THE BIG SWITCH by Christopher Leeson Chapter 2

Posted 01-07-23 

THE BIG SWITCH

By Christopher Leeson

 

Chapter 2, The Narrative of D.C. Callahan continued....

 

Chapter 2

The Narrative of D.C. Callahan, continued

Leigh Spielman's take-no-prisoners attitude had given me all the inspiration that I needed to finish a scene in my story that had me flummoxed up to now. I pounced on the keyboard, tapping like I was trying to beat the Dutch:

Beth was by her lonesome in the office stuffing documents into her alligator-hide briefcase. She was thinking about the close call with that smart shamus Baxter and from now on she didn’t want stay around anyplace where he might come calling again. Her plan was to duck out on a graveyard flight to a tropical paradise and payoff to some Third World dictator to keep her cozy. After that it would be endless rounds of golden slipper cocktails and strolls along wide, immaculate beach fronts while thinking of new ways to spend her money.

Beore that Nick Baxter had muscled in everything had been going her way. She'd had the D.C. cops floundering and the randy D.A was eating out of her hand. Best of all, the newspapers given her their 'victim award” for the month of July. Every news reader with an I.Q. under 80 was on her side. Only Nick Baxter seemed to know how to put two and two together.

But she wouldn’t feel safe as long as she was in the same country as that gumshoe. As a precaution, Beth opened her right-hand desk drawer and hefted out a .357 Magnum moose-shooter. She packed the thing into her valise along with all those incriminating papers that she still needed to burn. Without the “receipts,” Basil Greenstreet's accountant was going to take the fall, leaving Beth Angler smelling like a rose.

Just then the door behind her flew open with a jarring bang. Beth froze, which nixed any chance she had had of grabbing for her man-stopper. Nick Baxter was standing there with a glacier-blue heater aimed at her head and a half-burned stogie balanced between his clenched jaws.

"I followed your Italian-built bucket all the way from Arlington," he informed the swank dame. "You're one hell of a reckless driver, Miss Angler. What's the hurry? Lamming it, maybe?"

Nick had a stare that would have broken most hardened criminals, but Angler was a chickadee with nerve. Being a trial shyster for a while, she'd been rubbing elbows with America’s worst. That meant that she was a hardened criminal who wasn't going to bend or fold easily. Maybe she hadn’t been planning to be all bad when she'd first left Chicago as a spoiled rich kid. But those big law schools left everyone with Lefty leanings twisted in the head.

"Hit the road, you jerk-off!" she said through gritted teeth.

The gumshoe grinned. "Those skirts who look like Vassar and talk like Hollywood and Vine really turn me on, babe. But you made a bad mistake when you emptied a .357 Magnum into my partner's back."

Beth Angler blanched. Baxter had put that piece into his puzzle, too. If he found the murder weapon that was hidden in her case now, she'd go down for Murder One. "It wasn't me," she jabbered. "It was Greenstreet's accountant!"

Nick's big, ugly face clouded. "Naw, it was you all right and you're going to the sizzle-chair for doing it! The place I’m going to look for evidence is inside that lizard skin you carry around."

She couldn’t help but jump when Nick mentioned briefcase on the desk. That move telegraphed to Nick that he'd slammed the nail on the head. He expected her to make a dive for her shooting iron, but Beth Angler but she didn’t. She actually tossed a sexy, come-on smile his way.

"Can't we make some kind of a deal?" she murmured.

Nick narrowed one peeper. "So what kind of deal are you driving at, honey bun?"

She started unbuttoning her suit jacket. Baxter smoked his cigar smoke while enjoying the show. Beth Angler was an embezzler, a murderer -- and a closet bimbo, too. This situation had possibilities.

"I promised the accountant's mother that I was going to nail you," Nick warned her.

"So nail me, big man."

“If I do, what do you expect in return?”

“Maybe a break…” she said in a sultry, breathy way.

"You get the next play," he said with a wink. "Handle this right and maybe I'll feel like going easy on you afterwards."

'Or maybe not', he was thinking . . . .

Dewitt interrupted my narration just when I was getting to the good part. "D.C., did you see this article in the paper? Another bum was choked to death last night and dropped into the Potomac. How many does that make?"

