Your Mission— Should You Choose to Accept It…

Author’s note:

In Part One of this story, the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency was hired by Keenan Investigations to work on a case in Los Angeles, California. Because of sickness, Trixie and Honey were unable to make the trip; however, Jim and Brian magnanimously volunteered to go to LA for them. Part Two picks up in California. Join our two brave gumshoes as they begin their assignment.

And because of the advice given to me by my editors, this story does carry a bladder, beverage, and work warning. J

Friday afternoon, November 12

Once Brian and Jim’s plane landed and they claimed their baggage, the would-be detectives walked to the nearby car rental agency. Noticing the short line, Brian nodded to the bathrooms.

“I’m going to wash the ‘airplane germs’ off my hands,” he remarked. “If you don’t mind, could you take care of renting the car while I go to the john?”

“No problem. I wonder what kind we should get.”

After carefully studying his list of instructions, Brian answered, “I don’t suppose it matters. Honey just said to rent something dark and nondescript. I guess that will help us blend in.”

Jim nodded in understanding. “That should be easy. You go on to the bathroom; I’ve got it covered.”

Minutes later, Brian emerged from the restroom with clean, germ-free hands and glanced around the small agency until he saw his friend sitting by the exit. “Did you get the car?”

Jim jingled a set of keys in response, then stood and picked up his bag. “You ready?”

“I’m good,” Brian replied as they walked to the door.

Jim walked through the parking lot, searching for the car he had rented for the weekend. “A-ha!” he exclaimed. He pointed to a shiny, black Mercedes Benz, and then began walking towards it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Brian raised his brows in disbelief.

“What?” Jim unlocked the trunk and placed his bag inside. “Is something wrong?”

“You were supposed to get something dark and nondescript,” Brian reminded him, his voice a bit edgy.

Jim grabbed Brian’s bag and placed it in the trunk. After slamming the lid closed, he retorted, “It is dark and nondescript. It’s a black sedan.”

“Jim, it’s a black, shiny Mercedes Benz. We’re not going to blend in if we’re driving this.”

“Sure we will,” Jim snorted. “Lots of people in Los Angeles drive Mercedes.”

“Not in the kind of neighborhood we’re going to,” Brian countered. “If the locals see us in this car, they’ll think we’re drug dealers or pimps or something.”

“Cool.” A lopsided grin parted Jim’s lips as he imagined himself as a nefarious character. “I’ve never been on the wrong side of the law before. Who do you want to be— the pimp or the drug dealer? ‘Cause I’d really like to be the pimp, If you have no objections…”

“You should’ve gotten a Taurus or an Impala, not a German luxury car,” Brian curtly interrupted. After a moment or so, a slight smile formed on his mouth. “But if we’re going to be bad guys, I want to be a mobster.”

“You got it, Mr. Capone.” Jim opened the driver’s door and sat inside. Once Brian had made himself comfortable on the passenger’s side and his seatbelt was fastened, Jim turned to him. “Are you sure this will be okay? Or do you want to trade the Benz for something else?”

Brian sighed as he leaned against the heated leather seats and used to lumbar feature to adjust them to perfectly fit his muscular form. “No,” he sighed wearily. “I guess we’ll just have to suffer.”

With a roll of his eyes, Jim pulled out of the parking lot of the rental agency and drove to Keenan Investigations.

After making several wrong turns, they finally found the correct office building. Jim parked the car, and then he and Brian walked to the main lobby of the skyscraper that housed the detective agency. They got in the elevator and pushed the button for the fifth floor.

Brian glanced over at his best friend. “Are you nervous?”

“Nervous?” Jim repeated with a smirk. “Why would I be nervous?”

“I don’t know.” Brian shrugged. “I just thought it might be kind of awkward meeting Trixie’s former boyfriend.”

“I’ve already met Jack. He’s a nice guy.” Jim straightened his tie and adjusted his fedora in the mirrored walls of the elevator. “Of course, he’s not as nice as me…”

Brian grinned as the elevator stopped and opened. They walked down the hall until they came to the stark, plain glass door with Keenan Investigations written on it in gold and black lettering.

Once inside, they asked the middle-aged female secretary at the main desk if they could speak with Detective Jack Palmer. After casting an appreciative glance at Jack’s guests, the plump administrative assistant buzzed his office. After completing her call, she told Jim and Brian that Detective Palmer was expecting them, and they could go back to his office.

Jim and Brian walked past several heavy oak doors, attractively-etched brass nameplates proclaiming the office occupants. They continued walking until they came to one with “Jack Palmer, Private Investigator” written on it. Taking a deep breath, Jim knocked on the closed portal, his rapping full of confidence and authority.

