I’m laying here on the pavement, bleeding to death. So, this is how it ends. I start wondering where the hell I went wrong. My first mistake was probably taking the case in the first place.
Two days ago... There I was, sitting at my desk, and there she was, with tears in her eyes, sitting across from me, begging for me to help her. “For old times’ sakes,” she’d said. Old times, huh, what were the old times to me nowadays but broken promises and lethal memories? The kind of memories that come to haunt you in the witching hours of the night while you’re tossing and turning, as they often did... as I often did. As much as she was a sight for sore eyes, I also knew it meant running into an old friend, Trouble. Every time she walked into the picture, there he was, waltzing in as if he owned the place, getting his grubby little mitts on everything, turning your whole life upside down and then disappearing into the dead of night... along with her. You’d wake up one morning only to find a cold side of the bed and a hastily written note stained with tears, always saying the same thing, “I’m sorry.” She was whistling an awfully sad tune for the beautiful love bird she was but you’d think it were an Italian aria from the way I was listening. I tried to look aloof but I couldn’t feign disinterest, not with her. I’m a level-headed guy, always breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth and firing with both eyes open but when I catch a whiff of that perfume or whatever it is about her – the scent of sorrow, I’d like to think it is – I lose it all and caution is mercilessly thrown to the wind. She had burst in saying, “Rex, I need your help,” but she’d already had me at the stifled sob outside my door.
The name’s Rex, by the way, Rex Hunter but nobody ever called me by my first name. The only people who ever called me Rex were people who were close to me... damn close... and seeing as how proximity didn’t pay in my line of work – gumshoeing – that didn’t make many. So, save for an unfortunate few, I was known to the world as Danger, my middle name.... No, really, it is. If you were to give my birth certificate the up-and-down, it would read, “Rex Danger Hunter.” Yes, a cruel joke at my expense, I know, but it’s the only thing the folks I never knew ever gave me so I kept it... the gift that keeps on giving. The doll before me, her name was Mary Standish. We’d met so long ago that we often joked that neither of us remember how or when it happened but the truth of the matter was it was a day that neither of us could ever forget: It was a Thursday. I was nothing but a fresh face on the force; you couldn’t find a cockier thing on two legs if you tried... short of a rooster, that is. I was supposed give the third to some number we nailed that night thanks to a tip from the one and only Jimmy “The Rat” Halsworth, but more on him later. Anyway, thanks to Jimmy, we’d managed to nab the only surviving witness to the biggest knockover this town had ever seen. Imagine my surprise when I walked into the room expecting some dead pan palooka and, instead, found a looker.
“What’re you in for?” I asked.
“Nothin’,” came the reply.
“Really, how much nothin’?”
She may not have been singing like I wanted her too, but her eyes told me everything I needed to know. I think they’re going to be what I miss most. I don’t even think I ever really knew what they were. Her eyes were like trucks that came out of nowhere and plowed into you... they were eyes no man could say no to.... Dangerous, that’s what they were. A man could either drown or get lost in that kind of eye and I knew it... but did I care? I would look into her eyes every morning because I knew it would take me the rest of the day just to find my way back. So we did nothing all day: stroll, laugh, talk, joke... stall for more time until I could finally find my way out in the evening, after the sun had gone down and I could navigate by starlight... by her light.
Listen to me jaw... by listening you’d say I was pretty out of it, jingle-brained for some red-hot kitten with a rap sheet. Pretty out of it was right; I was out of everything, determined to keep my nose clean of any messy business, my kind of business, the kind of business based on deception so deeply rooted within half-truths and whole lies that the web it wove could easily ensnare any innocent bystander, including her... In a word: Trouble. But if there’s any other word that could describe Trouble, it’s incorrigible. You could pick him up, give him the Broderick, throw him out on his ear, and then, just when you think he’s out for the count, he’d come back at you, swinging.
Anyway, after she had come and gone enough times to make me lose count, each time promising to be the last, she was back again, this time, not with open arms but with news... big news...
“I’m getting married...”
