Chapter 1- The Curious R. Nussbaum
As Helene made her way up to the rusted, and weathered door of the foreboding warehouse, she couldn't help, but get a little shiver down the small of her back. She pushed her finger against a barely-breathing buzzer with the name "R. Nussbaum" haphazardly scribbled beside it. It made a weak attempt at producing a sound faintly reminiscent of a "buzz" and with a disarming clank the door unlocked. The innards of the warehouse were completely the color of midnight, except for what light was shining through the broken window on the opposite end of the vast room.
"Up here, Ms. BonMarte," a gruff voice called out of the shadows from above. "There is a staircase to your left, sorry about the lack of lighting," he added half-heartedly.
She looked up to see a catwalk, and in the dim luminescence, she could just make out a rather largish man. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she found her way to the wrought-iron, industrial staircase, and stepped carefully and noisily up each step. The squeaks and sound of metal rubbing against itself filled the almost barren warehouse floor with an eerie series of echos. As she was ascending, she did notice what appeared to be a brand new BMW, lacklusterly veiled under a sheet that wasn't quite doing as it was intended.
"Can't you walk any faster, Ms. BonMarte?" he barked. "I have a very tight schedule."
Helene was glad it was so dimly lit now, so he couldn't see her scoff at his self-importance. She finally made her way up to the landing and saw for the first time, Mr. Nussbaum in full focus.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Nussbaum, I am Helene BonMarte," she said curtly as she thrust out her hand for him to shake.
"I know who you are, Ms. BonMarte. Please come into my office, and shut the door behind you."
Helene walked cautiously into his office, which thankfully had the full spectrum of colors. She closed the old-fashioned wooden door behind her, against her better judgement.
"Have a seat," he said as he gestured to one of two dilapidated institutional-looking chairs, as he sauntered behind his desk covered in a sea of papers.
She reluctantly took a seat on a low-slung black vinyl/duct tape excuse for a chair and pulled out a leather-bound journal and pen. "Mr. Nussbaum, you seem to be a very busy man, so let's just get right down to it, then. How may I be of service to you?"
"You're right I am a very busy man and I don't have time for games, especially when it comes to matters with-" he paused slightly and uncomfortably at this point. "With women. I have a case for you to look into, one that is very, very important that I get to the bottom of."
"If you could tell me of the details about the case, it would be a good start. I am guessing you are involved with said 'woman.'"
"Yes, I have been seeing a particular woman for the past few months. Everything seemed to be going fine for a while, but, you know, with a woman like that, things don't go smoothly for very long." He started looking around the room nervously, pulling on the collar of his very expensive Italian shirt. He even began to softly choke. Sweat was beginning to bead atop his increasing forehead. He was quite an imposing man, built like a refrigerator, really. When he stood he had to be 6'4 or maybe even taller. His sausage-like fingers wrapped around his cellphone, encasing it in a death-grip, so much so that it looked like it would give way at any moment and shatter into a million tiny electronic pieces.
"You don't seem like you are feeling well, perhaps I should come back another time?" Helene said, now feeling more anxious herself.
"No!" he snapped. "I mean, you are all ready here, you came all this way, let's just have the meeting now," he said faux-apologetically.
"That's fine, just tell me everything you can about this woman, then." Helene said exasperatingly.
"Well, I met her a few months ago, in a little piano club I have a hand in." Mr. Nussbaum's demeanor changed suddenly. He got a far-away glint in his eye. "She walked in, she had this commanding presence. She wore this floor-length satin gown, in the old halter style. It was this inky black, with these sparkling eyes to match. I hadn't ever seen such a creature. She was shamelessly flirting with all the waitstaff, she had them all eating out of the palm of her hand. She has this warmth to her smile, that just made everything she uttered past her candy-red lips seem so sincere. I knew right then, she was to be mine."
"Mr. Nussbaum, that is a very lovely story, but what has this got to do with why you called me here?" Helene prodded.
