James Troop had maintained his residence in Des Moines, despite being on tour with a traveling production of Rent for the past couple months. Didn't take long to track him down and I didn't even need to run it through Bruce. This guy has a website and contact info for an agency, in case anyone wanted to book him. I didn't want to book him so much, but I put in a call anyway."I'm interested in auditioning James Troop for a local production." I said to the young woman who had answered the phone.
"Hold." She said abruptly and suddenly Prince's voice came on. Thrills and pills and daffodils will kill ya. Hang tough children. Say what you want about Prince, but that man gets it. And he gets it in a way I was way to young to fathom when his music first came to my attention. First time I heard it, I didn't even think about the possibility that Prince was talking about making the choice to be a good person. To do better. I just liked the idea of going crazy. I liked the intro, but I had no idea what he was talking about when he said, and if the de-elevator tries to bring you down. Go crazy--punch a higher floor. I didn't for one moment thing Prince was trying to tell us to take more positive approach to our world. To try and choose the high-road when life is gouging your eyes. Take a look around you, at least you got friends.
As I sat thinking about the profound meaning of Let's Go Crazy, it faded away and was replaced by some Johnny Cash. As I walked out on the streets of Laredo, as I walked out on Laredo one day...
Another great song. Odd that they would be paired together, I thought. But still you can't argue with good music. Get 6 jolly cowboys to carry my coffin. 6 dancehall maidens to bear up my pall. Throw bunches of roses all over my coffin. Roses to deaden the clods as they fall.
Then beat the drum slowly. Play the fife lowly. Play the dead march as you carry me along. Take me to the green valley lay the sod o'er me. I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong. Listening to this song always makes me think about my father's funeral. We didn't get along, my dad and I. The short story is he had a temper and didn't treat my mother very well. And I hated him for the last couple years of his life. Not a roaring-fire of rage, but a covered boil that you couldn't tell was there unless you removed the lid. And neither of us removed the lid. We just avoided talking about things and pretended that everything was fine. And it was this act that made me hate him more. He'd call me and we'd talk about the Cardinals, or his garden or some other innocuous thing andI would hang up the phone and be so angry. Not because he thought Pujols should bat fourth (which is ridiculous, but whatever) or that he was putting wagon wheels in his garden (which again is ridiculous), but because we both knew the things we needed to talk about. But we didn't. I told myself that I couldn't bring the problems up because he wouldn't talk about it, not in any satisfying way. Or that he'd just get mad. I needed that relationship with my father, even if it was imperfect. It made me feel so weak. And angry.
"Yes." I'd almost forgotten I was on the phone.
"I have a local production that I'm casting," I said after taking a second to get myself together, " and I'm interested in casting James Troop. I believe your agency represents him?"
"Indeed," started a smooth sounding voice. This was the voice of someone who had smoked for years. I could recognize the rockiness it gave to his voice, though it was not enough to overtake the silky, musical quality of his voice. "We do represent Mr. Troop. And as you may know, he is in high demand. High demand right now. His performance in Rent has earned rave reviews. Just rave reviews."
"Yes, it was these reviews that got my attention. Especially the one in the Kansas City paper that said, 'The understudy for the role of Benny was solid.'" I said with a smile. I love it when my research comes in handy.
"Well, they couldn't say he was the next Taye Diggs, for obvious reasons," the voice glossed, "but to mentioned like that. Very impressive. Impressive indeed."
"Oh certainly," I said trying to sound impressed. "But, here's my problem. We are getting together a production of A Man of No Importance, but we've lost our Alfie. He got picked up for the new production of Les Mis in Chicago." Did I mention I did a lot of research?
"A Man of No Importance? That's pretty modern." I can hear the interest in his voice. I almost have him.
"It is, but if you're gonna bring back the Ingersol Theater, you've got to do something big."
"Bring back the--"
"Don't say dinner theater. Please." I say as dramatically as I can muster. "We're going to bring it back as a theater. No dinner. Just pretzels and cookies served at the bar with wine and high-end beer. And we're trying to do this big time."
