with an office. No more client appointments at the coffee shop. I took a deep breath and congratulated myself for a step up the business ladder.
Satisfied with my day’s accomplishments, I got another brew from the fridge, popped a frozen dinner into the microwave, and then went through my collection of detective movie videos. I chose a Bogart movie, slid it into the player and settled down for an uneventful evening at home.
My phone rang and woke me up. The clock read three fifteen a.m. I burped and rubbed my eyes before I picked up my cell phone.
“Handy here, this had better be good.” I gruffly said into the phone and then cleared my throat. “At three-fifteen in the morning, this had better be damned good.”
“Mr. Handy, this is Harlan Cain. I’m in London and I guess I got the time wrong. Did you get my email?”
“Yes I did, Mr. Cain. By the way, my name is just Handy, short for my first name, Handleman. Is it possible you could call me back in five or six hours?”
“No, I’m sorry, but I will be on a plane back to the U.S. then and the plane’s phone reception is pretty lousy. Have you found out anything about my wife yet?”
“No sir. I just got your email this evening. Give me a call when you get back to the West Coast. I need to get as much information about your wife as I can before I can start an investigation. Good night.” I hung up before he could reply. What an asshole. He didn’t know how to add eight hours to his time in London? I turned over and went back to sleep.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Port Sonoma
had worked with him when I delved into pot growers’ financial records. He was the man who taught me to always follow the money. I whipped out an email to him and promised to pay him fifty bucks for any info on Doyle.
Then I opened the Cain email. He had been referred to me by Uncle Willie, who was a minor investor in Cain’s company, 4EVERFUN GAMES. Cain was married to a woman named Mariah and had made her vice-president of the computer game company.
He thought his wife Mariah was in an affair with someone or had made deals behind his back to build up a cash reserve for when she divorced him. She had signed a pre-nuptial agreement that gave her only ten percent of their company if they split up.
He said he believed the company manager was his wife’s boyfriend. Cain said she was very attractive and “sexually dynamic”. He offered me twenty-five hundred dollars if I would take the case.
The red lights popped into my mind again because clients usually didn’t offer that kind of money upfront. But the prospect of twenty-five hundred dollars turned off the lights. I emailed Cain with my cell phone number and told him to call me and set up a meeting.
Then I pulled a note out of my wallet. As I walked out of One More Cup after my talk with the mayor, I noticed a for rent sign in the window on the second floor of the building across the street from the coffee house. I wrote down the number. When I called the number, I got hold of the leasing agent Mr. Gardner. He gave me detailed information about the office and it piqued my interest. We made an appointment to meet the next morning. I would now have a legitimate business complete
Then I opened the Cain email. He had been referred to me by Uncle Willie, who was a minor investor in Cain’s company, 4EVERFUN GAMES. Cain was married to a woman named Mariah and had made her vice-president of the computer game company.
He thought his wife Mariah was in an affair with someone or had made deals behind his back to build up a cash reserve for when she divorced him. She had signed a pre-nuptial agreement that gave her only ten percent of their company if they split up.
He said he believed the company manager was his wife’s boyfriend. Cain said she was very attractive and “sexually dynamic”. He offered me twenty-five hundred dollars if I would take the case.
The red lights popped into my mind again because clients usually didn’t offer that kind of money upfront. But the prospect of twenty-five hundred dollars turned off the lights. I emailed Cain with my cell phone number and told him to call me and set up a meeting.
Then I pulled a note out of my wallet. As I walked out of One More Cup after my talk with the mayor, I noticed a for rent sign in the window on the second floor of the building across the street from the coffee house. I wrote down the number. When I called the number, I got hold of the leasing agent Mr. Gardner. He gave me detailed information about the office and it piqued my interest. We made an appointment to meet the next morning. I would now have a legitimate business complete
Port Sonoma
I had tweaked my security program and I finally figured how to screen out all the spam that bombarded my e-mail box. There was an email from Roger Hillerman with info on the mayor’s donor and another one from someone named Harlan Cain.
I opened the Hillerman email first. The donor’s name was Rocky Doyle. I opened up a search engine and entered his name. The info that came up was from a local newspaper article that reported he had recently bought the Simenon vineyards under the business name, RD Investments.
The Simenon family had migrated to this area in the eighteen-nineties from France. They had operated one of the biggest dairies in the county until the early nineteen-seventies when one of the family members had the good sense to test the soil to see if it was good for grapevines. It was. They sold off their dairy cows and planted over five hundred acres of pinot noir grapes. Ten years later their wine won awards around the world.
Since the vineyard and Doyle’s companies were privately held, the sale price was not publicly disclosed. But vineyard acreage in Sonoma County sold for over one hundred thousand dollars an acre, so Doyle must have paid about fifty million dollars for the winery.
I did a search of his company’s name and came up with a blank. Who was this guy and where did he get his money? It was time to contact Stewart. Stewart Ellroy worked as a financial investigator for the County Attorney’s office. I had worked with him when I delved into pot growers’ financial records. He was the
I opened the Hillerman email first. The donor’s name was Rocky Doyle. I opened up a search engine and entered his name. The info that came up was from a local newspaper article that reported he had recently bought the Simenon vineyards under the business name, RD Investments.