“Come in,” Jack called to them. Jim and Brian exchanged a worried glance before turning the knob to enter. Neither of them could discern the tone of Jack’s voice.

With a smirk and a shrug, Jim turned the doorknob and stepped inside the office, closely followed by Brian.

Upon their arrival, Jack glanced up at them from his paperwork, and then stood to his feet. “Jim. Good to see you again.” The handsome detective stuck out his hand for Jim to shake.

Jim smiled slightly and firmly grasped Jack’s proffered hand. “Nice to see you, too, Jack.”

After their handshake ended, Jack turned his attention to Brian. “And you must be Dr. Belden, Trixie’s older brother. She spoke of you often.”

Brian shook Jack’s hand with a polite nod. “Glad to meet you. And please call me Brian.”

The formalities ended, Jack sat down at his desk, and Jim and Brian claimed the chairs across from him.

“How’s Trixie?” Jack asked, his forehead furrowed in concern. “And her business partner… Honey, I believe it is?”

“Very sick, as I’m sure you’ve heard,” Jim answered. “It’ll be at least a week before they’re feeling better.”

“Sounds like the voice of experience speaking,” Jack told him with a knowing smile. “Well, I hope they have a fast recovery. I’m sorry that they’re feeling so badly, but I’m grateful you volunteered to help us out. Ralph appreciates your assistance.”

He retrieved a keychain from inside the pocket of his jacket and singled out a small key. After fitting it in the hole of the filing cabinet by his desk, he unlocked the drawer where he kept his top-secret documents. He opened the drawer and pulled out a folder.

“I was anxious to work with Trixie again,” he commented as he sifted through the file’s contents. “Her creativity in tight spots never fails to amuse me.”

“Yes, she certainly has a knack for getting out of trouble,” Jim agreed, a fond smile on his face.

Brian grinned wryly. “As well as a knack for getting into it,” he muttered.

“You’ll find that that’s true with all good investigators,” Jack observed. “Our curiosity often gets us into trouble, but our quick thinking usually gets us out of it.”

“Did Trixie pay you to say that?” Brian inquired with mock disbelief.

“Your sister’s a good detective, Brian,” Jack replied seriously. “You ought to be proud of her.”

“I am proud of Trixie,” Brian corrected. His dark brows knitted with concern. “But it was stressful growing up with a baby sister who thought she was the Bionic Woman.”

“I can relate to that,” Jack answered with a nod, a thoughtful expression on his handsome face. “Sisters seem to have a talent for worrying their brothers. That’s what they do best.”

“What does your sister do?” Jim questioned. “I think Trixie mentioned you had one or two.”

“Cassandra’s a nurse,” he replied. “She’s married and has a daughter named Amanda.”

His comment had precisely the effect he had hoped it would.

Jim cringed at the mention of the familiar name, and then plastered a smile on his face. “Yeah, our schoolgirl shamus has quite a talent for detective work.”

“Trixie’s been solving mysteries since preschool,” Brian chortled. “I think her first case was ‘The Mystery of the Missing Peanut Butter Sandwich’. I lost my lunch, and she figured out that our brother Mart took it.”

“I’ve heard lots of stories about her and Honey.” Jack leisurely flipped through the information in the file, allowing Jim and Brian another moment to relax.

“Actually, they’re officially going by Beatrix and Madeleine now,” Jim informed him in a conspiratorial whisper. “After Trixie told Honey about the stripper-gram incident, they both decided to get new signs for the agency, new business cards, new desk plaques… the works.”

Jack leaned his head back and chuckled heartily. “I can’t say that I blame them. I can only imagine the ribbing two female detectives named Trixie and Honey would get. Especially if Honey is half as pretty as her picture.”

“She is,” Brian affirmed with a grin.

“I was prepared to place Brad Richardson under surveillance while they were here,” Jack commented, choosing which documents in the file were needed for their meeting.

“Brad Richardson?” Brian repeated. “Who’s he?”

“Has Brian not heard about my *cough, cough* distinguished colleague?” Jack’s russet brows rose in query.

Jim shook his head. “Trixie would prefer to keep certain incidents to herself. Although now that you’ve whetted Brian’s curiosity, I’m sure he’ll pump Honey for info after we get home.”

“Telephone, telegram, tele-Honey,” Brian replied with a mischievous smirk.

“Brian has been dating my sister for several years,” Jim explained. “And as much as I adore Honey, she’s not exactly known for her secret-keeping abilities, especially when Trixie and Brian are doing the prying.”

“Ah,” Jack murmured, as he closed the folder and placed the needed documents on his desk. Sensing his visitors were finally at ease, he looked at them expectantly. “Would either of you like anything to drink before we begin? Coffee, tea, soda?”