"When does the production start?"
"Another problem. We figure the construction will be done in two months, meaning I need to get a new Alfie soon or there's no way we can get this done. I want to see your man tonight if possible."
"What about the understudy?" Fuck. This is what happens when you think of all the goddamned details and forget the rest of the situation. Nice job [gumshoe]. I am a fucking idiot.
"Well." I stammer. "He's a fine kid, but we're looking for a star. We want someone that we can point to later and say, 'that guy played here.' And be proud of it." Look at that recovery. I may be a fucking genius.
"Sure. I think I can talk to him about this. I am sure he will be interested." Yep. Genius.
"Cool. Can he meet me at the Ingersol? Around 9?"
"The construction isn't a problem?"
"Nope, they're working on the entryway. Finished the stage last week. I will need him to come in through the alley in the back though. I'm sure your man will do aces tonight and then we can talk about the money tomorrow."
"Right. I've got this down. My boy will be there."
As we hung up the phone, I felt a smile cross my face. I was gonna see Simon Flettering in person once again. The thought of punching him almost made me giddy enough to forget about calling Bruce about the information he was getting me on Chase's connections.
I dialed Bruce's number, let it ring twice and hung up. Then I dialed again and waited for Bruce to pick up, which he did after the customary five rings. Bruce didn't say, 'hi' though. No, he waits there silently for you to say something. And if it's not the right thing, he hangs up. This is why I started our conversation by saying, "Pickles are not on the grocery list. Do you want me to add them?"
Silence.
"I said. Pickles are not on the grocery list. Do you want me to add them?"
"That is the old passphrase [gumshoe]," Bruce answered after another moment of silence.
"Well, you never told me the new one." I love Bruce. Great guy. But his paranoia is too time-consuming for me to appreciate it.
"I did. I told you at lunch yesterday, but you probably weren't listening. You were staring at some schmuck at the counter behind me."
"That was a big break in my case, Bruce."
"I thought it was a big break in your heterosexuality the way you were staring at that guy."
"Don't get jealous, Bruce. You know you're the only man who could tempt me." I said with a smile.
"Keep that dream alive." He said with a chuckle. "So, if you didn't get that nice man's number, what did you get from all the staring?"
"I got an idea. See, the back of the newspaper had an advertisement for the touring group of Avenue Q."
"Your big break was a musical with puppets?"
"Yes. It was. See, it got me to thinking. What if the guy who was in my office claiming to be Simon Flettering was not the guy who had done the killings. What if he was just an actor."
"Sounds thin." Bruce, always a skeptic.
"Oh, it was thin all right. Thinner than, you know, a thin supermodel who...is bulimic." I said. There is not much to this job. You follow your gut and you make good banter, preferably with clever metaphors and sometimes even similes. I was good at the first part, really good. The second part, however, had always eluded me. It's a work in progress. I just wish I were good enough at the first part that I didn't get bothered about sucking at the second part.
"Still got it, [gumshoe]." Bruce said trying to suppress his laughter.
"Yeah. Well. It was thin. But. And this is the important part. It payed off. I searched through some material at the Des Moines Playhouse--"
"Oh, they're playing Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat right now."
"Yeah. Good show. The guy playing Joseph made some really interesting choices. But, I found some old playbills and it turns out our man was there. Played in Godspell amoung others. So, yeah. It turned out this thin model was a porker."
"That doesn't make up for the earlier comment. But I'm glad that payed off, because the shit you gave me leads nowhere. None of these guys looks good for this. No unusual activity. No weird bank accounts. Not so much as a bad parking ticket on any of these guys. Doesn't mean one of them isn't your guy, but."
"Yeah. With this guy, there'd be something," I say not sure why I believe this exactly. "How is Chase connected to this guy?"
"Don't know, [gumshoe]."
