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Chapter 12.
"Pardon?"
"That's a great idea," I said.
The smile that lit up Gerda's face said happily 'what took you so long?'
"I mean about finding this guy by watching Jennifer."
I ducked the soggy bar towel that she hurled at me - but overbalanced and fell off my stool in the process. Gerda flounced off trying unsuccessfully to slam the self-closing door behind her and this made her even madder. I didn't mind as I picked myself up off the floor. I had a plan ... and it was brilliant.
At the heart of my new strategy was the extensive network of bar life from every background at Smokey's. And naturally I didn't want to do this research in my own time so I asked Ron if I could change my schedule and work that day.
"You want to work your day off? Now I know you're sick," Ron said, but agreed.
We opened and Smokey's soon began to fill up, mainly with regulars moaning about the hangovers they'd got from Smokey's the previous day. I waited until one of the gamblers came up to the bar to order a round of drinks.
His nickname was Serious Sam, so-called because he never smiled. He was the original gambling inscrutable. He could have been Chinese, except he had the jowls of the British Bulldog.
"How's it going Sam," I asked.
"Lady luck is not smiling at the moment," said Serious Sam, "in fact I think she's emigrated. Perhaps I ought to borrow your new lady. Maybe she'd bring me luck at the tables."
"It's funny you should mention her, "I said, "the fact is that she's out of luck herself at the moment. An ex-boyfriend is bothering her. I wondered if there was somebody local who'd help me sort him out."
"You want somebody to work him over?"
"No, nothing like that," I said hurriedly. "I want to watch him without him knowing and need to know how."
"Private eye's are very, very expensive, "said Serious Sam, lugubriously.
"I don't want to hire one, I just want to learn enough tricks of the trade to do it myself. With your contacts, you must know somebody."
Serious Sam touched his nose with his forefinger and winked. It was his way of saying it was as good as done. Who says men can't be flattered.
Two hours later Smokey's gossip network was in overdrive and had come up with the answer.
She was a regular who always sat by the window. She was retired, had a creaky voice and eyes that could see right through you. I gave her a sherry on the house and listened to her reminiscing about the years she spent researching guilty parties in divorce cases. She knew it all; disguises, the places you could stand where nobody would notice and observation points you could hire for almost no cost. She was a gold mine. I topped up her sherry and she happily talked on and on. But it was the bombshell she served at the end that was the most beautiful.
"Why don't you let me help you, my dear? I've been out to pasture for too long. It would be lovely to have an opportunity to practice my old trade again and, unlike you, there is no chance that I would be recognized. You don't need to pay me; it's my pleasure to help a young couple."
For the second time that day, with great enthusiasm, I happily kissed someone who wasn't Jennifer. The difference was that she didn't throw anything at me.
"With that sort of bonus, I'll get on the job right away," she said - with a gimlet smile, finished her drink and hobbled out of the door.
She was as good as her word and amazingly by lunchtime the next day was back.
She sat at the relatively quiet end of the bar, a happy twinkle in her eye and her round gold spectacles at the end of her nose as she carefully consulted her notebook.
"I saw him in a flash", she said. "It's the oldest trick in the game. He's rented a room opposite. It's a house for single people with single rooms and the vast majority of them are in their '20s . He was older - '30s or maybe early '40s. He obviously thinks he's completely safe because he's taking no precautions. He even has a hefty looking telescope permanently at his window trained on the apartment. He comes and goes out of the back of the building so he won't bump into her. Apart from that, he doesn't appear to be wearing any disguise."
I thanked her profusely.
"Hang on, there's more, "she said and tore a sheet out of her note book and gave it to me.
I looked down and saw a car number, an address and a name.
"How did you get this? "
"He parked his car round the back and I still have some good contacts with people who keep records of car numbers."
I looked at her.
"I have the feeling you have just one more thing for me."
She smiled at me beatifically and handed me an instant photo.
"That's him," she said.
He sat there, watching, framed by the window, expressionless and immobile. He had not a hair on his head and his face was as bland and featureless as an alien. His expression made me very scared. I knew I had to warn Jennifer he was there - fast.
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