I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. I wish I could tempt him away from her but that will never happen.
A Lifetime in Eight Days
Chapter 33: Almost Back to Normal
Peter Gunn pulled at one cuff of his white Brooks Brothers dress shirt and then the other, making sure about an inch of white was visible at the end of each arm of his tailor-made charcoal gray suit. He stretched his shoulders and fiddled with his dark red silk necktie, feeling strangely ill at ease in a suit after not wearing one for a number of weeks. The PI looked at his wristwatch for the third time in two minutes. Frank Gunn afforded his son a long glance, his lips quirking with silent laughter.
"Will this fancy place of yours hold our reservations if we're late?"
"We won't be late," Pete assured him with a resigned sigh. "We'll arrive fashíonably on time."
The older man picked up the car keys from the little table where he'd dropped them the other night when he returned from his night out at Barney's place.
"I guess I should do the gentlemanly thing and drive this evening. That way you and Edie can have the back seat." Frank tossed the keys into the air and caught them expertly as they came back down. "Just point me in the right direction and I shouldn't have any problem finding the way."
"So you can pretend you're the chauffeur?" Pete reached out a long arm and snatched the keys from his father's fingers. "No thanks. Edie can drive. You two can sit up front and I'll take the back. I'll have more room to stretch out."
"Still feeling some twinges in those ribs?" He received a dark look in response. "Tell you what, you sit up front with Edie. That way you'll have lots of leg room. I don't mind sitting in the back by myself."
Noticing he'd lost his son's attention about halfway through his comment, Frank turned his head to look behind himself. His eyebrows rose in admiration and he turned all the way around at the sight of the young woman coming down the stairs. Edie Hart was dressed in a black dress that hung to just below her knees. The skirt was chiffon and the top was some type of lacy material that he couldn't find a name for but it looked very nice and was set off by the black belt at her waist. While it was very dressy, with the deep color and high neckline, the short sleeves also leant it a look of casual elegance. The double strand of pearls she wore created an image of quiet sophistication. Her hair was done up in a look he hadn't seen before, off her shoulders with whispy tendrils caressing her neck.
Edie looked up as she reached the bottom step and smiled at the two men. She extended her wrist to Frank, asking if he'd attach the clasp on the bracelet for her, then met Pete's gaze with her own. She glanced away almost shyly at what she saw there, her eyes going to the item of jewelry that was now firmly in place, then raised her eyes again as the PI spoke.
"You look very pretty." His voice was low and carried a rough quality she loved.
Frank gaped at his son. Is that all the boy could say? You look pretty? Then he saw the expression in the younger man's eyes as he stared at the woman. That look said more than mere words ever could. I love you. I adore you. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Are you really mine? What did I ever do to deserve you? His gaze shifted to Edie and he read the same message in return. Frank cleared his throat in as subtle a manner as he could, trying somehow to break this spell he'd inadvertently been trapped in with the youngsters. He watched Edie drop her gaze and reach for the keys in Pete's hand.
"Why don't we let Pop drive and we all three sit in the front seat?" As she placed the keys in Frank's palm he glanced at the necklace she wore then met her eyes with a smile and an appreciative nod. Then he looked at Pete.
"Why didn't we think of that?" Frank wondered.
"We're men," Pete answered, his face expressionless but a glint of amusement evident in his blue eyes, like the answer wasn't anything new to him. "We're not logical." A smile found its way to his lips as he draped a soft sweater across Edie's shoulders and opened the apartment door. "At least that's what I've been told."
It wasn't until they were seated at one of the half-circle cushioned booths at Leslie's some twenty minutes later that Frank actually gave voice to the jewelry Edie had chosen to wear that evening. He leaned close to quietly tell her how much he appreciated seeing the necklace, bracelet and earrings once again being enjoyed by a beautiful woman.
"I'm glad they finally have someone to do them justice."
Edie gave him what had quickly become his favorite smile before their conversation was interrupted by the approach of a tall dark-haired man in a black suit and tie and wearing a carnation in his lapel. The newcomer's stern-faced attention appeared to be riveted on the third member of their small group. The genteel proprietor and namesake of Leslie's looked at Peter Gunn through critical though somewhat amused brown eyes as he stood next to the table, his hands behind him.
