No Contest

There was a rip and yelp as the man’s pants failed at the seams. The image consultant fell.

But not for long. Something locked on his hand, and when he opened his eyes again he was standing inside his salon on the eighth floor of a historic building in downtown Albuquerque, New Mexico.

“What’s the story on Meredith Fordham?” Remo prodded.

Vlad Florescu adjusted his trousers and didn’t seem embarrassed that the inseam had ripped open to the shins. “I did it for her son, Jack. The boy was in trouble.”

“So you helped him kill his mother?”

“She was dead already. The poor woman was a heroin addict. How she managed to hide it from me for all these years I will never know. She was my best friend.”

“What about Jack?”

“Jack is…very intelligent.”

“Yes?”

“And reckless. Irresponsible. But so smart. Anyway, I came to the house to have dinner. We cooked dinner together once a week, Meredith and I. Usually on Mondays but occasionally on Tuesdays. I let myself in, and there was Meredith, dead on the living-room carpet. Jack was in a panic. He was devastated about his mother. She had overdosed herself, you see.”

“Oh boy,” Remo said. “You were doing okay until the end.” The image consultant went out the window again, this time dangling by his ankle. His shout echoed among the high-rises.

“If I let you back inside, do you think you can stick to the truth?”

“Yes, I believe so,” said Florescu, who didn’t look at all like a Vlad.

“I got to hand it to you, Vlad, you are one cool customer.”

“Thank you,” Vlad Florescu said, although he was rather winded. He tried to adjust his trousers, but his trousers were now draped on a No Parking sign in the street below.

“Where was I?”

“Telling me how Meredith Fordham died and why you went along with it,” Remo said.

Vlad Florescu told the truth this time. “The boy did it. He never said so, and I think he wanted me to believe she killed herself, but I know he did it. I helped him get her into an incineration shaft in a local landfill.”

“And in exchange you got…

“My life! I was sure he was going to kill me, too! Plus, er, he gave me fifty thousand dollars from the life insurance.”

Remo rolled his eyes.

“From her savings account. I meant savings account.”

“Ever see Jack again?”

“No, should I?”

“How long ago was this?”

“A year, maybe a year and a half. How is Jack?”

“Rotting in hell.”

“Jack’s dead?” Vlad gasped.

“I didn’t say that.”

Vlad was confused.

“Now, go over one part of the story again,” Remo said. “You walked into the apartment and Meredith was dead. Right?”

“Right. Well, maybe not quite dead. But she was dead soon after that.”

Remo looked expectant.

“She was out cold. Her head was bashed in, you see. But she was still alive. I told Jack she was still alive. He said he didn’t believe me, but I think he did. She, you know, screamed. When she was, you know, burned up.”

Remo nodded. “Now, just so I have it straight, Vlad, you burned your best friend alive for fifty grand.”

“Well,” Vlad said slowly, “yes. I do feel bad about it now.”

Remo nodded and glanced out the window, “Oh, look. There’s your pants.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t you want to see them?”

“No. They’re torn. I have no use for them.”

“But it’s kind of funny. They landed on a No Parking sign.”

“Heh” Vlad said.

“Have a look.” Remo gave Vlad a nice close look at the pants. As Vlad plummeted toward the pants, he kept his eyes closed until, at the last moment, he opened them and saw the pants. He saw the No Parking sign they were draped over, then Vlad became as one with the No Parking sign and the torn pants.

Much later that evening as the coroner labored to separate man, pants and sign, he was amused to discover a fake mustache, which had apparently become stuck to the No Parking sign by some prankster shortly before the pants and the image consultant were skewered on it

Chapter 3

“I think that about wraps it up for Remo,” said Remo, standing at an Albuquerque pay phone at a sprawling Happy Go Gas Service, Snacks & Shopping Hub. If he wanted to, he could have purchased gasoline, magazines, fast food, canned beverages, home remodeling equipment, travel insurance and bronze cowboy sculptures, all at this one place. He could get his oil changed, get his hair cut and buy tiny hamburgers by the sackful. As if that weren’t enough, several vendors hawked their wares in the grass along the street.

The feature that most attracted Remo to Happy Go Gas, however, was the vast asphalt. He needed at least three acres to make a U-turn in the vehicle he was driving.

“I don’t think we have wrapped up anything.” The man on the other end sounded calm but sour, as if he had been sucking a lemon just before he picked up the receiver.

“I made a to-do list.” Remo fished in the pockets of his tan Chinos, retrieving a FedEx receipt with a scrawled note on the back. “Here it is. Remo’s to-do list. Item one—wrap up Jack Fast loose ends. I’ll just scratch that one off right now.”

“Remo—”