There were a million things I wanted to say to that... but it was either all or none, so I went with the latter. Boy, talk about shocking news... it was news enough to knock me for a loop, but that wasn’t all she’d had – oh, no – last but not least, she had a huge favor to ask of me: Get her hubby-to-be out of a jam; apparently, for the last couple of months, he had been being blackmailed by some hombre who had been in the wrong place at the right time. My lay? Find out whom, and, if possible, silence the goose.
“Consider it your wedding gift.”
God damnit... I was like putty in her paws.... I should’ve said no. I know it now and I knew it then. So, why didn’t I? ...Like I said before: her eyes.
So next thing I know, I’m on a rattler to Atlantic City, “America’s playground.” Over the course of the next few hours, she filled me in on all the details, careful to leave the past out of it, where it belonged. Even though I managed to keep my trap shut, there was a part of me that wanted nothing more than to talk about “it”... all of “it”... The rest of me was glad that she was in control of our “conversation.”
Her man’s name is Miles Lancaster... he had some dough to it, too, about a hundred large, give or take... mostly take, thanks to our Johnny Do-Wrong. I just sat there, absorbing each and every detail like a dry sponge, careful to commit it all to memory, keeping in mind that “facts” were seldom the same going into a case as they were coming out.
Meeting Miles for the first time, I was pleasantly surprised, not to mention, relieved, to find that he was, all in all, a right gee. However, I couldn’t help but to shake the sneaky suspicion that he wasn’t tipping his mitt all the way.... I don’t know whether it was the look of worry that wasn’t in his eyes or the bullets he wasn’t sweating... something about him just wasn’t completely square. After Mary flopped, I decided it was time to catch wise to the part of the story he’d skipped with the dame present. Miles made his way to his own private gin mill and poured himself a snort.
“What’s your poison, Hunter?”
“All right, enough bumping gums, sing... I wanna hear the notes you skipped.”
“You’re still dizzy with her, aren’t you?”
“Say, who’s grilling who around here?” I shot back coolly, having no good answer to that particular question... well, I had an answer, just one I didn’t care to tell him.
“‘Course you are... You’re helping us, aren’t you? Frankly, can’t say I blame you... Dolls like Mary aren’t exactly a dime a dozen...”
“I know, which is why you’d better be shooting straight with her and me or else be sure to lam off and hide in a place where no man will be able to find you because I will and when I do, I’ll really hide you... Savvy?”
“Relax, Bo... I know you got me doped as a ringer, but I’m telling you now that nothing could be further from the truth.”
I looked into his eyes searching for anything I might not be able to trust... Nothing. I relaxed a little, the tension leaving my balled up fists. “Listen, I’m sorry for getting so bent out of shape... it’s just that when it comes to Mary.... The kid’s been through a lot. I don’t think she could take another wrong gee.”
“Forget it, I’d be exactly the same if I were in your shoes; some cat lousy with cabbage walks into the picture... covers her in glad rags... gives her everything she’s ever wanted... except peace of mind...” He paused and looked up from his tiger milk. “I don’t think she would’ve gone through with it if you didn’t know... I guess she wouldn’t feel right.... That’s the real reason you’re here... that and...” He heaved a sigh of accepting reluctance before proceeding. “I haven’t been completely square with Mary...” The small knot in my stomach grew. “I told her that I don’t know who’s blackmailing me... I do... it’s Raymond Mandella.”
The name dug an icy shiv into my pump. A beat passed.
My throat decided to let me speak again. The first thing out was, “Raymond Mandella, eh?” Mandella and I went way back... maybe too far back. It was thanks to him I walked with a slight limp, lead poisoning courtesy of Mandella himself. I had been tracking him down, realizing that his migration pattern coincided with a traveling circus. Turns out he’d been living under the big top as a trapeze artist for months without anyone suspecting a thing... except for me. When we went mono e mono, he managed to plug me with three slugs before I finally squeezed off a few. I was lucky enough to have the first two whiz right through me; the third one stuck.... Croakers never were able to get it out; they said it was too close to my left kneecap.... No biggie, I ain’t no Nance. In the end, however, Mandella took it on the lam and I haven’t seen him since. “I think I’ll take that drink now, Miles.”