"What are you doing here?" The man's voice was brusque but again there was that same hint of humor as in his gaze as he scrutinized the fading bruises on his guest's face. "Trying to scare my customers away?"
"The brand of customers you cater to don't scare." The PI didn't even look up from his perusal of the menu.
"All kinds enjoy the experience of dining at Leslie's. Don't generalize."
"If you say so," Pete answered somewhat agreeably. He lifted his gaze to meet the other man's eyes. "Thanks for the plant by the way."
"You're welcome. I thought a Creeping Charlie most appropriate."
"Why am I not surprised?" Pete countered wryly. Then he lowered his menu and made a motion toward his father. "This is my dad, Frank."
"Mr. Gunn." Leslie gave the elder man a respectful nod. "My condolences." He smiled cheekily and turned his attention to Edie. "Ah, Miss Hart. As lovely as ever."
"Hello, Leslie." The blonde charmed him with her smile.
The restaurateur brought his hands from behind his back and with a flourish extended a fancily labeled dark bottle toward his guests.
"May I interest you in a glass of wine before you order?"
"Pete can't have wine," Edie lamented, not for herself but for the man sitting to her left. Leslie kept a large cellar of fine vintages and though she and Pete were only moderate imbibers they both usually enjoyed a glass when visiting the restaurant.
"Ah. Then take it home with you and save it for a special occasion."
"Is it a good year?" Pete accepted the bottle and peered closely at the label.
"Don't look a gift wine in the mouth," Leslie warned with a mock frown.
"Thanks, Leslie."
The man gave a smiling nod then personally took their dinner requests, complimenting Edie Hart on her eagerness to try the fresh catch-of-the-day special of roasted sea bass with grilled asparagus and broad beans, and agreeing with first time diner Frank Gunn that the sirloin tips with horseradish butter sauce and wild rice was an excellent choice. When it came to Peter Gunn his words weren't quite so kind.
"Why must you always order the same thing?" He gave an exaggerated sigh.
"I can't help it if you make the best stuffed pork chops in town, Leslie."
"Why can't you be as adventurous as Miss Hart when it comes to dining at Leslie's? She makes it a point to try something new every time you grace us with your presence."
"When it comes to food Miss Hart is adventurous enough for both of us." Pete folded his menu and offered it to Leslie but the man simply stood his ground and stared at him with raised eyebrows. The PI's sigh challenged Leslie's for longevity. "Fine," he finally said. "I'll go with the baked potato instead of mashed. Make you happy?"
Leslie snatched the menu from Pete's hand, shook his head dolefully and disappeared through the crowd of tables, stopping on occasion to converse with other diners before striding through the large swinging doors of the kitchen.
"Sounds like you and Mr. Leslie have known each other for a while," Frank commented, reaching for a garlic stick as their waiter appeared and placed bread in the middle of the table and set long glasses of iced tea, hazy with condensation, in front of each guest.
"Not Mr. Leslie, Pop. Just Leslie."
"You mean like Elvis? Or Liberace?"
"Not exactly," Pete chuckled, passing rolls and butter to the woman sitting between he and his dad. "I helped him out of a sticky situation a few years ago."
"Dare I ask?"
"One of his regulars died from eating poison mushrooms." Pete smiled as his father paused in the process of biting into his bread, giving it a wary look then slowly lowering it to the little plate at his elbow. Pete glanced around then tipped his head at a table near the front window. "Right over there. Fell face first into his soup." He went on to explain how the police had initially suspected Leslie until he himself had been able to convince Jacoby that the man would be an idiot to murder someone in his own restaurant. And really? Leslie?
Time caught up with them after much banter, story telling, laughter and good food when Edie checked the PI's watch and decided she'd best get to work before Mother decided to send out a search party. It was almost nine o'clock, the time by which she'd promised the woman she would be at the club. Emmett was probably on edge, keeping an eye on both the front and back doors of the club, nervous that she might have changed her mind about coming back to work tonight.
"And we're dropping you at the Precinct building on our way," Frank reminded his son.
