It’s a hot and smoky summer here in Canada. It seems that half of northern Quebec is on fire this year. Maybe it will be a wake-up to the folks with their heads in the sand in regards to climate change. We can only hope.

It seems as though we are in the Land of the Lost, with the world in a constant state of calamity-be it war, weather, or regressive politics. What to do? Well we do what we can, and keep plugging away at life. Keeping our collective chins up. There are more erudite folks than myself to write about the political and lifestyle changes needed to avoid a societal collapse. So it’s best to leave that to others. Me? I’ll just keep sending occasional dispatches from the lost-lands north of the 49th parallel.

Recently,I’ve been splitting my time between Hamilton and Montreal, doing some writing, a bit of cycling, reading, and finally getting back to some film viewings. Oh, and rooting for the Baltimore Orioles to stay hot in the MLB East.

My writing is primarily focused on Peacock Blue. A nourish story set in Peterborough, ON in 1980. I’ve posted a couple excerpts, so here is another one for your perusal and enjoyment. Stay safe and healthy everyone.

Stephen

I leave Robbins for now and get back in the car. I’m heading to Homewood Ave., in an attempt get some information. Chances are slim, but not exactly zero.  I park right in the driveway of the Bauman residence, pulling behind the Mercedes. Exiting the car, I head for the massive oak front door. There’ll be no sneaking in the maid’s entrance today for me. Best to make a direct approach. Grabbing the large brass door knocker that’s shaped like a lion’s head I give it a couple of big whacks, before stepping back. I can hear the familiar bark of Max and a loud male voice. The door opens moments later and low and behold I’m face to face with the source of the voice: Herr Leder. 

“Still slumming around in our two-bit town Leder. Don’t you have a job or something back in Deutschland?” 

Leder’s stone-faced visage turns into a sneer. 

“Herr Peacock. And what have we done to deserve the honour; to be graced by your presence yet again?” 

“Well, I’m not exactly here to see you Leder. I’m here to talk to Mrs. Bauman. I assume she’s in, what with das auto parked out there.” 

Somehow Leder’s sneer expands beyond the realm of what I thought possible. But there it was. 

“Mrs. Bauman is unavailable at this moment Herr Peacock. You’ll have to try some other time.” 

“Oh yeah Leder? And when would that better time be exactly? Never?” 

Leder’s grimace unfurls now into a snide smile. 

“Very perceptive Peacock, maybe there is hope for your sleuthing business, after all.” 

Leder’s manufactured dental work gleams at me, giving me a thought. Nothing revolutionary really. Just that I should rearrange those teeth for him. But first I kick him full force in the ball-sack. He doubles over in pain and leans right into my upper hook to the chin. His head tilts back and I hear the jawbone pop, and with a quick sideways kick he teeters over onto the foyer tiles. 

“Looks like her calendar just opened up.” 

I step over Leder and work my way to the back library. I can hear a television lowly squawking out the corny dialogue of some soap opera or other. And the small bark of Max. I slowly open the door and see Max lying on the carpet near a very nice pair of legs. Those would be Mrs. Bauman’s. Max’s ears perk up at once when he sees me. he barks in excitement, bolting over to prance around at my feet. His tail wagging so hard it’s a blur of rapid motion. Mrs Bauman turns her eyes away from the TV screen and her mouth gapes open when she sees me. 

“Peacock?” 

“Live and in person Mrs. Bauman. I needed to talk to you for a few minutes if you have room in your agenda.” 

“Well, Herr Leder should have already told you that we don’t require your services for Max at the moment. Otherwise, I’m not sure what you need to speak about. Is it money?” 

“I wanted to ask you about your husband?” 

“My husband? Why would you need to talk to me about Helmut?” 

“Well, Mrs. Bauman, you see I have another career, as a Private Investigator.” 

I take my license and photo card out of my inner pocket and brandish it for her to see. She looks at me in mock amusement. 

“Well, well Mr. Peacock aren’t you full of surprises today. What else will pull out of your sleeve?” 

As if on cue, Leder stumbles into the room. I’d say he doesn’t look to be in the best of moods. But what did he expect by playing the tough guy here on my turf, and spinning a web of arrogant bullshit. He’s got blood spilling out of his mouth, but he advances towards me regardless, a cast iron fire poker in his hand. Mrs. Bauman looks on in amusement while Max goes into full attack mode, launching himself at Leder’s ankles.  

“Peacock, you fucking bastard! I’m going to split your skull open and eat your brains for my dinner!” 

