Detective Darby #5 – The Trunk

Walt and I were petrified as we continued to stare into the trunk of that taxi. It seemed to have untold depths with only a glint of light captivating us while we squinted in vain to reason out its origin.

“For a second, I thought we were going to find that dog,” Walt remarked. His bravado was unrelenting, but that has always been his defining quality. During the war, I thought the guy had a death wish. More than once he grabbed me by the collar and threw me back into the fray. There never was a particular instance during which he saved my life, but I’m convinced that he did somehow. The cats of this city are undoubtedly grateful, though gratitude and cats are as oil and water in my opinion.

“Is he dead?” I asked, hoping maybe saying so would make it otherwise. The man looked like a typical businessman. He wore a suit and tie with a brown overcoat. His hands and feet were bound in a familiar manner. Unfortunately, I had some personal experience with such bindings. Then, I saw the suitcase, and it finally hit me.

“Maybe we ought to poke him with a stick,” suggested Walt. I asked myself if he was serious, but I’m not going to ask him. I don’t want to hear his answer.

My eyes locked on the man. Just as I feared, the echoes came back. They started off in the back of my mind and gradually intensified until it was the only thing I could hear. Walt’s voice was but a murmur muffled under layers of sonic pollution. Suddenly, I reached for my flask but, as soon as I touched it, the realization that it was empty mocked me. The feel of the cold, hard metal of the flask was an equally brutal reminder. Not only was I an emotional weakling, drowning my sorrows in poison, but I was also too inept to provide myself with the instrument to do so. In truth, my sorrows were drowning. Each time I swam the fermented seas to save them, they pulled me under with ease. Whenever I empty a bottle, I always lose a piece of myself to its void. This pace cannot go on forever, at least not as far as the universe is concerned, but it can go on for my forever, whether it be weeks or years. The universe is concerned as if the universe can spare some concern for a bum like me.

Wouldn’t you know, Walt grabbed me by the collar. I immediately snapped out of my trance. “Snap out of it!” he yelled, which was quite apropos.

I put my hands around his wrists. “I’m okay,” I said as he loosened his grip. Eventually, he let me go, but he did not mention anything. Walt was hardly the sensitive type yet somehow he knew when to keep quiet and when to get in my face. This situation called for the former. “I think this is the passenger that helped toss me in the trunk last night. I won’t lie; I love the irony,” I said as I studied him.

“This is the first time I’ve heard about this. Apparently, you made it out alive. That’s something,” Walt remarked. It never occurred to me to look at the bright side, unless it involved surrendering to the moonlight, and I certainly did not expect to be reminded to do so by Walt of all people. “Are you sure?” Walt asked. I couldn’t be sure whether he asked out of his curiosity or because he doubted my state of mind.

I think it might be time to do some detective work. With that in mind, I approached the trunk and began to rifle through the man’s pockets.

Walt seemed uneasy. “I’m going to get some air,” he announced.

“Who’s a jumpy girl this time?” I asked only to ridicule him. Truthfully, Walt is not a squeamish man in any sense, but he always had a problem with scrounging from the dead. During the war, he beat a man half to death for taking a pack of smokes from a fallen comrade. Eventually, he adopted a pragmatic viewpoint on the matter, but it always made him uncomfortable. At least he stopped piling up casualties of his own before a court-martial resulted.

He winced as I continued to search the man. “I’ll be close by,” he said before disappearing.

My search was rather disappointing. Amazingly, there was not a single drop of blood anywhere in the trunk, and I only found the things I would expect to find in anyone’s pockets such as money, a watch, a handkerchief, and a few other baubles. Suddenly, I had an excellent idea, for better or worse, so I quickly and calmly reached into the inside pocket of the victim’s overcoat to see the results of my panning. I may have been calm in my actions, but inside, my heart burned with the shoveling of a thousand stokers, and the fruits of their labor were bound to erupt from my ears momentarily. I was relieved to find that the man did not carry a flask even though I desired it to be otherwise. Instead, I procured a small brown envelope. I opened it up and found a picture of myself inside. It was an official photo that the Army took of me when I came home. Since that was going on five years ago, I was happy to be recognized by it. I flipped it over to discover that my name and the address of my apartment, which had been crossed off, and the office had been written down. I guess there was no denying that this was one of my kidnappers. For good measure, I checked the other pockets of his overcoat and discovered a book of matches from a local bar called Lucky’s. America’s pastime may well be baseball, but mine was such that I knew my bars all too well. When Emily came to me, she mentioned that she frequents a bar from which a man was presumably stalking her. They say the best lies contain a modicum of truth; this book of matches might be the lead I was hoping to find.

