Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 116, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 709 & 710, September/October 2000

“Dr. Gorman, you’ve been served.” The secretary opened her mouth. He pointed at her. “Don’t say a word. If you hadn’t lied to us, we wouldn’t have lied to you. Have a nice day.”

Matt left the doctor’s office and headed to the elevator. He pushed the Down button and the doors opened. Sean was leaning against the far wall. They both raised their arms and slapped palms. Sean started to sing, “Nowhere to run to, baby, nowhere to hide.”

“Short Fuse Process Service. That was good. You make that up on the spot?”

“Yeah, she was pissing me off. If she’d gotten the doctor or agreed to accept it, I’d just have asked you for the paper. Once she started that bull, I just ad-libbed it and hoped you’d find a place to step in. If not, I figured we’d stake out his house.”

“Does he have a daughter?”

“Hell if I know. I was on a roll.”

“That got my attention. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to serve the daughter. This is ugly stuff. She didn’t do anything.”

“Hey, whatever it takes, Matt. Nobody cares about stiffing us.”

“What is that, our motto? Short Fuse Process Service: Whatever it takes.”

“Sure, why not?”

Matt shook his head. “Yeah, why not? We’re young. We’re hardcore.”

“Let’s go back to the office, file the paperwork, and look at the Icebox. Have you figured out how much we’ve made? Tuition’s due at the end of August, we’ve only got a week left,” Sean said.

“Yeah, I’ve checked. We’re short. We’ll need to take everything we can get. Night jobs, the weekend. If we don’t make it, we can see if they’ll put us on the monthly plan, that’ll give us some more time to come up with the balance.”

“You know, for white male oppressors, we’re not having a lot of fun running this country.”

“Our turn will come. Until then, we go home, grab a bite to eat, and go to the gym. The state bench-press meet is Thanksgiving. If we’re going to have any chance, we can’t let our training slack.”

“What if we get a call at the gym?”

“We go. And we bitch the whole way. That’s why we’re Short Fuse, remember?”

They sat in Mickey’s office and filled out affidavits of service and billing sheets for the day. Each one rummaged through the Icebox as the other recorded his work. Mickey double-checked the forms and countersigned them. “Find anything?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Yeah. One,” Sean said.

“Who is it? Let me see.”

Sean handed him the papers.

“I remember this guy. A deadbeat dad. You guys’ll love tagging him. Good hunting. Remember, call the attorney first, make sure it’s still valid and what they’ll pay. Get it in writing and see if they’ll pick up your expenses. Remember when you had to eat that all-day parking bill? See you tomorrow.”

Sean took the papers back, nodded to Mickey, and the brothers left his office. In the car, Sean pointed to the case citation.

“See that. Chelsea Lyn Dougan v. Burle Hitchens.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“I saw that name today. On a sign. It was the house next to Lorelei Petty. The contractor’s sign. He was remodeling the house. It said ‘Burle Hitchens’; it even had a phone number.”

“That’s crazy. If this guy was doing business openly in this county, Mickey would have found him. DBA’s, corporation lists. That’s the first thing he does.”

“Maybe he wasn’t working back then. Time passed, he got more confident, used his name, no one came after him.”

“Or it isn’t the right guy. Same name, wrong guy. We already tagged the wrong man once today. That’s plenty.”

“Two Burle Hitchens? Maybe. We’ll check it out tomorrow at the courthouse.”

“What do you think we can get for this?”

“The original fee was two hundred. All for us. It may be worth more now.”

“That would be sweet.”

They pulled into their apartment complex, hurried by the pool they rarely had time to visit, and bounded up the stairs of their building. The apartment was empty when they entered. Their mother had left a note on the refrigerator: “I’m working the late shift. It’s a favor for Marge. I owe her one. Don’t worry about me. It’ll be fine. Love, Mom.”

“Look at this, Matt,” Sean said, handing his brother the note.

“Don’t worry, my ass. When will she get off?”

“Eleven.”

“We’re going over.”

“Matt, they have escorts now.”

“I don’t care.”

“Hey, okay. I’m not arguing with you.”

Their mother’s parking-lot rape four years earlier at the hospital was never far from either of their minds. Nor the fact that her attacker was never caught.

“Let’s change and go to the gym. We can come back and eat later,” Matt said.

“What’s the rush?”

“Might be some chicks we can impress. I mean, we almost got shot, right?” he joked.