Chapter Six
“Hello, may I speak to Tricia?” Monica called Tricia at her home late in the evening.
“Who's calling?” It was Sally who answered the phone, stopping temporarily in the process of blowing a bubble with the gum.
“This is Monica, her former roommate in college.”
“Will you hold on, please?” Sally said politely. Then she handed the receiver to Tricia, who was sitting next to her, reading newspapers. “Po!” A big bubble burst before Sally's mouth.
“Hello, this is Tricia.” She talked into the mouthpiece, eyes still on the papers.
“Hi, Snow White.” Monica called her by her nickname in college, owing to her pretty face, good figure and fair skin. “This is Monica.”
“Hi, Black Angel,” Tricia replied, using Monica's nickname, too. “How's everything with you?” Monica was famed in college for helping people, just like an angel coming from Heaven to save people in trouble.
“Not good. Really. I need your help.” Monica sounded melancholy, voice a little choked with sobs.
“What's the matter?” Tricia asked sympathetically, laying the papers aside, unconsciously onto Sally’s lap, who tossed the papers back onto Tricia's lap, still chewing her gum. Monica told her about the disappearance of her brother Frank and how her parents were worried.
“I'll come over to your house tomorrow to talk to your parents,” Tricia promised, pulling a wisp of her hair that had fallen in front of her eye behind her ear for the tenth time in last ten minutes.
Monica gave her the directions to her parents’ house.
***
Tricia arrived at Mr. Perez's house the next day, bringing Sally with her since she had just finished with a case and was on the waiting list for a new case to come. Now this might be the new case on which they could work together. Sally would be bored sick if no work came her way.
Monica had stayed at her parents' house overnight so that she could meet Tricia and introduce her to them. She had called her boyfriend and her office, too, about the situation, leaving a message on her employer’s answering machine. Her boyfriend offered to come to help.
“Nothing you can help us with, Billy,” responded Monica, twirling the cord around her index finger, “unless you are a detective, which, I regret to say, you are not. I'll be back as soon as I make some arrangements here. Be a good boy.” They cooed a few more love words between them and then disconnected the line.
After the introduction, Tricia only asked a few general questions and for a recent photo of Frank. The sisters wore the same apparel, which was supposed to be their uniform. They didn't care how ugly it looked: a blouse with sleeves to the elbow and a knee-length skirt, both of a lioness-brown color, with a lioness head printed on the back of the blouse in a darker shade, brown pantyhose and sandals. The sandals were specially ordered so that the toe-part looked a bit like the paw of a lioness, but really hid some sharp blades.
“Can I have a look in Frank's room?” Tricia asked Monica.
“Sure,” Monica said. “It's upstairs.”
It was a lazy bachelor's room with a never-made foul bed against one wall, a desk under the window, the top of it in disorder. Today his mother had cleaned the room for him, knowing that Monica's friend would come and might want to have a look at it, but she didn’t have time to make the bed yet. She had already spent one hour picking up all the clothes and socks lying everywhere and putting them away in the hamper. She had hidden all his stinky dirty shoes and sneakers in the closet, but neglected the desktop. Tricia came a bit too early for her cleaning job to be finished.
The view from the window was both attractive and distractive. It faced a small public park with a children's playground on one side, where young mothers watched their children playing, a round flowerbed in the middle and benches everywhere. Young couples could be seen sitting on them and kissing passionately. Whenever Frank had got bad grades in the tests, he would complain about the distracting view, which often made him unable to concentrate on his studies. Once his father had suggested that he move his desk to the other side of the room, but he had said that his brain cells needed more oxygen when he was studying.
Tricia and Sally split the room and each took up a half. Sally's mouth could be seen moving slightly as she chewed her gum while looking into the closet. “Um!” She held her breath, putting her right hand before her nose to keep out the stinking smell from the shoes. After a hasty glimpse, she shut the closet door. Tricia checked very carefully, even under furniture.
“What are you looking for?” Monica wondered.
“Anything that can give us a clue as to his connections or the places he frequents,” Tricia said after a peep under the bed. The search proved a disappointment. Half an hour later, Tricia and Sally took their leave. Then Peter and Monica also left on their separate ways to their offices.
***
“What parents!” Sally exclaimed frustrated, a bit shrill and edgy, once they got into their car. “They practically know nothing about their son.” She nearly swallowed the wad of gum.
“They said Frank never talked to them about anything. He never brought home any friends, or girlfriends, if he had any.” Tricia tried to appease Sally, who was smoothing the front of her cotton blouse for the imperceptible wrinkles, a big bubble hanging from her mouth.
“What can we do now?” She looked askance at Tricia from her passenger seat with a puckered mouth and a dissatisfied frown, the bubble shrunk into her mouth now.