The Simenon family had migrated to this area in the eighteen-nineties from France. They had operated one of the biggest dairies in the county until the early nineteen-seventies when one of the family members had the good sense to test the soil to see if it was good for grapevines. It was. They sold off their dairy cows and planted over five hundred acres of pinot noir grapes. Ten years later their wine won awards around the world.
Since the vineyard and Doyle’s companies were privately held, the sale price was not publicly disclosed. But vineyard acreage in Sonoma County sold for over one hundred thousand dollars an acre, so Doyle must have paid about fifty million dollars for the winery.
I did a search of his company’s name and came up with a blank. Who was this guy and where did he get his money? It was time to contact Stewart. Stewart Ellroy worked as a financial investigator for the County Attorney’s office. I had worked with him when I delved into pot growers’ financial records. He was the
Port Sonoma
decaying bodies had alerted port security. They raided the company whose name was on the bill of lading and it was owned by her boyfriend. She turned prosecutor’s witness against him.
After the investigation, Pearl met and fell in love with a U.N. special envoy who worked on human trafficking. When the trial was over and her ex-boyfriend was executed, she and the envoy moved to the United States and were married. Two years later he was murdered by Turkish slave traders in Northern Italy.
At my post office mailbox there was an envelope from Uncle Willie among my usual bills and offers from credit card companies. I opened it and saw a check for twenty-five hundred dollars. I had only charged him two thousand. He must have really appreciated the information that Pearl’s testimony against her boyfriend had led to his execution. I could put that five hundred dollar bonus to good use.
I called a cab to take me to Sammy’s so I could pick up my bike. As usual he gave me a big discount for the repair job. After I stopped by the bank, I pulled into the rear carport three apartment buildings down from mine and across the street. I needed to be more careful.
I walked down the back alley to the apartments across from mine. I climbed up to the third floor and scoped out my building. When I didn’t see anyone suspicious, I went back to my bike, and then drove to the carport of my building and parked in my space.
I went up to my apartment and carefully looked around for anything that wasn’t kosher. I unlocked the door, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and sat down at my computer. After I logged on I checked my email.
After the investigation, Pearl met and fell in love with a U.N. special envoy who worked on human trafficking. When the trial was over and her ex-boyfriend was executed, she and the envoy moved to the United States and were married. Two years later he was murdered by Turkish slave traders in Northern Italy.
At my post office mailbox there was an envelope from Uncle Willie among my usual bills and offers from credit card companies. I opened it and saw a check for twenty-five hundred dollars. I had only charged him two thousand. He must have really appreciated the information that Pearl’s testimony against her boyfriend had led to his execution. I could put that five hundred dollar bonus to good use.
I called a cab to take me to Sammy’s so I could pick up my bike. As usual he gave me a big discount for the repair job. After I stopped by the bank, I pulled into the rear carport three apartment buildings down from mine and across the street. I needed to be more careful.
I walked down the back alley to the apartments across from mine. I climbed up to the third floor and scoped out my building. When I didn’t see anyone suspicious, I went back to my bike, and then drove to the carport of my building and parked in my space.
I went up to my apartment and carefully looked around for anything that wasn’t kosher. I unlocked the door, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and sat down at my computer. After I logged on I checked my email.
Port Sonoma
have to dig deeper.” I said. “I have to pay extra for info from some websites and sources. If I have to do field work, such as follow someone, or if I have to go into the City to investigate a lead, I charge two hundred dollars a day plus expenses.”
“That sounds reasonable,” she said. “I’ll have my campaign manager, Roger Hillerman, email the information to you. If it appears there will be extra charges, just contact him with the details.”
I raised my cup in Lee’s direction for a refill. She weaved her way through the tables with a pitcher of hot coffee.
“Warm up?” she asked. I nodded. “Mayor Hammett, do you need a refill?”
“No thank you. It’s time to earn the taxpayer’s dollar. Roger or I will be in touch, Handy.” She said.
I raised my cup to salute her as she rose from her seat, grabbed her purse and walked out the side door of the coffeehouse. She had a nice figure that drew stares from other men in the room.
“Thanks, Lee. I just paid next month’s rent.” I then noticed that the mayor hadn’t left a tip. I pulled a dollar from my pocket and placed it under my cup. “And thanks for the coffee.”
It was time to check my mail box. I still waited for Uncle Willy’s final check. Pearl turned out to be a secretive person. I had to use more than my usual sources when I researched her background. I found out she had been arrested and held as a material witness in China, because her then boyfriend was a people smuggler. Nine people had suffocated in a locked cargo container. The smell of their decaying bodies had alerted port security. They raided the company whose name was on
“That sounds reasonable,” she said. “I’ll have my campaign manager, Roger Hillerman, email the information to you. If it appears there will be extra charges, just contact him with the details.”
I raised my cup in Lee’s direction for a refill. She weaved her way through the tables with a pitcher of hot coffee.
“Warm up?” she asked. I nodded. “Mayor Hammett, do you need a refill?”
“No thank you. It’s time to earn the taxpayer’s dollar. Roger or I will be in touch, Handy.” She said.
I raised my cup to salute her as she rose from her seat, grabbed her purse and walked out the side door of the coffeehouse. She had a nice figure that drew stares from other men in the room.
