Chapter 6

I actually only had one other idea and it didn't involve any associates. In fact, it didn't even involve going to Ohio again.

Plan E required that I spend a day—and it took all day—limping carefully from one pawn shop to another, until I found a pair of white leather roller skates with red wheels. They were a little worse for the wear, but that was to be expected of something at least fifteen years old. I didn't know how old these skates were, but they looked like they could be more than a decade along.

Then I waited two more days, so there would have been time for me to do what I was going to claim to have done.

I gave her a call. "Hey," I said. "You want to come down here and get these skates out of my office? They're cluttering up the place."

"YOU GOT THEM?!" she squealed. I felt bad almost immediately, because I was lying to her and she got so excited about it. "I'LL BE RIGHT THERE!" she squealed some more.

I don't know where she lived, but it couldn't have been far, because she was there within fifteen minutes. During that whole time I kept telling myself this was the best way and that it didn't really matter if they were the ACTUAL skates she'd grown up in. I mean the real ones were just a symbol, right? It wasn't like she was going to put them on and suddenly be a girl again. Still, I felt like I'd eaten a big bowl of the chili Zippo sells off his cart down on Magnolia street, without putting a few drops of Beano on it first.

She burst through the door and her eyes went immediately to the skates sitting on one corner of my desk.

"OOOOO THANK..." She didn't finish, and she kind of went into slow motion until she stopped, still a couple of feet from my desk. She leaned forward and peered at the skates. "You," she finally finished, not nearly as excitedly as she'd started. She put her hands on her hips and one foot went forward to leave her in a wide, well balanced stance.

The smile I'd pasted on my face slipped a bit.

"I value honesty in a man, Bob," she said, her voice low.

"Um ... as you should," I said weakly.

"Those aren't my skates, Bob," she said.

I tried to look outraged. "What?! You mean that evil woman slipped me a ringer?!"

"My mother wouldn't do that," she said firmly. "She doesn't care enough to go to the effort of finding another pair of skates like mine," she said. "I just TOLD you, Bob, I like honesty in a man. If you're not going to be honest with me, then you're wasting my time." There was disappointment in her eyes, and that was what made me feel like Zippo's nonexistent chili was about to come back up any second.

"Oh." What else could I say?

I'll tell you what else I could say. Within three more minutes I'd spilled my guts about the subterfuge and begged her for forgiveness. That girl could have had a career as an interrogator. During the confession she moved her arms until they were crossed under those beautiful braless breasts of hers, with their luscious perky nipples which, to my utter disgust, I couldn't help but glance at more than once during those three minutes or so.

I already admitted to being shameless a few paragraphs ago. I still am to this day. I'm still inept too, sometimes. I admit it. Acknowledging your faults is a sign of strength, right?

Her hands went back to her hips.

"What am I going to do with you, Bob?" she asked the room at large. I knew she wasn't talking to me. I had a feeling I wasn't allowed to say anything else anyway.

"I'm really sorry," I said, risking being told, "You just shut your pie hole you nasty, repulsive, conniving, weak minded liar!"

"I know," she said softly. "That's why I suppose I'm going to have to forgive you."

"You are?" Never has there been more hope crammed into two words than there was in that moment.

"You were trying to make me happy," she said, looking at the wall instead of at me. "It's really kind of sweet, in a way. I suppose I can't be mad about that forever." Then she DID look at me. "But no more lies, Bob. If there are any more lies, we're done. Got that?"

That "we" in "we're done" hit me right in the balls, and I don't mean in a painful way. But that was only for a split second, before my brain engaged to remind me that there was no "we" except for the private investigator/client relationship. She must REALLY want those skates badly, to put up with the likes of me.

"OK, I promise," I said fervently. Then I thought about how much trouble I had already gone through for these stupid skates and how much MORE trouble would undoubtedly be experienced if I saved the "relationship" we were in. I also realized I didn't care. I wanted to erase the disappointment in those green eyes. I HAD to erase the disappointment in those eyes, or they'd haunt me forever.

"Just out of curiosity," I said, trying to learn from my mistakes, "what tipped you off?"

She didn't smile. "Those have pink laces in them, Bob. Do I look like a girly girl to you?"

"Um..." How does a man answer that? There's no good answer for that one, even if it sounds like there is.