Stone's Minimum Wage Case

Also by Tim A. Gaertner ABC’S FOR TEENS GROWING UP WITH AN ALCOHOLIC ABC’S FOR TEENS IN ALCOHOLIC/DYSFUNCTIONAL FAMILIES ABC’S FOR TEENS GROWING UP WITH AN ALCOHOLIC BLUE JEAN WISDOM FOR TEENS

Stone’s Minimum Wage Case A Garrett Mancco Mystery Tim A. Gaertner

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recorded, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. Copyrighted 2016 by Tim A. Gaertner Cover art by Sean Seal Printed in the United States of America ISBN 978-0-9777381-5-1

This book is dedicated to the late Harold and Arline Buehler Who helped me so much at a low point in my life. They just listened. And for all the adult children of alcoholics who grew up in a childhood of chronic trauma.

Acknowledgments I would like to thank the following people who helped bring this novel to life: Sean Seal for helping me with the cover Lori Wallaert for her typing skills Nancy Manning for her editing skills Barb Casper for putting it all together Linda Seaman for all her efforts Lois Field for her suggestions And my wife, Karen, for all her support

Stone’s Minimum Wage Case

Chapter One “Are you dead yet, Stone?” a man’s deep voice echoed around the small, dark office. As the door pushed open, a widening light revealed a man lying be- tween an old gray metal desk and two office chairs. The figure stretched out and threw his arm over his eyes to block the sharp light. “How about I turn on the light, Stone?” the same voice asked. The man moved slowly, a cane in each hand, as he pushed his way in. His body leaned forward onto two metal canes. “It’s kinda hard for me to see in here, plus it smells. I wanna make sure I don’t step in an accident.” “If you turn on the light, I’ll have to break something.” “Huh? At least you’re in a good mood this morning.” The man in the doorway stopped and lifted an arm to glance at his watch. “Yup. It’s still morning . . . sort of.” The man with the canes, Ned, was the owner of Ready and Able Dry Cleaning, which shared a building with the prone figure’s detective agency, Mancco Security Company, Inc. As Ned moved forward, the door seemed to be pushing him back out. His stiff-legged walk finally brought him inside. Once his shoulder no longer held the door, it swung shut, bringing almost absolute darkness with it. Only a thin line of light under the door gave the room a tiny bit of illumination. “Damn. It’s dark in here, Stone. Do you care if I sit down behind your desk?” “Yes, I do. Why don’t you let the door hit you on the ass on the way out?” “You know, if I trip, I’m going to call that guy on TV, and I’ll sue you for everything you’ve got.” The desk chair banged against the side of the desk as Ned pulled it out. He let out a groan as he settled heavily into the chair. Stone could hear Ned’s heavy breathing because of the quiet in the of- fice. “You oughta get a new fan in here. Move all this stale, stinky air around.” Ned clunked his cane against Stone’s desk. “You know what else you should do? Get some new chairs in here. Something a little wider and a whole lot more comfortable than this crap. Leather would be nice. Maybe a couple of those big overstuffed leather chairs for when your friends come over to visit.”

“I don’t have any friends,” the prone figure called out. “No, that’s not true. You’ve got me, good buddy. Don’t ya know, private detectives always need sidekicks to bail them out of trouble?” “You’re my friend? How about just shooting me now? That thought would make a normal person depressed, let alone someone who’s de- pressed as hell like I am. That’s enough to push me over the edge.” “Really?” Ned swiveled side to side in Stone’s chair. “How about letting me have first dibs on your TV and movie collection if you decide to do something to yourself? Maybe some of your other crap too?” “I thought you wanted to be my friend?” “I do, good buddy. I just don’t want you going where you’re going knowing that strangers are going to be pawing through all your shit at a rummage sale or one of those estate sales.” “But it’s okay if you paw through it?” “Hell, yeah, that’s what best buds are for.” “You wouldn’t happen to have some heavy-duty morphine or some- thing extremely toxic, would you? Just the thought of us being best buds is enough to make me puke, besides being suicidal.” “Go ahead if you gotta puke. Just do it quietly though. One time I was staying with this aunt. Anyway, she got all sick and threw up in the toilet. I heard it splatter, and that was it for me. I ran for the door but it oozed through my fingers before I made it out.” “That’s enough!” “I had just eaten tacos. I didn’t have another taco for a year.” “Will you just shut up and let me suffer in silence?” “That’s why I’m here—to get you outta here and end your suffering.” “The quickest way for you to do that would be to leave and not come back for, say, at least a year . . . maybe two.” “What if I saw you outside somewhere? Could I say hello?” “No. Then we could both pretend we don’t know each other.” “That’s not very nice.” Ned went quiet for a while. “You know, it smells like shit in here. Not like real shit, but this overpowering stale odor like some basement in a condemned house. Moldy. That’s it. It’s like this op- pressive, moldy smell in here.” “When have you ever been in a condemned house?” “Well . . . there was this time with this one babe who used to giggle all the time. You know . . . the kind that giggles so much that she starts get- ting on your nerves? We were looking for a quiet place . . .” “You mean cheap?” “My. Aren’t we judgmental today. Yes. It was cheap. She didn’t want to do it in the back seat, and I didn’t have enough for a no-tell motel.” ~ 2 ~

Ned then began this nasal chuckling that reminded Stone of a mule’s hee-haw. Thankfully for Stone, it quickly sputtered to a stop. “You know, I ended up lying on a nail and got a nasty infection that I had to get antibiotics for and a damn tetanus shot that hurt for a damn week.” “Let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.” “Yeah, yeah.” Ned blew it off. “I betcha it isn’t good for you to be sniffing all those carpet fibers and that chemical smell that comes off of carpet- ing. Course, this carpeting has probably been down since carpeting was invented.” “Why don’t you just leave?” “Sorry. No can do. I was sent here on a mission.” “By God?” “Close. Maggie. Who, instead of being known as your office manager, wants to be called Your Royal Highness now.” Stone guessed something was up, but he didn’t want to use the energy to even think about it. “Whatever you’re trying to tell me . . . just go.” “Yeah. Okay. I didn’t really want to come in here in the first place, but Her Royal Highness bribed me with a donut.” Ned went quiet for a mo- ment again. “You know, I shoulda held out for two. Though, no way was I going to say no with her right in the middle of her monthly PMS crap.” A big bang followed immediately, with the door cracking open. Stone rolled back over on his back and covered his eyes again with his arm. The banging continued as a petite woman with short blonde hair pushed her way into the room. The door tried to close, but Maggie kept ramming her walker into it, each time making a few more inches progress. A large, pink gingham bag hung on the front of the walker. She had a variety of bags of different colors and designs, which she changed often. Stone had long given up trying to figure a rhyme or reason why she’d use one bag over another. “Damn fuckin’ door!” Maggie said as she continued her struggle. “You should let me have Henry fix this damn door so it just stays open.” “See? What did I warn you about?” Ned snickered. “I heard your crack about my PMS. Remember, shit for brains . . . it’s Your Royal Highness today. Otherwise, you’re going to wish you were never born.” She pushed at the door until it rested against the back edge of her walker. “How about I turn on the light so I can see what the hell I’m doin’? There’s a lady present.” “No,” Stone snapped. From the tone of his voice, and from experience, Maggie knew not to push that conversation any further. ~ 3 ~