I drove around in the residential part of town until I located a corner with a view obscured by fencing and hedges. I threw the bike down into the gutter and began to kick the crap out of it, bending rims, breaking spokes, scratching off paint. I drove back down to Main Street and called 9-1-1 from a pay phone.
"Yeah, I'm calling to report a hit and run."
"What's your location, sir?"
"I'm in Brownewood at the corner of Clover Street and Menton Lane."
"Can you tell me what happened?"
"Yeah, a car hit a kid on a bike."
"Is the cyclist injured?" the 911 operator queried.
"I'm not sure," I replied. "As soon as it happened, I ran to a pay phone."
"Is there anyone with the victim now?"
"I'm not sure. I'm sorry."
"That's okay, sir," the operator assured me. "Did you get a description of the vehicle?"
"It was a blue car, a Chevy, I think. I wrote down the license number."
Right. That ought to keep my snoopy friends busy while I spend the afternoon in Kingsburg.
The drive took an hour and fifteen minutes. It might be a little longer from the city center, but it was commutable from the Pembertons' neighborhood..
Ross Pemberton's health club was located in a shopping center on one of the main roads in and out of town. The area was zoned for commercial use, mostly restaurants, retail stores, motels, and professional offices.
I was greeted by a youthful staff. I explained that I might be relocating soon and wanted to check out fitness centers in the area. An energetic young lady named Barb gave me the typically useless tour.
"Here are the weight machines," Barb indicated. "Here are the bikes and the elliptical trainers. And here's the room where we hold our classes, Pilates, yoga, kick boxing."
I nodded my head and smiled with approval at each station. I could have figured out most of this myself, but it gave me a chance to look around the place and to check out Barb's lovely, toned bottom. By the way, Barb, you have the dullest job in the world.
"It all looks very nice," I said when we walked back toward the desk. Barb would be wanting to make a deal. Now was the time to do so e fishing.
"I had kind of a bad experience at my last gym," I mentioned.
"Oh, what happened?" Barb asked.
"They didn't keep the place up very well," I explained. "It needed some major repairs. And the owner kept raising the rates."
"Oh, no!" she exclaimed with false empathy. "Our owner is really nice! He's here a lot, and he makes sure that things are running smoothly."
"Is he here today?" I wondered out loud.
"No, sorry, he's not in today," Barb explained.
"Well, it seems like a nice place," I said. "Do you enjoy working here?"
"Oh, yeah! It's great!" she beamed. "We can use all of the facilities, and we have good healthcare benefits. Even the part-timers do."
"Wow! That's unusual," I noted.
She seemed genuinely pleased. "Oh, yeah!" she continued. "And they pay tuition if we want to take classes."
"You mean like qualifications for training?" I asked. The benefit package seemed too good to be true.
"No, college!" she replied with even more enthusiasm than normal. The gym was beautiful, and the employees all seemed happy. It wasn't what I was expecting.
"I should know in a couple of weeks whether I'm going to get the job in Kingsburg," I said. "Can I let you know then?"
One of Pemberton's drugstores was located just down the road. The story there was the same - great owner, cares about everybody, incomparable benefits, no one wants to leave. It seemed to paint a different picture of Pemberton than his wife's description. Who was Ross Pemberton? A philanderer connected to the rackets, as Mrs. P suggested, or the patron saint of unskilled labor?
I mulled over the incongruities as I drove back to the city. Why was Mrs. Pemberton's description of her husband so different than that of his employees? Something didn't add up.
Who were the clowns in the blue Chevy, and why we're they staking out the Pemberton residence? She said that she thought that she was being followed. Were they hired to keep tabs on her?
If only I hadn't lost Mrs. Pemberton's file. Something in the contents might have linked this all together. The receipts...something seemed odd about one of them, but I couldn't remember it clearly now. I should have looked them over more closely.
I picked up a chicken parmigiana sandwich and took it back to the apartment. I wasn't eager to tackle the mess on the floor. I set the .22 on the desk, poured myself a drink, and enjoyed my dinner despite the feeling that I was missing something.
I opened the gun cabinet and pulled out the envelope. The money was all there, and there weren't any other papers inside. The envelope felt heavy. It was made of high quality paper.
There was an insignia: Twin Bear Casino at Awahneechee Lake.
I looked up the number and phoned the front desk. "Yes, Mr. Pemberton's room, please."
There was an insignia: Twin Bear Casino at Awahneechee Lake.
I looked up the number and phoned the front desk. "Yes, Mr. Pemberton's room, please."
Mr. Pemberton isn't staying with us at this time," the clerk responded. She didn't hesitate. He's seen there as a regular or a whale, if not both.
"Could you tell me if he'll be coming later this week?"
"We're not permitted to give out that information."
"Thank you very much!"
"Goodbye!"
It had been a while since I last set foot in a casino. That streak ends tomorrow.
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