“Thanks, Lee. I just paid next month’s rent.” I then noticed that the mayor hadn’t left a tip. I pulled a dollar from my pocket and placed it under my cup. “And thanks for the coffee.”
It was time to check my mail box. I still waited for Uncle Willy’s final check. Pearl turned out to be a secretive person. I had to use more than my usual sources when I researched her background. I found out she had been arrested and held as a material witness in China, because her then boyfriend was a people smuggler. Nine people had suffocated in a locked cargo container. The smell of their decaying bodies had alerted port security. They raided the company whose name was on
Port Sonoma
th pale blue eyes which contrasted with her gray-streaked black hair and alabaster skin.
“My first name is Handleman, and when I was a kid my friends shortened it to Handy.” I liked her voice which was a little deep and raspy. I pulled out my wallet and gave her one of my business cards. It read: HANDYWORKS, HANDLEMAN “HANDY” CHANDLER, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR, DISCREET INVESTIGATIONS, BACK GROUND CHECKS: CONFIDE NIMINIS. It also listed my State Private Investigator license number, post office box, web site and phone number.
“Please sit down. My Latin is a little rusty. What does ‘confide niminis’ mean?” She said.
“It means “Trust no one”. I said. I took one semester of Latin in high school and one semester at Port Sonoma JC. I easily picked up the dead language.
“I got your name from Roman Francis who is an old friend of my family’s. I need someone to check up on a campaign donor. I don’t want to get into trouble like Governor McBain did last year when he accidentally took money from a Mexican drug lord.” Her voice tickled a sensual spot in the back of my brain.
“That’s a good idea. The news of that donation cost him a lot of votes and was probably the reason why he barely eked out a win.” This began to look like a good payday. “If you give me as much information as you can on this donor, I’ll check up on him. You can email it to PI@HandyWorks.com, my website.” “I usually charge three hundred dollars for a simple background check, unless I have to dig deeper.” I said. “I have to pay extra for info from some websites and sources.
“My first name is Handleman, and when I was a kid my friends shortened it to Handy.” I liked her voice which was a little deep and raspy. I pulled out my wallet and gave her one of my business cards. It read: HANDYWORKS, HANDLEMAN “HANDY” CHANDLER, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR, DISCREET INVESTIGATIONS, BACK GROUND CHECKS: CONFIDE NIMINIS. It also listed my State Private Investigator license number, post office box, web site and phone number.
“Please sit down. My Latin is a little rusty. What does ‘confide niminis’ mean?” She said.
“It means “Trust no one”. I said. I took one semester of Latin in high school and one semester at Port Sonoma JC. I easily picked up the dead language.
“I got your name from Roman Francis who is an old friend of my family’s. I need someone to check up on a campaign donor. I don’t want to get into trouble like Governor McBain did last year when he accidentally took money from a Mexican drug lord.” Her voice tickled a sensual spot in the back of my brain.
“That’s a good idea. The news of that donation cost him a lot of votes and was probably the reason why he barely eked out a win.” This began to look like a good payday. “If you give me as much information as you can on this donor, I’ll check up on him. You can email it to PI@HandyWorks.com, my website.” “I usually charge three hundred dollars for a simple background check, unless I have to dig deeper.” I said. “I have to pay extra for info from some websites and sources.
Port Sonoma
half for me. I returned the favor once, when I cut my fees to check up on a club pledge. The pledge turned out to be a member of a rival club. His gang wanted to infiltrate the Devils so they could rip off their bikes and sell them.
Later that day, before I walked into One More Cup, the local coffee shop which is one of my hangouts, I called the girlfriend of the rapper wannabe Armani. I reported that I had not found anything, but I had only followed him for one day. She had not paid me for a computer search. I warned her to be careful.
Lee Carr, who called herself a barista and not a waitress, poured me a cup of coffee. She pointed to a well-dressed woman who sat at a table by the window and told me she had asked about me.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“It’s Gina Hammett.” Lee said. “She’s the Mayor of Port Sonoma.”
“Did she say what she needed?” I said.
“She didn’t tell me, but she looks like she can afford you.” She said. “I wish I could afford her shoes.” Lee always wore black sneakers.
I carried my coffee over to the mayor’s table. I sneaked a look at her full breasts that strained against the tight blouse she wore. But this might be a job so I closed down my erotic thoughts; at least for now.
“Hi, I’m Handy Chandler.” I said. “I was told that you inquired about me.” I eyed her pant suit, string tie and pearl earrings. She was a little overdressed for this joint.
“Hello. Handy is an unusual name. Where does it come from?” She stared at me with pale blue eyes which contrasted with her gray-streaked black hair and alabaster skin.
Later that day, before I walked into One More Cup, the local coffee shop which is one of my hangouts, I called the girlfriend of the rapper wannabe Armani. I reported that I had not found anything, but I had only followed him for one day. She had not paid me for a computer search. I warned her to be careful.
Lee Carr, who called herself a barista and not a waitress, poured me a cup of coffee. She pointed to a well-dressed woman who sat at a table by the window and told me she had asked about me.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“It’s Gina Hammett.” Lee said. “She’s the Mayor of Port Sonoma.”
