THE MONKEY TATTOO

This red-headed Private Investigator was always destined to solve a mystery even reading the Hardy Boys books under my covers when I was 11 and 12. Solving any kind of mystery was my thing. I started with a Missing Children's organization and after funding ran out, took my test and became a Private Investigator.

I landed my first job with the Public Defenders working on criminal cases. When work was slow, I would contract private cases. This feisty young PI would take almost any job that came along just for the thrill of solving the crime, the mystery, or even a curious puzzle. I've dressed like a homeless person rummaging through garbage cans to find proof of residency of a boyfriend on an alimony case. I've picked tomatoes in the fields to obtain proof of an ex-husband's work for child support.

Criminal cases were more exciting than civil cases. I am not much for watching cheating husbands or wives. The outcome is never good and when I had to report it back to my client, the sheer pain of actual acknowledgment of what your gut has been telling you for awhile now, explodes into so many emotions that they usually forget to pay me and of course you don't want to ask for your check while they are crying. Had to change that quickly. Money up front.

I've been to Mexico on a murder case, to Oklahoma on a child abduction, and jail to interview clients more times than I would like to remember. Scary people with such graphic tattoos on their face or their hometown across their foreheads, the teardrops from their eyes or affiliations on their cheeks. Bad asses who are in jail for some reason or another.

I had a few clients with tattoos that turned out to be really cool. The father who had tattooed "FUCK YOU" on his cheeks when he was young now regretted his decision. And the innocent man who was facing 15 years for child molestation of his girlfriends 13 year old daughter. He tattooed her name on his penis and she bragged about it to her friends in front of the daughter. Then when the boyfriend tried to discipline the teenager, she cried foul against him using the ID mom had bragged about as her proof that she actually saw his private parts. Mystery solved, she only told the police about her mom's first name when in reality, the boyfriend had tattooed "Johnny loves Sara" on that part of his love for Sara. Ouch, can't even imagine sitting there for that tattoo.

Well, years went by investigating all kinds of cases. I had a beautiful office on the corner of a second story building that looked out over the small park and Main Street in the center of our town. A very tall, thin man strolled into the office and asked if I could help him with some research on filing a patent for a gadget he designed.

This was the beginning of a long term relationship with one of the most colorful, and really intelligent men that I have ever met. He spoke in a Hungarian accent but was very well spoken in the English language as well. We sat for a couple of hours having hot tea and he explained his wild idea of a sexual insinuation "handout" similar to a pen with your company name and phone number on it. We laughed so hard when he described his idea and even provided some drawings and details out of a little black book to prepare a request for submission to the Patent Office. After talking for many hours about this idea he had, he decided that the world was not ready for his novel idea for a sexual "handout" and might even get him on the wrong side of the prison doors so we scratched that idea.

Gazsi Molnar was a nuclear power plant engineer and had traveled all over the world for his job. He became fluent in several languages and was no stranger to hard work. On several visits throughout the years to follow, Gazsi would spontaneously mention that he got drunk in one of his many travels for work and he and his friend got tattoos. He explains that he was young and in his late twenties or early thirties when he changed his world and got a monkey tattooed on his butt. He was very descriptive when talking about this monkey and I laughed and brushed it off. Gazsi was a great story teller and you could never tell if he was telling you the truth or making up a "doosy" to make you question his true identity. I loved him and his sometimes very dry sense of humor and other times absolutely hilarious stories.

Gazsi traveled back and forth from Hungry to the United States every year, usually for six months at a time. I would take him to the airport and he was always dressed in his finest suit and hat. And when he would return back to the states, he always, always had great tales to tell me about his adventures back home. Gazsi traveled light but always had a brief case with him, I assumed with his passport, identifications, and anything he was working on at the time. He was a great note taker and jotted down ideas and thoughts constantly.

More years passed and Gazsi found a lady friend and moved in with her. Both were now in their late seventies and enjoyed each other's company very much. When I was helping Sally with some legal documents, Gazsi popped up and told her to "Don't you tell her about my tattoo ok". Sally laughed and threw her hand up in air motioning him to be quite. We giggled and moved onto the legal documents at hand.