"All right Bruce. I gotta meet my guy and make sure he gives me something I can use." As I hung up the phone I wasn't feeling quite as good as I had before. I had thought of this detour into the underbelly of the Des Moines theater crowd as a nice little bit of revenge for myself. Sure, there was the possibility that I might learn something, but I was not counting on it. Now, if this didn't pay off, I was back at square one.
I looked at my watch. 8:25. Time to head over to the Ingersol. I got in the Camino, which started up with a rumble that let me know it probably was not going to make it through the coming winter. Not without daily jumps and a lot of work.
I was able to maneuver through traffic and got there at 8:55. As I pulled into the alley behind the theater, I saw a car had already arrived. I pulled up along side it to see the driver was still inside. And it was James Troop. He looked at me a little embarrassed and started getting out of his car. I put the camino in park, put the rumbling beast to sleep and started to get out of my car. I hadn't put my second foot to the ground when he was around the camino and saying, "I'm sorry. So sorry. I was just getting warmed up in my car. I wanted to be ready. I mean, you are the casting agent, right?"
I stood out of the car, resisted the urge to grab him by the neck and offered my hand for a shake instead. "I am. And you're James Troop. My goodness, it's so good to see you."
He took my hand and shook it firmly. He's bigger than I remember. Taller and more muscular. Not at all the timid man I remembered meeting that day in my office. Maybe this kid could act. Of course as I was thinking this, he recognized me. "Hey. You're that guy. From the office. How are you--"
Using the hand I was still shaking, I whipped him into the camino and pulled him into a nice hammer-lock. I know violence is not a solution to all the world's ills, but sometimes it just feels a little too good to do something like this. "I am indeed the guy from the office."
"Oww. Man, I didn't mean to piss you off, why don't you let me go?" He said.
"I need you to answer some questions," I said pushing his arm up higher. As I did this, he suddenly ducked and twisted, freeing his arm from me. Suddenly, he was standing next to me and as soon as I realized this, he buried his fist into my ear. I recoiled from his punch and turned toward him, quickly getting myself ready for the fight that had started about 10 seconds ago. He threw another punch, which I ducked, instead hitting him in the gut. Troop took this pretty well and caught me with an uppercut on my chin, knocking me to the ground.
This kid was light on his feet. He'd studied something. Judo or kung-fu--something. And judging from the way he was handling himself, I knew I needed a new strategy. I ran headlong into him, tackling him to the ground. I caught a knee in my groin for my trouble, but I still managed to get my hands on his arms and wrestle him to a subdued position.
"Listen to me James," I said, a little hoarsely thanks to the way he'd pelted my nuts a moment ago. "I don't think you meant to get me caught up in this. I don't think you knew. But now people are dead. And I need you to tell me what you know."
"What?" He said. I could feel the fight leaving him.
"Look. I am going to let you go now. And we can talk about this like fucking adults. That's all I wanted." I let go of him and cautiously got off him. Last thing I needed was another kick in the nuts. Of course, I've said that a lot of times in my life and so far it has not warded off any of the future nut attacks.
James rolled over and sat against the car. He appeared calm and confused. I sat down next to him and let a moment pass. I was about to start questioning him when he said, "What people are dead?"
"Selma Flettering, the woman you said was your wife was the first. Which makes you look kind of bad," I say as a way of making sure he knows he should feel guilty. "Then there was Jane Hernandez, my ex-girlfriend, who, as far as I know did nothing wrong, but date me. Well, she also wouldn't replace the toilet paper on the roll, but I can't imagine anyone getting upset enough about it to chain her up and rip her insides out." Reminding him of the guilt. I'm kind of a one-trick pony when it comes to situations like this. "Then there's Chance Greer, the cop slash co-conspirator of these murders. Those are the ones we know about anyway."
"Fuck." He was clearly confused and dismayed. No way he was that good an actor. "So what do you need to know?"
"The million dollar question is who the fuck sent you to my fucking office. And I'm gonna follow that question up with, why the fuck did they send you to my fucking office."
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