“Did she say what she needed?” I said.
“She didn’t tell me, but she looks like she can afford you.” She said. “I wish I could afford her shoes.” Lee always wore black sneakers.
I carried my coffee over to the mayor’s table. I sneaked a look at her full breasts that strained against the tight blouse she wore. But this might be a job so I closed down my erotic thoughts; at least for now.
“Hi, I’m Handy Chandler.” I said. “I was told that you inquired about me.” I eyed her pant suit, string tie and pearl earrings. She was a little overdressed for this joint.
“Hello. Handy is an unusual name. Where does it come from?” She stared at me with pale blue eyes which contrasted with her gray-streaked black hair and alabaster skin.
Port Sonoma
home.
Although they talked about what badass gangsters they were, they were just dumb, horny punks. When you pull a gun on someone, you don’t talk about shooting it, you just shoot the person. I kept the snub-nosed .38 to use as a belly gun.
When Mitch and I graduated from the police academy, we were told we could use the Sheriff’s department’s .38 Smith and Wesson revolvers or we could buy our own weapons. We saved money from our first two paychecks and bought 9mm Glocks, which have much higher stopping power. We go to a secluded area on the Russian River once a week to practice.
The day after he had picked me up at the pier, I had Mitch drive me to Sammy’s Motorcycle City to get the bike’s electrical system fixed. Sammy Parker was the Vice President of the local chapter of the Road Devil’s motorcycle club. But he usually kept a low profile. Every time he drove his motorcycle and wore his colors he would get pulled over and searched by the police.
One time he had been arrested and jailed. He was put in a holding cell with members of a rival biker gang. He had used his one phone call to contact his girlfriend, but she had refused to bail him out. The other bikers jumped him and began to beat the crap out of him.
After Mitch had pulled them off Sammy, he asked Mitch to call a bail bondsman for him, which Mitch did. He told Mitch if he ever needed any motorcycle repairs to call him at his shop. Ever since then I had taken my bike to Sammy for repairs and he cut his bill in half for me. I returned the favor once, when I cut my fees to check up on a club pledge.
Although they talked about what badass gangsters they were, they were just dumb, horny punks. When you pull a gun on someone, you don’t talk about shooting it, you just shoot the person. I kept the snub-nosed .38 to use as a belly gun.
When Mitch and I graduated from the police academy, we were told we could use the Sheriff’s department’s .38 Smith and Wesson revolvers or we could buy our own weapons. We saved money from our first two paychecks and bought 9mm Glocks, which have much higher stopping power. We go to a secluded area on the Russian River once a week to practice.
The day after he had picked me up at the pier, I had Mitch drive me to Sammy’s Motorcycle City to get the bike’s electrical system fixed. Sammy Parker was the Vice President of the local chapter of the Road Devil’s motorcycle club. But he usually kept a low profile. Every time he drove his motorcycle and wore his colors he would get pulled over and searched by the police.
One time he had been arrested and jailed. He was put in a holding cell with members of a rival biker gang. He had used his one phone call to contact his girlfriend, but she had refused to bail him out. The other bikers jumped him and began to beat the crap out of him.
After Mitch had pulled them off Sammy, he asked Mitch to call a bail bondsman for him, which Mitch did. He told Mitch if he ever needed any motorcycle repairs to call him at his shop. Ever since then I had taken my bike to Sammy for repairs and he cut his bill in half for me. I returned the favor once, when I cut my fees to check up on a club pledge.
Port Sonoma
One guy punched me in the face when I showed him a revealing photograph of his fiancée that I had downloaded. When I discovered one woman’s fiancée was an ex-con and a multiple divorcee, she showed me her appreciation with a bonus, a night in her bed.
A few weeks ago, however, things took a more serious turn. After I gave a report about his young girlfriend to an older Chinese guy named Uncle Willie Queen, two husky young Asian men grabbed me at gunpoint the next day at my apartment. Over and over the two guys said I was in big trouble because I had badmouthed their friend Pearl Grafton, Uncle Willie’s girlfriend.
Several times a week Willie would take Pearl out to eat at a Chinese restaurant that he co-owned, and where the two young men worked. She had assisted these guys with immigration forms and helped them to get their green cards.
They took me to a garage behind an old house located on a country lane outside of town. I’m six-foot-one, two-hundred-ten pounds, lift weights and practice Tai Kwan Do daily. When the chubby bastard who held the gun put it down to hit me, I kicked him in the balls. Then I grabbed the other one and slammed his face into a metal work bench. I took the gun and car keys and ran out to their car.
Before I started the car, I shot a hole in the windshield on the driver’s side, a not so subtle warning. I took off and drove to a supermarket about six blocks from where I lived. I parked the car in the rear of the store. After I wiped off the steering wheel and door handle to remove my prints, I pissed on the fabric front seat cover. Then I walked home.
A few weeks ago, however, things took a more serious turn. After I gave a report about his young girlfriend to an older Chinese guy named Uncle Willie Queen, two husky young Asian men grabbed me at gunpoint the next day at my apartment. Over and over the two guys said I was in big trouble because I had badmouthed their friend Pearl Grafton, Uncle Willie’s girlfriend.
