The Ram Murder Mystery - Chapter2
"A Kick in The Groin, Breasts, and Lunch"
(by Eileeeeeen from Ohio)

I was riding a ferris wheel at the beach with a nude Vanessa Williams when Andi's voice broke in, "Vic, Vic, wake up." I tried to ignore her and had just reached out to touch one of Vanessa's three incredible breasts, when Andi spoke again, "Wake up, dammit, Vic, or I'm calling 911." Just as Vanessa morphed into Jerry Lewis, who amazingly also had three incredible breasts, I opened my eyes to total and utter blackness. "I can't see, I'm blind!!" I screamed before Andi removed the cold, wet washcloth that had covered my eyes.

"Shhh, shhh, Vic, it's okay. Just relax."

"Where is he?"

"Who?"

"Jerry Lewis. He had boobs, Andi. Three boobs."

"Um, close your eyes again, Vic."

"There were three. But they were beautiful. I almost touched them, Andi. . ."

"Close your eyes, Vic."

It was not a request.

Reluctantly, I obeyed, fearing a return to the ferris wheel and aging comedians sprouting mammaries of inappropriate size and number. Luckily, there was no return trip to dreamland but instead, I heard Andi talking to Jim, the graphic designer.

"Do you have any idea what happened?" she whispered.

"Sorry, no. I was across the hall and popped in to give him a package and found him doing his exercises."

"Exercises? You found him doing exercises? Jim, Vic's idea of exercise is tying his shoes."

There was a pause.

"Right then, Andi. I'll let you handle things here. Just give a holler if you need help. Got to get to work on my Peeps Bears. Big new client."

"Will do, Jim, thanks."

The office door opened and closed and I heard Andi muttering something about
"artists." I opened my eyes.

"Andi. .."

"I'm here, Vic."

"It all started with the woman, Andi."

"How many boobs did she have, Vic? "

"Just two, I think. Couldn't really tell with that awful bathrobe."

"No, of course not. How silly of me."

"She was looking for something she thought I had."

I told her the whole story - the blonde in the bathrobe, No-Doze and Bud, and had just gotten to the good part about Vanessa Williams when I remembered the new clients. "Andi, what'd you do with Cale and whatshisname?"

"Rhoades. It has an ‘a' in it, by the way. I misspelled his name in the report and heard about it all the way from the airport. Anyway, they're over at Carol's waiting for me. Told them I'd get Jim over here to help, make sure you were alive, and then meet them there.

"I'm coming, too." I said and struggled to get up.

"You sure, Vic? You still look kinda green."

"As long as no one goes near my balls, I'll be fine."

"They didn't look that sort, but you never can tell."

Andi helped me to my feet and I limped to the bathroom where I washed up a bit, combed my hair and changed back into my jeans which were still soggy. Not being able to face the wet shirt as well, I rummaged in the bottom of the gym bag and came up with a rather shabby but blessedly clean and dry Duke basketball jersey. It wasn't exactly business attire, but I figured under the circumstances "casual" was an improvement on "barf-wear".

"Don't you have anything else?" my partner asked, looking me over, as we left the office and locked up.

"I'll keep my raincoat on."

"Oh, like that will help. Too bad your little friend didn't leave her bathrobe."

We made our way downstairs, me leaning heavily on the railing. The rain had slowed to a depressing drizzle but the solid grey sky promised that this was only a temporary respite. Stepping over the inert form of our favorite wino, zalaaart, we walked down the sidewalk and crossed the street.

The crowd at Carol's had thinned out considerably and we spotted our clients straight away, sitting together on one side of a booth. I stopped to say hi to Carol who was painstakingly adding an ‘er' to the homemade sign. "Dear husband," she mumbled, "can't even remember how to spell our damn name." I gave a wave to Barry, one of the regulars, who was busily conducting an imaginary orchestra at his table. Rumor had it that Barry had been a pro wrestler in Florida before taking up classical music, hence his nickname, The Miami Mahler. My favorite waitress, Tama Dorothy, was trying desperately to place Barry's soup in front of him while avoiding his flailing baton. She
looked at me and rolled her eyes just as Andi and I slipped into the booth opposite Rhoades and Cale. I got my first good look at our new clients as we reintroduced ourselves.

