Chapter Thirteen: The Lost Father
The following day Melanie’s curiosity got the better of her. She knew a Private Detective connected with her firm. His name was Richard Sharpe. In the few dealings she had experienced with him, she had found him to be quite intelligent and very thorough. She made an appointment to see him during her lunch break.
He was a well-dressed man with fading dark hair and wore glasses with a thin rounded frame.
At 1:36pm Mr Sharpe’s secretary gestured for Melanie to enter his office. When the young lawyer entered the office she recognised the private detective, sitting behind his desk, smoking on a cigar and eating Chinese food.
The office itself, was immaculate, with not a file out of place. Even his desk had no paper on it and his lunch took pride of place. There were awards and photographs neatly displayed on the walls and the cream coloured carpet had no markings on it.
“What can I do for you, Ms Chowdar,” he asked abruptly. This didn’t seem like the well mannered man that Melanie was used to coming across in her office.
“Well eh,” Melanie stuttered, “I would like you to find my Father.”
Mr Sharpe leaned forward over his Chicken Chow Mein and spring rolls. “Do you realise that I charge $500 an hour, Ms Chowdar, plus expenses?”
Melanie was a little surprised at both his impatient attitude and his expensive demands.
“How long does something like this take?” Melanie asked.
“Maybe twenty hours, maybe two hundred hours, but the expenses can stack up too.”
“Well that’s a lot of money Mr Sharpe,” the young lawyer responded timidly, hoping that the private detective would understand her financial circumstances and take pity on her.
“Well, how much can you afford?”
Mr Sharpe continued to fill the room with cigar smoke and eat from his Chinese food. Melanie found it a little irritating but she was reluctant to say anything.
“$4,000,” she responded.
“Well, because I like you, I can spend eight hours on this job for $4,000 and if I don’t get results in those eight hours you’ll just have to find him yourself. How does that sound?”
“It doesn’t sound good at all Mr Sharpe,” Melanie responded in a perplexed manner. ”$4,000 dollars is a lot of money.”
“Not in this business,” the Private Detective said bluntly. “Now, if you haven’t got the money, I wouldn’t want my chicken chow mein to get to chilly. Time is money Miss Chowdar.”
Melanie was dejected. She didn’t want to ask her step father or Max for the money but she didn’t see much of an alternative. “I’m sorry for wasting your time, Mr Sharpe,” she responded as she stood up from her chair and turned to face the door.
“Before you go, Ms Chowdar, there is a guy I sometimes refer to clients who can’t afford me. He’s like a C list Private Detective. Besides he’s my wife’s nephew.” Mr Sharpe said, offering her a business card. “His name is Zach Simms. Don’t forget to tell him that I sent you. His rates should be affordable to you.”
Melanie accepted the card and made her way out of the office. She could see that Mr Simms was based in the same building, two floors down. She knocked on the glass door and listened. She thought she heard someone say “come in”. When she did so, she noticed that the office was smaller, far more untidy and there was no receptionist on duty in the waiting room. There were a load of files scattered around the room in a haphazard manner and a few pizza and fast food boxes here and there. Melanie wasn’t impressed. She wondered how he could find anything with a system like his. There were no clients sitting in the waiting room and the door to Mr Simms office was left ajar. Melanie pushed it open gently. The door let out a squeak as it opened.
“Yes, can I help you?” Mr Simms said, with a bottle of whiskey in his left hand and a cigarette in the other.
“I’m looking for someone to help me find my Father” Melanie replied.
Mr Simms gestured for her to sit down and she did as advised. She removed some old dirty papers from the seat and sat down. She looked around as she did so. There was no filing cabinet. Instead there was a mound of papers scattered in a heap to the Melanies right hand side but a more organised set of folders stacked neatly to the left hand side.
“They’re my more important clients,” Mr Simms said referring to the tidy pile. Melanie wondered which category she would fall into.
Melanie then heard something move under the pile.
“Don’t worry that’s just a mouse.”
“It sounds like a rat,” Melanie replied.
“No, it’s a mouse. I blame my Secretary, she left a few months ago. Maybe a year. She wanted more money. Can’t get good staff. Tell me about your Father,” the Private Detective said, before taking a swig from his whiskey bottle.
“I haven’t heard anything about him since he left when I was an infant. My mother gave me very little information about him. I know his name. It’s Frank Chowdar. I believe his Date of birth is December 15th 1954. He may have been raised in Brooklyn. I think he was a wino.”
