I had been driving for five hours when I first saw the city. The sun was setting behind the metropolitan glass towers, reflecting through the dull orange smog and into my eyes. Shielding my face with my hand, I turned into the exit leading to the city centre. The U-Haul trailer containing everything I owned swung wildly behind me. The cars around me started honking.
“Fuck you, assholes!” I screamed as I leaned out of my window. A guy beside me accelerated and gave me the finger. I barely stopped myself from cutting him off. Control yourself, I thought, before you do something stupid.
Of course, I was already doing something stupid. Picking up everything and moving to a new city is never a smart move, especially when you make this decision after a fight with your boyfriend and several shots of whiskey, but I wasn’t known for my solid decision-making skills. That was what had gotten me into this mess. Give me any problem, put me in any scrape when I’m working, and I’m fine. Those rules never seemed to apply to personal life, though. But it was too late to go back now.
I rolled past a sign welcoming me to Denial City. I know, I know, strange place to move, but they were apparently in need of private eyes. The woman at the employment office had managed to find me an interview, at least, and I wasn’t one to turn down employment. Since I had quit my normal job in Blunt City a few days ago I had been in a mad scramble, and this had saved my bacon.
My GPS spewed directions to the condo I would be renting while I was here. I had talked on the phone to the manager, and she had seemed pretty nice. I figured most of the people who lived here would be. It was pretty easy to be congenial when you were unable to accept that there was anything negative in your life.
When I finally found my building I was pleasantly surprised. It was nice, in a cookie-cutter way. All of the cobblestone pathways led to a courtyard garden in the centre of the complex. The trees were well-pruned and hidden behind cast iron fences. It was the kind of place you would never have found in Blunt City.
I walked into the lobby, dragging one of my several mismatched suitcases behind me. The old woman who sat behind the desk looked up at me through her gold-rimmed pince-nez.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked in the voice I recognized from the phone.
“We talked yesterday. I want to rent a condo.”
“Ah yes. Ms Gibson?”
“That’s me.”
“Follow me. It’s a lovely little unit, right by the courtyard.” The woman hobbled towards the door and I followed, my suitcase getting stuck on the shabby lobby carpet.
“The couple who were renting the house before you were very nice. Shame, really, that they were in such a hurry to leave. They kept mentioning something about ‘having to get out of the city’...”
We arrived at my condo. The woman had been right - it did open right onto the courtyard. The paint was peeling a little bit on the windowsills, and the numbers could have done with some polishing, but it was nice.
“It’s getting quite late tonight, but perhaps tomorrow you’ll meet some of your neighbours. The Carltons are on your right and across from you is Mr. Turnbull. The man on your left is new here too, just moved in a few days ago. I can’t quite remember his name but I’m sure he’ll stop by and introduce himself soon enough. He’s a bit mysterious, but quite handsome!” the lady said, winking at the last sentence. She then handed me the key to my condo, turned, and left.
I unlocked the door and swung it open to reveal chaos. The place was a disaster. Garbage was strewn all over the floor and moldy couch, several holes were punched in the walls, and the unmistakable scent of marijuana lingered in the air. Stunned, I let go of my suitcase and wandered around the room. Overflowing ashtrays covered every conceivable surface. The muted television was still playing reruns of Jerry Springer. Clearly, the manager had been wrong about the previous owners.
I walked into the bedroom. Compared with the rest of the condo, it really wasn’t that bad. Even though the sheets looked like they hadn’t been washed in years, they were free of cigarette butts, and the mattress looked comfortable. I lay down. It was comfortable. Deciding that I would confront the landlady and unpack in the morning, I let myself fall asleep.
It took me a few seconds when I woke up the next morning to recognize where I was. The jumbled mess I saw was certainly not the organized apartment I was used to. My anger at the manager quickly returned. I pulled on my shoes and stormed outside.
The man from across the courtyard was outside in his bathrobe, watering the plants and ignoring the rain clouds obviously gathering on the horizon. I had forgotten his name so I raised my arm and waved. He smiled back warmly.
“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” he called.
“It is, but it looks like rain later,” I said, pointing to the sky. He looked up.
“Nonsense. Not a cloud in the sky. I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you new?”
“Yes, I just got in last night. My name’s Natalie Gibson.”
“I’m Alan Turnbull. My wife Rose is still sleeping. She’s really not a morning person,” he chuckled as he waved at a drawn curtain.
“Do you have any idea where I could find the woman who manages these buildings?”
“Oh, Mrs. Donavan? You can usually find her in the lobby.”
I left Mr. Turnbull, who was still smiling slightly to himself, and headed for the lobby. The happily chirping birds only served to irritate me further. What kind of person could possibly describe that condo as ‘lovely’? Then I remembered where I was. Only in Denial City.