Several times a week Willie would take Pearl out to eat at a Chinese restaurant that he co-owned, and where the two young men worked. She had assisted these guys with immigration forms and helped them to get their green cards.
They took me to a garage behind an old house located on a country lane outside of town. I’m six-foot-one, two-hundred-ten pounds, lift weights and practice Tai Kwan Do daily. When the chubby bastard who held the gun put it down to hit me, I kicked him in the balls. Then I grabbed the other one and slammed his face into a metal work bench. I took the gun and car keys and ran out to their car.
Before I started the car, I shot a hole in the windshield on the driver’s side, a not so subtle warning. I took off and drove to a supermarket about six blocks from where I lived. I parked the car in the rear of the store. After I wiped off the steering wheel and door handle to remove my prints, I pissed on the fabric front seat cover. Then I walked home.
Port Sonoma
CHAPTER TWO
As guards, Mitch and I had a lot of opportunities to take home stuff that had fallen off the back of the truck. But we knew we were lucky not to be in prison, and didn’t want to take chances.
I took a couple of computer classes which would help me do research for my P. I. clients. I also took more Administration of Justice classes so I could get my A.A. degree. Most law enforcement agencies now demanded two-year degrees as an employment requirement.
I used an old friend at the Sheriff’s Department to run background checks, mainly on boyfriends. I found that if I checked out local online escort services, some of the girlfriends would appear.
As guards, Mitch and I had a lot of opportunities to take home stuff that had fallen off the back of the truck. But we knew we were lucky not to be in prison, and didn’t want to take chances.
I took a couple of computer classes which would help me do research for my P. I. clients. I also took more Administration of Justice classes so I could get my A.A. degree. Most law enforcement agencies now demanded two-year degrees as an employment requirement.
I used an old friend at the Sheriff’s Department to run background checks, mainly on boyfriends. I found that if I checked out local online escort services, some of the girlfriends would appear.
Port Sonoma
ired me and my life was back on track.
A few months later Mitch and I met Sherry Westlake at the Lazy Eye. She was tall and busty with long black hair and green eyes. She was a knockout and Mitch fell for her right off the bat.
She was a post-graduate student and part-time instructor in Art History at Sonoma State. She moved to San Francisco from Michigan to study at the San Francisco Art Institute. She had bought an old farmhouse on an acre of land about a mile from the Sonoma State campus.
Red lights flashed in my mind when I heard this. I asked Mitch how she could afford to buy property on a part-time salary. He said her parents helped her and I let it go. I had become as paranoid as my clients.
A few months later Mitch and I met Sherry Westlake at the Lazy Eye. She was tall and busty with long black hair and green eyes. She was a knockout and Mitch fell for her right off the bat.
She was a post-graduate student and part-time instructor in Art History at Sonoma State. She moved to San Francisco from Michigan to study at the San Francisco Art Institute. She had bought an old farmhouse on an acre of land about a mile from the Sonoma State campus.
Red lights flashed in my mind when I heard this. I asked Mitch how she could afford to buy property on a part-time salary. He said her parents helped her and I let it go. I had become as paranoid as my clients.
Port Sonoma
it again. Except for one slip, I was a thorough and conscientious cop and I enjoyed police work.
Francis cashed out his pension and bought a private security company that was almost bankrupt. With the business contacts he had developed over the years as a Deputy Sheriff, the company became successful within a year.
Soon after I was let go from the Sheriff’s Department, I asked Francis for a job. But he didn’t have enough guard contracts yet to afford to hire me. Instead, he said I should become a private investigator. He told me I could support myself and develop investigative skills that would help me when I returned to law enforcement.
“Handy, I know a couple of attorneys who need someone to follow cheating spouses and develop evidence for divorce cases.” Francis said. “You can set your own hours, and you have clients, not bosses. If you get enough clients, the money can be real good.”
I took his advice and referrals. I had enough law enforcement college credits and time as a Sheriff’s Deputy to qualify for a private investigator’s license without the need to take the required test. I paid my fee and got my license. This worked out fine for a year, then California changed its divorce laws and adultery was no longer grounds for a divorce.
That’s when I moved into pre-nuptial investigations. When I got too much competition from other P.I.’s I went back to Francis and asked for a part time job. He hired me and my life was back on track.
Francis cashed out his pension and bought a private security company that was almost bankrupt. With the business contacts he had developed over the years as a Deputy Sheriff, the company became successful within a year.
Soon after I was let go from the Sheriff’s Department, I asked Francis for a job. But he didn’t have enough guard contracts yet to afford to hire me. Instead, he said I should become a private investigator. He told me I could support myself and develop investigative skills that would help me when I returned to law enforcement.
“Handy, I know a couple of attorneys who need someone to follow cheating spouses and develop evidence for divorce cases.” Francis said. “You can set your own hours, and you have clients, not bosses. If you get enough clients, the money can be real good.”
I took his advice and referrals. I had enough law enforcement college credits and time as a Sheriff’s Deputy to qualify for a private investigator’s license without the need to take the required test. I paid my fee and got my license. This worked out fine for a year, then California changed its divorce laws and adultery was no longer grounds for a divorce.
That’s when I moved into pre-nuptial investigations. When I got too much competition from other P.I.’s I went back to Francis and asked for a part time job. He hired me and my life was back on track.