Rhoades was pasty pale with thick black hair slicked down by the rain and red-rimmed pale brown eyes. He was thickset and muscular and his bulk filled more than its portion of the booth. His full, wet, lips twitched nervously as he stared at the table and shredded paper napkins one at a time, making small pyramids of confetti.

In contrast, everything was thin about Cale, who was squashed into the inside of the booth. He had a skinny body, sparse gray combed-over hair, a narrow nose and a slash of a mouth. Just as Rhoades seemed to be a bundle of wattage waiting for someone to flip the switch, Cale was a study in relaxation so complete that I began to wonder if he was drifting off.

I told them to forego formalities and call me ‘Vic.'

Rhoades stopped killing trees long enough to offer a hand and say, "Dusty."

Cale mumbled something and to my "Pardon" mumbled something else. I still hadn't caught it so Rhoades helped me out, "‘Charlie, he said.'"

Andi took the lead. "As I understand it, you two own Quality Sluice Tubes, Inc. which makes plastic and rubber pipes and rain gutters. . ."

Cale murmured something again and Rhoades translated. "Our grandfather founded the company and when he died, three of us inherited it. We've taken it from a little shop and turned it into a multi-million dollar business with clients all over the world."

"Three? But where. . .?" I asked.

"We'll get to that," Rhoades snapped. I could tell this was a guy who did not like being interrupted, especially when he was bragging about what a fabulous businessman he was. "QST would still be a rinky dink little nothing company if it hadn't been for Charlie and I."

"Me." I corrected, not having the faintest idea if that was right or not, but deciding this anal-retentive wanker needed a good tweak. Andi, evidently also feeling the need to tweak, not-so-gently squeezed my balls under the table, causing my eyes to fill with tears and a loud squawk of pain to escape.

Tama Dorothy, mistaking this noise for a call for service, approached the table to take our order. She's a former librarian who'd switched careers after discovering she could make more money waitressing. I thanked God every time I came to Schwaderers that libraries weren't the only places with ‘stacks'.  Her sweet smelling bosom was inches from my face and her gold necklace with it's little golden charm swayed tantalizingly in front of me. I began to feel that there was life below the booth after all, just as Andi mumbled "The Nutty Professor" and all thoughts of sex were driven from my mind, perhaps forever.  We ordered Coke Roast sandwiches on rye with Miracle Whip and got back to business.

"Sscrsnmrslyx, " Charlie said, putting his own unique spin on the story.

Rhoades said, "That's right. In less than five years. . ." at this point I tuned out while Rhoades droned on about percentages, client base, inventory and doo-dah, doo-dah. ". . .and we intend to go public with our stock by June of next year."

Andi said, "I sense an ‘if' in there somewhere."

"Emsl," Charlie confirmed helpfully.

"The third partner is another cousin. A girl." Rhoades said ‘girl' the way some people would say "dungbeetle." "Her name is Karin, but she usually just goes by her initials - KS. Up until recently, she didn't give us any trouble, just let us run the business. Oh, she'd bring coffee, and make copies, sort the office supplies, that kind of thing - on the infrequent times she actually came into work. But mostly, she'd just sign the papers we put in front of her, cash her checks, and go to the mall like a good little girl."

Andi made a little growl and tensed. I thought I might get to do a little under-the-booth tweaking myself, but just then Tama Dorothy came with our sandwiches and we all dug in. Charlie waited until he had a good mouthful half-chewed before speaking, displaying an interesting melange of Coke Roast and Miracle Whip. "But recently, KS has started acting very strangely." He swallowed and continued. "Bxrsmeol."