“Hey there’s nothing wrong with wino’s. Please refer to him as an alcoholic,” Mr Simms said before taking another swig of the bottle.
Melanie was disappointed that Mr Simms took no notes of anything she was telling him. If he was hungover the next day he probably wouldn’t have any recollection of their meeting.
“Do you have a photograph of this man?”
“I’m not even sure if it is him but here you go. It appears to have been taken when he was in his twenties.”
The Private Detective appeared to be conflicted as to whether he should put down his cigarette or his bottle. In the end he did neither and Melanie left the photo on his desk for him to look at upside down.
“What are your rates Mr Simms?”
“That depends of how long it takes and how successful I am. It’s about fifty dollars an hour plus expenses plus a bonus of forty per cent if I’m successful but you won’t have to worry about that because I’m rarely successful,” he said looking at the frustrated look on Melanie’s face. “Ha ha. I was joking. This sounds like a doable case. Now if you just write your contact details on a piece of paper and leave it with me, I can get on with what’s left of my lunch break,” he said before taking another swig from his bottle.
Melanie left her details with the alcoholic Private Eye and left his office in a downbeat manner. He didn’t seem like the type of guy who would inspire confidence in his clientele but the only consolation was that he was affordable.
Melanie Chowdar sat alone at a table in Mango’s restaurant on Heidel Way. Eight days had passed since her first meeting with the Private Investigator known as Zach Simms. As she waited, she was conflicted as to whether she should smoke or not. She was after all seated in a non-smoking area and everyone around her was engaging in the same filthy habit. It was a low budget restaurant that was relatively unclean and unsophisticated in its culinary options.
It was lunch time and Melanie had asked for special dispensation from her boss in order to meet with Mr Simms on the several subway stops from where she worked. The Private Detective ordered a Quarter Pounder, Chips and a Strawberry milkshake. Melanie ordered a still water and onion rings.
“So Mr Simms, did you find out anything about my Father?” the young lawyer asked in hope rather than confidence.
“Yeah lots,” he replied before removing a tankard of whiskey from his inside pocket and drinking from it. He then put the tankard down on the table and picked up a paper backed file, wrapped in rubber bands. Melanie was relieved to see that the file was quite sizeable, even if it did smell of alcohol and other things that Melanie did not want to dwell on.
“Your Father left your Mother when you were about six months old. His name was Frank Chowdar. Around that time he lost his job working in the meat factory. His parents and Brother all died before you were born.”
“How did they die?”
“Frank was the only survivor of a car crash. He was fifteen years old. His parents were from Howcheca. It’s a small town about two hundred miles from here. Anyway, after leaving your Mother, Frank hooked up with a singer by the name of Mizzy Donnelle. They lived together for two and a half years. According to Mizzy, who is still alive, they were the unhappiest years of her life. Frank continued to drink and they argued every day. In the end, she gave him an ultimatum. He chose to continue drinking. Four months after leaving her, he ended up on the street. His former landlord, Mr Lorato, claimed that Frank owed him rent and missed two payments. Eight weeks after hitting the streets, Frank was stabbed by another homeless man in the stomach over the five dollars and small change Frank had left in his wallet. It took two weeks to identify him. Your Mother managed to verify he was who the authorities thought he was. He was buried in Willington Cemetery. Your Stepfather paid for the cost of the funeral but virtually nobody attended.”
“Can I see the file?” Melanie asked.
“Do you have my $2,500 payment?”
Melanie breathed a sigh of relief. She had withdrawn $4,000. She opened the envelope within her handbag and proceeded to take some of the money out and place it in her purse. Melanie then handed over the envelope. When the Private Detective realised what she had done he slapped himself on the forehead and groaned. Begrudgingly he handed over the file.
“Where is his sister now?” Melanie asked.
“It’s in the file,” Mr Simms said before taking another swig of his favourite beverage.
“Where was his sister at the time of the accident,” Melanie asked
“How should I know,” he responded, “You must think I’m Magnum PI. Anyway lady, I have more appointments to attend to. Things to do, places to see. I’ll see you round. If you need me to locate Elvis or find out who killed Kennedy just give me a call.”
Melanie finished her onion rings, paid the bill and brought the file with her. While she was bitterly disappointed that she would never meet her biological Father she was consumed with curiosity about his life.