Port Sonoma
Mitch and I didn’t buy fancy clothes, jewelry or cars, so there was no tangible proof we took bribes. We denied everything and the charges were dropped. Our supervisor, Sergeant Francis believed us because we had never been in trouble before.
After we were re-instated and went back to Vice, another grower offered us a bribe to look the other way when we busted him. We knew it was a trap, and refused the money. We reported to Francis that the grower had tried to bribe us.
Even though the arrest had been wiped from our records, it left a stain. The next year, the Supervisors voted a ten percent cutback in the Sheriff’s Department’s funding while they increased health benefits for themselves. This meant six deputy positions had to be cut.
The most recent hires took the first three cuts. Mitch and I were the next two, and they also ‘retired’ Francis. He had worked so many overtime hours that he was one of the County’s highest paid employees. While he was only two years away from his mandatory retirement age, the Supervisors figured they could save a little money if they eliminated his sergeant’s position.
I began to apply to police and sheriff’s departments throughout California. A lot of cops had been accused of bribery. It had become standard operating procedure for defense attorneys to paint arresting officers in a bad light to jurors. Most of the officers’ charges were dropped for lack of evidence, like mine had been. But for some reason I couldn’t get past the initial application and schedule an interview. I knew I had made a mistake, but I had learned my lesson and would never do
After we were re-instated and went back to Vice, another grower offered us a bribe to look the other way when we busted him. We knew it was a trap, and refused the money. We reported to Francis that the grower had tried to bribe us.
Even though the arrest had been wiped from our records, it left a stain. The next year, the Supervisors voted a ten percent cutback in the Sheriff’s Department’s funding while they increased health benefits for themselves. This meant six deputy positions had to be cut.
The most recent hires took the first three cuts. Mitch and I were the next two, and they also ‘retired’ Francis. He had worked so many overtime hours that he was one of the County’s highest paid employees. While he was only two years away from his mandatory retirement age, the Supervisors figured they could save a little money if they eliminated his sergeant’s position.
I began to apply to police and sheriff’s departments throughout California. A lot of cops had been accused of bribery. It had become standard operating procedure for defense attorneys to paint arresting officers in a bad light to jurors. Most of the officers’ charges were dropped for lack of evidence, like mine had been. But for some reason I couldn’t get past the initial application and schedule an interview. I knew I had made a mistake, but I had learned my lesson and would never do
Port Sonoma
he other way.”
It sounded good to me, especially since my mother’s breakdown. Her care was expensive. So we didn’t find the pot farm. We got these payments at least once a month for a year until some other cops put the squeeze on our grower for a bribe. When he wouldn’t pay, they busted him.
Through his attorney, the back-stabbing bastard offered a trade to the prosecutor. He would name cops he had paid off, if all the charges against him were dropped.
The prosecuting attorney was up for election to the County Attorney’s office and he thought that the publicity from a conviction of dirty cops would help him get elected. He agreed to the deal. The grower named Mitch and me.
We were arrested and booked. But the grower had no videotapes, sound recordings or pictures to implicate us. He had paid us in cash, and we had not put the money into our bank accounts. We used the cash to buy everyday items like gas and groceries, and a lot of beer for coeds.
This left extra money in my bank account. I used it to pay for the convalescent home costs that remained after the Sheriff Department’s health plan had paid its share. When my father died of cancer, my mother had a mental breakdown. She forgot where she was and forgot people, like me. Even when I stood in front of her she didn’t recognize me.
This was the same woman who had put potato chips in my bologna sandwiches and cheered me at high school football games. Now she couldn’t remember my name. The doctors said one day she might snap out of it, but so far the medications and therapy hadn’t helped. Love and patience were the best help that we could offer her.
It sounded good to me, especially since my mother’s breakdown. Her care was expensive. So we didn’t find the pot farm. We got these payments at least once a month for a year until some other cops put the squeeze on our grower for a bribe. When he wouldn’t pay, they busted him.
Through his attorney, the back-stabbing bastard offered a trade to the prosecutor. He would name cops he had paid off, if all the charges against him were dropped.
The prosecuting attorney was up for election to the County Attorney’s office and he thought that the publicity from a conviction of dirty cops would help him get elected. He agreed to the deal. The grower named Mitch and me.
We were arrested and booked. But the grower had no videotapes, sound recordings or pictures to implicate us. He had paid us in cash, and we had not put the money into our bank accounts. We used the cash to buy everyday items like gas and groceries, and a lot of beer for coeds.
This left extra money in my bank account. I used it to pay for the convalescent home costs that remained after the Sheriff Department’s health plan had paid its share. When my father died of cancer, my mother had a mental breakdown. She forgot where she was and forgot people, like me. Even when I stood in front of her she didn’t recognize me.
This was the same woman who had put potato chips in my bologna sandwiches and cheered me at high school football games. Now she couldn’t remember my name. The doctors said one day she might snap out of it, but so far the medications and therapy hadn’t helped. Love and patience were the best help that we could offer her.
Port Sonoma
“You’ll like this place,” he said. “Sonoma State University is just down the road and a lot of the coeds hang out here. If we buy them a pitcher of beer there’s a good chance we’ll get laid.” He was right. Mitch also convinced me to take Law Enforcement classes with him.
