Sleight of Perception

CHAPTER 1

         Walter Franco rolled over to hide his face from the shafts of morning light that bypassed his heavy curtains.  He tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t help but notice the other  half of his bed was empty. As empty as it was always every morning. The feeling just as desolate.
         Walter shuffled into his small apartment’s kitchen that was only big enough to hold four things: the fridge, the sink, the stove, and Walter Franco. He poured himself a tall glass of milk and drank. He hated milk but it was better than smoking a pack of Newport’s to get the day started. With a little more stride in his step he took four and was instantly in the living room where he slumped on the couch. He found the remote to his surprise right underneath him. The damn remote was never this close to the couch when he needed it. It usually found its way into the bathroom or on top of the TV.
         He flicked on the television and the local Chicago Channel Seven news popped up on the screen.  Walter was a middle aged black man. His stern looking face was only cut sharper by the shadows his dark skin cast. He had a mustache that was always trimmed and clean but his matted short layer of hair he called a fro was only occasionally attended to. His son James always asked him why he never fixed or at least cut his hair but Walter never gave a straight answer. He knew if he did answer honestly it would bring up a conversation about James’ mother, and he never felt ready to talk about her just yet. Even after all those years.
         James shuffled into the living room scratching the back of his head. His eyes squinted and his mouth slightly open from the shock he experienced from actually getting his ass out of bed in the morning. James took a look at his father’s hair and clicked his tongue like a concerned mother.
         “What,“ said Walter.
         “Nothing,”
         Walter flicked the channel with his remote and his attention was caught by the old black and white classic, The Maltese Falcon. Walter had seen the film a hundred times but was never not engrossed in Humphrey Bogart’s presence.
         James plopped on the couch next to his father and moaned when he saw the black and white screen. “Is it cold outside?”
         “Sure as hell ain’t spring time,” Walter looked at his son like he just realized he had company, “Why ain’t you at school?”
         “We’ve been through this dad. It’s called Christmas Break. Us kids get one every school year.”
         “Christmas Break huh?”
         “Yup.”
         Walter shook  his head, “Well it’s a crime. You should be at school, not here wasting your damn time,” and took another sip of his milk.
         James rubbed his squinted eyes of sleep and yawned, “Shouldn’t you be at work dad, doing what that what’s-his-name does?”
         He pointed at the TV as the smug looking detective punched Bogart in the mouth with a loud smack sound and the detective’s tall ‘good cop’ partner held Bogart back.
         Walter got off the couch and started for the bathroom with his glass of milk still in hand, “Don’t talk about Bogart. That man is a genius,” he waved a finger at James like he was his mother, “You mess with Bogie you mess with pops. And call Owen to have him come pick me up.”
         “The beater is on the blink still,” James complained.
         “It didn’t fix itself overnight.”

         Thirty minutes later Walter walked out the bathroom fully dressed in a gray suit and tie. He tossed his Kango hat on his head as he slid his arms into his coat.
         “I called Owen. He was already on his way here.”
         Walter rubbed his chin, something he always did when he was annoyed, his son had changed from his movie to a silly sitcom on BET.
         “Good. He should be here soon?”
         “Yup. Fix your tie dad,” said James.
         Walter ignored him. A horn beamed outside and James jumped to the window, “Owen is here already.”
         “Good. What are you going to do while I’m gone.”
         James’ attention returned to the television and he shrugged as he shoved a Hot Pocket into his mouth.
         “Yeah well why don’t you start by cleaning that damn kitchen.”
         “Got it pawps.”
         Walter caught a glimpse of the television and saw two black girls arguing and shouting at each other on the screen. A commercial for another reality show.
         “And if I come home and see this on my TV I’m gonna kick your thick head in. Ridiculous mess.”
         “Yup.”
         Walter walked down the steps of his apartment and into the bitter Chicago cold. A sudden fog of his own breath appeared before him and he buttoned up his coat a little more to cover his neck. As he strode across the side walk to the awaiting Honda he looked at his old car covered in inches of snow and he shook his head, “Damn.”
         He jumped into the warmth of the Honda and clapped hands with Owen. Owen was most-likely the biggest white-man in Chicago. He wasn’t fat like he always called himself, just big, tall, and meaty all around. His heavily greased black hair was slicked to the side and laid across his fore head slightly.
         “What the hell took you so long partner?”
         “Nothing.”
         “Cold as hell ain’t it,” he said as he wiped some fog off his window with a gloved hand so big Walter thought it was hard to believe he could find gloves so large.
