"What are you saying? I just met her last night at The Office and she told me she lived here. She gave me this address." A high-pitched whine came across the airwaves.
"Well buddy, if you met her at your office, you should be able to find her pretty easy." Simon yawned rudely and loudly hoping this guy would take the hint and leave.
"Not my office, The Office, the bar at the corner of Main and Maple Streets. Obviously you’re not into the Voodoo scene."
"Obviously not. The only creatures of the night I like are the ones who bake donuts and make coffee." Simon fingered his gold loop earring.
"What? I’m confused." The caller sniffled.
"Well, I don’t want to confuse….Sorry, buddy, I don’t know your name and I really need to get back to bed." Simon yawned again, this time on purpose.
"I knew it, she’s there, isn’t she? I’m going to charge through this door right now and throttle you mister. Then I’m going to stomp on your…."
"Just to let you know buddy, my hands are registered as deadly weapons." So is my Smith and Wesson, Simon thought to himself. Not that he was concerned with a guy who sounded like a squeaky mouse, but he opened the closet door to ensure his police issued asp was where he last left it.
"Oh sorry. You know I wouldn’t really hurt you. I’m a Boy Scout Leader. My name is Harold and if you do talk to Alice, can you tell her to call me?"
"Harold, I don’t even know Alice. I’m just subletting the apartment from her. Never even met her, everything went through the real estate agent. But she must like you or why would she give you her address? Did she seem like the type who liked playing head games?" Lord knows his ex-wife Courtney played more head games than competitors in a chess tournament.
"Well, she didn’t give it to me per say. I saw her leave the club and I wrote down her license plate number. I went to the Department of Motor Vehicles and told a little fib that she’d hit my car. I charmed the gal there. She didn’t have freckles but maybe I should ask her out!"
"Lord, did nine eleven teach us nothing?" Simon mumbled to himself. He couldn’t arrest Harold for stalking but if there was a law for trying a cop’s patience, Harold would be in a cell, with the key thrown away "Sounds like you went to a lot of work to find this Alice." Maybe I should check her out myself, instead Simon said, "If I do happen to run into her, maybe you can tell me what she looks like? Just so I’m not handing your phone number out all over town."
"How do you describe an angel on earth? She has the fiery red hair that flows down her back. Her face is covered with freckles that I wanted to play dot to dot with. And her jeans looked like they were custom made for her butt." Harold let out a heartfelt snivel.
While Simon could feel for poor Harold, been there, done that. Though he’d never hit the DMV to find a chick, Simon decided he was definitely going to have to find this Alice. He had a weakness for red hair and freckles. His ex wife was a blond and he was definitely staying away from that hair color in the future. Only thing blond hair got him were alimony payments and a pain in the butt.
"Not only that she is the kindest, nicest person I’ve ever met. She was into buying me drinks. Those type of women are few and far between, so she must have thought I was a keeper." Harold bragged.
"Look buddy, it’s been a slice chatting with you, but I have to go to work in three hours, so I’m signing off now." Simon released the button and climbed into his bed, nestling into the three hundred-count cream-colored sheets. The one thing he did learn from Courtney was to appreciate good thread count. Checking to confirm his alarm was set he fell into a fitful sleep of angels on fire.
Simon felt like he’d only been asleep for a minute when he was awakened by his alarm clock. He reached over to hit the snooze button, but the ringing continued. Realizing it was the phone, Simon felt blindly for it, knocking over a full glass of water and a month old Playboy magazine, which he read for the articles.
"Shit," he said into the phone as he swung his legs over the bed and immediately his feet hit the wet carpet. Simon hated wet feet. Indiana Jones had snakes Simon Keirsey had wet feet. Actually he wasn’t a member of the snake fan club and bugs weren’t high on his list either. Glancing down at the magazine, he swore again as he noticed all the pages were curled and puckered. Now he’d never find out how the article ended.
"Hello, is Detective Keirsey there?" a high-pitched female voice asked.
"Who the heck is this and what do you want?" He growled into the phone.
"Sir, it’s Penny from the station calling. Can you hold for Staff Markham?" Without waiting for an answer, she put him on hold.
"Like I have a choice?" Simon picked up the magazine and began fanning out the pages. Miss October would never be the same. Hoping it wasn’t an omen as to how the day was going to evolve, Simon listened to ‘Musk rat Love’ while he waited for his boss.
"Simon, Greg here. Get your ass down here, we’ve found another one."
It was an omen.