Mrs. Bauman lets out a shrill laugh. 

“Really Leder so much drama and male testosterone. Mr. Peacock is just here to ask me a few polite questions. Isn’t that so Mr. Peacock?” 

Leder looks at Mrs. Bauman, burning rage in his eyes.  He shakes off Max from his pant leg and boots the dog across the carpet. Max whimpers in fright and I reach over and pick him up, and he shivers in fright in my arms, digging his nose in my armpit for comfort.

Mrs. Bauman stands, and walks over to Leder, slapping him hard across his face.  Then she blasts him with an expletive filled tongue-lashing in German that is mostly beyond my comprehension. But I get the gist of it sure enough. She’s one tough lady, and not just in her upstairs dungeon. Leder stands still now, but glares over at me. All I can do is smile back at him. 

“Leder, why don’t you make yourself useful and mix a drink for me and Herr Peacock.” 

Leder’s face turns crimson red, but he wanders over to the wet bar in the corner while Mrs Bauman walks over, taking Max from me. She motions with her head for me to follow her to the couch.  I can only oblige, and settle down on the leather sofa with Mrs Bauman sitting down close beside me. Any nearer and she‘d be square on my lap. She places Max on the floor, and he goes ahead and makes himself comfortable on the carpet below the coffee table. 

Leder returns now with two neat drinks in crystal glasses, a decanter of scotch, and a seltzer bottle. He carries them on a silver serving tray, which he places down with a thump on the table. Max sits up in fright and scurries under my legs. Mrs. Bauman shakes her head disapprovingly. 

“That will be all for now Leder, so would be so kind to give us some privacy now?” 

Leder grunts, and curses in German under his breath, storming out of the room. The door closes with a bang. Mrs Bauman chuckles and reaches for her drink. 

“Leder is such a drama queen, sometimes I don’t know why we employ him.” 

“Maybe you should do some house-training on him. You know how to do that, don’t you Mrs. Bauman?” 

She gives off a shrill laugh, as I reach over for my drink. Hopefully Leder hasn’t slipped any cyanide into it. I take a slug anyways. Seconds later I’m still alive and breathing. Guess I‘ll live to see another day. Or so I think. A warm hand slides onto my knee. I look down as Mrs Bauman’s jewel encrusted fingers dig into my flesh. I may have been wrong in my life-span estimate. I’m currently treading on very thin ice. 

“Well, I know how to keep a man in line Mr. Peacock. I’d dare say that’s what they need, even deserve. I imagine you’ve yet to be put in your proper place. But it could easily be arranged. What do you say?” 

Mrs. Bauman’s hand has slid up my knee slowly, coming to rest on my crotch. Her stiletto heel hovers above my right shoe and then she digs into my foot with a cruel smile. She’s one nasty piece of work it would seem. Looks like tough love is the only response.

I grab her hand from my crotch and bring it up with a twist. Not enough to break it but enough to hurt. She gasps in pain, and then in something altogether different. I sit there bending her hand and arm and she doesn’t tell me to stop. Instead her lip’s part, and she moans. This time it isn’t in pain though, it’s pure pleasure. I release her and she gasps, leaning back on the couch. Pain must be a two-way street in her world. 

She recomposes herself now and takes another drink. 

“So Mr. Peacock. You needed to ask me some questions? Pertaining to what exactly?” 

“Pertaining to the whereabouts of your husband. You remember him, don’t you?  He was your other lap dog wasn’t he, Mrs. Bauman?” 

Mrs Bauman’s face hardens, and she reaches to the coffee table for a cigarette case. She takes out a smoke and lights it with a flourish, throwing the burnt matchstick into a nearby ashtray.  

“Your attempts at sarcastic humour are mean-spirited don’t you think Mr. Peacock?” 

“Well, I do my best, but my banter is a work in progress.” 

“What business of yours is the whereabouts of Helmut?” 

“I have a client that’s paying me big bucks to track him down. That’s why I’m interested. Of course, you are under no obligation to talk to me.” 

“Well just so you know, Helmut has stayed on in Germany to take care of some business.” 

“Some business, eh. Like disappearing into thin air? That kind of business?” 

“You seem to know a lot, but so very little Herr Peacock. Besides it’s a matter for the Frankfurt Police. So, whomever your client is, surely you are leading them down the garden path.” 

“I tried to dissuade them, but they insisted.They threw even more money at me than Herr Leder did earlier today. That was your money, and was much more than I was owed for looking after Max. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was being bribed. To stay far away.” 

