Sabrina's Date

‘Where have all the good men gone?’

Stupid question. The song permeated the bathroom distantly as the singer belted out the chorus. Sabrina was just about sick of listening to that screeching. She opened the window of the bathroom and climbed out.

The singer belted the song out even louder, as if she knew Sabrina was escaping and was intent on chasing her with it. Stupid question. She was a couples councillor, and women were the problem. Too picky, too flighty. And she was just the same. By now her date would be looking at his watch and wondering what was taking her so long; a perfectly good man with an adequate job in real estate, an adequate personality, and even a few shared interests.

But there just wasn’t any spark.

There never was. Sabrina constantly told her own clients that it doesn’t matter. You’ve got to uncover the spark, give it a fair go. Dig for it.

‘So why can’t I follow my own advice?’ She sighed into the cold, stale night as she trudged home, spirit flagging, and much in need of a glass of the reddest wine she could find.

Upon getting home she dropped into her comfiest recliner, forwent the glass, and put a bottle of wine to her lips as she spun herself around. She needed to find someone. Her biological clock was ticking, and her clients were getting wise that perhaps they shouldn’t take advice from a divorcee. Finding someone for the sake of finding someone—not the way it’s supposed to go, Sabrina. She’d lost her husband to her work, and now she wanted to find a new one for the sake of her work. Ah, the irony.

People thought she couldn’t do anything without her husband, that she’d relied on him to get things done. They were right, to some extent. She was a straight edge, never got into any trouble, and if trouble came around, her husband had dealt with it. Now he was gone.

She went for the little black book by her landline, flipped it open, and ran her finger down the list of names and numbers, until she found Roth. She’d never met Roth in person. He was a Private Eye who’d done a few odd jobs for her, tailing men that she feared might be a danger to her clients, or ones she just took a fancy to. The irony wasn’t lost on her. On the contrary, there was so much irony in her blood she might as well be Superwoman.

She dialled the number, and Roth’s ridiculously gravelly voice grated through the receiver. Why did she even still have a landline? She was so old fashioned, sometimes. This was why—no, not the time to be negative. Positivity, confidence, those were the keys to success.

‘I didn’t understand a damn word you just said, Roth,’ she slurred through the receiver. Damn, she was drunker than she’d thought.

‘I said: this is Roth, Charles Roth, P.I. and Jazz Musician.’

‘Look, Roth, I need you to tail someone for me.’

‘Yeah, that’s something I can do. Fits right into my style.’

‘Of course it does, you’re a private investigator.’ Sabrina rolled her eyes. The man certainly wasn’t much for brains, but he got the job done. ‘Anyway, I need you to tail Marco Rossi. He’s a landlord who lives on the west side. I want you to take me along.’

‘I usually fly solo, but never could say no to a dame. I’ll be around in thirty five.’

Sabrina hung up the phone and paced the room, biting the nail of her forefinger. With Marco she’d sensed there could be the trace of a spark, if their relationship wasn’t purely business. She had to find out if he was crazy or not before she asked him out. She sighed. Tailing her own landlord after a failed date, to make sure he wasn’t into anything weird, that was the rational course of action. This is why she was the best couples councillor in town, emphasis on was.

Roth arrived in good time, pulled up in the crappiest car she’d ever seen, too crappy to be inconspicuous but perhaps just crappy enough to be ignored. She brought the bottle of wine for good measure and went out to meet him. She waited for Roth to open the door for her, but he was too busy fumbling with a cigarette to notice. She opened the door and stuck her head in to berate him for it, but he stuck a cigarette in her face before she had the chance to speak. ‘Smoke?’ he said.

‘No thanks.’ She slapped his hand aside and climbed in next to him. He was a big African American man, with a bald head and a nose he could beat someone to death with. He wore an enormous trench coat, and there was a black fedora in the back seat. On a scale from one to ten for surreptitiousness, he ranked about a negative sixty five.

Roth set the car in motion. He liked to smoke with the windows up, and soon the car was filled with a dense mist of fumes. He wasn’t much for talking, but his expression kept changing, as if he were constantly running an inner monologue. Sometimes his lips even moved like some people’s do when they’re reading. Sabrina didn’t know why, but she liked it. There was something attractive about a man in such a shady business being so easy to read.

They drove to the west side and parked outside Marco’s house. It was practically a mansion, with columns, statues, a small gated-off yard, and all that good stuff. Sabrina hadn't known her landlord was a rich man; it tickled her nerves the wrong way. It’s just the smoke playing with your head, Sabrina.