Jim and Brian both declined, and Jack clasped his hands and placed them on his desktop. “If you don’t need anything, how about we begin?” At his guests’ affirmative nods, he passed them each a photograph.

“This is our client, Reginald Hughes,” he began. “He’s an extremely wealthy businessman in our area. Mr. Hughes began accumulating real estate several years ago. Apparently, he had an eye for potential, because although the property he purchased was inexpensive at the time, it eventually became very valuable. He’s bought land for thousands, and then later sold it for millions. To further increase his fortune, he made some wise investments in the stock market. It’s estimated that Hughes is now worth over a billion dollars.”

“Is he legit?” Jim asked as he carefully studied Mr. Hughes’ picture.

“Yes,” Jack nodded. “We make it a policy to do a background check on all potential clients. Ralph refuses to do business with a crook. Reginald Hughes is clean. Every cent he has, he’s earned honestly.”

“So why does he need to hire detectives?” Brian questioned, raising a wary brow.

“Mr. Hughes has many hobbies,” Jack explained. “Perhaps his favorite is collecting art. His Los Angeles mansion contains an impressive gallery, which houses several priceless pieces.”

He paused to slide another photo across the desk. “This is a picture of a valuable painting owned by Mr. Hughes. It’s called, ‘Delirious Meanderings’, and it’s the work of a fairly obscure artist named Pierre La Quapé.”

“Never heard of him,” Jim commented, unimpressed by the artwork featured in the photograph.

“Me either,” Brian agreed. “Although I have to admit that I’m not really knowledgeable about art. That’s more my sister-in-law’s bag.”

“Most people haven’t heard of La Quapé,” Jack told them. “Apparently though, his reputation as a painter is growing, thanks to the intrigue surrounding his mysterious death. This particular painting is worth several million dollars.”

Brian whistled through his teeth. “This is worth several million dollars?”

“I have kindergarten students who can paint better than this.” Jim chuckled as he turned the picture upside-down in hopes it would improve its aesthetic value.

“Frankly, I agree with you,” Jack said with a smile, “but from what I’ve heard, art is subjective. Meaning, although we think it looks like crap, several people out there would be willing to pay millions for it.”

He paused momentarily, and then added, “A few would even be willing to steal it.” He passed them two documents, one an aerial photograph of Reginald Hughes’ Los Angeles estate, and the other a schematic drawing of the interior layout.

“This is Mr. Hughes’ mansion, where he displayed the painting.” With his pencil, Jack pointed out the room where “Delirious Meanderings” was kept. “Here is Mr. Hughes’ gallery, which is adjacent to his ballroom.

“Mr. Hughes enjoys hosting large parties. During these gatherings, he likes to keep the double doors of the gallery open, to show off his impressive art collection.”

Jim quirked an eyebrow at Brian. “Are you impressed, Brian?”

“Can’t say that I am, Jim,” Brian replied matter-of-factly. “How about you?”

“Nope, not a bit,” Jim answered with a shrug. “How ‘bout you, Jack?”

“Can’t say that three-armed, six-eyed women do it for me, Jim,” Jack answered with a mischievous grin. He cleared his throat, then assumed a serious expression and continued.

“During one of these parties, an equally rich business associate, Mr. Franklin Hanover, told Reginald Hughes that he had a Van Gogh he was willing to trade for ‘Delirious Meanderings’. Our client had tried to acquire that particular Van Gogh for some time, so he readily agreed.

“Hughes and Hanover drew up a contract, the only provision being that the paintings must exchange hands by Tuesday, November 16. Hanover is having a fundraiser at his home that Friday, and he wants to make sure his new painting is hung and ready to show off in time for the party.”

“So what’s the problem?” Brian inquired.

“A week after Hughes’ party, the La Quapé was stolen from our client’s mansion,” Jack said. “Mr. Hughes is desperate to get that painting back so he can trade it for the Van Gogh. If he misses the Tuesday deadline, he may never get another opportunity to purchase Hanover’s painting.”

“Is it possible that this Hanover guy took it?” Brian suggested. “That way he has both paintings.”

“That’s good thinking, and actually that angle was investigated,” Jack told him. “Unfortunately for us, Hanover’s clean.”

“The sixteenth is only four days away,” Jim replied thoughtfully, stroking the cleft in his chin. “I don’t know how we’re supposed to find that painting and get it back by then.”

“All our agency has been asked to do is locate ‘Delirious Meanderings’,” Jack assured him. “Retrieving the painting… well, I’m sure Mr. Hughes has… associates that can better handle that task.”

Brian shook his head, his dark brows furrowed in deep thought. “I don’t mean to sound pessimistic, but it’s unlikely we’ll be able to find out who stole that painting by Tuesday. In a city this size, it would be difficult for even seasoned detectives to solve that mystery, and as you know, Jim and I are just pinch-hitters.”