After Sally passed away suddenly, Gazsi was heartbroken and lonely. I checked in on him regularly. He insisted on buying lunch every Thursday and I would pick it up and we would go to the park down the street from where he lived. I really enjoyed those picnics in the park. We would laugh and talk about our week. He would come over for holidays and even made Hungarian meals for us many times. One more thing I didn't know about Gazsi was his talents as a chef. He could take an hour to prepare a dish that popped into the oven and cook for 45 minutes. Yum, yum. I could smell the aromas now.

Within the past several years, I had decided to move to Texas and he wanted to go with us too. We made several trips to look for housing but the distance of buying a home was difficult and financing daunting.

Gazsi's idea was to purchase a home or several homes on one property then I would make the mortgage payments and he would live with us and we would care for his needs in his later years. He was already 83, but seemed younger than that.

When Covid 19 hit the world in spring of 2020, everything stopped. Restaurants closed, businesses closed, parks closed, and everyone was ordered to stay home except for essential movement to grocery stores, gas stations or medical necessities. Being the rebel he was, Gazsi wasn't about to hide in his motorhome he had been living in. He called me every week and we still had lunch in the park, always insisting that he pay. He even said he was not going without a fight if the law came to take us away for sitting in the park eating lunch. Haha I am a feisty redhead for sure but I had an open eye for the black and white cars that might circle the park. Not sure if either of us could have ran fast enough to get away.

Travel to Hungry was forbidden and Gazsi was scared that he would never get back home to see his family again. Even though he called them all regularly, he felt the need to return home as soon as possible. Months went by and the restrictions were not lifted. Gazsi was getting more and more depressed and needed to travel somewhere, anywhere.

We planned another trip in March after the winter months to check out more housing in Texas. But as dangerous as the Covid 19 health scares are, isolation, depression, lack of sunshine or personal contact with others is much more debilitating than the virus. I came down with Covid in January 2021. No idea where it was contracted and thankfully, no one else in my household of 7 contracted it either. Gazsi and I communicated by telephone for the first 2 weeks of my quarantine and he always tried to make me laugh even when it took everything I had to answer the phone that day. Yes, he even asked me if I wanted to see his stupid monkey tattoo on his butt just to make me laugh and pick up my spirits.

What a character Gazsi was. He called me late one evening around 8:02 pm. My phone rang but he apparently had hung up. I tried several times that night and again in the morning to call him back but, no answer. I picked myself up and got dressed. I was getting worried about Gazsi and why he wasn't answering me. When I got across town and noticed his car parked in front of his house, gate closed and locked, I started to get concerned. I knocked on his motorhome door and tried to open it but it too was locked. I grabbed a chair from his patio and tried to look in the windows. Then I saw him. He was sitting in his chair where he had been watching TV. I pried open his door and was shocked when I saw him sitting there with his head back against the wall. He was stiff and motionless holding his remote in one hand and his cell phone in his other hand. When I took the phone out of his hand, I noticed that he had his thumb on the END button and my telephone number as his last call, 8:02 pm the night before.

My heart was broken. I lost a very good friend and was too sick to help him. I had no idea that he was even sick and the proud man he was, he would never had told me either. After the coroner's office came and took him away that night, I sat on his sofa and felt all the emotions you could image. After securing his motorhome and his belongings, I realized that I didn't have any information about his family or even how to contact them. I went back inside to look for anything that Gazsi would have had this information tucked away. I took his cell phone with hopes that I would locate relatives on his contacts list. I found a brief case that he traveled with and gathered up any other important documents I could find. Found an old will that Gazsi had prepared 7 years prior but he told me that he was changing things around on his will so wasn't sure that was current. All things to investigate for my dear friend Gazsi.

The next day, I tried to call several of the numbers off of Gazsi's phone with Hungarian numbers. All answered in another language I was not familiar with. I reviewed his will and saw that he had a Hungarian friend who lived close by as his Executor. So the hunt began. I was able to locate the Executor fairly quickly but wanted to contact an attorney friend of mine and set up a meeting to review the documents I found before contacting the Executor.

