Anyone interested in a little mystery noir? I wrote this in my freshman year of college. I was constrained to a page limit, otherwise I would’ve been a little more detailed. I don’t think it’s half bad outside of the ending though.
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Frank rolled over on his side and read the alarm clock, 2:37 AM. The rain was descending on the tin roof top above. He then rolled back over and went to sleep.
Frank was a thin man with long legs and a dimpled chin. His teeth were stained from the nicotine in his cigarettes. He was a slightly muscular man who had mastered his business.
Frank walked with confidence to his office on the corner of 7th Street. He opened the door that led to a large room filled with a number of cubicles and a few offices. The carpet under him barely flexed as he walked across the room towards an office that read ‘Detective Callahan’. The secretary greeted him with a big smile as he approached.
“Hello, Judy.”
“Good morning, Frank. Here’s today’s paper.”
“Thank you, dear.”
Frank gathered the paper and walked into his office. He opened it and read Tuesday, March 17th , 1951. The headline of the Seattle Times said “One Dead in Burglary”. As he read the article, he began gathering clues to a case that he was sure to be presented. There was no forced entry and nothing seemed to be scattered. The sergeant entered his office with a simple command.
“Head over to the East End and check out the apartment.”
Frank jumped into a taxi and directed the cab driver to the corner of East 1st and Fern Street. When he arrived on the scene he was greeted by his former partner.
“What do we have here, Bobby?”
“Homicide at the moment, we can’t determine a motive. There are no signs of a struggle and nothing appears to be missing.”
“Is there an approximate time of death?”
“The victims were believed to be killed between 1 and 3 o’clock this morning, Frank.”
“Any witnesses?”
“Not a one.”
“Let me know if you find anything else out, Bobby.”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
Frank nodded his appreciation and walked past the tape and into the apartment. The pungent aroma quickly met his nostrils. The body was being put on the stretcher when he walked in. It was noticeable that the lack of oxygen had begun to fade a once tan complexion on the middle-aged man’s face. Frank paced across the floor to the medical examiner.
“What can you tell me, Don?”
“An excess amount of oxycotin was found in his blood stream. He didn’t suffer long. “
Frank left and returned to his office. Judy greeted him with a note that read “Smith’s Diner: 1 o’clock.”
“Who brought this?”
“A young man, not older than twenty-five dropped it off.”
Frank thanked Judy and checked his watch, 12: 47 PM. At that, Frank turned around and walked back out the door and headed north. Smith’s Diner was a small, quaint establishment. When he entered, the bells above the door made his presence known. A man sitting at a booth met Frank’s eyes. He was a man of about forty-five years. He had thick eyebrows and a crooked nose. He was of average height and stocky. Frank walked over to the man and sat down.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Callahan,” said the man.
“Who are you?”
“My name is not important, but my business is. I recently had a possession taken from me and I want it back.”
“I assume this has something to do with last night’s murder.”
“What happened last night was unfortunate, but I’m more concerned about the whereabouts of my possession.”
“What is this object?”
“That’s not important right now, but it can not get in to the hands of the police. I am offering a substantial amount of money to ensure that.”
“That is pretty gutsy to bribe a cop,” said Frank.
“Don’t act like you cops hold high moral standards.”
“Who has it?”
“His name is Greg McCaulley. He used to work for me.”
The man slid a plain white envelope over to Frank and said, “there is more where this came from”. Frank opened it up to view five crisp one-hundred dollar bills.
“How am I supposed to contact you?”, said Frank.
“You won’t. I will find you.”
With that, Frank stood up, bid adieu to the man and left. He returned to his office where Judy said a woman was waiting for him in his office. When he walked in, the lady was staring forward out the window. Detective Callahan immediately noticed her blazing red hair and her delicate, petite features. She had a worried expression that Frank perceived as weakness. She managed a thin lip smile as Frank walked around to his desk and sat facing her.
“May I help you?”, he said.
“My name is Jenny.”
“How may I help you Jenny?”
“ I have some information that may be useful to you. The man you met with today is my father. The man that was murdered worked for my father and was my boyfriend.”
“Do you care to elaborate on what is missing?”
