A beat-up 1984 Oldsmobile braked to a screeching stop and the driver jumped out and raced into the alley. His name was Louis Watkins, a thirty-three year old mental patient recently discharged by accident when a clerks' splotch of potato salad landed on his file. He was running because he was being followed by a cherry-red Mustang. As Louis ran down the alley, ducking around garbage bins, he never even saw the striped tom cat. He tripped over the cat and landed, twitching, in the gritty, grimy, road. You could say the cat killed Louis Watkins, but the person about to shoot Louis would have something to say about the whole thing. The barrel of the shotgun was only a couple of inches from the bridge of Louis' nose when it exploded. A voice screamed and a cherry-red Mustang roared off into the night, leaving the Louis' body on the pavement for the police to find.
I saw the morning through tired eyes. On the way down
to my office, blue highway smoke and blaring car horns were my
companions. I already had a headache and it wasn't even eight in the
morning. Amazingly enough, I found a parking space close to my
office. The morning air wasn't that polluted. I almost enjoyed it.
Here's my office. First floor and all the way to the back. Do you
like the brown stucco walls in the hallway. They're enough to make
even Captain Nemo throw up.
There were wet footprints in the hallway, starting at the
door and continuing down the hall. I turned to look back out the
door. There was a squashed grapefruit on the sidewalk in front of the
fruit cart. Like today's sun caught up in the clouds, the grapefruit
didn't have much of a chance.
It was raining. Rain. It turned everything into slick
mirrors that reflected the unprepared faces of the city. I like the
rain. It's cool, sensuous, and, like a woman, unpredictable. I don't
like grapefruit.
Grapefruit: a yellow, pulpy fruit larger than an orange
yet smaller than a melon. You can find grapefruit in grocery stores
in between apples and asparagus. Wives put grapefruit in
refrigerators and then, when everything else in the house that's
edible is gone, husbands yank it out, cut it in half, and after
severing each triangle section with one of those sharp, bent knives
that's in the back of the drawer, scoop each section out with a
spoon. Ridiculous.
Grapefruit, rain, footsteps, a mobsters' accountant and
two and two equalling three. It just didn't add up. There was a
mystery here. Somewhere along the way, i had tripped on something
big...and I don't think it was a grapefruit.
I followed the footsteps down the hall to a room. I put
my ear to the door and then, hearing only the pitter-patter of little
rain drops, used the key on the lock. It turned. Yep, this was my
office alright.
I walked past Penny's desk and into my office, tossing my
hat and coat on the table. That's when I heard the noise that was
about to make me a very busy detective. It was a gushy noise. The
room smelled tangy like that time in Monte Carlo back in 1974. I
started hearing spitting, quick and rhythmic. Then there was a
slurp.
"Grapefruit," I said triumphantly, flinging open the door
leading into my office.
It was grapefruit. It was in the hands of the brunette,
sitting on my desk. There was another grapefruit next to her.
"Those are some grapefruit," I said, entering the
room.
"Thank you." Her voice was like any of the various
tropical birds, such as the scarlet ptarmigan, whose fluted songs can
be heard chiefly in norther swales on quiet, misty mornings. "Would
you like one," she asked.
"No," I said, moving over to my desk. "It's a little too
early in the day."
You probably should never question what a beautiful woman
is doing when she's eating grapefruit, but I did. "What are you doing
here," I asked her.
That's when she stood up. This was some doll, with full
red lips and large innocent eyes. Her hair cascaded like some raging,
torrential river in a forest of virgin pine over her ivory shoulders.
Her moist lips parted sensuously, in a greedy demand for kisses. "I
was hungry, and this was all that was here." Then she added, "my name
is Julie Sparrow. I need your help."
I helped her off the desk and offered her a chair. Her
hands were sticky from the grapefruit. I flipped out a Lucky and let
is smolder between my lips.
"Now," I began, "how can I be of service?"
"I work at the Mayhem Institute..."
"The Psycho prison?" I interrupted.
"Hospital," she corrected. "It a mental research
facility."
"Yeah, whatever. Go on."
"Last night, through a bizarre set of circumstances, a
patient was released."
"A psycho," a blurted out. "Loose the streets of my
town?"
"I assure you," she said, "he wasn't dangerous."
"'wasn't'," I repeated.
"Last night, on the east side, he was..." She paused
dramatically then punctuated her sentence with, "...murdered."