"About two dozen," I said, leaning back from my keyboard and yawning. "Some psycho must really have it in for skid-row winos. You know, these rum-bum murders started right after Inauguration Day. Do you suppose -- nah! It's got to be a coincidence."

"They say there's been a rise in hooker killings, too. Same M.O. Bums and hookers. What’s the connection?”

From the outer office came a mutter of voices. "Ma'am, you just can't go barging in!" Sheila was saying.

At first, I thought that Spielman was back for Round Two, but when the door swung open we saw a young black woman trying to squirm around our secretary. "Step aside and let the lady in, Miss Coffin," I said. "We've got time enough for a little neighborhood outreach." Then I added, "Go watch the phones, Sheila; I don't think you'll be need to take notes."

Sheila was glad enough to leave and so left the chocolate bunny behind with us. She had an uncertain expression on her cute-as-can-be face as she wobbled up to my desk. Either her ankles were hurting pretty badly or she wasn't used to high heels. Since she was just then wearing skimpy spandex, that didn’t figure.

"Have a chair, Miss," I offered.

The black girl glanced uneasily around the office before putting the nicest part of her body into that rummage-sale bought wicker chair that was facing my desk. Her hemline immediately rode way up, just like it was designed to do. Unfortunately, I had a row of books on my desktop that blocked my view of her cleavage while she was sitting so low .
Don't call me 'Miss,'" the chippy said. "I had to see you, Mister Callahan. It's a matter of life and death!"

I blinked perplexedly. She wasn’t using the diction of a run-of-the-mill hooker. An educated hooker? Well, why not?

"Where exactly are you from?" I asked.

"This is very -- embarrassing to explain," she began haltingly. "I'm not a really a girl."

Oh, hell! "You're a female impersonator?"

"No! I'm -- I'm actually Congressman Adam Schitz!"

Dewitt and I traded glances. Even so, I had to be tactful. "I think you've been breathing in some bad bindles, ma'am. I've met Congressman Schitz -- and believe me, you aren't him! For one thing, you don’t have his watermelon head and a pencil neck. And the way you’re dressed doesn’t make me think your a Congressman. But I don’t want to get out of line. Maybe skin-tight microminis are the new fashion. It would certainly beat what we’ve been seeing on the street lately.”

"I am Adam Bennett Schitz and I can prove it!" she insisted, leaning forward and putting her hands on my desk. Man, did she do the forward-lean well!

"Two years ago, I hired you to prove my opponent was cheating on his wife,” she said. “You returned a report that said he wasn't, but I don’t accept “no” votes. I got some of my friends in the FBI to call you a Russian asset. The press ate it up and muddied your name so badly that the Republican candidate had to deny that he ever knew you. Nobody bought into that and his numbers fell so low that he dropped out of the race!"

I wasn't impressed. That was news past its expiration date. "It sounds to me like Schitz's been shooting off his mouth around one of his party girls – you, if I’m being too subtle. You need a shrink, lady, not a detective."

"Give me a chance to explain!"

"You've got five minutes, pussycat. I'm a busy man."

"The truth is, we've been invaded by aliens from outer space!" confessed the girl.

I let out a moan.

"They can switch minds with a person if he has sex with them!" she added excitedly.

Dewitt finally stirred. "I get it! This is right out of those X Files reruns. You think you're Schitz and you've just had an alien body-switch. Well, you don't look much like an alien, Miss -- and I'm too polite to spell out what you do look like."

"That's because I wasn't the first person the alien switched with! He'd already stolen the body of this girl. There’s a lot of aliens going around in the bodies of Earth people! They entice people to go down on them and -- and then the switch happens."

"And how did you end up jumping into the sack with an alien, uh -- Congressman?" I asked.

"Somebody I trusted gave me the number of an escort service," the chocolate cookie explained with a pained look.

"Well, all I can say is that you must hang around with some real low-lives, ma'am."

"Don’t say that! I'm a U.S Congressman!"

I decided not to make a joke out of that one-liner. "So, what happened then?" I wasn't buying into this sitcom plot, but I wanted the chippie to finish her silly story and go home.