“True,” Jack agreed. “Without any clues, it would be almost impossible to figure this out. However, we have a very good lead.

“In addition to collecting art, Reginald Hughes also enjoys painting. Purely for his own recreation, I assure you,” he added with a chuckle. “I’m afraid he isn’t much better than La Quapé, but apparently it’s a relaxing hobby.

“Mr. Hughes prefers to paint… unusual things. Recently he did a series of portraits of some rather… unconventional subjects. For instance, he painted a gangster, a drug addict, a prostitute, and this person.”

The corners of Jack’s mouth twitched as he handed Jim and Brian a picture of a tall, flashy woman who vaguely resembled Diana Ross.

“This is Shannequa Montage. Ms. Montage is employed as… an exotic dancer.” He carefully studied Jim’s and Brian’s faces as they studied the photo, quite amused by their expressions of repugnance.

“Mr. Hughes’ party that I mentioned earlier was thrown so he could ‘show off’ the new portraits he painted. The models were all invited,” he continued. “Before the party, they were each given a tour of the art gallery, much to the consternation of the man who serves as the head of security for the Hughes estate.”

“Did these… models have any idea how much some of those painting were worth?” Jim asked curiously.

Jack nodded in affirmation. “I’m sure they did. Mr. Hughes is very proud of his collection, and in my opinion, he’s a little naïve. I’m sure he told every single one of that unsavory crew the value of each piece of art in the room.

“The next week, our client went into the gallery and noticed the La Quapé was missing. He panicked and called the authorities, but they offered no help,” he went on. “As I said earlier, they investigated the Hanover angle, but nothing turned up.

“Two weeks later, Mr. Hughes received a message from Shannequa Montage on his answering machine, stating that she had some important information for him regarding a painting she had recently seen in his mansion. When he tried to return her call, he learned her phone had been disconnected. After calling information, he found no new listing for a ‘Shannequa Montage’.

“When he went to her apartment, she wasn’t there. He talked to the landlord, who informed him that Ms. Montage had moved out the week before. The landlord did tell Mr. Hughes that Shannequa had left the U.S., but thought she’d be returning in two weeks. He didn’t know how to contact her or where she would be living after her return.”

“Why’d she leave the country?” Brian questioned. “That sounds suspicious.”

Jack cleared his throat loudly. “Apparently, Ms. Montage was the guest of one of her… audience members. We’re assuming that they arrived back in the States earlier this week, as learned through the grapevine. At least, we’re hoping she’s back in the States. Since she’s been out of the country, we haven’t been able to track her down, much less question her.”

“So, why doesn’t Mr. Hughes let the police handle this?” Jim asked. “They’re better trained to find missing people. Besides, somebody broke the law by stealing that painting.”

“Mr. Hughes has insisted that the authorities not be notified about Ms. Montage,” Jack explained. “He seems to think she knows who stole the painting, and he’s counting on his associates to get it back. Frankly, she may be his only hope for finding ‘Delirious Meanderings’. Considering her… colorful career, he’s afraid she wouldn’t cooperate if he sent the police to question her.”

“Colorful career?” Brian snorted. “I didn’t think it was illegal to be an exotic dancer.”

Jim smirked. “Maybe it’s illegal to be such an ugly exotic dancer,” he murmured under his breath. “False advertising and all.”

Jack grinned impishly as he prepared to drop the bomb. “Well, you see, from what we can tell, Ms. Montage engages in prostitution as well as dancing.”

Jim shuddered as he studied her picture. “I don’t know who to pity more… Shannequa or her clients.”

“That is one ugly woman,” Brian commented. “Hard to believe that she’s an exotic dancer. It’s even harder to believe that men to pay to…” He shivered at the mere thought.

“Actually, Ms. Montage’s career is quite successful,” Jack informed them, a smile twitching at his lips. “She’s one of the most popular drag queens on the strip.”

Brian’s face distorted into a horrified expression. He was so shocked that words failed him.

Jim made a strange noise as he choked on his spittle. “Wh-what?” he gasped when he got his breath.

Brian closed his eyes tightly, as he rubbed his temples. “When you say… drag queen, do you mean a… a…”

“A man that dresses up as a woman,” Jack clarified, clearly amused by their reactions. “A cross-dresser. A transvestite.”

Jim’s face scrunched up in a grossed-out grimace as he released his grasp on Ms. Montage’s photograph and allowed it to flutter down onto Jack’s desk. “That explains the stubble,” he muttered.

Becoming increasingly amused at Jim’s expression, Jack questioned, “Surely you have transvestites in New York?”

