Don Scribner’s Blog Actor, Screenwriter, Songwriter, Singer

Whitey was out front having a cigarette.  He doused it and we walked in together.  The Ranch was packed.  It was later than I thought.  I should have realized that by the color of night, but I was operating on the energy of thought.  Melanie spotted us and immediately, came around the bar arms open and hugged Whitey.  His smile was infectious.  She also hugged me.  It was nice, but not quite as dear.   She did enjoy Whitey and she was like a dart quickly setting an upside down shot glass in front of a customer and asking him to move down a stool to make room for us.  The guy nodded his appreciation for the free drink, moved and acknowledged us.

Two beers arrived in post haste and without hesitation Whitey produced his list of names from Barbara Jean and Tuffy.  I pulled out mine also.  “I told you I didn’t recognize anyone, but maybe it’ll be like a crossword puzzle.  Pick it up later and see something you didn’t before.”  This time I noticed they were all female.

We went over each one.  Whitey would say it and I’d repeat it.   We were trying to stimulate memory or simple recognition.  After the third pass at it I finally told him I felt like a kid staring at a ceiling discovering images that weren’t there.  Just by repetition I began to sense recognition.  We chose to drop it at least until we had more information about them.

Melanie was back asking if we needed anything.  We hadn’t even touched our beers so we just smiled and shook our heads like little kewpie dolls.  Then Melanie spoke, “My car was scratched last night… probably after I got home.  It’s the first time in months I parked it on the street.  Damn kids.  That’s almost as personal as my art.”

Whitey suddenly vented loudly enough that patrons turned.  “It is as personal as anything.”  Melanie was a little taken a back, but Whitey didn’t apologize as he continued.  “Hell, maybe I should be happy, without criminals I’m out of a job.”  He took his first sip of beer and stood.  “You have that car here?”  She nodded.  “Guess I should have a look.”

“White Land Rover out back.  Can’t miss it.”

The scratch, on the passenger side, looked like a huge 7, which is two-thirds of the Z on Missey’s car.  Whitey squatted and as he looked.  “She said she didn’t hear her car alarm go off, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t.  It went off.  That’s why this isn’t finished.  I’m calling Sam.  He’ll have someone check her neighbors.  Maybe someone saw something.”  Whitey stood as he continued to stare at the damage.  “This is connected buddy boy, which means you are connected and I knew it.  Sensed it.  It’s coming together I can feel it.”

I didn’t know what I was feeling, but I knew I didn’t like feeling connected.

We went back into the bar and Whitey questioned Melanie.  She was adamant that she didn’t see anyone or hear anything.  She was vegging out with her surround sound.  She also said she brought out her shotgun and quickly added “And, yes I can use it.”

Whitey turned to me just as someone called a woman to the stage.  It was karaoke night.  “I give people a hell of a lot of credit for getting up there.  And if it’s bad you can still always talk.  Just like anywhere… there’s always something else going on.  Take a look around and tell me anything suspicious.”

I looked and quickly responded.  “Guy on the corner of the bar reminds me of the Unabomber with that hood.  The biker at the pool table makes me think cautious just because of his tattoos, rings and that scary woman he’s with.  But only the Unabomber makes me suspicious… the flower of deception.”

“That’s right poet, everyone is suspect even the cute little flower.”  Whitey’s phone rang.  He read the name and raised his eyebrows.  “Yo.  Fax came in right?  No, we’re not there.  Hold on a second.”  He motioned to Melanie who came bounced right over.  “Melanie, you have a fax here that we could use here?”

Melanie jotted down the number.  “Sure, here.”

Whitey nodded thanks.  “Okay, here we go.  Yes, it’s a bar.  Yes, I want you to fax something to a bar.  If it will make you feel any better we’ll order food.  Jealousy gets you no where.”     He gave him the number.

It was interesting to hear one side of their little respectful banter and thought I’d be able to use some of it in my writings.

We were sitting close enough to the office area that we could hear the fax already arriving.  Today’s technology still dazes me.  I can’t even imagine investigating crime fifty years ago.  We were still on the dial up telephone in the 60’s and the push button didn’t come into play until the 70’s and computers… it’s like they’ve replaced lungs… we can’t live without one.  It’s all about information and information is what we need right now.

A minute later Melanie set a pile of pages in front of Whitey.

“Look at this.  She starts out with guys.  There weren’t any on the list.”

Somehow looking at male names and pictures seemed more appropriate, however there were only four and none were familiar, but Whitey spoke each name aloud to try to spur my recognition.

“They seem pretty efficient.  This first guy, George Smith is a friend of the family an Arapaho Indian from Sheridan, Wyoming… flew out to do a seminar and rode back with Barbara Jean.  They included him because they must be thorough.”  Whitey put the picture out while talking.  “You tell me if anything hits.”

I nodded in agreement and added:  “Arapaho… that’s a strong word… makes a statement.”

The other three pictures and names of boyfriends meant nothing.  All I was doing was shaking my head.  “They all look like nice guys.”

“And so will the killer or thief… probably.  Don’t forget Ted Bundy or Andrew Cunanan.  Hell, they were considered nice and handsome as hell.”

“Cunanan was gay and killed only gays… Versace for one.”

“ Your point?”

Guess I didn’t have one so I just shrugged and looked at the pictures of the women.  Nothing sparked.  Several pictures were missing and Barbara Jean stated she would continue the search and if located, fax them.

“Alright we gave it a shot.”  He picked up the papers.  “You have these at your place.  I’m running over to see Sam.  Your buddy’s going to be there and I want to listen in on that.  It’s going to crush his pants.  Although he’s coming in on his own free will again.

Crush his pants?  I decided not to ask.