“There was a valuable piece hidden in my suitcase. We just moved here from Dallas, Texas. We were running from the man who murdered my boyfriend. The suitcase was entrusted to my boyfriend, because we didn’t know Greg knew about him. Greg helped us obtain the object when he worked for my father, then he decided he wanted it for himself.”
“So he has it now?”
“Yes.”
“Is this Greg fella’s last name McCaulley?”
“Why yes it is.”
“Where might I find this, Mr. McCaulley?”
“He’s staying at the Belvedere Hotel downtown. Oh, you mustn’t tell father that I came to see you.”
“I won’t, but we must get you back before he notices that you are missing.”
Frank could hear the rain coming down outside, again. It was another typical Seattle day and fitting for the day after a murder. Frank led Jenny outside and called her a cab. When the cab pulled up Frank said “Take the lady wherever she wants to go” and proceeded to throw a ten-dollar bill into the passenger seat. As the cab drove away, he called his own cab and gave a simple request, “follow that cab.” Jenny’s cab pulled up to the Emperor Hotel and she got out. Frank waited, tipped the cab driver and followed her in from a distance. He watched as she got in the elevator. He counted the floors until it stopped, “1, 2 ,3, 4…”. He went to the front desk and addressed the clerk “Excuse me sir, I’m supposed to pick up a young lady with long, red hair in your hotel. She gave me the room number, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten. I believe she is on the fourth floor.”
“Ah yes. Ms. Templeton. 417, sir”, said the young man.
Frank said “thank you” and left.
He took a taxi back to his apartment where he took out a glass and a bottle of whiskey. He filled the glass about a third of the way and took a drink. A knock came at the door. He slowly put it down and let out a sigh. There, stood a man of about 6’1. The conversation didn’t last long. He introduced himself as “Mr. Templeton’s hired gun, James Buchanon.” To that point, he did not know the name of the gentleman he had met earlier in the day. Frank and Mr. Buchanon talked shortly and parted ways. Frank returned to his bed, took off his well-traveled shoes and proceeded to polish off the rest of his whiskey. Before long, he had passed out on the still unmade bed.
Callahan walked down the steps to the front door of his apartment building. As he was walking, he caught a glimpse of a man who he would soon be seeing a lot more of. The man was a slender boy in his mid-twenties. His dirty blonde hair was all that was visible behind the morning newspaper. Frank proceeded to his office where he was greeted by the same eager face who had presented him coffee and a newspaper each day for the past three years. The typical dialogue took place, “Good morning, Judy. Did you do something to your hair?” To which she responded with a giggle and “I got it cut actually. Thanks for noticing, Frank.” Callahan walked to his office, threw his coat on the back of a chair and propped his feet on his desk. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit the end of one. He had begun smoking early in his career as a detective. Cigarettes provided him a way to release the stress that built up inside of him. His phone rang, it was Mr. Templeton asking him to meet him at the Emperor Hotel at 7 PM.
Frank caught a cab to the hotel and proceeded to take the stairs to the fourth floor. He took a left from the stairwell and walked to where he was face to face with a door labeled with a golden ‘417’. The door to the room was ajar and he entered apprehensively. He entered a poorly lit room where Mr. Templeton and his daughter sat on the bed. Behind them, stood the same young man he had seen earlier. When Frank entered, the door was shut behind him. From behind the door appeared a young man in his twenties. He determined that it was the young man he had been looking for, Greg. Greg led Frank at gunpoint to a chair sitting next to the bed. Greg’s request was simple “Quit looking for me.” Frank played the situation rather smoothly.
“Well, I can finally put a face with the name.”
“I suggest this be the last time you see my face.”
“I honestly doubt it will be.”
A distinct red coloration started to pour into the young man’s face. A smirk overcame Frank’s face, which incurred even more frustration in the young man.
“Yeah? Well, maybe I’ll take Jenny to ensure that’s the case.”
Horror struck Jenny’s face as Frank responded with a calm “Alright.” Greg pulled Jenny off the bed and towards the door. Mr. Templeton jumped to his feet, but was subdued by Frank. As she disappeared out of sight Frank met Mr. Templeton’s eyes and said, “Don’t worry, we’ll get her back.” Mr. Callahan left as Mr. Templeton displayed an awe struck expression.