“New York? Yes,” Brian murmured in a shell-shocked voice. “Sleepyside? No. Sleepyside’s kind of sleepy and not the kind of place cross-dressers hang out.” Casting a furtive glance at the photograph, he added, “But yeah, Jim, that does explain the stubble and the man hands.”

“It also explains why we’ve had such difficulty locating Ms. Montage,” Jack told them. “Apparently, Shannequa Montage is our informant’s stage name. We have no idea what his legal name is.”

“How do we find her… uhh… him… er, it?” Brian stammered uneasily. “Do we need know where… uhhh… Shannequa works?”

“Ms. Montage frequents several of the clubs on the strip,” Jack replied. “We have no idea when she goes where.”

“So, how are we supposed to track her down?” Jim asked in frustration. “Go to her… *gulp*… clubs?”

Jack shrugged his shoulders. “You might be able to do that, but the atmosphere in those places might make it difficult. They’re usually so dark and smoky that everyone looks the same. And from what we’ve heard, several… performers, shall we say, have chosen to emulate Diana Ross, so you might follow the wrong person. Your best bet would be to case the streets around the clubs where you could see better.”

He opened the folder and flipped through the documents until he found the one he needed. He pulled out a map of the area Ms. Montage frequented and laid it on his desk.

Brian and Jim leaned over his desk as he pointed to several buildings. “Ms. Montage dances at the Purple Oyster, the Flamers Fraternity, and the Funky Monkey. Usually, she stops at all of them each night, so you could possibly catch her going to and from.”

“Interesting sounding names,” Brian commented wryly.

“You have no idea.” Jack grinned. He had a feeling that these naïve investigators were in for some eye-opening experiences this weekend. “The Oyster is located on Sixth Street, Flamers is on Wellington, and the Monkey is on West.” He pointed out the streets that he mentioned on the map.

“In addition, she also frequents 50^th Street, which is between Sixth and Wellington. If you don’t see her there, you may also want to check the corner of Franko. Apparently, that’s where Reginald Hughes found her.”

“The street corner?” Jim asked with a nervous gulp. “Please tell me that’s a bus stop or something.”

Jack reclined back in his office chair and covered his mouth with his hand to shield his amusement. After a few minutes, he leaned over his desk and tried to keep a straight face as he matter-of-factly stated, “I don’t know if she’d pick up a bus there or not, Jim, but I do know that’s where she picks up her johns.”

Jim flushed a crimson red as he imagined spending time on the seedy street corner. An expression of horror covered his face as another thought came to him. “You want us to stand around where people pick up hookers? Are you crazy?! If the shareholders in my school find out th—”

“They won’t find out,” Jack assured him. “After all, if the police arrive on the scene, you won’t be soliciting a prostitute; you’ll just be interrogating one. It would be totally innocent…”

Jim looked less than convinced, so Jack continued. “Well, if you run into any policemen, just tell them that you’re a friend of mine. I know most of the cops around here, and if you say that you’re working with me, they’ll let you go.”

“I don’t know, Jack.” Brian shook his head, his brows furrowed with concern. “It sounds kind of risky.”

“Well, why don’t you start on the streets around the clubs, and then only go to the corner of Franko if you’re desperate.” A slight smile tugged at the corners of Jack’s lips. “No pun intended.”

“Even if we find… Ms. Montage, what are we supposed to say to… her?” Jim inquired.

“Don’t say anything at first,” Jack warned. “Remember, before any contact is made you need to be positive that the person you’re tailing is indeed Shannequa Montage. Once that fact has been established, you need to certify that she isn’t already being followed by anyone else. If the thief is watching her and sees you speaking with her, it might cause him or her to move the painting to a new location.”

“Okay, so we find a tall, Diana Ross lookalike who’s really a transvestite, we find out for certain that it’s our informant, and that… she isn’t being watched. Then what?” Brian prompted, once again pulling out his handy-dandy notebook and pen.

“Slowly establish contact with Ms. Montage,” Jack directed. “If you come on too strong, she may be leery of your intentions and think you’re a cop. If you want her to answer your questions, you’ll first have to gain her trust.”

Jim gulped noisily. “And how do we do that?”

“I don’t know,” Jack shrugged. “It’s different for each informant. Something that works on one person may not work on another. Try to read her, and see what gets you the farthest.”

Brian scratched his forehead with the top of the pen. “That’s not much help. We’ve never done this before, Jack. Do you think you might be able to give us some examples?”

“Maybe you could pretend to be a fan of her act,” Jack suggested with an impish grin. “Tell her you like her creative use of hula hoops.”

Jim shook his head slightly, his lips set in a grim line. “I don’t even want to know...”

“You’re right; you don’t.” The corners of Jack’s mouth wiggled in amusement.

“I don’t think we can do this.” Brian’s normally tanned face was a bit ashen as he shook his head.

