I'd like to invoke two well known phrases to explain the amount of time that has passed between chapters:
1) Best laid plans of mice and men.
2) Better later than never.
Chapter 84
An irrational jolt of nerves shot through my stomach Tuesday morning when I sat down behind my desk, having already mentally prepared myself for checking over the roster updates Tank had sent through over the weekend, only to be confronted by a bright green sticky note right in the middle of my otherwise clean desk.
Call Dewey
ext: 729
re: PI
It wasn't signed, but it didn't need to be. There was only one person in the entire company (that I knew of) who used green sticky notes: Lester Santos. And even if the colour wasn't a dead give away, there were only five people that knew about the fact that I was contemplating becoming a private investigator. One of them was on a different continent, one didn't have access to the business floors of the Rangeman building, and one was currently sitting on the couch at home, knitting a Captain America doll for his nephew. That left two suspects, and given the erratic handwriting, I knew it couldn't be Tank. Ergo, it had to be Lester.
I stared at the note for a long time. Who was Dewey? And why was he the one I should talk to about private investigation? I'd barely come to grips with the fact that PI work might be an option for me, and I knew that getting mor information about what exactly the job entailed would be a good starting point to move forward, but I figured I'd get that information from the internet, not a person. I could talk to a person about it later, once I knew more of what to expect.
Between work and Ill Robert, I hadn't had a chance to think any further on the suggestion Brandon had give the other night. It had, in fact, completely slipped my mind until dinner with Joanne and the guys last night when the conversation had turned to when I'd be allowed to go back to bounty hunting. They'd been surprised, but supportive about the revelation that I'd been thinking of not going back, instead applying my skills elsewhere. Though the silent conversation that had passed between Tank Bobby and Lester hadn't escaped my or Joanne's notice.
Taking a deep breath, I picked up the desk phone and dialed. It rang only twice before being picked up.
"Hey, Beautiful," Lester greeted warmly. "Did you get my note?"
I nodded, lifting the small square of paper up to eye level as I settled into my chair. "I did," I said. "I was just wondering who Dewey was, and what he has to do with me becoming a private investigator."
"Well, he is a private investigator," Lester pointed out, sounding like he was rolling his eyes, which just wasn't on. Eye rolling was my think, and I will not stand to have it used against me. Lucky for him, the eyeroll tone was gone from his voice when he continued. "He's head of Rangeman's private investigation department."
I did a double take, pausing in the act of entering my computer password. "Rangeman has a private investigation department?"
"I thought Tank said you got the full run down of everything Rangeman is doing these days," Lester accused.
I couldn't help but give a slight laugh. "Tank certainly went on for ages about Rangeman operation during my official orientation, but he was just listing things robotically. I must have zoned out and missed some."
He made a noise of commiseration. "Anyway, he said. "We all talked it over and-"
"Is that what the meaningful looks were last night?" I interrupted. As much as they'd assured me time and time again that they were not, in fact, capable of telepathic communication, sometimes the evidence was stacked against them. Like right now. Bobby and I had barely been apart for a few minutes at a time since I brought up the PI thing at dinner. When had they all had a chance to discuss it while I wasn't around?
"No, Bobby conference called us this morning after you left for work," Lester replied crisply. "As I was saying, we talked it over and agreed that meeting with Dewey would be a good idea. He can give you insights into the industry and act as a mentor if you decided to go down that path."
"Huh," I uttered, trying to ignore the niggling thoughts about how my last mentor relationship had turned out. I was passed that. I was a very different person these days than I was back then. The experience and consequences had taught me a lot about what I wanted and needed in life. I'd finally realised the work that needs to go into achieving something properly, it only took an extra level of disaster than usual to wake me up. And I knew that they guys had my back no matter what. "Thanks," I said.
"No worries, Beautiful," Lester said. "We just want you to be happy so you can reach your full potential."
We signed off, which left me once more staring at the green post-it note as the butterflies continued to stir. "Now or never," I told myself, hitting the appropriate combination of buttons to connect my phone to the private investigation department and, potentially, a link to my future.
"Rangeman PI-LAD, Mitchell speaking," the Merry Man on the other end of the line greeted after a full minute of ringing.
"Pie Lab?" I questioned, caught off guard by his introduction. "As in apple pie?" How had I not known about that.
Mitchell chuckled. "No ma'am. P-I-L-A-D. It's an acronym."
"Oh," That made more sense, given the scope of the company, I guess. "Is Dewey there?" I asked, even though what I really wanted to ask was what PI-LAD stood for. I was trying not to get too side-tracked.
"The Decimal is over in the library at the moment," he explained efficiently. "Just a second, I'll transfer you."
We have a library? I thought to myself as a soft click sounded in my ear. This day was turning out to be very educational so far.
"We sure do," a new voice replied. I guess I was thinking to more than just myself, then. "What can I help you find today?"
"Is this Dewey?" I checked.
"Sure is."
I felt his energy gearing up to ask again what he could help me with, but my curiosity was too strong to allow that to happen. I thought I had a handle on it; hadn't I done well with Mitchell? But there were questions piling up and if I didn't get answers to them soon I might explode. Not only was there the PI-LAD mystery, and the fact that we apparently have our own library, but here was a new Merry Man who had a nickname, and I just couldn't help it. I needed to know the backstory. It helped to create a full picture of the person in my head.