Edie made a face. She wasn't happy with Pete's decision to visit with Lieutenant Jacoby before joining them at Mother's. Why couldn't he be sensible for once and just drop the file off and talk to the policeman by phone tomorrow? She and Pop could wait for him in the car while he walked up to Jacoby's office or one of them could run inside and drop the file with him or Sergeant Davis. She'd put all those arguments to Pete in the car on the way to Leslie's but he hadn't budged. He'd be just fine. He would hand the file over to the Lieutenant, stay and chat for a while – he didn't say about the case but that's what Edie heard implied – then call a cab or catch a ride up River Street with one of the patrol officers heading in that direction.
It wasn't the fact that Pete was visiting the Precinct. That it was the Lieutenant he would be talking to had no bearing either. Edie had to admit both of those to herself, as well as what was really bothering her. Her man would be on his own for the first time since he'd run afoul of Denner and his associates almost three weeks ago. Sure he'd stayed at home by himself, but this time he'd be outside that haven of security. He would be out in that sometimes cruel world where anything could happen. Where something did happen. In a world where he was Peter Gunn, Man for Hire, where there were people who without a doubt were happy he was out of commission and would like nothing better than for him to stay that way. That scared her. She rather he be at home, just Pete, for a while longer.
Edie felt the intensity of Pete's gaze from time to time as Pop drove them to the Precinct but he didn't say anything during the ten minutes it took them to get there. When he got out of the car though she quickly felt the loss of his warmth and solid strength. She slid over in the seat and rolled the window down even as he was shutting the door. Before she could say anything he leaned in and kissed her and promised not to be long. She held onto that promise as she watched him take the concrete steps to the glass doors of the Precinct building, her gaze remaining on those doors even as Frank Gunn pulled away from the curb and pointed the car in the direction of Mother's.
The private investigator stood in the open doorway of the policeman's office for several minutes, unseen and unheard by Jacoby. The Lieutenant seemed bent on clearing out the old metal filing cabinet that was home to his case files, pulling first one then another and yet another from the top drawer and quickly glancing through them before tossing each to the couch and creating several ever-growing piles.
"You keep at it there won't be anything left in there for you to work on," Pete teased, his voice filled with amusement as he moved to lean casually against the door frame, right hand dipping into his pants pocket, left hand loosely holding the police file he was returning. He tapped the folder restlessly against his leg. "You'll be redundant. The powers that be might decide they don't need you. Then what will you do with yourself?"
"Pete!" Jacoby did a quick about face, an eager smile splitting his cheeks as he took a hasty step forward. Then he seemed to catch himself, his hand reaching to straighten his tie as he cleared his throat, a sober expression erasing his grin. "I mean... Pete." The cop tried to act nonchalant and unimpressed at his friend's sudden appearance, shoving the top file drawer shut and pulling open the middle. "What are you doing here?" he voiced gruffly.
"Nice to see you too, Lieutenant," the PI returned, nary a crack appearing in the urbane veneer of his face. He stepped inside the office and held the file toward Jacoby. "You needed this back."
Jacoby accepted the folder and tossed it to his desk and stared at it before turning back to his friend. He looked on as Pete picked up the paperweight from the edge of the desk, holding it this way and that to reflect its colors before putting it back where he found it. The heavy glass bauble held some strange fascination for the investigator. The cop lifted a hand to cover his mouth, hiding the way the corners of his lips twitched as he watched his friend reacquaint himself with the office. The pudgy policeman finally gave in to his feelings.
"I'm going to tell you something Pete," he solemnly began in his soft voice, "and if I ever find out you've repeated a word of it to anybody I'll flatly and categorically deny it."
"Fine." The private investigator lifted a sheet of paper from the letter box at the corner of the policeman's desk, managing to read a few juicy words regarding a current murder investigation before Jacoby snatched it away and put it back where it belonged.
"If I've told you once I've told you a hundred times, leave my paperwork alone. That's police business and not for prying eyes."
"Mmm..." Pete sounded unconcerned. "Now what was it you wanted to say to me?"
"I think I may have changed my mind," Jacoby sighed.
"Well now, Lieutenant, that's not very nice. Leading me on with all those flowery words and then acting that way. I'm disappointed at something like that coming from a man of your stature."
"I've missed you, Pete."Jacoby grimaced at the quick way he interrupted his friend with those words. He couldn't keep them in. No matter how much Peter Gunn tended to get on his nerves at times or how annoyed he often got at the man's antics, he was still his very good friend who'd saved his derriere on more than one occasion. And he truly had missed his presence. "We all have," he hastily added. No use giving Pete a big head at the idea he couldn't do without him. It was a general thing, right? Everyone had felt his absence.
