Rally Cookies - Part 1 (3rd book in series )

“Sir. Excuse me, sir? Are you okay? You're just staring at your glove box. It also…uh… smells bad in here.”

There is a large piece of stale air floating up to my face and past my mirror. It’s sinking into the fabric of my car seat cushions, I swear. Oh great, he’s giving me that face. The one that indicates my car is dirty as hell. I was zoning out for a minute. I forgot I even had someone in my car. This car wash detailer is gonna spew out all the detailing packages he can give me. And why not take the most advantage of me right now because I am truly at my wits’ end. I’ve lived in this car for the past week and a half. It’s taking on a new level of filth every day. Building like a bacterial tree house. 

His crew started to usher me out of the car so they could throw out countless amounts of burger wrappers and used paper straws that disintegrated into the same strength as wet tissues. Retail shopping bags that now hold candy crumbs with the companionship of insects that were frantically scurrying on my back seat. I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. I wasn’t even paying for this–they were.

The higher power “they.” A bunch of tweed paychecks, in my humble observation. 

Every time I French kiss a burger with that ice cold coke sliding down my throat like a stripper. Every time I smash this misshapen chicken mass against my wall of teeth. Every time I masturbate in the private stall of a gas station bathroom.

It’s on them. And I hope they feel every glob of it.

It sounds like I’m angry with them, but I’m not. I never am with any of my clients. It’s the nature of my job to milk all that fat tissue out of one's desperate pocketbook. Nothing personal. But if you come to me and say, “Hey, I think my employees are stealing. Can you catch them?” you're paying for every Amazon movie I wanna watch that week. Every Tinder date that I want to impress. Every nugget in my grinder. And every house party I throw after my job is done.

And you know why?

Because I’ll find that employee. I’ll find that minuscule mistake you thought evaporated. You won’t even notice me either. I'm really cool when you won’t be and I’ll play awkwardly when you seem aggressive. And when you try to capitalize on your aggression, I’ll break the tip of your pencil. It will be like a shock as I move through you the way you never thought someone would.

I’m delighted to be such a young, passionate private investigator. My my, what needs we have for closure nowadays. People need things to be tracked down and given to them. How else can they explain it? How else can they dissolve it? They have to have it all in pictures and on video and all in their possession.

How fun for me to give that to them and take all their money in exchange. And they give it to me, without hesitation or sweat. All for something they don’t even know yet. A hunch comes true or a nightmare unravels.

I give them everything they want and more, every time.

So when someone says, “Find me evidence of a professor having inappropriate behavior,” how big do you think my eyes got?

* * * * *

Two hours later and my car felt like a hotel suite with cup holders. It didn't look this good when I bought it. The asshole in me was proud of myself for getting this done on my last day on the job. 

For monologue reasons and a giant ego boost, I would like to say this job wasn’t easy, but it was. I was able to find two professors from the list I was given to look deeper into. One of the guys I spotted at a local bar talking to a student out in the open. She later went to his apartment. I’m not sure what happened then, but the intention is all I need to record. The rest is court bait.

There were a few other incredibly suspicious interactions I saw between other students and professors. All speculative and interesting as hell, but they weren’t on the list. I still logged all the information I could. I have parking spots all over the city where I observe and watch. While I was switching spots one time, I saw a university counselor walk to a student’s house late at night and then walk back hours later. So that’s like one and a half, I would say. 

But the second person I found was high priority. The relationship between this student and professor has been rumored to have been blossoming since last year. Everyone was after this person. It was almost impossible to catch them together in the same place. To a normal dormant, absent-minded person, they wouldn’t see it. But not me! I look inside the negative space and subtle moments. Habits, patterns, language.

Body language is the important action to pay attention to. A shoulder shrug, obviously a darting look. You know, big things. But I can tell you a secret if you want:

If you just need to know, look for the third reaction. There is a cause, there is an effect, and then there’s a result. For example: Hand touches the shoulder, that shoulder extends the arm for their hand to touch. That’s common.

But what I wait for is the moment after. The moment that shoulder starts to change. How that shoulder acts from now on. How that shoulder is groomed. Things can’t be the same now for that shoulder. Sure, it learns how to stay cool and collected during this time. Under restraint with its immobilized instant reaction. That type of bartering with emotions alone leads to an inquiry on my part.

I watch the swirl of the dance more than I watch the conversation. Souls tell the truth when the body lies. I read that dumbass statement on a psychic’s business card once. It’s shit! But I see the slight wisdom in It.

So are you asking yourself the right question yet?: Is this wrong?

