by Cristiano Caffieri
Levi Parks didn’t have to hang out a shingle because the people who needed his services always seemed to be able to find him. That was certainly the case with Lisa Beaubien-Arcor.
A woman in her fifties, but quite well preserved, she wore a dress that would have served her well at the Oscars and so much jewelry she never left home unless escorted by a man who looked like two football players glued together. The muscle-bound hoodlum stayed outside when she entered the office and Levi was treated to a look at her crotch as she sat on the chair facing him and laid her cards on the table.
“I’m looking for a private investigator,” she said, “And I’m looking for the best.”
“You’ve found him ma’am,” he mumbled, walking over to the cocktail cabinet and offering her a drink.
“I don’t drink and I don’t like dealing with those that do,” she growled, adjusting her mink wrap to punctuate the point.
“Well I ain’t that fussy,” he said, “I deal with drinkers, non-drinkers, drug addicts and miserable bitches like you every day – all I care about is do they have the money.”
“I have the money Mr. Parks – can you deliver the goods?”
He was then treated to thirty minutes of her moaning about her father and some tart he was about to marry.
“She’s only 28 and she’s seen three rich older husbands off to the cemetery already,” she revealed, getting up to pour herself a drink.
“I only participate when I get angry, she said, turning and raising her glass.
By the look of how much Jack Daniels she poured he thought she must just about ready to hit the roof.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“I want you to dig around and dig all the dirt you can get on Brook Petersen, formerly Grovenor, formerly Banks-Foley formerly God knows who! I want hard facts – indisputable evidence I can present to my father,” she hissed, “This marriage must not go ahead.”
After leaving a stack of bills you could choke on she left the room but her perfume stayed around for a while and he took deep whiffs of it as he counted out the dough. His next move was to ring Chantelle an old friend and who ran the biggest escort service in the city.
“Sure I know Brook,” she said, “I taught her everything she knows.”
“And you know that at 28 she’s put three husbands in the ground.”
“If you’re thinking murder darling you can forget it, she just f*cks them to death, they were all old you know.”
“You’re saying she’s a lethal piece of ass?”
“I’m saying her late husbands all died with a smile on their chops if they died of anything but natural causes it was overdosing on Viagra,” she laughed.