.​   Trying to avoid the puddles, I dashed through the pouring rain and managed to make Chief’s’ back door without drowning – the rain was falling harder.  Entering an almost empty restaurant, I waved at Flo as I headed to my favorite stool at the end of the long bar.  Her acknowledgment let me know that a Jack Daniel’s and Coke would soon be on its way.
     Wiping the rain out of my hair, and thinking about my meeting later this evening, I suddenly had the strange feeling that I was being watched.  It’s the feeling of being in a crowded room, but sensing that someone’s eyes have chosen you – picking you out of the crowd.  Only, this wasn’t a crowded room, and it certainly wasn’t difficult to find those eyes that were making me uneasy – and what eyes they were!
     Sitting at the far end of the bar was a woman who I can only describe as ‘breathtaking’.  She was sitting sideways on a barstool with her legs crossed, and looking directly at me.  Long brown hair flowed across her narrow shoulders -- much like chocolate being poured over a freshly baked cake – eventually coming to rest just a few inches above her breasts. Smoke, from a lightly burning cigarette in her left hand, was making small curls in the air as it hung over her drink, which was sitting next to her on the bar.  A light blue, knit sweater formed a perfect fit for a pair of size 36 C breasts, and they were pointed at me like a double-barreled shotgun!  She was wearing tight fitting, brown leather suicide pants -- which distinctly, and tastefully, emphasized everything this woman offered below her waste line. (Suicide pants are leather pants.  Leather pants that are so tight, wearing them in the rain is almost like committing suicide – they would dry, draw up and squeeze you to death before you could get them off!  Or, so I have been told.)
But, it was her eyes that had gotten my attention, and I returned my focus back to where I had started. They were smiling at me from across the room, and somehow I knew I had to get closer – it only took a moment.
     Crushing out her cigarette and picking up her drink, she eased off her barstool and slowly walked in my direction. This lady was compact, solidly put together and had all her parts and pieces in the right place, which she proudly presented with confidence as she approached my resting-place.  I thought I felt the room move, as I watched her light tan pumps carry her gracefully to the empty stool next to mine. She stood quietly for a moment, then she slid those suicide pants onto the seat, just like she was sliding between the bed-sheets. Sitting the drink down with her left hand, she smoothed her chocolate hair back with her right hand -- lightly brushing her right breast as she brought her hand back to her lap. If those breasts weren’t speaking to me, they were damn sure staring at me!  A small budge was now noticeable at their tip, and somehow I felt like I was being raped, but I hadn’t even been touched!
     “Are you Carson Reno?” I heard her speak.  That was when my eyes changed focus and moved to her lips and how they slowly and deliberately moved when she spoke.  Not just mouthing the words, but somehow sucking all the air out of the room with their movement. They were large lips, and her bright red lipstick only added emphasis; I believe I could actually FEEL them – even though we were still three feet apart!
     “Huh?” was all I could manage.
     “Are you Carson Reno?” she asked again. “The nice waitress said I could expect you; but, are you alright?  You seem distracted.”
     Distracted!  HELL YES I was distracted! I obviously needed to pull myself together, and I was finding that difficult.  “Yes…yes I am Carson Reno,” I stuttered offering her my right hand.
     “My name is Jean Gray,” she said taking my hand.  I glanced down at her perfectly manicured, red painted nails and watched as she held my hand longer than expected -- then offering a sensual squeeze when she finally released her grip. “The waitress said you should be in this afternoon, but I was afraid the weather had delayed you.”
Before I could respond, Flo appeared with my Jack and Coke.  She sat my drink down, looked at my new companion and then looked back at me before shaking her head and walking away. Flo understood -- I just wish I did!
     “Yes…yes the weather has gotten worse,” I was still stuttering. “How may I help you Mrs. Gray?
     “It’s Miss Gray and please call me Jean,” she said bringing her drink up to those beautiful lips and wrapping them around the edge of the glass.  Lucky glass!
     “Okay, Jean,” I tried again. “How may I help you?”
     “I know you are a private detective and I need your help. I want to hire you, if you are available.”
     Help? Hire? Available? This lady was speaking my language, although I simply could NOT imagine her needing assistance from anybody.  “Yes,” I managed. “I am available and would love to hear your story.  Can I buy you another drink?”