"Thanks, Lieutenant." The PI's lip's tilted in a half smile. "I think."
Jacoby pulled out his desk chair and dropped into it.
"Now that all the pleasantries are out of the way I suppose you want to give me the third degree about how I handled this," the policeman commented, squaring the returned file in the middle of his desk and clasping his hands on top of it. He watched his friend try to hide a grimace as he lowered himself into the chair beside the desk. It looked good to see him in that suit and tie. It was an indication the world had righted itself.
The dark haired man took a while to answer and Jacoby could only wonder at what was going through his mind as he sat there. If one looked up the definition of a poker face in the dictionary one would find a picture of the man sitting across from him. The PI was sporting that face at its best tonight. Pete finally moved, reaching absently to the left breast pocket of his shirt for a pack of Luckies that weren't there. He sighed and folded his arms across his chest and stared at a picture on the wall above the file cabinet.
"Not really," he finally admitted. "I read the file and re-read it and planned out all the things I was going to say or ask about. I was still going through it in my mind on the way over here."
Pete unfolded his arms and reached one hand into his pants pocket for the gold lighter he always carried with him. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared at it, long fingers flipping it open and snapping it shut as he turned it over and over in his hand. After a while he lifted his eyes to look at Jacoby.
"Somewhere between the front steps and your office I decided it wasn't worth obsessing over." He sat up straight and gave the cop an amused smile. "That's one of those things I need to become better at. Not obsessing." Then he became serious again. "I appreciate everything you did. You went above and beyond, did a lot of things you wouldn't have done in the ordinary scheme of things. I owe you."
"You owe me nothing, Pete." The policeman shook his head. "And it wasn't just me, it was everyone in the precinct. And beyond. You're one of us," he added with a quirky smile. "Much as it pains me to admit."
"All that being said..." The PI smiled his thanks, "...any chance I can pay this Marconi fellow a visit?"
"Not one in hell." Jacoby leaned back in his chair, hands clasped over his stomach. "He's not getting away scot-free. He'll be serving a good long stretch in State prison. You being allowed to see him would have his attorney all over me and the department and would put all of that at risk. Forget it." He gave his wall calendar a quick glance. "Mr. Marconi – and I use that title loosely – is being transferred out of here Wednesday morning. And good riddance."
"I'm missing my favorite collar pin, a black suit, a work tie and an almost new pair of black leather shoes," Pete said, neither arguing nor skipping a beat.
"I'm not your jeweler, your tailor or your shoe salesman." The Lieutenant offered his visitor his best bland expression. "All those items were returned to-" He paused and rubbed his palm over his head. "I gave everything to your dad."
Jacoby stared down at his clasped hands, feeling Pete's speculative gaze, waiting for him to say something. To give voice to the thought that was evident in his eyes.
"Look..." Pete sighed, his dark gaze on his friend. "I know something happened between you and Edie." He held up his hand as Jacoby raised his head and opened his mouth and looked like he wanted to say something. "I don't know what it was. I don't need to know what it was. And it doesn't matter if it was her fault or yours. I just need you to fix it."
Both men were silent, each lost in his own thoughts.
"It was." Pete glanced across the desk at the cop's quiet words.
"Was what?"
"My fault," Jacoby admitted. "I said something I shouldn't have. It just popped out of my mouth, I couldn't stop it, and before I could say I was sorry she..." He shrugged. "I want to apologize. I've even gotten as far as getting into the car and driving over to your place a couple of times. But that's as far as it gets. I just sit in the car at the curb because I can't think of what to say that will let her know how truly sorry I am."
"It's not that hard. Just tell her you're sorry." Pete gave a weak grin. "She's normally a pretty forgiving sort."
"I made her angry a couple times over the past few weeks, too," the policeman admitted. He offered Pete a droll yet somewhat surprised look. "She can be really scary when she's mad."
"You're telling me."
"She's scary to you?"
"All women are scary to me."
The two men shared a chuckle and spent a few more minutes talking until Pete glanced at his watch and stood up, commenting that his dad and Edie had dropped him off on the way to Mother's. He'd promised not to be too long so he really needed to move along. At his words Jacoby pushed himself up and reached for his hat, saying he'd drive him over. When the PI demurred the cop insisted.