The busty hustler hugged herself and shivered, but maybe that was because of the cold draft coming from the air conditioner. That red spandex of hers certainly didn't cover much -- God bless it!

At last, she caught her breath and said, "W-When I woke up in the night, I was her."

I could imagine the picture. It was just kinky enough to make a good story. But it didn’t have much zing because she'd already telegraphed the punch line. "Yeah, I thought it had to be something like that. Tell us a little about the aliens, ma'am, since you're the expert."

"They took me prisoner," the Party Polly went on.

“Were you already a girl when they did that?”

“I’m not a girl!”

“I’m a gentleman so I’m not going to ask you to prove that.”

Exasperated, the black beauty soldiered on. "They had Earth bodies, but the was something not right about them --" Her voice trailed off.

"Why? Did their eyes glow?" I asked.

"No, it was just that they were all so randy. They did things to me -- and enjoyed doing them!"

“Did you enjoy it, too?”

“Certainly not!”

“Well, okay. Exactly what all did they do?”

She shivered again. "T-They bound me naked to the head of the bed. One of them was a gorgeous redhead.”

“Was that a male redhead or a female one?”

“Female! I wouldn’t have let a man touch me!”

“So, all this bedroom fun was actually consensual?”

“No it wasn’t! But I absolutely wouldn’t have wanted a man to be doing things like that to me!”

"Where did she touch you?" I asked, my mouth going dry.

"She told the others to leave, and then this alien woman took off all her clothes before getting down on her knees at the foot of the bed. . . ."

"Yeah, yeah? She was going down. What happened next?"

"Schitz" scowled. "What happened was like those despicable, degrading scenes that I used to watch on the VCR as a kid. You know what I mean!"

I nodded. “Yeah, I know. I still have a video rental card around somewhere. But we need details. You're going to have to stop beating around the bush, babe -- no pun intended. What did that hot-sounding babe do to you?"

"She got me so excited that I was almost in tears. While my mind hated it, it made this X-rated body feel so godammed happy! It was even better than nose candy! That’s when two of the male aliens came back and one said, 'Okay, Schitz, the fun's over.’ Then the other one asked, ‘Are we going to dump this bum into the Potomac?’”

I sat back. "That's cute, Cuddles. You’re even managing to work in those streetwalker murder cases they’re talking about on the TV every night."

She stood up indignantly. "I'm telling the truth!"

"You absolutely can't be Congressman Schitz, so that makes you either a liar or a nut case."

All my insult did was to incite her to jabber all the faster: "Then the other alien said, `Yeah, why not? How would you like to make the headlines one more time, Congressman?'”

The redhead stood up and said, “No! We’ll keep him as a girl. He’ll at least be of some use that way.”

Then they put me into heels and this tight dress. They even smeared lipstick on my mouth.”

“So I see. They didn’t do such a bad job of it.”

“And dragged me out to their car," she added. “When we got down to the piers, the aliens stopped in front of a warehouse."

"A whorehouse?" Man, this was a story that I should have been writing myself! I wondered what the best ending should be. I absolutely didn’t want to do a Hollywood-style cop-outs where the Congressman changes back into his crummy old-self at the end of the story. What’s the use of going off on a trip if you’re going to end up at the exact same place that you started out from?

"A warehouse!" she corrected me.

"What warehouse?" Dewitt asked.

Schitz shifted toward my pard. "A Rex Company warehouse along the eastern riverfront," she said. "I think it must be one of their secret bases."

"How did you get away?" I asked.

"A squad car drove up, saw the two guys playing rough with me, and stopped. The police came out to ask what was going on."

"Two D.C. cops doing their job?" I interrupted. "Your story is beginning to sound fishy."

"That's what did happen! The aliens ran for cover. I started yelling for help and the officers picked me up, but I didn't dare tell them the truth."

"Of course not, sweetheart," I nodded tolerantly. "You wanted to save that little suprise just for us."

Her voice hardened. "The aliens said that they've taken over the bodies of a lot of people -- especially people in authority. What if the aliens already control the police -- the whole government even? So I came to you."

“I don’t think aliens could do worse than the people who are in charge now,” I said.

