Lunchbox Hero

by Byron Quertermous

BRYON QUERTERMOUS has been an editor, journalist, teacher and playwright. His first play, a shameless rip-off of The Maltese Falcon, was produced by Buckham Alley Theatre in Flint, Michigan when he was 19 and his short stories have been published in DETECTIVE MYSTERY STORIES and THE WHITEWATER REVIEW. His first novel was shortlisted for the Crime Writer's Association Debut Dagger. He is currently in the creative writing program at Eastern Michigan University.

"Heroes, whatever high ideas we may have of them, are mortal and not divine. We are all as God made us and many of us much worse." -- John Osborne

Chapter One

My name is Kenny Shepard. It’s not as studious sounding as Watson or as jovial as Archie but I like it and it beats something like Myron or worse, being Nameless. I work for a private detective who has his office in a mall. In Flint, Michigan.This says a lot.

But as a 26 year-old college failure whose only dream in life is to be an action hero, I think it is the greatest job in the world. The guy is also my childhood hero and let’s not even get into what that says about me.

At various points in its history our office had been a shoe store, a condom store and a mattress store. We are kitty corner from the Gap and directly across from a kiosk that sells the most amazing smelling glazed nuts. The office looks like an abandoned set from Hill Street Blues. Three government-issue metal and pressboard desks are scattered across the floor space accented by walls papered with action movie posters from the seventies, eighties, and present day.

The décor carried over to my clothes too. I was wearing my standard outfit of superhero logo t-shirt (today was Batman) cargo pants and my University of Michigan baseball hat. I also wear glasses, which has always bothered me. Would Bruce Willis have been as heroic in Die Hard if he had to stop and clean his glasses every time they got bloody? But I don’t like sticking things in my eye either. Oh well.

My desk is in the front of the office off to the side, easily identified by the population of action figures from my youth. I have GI Joes, Transformers and a dash of Star Wars for color. I first found out my boss was missing when the most superbly crafted set of twins walked into the office Monday morning. Metallica's Enter Sandman was blasting from the stereo so it took me a second to notice they were talking to me.

"We need to see Steve Vaughn," one of them said, as I clicked off the stereo.

Steve Vaughn would be my boss. Actor, turned author, turned PI, turned women’s heads.

"I’m his assistant, Kenny Shepard," I said.

I tried not to stare at the one who was talking to me. I can’t say she was the pretty one because they were both pretty. The one talking to me looked like she had raided her daughter’s closet before dropping by. She wore low rider jeans that flared out immensely at the ankle and a pink t-shirt with the word PRINCESS scribbled across her breasts in Rhine stones. Her belly button was pierced with a little diamond that kept diverting my attention.

"We hired Steve Vaughn a month ago and have heard nothing from him."

"Have you tried to contact him?" I asked, trying to get a good look at the other sister. She sported a knee length black wool skirt, gray cashmere turtleneck and knee high black leather boots.

"We hired him in good faith and he has so far left us out in the cold."

"Have. You. Tried. To. Contact. Him. Yet?"

"We aren’t here to see you," Boots said.

"That shoots my day to hell then."

"Ann, Mr. Shepard doesn’t have the attention span to deal with both of us at the same time," Princess said.

"You have no idea how correct you are," I said, digging through my top desk drawer for a bottle of Ritalin.

I took the bottle out and tossed it to her.

"These little buggers don’t even make a dent," I said.

"About Mr. Vaughn," Princess said.

"About Mr. Vaughn," I said, pressing my fingers together in a steeple, trying to look intelligent. "He’s in his early fifties; the specific age depends on the biography you read. He played PI Larry Manetti for six years on the TV show Parker Block and he returned to his home town of Flint two years ago to try his hand at a real PI career."

"He doesn’t look fifty years old," Boots said.

"Is Mr. Vaughn here right now?" Princess asked.

I looked around the office. The only other door was a metal emergency door at the back of the office. Other than that it was the desks and me.