Murder. a real love homicide. My brain turned, trying to
connect all of the clues. "Tell me, Mrs. Canary, did..."
"My name is Sparrow. Julie Sparrow," she interrupted.
"Ah ha, now we're getting somewhere. so your name is
really Sparrow." It might not be a long case after all. She was
beginning to crack under my expert interrogation. "Okay, Mrs.
Sparrow, if that is your real name, do you test your patients with
grapefruit?" She brought a handkerchief out of her bag to
wipe her eyes and said, "only when there is nothing else to test on
them."
I thought so. I had my share of this kind of treatment
back in the war. Whoever said it was right. It was hell. "One more
thing before you go." I looked into her eyes, searching for that one
unseen clue. "Let me see the handkerchief there."
She dropped it on the floor.
"No, no, not there." I said, pointing to where she
dropped it. "Give it to me. Put the handkerchief in my hand."
"But I thought..."
"Yeah, I know," I said. "Let's just drop it and go on.
Okay?
I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes.
"Well, there's not much more, really. We, at the
institute, have heard of your, shall we say, unorthodox methods, and
we'd like to hire you to find the killer."
"Then, you also must know my fees," I added.
"You shall be paid in full," she assured me.
"No grapefruit."
"No grapefruit."
Sparrow left the grapefruit and glided out of the room.
It was still early and Penny had not come in yet. I waited. As I
waited, I drank. I found the half empty bottle of whiskey in the
bottom drawer of my desk. I don't drink cognac, let along try to
spell it. The first swallow tasted like an old man's sock in my gut.
It started tasting better as the amber liquid disappeared.
I opened the window to the city. My city. Twenty million
busy people and the law was like whiskey. Unless you mixed in a
little water, there was never enough to go around. I had an edge on
them all. The whole goddamn world is three drinks behind. But, I'm a
little too old, a little too slow. A bouncer with a tough job. I do
the best I can I still do things my way.
Across the street, I saw the kids. They were just small
things, weaving and bobbing between the pedestrians. I realized then
why I was allowed to live while other had to die. I know why my
rottenness was tolerated, and why Mr. Grim Reaper couldn't catch me.
It was all spelled out in some dusty, boring book. I just applied it
a little more dramatically.
I lived only to kill the scum. I killed so that others
could live. I was the one with the hardened soul that loved to
squeeze the life out of those who made murder their business. I lived
'cause I could laugh it off. I am the evil that fights the evil so
that the meek could live and inherit the earth. Sure, it was my
Bible. I may not seem like the type to quote scripture but I've spent
a lot of nights in hotel rooms.
Suddenly, the door flashed open. I saw here there, framed
in the doorway, a baited hook with a candy smile. She was dressed in
a red skirt and jacket combination. Red was her color. Her hair was
copper and like fiery red fingers, reached out gently at first and
then, like a punch in the jaw, thrashed around in a life of its
own.
She walked into the office out of the dim hall. That's
when I saw her legs. They were beautifully sculptured things that
started at the ankles and moved gracefully up to her hips and kind of
bent in the middle. You know the kind.
It was Penny. My beautiful little doll of a secretary.
Women are infectious. They grab hold of you and just won't let go. If
I wasn't in my line of work, I'd marry Penny in a second, but I had
lost Charlotte to the man with the fat neck. He killed her because
she was close to me. Of course, he is now doing the time from which
no one escapes. They tag you on the toe and close the door, and you
just don't come back no more. Through a dame the enemy could hurt me.
I wasn't going to let that happen again. One death's enough in any
lifetime.
"Morning baby," I said. "You look scrumptious."
She teased over to her desk, her long legs moving like a
spring fresh doe. Her voice was satin in the morning. "Hey, gumshoe,
aren't you up a little early?"
"Maybe," I said. "But it's definitely going to be a long
night. We've got a case."
She stood up close to me. She turned me hot, then cold,
and then hot again.
"Are you happy?" Her breath was heavy.
"You kidding, baby?" I kissed her, pulling away before
there was no turning back. "You know there's nothing more I like
better than a murder."
Between pouted lips, she said, "stay with me."
"Can't, babe. Gotta go. The game's afoot. You'll have to
keep the fort." I grabbed my coat. "Got a dime, Penny?"
She nodded.
"Good. Go across the street. Use the pay phone at
Chancey's and call the Mayhem Institute for the Insane. Get any
information you can on a guy named Louis Watkins."