Mr. Nussbaum continued, as if he didn't hear a word. "I sent Pedro over with a bottle of our best champagne and two glasses. 'Oh, I didn't order this,' I heard her say to Pedro. 'I know Miss, it's compliments of Mr. Nussbaum, the owner,' Pedro responded. At this point, I made my way over to her table, 'That will be fine, Pedro. Please pour this lovely lady some champagne,' as I casually slid into the booth. From there we talked and laughed all night, as if we were old friends, reconnecting after so many years." Mr. Nussbaum reminisced. He seemed very impressed with himself.
"Mr. Nussbaum, can you please just give me the facts of the case? What is it you need from me? I am not here to listen to faded past-glories or misty-eyed romances. Get a hold of yourself, Mr. Nussbaum."
This seemed to shake something loose in Mr. Nussbaum, and his demeanor swung the opposite direction, yet again. "Of course I didn't call you here to listen to some, as you put it, 'past glories,' you petulant girl. I called you here to find out who's she's been fucking! I know she is two-timing me, I can just feel it. And nobody plays Richard Nussbaum for a fool, especially not some cheap harlot," he was positively shouting now. Veins in his neck began to distend and bulge, sweat was coming down quite fast now, and that enfeebled phone in his hands would be gasping for air if it had lungs.
"So, you think your girlfriend is cheating on you?" Helen summed up succinctly.
"I don't think that little trollop is cheating on me, I know she is," he retorted.
"Well if you know, what is it you need from me?" Helene posited.
"I can't be sure, I need some proof, and I want to know who it is. I need his name."
Something sent another shiver down Helene's back when Mr. Nussbaum hung on the word "name." She needed the money from this job, but she got the distinct feeling that there was something much more sinister going on here, than just a cheating girlfriend.
"So what makes you think she is cheating?"
"She always seems to be too busy to see me lately, she only lets me come up to the house after midnight. And she has a lot of "friends" that call her all hours of the night. And one night last week, I had to leave abruptly for an emergency business thing. She seemed pretty dismayed to say the least, but I had to. I had left a, pardon me, I don't know how else to put this, condom," he coughed, "on the bedside table and jokingly remarked that it better be there when I get back the next night. Well as it turns out, the next night, it was gone. I wanted to ask her about it, but she pre-empted me saying that she went to put it in the drawer when she noticed it was tore open, so she just threw it away. I know for a fact that I didn't tear it open, I was going to take it with me, but decided I might as well just leave it there. So I took it out of my pocket, completely intact, and set it on the nightstand. When I questioned her further about it, she was adamant that it was opened, and that I must have done the opening. I know it wasn't opened. I mean why would I leave an opened condom on the nightstand? It just doesn't make sense, something doesn't add up."
"Is there any way you just ripped it, not thinking, you know, in the heat of the moment? Or perhaps it was ripped all ready, from when you separated it from it's condom brethren?"
"What are all you women in on this together, or something? That's exactly what she said. I can't believe this shit," he muttered under his breath.
"It's my job to ask questions, Mr. Nussbaum. I am a P.I. as you very well know. I would be more than happy to look into this matter for you. If it's not too crass, I would like to discuss my fee at this time. It's $100 a day plus expenses, and I think a bonus of $1000 is in order if I can produce a name definitively."
"Yes, yes, whatever you want, I just need to know," as Mr. Nussbaum waved his hand dismissively.
"And of course, I will need my first day's payment in advance and in cash," Helene said in a deadpan tone.
Mr. Nussbaum reached into the pockets of his Italian crepe suit pants and pulled out a wad of cash as thick as a phonebook. He tossed two hundred dollar bills onto the desk. "Here, take two day's worth, but I expect results, young lady. You came very highly recommended, but I don't impress easily."
"You seem pretty easily satisfied with yourself." Helene thought nastily.
"Oh yes, before I forget, what is the woman's name in question?" she asked while striding towards the door.
He took a long pause before answering, he cleared his throat, "It's Jessica, Jessica Harrington-Drake," he sputtered out reluctantly. "I'm sure you can see yourself out."
Helene couldn't quite remember where she had heard that name before as Mr. Nussbaum slammed the door behind her.
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