“If nothing else Herr Peacock you are very observant. I will give you that. But Helmut is in Germany, whereabouts unknown. And I need time by myself, to get over my grief.” 

“You seem to be doing a pretty good job of that: getting over it. Herr Leder being here with you must be a big relief, a strong shoulder to cry on so to speak.” 

Mrs. Bauman goes silent now and glares out the bay window. Then she yells. 

“Leder!” 

Moments later the muscle-bound neanderthal enters the room. 

“Would you be so kind as to show Mr. Peacock to the door, our conversation has reached its conclusion.” 

Leder moves fast and hauls me backwards off the couch by the shoulder. He drags me through the house and to the front door. He takes me further, down the walkway to the edge of the sidewalk. I’m deposited unceremoniously into the yellow-stained snowbank there. Leder laughs, sneering down at me. 

“There you go Herr Peacock, put in your proper place. With the rest of the trash.”  

He turns on his heels and walks away, while I struggle to get upright. I brush the snow and frozen dog piss from my clothes.  Not the most elegant of exits I must admit, but I had rattled their cage pretty good. Hopefully something would come of that in time. 

An hour later I’m sitting in Robbins’ Pinto. Running him through the gig. We were in a parkette partially screened by tree branches; about 500 yards north of the Bauman’s house. With binoculars It was a great vantage point for a side-view of the place and the entire front driveway and porch area. 

I kitted Robbins out with everything in the duffle bag. Including the Handie-Walkies. They were an Army Surplus Store pick up. There were thousands of these units left over from WW2 and Korea. Invented in 1941 by Motorola these vacuum tube ham-radios were the first walkie-talkies. And they still worked, within a certain range. We did a quick test in the car, and they seemed fine. I told Robbins I’d check the range later when I left. I was hoping I could reach him from East City. 

 As I kept fiddling with the gear, Robbins kept an eye through the binoculars. Moments later I felt a punch on my arm and looked up to see the front door of the house had opened, and Mrs. Bauman was ushering Herr Leder outside. Max reluctantly following on a leash. Looks like Leder was really the bitch-boy I thought he was. 

I reached into the duffel bag and extracted the Leica with the zoom lens. Quickly focusing in on the porch, snap, snap, snap went the shutter as Leder seemingly complained to the stoic Mrs. Bauman. 

“Gotcha!” 

I emptied the roll of 24 exposures in a couple of minutes. Leder eventually heads out with Max in tow down the sidewalk, disappearing around a corner. I unwind the roll, and popping the back case open, remove the film canister.  Robbins hands me a new roll and I thread it into the camera. Placing it into the empty container, I pocket the exposed film, nodding at Robbins. 

“So, you’re good to go guy?” 

“As good as I’ll ever be, Peacock.” 

“Ok, well in an emergency you know my number. I’ll be at the Neon Flamingo till midnight though.” 

“The Flamingo? What gives? Leaving me to do the dirty work I see.” 

“I promised Halina, I’d take her there, and it’s the best offer I’ve had in a while. One I couldn’t very well refuse.” 

“Halina? From the diner? She’s all work and no play, guy save yourself the trouble and skip it.” 

“Robbins, if I wanted relationship advice, you’d likely be the last person I’d ask. Ann Lander’s you ain’t my friend.” 

“Well, it’ll be your funeral guy, mark my words.” 

“Duly noted Robbins. On that thought, I’ll bid you adieu. And try and stay awake, will you?” 

Robbins chuckles as I extract myself from the Pinto, and hope this isn’t the night one of Robbins errant roach’s sends it up in a fireball. 

I drive through the downtown and swinging onto Water Street, I pull up to the Examiner, parking in the visitors slot. Figure this was the best place to get a rush job on some film developing. If Davidson wanted to use it for his story that was neither here nor there.

I see Billy at the front desk, and he greets with his yellow, nicotine-stained smile. 

“Where’s the pooch today, Peacock?” 

“Ah well my dog sitting duties have ended prematurely.” 

“Too bad, that was a nice little dog. Max, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah, Max. Say Bill, is Davidson in.” 

“Hmm, that’s inside information Peacock. It’ll cost you. One quart of Export at the Montreal House.” 

“Ok Billy it’s a deal. But I need another favour. Can you page him and tell him he’s needed at the darkroom?” 

“Ok, but that’s two quarts on Export now.” 

I laugh as Billy picks up the intercom, and I head off to the stairs and up to the darkroom. 

Copyright 2023 Stephen Hayes