Clueless

By Corwin Trouteaud

Willardwood Elementary School. On the grass outside the playground, I stand alone. The other twenty five kids in my class are huddled together in front of me. They’re opening and closing their hands as they pass a dark gray rock one of the kids picked up earlier between them. Eventually, they stop. They close their hands and line up shoulder-to-shoulder with their arms behind their backs. Now it’s my turn.

I scan the line of kids, each of them avoiding eye contact with me. Some of them giggle. Others try their best poker faces. Eventually my eyes land on one. A girl from my class, not avoiding my gaze. She dons big circular glasses and a ponytail to keep the blonde hair on top from obstructing her already poor eyesight. Her expression is different. It’s… oddly confident. And a very slight smirk that raises the corner of her mouth ever so slightly. I point at her. She scoffs and rolls her eyes. After moving her arms to her front, she opens her tight grip to reveal the rock. Bullseye.

George E. Sid High School. I’m interrupted from my book by the footsteps of someone running down the hall, slowly getting louder and louder. They stop finally right outside the door to the classroom I’m sitting in. The source of the footsteps walks in, heavily panting as she attempts to catch her breath. She corrects her glasses and fixes her disheveled hair back into a simple ponytail, as it’s always been since fourth grade. She reaches into her forest green backpack to pull out the manila folder I had handed to her earlier that morning.

“I finally copied those text messages from Trevor. It was such a hassle…” she sighs. Dramatic as always.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure the reward for it is worth it though,” I reply.

Her fake frown turns into a grin. “Well, duh. That’s obvious. I mean, $500 dollars for a singular copy of this thing?” she says as she waves the folder in front of her. “I can buy so many clothes with all of that!”

“You should only count half of it. Don’t even think for a second you’re getting more. If you think that was a hassle, imagine the work I had to do to find that dirt.”

She puffs her cheeks in disapproval. “Boo. You’re no fun. Plus, we both know for you it was easy. But at least I can observe the great detective of Sid City in all of his glory!” she chuckles. She knows I heavily dislike that title, as it was thrusted upon me by the others without my approval.

“And I have the devil’s first-born daughter as my right-hand woman,” I retort.

“Proudly, might I add. Anyways, why does that shady old dude even want this stupid transcript?”

“He’s a part of some underage drug selling ring with that gang up north, but that’s not any of our business as professionals.”

“Sheesh. Some people. But we sure make one drug-busting power couple, huh?” she says as she starts batting her eyelashes at me.

“We’re not a couple. Save that for your future husband. Or wife. I don’t care.”

She scoffs and picks up her backpack as she walks to the door. “Screw you, Lewis.”

“Thanks again, Claire.”

“Anytime, weirdo.”

L&C Detective and Investigative Agency. I unlock the glass door with my bundle of keys, then pull the handle to step inside. The ring of the bells welcomes me into the otherwise empty space. The room is dimly lit, only illuminated by the few lamps that exist in this office, which are kept on during the night. The orangish glow hides the dust that’s accumulated along the walls. The contents of the room are bare, only holding these randomly assorted lamps, two mahogany desks, a photo frame on each, and heavily worn-out office chairs Claire had gotten on a discount from the landlord of the shopping district. It leaves a lot to be desired truthfully. But for a grand opening day, it could be worse.

I slowly head to the desk in the far back as I take in the ambiance of the office. I take out my team of supplies from my faux leather shoulder bag. My silver laptop, head researcher. My black notebook, executive assistant. My ballpoint pen, life-long transcriber. I look up at the photo sitting on my desk. It’s from the state fair three years ago, after freshman year of college. I see Claire’s face, lit up from the flash of the camera. Her glasses barely reveal her eyes because of this flash, but I can still see them in their blueish-green form. Her face is pressed against mine. Her smile grinning from ear to ear. Her arms circling my torso as mine don’t know where to go. I dislike this image purely because of how I look, but something compels me to keep it.

The sound of chiming startles me from my trance. Almost as if on cue, she walks in, with that same smile from the picture. In each hand she holds a cup of coffee from the café down the street. She walks over to me and places one on my desk.

“Good morning, Private Investigator Zimmerman,” she greets jokingly.

“Same to you, Ms. Withers.”

Sid City Night Lights. All I can hear is the boom, boom, boom coming out from the seemingly thousand existing speakers around the club overpowering my senses. It adds a tension to the air only aided by the swarm of people crowded around. And the bright pink and purple LED lights strain my eyes just enough to blind me every five seconds. Not my kind of venue. 

I’m shoving and separating people on my path to the far side of the room, where the noise gets slightly fainter and light gets slightly dimmer. I finally reach my destination and rest my back against the wall, taking deep breaths to recuperate. The only reason I’m here was for a job, finding a specific person of interest who happens to run this club. He's involved with a few illegal businesses here and there. But if that was my main focus I would never be here. He has information I want. 