Suddenly, her face sank forward into her cupped hands; for the first time I started to feel sorry for the dame, even if she was a nut-filled cookie. Maybe she actually believed her own crazy story. I figured she might need real help, not just bad jokes. I said to Dewitt, "This lady's really scared about something, Martin. Why don't you go check out that warehouse?"

He tossed off his familiar there-you-go-again smirk. "So it’s going to be another freebie for some sob-sister, Callahan?"

"So what's your problem?" I asked testily. "Have you got a high-stakes game of solitaire waiting for you back home? Martin, you'll be putting on an alderman if you don't get some exercise once in a while."

He reluctantly stood up. "All right, but I think it's a waste of time and gasoline. You've always been a pushover for a panhandler, D.C. No wonder Sheila is the only one in this office who ever takes home a paycheck."

I just glowered at him. We always paid Sheila first because the government doesn't care if a owners make squat; it’s always the employee who come first. I knew we'd land in hot water if we ever missed a single payroll.

Then I noticed my pard putting on that black leather jacket of his. "Hey, you aren't going out wearing that thing, are you?"

"What are you ragging about now?"

"You forgot your snap-brimmed hat," I reminded him. "It was your birthday present, remember?"

He threw up his arms. "D.C., nobody wears those snap-brim antiques anymore."

I gave him my senior-partner glim. "That's gratitude for you. Detectives wear fedoras for the same reason that chimney sweeps still wear stovepipe hats. It's tradition."

"I don't see people paying anything for tradition and, anyway, a hat would look wrong with this jacket."

"Is it my fault that you come to work out of uniform?" To spare his feelings, I decided not to add that his blue jeans, jacket, and motorcycle boots would have been more appropriate on a schoolyard dope pusher.

He waved away my advice. "D.C., whenever you’re able to meet an honest payroll, I'll wear a ballerina outfit if that’s traditional."

"I don't swing that way," I told him. "But thanks for warning me that you do."

After that nifty zinger, Martin gave up the bickering and let the door clunk shut behind him. I was left to entertain "Congressman Schitz" all alone. "Until my partner gets back," I told her, "I think you need a good detox -- I mean, a good rest. Can I take you home, or to a motel?"

I detected a tremble in her sigh. "I don't have any money to rent a room, and if I went home I'd have to explain to my wife how I got this way. She might even pretend that she doesn’t believe that I'm really me. I was hoping you could spare me a loan."

"You don’t look like a politician, but you sure think like one. I'll take you to my flop instead. At least you won’t be able to steal me blind; everything I ever owned has already been repossessed."

She stood up indignantly. "I'm not a thief! I'm a member of Congress!"

“You’ve got to stop feeding me these obvious straight lines, Sweetie.”

Then, all of a sudden, she started to shake.

"Say, don't take it so hard, lady. You'll be all right."

The girl sank down into her chair again. "It's not just that this whole business is so -- so horrifying. I feel so -- so –"

"Scared?"

"I was going to say horny! I keep feeling like I want to have sex? Am I going crazy?"

I eyed her carefully. The idea of taking this hot chick home really did sound like the best possible solution to her problem.

"You're not crazy," I told her. "You're a normal red-blooded American girl. What you need is a dark, quiet room where you can lay down, rest back, and spread your legs."

Pushing up out of my chair, I stepped around the desk, opened the door, and yelled for Sheila. She came over, looking put-upon, as usual.

"Sheila," I said, "I'm going to find this lady a place to stay. I should be back before closing time." Our gal Friday gave back one of those sweetly endearing 'couldn't-care-less' shrugs.

Then the black vision of loveliness said, "We should leave by the back way, Callahan, just in case I was followed. They're aliens and they probably have incredibly effective surveillance equipment."

"Maybe, but I think your equipment is even more incredible," I said.

At that, I took my hat and flogger off the rack. True, a mack was too hot to wear during this heat wave, but trench coats always looks damned good when carried sportingly over a manly shoulder.

I sighed. Street girls always had a way of complicating a man's life, but this one was certainly a temptation. I wondered if I should be taking risks just for the sake of a good time. On the other hand, the day hadn't started out so great and maybe this was fate's way of giving me the kind of a break that I really deserved.