Suddenly, I heard sirens and the screeching tires of hard braking. I went over everything in my mind. I had my investigator’s license, my gun is registered, and I was hired to come here, technically. For the life of me, I can’t remember if I filled out any paperwork regarding Link’s favor. Depending on which coppers come through that door, my life might soon become immeasurably complicated.

Copyright © 2016 by Adam L. Cobden. All Rights Reserved.

Like this post on my Facebook Page or Twitter and check back soon for Detective Darby #6 – The (insert title here). Check out my book, available for pre-order on Amazon.

“I am enough of the artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.”

-Albert Einstein

Detective Darby #4 – The Passenger

Finally, I conjured enough nerve to lay eyes on my presumptuous passenger. I prepared myself to receive quite a shock but, in the end, was rather relieved instead, which was something of a shock in its own right.

It turned out to be none other than Walter Hayes, one of the reasons why my door reads Chet Darby and Associates. Walt is a bear of a man, don’t ever call him Walter. He stands about six-foot four, has impressively broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and hands large enough to cause insecurity in those who dare shake his hand. He maintains that the best use of his brain is to headbutt someone. He always wears the same brown pants and suspenders with a white undershirt. I long assumed the combination of the broadness of his shoulders and chest and the relative leanness of his abdomen made it difficult for him to find a well-fitting button up shirt, though I’ve never asked. He was surprisingly clean shaven, given his temperament, except for a thick, bristly mustache he maintained. His hair was equally thick and deep brown in color, though he often hid it under a flat cap. I first met him during the war. He seemed to show up, like today, when I was alone and in need of backup.

“You’re a jumpy little girl this morning,” Walt said gruffly as if he talked any other way. Truthfully, I was jumpy considering my recent experiences. “What’s the plan?” he asked. Knowing him as well as I do, I could guess what his plan was, it was the same every time.

“I was thinking we’d just storm in there and start punching people in the face until we figured out what to do next,” I replied and expected little argument from Walt on the matter.

“Sounds like a good plan,” he replied. He smiled and began cracking his knuckles. His grin wasn’t even sadistic in nature, which I found to be more unsettling than if it had been.

“I thought you might say that,” I admitted. Unfortunately, Walt wasn’t kidding and even if he agreed to an alternate plan, the result would remain the same. My best play is to keep it simple. “How about this, you swing around back, and I will go through the front. That way one of us should be able to surprise them,” I explained.

Walt grimaced at the thought. “I suppose I can live with that,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll give you a head start,” he added and winked at me.

“How much for the fare?” I asked the cabby. He turned back to look at me, the fabric of the seat groaned as if a mysterious creature. He didn’t speak. Instead, stern uncertainty beamed from his eyes. Perhaps he overheard our conversation. With that in mind, I thought it prudent to overpay, an unspoken agreement that matters remain unspoken. As I opened the door, I looked at Walt one last time as if to confirm the plan. His eyes revealed no hint of uncertainty and I was convinced he’d just assume punch his way out of the cab. I wasn’t going to stick around for that. I hope I’m wrong, wouldn’t be the first time, but I’m glad I tipped him well at least.

I walked up the block before crossing the street. I was surprised I recognized the cabby so quickly, but I have a knack for that sort of thing, wouldn’t be much of a detective otherwise. On the other hand, I had no way of knowing whether the cabby would recognize me so easily. Since I was unconscious, I can only guess how involved he was, or wasn’t, in casting me into that man-made inferno. In any case, I bet I find out sooner than later.

I was within one hundred feet of the depot when a large group of men emerged from the garage. Luckily, there was a phone booth nearby so I casually slipped inside, as if that was my intention all along. I remained incognito by pretending to use the telephone. As I watched, I noticed six men in all, three wearing suits, and three apparent flunkies. They all seemed to be orbiting one man in particular. They followed his lead and hung on his every word. One of the suits got into a car parked nearby, starting the engine, while the other suit opened the door for the distinguished gentleman with the gravitational pull. The flunkies stayed behind as the car sped away. There was no sign of the cabby; it was making me paranoid.

“Here goes,” I said as I exited the phone booth and walked towards the depot. I made it to the garage door quickly enough and kept walking as I peeked inside using mainly my peripheral vision, which revealed nothing. After I had passed the door, I leaned up against the wall and prepared to make my way inside. I hope Walt is at the ready.