She opened the car door to get some fresh air, but quickly closed it again as Marco stepped out of the front door with another man she didn’t recognise. Marco was holding a large black bag, and the man beside him was talking in an irritable faux-British accent, ‘I tried to buy a book this morning around 10am. Went to this book store run by a Mr. Black or something. He was exceedingly rude.’

‘We’ll deal with him later,’ said Marco. ‘My wife is late with her rent.’

So Marco was married. There it was. Sabrina the fool, chasing after a married man with a P.I. and a bottle of wine. She took a long draught of it.

‘Is she?’ said the other man.

‘Yeah, I think she may’ve skipped out.’

‘Carmella? Never. She’s loyal as anything.’

Sabrina sat bolt upright. Carmella Rossi? She was one of her clients. Always came alone and barely got two words out for weeping. Sabrina had always thought she was in a lot of trouble, but Roth had never found out who her husband was, said they were separated and living in two different houses, and that the man was a ghost. Well here he was, and none too ghost-like for her tastes. At least not yet.

‘Guess her loyalty is all used up,’ said Marco, lighting a cigar. ‘Time to put her down.’

A shiver ran up Sabrina’s spine. He couldn’t be saying what she thought. She threw a look at Roth. He grinned around his cigarette and looked at her like a man about to jump from a plane. There was something about that look sent a pleasurable tingle down into her belly. ‘Looks like we got something here.’

‘He’s going to kill Carmella! We have to stop him.’

He flipped a finger Sabrina’s way and said, ‘I want double the pay.’

Sabrina only paid him in cigarettes anyway so she nodded her agreement.

Roth’s smile broadened. ‘Then you’ve got a deal.’ He reached into the back seat to fetch his fedora, put it on like he was going to business. He opened the door and stepped out into the night. Sabrina gawped at him. The man was as subtle as a hammer. What kind of a P.I. was he?

Roth stood outside the gates and waited as Marco and the other man came down the driveway in a Cadillac. The car stopped between the opening gates as Marco saw Roth, who leaned into the window, grinned, and pulled out a gun. ‘Step out of the vehicle,’ he said.

Marco, looking nonplussed, stepped out. The other man hesitated, and Roth jabbed the gun at him and said something Sabrina didn’t understand. The man got out, and Roth waved his gun around. They started back up towards the house, the car still thrumming in the driveway. Sabrina got out and went to the Cadillac, saw the bag in the back. She opened it, and inside was a ton of cash, about twenty grand, she figured. She could take off right now with that kind of money, start a new life in Madagascar.

A gun went off.

Sabrina looked up out of the car, saw Roth on the ground and Marco dragging him inside the house. The other guy came behind and closed the door. Sabrina could just run with the money, leave Roth and Carmella to their fate. Things were bad. Really bad. She got in the Cadillac, put it in drive, and screeched out into the street.

Sabrina knew exactly what to do. She wasn't running. She drove to the local gun store and used the cash to buy the most expensive hunting rifle she could find. As per policy, the clerk called the FBI, and while waiting for the background check, he showed her how to use it. Ten minutes later she was back in the car with the gun locked and loaded.

She drove back to Marco’s house and climbed over the wall into the yard. She darted from bush to bush, until she got a good line on the front window. She peered through the scope of her gun and saw Marco inside standing in front of Roth who was tied to a chair. The other man was behind him, slapping him in the back of the head with a blackjack. Sabrina got a line on him and pulled the trigger with no hesitation, saw him go down as the window shattered. She jerked her gun in Marco’s direction, but he was already out of sight. The other guy got back to his feet—must have missed—she fired again and this time blood sprayed.

The door flew open and Marco came out with Roth’s gun, fired in her direction, but in the dark he couldn’t see too well. Sabrina pulled him into her sights and fired, hit his gun hand and blew it right off. She’d been aiming for his head, but that would do. He went down, yelling and clutching his ruined hand. Sabrina ran up and clocked him in the head with the butt of her rifle. He went down and she went inside to untie Roth. He had a hole torn through the arm of his coat, but it was so thick the bullet missed flesh.

‘I pegged you wrong,’ he said, as she got his hands free. ‘Serves me right. Never judge a book by its ponytail, I always say.’

She grinned at him. There was a spark there for sure, even if it was the spark of a gun barrel going off. She’d never fired a gun before, but there was something about it that filled her with a sense of power, a sensation she liked very much. This was something she could do, something she didn’t need anyone else for.

She and Roth got out of there, after leaving behind the cash and reporting Marco to the cops. Roth said he’d make sure the man went away for years, and wouldn’t trouble either Carmella or Sabrina again. Sabrina found herself itching for a little trouble.

Maybe it was time for a change in career.