Tricia brushed back a wisp of her glittering gold-colored hair from before her right eye, got it behind her ear, and said casually, “At least we got the address and phone number of the garage Frank worked for. It's not far from here.” She started the car and pulled out into the traffic. Ten minutes later, they reached the destination and parked their car outside the garage. They went in by a small door on the side and approached the reception counter with smiling faces.
“Can we speak to Mr. Brown, the owner?” Tricia politely asked an old man sitting behind the counter, her hands resting on the counter top. Sally stood beside her, with her right hand holding onto the strap of her brown leather purse, her gum tucked between her right cheek and teeth.
“That's me.” The old man stood up. “How can I help you, ladies?” He had a businesslike manner with just a little smile plastered on his face to please his customers. “Are you delivering some parcel for me from UPS?” He looked suspiciously at their brown uniforms.
“No. We are not from UPS.” Both girls were conscious of their brown outfits. This was not the first time that they were mistaken for UPS women.
“Frank Perez worked for you, didn’t he?” Tricia went on, broadening her winning smile at him.
“Yeah, but he never showed up today.” He wiped out his smile at once, as if he were a customer complaining to Frank's boss.
“Frank disappeared. He's never been home since Friday night.” It sounded like Frank had slept at home every night.
“I'm sorry to hear that,” the owner sympathized. “But who are you?”
“I'm a private detective. Frank's sister and I were roommates in college. She asked me to investigate.” Tricia showed him her ID, taming her loose hair into place.
“What do you want to know from me?” He assumed a cooperative attitude.
“Did Frank have any friends coming to see him here, or any phone calls for him?”
“Yes. A young guy often came a little before closing time and waited outside. They left together.” Then he added, “Once I was outside and heard them talking about meeting somebody in a go-go bar somewhere in New York.” He also gave a description of the guy as best he could at the request of Tricia. His description was so vague that it could almost fit any young man.
Finally Tricia thanked him. “You were really a great help to us. Thank you very much.” Then she handed him her name card, adding, “If you remember anything about Frank, please feel free to call me.”
When they were back in their car, Tricia checked the information Sally wrote down on the notepad. It was their way of working together: one did the asking, the other the writing. They found that if both asked questions, though by turns, it would serve as a distraction to the person in question as he looked from one to the other, answering their separate questions, unable to fully focus.
“Hello, may I speak to Tricia?” Monica called Tricia at her home late in the evening.
“Who's calling?” It was Sally who answered the phone, stopping temporarily in the process of blowing a bubble with the gum.
“This is Monica, her former roommate in college.”
“Will you hold on, please?” Sally said politely. Then she handed the receiver to Tricia, who was sitting next to her, reading newspapers. “Po!” A big bubble burst before Sally's mouth.
“Hello, this is Tricia.” She talked into the mouthpiece, eyes still on the papers.
“Hi, Snow White.” Monica called her by her nickname in college, owing to her pretty face, good figure and fair skin. “This is Monica.”
“Hi, Black Angel,” Tricia replied, using Monica's nickname, too. “How's everything with you?” Monica was famed in college for helping people, just like an angel coming from Heaven to save people in trouble.
“Not good. Really. I need your help.” Monica sounded melancholy, voice a little choked with sobs.
“What's the matter?” Tricia asked sympathetically, laying the papers aside, unconsciously onto Sally’s lap, who tossed the papers back onto Tricia's lap, still chewing her gum. Monica told her about the disappearance of her brother Frank and how her parents were worried.
“I'll come over to your house tomorrow to talk to your parents,” Tricia promised, pulling a wisp of her hair that had fallen in front of her eye behind her ear for the tenth time in last ten minutes.
Monica gave her the directions to her parents’ house.
***
Tricia arrived at Mr. Perez's house the next day, bringing Sally with her since she had just finished with a case and was on the waiting list for a new case to come. Now this might be the new case on which they could work together. Sally would be bored sick if no work came her way.
Monica had stayed at her parents' house overnight so that she could meet Tricia and introduce her to them. She had called her boyfriend and her office, too, about the situation, leaving a message on her employer’s answering machine. Her boyfriend offered to come to help.
“Nothing you can help us with, Billy,” responded Monica, twirling the cord around her index finger, “unless you are a detective, which, I regret to say, you are not. I'll be back as soon as I make some arrangements here. Be a good boy.” They cooed a few more love words between them and then disconnected the line.
After the introduction, Tricia only asked a few general questions and for a recent photo of Frank. The sisters wore the same apparel, which was supposed to be their uniform. They didn't care how ugly it looked: a blouse with sleeves to the elbow and a knee-length skirt, both of a lioness-brown color, with a lioness head printed on the back of the blouse in a darker shade, brown pantyhose and sandals. The sandals were specially ordered so that the toe-part looked a bit like the paw of a lioness, but really hid some sharp blades.