I wasn’t actually counting in my head but I definitely felt like I was waiting for a countdown to expire before I rushed inside. This sort of thing annoys Walt and, after mere seconds, it annoyed me too so I dared myself to go inside and obliged all in a single motion. As I took a few steps, I feared my shoes might be the death of me. Suddenly, I remembered the echoes that Emily’s heels made on the staircase outside of my office. Every time I took a step, I could hear that same echo. It haunted me for reasons unknown.

As I turned a corner, I locked eyes with the cabby. I’d swear that my expression neutralized any lie I could imagine to get out of this peacefully. I told myself to say something, but nothing came out. I’m about three seconds away from drawing on this guy. Even I couldn’t miss from this distance.

“Who are you?” he asked. I was relieved that he hadn’t recognized me so far. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

I said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m looking for a dog. Did you see one wander in here?”

“No, there’s no dog in here so move along,” he replied. He wasn’t nice, but he wasn’t rude either.

I’m not sure if Walt’s presence was influencing me but a wellspring of rage began trickling to the surface of my psyche. “Look, I really need to find that dog. You see, I got out of bed this morning and your mom asked me to walk her dog. She’ll be upset if I go back without it and frankly, I’d like to stay on her good side, if you know what I mean,” I said.

Suddenly, the flunkies had me surrounded, and the cabby seemed to be studying my face. “What do you think boys?” he asked rhetorically. He sighed loudly through his nose as his gaze softened. “Get out. This is your last chance.”

To be honest, I wasn’t expecting that. And these goons weren’t expecting Walt Hayes. “Are you sure you haven’t seen that dog?” I asked, and the cabby immediately looked disappointed. “If you stare at its arse long enough, you’ll think you’re looking into a mirror.”

The cabby nodded, and the flunkies immediately converged. “Don’t bloody him up. The boss wouldn’t like it,” he announced as he pulled out a cigarette and a book of matches. The cabby’s handling of the situation was intriguing.

Oddly, the flunkies didn’t seem to know what to do since the cabby took blood off the menu. The three of them stood in a circle around me and seemed to be waiting for someone do something.  I shrugged while looking towards the cabby and immediately decked the flunky to my left. My fist sank into his nose so deeply, breaking it to be sure, it felt as if I was pounding my fist into the mud. As I expected, the flunky behind me wrapped his arms around me. He had an iron grip for such a skinny bastard. Unsurprisingly, the remaining flunky began to work my body like a heavy bag while the cabby continued smoking.

I was expecting Walt to intervene any minute but it wasn’t happening. After a few more blows, the cabby looked at his watch and walked swiftly from the building. Finally, I could see Walt walking in from a doorway in the back. Instead of intervening, he casually sat down on the bumper of a taxi and watched with a concerned look on his face, at least he cares.

One flunky was still nursing his nose on the floor while the skinny one held me and the third one was getting ready for another combination. I glanced at Walt and he emphatically clenched a fist as he clenched his face in a similar manner. This was undoubtedly meant to encourage me. Just as another punch was about to come my way, I went limp and crashed to the floor. As I hoped, the skinny one folded under my weight and I instinctively introduced my foot to my sparring partner’s gonads. Once he collapsed, I sprang to my feet and presented the same foot to the skinny one’s face. It was only fair; I didn’t want him to feel like a heel.

I stumbled back to the taxi on which Walt was still sitting. At this point, he was laughing and clapping his hands oafishly, on both counts. The flunkies had gathered themselves by now and seemed ready to start round two. I opened my jacket just enough to reveal my pistol. They scampered like the vermin they are. Thank goodness, I was running out of steam.

“Well done,” Walt said approvingly.

“Thanks,” I replied as he patted me on the back so hard I nearly fell over, stumbling a step or two as a result. I wanted to be mad at him but, truth be told, but I was both proud of myself and glad to have his approval. I turned around and took yet another look at Walt sitting on the bumper. A feeling came over me as I moved towards the taxi.

“Let’s open the trunk,” he said, reading my mind. It was locked so he immediately grabbed the nearest tool and began to pry it open. While he did that, I strolled up and opened the driver’s door. The keys were in the ignition. I held them up and jingled them to emphasize how clever I was. “Have it your way,” he said as he backed away from the trunk and tossed the tool carelessly aside. The tool and the concrete floor composed a clang that resonated and seemed to ricochet inside my skull as a bullet, and with equal effect, albeit temporarily. My mind flashed, trying to take me back to that staircase, but I resisted.