"Maybe I should check," I said.

"Ha," Boots said.

"There has to be somebody here who is in charge."

"You’d think so," I said.

"Can you focus your little mind for one second and tell us something, anything, about our case."

"I have no idea where Steve is. Until you walked in I hadn’t even realized he was missing."

"I have no idea what to do now," Princess said. "I think we’d like to get a refund and take our business elsewhere."

I told her a refund would be in the mail shortly after the devil grabbed a snow shovel. She told me where she’d like to cram my snow shovel, then grabbed her sister. Boots dropped a business card on my desk as she was dragged away. Ann and Nancy Wilson. Entervestment, Inc. A clue perhaps…

#

I watched Magnum, PI on the TV in the office while I processed all of the information I had on Steve in my brain and looked for something that might help. I couldn't think of anything right away that would help me find him, so I cracked open another Mountain Dew bottle in time for the late afternoon A-Team marathon.

My attention was split for the next hour between the TV in the office and the cute Gap girl across the hall. Her name is Melissa, and she looks like Jennifer Love Hewitt. She does things to my hormones that frighten and arouse me. Today she was wearing Gap khakis that fit her like they were crafted specifically for her and a white linen shirt over a black tank top.

During a commercial break, the second person in two hours came into the office looking for Steve. He was a short guy with a shiny bald head and long, skinny ears. The pants of his puke green sweat suit were tucked into a pair of shiny black and red cowboy boots. An ugly mood ring on his right pinky finger was showing black.

"Steve Vaughn," he said.

"Kenny Shepard," I said.

"Vaughn was supposed to be in court. Son of a Bitch cost me ten grand."

"Court? Was he a witness or something?"

"Witness? Yeah. To his own slimy life."

The man yanked one of the chairs out from in front of my desk and spun it around so the back was facing me. When he sat down his feet didn’t touch the floor.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Your fairy godmother."

"Any business you have with Steve can be handled with me. I’m his assistant."

"Great. Here’s the bill," he said, tossing a half sheet of paper on the desk in front of me.

"Bill? I don’t know where--"

"Gimme the money tomorrow or I shut this place down."

"The office? You can’t shut down the office."

I looked down at the bill. It was from Saul Hudson Bail Bonds in Flint. Steve’s bail was $100,000 and Hudson had put up ten percent of that.

"He didn’t show up, I gotta pay his bond. I look like I got 10 grand sitting around to smoke?"

"No. But--"

"You pay the bond or I shut the place down. My stepdaughter wants a nail and hair studio. I don’t get to pump her old lady until she does."

"I don’t have ten grand."

"Then you better find your old man. Bring him in you get ten percent of the bond."

It took me a second to mentally calculate the amount. One thousand dollars was enough to move out of my parent’s house. One thousand dollars toward freedom. I felt like a slave finding out about the Underground Railroad.

"All I have to do is find him?" I asked.

"Finding them is the easy part. Getting them to come with you, that’s where they screw you."

"I can’t find him by tomorrow."

Hudson picked up two of my action figures and held them out to me.

"Maybe they can help."

"Give me a week. I can find him in a week," I said.

"In a week I’m going to explode from withdrawal. You got three days."

"Fine, I like a challenge."

"I bet you like little boys too, but that ain’t my business. I’ll see you Wednesday."

Two questions passed through my mind when Hudson left. The first was what had Steve done to end up in jail? The second was what would Magnum do? I could call the court and find out what Steve had done, but I knew immediately what Magnum would do.

He would jump in his red Ferrari and drive into town to shake down his network of underworld snitches uncovering a clue that would get the whole case jumping by the first commercial break. I’m sure there’d also be a sexy woman somewhere along the way.

I jumped in my white Geo Metro and drove to McDonald’s.

###

Copyright © 2005 Bryon Quertermous

Read Bryon Quertermous's Color Me Noir