Being the take charge kind of woman I am, I was very willing to take over the necessary tasks to insure that Gazsi had a proper end to his fabulous life. We had spoke several times about his final wishes and he was very clear about what he wanted. I felt that I was his only friend at the time and I needed to make sure this was going to go as he wanted. I didn't know how or who was going to pay for his services but I was surely determined to make sure it happened. The attorney suggested that I continue to look for any other documents that might help with the decisions that had to be done in the immediate future. But the coroner's office was so backlogged that they said they had him and not to worry about the time frame, it would take a week or two anyways because of all the recent deaths from Covid.

Searching through Gazsi's briefcase was an explosion of information I had no idea about. His bank statements had six and seven figure balances even in his checking account. His retirement account was well over a million dollars and his property titles for condos in Rio de Janeiro, houses and property in Hungry, titles to five vehicles and a boat. Damn Gazsi why were you living in a motorhome on your property here.

As any really good investigator would do, I prepared an assets accounting of what I could find and verify. I met with the attorney and he took over from there. I gave him the briefcase and what documents I had perused. I also found the Executor George who had been a long time friend of Gazsi as well. George was from Hungary too. He was able to communicate with Gazsi's family and also was familiar with Gazsi's wishes so he was glad to take over the Executor role.

After turning everything over to the attorney and Executor, I felt empty. Like what just happened. Two weeks and my "investigation" was over. Gazsi was a private man but I thought we were close enough for him to share some of these details with me. And now he is gone and I will never know about the freakin monkey tattooed on his butt. I asked George but he didn't know anything about it. I asked George if I could ask the coroner to check for me, but when I called they said they were not going to examine him and was only waiting for his doctor's medical information as to his possible conditions that might have caused his death. Ok, now I wait for the mortuary to receive him and ask if they would check. Nope, they don't examine his body after the coroner's office and refused to check for me, especially because I was not his family. The Executor said it was ok to check with them but they were not going to do it. No way. Well I guess that mystery will never be solved.

After two weeks went by, George the Executor call me and wanted to meet me at Gazsi's home. When I arrived, George handed me a beautiful black engraved Moleskine journal wrapped with the ties to secure it. I asked George what was this for and he smiled and said, "You have to open this, Gazsi must have left this for you".

As I gently untied the binding of this beautiful leather notebook, I felt Gazsi's presence. Inside was a check for $20,000 in my name, signed by Gazsi. My mouth dropped open and for a few minutes I was speechless. My eyes teared up and I looked at George. He was smiling and put his hand on my shoulder and said, "That's not all dear, look through the book."

As I read some of the entries made by Gazsi, it appeared to be a journal of some kind with small date references here and there. He talked about our adventures and how much fun he had with me traveling and having picnics in the park. But his last entry was chilling. Taped to the last page Gazsi entered, the day he died, was a photograph of Gazsi bending over bare ass looking back towards the camera with a big smile. And there it was, the monkey tattoo. Sure enough he had a mischievous monkey tattooed on his bottom pointing to his rectum. It wasn't small either, rather huge taking up most of his left butt cheek. Ouch, he had to be really drunk for that one. Gazsi told me stories about his place in Rio where he would sit outside on the deck from his kitchen and look into the forest behind his place where the monkeys flew thru the trees all day long. He said that is where he got the idea for his tattoo. This mysterious case is now closed.

I will always cherish this little leather journal and the intimate thoughts of our platonic relationship we shared and especially his expressions of joy and love for our friendship and my family. He was truly my friend and I will miss him.

Yesterday, George the Executor called me to inform me of the services for Gazsi. He said he had received Gazsi' ashes and he had decided to put them inside Gazsi's car for safe keeping. He placed in the driver's seat and locked the door. He laughed when he started this moment in our conversation and said he always knew that Gazsi was a prankster and had a great sense of humor but he really scared George's wife. He said they were outside all day, pruning fallen trees and branches from his property because of the recent storms. Just as it was getting dark and they were picking up their tools, Gazsi's headlights came on in the car. George said it scared his wife and he couldn't explain it either. The doors were locked and the keys were inside the house. He brushed it off as a short circuit or something but when they came back on again, George said his wife ran into the house. Gazsi is letting us know he is still around. One last laugh, Rest in peace my friend.