“One whiskey coming up?”
Hell... “Make it two.”
“Figured,” he said, smiling and pouring. “You know you can tell a lot about a fellow from his drink. Whiskey... it’s a no-nonsense, straight to business drink.” He brought it over and handed it to me. Sensing a question that ought to have been asked but wasn’t, he went on to say, “I used to be a bartender – and I know what you’re thinking, ‘You, Miles, a bartender?’” He paused for a moment, revisiting some moment in the past, no doubt. “But, hey, everybody’s gotta start somewhere, eh?” He took a sip of his and I took gulp of mine... wasn’t bad.
“So, what’s the dirt Mandella’s got on you?”
He sighed. “I said everybody’s gotta start somewhere, right?... Well, sometimes that somewhere is worse than nowhere, if you catch my drift.” I nodded. “Cuz at least nowhere doesn’t get you thrown in jail.... Nowhere doesn’t get you thrown in with the wrong crowd.... Nowhere... doesn’t lead you to the wrong dame... dames.” It was starting to make more sense.
“So, what? All this is just so that she don’t find out about your dark past?”
“Listen, she thinks I’m different. I’m the first Mr. Right in a long line of Mr. Wrongs. If she finds out that I’m the same mistake she’s made in the past...”
“But you’re not. You got outta the biz. You could have stayed on Easy Street, but you winged out on your own to do it all the right way. Mary’s smart enough to see that.”
“Yeah, but the rest of the world isn’t. That’s the other part of it. See, if Mary finds out, at least I know she’ll be willing to listen... I might be able to salvage us because she still sees me, but out there...” He pointed out the window with his free hand, becoming visually upset and displaying real emotion for the first time. “...all they see is ‘ex-con’, ‘ex-bootlegger’, ‘ex-money launderer’. You’re only your past.... Present and future don’t count for anything.” Miles realized where he had taken himself to and came back to zero. “Funny...you’d figure that two to one are pretty good odds...” I chuckled; I had taken bigger gambles on a lot less.
“So, lemme get this straight: you want me to stop Raymond Mandella from costing you your dame, your name, and your riches ‘n’ fame?”
He looked up at me, puzzled. “Fame?”
I shrugged. “I needed to find something that rhymed with dame and name.”
He laughed. “Stick with what you do best.”
“Oh, I see Mary’s told you about that then.”
He laughed again. He got up and walked over to shake my hand. “Danger, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
I accepted and shook his hand. “Call me Rex.”
The next drop was in a day, today, and Miles wanted me to nail the bastard before then; he couldn’t afford to lose any more money, not with a wedding in the works. And so, I disappeared into the world I had lived in for the greater part of my life, doing my best to track down Mandella, a feat in and of itself, as people seldom found Mandella; he found them. Being called out by Mandella was like being subpoenaed for jury duty, you hated doing it but you knew damn well your name was coming out of the hat sooner or later.
After spending the entire night playing half of Cops and Robbers, I decided to call it a day and headed back to my hotel room. Boy was I in for a treat. I was walking down the hallway when I looked up and who should I see but ol’ Jimmy Halsworth.
“Uh-oh,” I said, loud enough for him to hear, “Somebody better get the manager; I think I see a rat.” If all you had was a missing part of the equation and a century in your pocket, Jimmy was the guy to see. He had the knack of knowing everything – well, almost everything – and what he didn’t know, he could find out easily enough. Sure, knowing that much can get you into a lot of trouble, but it can get you out of it, too.
I started towards him.
“Danger, thank God, I—” The smile of relief on his face changed with a gunshot that rang out into the hallway. I stooped to catch him as he fell to the ground. It was then that I noticed the corner of a dark trench coat disappearing around the corner. I laid Jimmy down as fast as I could and dashed over to peek around the corner. I was too late, whoever it was had split. The gumshoe in me told me to take it on the heel and toe after the gun, but the human in me told me to take care of the man bleeding to death outside of my hotel room. I managed to convince myself that Jimmy might have some useful information for me and started back to my room.