The first deterrence is our beautiful country’s appointed age of adulthood. It’s legal. No one in this college is below the age of 18. So what the hell is the problem? Hmm, if you navigate further with your moral compass, you’ll see the problem is in development. The uncoiled young mind that gnaws on stimulation. What happens when a cultivated, well-taught mind feeds their younger counterpart a little bit of maturity and attention? A smoldering bag of popcorn kernels ready to explode with dedicated potential. 

Scary term, isn’t it? To know that a budding beauty and body can promise one’s self to an older resident in this life. Is it manipulation or an out-of-order perfect selection? Right or wrong, stinky or smelly, drowning or testing your breath. They're all so close. So close that all they feel is happiness with a side of guilt. But a guilt that can be buried.

Sucks for them that I have to unbury it, but that would be considered a proverbial touchdown in my profession. I’m good at what I do and, unfortunately, that means someone has to get caught like an egg on Easter from the safety of my Kia Sportage. My discoveries were written up in a PDF, along with video comps and picture stills and audio layout. 

I finished six hours earlier than my deadline. I’m deciding to get lunch at all the fast food spots around here. My car was so clean that it made me a little uncomfortable. That cluttered fast food smell gave me strength in all my self-indulgences. I also guess I have to take a shower and look semi-presentable when I receive my cash payment on top of all the expenses they covered. They went as far as getting me a sweet hotel that exceeds the deadline by two days. 

So, this job now has turned into a college town vacation. Don’t judge me! These people asked for one story and I’m now bringing them three. They didn’t even know about the other two yet, and before you ask–no, I’m not gonna charge them more. But I will gladly take all of this as compensation. 

Closing my car door and hearing it snap shut I realize how nice my car can actually look. It kinda inspired me to wear a nicer outfit today. Ahh, what the hell–I can’t wear sweatpants to everything. I don’t know, maybe it was the smell of a new car, but something twisted a different way with me at this moment. Or it’s possible my pompous glands are overheated and taking a 10-minute break. Even the front desk woman smiled at me to give a sign of approval of the energy I gave her. I can work the arc of kindness out of a stranger or a passing guest of a hotel. 

When I get to my room, I see a woman cleaning it and nod at her as she leaves. I was capable of being normal. It's just hard for me at times where I don’t hear my inner voice. I wish it was easy, like the way you can hear mine. But life doesn't work like that, only books. Haven’t done that in a while either. My porch, grapes and cheese, a book, and a playlist. Those simple tools used to make me so happy. The grossness of my new professional lifestyle is starting to rust the edges of my heaven acceptance letter.

I stop thinking about all of this once I hop in the shower. Warm water after a busy week had that effect on me. Rubbing my shoulders, I swept my hand across my chest and almost enjoyed it too much. I haven’t been touched by a lover in quite some calendar squares. I forgot what touching with intent felt like.

After my shower, I picked out a restaurant that looked like thousands of people went to it a day. It was only 15 minutes out. It was deep in the heart of the city. It was swirling with people. A golden, orange-rind sunset shimmered behind couples and mature party participants. I looked good and I felt a little light.

Keeping this smug guy persona came with a tired mind. It fits me in the field of a dirty water client base. But when it was just time for me, I didn't know how to act.

The restaurant was bright and flashy and was covered in ivy and neon signs. Most of the

restaurants in the city were like this.There’s an artist that’s been given a design key to the city. This kind of outside decor starts to pop up heavily in the fall. It’s kind of a one chest, one heartbeat thing. Companies sharing their names with a local marketing promotion in order to spark town morale. I don’t hate it.

Walking into this dimly lit, luxurious restaurant I strode calmly to my table I reserved for my sweet self. I was greeted by a lovely service worker who had braces and curly red hair. She was pale but had dark eyes. She whispered in my ear, “Nice suit!” But she did it in a way where my neck hair had a crazy reaction. She bit her lip and kept staring at me. Her cheeks were flushed and faint, and she looked as if she was sinking with every step. What an odd encounter! Maybe everyone is seeing my charm today.

Anywho, I started to get pumped for my food experience. I asked for a plum-infused Chianti. Three-and-a-half-ounce pour. Broken sage leaves on my napkin to open up my senses. Ahh, I was settling into the idea of having an amazing, peaceful night.

And maybe that’s why it happened like this.

Maybe because, for the first time in a while…I was enjoying myself.

And then I heard her voice, a voice I heard a while ago. I knew that voice! Because I knew the angel it came from. Her name is Simba, and she was right in front of me.

Well that’s a lie. She wasn’t, but I knew she was close. I could hear her voice as if she was right in front of me. Almost like she was whispering. And she was, but something was off in my brain, almost like I was mixing want and reality. I’m sorry I’m not giving much explanation, but I will later.

Her voice was close and I wasn’t going to find it sitting down. It was coming from behind this wall with a rosewood door that had no handle. So I guess I should fill you in...

end of part 1