Spirits, Wine and Chocolate: A Stanford Bell Origin Story

Spirits, Wine and Chocolate:  Before there was 'The Last Case'

Stanford Bell shot up out of bed, almost falling on the floor. He was panting, covered in sweat and coughing from the taste of battery acid that rose up in his throat. As he sat there, naked and confused, the woman beside him rolled over onto one elbow and began softly stroking his face with her other hand. “What’s the matter, baby?” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

“I will be after I get a drink,” he said in a raspy, broken voice. “It’s just another night of reflux, bad dreams and regret.”

Stanford Bell was a down-on-his-luck private detective who had given up a career as a police officer to go into business for himself, investigating cheating husbands, looking for missing women, tracking down deadbeat fathers and retrieving runaway children so he could set his own rules while earning a lot more money than the municipal police force was willing to pay. So far, it hadn’t worked out that way, and most of the money that Stanford did earn usually went to buy cheap Mexican fast-food, Marlboro Red cigarettes and shots of Jack Daniel’s in the Lonely Sparrow, his favorite bar located on Chapel Street.

His bed mate this night was a Philippine-American beauty named Lourdes Evangelista de los Santos, who worked as a bartender at the Sparrow. Her name meant “evangelist of the saints,” and Stanford considered her to be his “Lourdes and savior.” She was a small but solid five-foot-two with long black hair, dark eyes, the smooth tan face of a Baywatch lifeguard and a body built for Hooters. She was the main attraction among Sparrow patrons, many of whom only drank there so they could gawk at Lourdes and watch her bend over to get beer from the cooler or reach up high to grab bottles of liquor off the shelves behind the bar.

She worked at the Sparrow almost every night because she liked the work and the relationships she formed with her customers. She also had a habit of going home after closing time with some of her regulars – either men or women – whenever the spirit moved her. Stanford Bell was her favorite, and her spirit moved her to take him to her apartment on numerous occasions.

Tonight was one of those times.

Earlier in the evening, when Lourdes went off duty, she and Stanford had sat at the end of the curved Sparrow bar, sucking lemons and limes and trading shots of Cava de Oro Tequila. Later, she took him home and stuffed him full of chocolate cake, which they washed down with a bottle of Alamos Malbec wine. He passed out soon afterward, as he always did after too much drinking ... and too much sex.

Now, in the darkened room, after a few minutes of wheezing and wiping perspiration off his forehead, Stanford rolled himself off the side of the bed and stumbled to the bathroom, where he relieved himself, drank a large glass of water and swallowed a handful of antacid tablets. He started back toward the bedroom when Lourdes called out, “Wait! Brush your teeth.” He did, and then she did, and they crawled back into bed for a long Colgate kiss, followed by, well … use your imagination.

When they had finished, Lourdes spooned up beside Stanford and kissed him softly on the ear. “What was your bad dream about?” she asked.

“The usual stuff,” he replied. “I’m staking out someone’s house and when I get out of my car, a door flies open and someone starts shooting at me. I reach for my gun and it’s not there, and I’m out in the open and there’s nowhere to hide. I try to get back in the car but the door’s locked and I turn around and he’s still shooting and the bullets are hitting me … and then I wake up before I die.”

“You said reflux, bad dreams and regret,” Lourdes repeated. “I get the dreams, but what about the regret?”

“Baby, there’s not enough time for me to lay out all of my regrets. I’ve lived a life of regret so far, but it has nothing to do with you, I assure you. I’ve made a lot of mistakes and made decisions I wish I could change, but being here with you is one of the few good things in my life.”          

Lourdes kissed him again, then lay back on the pillow and smiled. “The reflux part I understand, too,” she said. “You need to stay away from those faux-Mexican fast-food joints where you eat all of your meals, especially late at night. Before you know it, people are going to start calling you Taco Bell.”

“That’s funny,” Stanford said. “I usually eat burritos or chimichangas.”

“Yeah, I know,” Lourdes said, “but who ever heard of a restaurant chain named Chimichanga Bell?”