“Sure you can,” Jack encouraged. “Part of being a detective is playing a part. Pretend to like her show. Can’t you act?”

“Not that good,” Jim deadpanned quickly. “What other advice do you have?”

“The usual tactics for getting women to trust you,” Jack answered. He began to tick off suggestions on his fingers. “Insincere compliments, bragging about the amount in your bank account, flashing the keys to your Jag…”

“Coming here was a mistake,” Jim quietly muttered to Brian.

“Then there’s the age old lines that men are still using in nightclubs,” Jack continued. “Your place or mine? What’s your sign? Pretty flowers for a pretty lady? Your name must be Destiny because you’re in my future?”

“Yeah, Jim,” Brian exclaimed brightly, “you can give Shannequa a bouquet of flowers. I bet there’s a shop around here that sells white orchids.” He chuckled evilly, greatly amused by the fiery daggers being projected from Jim’s green eyes.

“Ah, the infamous white orchids,” Jack murmured. “Here is yet another missing piece of the puzzle.”

Jim ignored Jack and directed all his vengeance at his best friend. “White orchids are for special girls only. Not drag queens.”

“Red roses then?” Brian suggested with a smirk. “Or perhaps pink carnations? Beautiful, yet easy to fit in one’s budget.”

“There’s always jewelry,” Jack offered, feigning innocence. “There’s a shop in Westwood Village that has silver bracelets on sale.”

Snickering at Jim’s lack of amusement, Brian teased, “Of course, nothing gets a lady’s attention better than a good, old-fashioned, mushy greeting card.”

“I don’t know, Brian,” Jack corrected, with a shake of his head. “Somehow I doubt that Hallmark has an appropriate card for this particular situation. Last I heard, their cross-dresser line wasn’t well accepted.”

Jim hunched down in his chair, his arms crossed defensively in front of him. “Are you finished yet? Or do you clowns have any other suggestions?”

“No, that’s about it for me,” Brian grinned. “How about you, Jack?”

“I’m out of fresh ideas, too,” Jack snorted. “Unless you’d be interested in sky writing?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a great idea,” Jim said sarcastically, “I wonder how much ‘Single, rich bachelor seeking transvestite with a resemblance to ex-Supreme’ would cost.”

“Seriously, a bit of flattery may get you farther than anything else,” Jack replied. “And if all else fails, there’s always bribery. Nobody’s better at making people talk like good old Benjamin Franklin.”

“Isn’t bribery considered extortion?” Brian pointed out.

Jack cocked one, incredulous auburn brow. “Would you rather ask her on a date?”

“Nope, I have no problem with bribery,” Brian answered hastily.

“So, after we find the drag queen, make sure no one else is around, and gain the informant’s trust, what do we do then?” Jim asked wearily.

“Bring up the subject of the painting,” Jack urged. “Find out what Ms. Montage wanted to tell our client. Ask her to tell you anything she may have seen or heard. Even seemingly unimportant details may lead us to the thief.”

“And what’s our deadline?” Brian inquired.

“Sunday night,” Jack replied quietly. “I know that doesn’t give you much time, bu—”

“You’re not kidding, it doesn’t give us much time!” Jim interrupted in an edgy voice. “If he doesn’t need the painting until Tuesday, why do we have to have the information by Sunday night?”

“Reginald Hughes’ associates have to… reclaim the painting,” Jack informed them. “They need that tip before they can do that.”

Jim raked a hand through his dark red hair. “I don’t know, Jack. Maybe if we had a week or two…”

“Well, we don’t have a week or two.” Jack leaned over his desk and carefully studied Jim and Brian. “It would’ve been nice to have seven or ten days to work on this, but Ms. Montage has been out of the country. We’re not even positive that she’s back now.”

“What happens if we don’t find Shannequa and get the information?” Brian asked.

“Then our client doesn’t get his Van Gogh, and we don’t get paid,” Jack answered curtly. “In addition, Keenan Investigations loses Reginald Hughes as a client, and has to deal with the negative word-of-mouth. So not only do we lose Hughes as a client, we lose all his business associates and friends.”

Jack sat back in his office chair and folded his hands on top of his desk. After exhaling loudly, he continued, “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. If you don’t think you can handle this, I’m sure I can work something out. Thanks for your assistance, and have a safe tri—”

“Whoa,” interrupted Jim. “We didn’t say we were giving up. Brian and I aren’t professional detectives, but we’ll do our best. I’m sure we’ve picked up a trick or two in all our years with Trixie and Honey.”

Jack nodded, and then turned to Brian. “What do you think, Doc? Are you willing to track down Ms. Montage?”