When I managed to regain my senses, I place the key into the lock. Walt’s use of force had mangled the metal around the lock and sporadically chipped away the yellow paint. Despite that, the trunk popped right open.

“I was not expecting that,” Walt remarked as we looked into the trunk. So far, this week had been so strange that if I heard someone tell this story, I wouldn’t believe a word.

Copyright © 2016 by Adam L. Cobden. All Rights Reserved.

Like this post on my Facebook Page or Twitter and check back soon for Detective Darby #5 – The Trunk. Check out my book, available for pre-order on Amazon.

“I am enough of the artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.”

-Albert Einstein

Detective Darby #3 – The Favor

I wiped the steam from the mirror after draping myself in a towel. Consequently, I was shocked at image looking back at me. It appears that a hot bath cured my ailments except for my incessant need for a shave. Honestly, I didn’t care anymore, but I hadn’t given up on my clientele, not even the cat lovers. This shave would be strictly for business.

As I exited, successfully clean-shaven, I felt smart for having a bathtub put in the office bathroom. I remember Linda was furious when I got it. She warned me that we might not have months as successful as that and I should save my money. Instead, I bought a leather couch, the bathtub, a crystal drinking set, and a new M1911 pistol. I was always a terrible shot with a gun and never even fired one during the war. Since I can’t carry a rifle around the city, I opted for one because I figured that I would need the extra ammo, eight shots are better than six after all. If she knew that I had given up my apartment, she might forgive me the bathtub; I doubt it, though.

Speaking of Linda, I noticed a fresh suit hanging from the coat rack in the corner. I hadn’t noticed it before, but I was a bit preoccupied climbing from the inside out of a bottle last night. Not to mention, I was hit on the head, punched in the face, and nearly incinerated while dodging some rather sinister lumber as well. By dodging I mean the right side of my head avoided while the left side absorbed the blow. By the time I was done coming up with excuses, I was fully dressed and looked credible at least, to the untrained eye.

Since I had been on a tear the last few days, I decided to do a quick inventory of my desk. Luckily, I found my gun, my watch, and a current copy of the books, thanks to Linda of course. She was my wife, big sister, and mother all rolled into one. Just as I thought, there was no sign of whiskey inside my desk, and I was pondering whether that was good news or bad when I heard a knock at the door.

I quickly rushed to the door and, upon opening it, I was rather surprised. I was expecting my new friend Link but was greeted by the postman.

“Good morning, Chet. You’ve got to sign for this letter,” he said.

Our postman was always friendly, which made me feel bad for never remembering his name. “Thanks,” I replied as I signed a form. He handed me the letter, and I quickly inspected it. It was addressed to Chet Darby and Associates; it had been typed rather than hand written. Upon opening, I discovered only a check for fifty dollars, enough to pay my rent, also made out to Chet Darby and Associates. Emily Black signed it, presumably the same woman who hired and ambushed me. I can only assume the money was for Linda. Criminals this classy typically fly around town atop unicorns.

As soon as I sat down behind my desk, there was another knock at the door. I angrily walked back to the door but got it out of my system by the time I got there. As I expected, it was Link, returning as he said he would.

“You look pretty good considering what happened last night,” he said as he walked through the door at my invitation.

“I thought the same thing when I looked in the mirror,” I agreed. Link turned around after walking only a few paces. Last night, I either did not or could not get a good look at him. Link was below average height, but not short, and above average build, but not muscular. He appeared to have a strong jaw; it was prominent and angular, and his eyes were large and somewhat far apart. Also, one of his eyes was blue, and the other one was gray, which was rare to see. His hair was blonde and mostly shaved on the sides and back of his head. He wore long sleeves and pants but some small burn scars, old ones, were barely noticeable above his collar.

“Is now a good time to talk about that favor?” he asked getting straight to the point. A man in my line of work always appreciates that.

I thought about the fact that I had recently paid my rent and just received another payment that would easily cover next month. Now was the best possible time to return a favor, a nonpaying one I assume. “Like I said, I owe you,” I replied confidently.

He shook his head positively. “I need your help finding someone, a woman. Her name is Emily Black,” he announced.

I did my best to keep my composure. It appears Emily shellacked me yet again. “Okay, what can you tell me about her?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could.

“Well, she is very fair-skinned, and she has red hair. She’s so beautiful that you can’t help but notice her,” Link described, much to my horror. Truthfully, I was hoping it was a coincidence, and he would describe a different woman altogether.

“Can you tell me the last place you saw her, places she frequents, or her known associates?” I asked, but he just stared at me.