         “Yup,” Walter said, and then cursed himself for picking up his son’s slang.
         “Oh hey,” Owen rubbed his red nose with his wrist, “is James sick or something? I thought he should be at school by now.”
         “Naw, he’s fine. He’s on some Winter Break thing.”
         Owen put the car in drive and we rolled off the curb, “Really? Winter Break? Never heard of it.”
         “That’s what I said.”


         They managed to get through traffic without much trouble and reach Martin Luther King dr. They rolled down the slush covered street till the building that was home to their offices came into sight. Owen lit a cigarette once they hit a red light. He inhaled the smoke and his broad chest lifted and fell as the cloud escaped his lips. He looked at the cigarette then at Walter.
         “No Owen, I do not want a smoke.”
         Owen shook his head and tapped the steering wheel waiting for the light to change. Walter was smoke-free for the past three months and never wanted to go back. He knew the smoke was killing him not because of the television ads but because strangely he always felt it killing him when he breathed in the relaxing gray smoke. So he stopped for good. But the temptation was always there and Owen heaving in cigarette after cigarette never helped.
         “I just want to see ya happy partner. You looked like you needed one.”
         “I’m fine man. I don’t need it.”
         Owen shook his big head slowly from side to side and as he spoke the cigarette bounced and danced between his thin lips, “I’ve heard a lot of guys say that, but I can tell. I don’t know what your trying to prove Walt by quitting but what ever it is you have. Three months man? You owe it to yourself.”
         “I owe it to myself,” Walter smiled.
         “Yeah man.”
         Walter could tell Owen was getting in to his serious talk mode and he didn’t feel like hearing a lecture about the true definition of addiction. Owen was a friendly guy and always joked around except for when it came to family, and to him Walter was his family.
         Walter laughed and rubbed his chin, “I owe it to myself. Well you let me be the judge of that partner. I promise when I feel I deserve a smoke I’ll smoke.”
         “You will?”
         “Yes, okay. When I feel like I have deserve it or accomplished a goal, what have you, I’ll have a good long smoke.”
         Owen plucked the cigarette from his mouth and looked Walter in the eyes.
         “Shit man I’m looking at you and I can tell you really need a smoke. You promised so you can’t go back on that.”
         “I wont.”
         A blast of car horns went off behind us and they realized they were holding up a green light. Owen rolled his window down and shot the bird to the angry drivers. We turned at the intersection and into the parking lot. Owen parked the car and we climbed out the Honda. Owen had a little more trouble than Walter getting his legs out and when he did get out he slammed the door in frustration.
         “Damn car. They make these things too small,” he said as he kicked a tire.
         Walter laughed to himself and looked at the sky so his partner couldn’t see him smiling, “Yeah, they sure do.”
         Walter and Owen walked into the small building just as the wind outside rushed by carrying a fresh flurry of snow. They both unbuttoned their coats as they walked past the small banking office on the first floor and up the steps to the second. The hallway on the second floor stretched only a few yards down and ended at a single glass door with a small lounge chair across from it. Black letters on the glass door read: BRITT AND FRANCO, PRIVATE INVESTIGATING SERVICES.
         Every time Walter saw those words he laughed remembering the argument he and Owen had about the name when they first started the business years ago. How Owen finally convinced Walter that putting the names in alphabetical order was best. Only after the damage was done did Walter realize his mistake. Franco and Britt sounded so much better to him.
         Walter unlocked the door and Owen followed him inside. Owen tossed his coat on the coat hanger and walked across the empty wood floor to his desk. Owen fell behind his desk into his swivel chair and waved his arm across the mess of papers and files scattered before him, “Behold.”
         Walter tossed his coat across his chair and sat down behind his clean desk. Everything was in order and neatly organized. He turned on the computer at his desk and waited for it to slowly turn on.
         He looked at Owen whom was rifling through papers trying desperately to quickly organized it all. Under a stack of papers Owen found a donut. He waved it in the air, “Finders keepers.”
         Owen looked through a recently dated folder on his desk and skimmed every page and photo.  “I swear,” he said in a mournful tone, “if we have to tail one more guy who’s cheating on his wife I’m going to lose it.”
         “Yeah well those unfaithful husbands pay the rent so next time thank one when you bust him out.”
         Owen leaned back and held out a folder as if he were handing it to some one, “ ‘Here you are Mrs. Jones. There is your proof that David is cheating on you for some Latin chick. In there is our bill, oh, and please tell David, Mrs. Jones, I said thank you.’ How’s that?”
