Page 32 of Clearwater Journals

Just after eight that evening, I walked up the beach and ate at IHOP. Mia had to be careful not to spend too much time with me because her boss was “in a mood” and the restaurant was busy for that time of day. She surreptitiously asked about Langdon as she handed me a menu the second I sat down. I quietly assured her that she had been great. She had got him to work with us. I told her that I had spent the afternoon going over his notes.

  “When you get off work, we can talk about some of the things we need to do next. I’ve got a quick blonde joke for you,” I said before I ordered. “Do you know how to get a blonde to laugh at a joke on Saturday?”

  “You and the blonde jokes,” Mia groaned. “Okay I’ll bite—no I won’t bite. But I am curious. How do you get a blonde to laugh at a joke on Saturday?”

  “Tell it to her on Wednesday,” I replied as I noticed the fat manageress giving me the evil eye again. “I’ll meet you out at your car after you get off. Your boss is shooting daggers at me again. I guess we better cool it when you whistle while you work.”

  Later that night, after we had had a bite to eat, then showered and cleaned up we crawled into bed. Mia was nude under the cool sheet. She was lying on her stomach and propped up in the crook of my right armpit. As I gently stroked her butt, I told her the short form version of what I had learned from Langdon’s notes. I told her about the agreement Langdon had forced me to make before he gave me his computer pages. I was very careful to avoid any negative references to her family and my stubborn suspicions about their possible involvement. Iron clad alibi aside—I still wasn’t convinced. I told her that our chances of success were greater than before and asked her if she was prepared to visit Eddie Ralston in jail. I told her the logical steps we had to follow from here. She was happy. She kissed my chest and nibbled.

  “What was the hero story about you and your partner that Langdon mentioned at lunch?”

  “Hardly a hero story,” I replied quietly talking to the top of her head. She kissed me again.

  “Come on. Don’t be shy. Tell me Joey.” Her fingers danced lightly down my chest and across my stomach.

  “It’s not anything really, but if you’re going to punch me or pinch me, I’ll talk.”

  “I may do worse than that Honey boy if you try to hold out on me.”

  “Okay,” I sighed resigned to telling the story I’d all but forgotten. “Here goes. Hank Nolan and I were partners in the Don River section of Toronto where the river dumps into Lake Ontario. The Don River kind of snakes its way through Toronto from north to south and by the time it gets close to dumping into Lake Ontario, it has all the charm and attraction of a major league cesspool. That’s all for the geography lesson. Anyway, we spotted this kid who we had been looking for. We knew him well. He had done a number of B & Es in the area, stole money from little old ladies and little kids—not a very nice person really. The dummy was trying get away from us by crossing the river sort of tight rope walking on the lower span of a rusting railway trestle. I pulled the cruiser over, and Hank got out and yelled at the kid. Long story short, the dumb kid gets distracted, loses his balance and falls into this smelly, polluted, brown sludge—the Don River. He can’t swim worth a damn. Hank watches the kid tumble into the river and just freezes. He didn’t or couldn’t figure out what to do. Using no judgment at all—I mean I could have plunged right into the submerged fin of an old Cadillac or impaled myself on a rusted tie rod—I go in after the kid and save his mean narrow ass.

  Protocol calls for the use of a reaching assist as the first response. There wasn’t time, and the kid was in big trouble. I mean I could have caught diphtheria or typhoid or honkus of the ponkus swimming in that gunk filled river, but in I go. I’m an idiot. Instead of giving me total crap for risking my life—and saving the Toronto tax payers the cost of supporting this little criminal in prison the rest of his life—like they should have and would have if the media hadn’t got hold of the story—the powers that were at the time gave Hank and me a bravery citation. Some heroes, eh?

  And the kicker to the story—the kid wanted to sue us for endangering his pathetic life. He then grows up to be a major pain in the ass to the police and the city for years—and get this—a repeat offender pedophile. Go figure eh?”

  “You’re still my hero Joe Holiday. I’ll miss spending time with you tomorrow when you’re working,” she murmured softly. “You’ll probably be off to Sand Key by the time I get back from my run.” Mia gently licked and kissed my right nipple. Then, she softly nibbled it. Her body was warm against mine. “I’ll leave you the phone number for my apartment. I have to go back there to get some stuff. And I’ll buy some time for my cell. Call me sometime in the morning okay?” Kiss. Lick. Nibble. “I work two to ten again.” Kiss... nibble... light lick…. moving lower. “Come and get me when I get off at ten okay?” Mia moved lower and another kiss…. another soft nibble and gentle lick! “And, for my last trick—something very special,” she murmured again—smiling—as she looked up the length of my torso, “and with no bite marks either!”

  Hi Ho Hi Ho—It’s off to Work I Go

 
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