"Mitchell called you The Decimal," I said in such a way as to make it clear that I was asking for an explanation of the name.
"Ah, yes," he said, and I pictured this faceless man I hadn't met nodding. "It's a nickname." Like I hadn't already guessed that… "Of a nickname," he added, upping the intrigue. But then again, 'Bomber' was a nickname of 'Bombshell' which was a shortening of the moniker the press had given me, so I shouldn't have been so surprised. Lucky for me, Dewey proceeded with his explanation unprompted – a refreshing quality that was all to rare among his co-workers.
"My name is actually Stewart,' he informed me. "But everyone calls me Dewey after the Dewey Decimal Classification system because I'm a librarian. Funny, right?"
I frowned down at my keyboard, not quite following. "Aren't you head of private investigations?" I queried. Surely the guys hadn't got their wires crossed…
"That I am!" His reply was bright as ever. Where had they been hiding this non-monotone man all these years? Every other Merry Man I'd encountered – with the possible exception of Lester – had been stoic and serious when I first met them. Bobby included. I'd usually have to chip away at their rock hard exterior for months before they'd let me discover the priceless personality within. Dewey appeared to have no such problems. "But I also manage the Rangeman library and archives," he went on. "That's what the L-A in PI-LAD stands for. Private Investigations, Library and Archives Division. It's an eclectic mix, but it works for us. Anyway, to what do I owe the honour of a phone call from the legendary Bombshell Bounty Hunter?"
The groan was squeezing out of my throat before I could even think about suppressing it. I was never going to live down that title. "I really wish I could drop that nickname," I moaned.
Dewey let out a short, gleeful laugh, like he'd only said it get a rise out of me. "Well, that's going to be difficult, since I've already set it up as an authorised access point in the ILMS," he pointed out.
"What?"
"Never mind," he said. "Just some unimportant library jargon. What did you need me for?"
Okay, enough distractions. Time to just get down to business. "I'm after some information and was told you could help," I explained.
"Information is my area of expertise," he said brightly. "So, I hope I can help. Is this the kind of information that requires a database search? Or the kind that leads me to digging through a person's bank statements and skulking in bushes at three A.M.?"
What kind of question was that? "Um, database, I guess?" I said slowly. "I'm thinking of becoming a private investigator instead of going back to Bounty Hunting."
"Ah!" His excitement at my revelation was clearly evident in the volume of his exclamation. "Very exciting!" he enthused. "What kind of experience do you have?"
I paused. Didn't he already have the answer to that question? "I've, uh, done skip tracing…?"
"No investigative work?"
Another pause. Seriously? "I mean, there's a certain level of investigation involved," I pointed out.
There was humour in his tone when he spoke, but it didn't feel like the kind of condescension I usually received from my mother when she thought I was being naïve. "Honey, that's amateur sleuth work at best," he told me. "In the state of New Jersey in order to apply for a private investigator licence, you have to have proof of five years of investigative experience in either a state, county or municipal police department, a federal investigative agency, or in professional investigation."
It took longer than I'd like to admit to process all these words though my brain and form an understanding of that information. It all seemed counterintuitive to me. "So," I said, carefully constructing the question I needed to ask in my mind before embarking on it out loud. "In order to become a private investigator, I either have to have a police background or… already be a private investigator?"
"Not quite," he assured me. "you can gain experience working under the license of an established private investigation company."
"Oh."
There was a pause during which I assumed Dewey was waiting for further questions, but I was still trying to process the information I'd received, so none were coming to mind.
"Does that answer your question?" he enquired.
Did it? I wasn't sure I'd actually asked a question. I hadn't even had a chance to prepare some questions ahead of time. Though I suppose that was entirely my own fault for just jumping into the phone call rather than taking some time to think about what I wanted to know. Staring down at the post-it note that was once again in my hand, I replied. "Sort of." It had certainly been informative. "Do I need any specific education or training?" I doubted that my business degree would have covered the content required for this particular field.
"Mmm, no," Dewey said thoughtfully. "But I can recommend a course in criminal justice. It might be helpful. Would you like me to email you a link to the information?"
"If you could," I said, nodding to emphasis my agreement with the idea despite the fact that he couldn't see me.
"No problem," he confirmed. "Anything I can help with?"
I wanted to ask him how he could have such excellent communication skills and still be working at Rangeman, since most of the men were prone to short, clipped replies with no elaboration, and rarely checked for understanding or to see if there was anything else they could assist with before hanging up the phone, but that thought was squashed down by a snipped of information he'd provided earlier drifting into the forefront of my mind. "Does Rangeman have a private investigation license?"
"It does!" he enthused. "Perhaps you'd like to do some work experience in PI-LAD and see if it's a good fit for you?"
That sounded like a great idea. Like a try before you buy kind of deal. I'd get a feel for the job before making any hard and fast decisions, and probably learn a heap as well. "I'll need to talk it over with Tank first," I said. "But I can't see it being a problem, since I'm only supposed to be part time anyway."
"Good, good," he confirmed easily. "Once you've got your clearance, just reach out again and we can set it up."
Set the record straight for me: In the USA, what do you call the event that a bride has to celebrate to celebrate the fact that she's getting married? Bachelorette Party? Hen's night? Something else? Also, what do you call the groom's party of a similar nature? Buck's night? Stag do? Bachelor's Party?