         “Perfect.”
         Owen burst out laughing but Walter just smiled, he didn’t think it was that funny. Just as the computer’s screen popped up some one knocked on the glass door. Owen tried to suppress his laugh and ended up bending behind his desk coughing like he was about to lose a lung.
         Walter ignored his dying partner and shouted, “Come in.”
         The door opened and from Walter’s desk the first thing he saw enter the office was a long slim pair of legs in black high heels enter. The body, wrapped in a black dress and a thin coat and scarf, was just as gorgeous looking as the long brown locks of hair that seemed to tumble over her shoulders. She carried a leather purse around her wrist.
         This women who to Walter walked right off the run way and into their office looked absolutely amazing and when she managed to smile at Walter her white teeth shimmered. Owen looked up and nearly fell out of his seat upon seeing her.
         She nodded in our direction and said in the sweetest voice, “Hello.”
         “Hello ma’am,” Walter managed.
         Owen was speechless  and instead just managed to say, “Hey.”
         She walked over to Walter and shook  his hand from across the desk. She was about to shake Owens’ hand but once she saw it she just nodded in his direction again for fear if she gave him her hand it would be crushed.
         “My name is Nicole Solis. I need a private investigator.”
         Walter, always appearing professional, ignored her feline eyes that bit his chest and leaned back in his chair.
         “Well, Mrs. Solis, you’ve come to the right place. Please grab a seat.”
         Nicole Solis grabbed a chair in front of Walter’s desk and neatly straightened her dress as she sat down. “It’s Miss Solis please, but please call me Nicole.”
         Walter raised an eyebrow at her skeptically and smirked a bit. “Miss Solis,” he said, “would you care to tell us exactly why you need our services.”
         “Oh yes of course,” she said  then hesitated, “I have to be honest with you this seems rather silly, Mr. Britt, is it?”
         “No that’s wrong,” Walter pointed to Owen, “That’s Britt, this is Franco.”
         Owen waved at her awkwardly and repeated, “Hey.”
         Miss Solis looked at her feet feeling strangely embarrassed and said, “ I’m sorry Mr. Franco, Mr. Britt.”
         “That’s okay,” said Walter, “It happens all the time. Now tell us, why is it all this feels silly,” Walter waved a hand at the ceiling as though he presented the office before her.
         “No I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, well, this just seems like something in a movie. I’ve never hired a private investigator before.”
         “Well Miss Solis we will make it as easy as possible for you,” Walter said as he pulled out a pen and yellow pad, “First tell us what your problem is and I’ll let you know if our services fit your needs.”
         Miss Solis slowly exhaled for a minute and looked at her feet again. She didn’t look Walter or Owen in the eyes as she spoke. She said it all as if she were reading it right off her knees.
         “In October I started receiving strange letters in the mail.”
         “What’s so strange about ‘em?” said Owen as he bit into the donut he found.
         “Well they are love letters,”
         Owen and Walter shot each a quick glance, “Love letters?”
         “Yes, this man has been writing me love letters and saying things like he knows me.”
         “Do you have any, lovers?”
         Miss Solis looked up from her feet directly at Walter with the eyes of a shocked woman. Walter felt himself melt a little when he looked into her eyes, her red lips parted slightly, and a lock of hair fallen over her face. She pushed the hair out of her face and behind her ear.
         “No. That’s just it. I don’t have any lovers or a boyfriend but this man talks to me through these strange letters.”
         “Does he threaten you in the letters,” said Walter.
         “No, well yes, that he wants to do things to me.”
         “What things?” said Owen through a mouth full of donut.
         Walter shot him a quick look to shut his mouth but Owen only shrugged. She answered the question anyway, completely missing the two’s silent exchange.
         “Things of a sexual nature Mr. Britt. I’d rather not say any more.”
         “That’s fine Miss Solis,” said Walter, “ just focus on answering my questions for now. Number one, why contact us instead of the police?”
         “ Well I did contact the police a long time ago and they said they’d investigate into the matter but never called me back or any thing. They said just as long as he wasn’t causing any physical harm I was safe. They told my sister the same thing.”
         Walter had been following her every word carefully until then. He had even written down her every word but stopped at that moment. Owen was also engrossed in the woman’s story, so engrossed he even managed to set his half-eaten donut aside for another time.
         Walter rapped his desk with the end of his pen, “So your sister is receiving these strange sexual love letters as well?”