"Exactly," his partner agreed. "She's gotten involved in some kind of cult.  All women. She's taken some kind of weird vow of silence. If you talk to her she just laughs. HAHAHAHA." There was no mirth whatsoever in Rhoades' version of laughter. Carol heard him and looked over at the booth with a worried expression on her face.

Charlie was midway through his second huge bite when he added to the story.  "Our surveillance tapes show her at the factory and offices at night, snooping around and now she's. . ."

"She's what?" I asked hurriedly. Too late. He'd swallowed again. "Cho?  Srsew srquirm, thars cho."

"She's disappeared, that's what." Rhoades spat the words, along with a healthy dollop of Miracle Whip. He lowered his voice. "The sluicing industry is cutthroat, Vic. We're at the top, but only as long as the competition doesn't know what we're up to. If she's taken company secrets and tried to sell them then. .. " He opened his beefy hand wide and then closed it into a tight fist as if unable to finish his sentence. "But besides that, we can't do a thing, not a thing, without that bitch's signature. Find her. Find her and bring her back." He stood up and threw an envelope on the table. "There's pictures and other information in there. Andi, drive us to the hotel. Come on, Charlie, let's go."

"Srsmrecl," Charlie said and took a big bite of his sandwich, "But I'm not done yet, Dusty."

Nevertheless, he reluctantly wiggled his skinny ass out of the booth. I stood so Andi could get out, secretly enjoying every second as I knew how much Andi appreciated being ordered around. I was waiting for her to let Rhoades have it and tell him to shove this job or knee him in the groin. Okay, okay, I just felt like someone else besides me should get it in the groin that day. But though she looked murderous, she followed them out, turning only once to make a gesture familiar to Italians anywhere. "Ah, it's a paycheck," I thought as I turned back to give my full attention to my unfinished sandwich. I watched them depart and then tucked back into my Coke Roast. Carol had finished the sign and swung by the booth. "Those clients, Vic?" Mouth filled, I could only nod. "Nice guys. Have table manners like airedales." I nodded again and Carol moved on, before stopping and turning to me. "Hey, did that lady find you?"

"What lady?" I mimed, chewing madly.

"The one wearing a trench coat over a bathrobe."

I choked and sputtered which Carol evidently took as interest. "Yeah, she was in earlier, wanted to know if we had caviar, would you believe? Tried to pass off some expired coupons and then asked what time you usually got into the office." Unaware that she had set me up, Carol went over to the counter where she sat laughing and whispering with Tama Dorothy.

I sat there thinking and finished my sandwich, wondering if maybe I was in the wrong line of work. Maybe I'd had one too many kicks in the groin. Maybe the Rhoades and Cale Roadshow combined with Bathrobe Woman and her friends were a sign that I was getting too old for this job. Maybe I could talk to Carol about working here. "I'm Vic and I'll be your server today." With that thought I threw some bills on the table, bowed to the Miami Mahler and exited.

It had started pouring again but I told myself I didn't have very far to go and ran across the street. This little jog not only reminded me of my recent injury but of the hard knot in the stomach that is the inevitable outcome of one of Carol's Coke Roast Specials. I stepped gingerly over zalaart, who had shifted position slightly in the last hour, and trudged up the steps. Once back in the office, I slumped in my chair, feeling lousy and out of sorts.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the package Jim had delivered, went over and picked it up. Again noticing the many stamps from all over the world I weighed it in my hands before ripping off the brown paper. Inside was a box and inside that was bubble wrap, the kind that my ex-girlfriend M'Lou loved.  She could pop that stuff for hours, which goes a long way to explain why she was my ex-girlfriend. Unwrapping it carefully, at first I thought there was nothing there. But buried deep within the folds was a small gold statue.  After a heart-catching moment, I saw that it wasn't real gold. There was a small chip that showed the plaster under the gold leaf paint. It was a sheep, maybe five inches high. Or not a sheep, exactly. Curved horns adorned the head of the statue. It wasn't a sheep, it was. . .a ram. I turned it over in my hands and wondered why it looked strangely familiar.