"Hey, fella," she said.
"Yeah."
"Why can't I use our phone," she asked.
"Disconnected again."
She tossed me my hat.
I hopped in a cab and headed uptown. Soon, I saw the
tall, gray building on the left that housed our city's finest. The
guys up there don't like me too much. I don't care too much.
Lieutenant Casey Hill was behind the city desk, trying to
read the report of some blue-breasted foot soldier. I pushed my wan
in and said, "reporting for duty, sir."
His normally harsh voice changed as he recognized me.
"You old war horse. Cut the crap and sit down." He pitched back in
his chair. "What the hell have you gotten into this time?"
"Not much." I fiddled in my coat pocket for my Marlboros.
When I had one lit I said, "I need information, Casey."
Casey just growled and folded his hands across his broad
chest.
"It's about a murder last night. Some poor guy from a
psycho ward wandered into an alley and got himself killed."
Casey pushed his pudgy face into mine and nearly choked
on his cigar. "What the hell do you know about that?"
I took my time telling him that he know better than to
push me on this one. "Come on, Lieutenant, you can help me."
"Alright," he said, getting up. "Close the door, and I'll
get out the file."
Casey's a good cop. He was working had to get a little
gold watch and an even smaller pension. I had a watch, too. I pawned
it long ago.
He pulled out a file tat had papers sticking out of it at
odd angles. This case was something bigger than it seemed. He
shuffled pas the papers 'till he found the one I wanted.
"Your man was the last in a series of murders that we
believe are all connected. Each person in this file, killed within
the last year, have themselves been criminals."
"Jesus," I said. "Some sort of vigilante."
"Seems that way." He slid the folder over to me. "You
might as well take a look at this. We've kept it out of the paper as
much as we could."
I spent the rest of the day reading the folder and its
grisly contents. some of the names I knew. What I was able to put
together pointed me east, over the tracks. I thanked Casey and
promised to buy the beers on Saturday.
When you want to know something in my city and you're
willing to pay for it or more persuasive methods, you go over to the
gin district. I headed for Josie's. It's a small-time that collects
all the garbage, but where there's garbage, there are rats. Today, I
was looking for a weasel by the man of Eddie Shaft.
Eddie was sacked out in the back, slumped over a flat
beer. He need a shave and a lot of other things, but when he looked
up and recognized me, he just wanted to survive our little
conversation. He just wanted to get to the next beer.
"Hello, Eddie, nice evening for a chat, isn't it?" I sat
across the table from him on the taped-over seat.
"I got nothing to say to you," he said bravely. "Beat
it."
I parted my jacket, letting him see the dull sheen of the
rod under my arm that said he'd answer any questions I asked.
"Look, man, I got nothing for ya'. I just..."
He never finished the sentence. I snaked my gut out and
slapped it across his face.
"There's something going down on the street, man. You
know what I want. There a killer on the loose. I'm gonna nab him.
Talk. What's the word?" I put the gun away, but kept the jacket loose
and open. "Look, man, I'm not sure of none of this, but
there's been a lot of talk about a man named Blakely."
"The Judge,"I said.
"Yeah, that's right," said Eddie, cocky. "A mean sucker
Judge."
I flipped Eddie a ten spot and told him to enjoy a beer
on me. I had heard of Judge Roy Blakely. Who hadn't, especially after
his wife was knifed to death. The Judge was retired now, living
somewhere up north of the city. Could the Judge be playing
executioner?
I beat it back to the office. The big, black hole in the
sky was still crying it's eyes out. Rain's a good thing. It cleans
the city out. It falls from the sky, collects on the streets and kind
of moves nice and slow 'till it picks up speed in the gutters.
Somewhere there was an awful lot of washed up scum.
Penny was at her desk, reading some Hollywood magazine. I
pulled up a chair in front of her and fell into it.
"Tough day?" She didn't look up from the article.
"It's a mean looking case," I sighed.
"Want to talk about it?"
"The murder last night wasn't the first," I said. "It was
just the latest in a series of executions."
She swiveled around behind the desk to mix a couple of
drinks. "Go on. I'm listening," she said.
"The number one suspect is an ex-judge. He quit the bench
after his wife was killed. Remember that one?" Penny nodded and
handed me a drink. "The funny part of it was that a week before the
murder, the judge had to release his wife's killer on a
technicality."
