EDITING: Politics and Poison

Chapter Eleven: Streetlights

Frank Hardy: I lay down on my bed in the hotel room, and opened the file. It was pretty basic stuff. Deirdre had got into an altercation with Bess Marvin at a club opening. She'd been given a slap on the wrist, a caution, after threatening those who tried to intervene, with a broken bottle. Bess had been repeatedly struck on the arms and face with the heel of a stiletto shoe, after she brought the guy Deirdre had been crushing on, to the club, as a date.

Deirdre had also been seen trespassing on private property, when she'd been caught by an ex, skulking and yelling rude things at his family. Her latest offense was possession of methamphetamine's. This made me double take, as I'd never thought of her as a party animal who took drugs. However, the drugs aligned with her habit of clubbing, exhibiting reckless, sometimes violent displays of behavior.

Just reading about her lifestyle made me feel dirty. I called up for room service and ordered shrimp cocktail. It was getting late, so I went out into the courtyard and had a cigarette. After my meal, I had a shower and drank a glass of scotch. Room service cleared my dishes away, and brought me more scotch. I sat in just a pair of jeans, smoking, staring at the darkening sky. It was cold with the window open, but the scotch had warmed me inside. I could see the stars, and the glint of lights as an airplane flew overhead.

Someone was hunting, in the woods behind the inn. I could hear the sharp putt putt sound of shots, like fireworks in the distance. I leaned back in my chair, and must have fallen asleep. The jangle of the phone next to me woke me rudely, like a shout.

Dazed, I gathered the receiver to me. It was the front desk, telling me that Joe was at reception.

"Do you want me to send him away?" the clerk inquired dubiously.

I shook my head, said out loud, "no no, send him in."

I had barely closed the window, when I heard heavy footsteps like gunfire in the hall. My baby brother didn't even have the courtesy to knock. He looked tired, and his jeans were rumpled. No sooner had he entered, he slumped down on my bed, commenced unlacing his heavy boots.

"It's freezing out there!" he exclaimed. "Like a jacuzzi when you want a sauna, and then the sauna's too hot so you want a jacuzzi. The icy jacuzzi is too cold so you try warm up in the sauna and-"

I sighed and stretched, my arms locked over my head. "Joeee, what do you want?"

"Oh." He focused blue eyes on me, said, "I sent you a text. Didn't you get it?"

I rose, opened the doors of my wardrobe, and felt in my coat pocket for my phone. It was there, flashing, dying. I noted that I had two Facebook notifications, a Snapchat, a text and missed call from Joe, and that my battery was on thirty percent. I plugged my phone into the charger on the bedside table, checked the message. It read: I hve bn w/ Cptn. Wna mt 4 glg glg sn? 

I eyed my brother, concerned. "What does that even mean?"

"Duh. 'I have been with the Captain. Want to meet for glug-glug soon?' " Joe translated, impatiently. Added, noticing my cocked brow, "glug-glug, drinks. Get it?"

I didn't. I really didn't. But anyway. I pulled a tee-shirt from my suitcase, slipped it on. "Sorry. I was asleep. Why were you with Captain McGuinness?"

"We were interrogating Deirdre Shannon. She's mixed up in this somehow," Joe said confidently. He messed his already tousled blonde hair, and withdrew his iPod from his coat pocket. "Listen to this recording I made of the whole interview."

The audio wasn't spectacular quality, but it didn't need to be. I listened to the interview, in which Deirdre Shannon confessed to being in a relationship with a bus-boy. Joe would be in great trouble if anyone found out about the recording, I knew. But that wasn't going to come from me. I said slowly, still looking at the device once the recording had finished, "if we can find that bus-boy, he might be able to confirm that Deirdre has an alibi."