“Besides the Sheriff’s Department, there are six cities in Sonoma County with police departments.” Mitch told me. “There are always job openings and they prefer to hire local applicants. The pay and benefits are excellent, and it is almost impossible to get fired.”
Ten months later we were both hired by the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Department. I spent a year as a court bailiff and Mitch was a guard at the County Jail. When positions opened up in Vice we were promoted to investigators.
Later that year, while on our way to find a marijuana grower’s plot, Mitch handed me an envelope with two one-hundred-dollar bills in it.
“Since the County Supervisors just reneged on their promise to give us a raise, and also voted to make us pay our health insurance premiums, we need a way to make ends meet.” Mitch winked at me. “So, screw’em; we’re not going to find this marijuana patch, you understand?”
And that’s how it started. Mitch opined that since we didn’t take money from murderers, rapists, or child molesters, it was okay. “Hell, pot’s been legal in California for over two years”, he said. “They just haven’t worked out the technicalities. So long as we’re careful how we spend the money, no one will ever know we took money to look the other way.”
“Besides the Sheriff’s Department, there are six cities in Sonoma County with police departments.” Mitch told me. “There are always job openings and they prefer to hire local applicants. The pay and benefits are excellent, and it is almost impossible to get fired.”
Ten months later we were both hired by the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Department. I spent a year as a court bailiff and Mitch was a guard at the County Jail. When positions opened up in Vice we were promoted to investigators.
Later that year, while on our way to find a marijuana grower’s plot, Mitch handed me an envelope with two one-hundred-dollar bills in it.
“Since the County Supervisors just reneged on their promise to give us a raise, and also voted to make us pay our health insurance premiums, we need a way to make ends meet.” Mitch winked at me. “So, screw’em; we’re not going to find this marijuana patch, you understand?”
And that’s how it started. Mitch opined that since we didn’t take money from murderers, rapists, or child molesters, it was okay. “Hell, pot’s been legal in California for over two years”, he said. “They just haven’t worked out the technicalities. So long as we’re careful how we spend the money, no one will ever know we took money to look the other way.”
Port Sonoma
too slow for the pros.
After boot camp, I went to Army Ranger Jump School in North Carolina, where I met my now ex-wife, Christie. Three months after we were married, my unit was shipped to East Africa to support a U.N. peacekeeping mission.
One night we were supposed to make a low-level jump into the desert which assured us a soft landing. Instead, we were dropped over a rocky hillside and I broke both of my ankles and hurt my back when I landed.
I was shipped back to the States where the doctors discovered that I had two cracked vertebrae. The Army decided I was a liability and gave me a medical discharge.
When I got out of the hospital, I received more bad news. My wife wanted a divorce. She had fallen in love with someone else: Simone, a woman who was the wife of another soldier. While they commiserated about their roles as Army wives they discovered a kinship they hadn’t felt with their husbands.
So, I came back to California alone, with a duffle bag and a bad back. I had few prospects for a job, so I enrolled at Port Sonoma JC. After I wrangled for months with the Veterans Administration, I received education benefits that paid for school and little else.
I was poor enough to qualify food stamps, which embarrassed me, and pissed me off. I had been injured fighting for my country and this was the best reward they could give me.
Soon after I enrolled, I ran into Mitch at the JC and he took me to a bar in Cotati, The Lazy Eye.
After boot camp, I went to Army Ranger Jump School in North Carolina, where I met my now ex-wife, Christie. Three months after we were married, my unit was shipped to East Africa to support a U.N. peacekeeping mission.
One night we were supposed to make a low-level jump into the desert which assured us a soft landing. Instead, we were dropped over a rocky hillside and I broke both of my ankles and hurt my back when I landed.
I was shipped back to the States where the doctors discovered that I had two cracked vertebrae. The Army decided I was a liability and gave me a medical discharge.
When I got out of the hospital, I received more bad news. My wife wanted a divorce. She had fallen in love with someone else: Simone, a woman who was the wife of another soldier. While they commiserated about their roles as Army wives they discovered a kinship they hadn’t felt with their husbands.
So, I came back to California alone, with a duffle bag and a bad back. I had few prospects for a job, so I enrolled at Port Sonoma JC. After I wrangled for months with the Veterans Administration, I received education benefits that paid for school and little else.
I was poor enough to qualify food stamps, which embarrassed me, and pissed me off. I had been injured fighting for my country and this was the best reward they could give me.
Soon after I enrolled, I ran into Mitch at the JC and he took me to a bar in Cotati, The Lazy Eye.
Port Sonoma
“Get in Handy,” he said. “I’m sorry I’m late. The hockey game went to overtime. When Curry scored the winning goal for the Sharks, the Bruins started another fight. I had to stay and see won the fight.”
“I don’t know how Sherry puts up with you. Let’s go,” I said. “I don’t want Francis to jump on my back. You know what a hard-ass he is about punctuality.” Mitch grunted in agreement.
“Sherry likes hockey as much as I do.” He added. “Let’s load your bike in the back.”
My name is Handleman Chandler. My mother’s maiden name was Handleman and she had no siblings, so over my father’s objections, I was named Handleman instead of Ray, Jr. When I was a kid and my friends called me Handy, I didn’t object.