“Can I have a look in Frank's room?” Tricia asked Monica.
“Sure,” Monica said. “It's upstairs.”
It was a lazy bachelor's room with a never-made foul bed against one wall, a desk under the window, the top of it in disorder. Today his mother had cleaned the room for him, knowing that Monica's friend would come and might want to have a look at it, but she didn’t have time to make the bed yet. She had already spent one hour picking up all the clothes and socks lying everywhere and putting them away in the hamper. She had hidden all his stinky dirty shoes and sneakers in the closet, but neglected the desktop. Tricia came a bit too early for her cleaning job to be finished.
The view from the window was both attractive and distractive. It faced a small public park with a children's playground on one side, where young mothers watched their children playing, a round flowerbed in the middle and benches everywhere. Young couples could be seen sitting on them and kissing passionately. Whenever Frank had got bad grades in the tests, he would complain about the distracting view, which often made him unable to concentrate on his studies. Once his father had suggested that he move his desk to the other side of the room, but he had said that his brain cells needed more oxygen when he was studying.
Tricia and Sally split the room and each took up a half. Sally's mouth could be seen moving slightly as she chewed her gum while looking into the closet. “Um!” She held her breath, putting her right hand before her nose to keep out the stinking smell from the shoes. After a hasty glimpse, she shut the closet door. Tricia checked very carefully, even under furniture.
“What are you looking for?” Monica wondered.
“Anything that can give us a clue as to his connections or the places he frequents,” Tricia said after a peep under the bed. The search proved a disappointment. Half an hour later, Tricia and Sally took their leave. Then Peter and Monica also left on their separate ways to their offices.
***
“What parents!” Sally exclaimed frustrated, a bit shrill and edgy, once they got into their car. “They practically know nothing about their son.” She nearly swallowed the wad of gum.
“They said Frank never talked to them about anything. He never brought home any friends, or girlfriends, if he had any.” Tricia tried to appease Sally, who was smoothing the front of her cotton blouse for the imperceptible wrinkles, a big bubble hanging from her mouth.
“What can we do now?” She looked askance at Tricia from her passenger seat with a puckered mouth and a dissatisfied frown, the bubble shrunk into her mouth now.
Tricia brushed back a wisp of her glittering gold-colored hair from before her right eye, got it behind her ear, and said casually, “At least we got the address and phone number of the garage Frank worked for. It's not far from here.” She started the car and pulled out into the traffic. Ten minutes later, they reached the destination and parked their car outside the garage. They went in by a small door on the side and approached the reception counter with smiling faces.
“Can we speak to Mr. Brown, the owner?” Tricia politely asked an old man sitting behind the counter, her hands resting on the counter top. Sally stood beside her, with her right hand holding onto the strap of her brown leather purse, her gum tucked between her right cheek and teeth.
“That's me.” The old man stood up. “How can I help you, ladies?” He had a businesslike manner with just a little smile plastered on his face to please his customers. “Are you delivering some parcel for me from UPS?” He looked suspiciously at their brown uniforms.
“No. We are not from UPS.” Both girls were conscious of their brown outfits. This was not the first time that they were mistaken for UPS women.
“Frank Perez worked for you, didn’t he?” Tricia went on, broadening her winning smile at him.
“Yeah, but he never showed up today.” He wiped out his smile at once, as if he were a customer complaining to Frank's boss.
“Frank disappeared. He's never been home since Friday night.” It sounded like Frank had slept at home every night.
“I'm sorry to hear that,” the owner sympathized. “But who are you?”
“I'm a private detective. Frank's sister and I were roommates in college. She asked me to investigate.” Tricia showed him her ID, taming her loose hair into place.
“What do you want to know from me?” He assumed a cooperative attitude.
“Did Frank have any friends coming to see him here, or any phone calls for him?”
“Yes. A young guy often came a little before closing time and waited outside. They left together.” Then he added, “Once I was outside and heard them talking about meeting somebody in a go-go bar somewhere in New York.” He also gave a description of the guy as best he could at the request of Tricia. His description was so vague that it could almost fit any young man.
Finally Tricia thanked him. “You were really a great help to us. Thank you very much.” Then she handed him her name card, adding, “If you remember anything about Frank, please feel free to call me.”
When they were back in their car, Tricia checked the information Sally wrote down on the notepad. It was their way of working together: one did the asking, the other the writing. They found that if both asked questions, though by turns, it would serve as a distraction to the person in question as he looked from one to the other, answering their separate questions, unable to fully focus.