“I’m sorry, but I have already exhausted everything I know. That’s why I’m asking you now,” Link replied and headed for the door. “Look, I have somewhere to be. Can you help me?” he asked while standing in my doorway.

I sighed and threw up my hands. Normally, I wouldn’t do that in front of a client, but normalcy was nowhere in sight lately. “You haven’t given me much to go on, but I will give it a shot,” I responded. At least, he hadn’t filled me full of false information. However, I couldn’t be so sure he hadn’t lied by omission. Then again, I never can when it comes to clients.

He walked a few steps towards me and shook my hand firmly. “I’ll be in touch,” he said. He pointed at me and smiled before closing the door behind him.

I had previously put my holster on under my suit jacket, so I retrieved my gun, checking the chamber and magazine before I holstered it. Then, I grabbed my hat, overcoat, and cigarettes. I don’t smoke much, drinking is my thing, but they have value when gaining the trust of others. I paused for a second and patted the inside pocket of my jacket. My flask was gone. How could I have missed it? Since I was out of whiskey, I assumed the flask would be empty too. But what if it wasn’t? Just then, I imagined tearing my office apart to find it, as I had done before. Instead, I calmly walked over to my desk and stood in front of the center drawer. As I slowly opened the drawer, it sounded as if I was dragging the entire desk across the floor, the legs scraping and screeching hideously across the floor. I’d swear the flask sparkled at me with some unknown source of reflection. I slowly reached for it and then frantically snatched it up. Upon shaking it, I discovered it was empty. I crumbled into my chair, took some refreshingly deep breaths, and noticed my heart beat slowing down, though I don’t recall it speeding up.

Once I began to think clearly, I slipped my flask into my jacket pocket and gathered my coat and hat yet again. I locked up the office and turned around. Apparently, the elevator was back in service. I only use it when I’m too drunk to walk up the stairs since I’m only on the second floor. I started for the stairs, but the echoes didn’t come, which brought a smile to my face.

As I exited the building, I planned on hailing a cab and, as luck would have it, one was driving towards me from up the block. I whistled and waved, and the cab slowed down and pulled over towards me. Boy, I love it when things fall like dominos. Now I just need to remember not to shoot the cabby. I certainly hope I don’t develop a fear of cabbies like some folks have with clowns.

“Where can I take you?” the cabby asked.

I had my own plan since Link was useless as a compass. “Take me to your headquarters or base of operations. I don’t know what you lot call it,” I said with a tinge of disdain.

“Which one?” he asked, and I didn’t have an answer. “There’s the main place and the maintenance depot,” he clarified.

“What’s the difference?” I asked even though I was pretty sure that I knew. Long ago, I figured out that making people feel smarter than you can be a useful tactic to gain information.

“Well, the base, as we call it, is where we all go daily to change cabs and check in. The depot is where they take cabs to be serviced. There’s a lot fewer guys there,” he explained.

If I need information, there are more cabbies to speak to at the base. On the other hand, if someone wanted to take a cab that nobody would miss for a few hours, it would be much easier to take it from the depot. “Should we flip a coin?” I joked. He only stared into his rearview mirror with his droopy face and dead eyes. “Take me to the depot,” I said, and he nodded.

“We’re here,” he announced. As we stopped, I looked out the window and saw the same cabby that punched me in the face walking into the depot. I ducked down into the seat hoping he wouldn’t notice me. “The meter is still running,” the cabby reminded me. He seemed completely unfazed by my actions.

Suddenly, the door to the cab opened, and someone sat down beside me. I was petrified and vulnerable. I thought finding my cabby was another domino falling into place, but I hesitated to see whether I was to be the next domino. People often say that luck runs out, but I don’t believe that. Luck turns good, or it turns bad. When I turn my head towards my unwanted passenger, my luck turns with it. The question is, which way will it go?

Copyright © 2016 by Adam L. Cobden. All Rights Reserved.

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“I am enough of the artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.”

-Albert Einstein

 

Detective Darby #2 – The Samaritan

My sight was the last sense to return to me. It confirmed what my other senses already told me; somebody doesn’t like me very much.

It was nighttime by now and would be pitch black if not for the fire. I could feel the crust of dried blood taunting my nose like an itch just out of reach, being tied to a chair didn’t help. The best I could tell, I was in an abandoned building, maybe a warehouse. My first instinct was to look for a way out. What I could see ahead of me was far from promising, flames piled atop more flames.