     She didn’t answer, and just slid her empty glass to the center of the bar while continuing to smile at me with those beautiful eyes.  Flo quickly retrieved the empty and wandered off to make my new friend a fresh drink – vodka/tonic I suspected.
     She turned slightly on her stool and then crossed those long legs before retrieving another cigarette and staring at me -- waiting on a light.  I don’t smoke cigarettes, but Detective 101 taught you to always be prepared, and having a lighter quickly available was an important part of those preparations – I didn’t have mine!
     Sensing my stupidity and the uncomfortable moment, she produced her own lighter, smiled and then handed it to me – I obliged and lit her cigarette.  
     Those 36 C’s were still staring me down and made a slight rise and fall as she took a long draw off her cigarette. Now they were looking AND talking to me – they had my undivided attention!
     “Carson,” she began as Flo delivered her fresh drink, “I think someone is trying to kill my brother.  It’s a long story, do you have the time?”
     “I…I have all night…er ah…the rest of the afternoon,” I stuttered. “Please tell me all about your brother and about your problems.”
                                                                                     ~
     Watching those beautiful lips move with her words made it very difficult to concentrate, and initially I was only hearing about every third word.  But when she said Sterling Armstrong was her brother, then mentioned the Reverend Josh Luke Blankenship and the ‘Mission for Lost Souls’, my attention returned to where it belonged. Two drinks and a half-hour later Jean Gray finally completed her complicated story. It was very interesting and answered some questions about the case that definitely needed answers.  At least that’s what I thought, or was supposed to think.
    “Carson, can you help?” she asked when finished.
    “Where is your brother now?  We’ve been trying to locate him for the past couple of days.”
    “I know, and that’s actually how I got your name.  I heard you were looking for him. He’s really frightened, but I have no idea where he is.  Will you help?  Will you help my brother?”
    “Yes, I will. Where are you staying?” That was not a trick question!
    “Tyler Towers, and I really need to be getting back to my room.  I’ve had too many drinks, and I need to be in the room in case Sterling calls.”
    “Jean, I spoke to your brother last night,” I finally admitted.  He wouldn’t tell me where he was, but he did agree to meet me tonight.”
    Those beautiful eyes got wider, and somewhere between those lips I thought I saw an excited smile. “Wonderful!  Can I go with you?”
    “Why is your last name Gray and your brother’s last name Armstrong?” I asked ignoring her question.
    “We have the same mother but different fathers,” she said while retrieving another cigarette and handing me her lighter. “Sterling’s father died when he was young and our mother remarried.  It was a little cumbersome and confusing while we were growing up, but mother insisted we honor our fathers by carrying their name.”
    “Hmm,” I mumbled as I lit her cigarette and stared at those beautiful lips.
    “Where are you meeting Sterling?” she asked nervously. “I want to see and talk with him!”
     I had no way to reach Sterling Armstrong and no way to check out Miss Jean Gray’s story.  However, what harm could come with her tagging along – it might help convince Sterling to accept police protection.
    “I’m meeting him at ‘The Hut’ in Jackson.  Are you familiar with the place?”
    “No, not really.  Will you take me with you?” she asked again offering a big smile and blinking her long eyelashes at me.
    “Okay,” I answered reluctantly and returning her smile.
    “What time is your meeting?”
    “He said seven o’clock. Do you want me to pick you up?” The spider said to the fly!
    “That will be great, and I have some literature in my room about the ‘Mission for Lost Souls’, if you would like to see it.  I’m in Room 114 – what time will you be there?” she said sliding off her barstool -- in much the same way as she had earlier slid onto it.
    “Sure, I would like to see what you have,” I said quickly and looking up at the clock mounted over the bar. “It’s 5:00 now, would 6:00 be too early?”
    Without warning and without speaking, she wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed those ‘talking’ breasts into my chest.  Those big beautiful lips left some of their remaining lipstick on my cheek, and I watched her walk gracefully across the floor and then out the door. Through the window I saw her get into a Red 1956 Thunderbird and slowly leave Chief’s’ parking lot.
                                                                                     ~
    I’m sure my mouth was still open when Nickie walked up to my barstool.  She had been watching from across the restaurant and, thankfully, hadn’t interrupted our conversation.  “Carson,” she said sitting down next to me. “I certainly hope that lady wasn’t selling Locomotives.  Because if she was, I’m sure you bought one!”
    Nickie was right; I was making a fool out of myself. I hastily got off my barstool and headed to my cabin.  I needed a shower before our meeting – a COLD shower!