When Jimmy finally came to, he awoke to find himself bandaged in the lou.
“Morning, Mary Sunshine... have a nice nap?”
His mitt shot down to his side, only to find he was missing something. He spun around and saw me standing in the doorway.
“Looking for something?” I asked, holding a small roscoe out towards him. He sighed and cupped his noggin with both flippers.
“Thank God, I thought I’d dropped it looking for you.” He gratefully took it back. “You know, there’s only one thing worse than losing your heat.”
“Oh yeah,” I said, moving to the edge of the bathtub, “what’s that?”
“Losing your spare,” he said, withdrawing an even more miniscule make from his ankle-holster and aiming it straight at me. When I didn’t even so much as flinch, he looked from me to his rod then back to me again. He uncocked it and laid it on the open palm of his paw, as if weighing it. “So, what’d you do, pinch all my shells? What’s the matter, don’t trust me?”
“I could ask you the same question.” I fished around in my pocket for all the lead I knicked, “Frankly, I’m surprised you even noticed with a pathetic excuse of a pea-shooter like that.” I forked them over.
“Hey, it’s not easy for this thing to get any lighter,” he said, taking them, “So when it does, you notice.” He started reloading.
“What do you carry the damn thing around for anyway? You couldn’t kill a fly with it, much less protect yourself.”
“Hey, it’s not the size that counts; it’s how you use it.”
“Listen, Jimmy, just because every broad you know tells you that, don’t necessarily make it true.”
“Ow, damnit...” he said, suddenly feeling a sharp, twinging pain.
“What, you all right?”
“Yeah, hold on, I think there’s something...” He felt around his back before feigning removing a shiv and presenting the invisible weapon to me. “I believe this belongs to you.”
I rolled my eyes at the lame joke and started walking away, turning on the shower head on the way out. A cascade awakened, drenching Jimmy. He frantically tried to get out of the tub, only to slip on the wet porcelain.
“Hey, Danger! C’mon, Bo, this is a nice suit!” He finally managed to turn off the water before drowning. “Eh, no matter, you’ll be buying me a new one when you find out the dope I got for you,” he called from the lou.
“Oh, and what do you have for me? It better be bonafide.”
“Danger, you know me, my tips are backed by a guarantee of authenticity. Where are the towels around here?” One flew in and hit him square in the mug. “Thanks.” He started drying himself off. “Anyways, as I was saying, what I have for you ain’t gonna come cheap.”
“How much?” I asked, fixing myself a drink.
He stuck his head out of the Lou. “You might wanna pour yourself another one of those... hell, pour me one...” He went back to drying himself. “Half a large.”
I nearly gagged on my corn. “Half a large?!”
He grinned. “Yup.”
“We’re talking 5 C’s?”
“What the hell could you know that’s worth that much Jack?”
He emerged from the head and waltzed over to where I was. “A little something about one Miles Lancaster, currently engaged to one Mary Standish...”
I nearly gagged again. I poured him a drink and slid it towards him. “You’ve earned it; How did you know I was asking about Miles?”
“I’m Jimmy the Rat, Danger,” he answered, as if that explained everything. “The real question is: how didn’t I know sooner? Of all the people I should’ve been keeping tabs on: Mary? I mean, Jesus H. Christ, Danger... the dame’s always in Dutch.”
“Yeah, I know. But what the hell was I supposed to do, say no? It’s one last favor, Jimmy.”
“If you’re not careful, it could be your very last. This rabbit-hole goes a hell of a lot deeper than you know, I learned the hard way.” He placed a mitt on the bandages.
“You know, you’re lucky. Looks like the pill pushed clean through, no traffic with nothing. It still hurt?”
“Not as much as what I’m about to tell you...”
“Promise you won’t shoot the messenger?”
“I can promise that I will shoot you if you don’t tell me; Spill.”
He sighed. “Someone knocked off Malcolm Boyle.”