“I wonder if I could burn the ropes and break free?” I thought aloud. As soon as I heard my own words, I was glad I didn’t just think them. Otherwise, I might have gone through with that absurd plan. Plan B was simple; I need to try to turn myself around so I can see behind me. I slowly did my best to lunge upward and twist the chair around. The ropes were so tight, I could feel them burning, stinging my wrists each time I lunged, a mere taste of things to come if I do not get out of here.

As I finally got turned around, I managed to slip a chuckle in between the laborious puffs of breath. Suddenly, a creaking louder than the thunderous flames caught my attention, which was saying something under the circumstances. It sounded as I imagine two pirate ships might sound upon colliding, except without the ocean. The wood moaned and groaned as if an angry titan before snapping with a crispness so sharp it mimicked fireworks exploding. After that, a large beam from the high ceiling began to fall. I watched the beam for what seemed like minutes until it crashed laughably close to the left of me. I did not know whether to feel lucky or even more screwed. Several smaller boards followed, many of them using me to cushion their blow. I guess I got my answer. Man, I sure could use some of that ocean right about now.

When it seemed the boards were done battering me, I looked up. The hole in the roof was big so I didn’t expect more debris, for now. More importantly, I could see the stars and the moon shining bright. It seemed to be looking down on me, letting me know that there are far bigger and more glorious forces in existence. It brought me some comfort and I could feel myself letting go. If I could see my own face, I wonder if it would look like the faces of all the friends I lost during the war. I lost my two brothers in the war, one in the Pacific and another in France. I always thought of them when I held the dying hand of a brother in arms. I wonder if, as I held a bloody hand, they looked at my face and saw something as beautiful as that moon, telling them it was okay to let go because peace would gladly embrace them. Some days, I longed for that kind of peace.

I wanted to give up but something urged me to rock the chair back and forth until, at last, I fell over. It was a good idea but the execution only partially broke the chair. Unfortunately, my ankles were tightly bound and enough of the chair remained to limit my mobility. Then, I noticed that some of the boards from the roof were beginning to catch fire so I swiftly rolled away. While that saved me from the immediate threat, it put me in an awkward position with my hands, still firmly tied behind my back, under the weight of my body. I clawed at the wood, losing a fingernail or two in the process, trying to get the chair legs out so I could at least get to my feet. If I was going to die here, at least I wouldn’t have to take it lying down.

Suddenly, there was another crash and I frantically looked, as best I could, to see its origin. I’ll be damned if it wasn’t a pair of headlights. A man jumped out of a truck and ran towards me.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said. Until he cut my ankles free, I was not sure he was real. Then, he pulled me up from the ground and cut my hands free. I winced as he cut my hand while doing so but I wasn’t in a position to complain. “Can you walk on your own?” he asked and I nodded.

When I got into his truck, he immediately backed out and a large part of the building caved in as soon as we cleared it. “Thanks,” I said as I extended my bloody hand. Despite the blood, he gladly shook my hand.

“You’re welcome,” he replied while retrieving a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. “Are you okay, pal? Do you need me to take you to the hospital?” he asked alternating his glance between me and the road.

“No, that won’t be necessary. Take me to my office, if you don’t mind. I have plenty of first aid supplies there,” I replied. The man nodded and I sensed a question coming about. “It’s at 45 North Third Avenue,” I said and he again nodded before handing me the handkerchief, now bloody.

The truck stopped right in front of the door to my building. I managed to get out fine on my own. I couldn’t help but notice a taxi stopping down the street. I watched as the people got out, three of them, but I’m not sure what I expected to see.

“Let me help you inside,” the man insisted and put my arm around his shoulders while we entered the building. “It looks like the elevator is out,” he said as we turned to the stairs.

With every step we took, I could hear Emily’s heels echoing and my heart rate steadily increased. I should have seen it coming. Everything about her was wrong. All of her clothes were new, her perfume was fresh, her makeup was perfect, and those heels cost more than my rent. She was as much of a working girl as I was.

Before I knew it, we made it to the second floor. “This is me,” I said as I pointed out the door to my office.

“That was easy. Is this your office, Chet Darby and Associates?” he asked. “Do you need some help with those wounds?”

If only he knew what a joke the associates part of that title was, he wouldn’t be so impressed. “I fought in the war, so I can handle it,” I replied.

“So, you’re a veteran. Were you a medic?”

“Everybody in the war was a medic,” I said gruffly. I immediately felt bad for raising my voice to someone who just saved my life. “Come and have a drink with me,” I demanded as I eased into my office. I went straight to my desk and poured a couple of glasses of whiskey.

