The Big Chihuahua by Waverly Curtis Page B

your associates continue to gather evidence on my behalf. That’s one option.”
    Jimmy G looked thoughtful. “And the other?” “I’ll write you a check for one thousand right now. Of course, I still intend to subpoena your”—he narrowed his eyes and squinted at me—“operatives, as you call them. But”—he pointed his finger at me—“she better be licensed by then!”
    The phone began to ring. Mark frowned, then headed out into the hallway to answer it. I wondered if it was a sympathy call. I wondered if he had told anyone about his wife’s death. His voice was too low to hear what he was saying.
    Jimmy G sat down again, leaned back, and crossed his legs. He seemed pretty proud of himself. “See how it’s done, doll?” he asked.
    Mark slammed down the phone and reentered the living room. He was obviously shaken. His face was pale, his eyes frozen.
    “That was the county sheriff,” he said.
    I nodded. “Sheriff Pager,” I said.
    Mark gave me a sharp look. “Yes, Sheriff Pager. He says my wife was murdered.” He threw the word at me like an accusation.
    I was taken aback. “Really? Murdered?”
    “Yes, the good news is that they already have a suspect in custody.”
    “No!” I said, thinking of my sister.
    Mark looked at me with narrowed eyes. “Did you know this?”
    I shook my head, momentarily unable to speak.
    “Tell you what we’ll do,” said Jimmy G, going over to Mark and draping his arm around the other man’s shoulders. “My operatives here will go back up there and investigate this murder.”
    “Sounds like the sheriff already has it wrapped up,” said Mark.
    “Can’t be too careful,” said Jimmy G. “My associates have an inside track. Sheriff doesn’t have that.”
    Mark looked uncertain.
    “Of course, we’ll have to charge extra,” Jimmy G said. “For hazard pay. Can’t be sending my operatives into danger without additional compensation.”
    “How about twelve percent commission on the settlement?” asked Mark.
    “Fifteen percent,” countered Jimmy G.
    They finally settled at fourteen percent.
    As we walked away from the house, I said to Jimmy G, “We came here to get one thousand dollars and we’re leaving with nothing but a promise. I don’t see how that was so effective.”
    “Hey,” said my boss, “we came here to get one thousand dollars and we’re leaving with the potential of making . . .” He paused and scratched his head. “What’s fourteen percent of one million?”
    “It’s a gamble, boss. That’s what it is. And the odds are against us,” I said as we piled into Jimmy G’s car, a red Thunderbird convertible from the sixties.
    “Those are the kind of odds that Jimmy G likes,” he said as he revved up the engine. It sounded like it needed a muffler. “You don’t get the big payoffs without some risks.”
    “No wonder he is broke,” Pepe said.
    “So you gotta get yourself back up to that cult and start digging,” Jimmy G said as he pulled into traffic.
    “I am good at digging,” said Pepe.
    “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?” Jimmy G asked me. Before I could answer, he said, “Sure, they’re a bunch of weirdoes and it could be dangerous—Jimmy G knows that. But that’s the nature of the private dick business. Sometimes you just gotta put your neck on the line.”
    “ Sí . Our necks, not his ,” said Pepe.
    “No problem, boss,” I said. “We want to catch whoever did it as badly as anybody.”
    “ We ?” asked the boss, glancing over at me. Pepe was sitting on my lap. “Oh, yeah, you and the rat-dog. He’s a regular Sherlock Chihuahua.”
    “You would make a terrible Watson,” Pepe told Jimmy G.
    “OK,” I said. “We’ll head back up there first thing tomorrow.” I wanted to find out what I could about Terry. Was she the suspect?
    “Copacetic,” said my boss. “Jimmy G will come up, too. Establish a base camp so you can make regular reports.”
    “I hope we don’t have to join the cult,