I passed my van, only to find some idiot unloading it.
“Get away from my van, you thieving bastard! What do you think you’re doing?”
“Is it really that unapparent?” he answered calmly while continuing to unload my suitcases.
“Who do you think you are?”
“Why are you concerned with who I think I am? Shouldn’t you be more concerned with why I am unloading your suitcases first thing in the morning?” he said with a glint in his eye. I grabbed his arm.
“Listen - either you’re going to give me a straight answer or I’m going back to my house for my gun. Your choice.”
“Fair enough. My name is Thomas Doe. I’m your neighbour. Mrs. Donavan asked me to help you unpack.”
“Alright, Mr. Doe. It has been lovely to meet you, but I can handle unpacking my own suitcases. Do you have any idea where I can find Mrs. Donavan? I need to yell at her.”
“She went out shopping after telling me to help you. I don’t think she’ll be back for a little while. May I ask what she did to warrant being yelled at by you? Also, her opinion of you seems to be a little skewed - she described you as sweet.”
I cursed softly under my breath. “The condo she let me is a complete mess. And I’m Natalie Gibson. I just moved here from Blunt City.”
“Blunt City, huh? I guess we’re both strangers here.”
“Where are you from?” I asked. He started unloading the U-Haul again.
“Where do you think I’m from? I’m fairly sure you can guess.”
“Pissing-me-off City?” I grumbled. He laughed.
“Nope. Doubt City. Got transfered here a little while ago. Just moved in last week.”
“Ah. Makes sense.” I climbed into the van to grab some of the boxes from the back. Quite a few things had moved around during the drive. “You really don’t need to help me do this.”
“Yes, but don’t you appreciate the help?”
I passed him one of my boxes. Mrs. Donavan hadn’t been wrong in calling him handsome. He had lovely dark chestnut hair, and his eyes were a warm green flecked with gold. There were the beginnings of laughter lines around his full lips. I felt my eyes drifting down towards his tanned arms before I caught myself. I had promised myself when I left that I wouldn’t get caught up in stuff like this again.
“Thanks,” I said after we had unloaded the last box. “That probably would have taken me ages on my own.”
“And you’re even free before ten. Want to grab breakfast?”
“Hold on - what time is it?”
“Nine thirty. Why?” Crap.
“I had a job interview half an hour ago. I need to go.” I grabbed the last of the boxes and ran to my condo. I was dressed and had my hair done in three minutes, and just had enough time to throw on some lipstick before I rushed to my car.
Driving like a maniac, I barely made it to city hall by ten. I was in such a rush I almost crashed my car into a swanky new Ferrari parked in front of the building. When I had called the employment office here in Denial City a few days ago, I had expected to to end up waiting tables or making coffee, not to have the mayor call me the next day begging to see me the first chance I got.
At the front desk a tall, middle aged woman was chatting with a blonde secretary. She wasn’t exactly beautiful, but I couldn’t help but be drawn to her somehow. The secretary was laughing at something the woman had said, her nose crinkling up slightly and accentuating her freckles. We made eye contact and she waved me over.
“Are you Natalie Gibson?” the secretary asked.
“Yes. I had an appointment this morning with the mayor. I’m terribly sorry I’m late...”
“Oh, don’t worry about being on time. I never am,” the woman said, winking. She extended her hand. “Gwyneth Ross. You’re looking for me.”
“Mayor Ross! Lovely to meet you. I was quite surprised by your phone call.”
“I’ll talk to you later, Scarlet,” Mayor Ross said to her secretary. She then turned to me and led me outside. “I can understand why you’d be surprised at my phone call. But the fact is that I’m looking for someone with your... skill set.”
“What does the mayor of Denial City need with a private eye?”
“Please, personal investigator sounds so much better, doesn’t it? And even Denial City has its problems, although you’d be hard pressed to find anyone here who’d admit to them. As mayor, it’s my job to look after stuff like this. I’ll need you every now and then, just for odd jobs. Outside of then, you can run a private practice. I’ve already picked out an office for you. It’s just a short walk away, we can stop by if you’d like?”
I was slightly startled but managed a “Sure.” She walked down the stone steps and turned down a sidestreet without stopping to see if I was following her.
“And, of course, I would get priority over any of your other clients.”
“Naturally, Mayor Ross.” She laughed.
“Call me Gwyneth. Everyone else does.” We continued walking until she stopped in front of an old brownstone. “Here it is, Natalie. Your office is on the first floor. I’ll stop by when I need you.” She started to walk away, but turned back when she got to the end of the street. “Oh, and I forgot. If you’re free tonight, stop by my apartment at eight. I’m throwing a gala to celebrate my tenth year in office. Formal dress. Hope to see you there!” she called as she turned the corner. I walked into the building to examine my new office.