I paused to taste the drink. It was good. Good like the
times when Uncle Charlie took me fishing for barracuda on Bass
Lake.
"I know what you're thinking," she said. Her eyes were
sad. "You see yourself in the Judge. It's not true. You're better
than him. He's like an animal that kills for pleasure."
"And am I any different? I won't even hesitate to kill."
I pulled out a Camel and gently toyed with it. My hands were calm. "I
have to finish this one, Penny."
"Silly detective," she said. "I love you, you know."
"Yeah, me too."
"I would do anything for you," she said.
"Things will be different after this." I downed the last
of the double whiskey and left the glass on her desk. I grabbed the
telephone directory and looked up the Judge's northtown address. I
wrote it down and handed it to Penny. "This is were I'm going. I want
you to scoot over to Casey's. He'll be home about now. Till him
everything I told. you. You don't have to leave anything out. Then,
go right on home. I don't want you involved. Got it?"
"But...," she started.
"No buts. I'm depending on you."
She grabbed her stuff. I could hear her slam the car and
the engine, as it roared to life. the wheels kicked on the wet
pavement. She was away on her mission. Now, it was my turn.
I checked the chambers in the gun that made me the boss,
turned off the lights and left. A part of me stayed in the silent
room.
The cab dropped me a block away from the Judge's home. I
tipped the hacker and started stalking to the house and my prey.
The Judge owned a mortgage on a white and smokey green
ranch house in a nice neighborhood. Quiet, peaceful. It would have
been a good place to raise a family if his pregnant wife had only
been strong enough to right off her murderer. It's not such a great
place to be alone. A lot of hate can smolder here. It starts in the
gut, reaches up through your throat, and strangles any sense you have
left in your brain.
The lights were out inside the house. It didn't look like
anybody was home, but there was a 1965 red Mustang in the driveway.
It was a nice car. She was all slick and shiny. The gentle rain
steamed on the hood. Somebody was home after all.
With my .45 gripped tightly in my fist, I tried the side
door. It was unlocked. Standing to one side, I pushed it open. The
room was dark. When my eyes became adjusted, I went in.
The first room was the library. It smelled old and very
legal. The shadows played about the room and made me jumpy. The
darkest shadow sat in the chair. It was too dark to read. Safety off
and ginger itching, I flipped on the light.
The Judge was very dead. He had been shot in the temple.
The blood was wet and sticky around his collar. The gun had dropped
out of his hand on to the floor.
There was a flash of light from the kitchen. I put the
gun in my coat pocket and took small steps to the kitchen. The
flowered plastic table cover was sticky with purple jam stains. I
turned the chair around and propped myself in it against the wall.
Penny was at the kitchen counter.
"You got a new car, didn't you, Penny?"
She didn't say a word. She opened the refrigerator,
reached way in back and pulled out a large, gleaming grapefruit. She
rolled it onto the counter.
"Why did you kill the Judge and the others? Do you think
you were doing it for me? Did you just want to give me something to
do?" I slipped out a slender Parliament, pulled one drag, then let it
smoke in the ashtray.
Penny held the knife firmly in her gloved hand and pulled
it slowly, back and forth, until the fruit was sliced in half. I
could smell the grapefruit. She reached into the drawer and pulled
out a bent, serrated tool.
"The Judge could have killed the others and committed
suicide. You rigged that nicely. Did you knock him out first, then
hold the gun up close and watch his skull shatter. Do you want me to
believe you did that for love?"
She drove the knife in and out of the fruit, separating
each triangle section from the rind and inner membrane. Sticky juice
spurted.
"Oh, sure. It could work, you know. The cops would
believe the suicide story. You could get away with it all."
She curled her hands around the pebbled skin and turned
to me. her face was cold and hard. She would not cry.
The bullet from my gun made a neat, little hole in her
stomach. She dropped the grapefruit and convulsed forward. She looked
down at the grapefruit, the blood on her skirt and the playful little
hole. Then she sputtered, "How could you?"
"I don't like grapefruit."
I was still sitting there when an ugly blue bird, toting
a six-shooter, flew in. It was Lieutenant Casey Hill.
I explained this funny story of a silly girl who fell in
love with this man. The guy was made of smoke, and anything that came
at him was just supposed to pass right through him. I told him how
the girl would do anything for her man, even if it hurt him. I told
him how the good and the bad got all twisted around and you started
hating your own shadow.
Casey drove me back to his place. Outside the sun was
turning the city red.