                                                                                    ~
    At exactly 6:00 I parked the Ford in front of Room 114 of the Tyler Towers Motel and next to her Red 1956 Thunderbird.
    I lightly tapped on the door and she immediately opened it.  She had ‘lost’ the suicide pants and was now wearing a tightly wrapped light pink robe, carrying a towel and still had a slight dampness in that beautiful brown hair.
    “Please come in, Carson.  Excuse me for not being dressed, but I’m running late and just got out of the shower.  Would you like a drink while I finish?”
    I stepped into the small room and noticed a small bar set-up on her dresser. She had ice, Vodka, Tonic and, of course, Jack Daniel’s.
    “Sure, I can make them,” I said while still looking around.
    “No, no – let me do it,” she said with those beautiful lips and overwhelming smile, while walking to her little bar.
    I found myself a seat in one of the two padded chairs and watched her as she proceeded to make us both a drink.  I was a bit ‘uncomfortable’ with the robe -- however, I was not ‘uncomfortable’ with the view!  Although not as revealing as the suicide pants, her robe was working overtime clinging to an, obviously, wet body underneath and it had my full attention – unfortunately.
    She handed me my drink and then sat casually on the edge of the bed facing me. “I’ll get you that literature; you can read it while I get dressed.  Is ‘The Hut’ a fancy restaurant?  Do I need to wear something nice?”
    This lady could wear a cotton sack to a Jewish wedding and nobody would ever notice. I’m sure she looked good wearing anything – and probably better wearing nothing!
    “No, it’s casual. Wear anything you like,” I said sipping my drink. “You finish getting dressed and I’ll take a look at that information about the Mission for Lost Souls.”
    She smiled briefly, got up off the bed and then walked slowly to the bathroom, glancing briefly at me over her shoulder.  I continued to sip my drink and study what I could see in her room.  However, it’s not what I saw, but what I DIDN’T see that bothered me.  First, she never gave me any information to read, as promised. Second, there was no visible suitcase, nor any clothes hanging on the closet rod -- where they should be.  Women don’t travel like men; they carry items most men wouldn’t even think about.  I didn’t see any of these, and other than the small bar and her discarded clothes, the room contained no personal effects.  Something was not right.
                                                                                 ~
    My first attempt to get up out of the chair failed, and I roughly fell back into my seat.  The room began slowly spinning and I was having difficulty focusing on anything. I stared at my half-finished drink and realized that the taste in my mouth was not whiskey – it was more like I had been chewing on aluminum foil!  I needed some fresh air, and I needed to get out of this room; however, it was already too late.
    I finally managed to stand up just as she walked out of the bathroom; she stopped and calmly stared at me.  Steadying myself by holding onto the back of the chair, I was rapidly losing focus on her, as well as everything else in Room 114.  This woman had given me a ‘Mickey-Fin’, and Carson Reno was headed to never-never land.  I took one step toward the door, stumbled against the wall and then went quietly to sleep.  I’m not sure if I hit the floor or went to sleep first – it was all just a blur!
                                                                              ~
    I opened my eyes and then quickly closed them. The light hitting my pupils felt like someone was throwing acid in my face.  Fortunately I’d regained consciousness, but unfortunately I wasn’t able to do anything about it!  With my eyes still closed, I reached up to my face to see if there really was an anvil sitting on my forehead.
    There was nothing there, but you couldn’t prove it by the pain that was rolling around inside my head.  I knew I had been drugged and I knew who did it, but I didn’t know why.  I also didn’t know where I was or how long I had been unconscious.
    Somehow I managed to roll over and put my face next to the carpet.  Using my hands to shield my eyes from the light, I slowly and painfully opened them – it hurt.  They were open but still out of focus, and I could barely see my watch, much less tell the time.  I did determine that I was lying next to a bed, so I assumed I must still be in Room 114 of the Tyler Towers Motel – I hoped. Keeping my eyes closed, I crawled up onto the bed and did a blind man’s search for the phone I knew had to be on the bedside table.
    Eyes still closed, I put the receiver to my ear and beat on the cradle until I heard the hotel operator say, “May I help you?”
    “Yes, send the police to Room 114. Tell them to hurry,” I mumbled before dropping the phone and resting my pounding head on the softness of a bed pillow.  I immediately went back to sleep!