Approaching Rick

     I called Rick Brewer's office to try to make an appointment to see him. Ricky-boy was out and when his personal assistant asked me what it regarded, I told her, "Just write down the name, 'Jamie' and hung up.
     I flipped through some more files, wondering what my moves after Rick were going to be. There were still four other women from that last night out. I ruled out talking to either set of parents. Their interviews were pretty thorough, and in the case of Jamie's mom, very detailed and pressing for action. Mom's don't hold anything back.
     Ricky-boy's P.A. called me back with disappointing news. She told me that Mr. Brewer is unavailable to speak with me, and has no wishes to discuss Jamie with anyone.
     I thanked her for getting back to me, so quickly and hung up. Now what to do? I pulled open the desk drawer and poured a measure of liquid contemplation. I drank half of it and leaned back in the chair. I held the glass up and started watching the amber water of life swirling inside. The bourbon eddied and swirled slowly. The layers dancing together in a cosmic waltz as the molecules of water and alcohol, eternally conjoined, but forever separated, whirled through the glass dance-hall.
     Boom. It hit me. I'll go old-school and find out where Ricky-boy was.
     I bopped across the hall to the title insurance company. I asked Nan, the receptionist, a sweet older English lady if I could borrow her land-line.
     She asked me how my spotted dick was. It's a running gag. I told her mine was good, but not half as good as hers. The clucked like a contended hen and handed the phone over.
     I dialed up the P.A. again. When she picked up, I went into full-on method acting. Stella Adler would be proud. "This here is J.C. Peacock from OU Realty and Trust, down in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I tell you what, I supposed to meet up with y'all's boss, Ricky, I bet you don't get to call him Ricky, though, no sir. Anyhoo, I was supposed to meet him, and I'll be God-DAMNED if I can remember which golf course around here he said to meet him at. I cant rightly recall if it was Lincoln Country Club, or Firethorn or Pussy Willow or what the hell else the name could be. Could you be a doll and let me know where he's playin' at, and I'll just haul ashes over there."
     I called a blitz. Tried to overwhelm her with just enough fact, and a hefty dose of bullshit. Get her off balance, if she made the next moves I anticipated, I'd get the info. It was mean, but the ends justifies the means, sometimes.
     It took her a moment to get her thoughts organized, "I'm sorry, Mr. uh, Peacock, was it?" she said, uncertainly. "I don't have your name down in the appointment book for today--"
     "I know it's not in the appointment book," I waded in. "I'm probably telling y'all too much, but this isn't exactly a meeting that too many people should get wind of, if you catch my drift. Ricky and me are trying to hammer out a deal that will blow some socks off, for sure."
     I could hear her breathing, she was about to do the smart thing and call Rick. I'd be screwed, but she would be safe. It was the proper thing to do. I undermine proper.
     "Listen here, sugar," I said, my voice dropping into low frequency, and quieter, to make her listen, "I know you want to do the right thing. I know you want to call Ricky up and ask him about me. You're good at you do. If y'all call him up and ask, that means that the cat's out of the bag and the deal will be as dead as an armadillo baking in the Chickasha sunshine. If y'all tell me where he is, I can go to him, take the blame for being late, and still make sure a deal with lots of little zeroes in it gets done. Y'all don't want to have to face Ricky on a day the biggest deal of his career goes south, would you, darlin'?"
     I could sense her squirming. I could just imagine her trying to weigh whether or not to spill. I knew she didn't want to. I almost felt bad, putting her in a tough spot. She came back, suddenly, "Don't you have his business card and contact points in your cell-phone, you could call his private number directly."
     I knew she was good. "That's an excellent point, darlin'. Sometimes I'm the worlds smartest dumb guy. I done left my charger all the way back in Tulsa, my cell is dead as hell and I ain't had a chance to go to Best Buy or Radio Shack to get a new one."
     "It's weird," she sighed. "He hasn't golfed with anyone in ages...there's nothing in his appointment book about lunch, even..."
     She was right there, on the edge. One more little push, should do it. "Look, darlin', I know I'm puttin' you in a real spot, but we both want Mr. Rick to be real happy when the day is done, right? You want to be part of that happiness, right? Let me know where to go and Mr. Rick will come back to the office happier than Barry Switzer at a roadside juke-joint with jar of 'shine in one hand and a sweet young thing in the other."
     "Wilderness Ridge," she spilled, the betrayal squirming out of her. "If he's out, golfing, he'd be at Wilderness Ridge. He's a member, there."
     "I sure do thank you," I beamed. "Now, don't you worry none, darlin'. Ol' J.C. will make sure that you get taken care of. I never forget a favor."
     I hung up. Winked at Nan and thanked her for the phone. "J.C. Peacock of Tulsa, Oklahoma? What sort of devilry are up to?" Nan asked, a twinkle in her eye and a smile.
     "Never you, mind, love," I winked back in reply. "Just a wee bit of mischief. Mum's the word, and all that, eh, Moneypenny?"
     Nan loved that. She was clucking happily to herself as I left. I had to start coming up with a plan. Getting to Wilderness Ridge was  not that big of a deal. Getting on to the grounds, not much of a challenge. Finding Rick and making contact in whatever time I had would be the tricky part.
     I grabbed a quick change into some jeans and a t-shirt I had stashed in the office and zipped down to the car, I could be at the course in 20 minutes. I'd plan en route. I was hoping he was actually golfing. If he was just entertaining at the club, the whole trip would be for nothing.
     In the car I had a tool-kit, stashed. There are real tools in it, but there are also specialty tools under a false bottom. You'd be amazed about how no-one notices a guy walking around with a tool kit. Next best thing to invisibility. Just don't go too crazy out of context with it.
     I parked the car, grabbed the bag, and started walking toward the practice green. If I was lucky, I'd just stroll on in. Yes, that was the big part of my cunning plan. Just walk on in.