Mitch and I had both served under Roman Francis when he was a sergeant in the Sonoma County Sheriff’s office. We had been buddies since we played football together at Port Sonoma High School.
After graduation, Mitch Leonard, at six-foot-four and two hundred and sixty pounds, got a football scholarship to Fresno State to play defensive end. I went into the Army. Mitch failed his sophomore year and lost his scholarship.
He came back home and went to Port Sonoma Junior College. He played linebacker and defensive end on the football team while he studied Administration of Justice. He tried out as a walk-on for the Forty-niners and the Raiders, but he was just too slow for the pros.
“I don’t know how Sherry puts up with you. Let’s go,” I said. “I don’t want Francis to jump on my back. You know what a hard-ass he is about punctuality.” Mitch grunted in agreement.
“Sherry likes hockey as much as I do.” He added. “Let’s load your bike in the back.”
My name is Handleman Chandler. My mother’s maiden name was Handleman and she had no siblings, so over my father’s objections, I was named Handleman instead of Ray, Jr. When I was a kid and my friends called me Handy, I didn’t object.
Mitch and I had both served under Roman Francis when he was a sergeant in the Sonoma County Sheriff’s office. We had been buddies since we played football together at Port Sonoma High School.
After graduation, Mitch Leonard, at six-foot-four and two hundred and sixty pounds, got a football scholarship to Fresno State to play defensive end. I went into the Army. Mitch failed his sophomore year and lost his scholarship.
He came back home and went to Port Sonoma Junior College. He played linebacker and defensive end on the football team while he studied Administration of Justice. He tried out as a walk-on for the Forty-niners and the Raiders, but he was just too slow for the pros.
Port Sonoma
pate, had boarded the weathered, wooden vessel, over an hour earlier and I had decided to call it a night. I could hear the rap music that emanated from the boat where I stood at the opposite end of the pier. Their eardrums had to be decimated by now.
I hadn’t found any gangster connections yet; so far he was just a loser who was all mouth and no action. I would relay what I had discovered about Armani to the woman who had hired me, but I would keep to myself the opinion that he was a loser. I had learned that love blinds some people to the faults of their loved ones and they didn’t want to hear the truth.
I had to work later that night as a security guard at a car dealership. When I couldn’t start my motorcycle, I called my friend and co-worker Mitch, and asked him to come by the marina and pick me up. It was foggy and the wind had increased. I had forgotten to put the wool lining into my old Army jacket and I was cold.
Where is Mitch? I thought. I would be late for work. Francis gets pissed if a client tells him you were late. I needed the part-time security job. I didn’t get enough work as a private investigator to pay my rent and bills. I had to find more paranoid fiancées who needed pre-wedding research done.
Then I heard the familiar muffler of Mitch’s pickup as he pulled into the parking lot next to the pier. I walked up the pier’s steps to the gate which opened to the lot, walked over to the black truck and knocked on the window. Mitch rolled down the window, and then turned off the booming radio.
I hadn’t found any gangster connections yet; so far he was just a loser who was all mouth and no action. I would relay what I had discovered about Armani to the woman who had hired me, but I would keep to myself the opinion that he was a loser. I had learned that love blinds some people to the faults of their loved ones and they didn’t want to hear the truth.
I had to work later that night as a security guard at a car dealership. When I couldn’t start my motorcycle, I called my friend and co-worker Mitch, and asked him to come by the marina and pick me up. It was foggy and the wind had increased. I had forgotten to put the wool lining into my old Army jacket and I was cold.
Where is Mitch? I thought. I would be late for work. Francis gets pissed if a client tells him you were late. I needed the part-time security job. I didn’t get enough work as a private investigator to pay my rent and bills. I had to find more paranoid fiancées who needed pre-wedding research done.
Then I heard the familiar muffler of Mitch’s pickup as he pulled into the parking lot next to the pier. I walked up the pier’s steps to the gate which opened to the lot, walked over to the black truck and knocked on the window. Mitch rolled down the window, and then turned off the booming radio.
PORT SONOMA
CHAPTER ONE
The water reached my waist. Pearl’s eyes looked up at me. Her face was just below the surface. I couldn’t have helped her if I wanted. My hands were tied over my head and I hung from the ceiling of the sailboat’s cabin.
Plop. The blood dripped from my nose into the water. Where was Kaminsky when I needed him, I thought. I went through my mental notes about the case. How could I have been so wrong about people? I had broken my own rule: trust no one.
I stood in the shadow of a shed to observe the fishing boat moored at the end of the dock. The wannabe rapper record producer Armani Mosely, with his clean-shaven
The water reached my waist. Pearl’s eyes looked up at me. Her face was just below the surface. I couldn’t have helped her if I wanted. My hands were tied over my head and I hung from the ceiling of the sailboat’s cabin.
Plop. The blood dripped from my nose into the water. Where was Kaminsky when I needed him, I thought. I went through my mental notes about the case. How could I have been so wrong about people? I had broken my own rule: trust no one.
I stood in the shadow of a shed to observe the fishing boat moored at the end of the dock. The wannabe rapper record producer Armani Mosely, with his clean-shaven
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