He downed his whiskey even quicker than I did. “Listen, I have to be going,” he said while taking a few steps away. “Are you going to be alright?”

I looked over at the over half full bottle of whiskey. “I’ll be fine shortly,” I jested. The man noticed that I was referencing the bottle. “What’s your name?” I asked, irritated that I hadn’t already, which was becoming a bad habit.

“Oh, I’m Link Godwin. It’s good to meet you,” he said and saw fit to replace our previous handshake with a more formal one, now that we know names.

“In this case, I think we can agree that the pleasure is all mine,” I said cleverly, if only to me. “I owe you one,” I added as I raised my glass to him and took another drink.

He abruptly waved and began to walk away. However, he didn’t get far. “I hate to ask at a time like this, but I do need a favor,” he apologetically mentioned.

“This seems like the perfect time,” I replied, and he appeared to understand my meaning.

“I’m going to come back tomorrow and check on you. We’ll talk about it then,” Link said and promptly left.

After he left I wasted little time getting close to that bottle. The liquid inside looked as though it had been touched by King Midas. I gripped the bottle and unscrewed the lid using only my thumb. The lid shot from the bottle, landed on my desk, and began spinning like a top. I grinned and watched as it danced for me, seemingly celebrating its freedom. That makes two of us. I stared down inside of the bottle. It shined bright, letting me know that there are far bigger and more glorious forces in existence. It brought me some comfort and I could feel myself letting go.

Copyright © 2016 by Adam L. Cobden. All Rights Reserved.

Like this post on my Facebook Page or Twitter and proceed to Detective Darby #3 – The Favor. Check out my book, available for pre-order on Amazon.

“I am enough of the artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.”

-Albert Einstein

 

 

Detective Darby #1 – The Dame

The morning was so bright; I almost thought it had a beef with me. Nature should offer cloud cover until 10 am for all of the night owls. To be fair, I had yet to surmise the time and typically call morning whatever time I manage to wake up.

I reluctantly eased up from the well-worn couch in my office. The smell of the leather always brought me an odd sense of comfort. Perhaps it was the sweet reminder of a more prosperous time tapping on my mind’s shoulder. Somehow, a quilt I previously took as payment from a cash-poor but lovely woman covered me. I shudder to think how my pants managed to be laid out over the back of my office chair.

As I made my way to retrieve my pants, I could see the silhouette of Linda, my secretary, in the lobby, if you dare call it that. More people have fit into a campus phone booth I bet. She worked harder to find me work than I did to complete the work that she found for me. It was mostly trivial stuff that even a desperate jerk like me felt was beneath my dignity. To be clear, I made rent this month, barely, by finding some old lady’s cat. To be even clearer, I took the case, walked down to the corner, lit up a smoke, and the crazy cat walked right up to me. I still accepted her money; I even got a bonus. Truthfully, I thought I’d get a second quilt out of that deal.

“Chet, are you decent? There’s a woman here to see you,” announced Linda.

Damn them both for preempting the first cup of coffee of the day. “Gimme two minutes, sugar,” I replied as I hastily fumbled into my pants. Speaking of sugar, I glanced over at the fire escape and gave further consideration to that cup of coffee.

“Chet, did you hear me?” she asked, knocking on my door as if I owed her money. I probably did, though.

“Hold on,” I said desperately. I had no clue how ragged I might have looked so I tried my best to comb my hair by running my hands through it a few times. I couldn’t do much about a shave, but a shot of whiskey for me seemed better than a shot of morning breath for a potential client, at least that’s what I told myself as I poured it. I sat down behind my desk and downed the whiskey. “Come in,” I announced as I shuffled the whiskey bottle and glass into a drawer. I wasn’t fooling anybody save me.

Linda opened the door and gestured for the woman to enter. Once she took a few steps, Linda scowled and pointed her index finger at me, which seemed eerily long and foreboding at that moment. The woman stopped after a few steps as if to give me a chance to drool over her. They always do that, the cute ones. Her skin was far too creamy and delicate to withstand even a few minutes of this wretched sunlight, I thought. Oddly, her flaming red hair was a brilliant contrast despite my previous thought. Beyond that, she was so beautiful with her sculpted cheekbones and celestially orchestrated figure that I instantly found her annoying, because I was sure I had sized her up in a flash.

