We went to the hospital and I told Brett we were leaving for Houston. She gave me a kiss and we tried not to make too much of it, me going off only a short time after she had come home, but the feelings were there.
I left her and we drove to my place, and then Leonard’s, packed a few overnight things. I saw that Leonard packed the deerstalker. He was swift about it, but I saw it done. At least it was packed and not on his head.
We tooled back to Camp Rapture to get Cason. He had needed time to settle some work details and go home and do his packing.
On the way over, Leonard said, “This is like being in a mystery novel with no detectives.”
“Nailed it,” I said, and we bumped fists.
We picked up Cason at the address he gave us. It was an apartment complex on the far side of town. Nice place. He told us he had just moved there. We didn’t give a shit, but he told us anyway.
Driving along, Cason entertained us with some amusing stories that mostly involved the misfortune of others, which, of course, is what most humor is about, and then explained we would be staying with a friend of his over Houston way, out near the airport. A former police officer.
What he didn’t tell us was the former police officer was a hot late-twenties blonde named Constance and she lived in a one-bedroom apartment with a cat named Yo-Yo. She put Leonard and me in the living room, him on the couch, me on a blow-up mattress. We lay there listening to Cason and Constance all night long. For all I knew, maybe Yo-Yo was involved. There was a banging of heads on the bedstead, a whimpering of delight, a cry of servitude, a yelp of triumph, and a smacking of genitals that sounded like someone snapping a leather strap across bucket seats. After a few hours it ceased, then near morning it started up again, loud enough to wake us. Once I thought a siren had gone off, but it was just Constance.
Early morning someone let Yo-Yo out of the bedroom. Listening to that all night, even Yo-Yo’s pert little ass made me horny. But Yo-Yo the cat didn’t swing that way. To compound matters, it didn’t help any that Constance came out of the bedroom adorned in a thin white T-shirt that showed she had very pert nipples and more ass than shirt.
She said excuse me and went to the bathroom and came out wearing dark sweat pants with the T-shirt. The ass was protected, but the nipples still looked like. 45 slugs.
Constance offered us some breakfast, and while she was in the kitchen, Cason came out in sweatpants and a wifebeater, scratching his nuts.
I said so Constance couldn’t hear, “I had the impression you had a girlfriend at home.”
“We aren’t connecting like we used to,” he said.
“You seem to have been connecting with Constance last night.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Well, since it sounded like you were screwing next to my air mattress, you made it more of my business than I expected. There were a couple moments when I thought I ought to be wearing some kind of contraceptive. Leonard had morning sickness.”
Leonard, who was sitting on the couch in his shorts, nodded. “I’m going out later to buy a bassinet and a baby stroller. Do you have a color preference?”
Cason smiled a smile so thin no teeth were visible, said, “You can both go fuck yourself.”
“I’ve tried,” Leonard said. “Doesn’t work.”
We ate breakfast, and then Cason made some calls on his cell while Constance got ready for work. Turned out she was now working for a private investigation agency. A cooler more successful one than Marvin’s. Fifteen agents worked there, and unlike us, they were most likely real detectives, and one of the real detectives was a hot blonde who could screw all night and work all day and had a cat named Yo-Yo.
Constance exited the bathroom, looking professional in a black suit with a frilly white shirt. Her hair was brushed and glossy as a show horse’s mane. She sat on the couch and put on her shoes. I noticed her toenails were painted pink and had little silver stars in the middle of them.
I asked her, “Do you know a private investigator from Houston named Jim Bob Luke? Know it’s a long shot, but I was just wondering.”
“That conceited asshole,” she said, giving me a hard look. “Yeah, I know him. He a friend of yours?”
“No,” I said. “Leonard knows him.”