This got my attention. “What?... Damnit, I wanted to ice him.”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
I sat down into a comfortable chair which offered very little comfort. In pursuit of Mandella last year, I happened across Malcolm Boyle, wanted in several states for embezzlement. So I clamped the bracelets on him, but the slippery snake managed to cop the sneak once I handed him over to the proper authorities.
“What happened?... Did it have anything to do with—?”
“It’s hard to say,” he said, pretending to struggle with his words, “without the whole five yards.” He extended an empty paw.
“Mary and Joseph,” I beefed, “Come on, Jimmy, we’ve known each other for how many years now, couldn’t I get a discounted rate or something?”
He looked at me, astounded. “500 berries is the discounted rate...you don’t think I charge that little for just anybody, now do you? No way José. This price is reserved for close and personal friends of Jimmy the Rat.”
“Jeez, with friends like you...”
“...Who needs enemies? Yeah, I know, just fork over the dough.”
I reached into my skin and pulled out a couple centuries. “Tell you what, here’s $250... you’ll get the rest, when I hear the rest.”
“Fair enough,” he said, shrugging. He took his glass and sat down in the other chair opposite mine. “So, you want the abridged version or the whole fairy tale?”
“For a portrait of Madison, I’d better get the whole damn story. Start spilling.”
“15 years ago, our Miles Lancaster stumbles into a bar—”
“Wait a minute, what about Malcolm?”
“Hold on, he fits into the picture later.”
I decided to be patient for once in my life and listened.
“Anyway, as I was saying: 15 years ago, our Miles Lancaster stumbles into a bar owned by Darrell Hammett in need of a stiff drink and an ear to bend. He starts singing about some dream business he would start, one that would keep him on the road and earn enough dough to keep anyone happy, if only he had the capital means. Darrell being the sympathetic – or gullible, as I like to call them – type, agrees to go into business with him. So, Darrell the Bartender closes down his joint, his only possession in the whole world, and goes into cahoots with Mr. Lancaster. One day, Darrell takes the air. Poof, he’s gone. Miles becomes the sole proprietor of their little establishment, as it were, and nobody’s seen Darrell since. Now, word has it that there was an invisible hand in the game: Malcolm Boyle.”
“You’re saying Miles and Malcolm grifted Darrell before bumping him off and fiftying the cush? And now, years later, Miles has to do the same to Malcolm? But why?... did Malcolm want more after tossing all his cabbage to the wind?”
“Hey, I’m just a rat; you’re the private dick.”
I stepped into the study, only to find that he wasn’t there. I drew my cannon and called out, “Miles?”
“I’m out here, on the terrace.”
I stepped outside to be greeted by a cool breeze and Miles leaning against the railing.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked.
“You think that’s a sight, you should turn around.”
Miles turned around. I half expected him to have his own bean-shooter drawn.... He didn’t.
“What’s that for?”
“You been lying to me, Miles.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Cool it. You’ve been lying to me from the start.... You didn’t think I’d find out the real reason you were being blackmailed?”
“I told you, I’m being blackmailed because of who I used to be...”
“And what’s that, a grafter? A grafter who gypped Darrell Hammett before rubbing him and his partner out?”
Miles was silent for a moment. “You know about Darrell?”
“You mean the guy you flim-flammed out of his entire life savings before making sure he bought the big one? Yeah, I know about’im.”
“I never... I wasn’t the one who...”
“You’re Mary’s beau so I’m gonna give you one last chance to come clean. You do and I’ll turn you in. You don’t... then the way I see it, you’ve lost the right to breathe the same air as me.” I cocked my roscoe. “You got until the count of three, Miles.... One.”
Miles closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath. Come on, say something.
A tear escaped into the nippy night. Anything, Goddamnit!
“...Three.” I don’t want to blow you away, Miles, but I swear to God I will...If not for my own sake, then Mary’s... “Say hello to Darrell for me.”
The next thing out of Miles’ trap exploded like a round out of a Rodney. “Rex, I swear to God, I didn’t kill Darrell Hammett.... I’m Darrell.”