I did not bother to stand up; I still needed my coffee. “I’m Chet Darby, Private Detective. What can I do for you, miss?” I asked. I could sense that she picked up on the lack of enthusiasm in my tone so I motioned for her to sit down hoping that would prove sufficient distraction.

“I’m not sure how to begin. I’ve never done this before,” the woman replied. Her voice was slightly seductive even though I believe she came by it naturally. Part of me hoped that she sounded like a diseased baboon that somehow learned to speak. That much perfection always leads to trouble, which is evidenced by her presence alone.

“Well, usually a client tells me about a problem or task that they need help with, then they lie about it making my job harder, we agree to terms, and I get to work,” I explained sarcastically yet accurately, in my defense.

She was shocked by my frankness. “Are you always so callous?” she asked.

It was a fair question. “No, sometimes I am much worse,” I joked. She giggled cutely, of course. The joke’s on her because there is often plenty of truth hidden behind a jester’s whimsy. “Talk to me.”

She took a deep breath. “I go to a bar nearby several times a week after work. Sometimes we stay out until dark,” she began to speak but paused for a second deep breath. “Somebody has been following me home, and I think it’s the same man, a man from the bar,” she said timidly.

I enthusiastically nodded, because it seemed simple to me. “That’s good,” I said, and she appeared to take it the wrong way. “What I mean to say is that I can help you,” I clarified, which repopulated a smile to her face.

“Thank you, but how will you help?” she asked, her smile going as easily as it came.

“That’s easy. What time do you get off from work?” I asked.

“I came here as soon as I got off,” she replied.

My confusion transformed to shock. “Uh, what time is it?” I asked and winced at the upcoming response.

“It’s almost 5:30 pm,” she replied, which was admittedly hard for me to hear.

It was my turn to take a couple of deep breaths. “Okay, here is the plan,” I announced though I felt quite a blow to my credibility, even as a social crusader for cats. “We will go to the bar together, and you can point him out to me. I’ll get a feel for him and then we will decide whether we leave together or you lure him out for me. What do you think?”

She seemed relieved, I can only assume, by my decisiveness. “That sounds perfect. I could use a drink,” she replied.

I stood up and realized that I had no shoes on, was wearing my undershirt, and had failed to zip my trousers. “Can you wait with Linda for a minute while I freshen up?” I asked. I would have been embarrassed had I not lacked the presence of mind. She graciously obliged, and I quickly threw myself together.

I burst through my office door to find Linda and the client looking at me as if I were a Martian. I instantly realized that I didn’t even bother to ask her name. Luckily, I had a plan. “Did you get all of her paperwork in order?” I asked Linda, and she promptly handed it to me. I managed to pull her name from the papers, but Linda had me pegged from the start, as she always does. “Emily, are you ready to do this?” I asked, hoping that I didn’t over-enunciate her name.

I offered her my arm, and we briskly set off. As we entered the hallway outside my office, I quickly noticed the elevator was out again. Luckily, I couldn’t afford anything higher than the second floor. When we hit the stairs, the sound her heels made against the floor echoed an unknowable truth, inexplicably filling me with dread. I could not help but stare at her heels, hosiery, dress, and even her hat. She looked back at me, and her smile seemed to enchant all of my worries into submission.

Once we got outside, I began to look for a taxi. I looked to my left and then my right. Fortunately, there was a taxi parking just down the street. We hurried after it but the cabby got out and opened the trunk, so we slowed down. The passenger got out and retrieved a suitcase. By then, we were standing right behind the taxi. I stopped with the intention of hiring the cab, but Emily kept walking and left my arm. As I turned, I saw yet another scowl, this time of the sinister variety, peering back at me. Before I could speak, Emily blackjacked me with a force that I’d swear she hadn’t the capability.

My vision was blurring, but I had just enough sense to witness the cabby and his passenger carry me while my legs dragged across the sidewalk. The scraping noise that my shoes made against the concrete seemed to echo with a similar profundity as Emily’s heels had upon the stairs. They unceremoniously heaved me into the trunk, and the last thing I saw was the cabby’s fist before the darkness claimed me.

When I finally began to regain consciousness, I thought the echoes were coming back for me. As my vision cut through the blurriness, my other senses followed. I could hear the roar, feel the heat, and smell the gasoline. If I wasn’t already amidst the fires of Hell, I need not wait long.

Copyright © 2016 by Adam L. Cobden. All Rights Reserved.

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Like this post on my Facebook Page or Twitter and proceed to Detective Darby #2 – The Samaritan. Check out my book, available for pre-order on Amazon.

“I am enough of the artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.”

-Albert Einstein