Brian shrugged. “I agreed to work on this case, and I’m not one who reneges on my word. I don’t know how successful we’ll be, but Jim and I will give it our best college try.”

Jack leaned back in his chair and clapped his hands together in an effort to appear gung-ho. “All right, then. It looks like you’ll be working on your first assignment as gumshoes.” He handed both Jim and Brian his business card. “Here’s the number for my office. It’ll ring directly in here, rather than the front desk. That card also has the number for my cell phone and home. Be sure to give me a call if you get in a jam.”

“Thanks,” Brian replied, carefully tucking the card in his wallet. “We may need—”

“The name of a good hotel,” Jim interrupted, stuffing Jack’s card in his pocket. “Are there any you’d recommend?”

“Take your pick,” Jack answered. “There’s definitely not a shortage of hotels around here. I’d probably stay at the Holiday Inn Express on Parkway. It’s close enough to the strip to be convenient, but it’s still in the ‘nice’ section of town. You shouldn’t have to worry as much about getting mugged there.”

“Great,” Jim said, his face full of confidence. “We’ll check it out later on tonight after we’ve made contact with the informant.”

Jack rubbed the sides of his mouth, discreetly covering his amused grin with his hand. “You might want to get settled into your hotel first, and maybe grab something to eat. The section of town you’ll be casing usually doesn’t get busy until after dark. There’s really no reason to go there before nine o’clock or so.”

“We were just going to plan our route,” Jim explained less than convincingly. “You know, kind of case the joint? I find it’s always best to have a clear visual of the area, so I’d like to take a look in the daylight. Then we were planning to return when it got dark.”

“We were?” Brian asked.

Jim nodded at him, his green eyes never leaving Brian’s brown ones. “We were. You remember, Brian. We talked about it on the plane. Remember?”

“We didn’t talk—”

“If there’s nothing else, we should get started,” Jim interjected, rising slightly from his chair.

“Just make sure you’re careful,” Jack warned. “You’ll be working in a rough neighborhood. Try your best to blend in and not draw attention to yourself. Those people aren’t fond of the police or anyone else associated with law enforcement. What kind of car did you rent?”

Brian rolled his eyes. “A black—”

“A black sedan,” Jim butted in. “Very nondescript.”

“Good,” Jack nodded. “Once again, try not to look like detectives.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Brian said, remembering their earlier conversation with Honey and Trixie.

Jim gave a good Barney Fife sniff, and hooked his fingers under the lapels of his jacket. “No need to worry, Jack. I may not be a professional investigator, but I’ve been undercover a few times. This is nothing new to me.”

“You have?” Brian questioned incredulously. “When?”

Jim gave a gasp of shock and threw his hands up in surprise. “Surely you remember that case I helped solve, Brian. You know, that big stakeout Trixie worked on not too long ago? The one I assisted her with?”

Brian merely shrugged, still not understanding and, much to Jim’s annoyance, not pretending that he did.

“I can’t believe you don’t remember.” Jim chuckled nervously. “The case where we were helping the police and the Coast Guard? It was a really dangerous assignment, so maybe your subconsciously blocking it out.”

Brian shrugged again, confusion still evident on his face.

“Oh, well, it’s not important,” Jim blustered, waving his hand in dismissal. “Jack doesn’t want to hear about it.”

“Sure I do,” Jack replied genuinely. “The tactics you used on that mission might be a possibility for this one. Tell me about it.”

Jim swallowed deeply. “Well, we were helping the Coast Guard with a case, and Trixie needed to stake out a place frequented by some dangerous criminals. I dressed up like a gang member, and Trixie played the part of my girlfriend, and—”

“Are you talking about Cobbett’s Island?” Brian burst out with a snort. “Where you wore Mart’s jeans and Trixie wore your green sw—”

“That’s it,” Jim interrupted curtly, discreetly kicking his best friend in the shins. “I wish I could give you more details, Jack, but I’m not really at liberty to say anything else. Arrests could still be pending, and we gave the Miranda warning and all that. If they’re going to remain silent, I suppose I should, too.”

Jack cleared his throat, and pretended to look impressed. “Well, if you decide to take that angle on this trip, I believe I have a pair of Levis I could spare.”

“Thanks, but we’ve got it covered,” Jim assured him. “I’m a pimp, and Brian is a drug dealer.”

“No, I’m a mobster,” Brian argued. “Remember?”

Jim sighed loudly. “I’m a pimp, and Al Capone here’s a mobster.”

“Great,” Jack told them. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble.”

The men stood, and after a farewell shaking of hands, Jack walked them to the door. “Remember, you have my number if you need it.”

Brian double-checked to make sure that he had the business card. After he had done so, he looked up at Jack seriously. “And we’ll be able to reach you, day or night?”