         “Yes, both of us started receiving them at the same time. She is my twin sister, Arlene.”
         “So you have a twin sister who’s been receiving these love letters too, are these letters identical in any way.”
         “Word for word.”
         Walter sat there in silence for a while thinking. The only sound that penetrated the silence was the sound of the now howling wind outside and the sound of heavy snowflakes lightly bouncing off the windows. Walter stood out of his desk, removed his gray over coat and dropped it on his desk. As he walked around the desk and into the middle of the office he loosened his crooked tie and ran the tips of his fingers through his scruffy hair against his scalp. Then he stopped, hands in pockets, eyes closed.
         “Mr. Franco?”
         Walter opened his eyes and looked into hers. She was scared and confused. Walter knew that her fear of this strange man was not fake but genuine. Her fear was real. The way her breathing was soft and shallow as if she feared a prowler would hear. They way her pupils shrunk and shook in small rapid increments. Walter took a deep breath taking in all the information before him before speaking.
         “Tell me if I’m right ma’am,” said Walter in a near whisper, “You and your sister are twins that both live in Chicago. In October you both began receiving letters of a loving and sexual nature. Neither you or your sister have any idea who would send you these letters or why. You call the police, they can’t do any thing about it or just don’t care. Trust me, I know the Chicago police. And ever since October you both have been receiving these letters on a daily basis?”
         “No, only occasionally. I would guess four or five times a month,”
         “You and your sister identical twins,”
         “Yes,”
         “And the letters you two receive are on identical days. The letters themselves are identical as well. Word for word, as you said,”
         “Yes,”
         Walter looked at his partner for a moment looking for a response but he only shrugged and gave Walter a thumbs up. Walter rolled his eyes and rubbed his chin thinking, ‘What the hell does that mean Owen?’
         “Miss Solis, one last question. Why didn’t your sister come with you if this matter concerns the both of you?”
         “Oh, she doesn’t know I came here. Believe me she is as worried about it as I am but Arlene is usually afraid to take action, should I say? She is very shy.”
         “I see. One more question, why did it take you three months to look for some one to help you find out who this man was? If you knew the police were doing nothing then why did you do nothing.”
         Miss Solis crossed her legs and straightened her black dress against her thighs and pushed and imaginary lock of hair behind her ear. She took another long look at the ground for help then looked at Walter.
         “Mr. Franco, Mr. Owen, do you ever get the feeling you are being watched. Like some one out there is watching your every move. Studying your every motion. Like you’re a lab rat.”
         Owen made the mistake of opening his mouth again, “You mean like the government?”
         “No Mr. Britt, I mean a little closer to home. Like a single man.”
         Walter thought the question was silly and almost absurd but the more he dwelled on it the more uneasy he felt. He imagined himself walking home from work and some one person who he didn’t know was always there at the same time and place reading him like a book. Or  a single man following his son around the streets of Chicago as he hung out with his friends, knowing that out of all the people in the city of Chicago that for some strange reason, addiction, attraction, he chose his son.
         “No Miss Solis I have never had that feeling before,” said Walter trying to hide the shake in his voice as the idea went through his head like a never ending real of film.
         “Since October, since I have been receiving the letters I have felt that way. No matter how public the place is I never feel safe.”
         “Does your sister feel the same?”
         “We never talk about it. It’s too disturbing but I think she does. You see, we just tried to go on with our lives and ignore the letters. It came to the point were I tossed them in the trash every time they came without even opening them. Never a return address. Then, a few weeks ago, I started feeing like I was being watched and I began to panic. I came here on impulse, that’s why my sister doesn’t know about me coming here.”
         Walter watched her as she nervously switched and crossed her other leg and pushed another invisible string of hair behind her hair. Walter smiled at how vulnerable this woman looked. He couldn’t sustain his laugh and as he laughed he walked over to Miss Solis and took her hand.
         “Stand up Miss Solis,”
         She was a little confused but she did and flattened her black dress against her thighs some more. Miss Solis eventually looked into Walter’s comforting smile as he took hold of both hands.
         “Nicole,” he said, “do you feel safe here?”
         She looked at Walter’s hands and her shallow breathing disappeared. She looked into Walter’s eyes and smiled as a tear fell down her cheek, exhaling like a load of pain had suddenly disappeared.
         “Yes Mr. Franco,” she said, “I feel safe here, I trust you.”
         “All right then,” Walter couldn’t help but notice how soft her hands were, “what is it exactly that you want my partner and I to do.”