There were only two times in my life that I had been speechless – that is, completely unable to speak – the first was from my birth until the age of 18 months; the second was at that moment.
Miles – or Darrell – sighed. “And I didn’t kill Miles either... or Malcolm for that matter.... Night before we’re supposed to close a big deal, he lams off with all of our cabbage and I never hear from him again. I don’t know what to do, but I couldn’t do nothing. I mean, it’s not like I could go back to bartending... everything I had I put into this... so I just went on with business. Next morning, I show up and they think I’m Miles and... I’m not sure what possessed me to do it... but I said yes and went along with it. I’ve been Miles ever since.”
There were hundreds of things I should’ve asked, but the first thing out of my yap was, “Does Mary know?”
“Her? Oh God, no. I mean, I’ve thought about telling her on several occasions, like right after I proposed, but then she looked at me with those eyes of hers... and I couldn’t.” I chuckled. It’s nice to know that some things never change. “Can we talk about this inside?”
I put my replaced my rod in its holster. “Yeah, sure.” I let him step through the door first. “Where is Mary anyway?”
“Is it safe to talk then?”
“Yeah, she’s in her room, probably chinning away on the blower.” He smiled at the thought of her. I recognized that smile. I used to see it in the mirror everyday. Miles took a seat and I followed suit. Back to business.
“So, how did Mandella find out?” I asked.
“Honestly, I haven’t the foggiest. That’s part of why I hired you.”
“Right, right, of course.” I went to thinking. How were Mandella and Boyle connected? I was thinking about when and where I nabbed Boyle when I heard the Ameche. I looked to Miles. He wasn’t moving. “Well, aren’t you gonna get that?”
Miles nodded. I started to reach for it when Miles stopped me. He got up and walked over.
Closing his eyes and taking a breath, he picked up the receiver. “Hello?” After a moment, he hung up and looked to me. “Five large. Pier 6. The old fish-cutting factory. 11:30. Come alone.” He stood there for a moment, trying to cope with the fact that this would probably never end.
“The hell you’re going alone.”
He exhaled. “And what would you do?”
“You hired me to make this right and that’s what I’m going to do. All we need is a plan.”
“There’s no time for that.”
“Then I’ll just have to think on my feet.”
I walked around the outside of the rusted exterior, trying to find a way up. I was about to go to plan B when I saw a set of stairs I wouldn’t trust a chimp to climb... but desperate times...
I cautiously started my way up, being sure to test each rung before I placed my entire weight on it, knowing fully well each one could be my last. I would’ve knelt and thanked God properly when I reached the roof, but there was no time for formalities. Besides, if I wasn’t careful, I’d be able to thank him in person real soon.
I found a sky hatch used for ventilation and prayed it wouldn’t squeak when I opened it. It didn’t. One more thing to add to my thank list.
I lowered myself onto the catwalk rigged near the ceiling of the place and began to stealthily find a good vantage point where I could keep a good eye on things. It would be hard; it was dark, damn dark. I came to a clearing where I had a completely unobstructed view of practically the whole joint.
Miles stood in the middle of the warehouse floor, more nervous than a kid on his first day at a new school. A new school would be a picnic compared to what we were about to try.
“Do you have the money?” a voice boomed out, echoing off of the walls. My eyes peered into the darkness trying to locate the origin of the voice. Damn, this guy was smart.
Miles swallowed the knot in his throat. “Y-yes.” He held up a keister.
A figure stepped out of the shadows. It was Mandella all right. “Set it on the ground and slide it over here.”
Miles did as he was told. His roaming eyes told me that he was looking for me, hoping I had not abandoned him. I told him to stop in my mind, lest he wanted to give me away. He didn’t hear me.
Mandella looked up from the case to Miles. “You’re short one large.”
“Please, that’s all I have right now. I’ll give it to you next month... plus interest!”
“I didn’t ask for interest, I asked for five grand!” He drew a cannon and cocked it.
“Mary?” Miles looked to the door to find his fiancée running towards him.