“If I’m not at home or in the office, I’ll have my cell,” Jack promised.

“Well, we’ll be calling after we’ve gathered the necessary information,” Jim told him, just a touch of arrogance detectable in his voice. “Most likely, you won’t be hearing from us until then.”

“All right,” Jack replied. “Good luck.” He watched as Jim and Brian exited his office and walked down the hall. After he was sure they were out of earshot, he sat back down at his desk and picked up the phone.

“Ralph? Yeah, I just talked to them… Uh-huh, I gave them the photos… What do I think? Er… they’ll do great… What do you mean, I don’t sound optimistic? Of course, I’m optimistic. After all, this is Trixie’s fiancé and brother we’re talking about. She wouldn’t send us two losers to work on the case…”

Jack listened to Ralph’s comments, intermittently replying with a “yes” or a “no”. After several minutes he nodded and exhaled loudly. “Okay, I’ll be honest with you, Ralph.

“We’re screwed.”

Credits:

This is Jixemitri CWP #3. Required elements used here were: A hula hoop (Shannequa Montage’s props for her act, Carryover item from #2). Stay tuned for the rest of the required elements including: a snack food, the song “Tequila” used in any way, a vibrator, a slinky, someone losing keys, a picture-taking tourist, and a moldy piece of fruit.

A big thank you to my astute editors in alphabetical order: Kathy W, Kaye, and Steph H. You all contribute so much to my stories. Thank you for all your help!

“Washing the such-and-such germs off my hands” is a frequently uttered phrase around here. When Damon gets home, he must wash the work germs off his hands. When we go out to eat, he must wash the car germs off his hands. He doesn’t open doors with tissues yet, so that’s good. *snicker*

Mercedes Benz is indeed a Germany luxury car, and a nice one, at that! The Ford Taurus and the Chevy Impala are American made vehicles, commonly used as rental cars.

Al Capone was a famous mobster. Brian does not resemble him in any way, but please humor him.

The Bionic Woman is an old TV show starring Lindsay Wagner.

The stripper-gram incident can be found in “Wasted Away Again in Strawberry Pop-Ville” if you want to read it.

Pierre La Quapé is not a famous painter and “Delirious Meanderings” is not a real painting. Van Gogh is a real artist though, and he cut off his ear for his lady friend. Guess they didn’t have any flower shops in his part of town…

Diana Ross is a famous singer and actress, who I’ve heard cross-dressers like to emulate. *G* It was not my intention to insinuate that she is unattractive. I think she was really pretty. I was only meaning to say that a man trying to look like her might not be considered very attractive. Er, am I digging myself in or out of a hole? *snort*

The Purple Oyster, the Flamers Fraternity, and the Funky Monkey are figments of my imagination. Any real clubs by those names are a total coincidence.

The streets mentioned in this story are also my own creation. I didn’t want to use actual places, so I went with the artistic license option.

Jim does not actually have a Jag. He has a charcoal gray Suburban. *wink* But Jags are very, very nice… There’s a dealership near where we go shopping a lot, and I constantly drool over their Jags and Range Rovers.

“Another missing piece of the puzzle” that Jack refers to is in reference to Trixie’s sudden sullenness when they visited the Botanical Gardens in the Los Angeles Zoo. That account is mentioned in “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg, Part Four”. That story also explains Jack’s teasing comment about the jewelry shop in the Westwood Village that sells silver bracelets. *VEG*

As far as I know, Hallmark does not have a cross-dresser line. *G*

Benjamin Franklin was one of our founding fathers and was, by all accounts, an astounding man. He is honored today by having his picture on the hundred dollar bill. To learn more about Ben Franklin, tune into The Cameo’s Fourth of July story, “The Patriots,” now showing in the Portraits of the Past Universe.

Have no idea if there’s a Holiday Inn Express on that street or not, or even if there is a Parkway street in LA…

Barney Fife is a character on the Andy Griffith Show played by the wonderful Don Knotts, who hails from WV and who I adore. The comparison is made lovingly. *sigh* Nobody sniffs like Barney.

The case Jim is referring to is of course the one the mystery they solved on Cobbett’s Island. Yes, fellow Jim fans, I’m poking a little fun at our favorite redhead, but I do that to those I love.

BTW, I just learned that Jim’s GREEN sweater in Cobbett’s Island was not actually GREEN. *faint* I just found out that was another tidbit added by the brilliant Cathy. And of course, what other color would that green-eyed red-haired wonderful boy be wearing? Now, the jeans were REALLY Mart’s, but I added the fact that they were Levis. I can only hope that someday that tidbit will totally confuse another writer’s idea of reality and fanfic. *VEG*

Levis are a brand of jeans. My husband’s butt looks cute in them, and I’m sure Jim’s would too. *g*