It looked like every other detective’s office from all of the film noir movies I’d ever seen. It was perfect. I drew down the blinds and hung my jacket on the coat stand. The desk was a huge, beautiful mahogany piece, wonderfully smooth to the touch. I went to look in the cupboards and discovered a bottle of scotch with a tag reading “from Gwyneth”. Despite her strangeness, I had to be grateful to her. The office was much more than I had expected. And I could forgive her for being strange. Denial City really wasn’t the sort of place which attracted normal people. I still wasn’t used to the idea of a city where people were measured by how deeply they were in denial. It was a polar opposite to Blunt City, where everyone spoke their minds. I found myself feeling slightly homesick, but I shook myself out of it. There was nothing for me in Blunt City anymore.
Gwyneth sent a limo to my condo at seven to pick me up. I hadn’t planned on going, but the driver agreed to wait while I changed. The only thing I owned which could possibly be described as formal was a short black dress from a couple of years ago. I dug it out of my bags and slipped into it. By slipped I really mean wrestled - the dress had shrunk significantly in the past five years. My hair was frizzy so I twisted it into a French roll. I was just finishing locking up when Thomas walked up.
“You look nice. Any reason you’re dressed up?” he asked.
“Gwyneth invited me to a gala tonight.”
“You mean Mayor Ross? Wow. First day here and you’ve already going to the biggest event in town. Sounds like fun. Although you really don’t seem like a gala kind of girl.”
“Really? I love these kinds of things,” I lied. He was starting to frustrate me.
“Hmm. Well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself,” he said as he walked back to his condo.
The limo dropped me off at the highest tower in town. I was instructed by the driver to take the elevator to the 71st floor, which turned out to only be about two-thirds of the way up the building. It was also the start of Gwyneth’s penthouse. The first three floors were entirely dedicated to a massive entrance hall packed with people. I skirted the edge of the room and made my way to the buffet. I didn’t recognize any of the food, but I picked up some hors d'oeuvres anyway. They were delicious.
From the corner of my eye I caught a large group of people heading my way. At the centre of the maelstrom was Gwyneth. She caught my eye and waved me over, her red sari swishing around her six inch heels, and stooped to kiss my cheeks twice before dragging me away from the crowd.
“So happy that you could make it, Natalie! Sorry about them, they’re really not important. Here, I’ll introduce you to some of my friends.” She shuffled me off towards the far end of the hall, pointing out people along the way. “That is the King of Bad Geography Island,” she said, waving at a tanned man laughing with his wife. “It’s a beautiful place to vacation in the summer, but dreadfully difficult to get to.” Gwyneth then pointed at another man talking to a large group of people, who were all looking at each other in confusion. “The mayor of Pedanticity. Wonderful man, if you can figure out what he’s saying.” A muscular Italian man walked up to Gwyneth and kissed her hand. “And this is Antonio, my head of security.”
“Ciao, mui bellissima friend of Gwyneth,” Antonio said, kissing my hand as well.
“Doesn’t speak a word of English,” Gwyneth said, “but he’s very handsome, no?”
I laughed in response. “You two can stay here and chat, I need to go speak with the King.” Gwyneth waltzed off towards the centre of the room
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak much Italian,” I said to Antonio.
“Scusi?” he responded. I debated staying but realized there really wasn’t any point.
“Look, never mind. I was just leaving anyway.” I left a confused looking Antonio and forced my way towards the exit. When I turned around he was talking in animated Italian to another man, so I figured he’d be fine without me.
I spent the rest of the night sipping cocktails in a nearby bar. Thomas had been right in saying that I really wasn’t a gala girl. There was just something about Gwyneth, though - she seemed to have a weird way of unconsciously getting you to do what she wanted. I couldn’t help but be jealous of her natural charisma, but then again charisma meant little in my line of work.
Looking around, I saw a group of drunk college boys hitting on two girls who were clearly out of their league. Despite their constant failures, they kept at it. I fought back the urge to go yell at them for being stupid. Denial City was starting to get to me - I wasn’t good at suppressing my feelings, but I chided myself, remembering that I’d probably be used to it in no time.
The bar closed at one and I found myself trying to find my way around the alleys of a strange city drunk. Before long I was completely lost. I had resigned myself to spending the night curled up in a doorway when I heard a car engine. Hoping to get a lift, or at least directions, I ran around the corner. The driver was just speeding away. I thought about chasing after it, but that would be near impossible in my heels. Instead, I decided to huddle up under a staircase. There were some potato sacks nearby which I could easily use as blankets. I pulled a few of them towards me.
Antonio tumbled out of one of them. He was dead.