“I thought I told you to come—” Mandella would’ve said alone, but I got the drop on him, literally. Rule of gumshoeing: At the first sign of trouble, move. Doesn’t have to be planned, doesn’t have to be in the right direction, just as long as you don’t freeze. We hit the ground hard and I heard his heat skid off into the darkness. Before I knew it, he was back up on his feet and taking a Mickey Finn. I heard him scooping up his piece without adjusting his pace and I took after him. I noticed that Miles and Mary were nowhere in sight. Good.
I stopped running for a second, trying to listen to which way the footsteps were running but it was no good; the echoes kept on coming from every which way around me. They stopped. I thought it best to bide my time until he gave himself away. Sooner or later, I’d find out where he was hiding. A small burst of light from the catwalk above me was my only clue to roll and fire back. A grunt responded, followed by the clatter of a rod dropping... then, nothing. I was pretty sure he’d bit the big one, but I wanted to be completely sure. I was starting my way up the ladder when I heard the flutter of a fast falling flogger, truncated by a bone-breaking thud. I made my way back down and over to Ray’s lifeless body, a pile of clothes and flesh on the floor in no particular order or condition. “That had to hurt.” After taking a minute to memorize the moment, I knelt down next to him and moved in to within an inch of his face and waited. Nothing. “Can’t say it was a pleasure, Ray.” I got up and began limping away, feeling very dissatisfied and not at all at ease. My uneasiness breezed the instant I saw Mary emerge from the corner she was hiding behind, safe and sound.
“Is it over? Is it finally over?” she asked. I didn’t get the chance to nod, because right at that moment, I noticed a familiar figure rising off of the floor and drawing a gun off of the reflection in the window.
“Mary, down!” was all I had the chance to say as I jerked around, dove in front of her, and pulled the trigger.... Too late, I caught a slug in my gut right as I drilled him in the left leg just above the kneecap. I had wanted to say, ‘Now we’re even.’ but I was still trying to get my wind back. He screamed for a moment.
“You’re gonna regret that, Danger...”
He angled his gat at a lethal level and squeezed the trigger. Click.
I smirked before spitting another one out of the chamber and square into his throat. In those moments, I felt no pain; I was waiting too intently for a sound I had longed to hear for far too long. After several moments, I heard it: Raymond Mandella heaving his last breath, choking through his own blood. I finally relaxed and let my conk hit the cold ground.
So that’s it: my last case. I can’t really complain... at least I got to take Ray Mandella out with me.
She rushes forward to hold me. “Oh, Rex,” she sobs, taking me into her arms. I can feel myself slowly slipping; no one is strong enough to wrestle with death for very long. A thought crosses my mind.
“Mary, there’s something you should know.... Miles isn’t...” It’s now that I notice him, walking up behind Mary with a look in his eyes: hoping that it wouldn’t have had to come to this but knowing it should. “...a bad guy,” I finish. “Not as bad as I’d hoped at least.” I manage a smile and look up to see Miles with a chuckle on his face and gratitude in his eyes.
He gets down on his knees to help me up. “Come on... let’s get you to a hospital.”
“Don’t bother,” I reply, “I’ve neared death enough times now to know when there’s no coming back.” He nods, knowing I’m right. Mary isn’t taking the news as well. It crosses my mind to say, ‘Take good care of her,’ but something told me he would.
She clutches my hand in my last few moments as if it were my very soul... as if to prevent me from slipping into the unknown oblivion we can only define as the big sleep. I can hear her sobbing and it echoes through my mind. That’s the last thing I ever hear, “I’m sorry...” Don’t be... it was nothin’.
A hard-boiled gumshoe story in the style of Dashell Hammett or Raymond Carver following one Rex Hunter as he attempts to perform one last favor for a special someone from his past.
Although, I recently submitted this piece to Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine for publication, I still openly invite constructive criticism. (I trust there are no haters here on deviantART...)
Although, I recently submitted this piece to Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine for publication, I still openly invite constructive criticism. (I trust there are no haters here on deviantART...)
Beautiful!!! Honestly, it was breathtaking. I hope to see this in EGMM. I would critique, but I must say, I couldn't find a flaw. Bravo!