recalled my bedroom walls covered in posters of Charlie’s Angels, Marie Osmond, Kristy McNichol and Pamela Sue Martin. “I don’t know, 1976, 1977?” I looked up into Dawn’s face and saw a blank expression. She had no clue who these women were or how their weekly appearance on my tiny 13” black and white TV had helped me reach puberty. I began to laugh aloud. “Just what year were you born?”
“1978.”
“Ah . . . I guess it is a generational thing.”
“Yeah,” Dawn said with a mischievous grin.
“Okay, how did we get on this subject?”
“You started talking about the high mortality rate of very old people.”
“Right. Well scratch that,” I said. “New topic: how’s your shift going so far?”
“Pretty slow.”
The front door opened and we both watched a male in his 30s, with a 70’s porn star-style moustache, walk in and take a seat at a side table.
“Your boyfriend’s here,” I chuckled.
“With a ‘stache like that, he’s more apt to be yours.” Dawn gave me a light, playful punch on the shoulder and said, “Duty calls. Your wings will be ready in about ten minutes.”
As she walked away, I muttered, “Dawn, I’ve got nothing but time today.”
A few moments later, the husband of old blue-hair approached the cash register to pay his bill. As he waited for Dawn, he casually looked in my direction and I raised my beer and gave him a wink. “I’ll take care of your problem,” I said in a low tone.
He clearly had no idea what I was talking about and a look of alarm came over his face. When Dawn appeared, she spoke with the man for a few seconds, which resulted in her glaring daggers at me. After she made a comment to the old man, he shook his head in disgust.
Upon the elderly couple’s departure, Dawn came by with my wings. “What did you say to that nice man? You almost gave him a heart attack.”
“The real question is this: What did you say to him?” I asked.
“Oh, only that you were a drunken degenerate with irreversible psychological problems,” she deadpanned.
“Whew,” I said as I took a sip of my beer. “For a minute there I was worried you said something bad about me. At least you told him the truth,” I laughed. “It’s one of your best qualities, I think.”
“I’m a quality person,” Dawn stated proudly.
“That you are,” I replied. “So, what’s the porn star’s story? Did he try to recruit you?”
“If you must know, the two of you actually have a lot in common.”
“We’ve both appeared on film having sex?”
“Yeah right,” Dawn snorted. “At least in his case he was the payee and not the payer!”
“Are you generally this sharp or just around me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, stud. I’m this quick 365 days a year.”
“Okay, I believe you. Anyway, what do I have in common with Buttons Graham over there?” Another quizzical look came over Dawn’s features. “Buttons was an actual porn star in the 70’s,” I informed her.
“Of course. Silly me for not remembering him,” she said waving her hand dismissively. “Your friend is actually a P.I. Says he’s looking for someone.”
After the initial shock wore off, I asked, “Not for me, I hope.” Before she answered, I slid further into the booth, out of Buttons’ eye line.
“He didn’t say,” Dawn replied.
“Could you find out for me?”
“Hmmm . . . for you . . .” she teased. “Anything—within reason,” she added.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” I said as she wandered away from the table.
“If I had a quarter for every time a loser barfly told me that,” she laughed, “I’d own this place.”
She went into the kitchen and returned with the private dick’s lunch. She hung around his table making small talk for a minute and returned to my table with an anxious expression. She placed my bill on the table and said, “Leave me $20 and then go out the exit by the washrooms.”
“What’s up?”
“He’s looking for Linda,” Dawn said bluntly.
I’m sure the blood drained from my face. “Anything else I should know?” I asked, throwing two tens on the table.
“He drives a black Dodge Caravan, which is parked out front.” She looked at the P.I.’s table. “I’ll call you if I get more information, but you have to go now.”
I grabbed one of the drink coasters sticking out of Dawn’s apron and wrote down my home and cell numbers.
“This is a commemorative coaster,” I smiled as I handed it to her. “Don’t lose it—use it.”
Dawn looked down at the coaster. “Don’t lose it, use it? Are we in Grade 6 again?” she laughed.
As I exited the booth I said, “When I was in Grade 6, Tiger Beat was the king of the magazine racks and you were still a dream in your mother’s mind.” As I stepped around her, I leaned into her and said, “Thanks for the info, Dawn. I owe you one.”
“No problem,” she said as our eyes met. “Now get out of here.”
As I walked stealthily toward the rear exit, I was confident no one had seen me leave. A rush of adrenaline propelled me forward, through the alley and down the side street behind the pub. I didn’t know why I was running, but Dawn’s uneasiness was infectious. If this guy was looking for Linda, he would surely want to speak with me at some time.
I half-walked, half-ran to my place and entered via the back door, in case another P.I. had staked out the front. I went to the living room windows and discreetly peered out. No unknown vehicles were parked on the street. An excellent sign, I thought.
I hadn’t heard from Dawn and decided to grab my gear to do some counter-surveillance of my own. Nearing the pub, I located the only black Caravan on the street and wrote down the licence plate number for future reference. I then set up a position on the opposite side of the road. While putting a new tape in my video camera, I saw my subject come into view. My cell phone immediately began to ring.
“What’s going on, Dawn?” I asked, recognizing the pub’s number on the caller display.
“He’s heading to the library to interview Linda’s co-workers and he’s staying at Holiday Cove,” Dawn replied without hesitation, although she did sound a bit out of breath.
“I’m impressed,” I commented. “Does he have