"I haven't been by in a couple weeks. Not since just after you went missing," he said, ushering Pete out the door. "Maybe this time they won't look at me like a pariah." The whimsical humor in his voice was overshadowed by the serious expression on his face.
It felt good to be sitting at Mother's favorite table, to one side of the smoke-filled club but close enough to the stage that he had a clear view of his girl as she sang. The combo had been playing when he and Jacoby came in, the policeman staying just long enough to say hello to Frank Gunn and the club's owner before heading back to the Precinct and the paperwork awaiting him there. Pete's watch had told him that Edie would be back on stage in just a few minutes so instead of heading for her dressing room he'd pulled out a chair and sat down next to Mother. The old woman gave him the big smile she'd held in reserve until the Lieutenant was gone. She may have forgiven Jacoby for losing Pete those three long weeks ago, might harbor good thoughts and thankfulness toward him for finding him back, but she wasn't quite ready for all her feelings to return to normal toward him. One day soon, but not today. So now she smiled at the PI and gave him a friendly chuck under the chin before leaning aside for Barney to set his glass of ginger ale in front of him. The bartender gave Pete his own goofy smile and clapped him on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.
Pop had his chair moved around so that it faced the stage. He didn't want to miss a minute of the action and he'd been impressed at what he'd seen and heard to this point. The girl could certainly sing. She'd done two sets with the musicians so far and he was mesmerized by her voice. It was no wonder his son was so entranced by her. And boy could that combo play! Edie had introduced him to the guys – he recalled briefly hearing them play the last time he had visited but couldn't for the life of him remember whether they were the same musicians or not – Kevin Murphy on drums, Leo Franklin on bass, Marvin Duffy on trumpet, trombonist Owen Snyder, Buddy Brewer on saxophone, Vic Sullivan on marimbas and guitarist Hank Morelli. And of course he already knew the pianist, Emmett Ward.
Five minutes after Pete arrived another musician stepped from the back to sit in with the combo, oohs and aahs rippling through the audience as, after waiting for Edie to join them, he lifted his trumpet and the first notes of a familiar tune sliced through the smokey air. Pete recalled the very first time he had heard Shorty Rogers play along with 'How High the Moon', the same night the Frog had been murdered and he'd brought the scrawny kitten soon to be named Thomas home to Edie. He leaned back and watched and listened as she began to sing, gave a sideways glance at Pop and raised an eyebrow at the way the older man was nodding in time with the beat of the music, looked back across the short distance to catch her glancing toward the front door then hooking her surprised gaze as it found him where he was sitting. She smiled a secret smile that really wasn't a secret and sang straight to him as though no one else existed. Somewhere there's heaven, she told him and only him. It's where you are. He knew Pop saw that look and heard those words and turned his head in his direction, he could see it all out of the corner of his eye, but he paid him no mind. He returned her smile with a little one of his own, his expression bemused as she became the focus of his attention. All too soon it was over and his gaze trailed after her as she paused and smiled to the crowd and bowed her head in acknowledgment and disappeared from the stage.
As the musicians took a break Shorty accompanied Emmett over to their table to thank Mother for the opportunity to sit in with the combo. Pete introduced the trumpet player to his dad and then Edie was there, sitting beside him. Pete stretched his arm across the back of her chair, his hand on her shoulder, and listened with half an ear to an animated discussion of today's music versus that of Frank and Mother's generation, albeit Mother had a few years on Pop. The older man kept fiddling with the paper napkin that had been placed beneath his glass, the PI half afraid he was going to whip it out and ask Shorty to autograph it. That would be embarrassing! Pop must have seen the warning in his eyes because he dropped his hands into his lap and leaned back in his chair and gave his son a sheepish smile.
The night passed quickly, Edie back and forth from the table to the stage, then all over again, the men watching and listening and enjoying the various moods of the songs as well as the musicians between sets. At about a quarter after one, just as Edie sat down, Mother reached across and touched her hand, telling her to get her things and go home. Time enough to get back into the routine tomorrow night, she told her girl singer, Pete's dad was leaving shortly so she and the PI should spend those last few hours with him. She smiled when no argument was forthcoming and bade Frank Gunn a fond farewell as the trio stepped out into the muggy darkness of early morning.