Viti said. She knew a lot about information system security. She wouldn’t be getting it legally.
“Well. Keep on it. Oh, and let me know if you come across the name Cameron, Camille, Camden, anything that would shorten to Cammy.”
“ ‘Cammy’ is not shorter than ‘Camden.’ ”
“Fine,” I sighed. “Anything that might familiarize to Cammy.”
“Why?”
“He’s seeing someone by that name, and it might tell me something.”
I heard her writing it down. “Understood. What is your plan?”
“I believe I’ll talk to the help.”
I lurked about outside until the barista got off her shift. She came out and started walking toward the nearest El station. I came hurrying up to her and said, “Hello, miss. Would it be all right if I spoke to you?”
She glanced at me and frowned. College-age girl, brown hair, a little taller than average. “Oh…you’re from earlier, right? They kicked you out?”
“I’m sure their hearts weren’t in it,” I said, grinning. I offered her my hand. “My name is Jake. I’m a private investigator.”
“Oh,” she said, shaking. “I’m Tracy. Um. I had to sign an NDA when I got hired at the club.”
Of course she had.
“I can’t talk about members’ business.”
“I’m not really looking to hear about their business,” I said. “Just wanted to know what you could tell me about Maurice and Cammy.”
Her expression flickered. “Oh. Those assholes.”
Being a terrible person comes with costs you never know you have to pay. “Wow. That bad?”
“Oh em gee,” she said. “You can’t imagine. Him having you dragged out is just standard for him. They’re both the worst. Just the worst.”
“Like Maurice sending his first espresso back?”
“He usually sends it back twice,” she sighed. “Cammy forgets what she ordered and claims I got her order wrong maybe every other day. I just have to smile and nod.”
“They’re a thing, then?”
“They’re some kind of thing,” Tracy said. “I mean, they say horrible things to one another like they’re having a normal conversation.”
“So why are they together?”
“She’s hot and kind of slutty. He’s a dog. So, they have that in common. I mean, he’s married, you know? And not to her.”
“You ever see his wife?”
“No. I guess she’s not the athletic club type.”
I couldn’t imagine a chain-smoking alcoholic would have much fun playing tennis, but I could have been wrong. “Anything else you might be able to tell me?”
“I don’t know,” she said. She looked over her shoulder warily. “Cammy likes her snow. I know that. I’ve walked in on her in the bathroom.”
“Ah,” I said. “She rich, too?”
“She’s some kind of financial person, I think,” Tracy said, “but she doesn’t carry designer bags. You know?”
“Starting to get a picture,” I said. We had reached the El station. “Thank you for your candor, Tracy.”
“You’re not going to tell anyone I talked to you, are you?” she asked.
I held up three fingers with my thumb folded over my pinky. “Scout’s honor.”