Along the wall I’m laying on is a door, pitch black with a silver doorknob. There’s a man outside of it wearing a black shirt one size too small, allowing his muscles to be on full display. I walk up to him and unfold my badge for him to see. He glances at it, stares me down, and steps to the side holding the door open for me. In front is a singular table with a man sitting down behind it. He has short, brown hair and a scar running down his face from his right eyebrow to the left side of his chin.

“Ahhh, there you are, mister…” he starts to say with a deep, raspy voice.

“Mr. Zimmerman, but you can call me Lewis,” I reply. “Now, you know why I’m here Dee. I have the money you want.”

“You’re a great man, Mr. Lewis. I’m much happier to speak to you than your partner, truth be told. Word has been spreading of the recent drug bust on the north side of town. 30-something people arrested and taken down with the help of a lone female with L&C?”

I chuckle a bit. “She certainly is one not to be messed with,” I respond. She’s made a name for herself across the city over the past few months as the doer among our pair. “Y’know, there was a point in time when I could read her like a book. Now it feels like she has me tied around her fingertips.”

Dee let out his own laugh, which slowly started turning into a rough cough. “You two have certainly made this city something else in the past six months you’ve been around, that’s for sure. I’d be careful though; I’ve been hearing murmurs about some groups making a move, like those Revels up north who just had their numbers cut in half. I only say that because you’ve been helping me and this city with your kind donations.”

I reach into the inside of my coat and pull out a stack of cash from the inner pocket to hand to Dee. “Thank you for the warning. Nothing we haven’t dealt with before though. And Ms. Withers herself knows this even more so.”

He slides a piece of paper folded up in half across the table. I open it to verify the information written before closing it and storing it within my coat. “As long as you’re aware I suppose. Oh, and if you need a venue for your after-wedding celebrations with the potential Mrs. Withers, give me a call.”

“There’s no wedding happening Dee. But thanks,” I reply as I walk back to the door and brace for the cold. The thought of a wedding between us occupies my mind for a bit before I evict it. It wouldn’t be right. Plus, she probably doesn’t even see me like that. The Claire I know just sees me as a spectacle, not a person. And definitely not as a potential love interest.

L&C Detective and Investigative Agency. The cold weather outside causes me to have my hands bundled up in my coat. The blinding LEDs from Sid City Night Lights are still slightly visible in my eyes. I get to the door and open the door to the office, the bells jingling to signify my arrival. The only light shining through is from the lamp posts outside. The lamp lights inside are off.

The lamps shouldn’t be off.

I stop in my tracks after realizing. We leave them on no matter what. I go to the nearest lamp on my left and pull the string to turn on the orange glow. I turn back around, finally seeing the full room and the figure of someone collapsed on the floor. 

No. No no no. 

I rush over to the lifeless body still slightly hidden by the darkness of the room. Upon getting closer I can see a pool of crimson red around them. And then I notice her cracked glasses. Her blonde hair, in a ponytail. Her blueish-green eyes, now without anything behind them. Her smile… gone. All that remains is her soulless body on the agency floor with a piece of paper marked with the letter R over her chest.

All at once, the emotions hit me like a bus. My stomach churns. My eyes water. My heart aches. These feelings I’ve hidden for years for the sake of my passion. I prided myself on my investigative skills. To know the difference between truth and lie. She was there every step of the way since I discovered my determination for detective work. My memories of her from elementary school, high school, and the first day of our agency flood me like a tsunami. 

I failed to understand myself. I failed to understand her. 

And now my chance is gone. 

I stand alone. Once again.

---

Willardwood Cemetery. I’m looking up at the sky, which is crystal clear with few clouds dispersed in the air. How ironic. The grass in the area, beige and withered, still suffering the effects of the winter we’ve had. The dark gray tombstones in the field are evenly lined up one to one. It faintly reminds me of the game I played in elementary school. The game I played with Claire. 

I look back down to see her framed picture. It’s surrounded by white chrysanthemums and sits on a black easel stand. Her smile radiates just as it did in life. The tombstone next to it reads “Here Lies Claire Withers, Sid City’s Finest Investigator”. I take a knee to leave a bundle of roses right in front of the stone. The regrets don’t leave me though.

“Mr. Lewis. My sincerest condolences,” a voice says from behind me, raspy but solemnly. I turn my head to see Dee in an all-black suit and holding a singular white lily in his left hand and a metallic case with a folder attached in his right. 

I get up from my knee to fully face him. “Thank you, Dee. But if you came here for simple condolences, now is not the time.”

“I’m better than that. I have the gun and data you requested,” he says as he extends his arm out with the case and folder. “But I’ll ask this for the last time. Are you sure about this? There’s more ways you can punish those Revels, and I can’t support you more than this.”

I reach out to grab the items from him. “I’ve already resolved myself, Dee.”

He relinquishes his hold on the folder. “Be careful then. This city still needs you.”

I’ve learned my lesson. No more waiting, no more inaction. This time, it’s my turn. And I won’t let it go to waste. I’ll get my revenge. For myself. For Claire.