         She didn’t break her gaze from his this time and didn’t bother wiping the tear from her cheek, “I want you to find this man and make him stop,”
         Walter gave her a soft hug and let go but she didn’t seem to want to let go of him. Her chin nestled deep in his shoulder and her nails softly gripping his shirt. The soft scent of her hair was tempting, as tempting as the cigarettes he had quit three months ago. He had never been that close to a woman in years since his wife was still with him and it felt good yet strangely uncomfortable. He slowly pushed her away and she wiped the tears from her face.
         “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
         Walter patted her shoulders and walked around to his desk and returned to his seat.  He asked Owen, “What do you think,” and hoped he wouldn’t regret it.
         “I say we take it. Just find the scum bag and make sure he sees us in his nightmares for the rest of his life. To me that sounds easy enough,” he said as he leaned back and cracked his knuckles.
         Walter grabbed his pen again and scribbled some more notes onto his pad, admired his work, returned his attention to Miss Solis.
         “Okay Miss Solis we’ll take your case. Starting today though you have to tell your sister and you both be here tomorrow morning at noon. Bring any letters you two have left so we can have a look at them. And bring your heads too, we need to know everything about who you are, were you go, and what you do. Then we will set up a dates were Owen and I can tail you and your sister to see if this guy, who ever he is, is really following you as you believe. There won’t be much privacy in our investigation, and I know this is your first time so I need to know if you are prepared for that sort thing. Are you?”
         This all hit Miss Solis so fast she was still trying to understand what he said a few seconds after he finished.
         “Yes, I think I am.”
         Owen said, “Well you may be, but check with your sister and if she’s down. If so, you both be here noon tomorrow.”
         Miss Solis managed a smile at Owen and nodded. Walter shook Miss Solis’ hand again from across his desk and again  he couldn’t get over how soft they felt.
         “Nice meeting you Miss Solis. Here is my card with my home office and cell phone numbers. Call me when ever you feel the need to.”
         “Thank you, and ,” she looked into her purse and pulled out a check book, “how much will all this cost? Your services.”
         “We’ll talk about all that when the case is closed ma’am. Do you have a safe way home?”
         “I do,” she put the check book back in her purse.
         “Good then,” said Walter.
         Walter and Owen sat there for a moment waiting for Miss Solis to leave. Her leaving is what they expected but she didn’t. She just remained in that spot as if he high heels where nailed to the floor. Walter rested his face on his fist and looked at her, skeptical.
         “Is there something else you want to tell us Miss Solis?”
         She looked into her purse again and reached inside but suddenly stopped. She didn’t just look at Walter but this time studied him as he had studied her every move before.
         “I said I trusted you, didn’t I Mr. Franco?”
         “Yes ma’am, you did.”
         She pulled a medium sized teddy bear out of her purse and held the innocent looking thing out to him. Walter looked at the bear and at Miss Solis.
         “Well, that’s very nice but I can’t accept it.”
         “Please take it Mr. Franco, consider it an early Christmas present.”
         Walter couldn’t find it in him to deny her any longer and eventually took the bear into his hands and placed it on his desk. The bear, sitting at the end of his desk, staring into oblivion with his two beady black eyes.
         “Thank you Miss Solis,” said Walter.
         “It’ll be safe there,” she said
         “Of course,”
         Miss Solis nodded and smiled at the two of them then made her way to the door. Just before she grabbed the door knob Walter called, “Miss Solis,”
         “Yes,”
         Walter leaned into his desk and spoke very softly and slowly as if he were speaking to a four year old about a very sensitive matter.
         “Miss Solis,” he said, “don’t lie to us. We are not the police, we work for you. Remember that.”
         “Of course,” she said and let herself out.
         Walter leaned back in his chair and exhaled loudly, scratched his nappy hair. Walter couldn’t help but notice Owen staring at him. His brow bunched up as if he just missed something.
         “Is there a problem?”
         “Why did she get you a Christmas present and not me?” said Owen.
         Walter smiled and nearly burst out laughing. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
         “Are you jealous?”
         “What,” he waved Walter off, “I was just asking.”
         “Do you want the Teddy bear Owen? You can have it if it means that much to you. I hate seeing your feelings hurt,” said Walter and held the Teddy bear in Owen’s direction, shook it from side to side causing its flimsy arms and legs to swing in a little dance.
         Owen ignored the dancing teddy bear and shoved the last of his donut into his mouth.
         “Screw you kid.”