It was later that night, when it was reported that Templeton’s hired gun, James, had been killed. He was shot three times in a middle-class neighborhood. His body was visible by the street lights above and the flashing lights on the cop cars and ambulance. Frank took a notepad size piece of paper out of his back pocket. A few things were scribbled on the paper, ‘313’ and ‘Robert’s Drug Store’. He assumed the ‘313’ to mean Greg’s room number at the Belvedere Hotel, but he had already moved on by now. Frank knew of a Robert’s Drug Store in downtown Seattle.
He arrived at the drug store and went to the counter and asked if a man had come in asking about an illegal purchase of a drug. The man remained tight-lipped, until Frank’s ominous scare convinced him otherwise.
“A man came in asking about the purchase of oxycotin. I told him that a man had come in and purchased a large dose of the drug with a few c-notes. Later, the bills were deemed to be counterfeit.” Frank thanked the man for his cooperation and left.
He walked northward toward the Belvedere Hotel where he went up to the third floor and stood outside of ‘313’. Sure enough the maid was cleaning the room. Frank descended upon the stairs and made his way to the front desk.
“Excuse me, did a man named Greg recently check out of here?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m not allowed to give out that kind of information.”
Frank flashed his badge and raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, yes, sir. A man did leave this morning.”
“Did he leave a forwarding address?”
“Yes, he asked for his mail to be forwarded to the Concord Inn.”
Frank thanked him for his cooperation and left. He returned to his home where his fellow men in blue were waiting for him.
“Good evening, Frank. How are you doing?”
“Well seeing as how there are now two murders that haven’t been solved. I’d say not the greatest, Tim. Drink?”
“No thanks, Frank. We thought that we’d let you know that we believe the murders are related, but we have no way of proving it.”
“Well I appreciate you guys stopping by, but I’ve had a long day and need some rest.”
“No problem, Frank. We can talk tomorrow,” Tim said, as they walked out.
The next morning Frank decided to check out the Concord Inn. He approached the front desk and asked if a man by the name of Greg and a young red head had checked in. He replied ‘yes’, but they left this morning.
“Do you mind if I check out their room?”
“Not at all. Here’s the key”.
Frank ascended the stairs to the second floor. Room number 217. Frank entered and there lay Mr. Templeton unconscious on the floor. There was nothing in the bathroom or on the beds. He emptied the contents of a wastebasket onto the bed. It contained a receipt for a cabin on a boat that was scheduled to leave that afternoon. In a hustle, Frank scribbled something on a piece of paper and left. As he passed the front desk, he ordered the clerk to call the police. Frank heard the young man dialing the number as he left.
Frank headed toward the sound of seagulls crowing in the distance. He walked slowly up the catwalk to the boat. On board, he saw the young man who had been following him heading along the starboard side of the boat and into a cabin. Frank followed him to the door and stood outside to listen. There were some words exchanged inside to which the blonde-haired boy stammered back out the door. Frank turned as to not be seen. The boy was walking towards the back of the boat. Frank slipped inside where Jenny was seen tied to a chair. Greg was caught off guard by Frank’s arrival. He reached for his pistol, but Frank grabbed his wrist and wrangled it free. The nine millimeter weapon hit the floor and sat at the foot of the bed. Frank hit Greg in the face a number of times, before he lay motionless on the floor. In a panic, Jenny asked.
“Is he dead?”
“No, he’s still breathing, but unconscious.”
As Frank began to untie Jenny, the blonde-haired boy returned. Jenny screamed “Look out!” and Frank turned just in time to meet the boy’s knuckles. Frank caught the blow and staggered back. The boy grabbed him and threw him to the now closed door. Frank rolled over to see the young man pulling the gun out. It happened as if in slow motion. Frank watched the revolver be removed from the boy’s pants and slowly aimed towards him. Frank closed his eyes and heard “bang!”. He opened his eyes to see the boy drop to his knees and lay flat in front of him. Jenny stood there, aiming the gun. A look of horror overcame her. She began to bawl her eyes out. She dropped the gun and it landed on the bed. Frank got up, walked over to her and gathered her in his arms. A rap came at the door. It was Tim and a few other policemen.
“Did you get my message?”, said Frank.
“Well we are here aren’t, we?”
“And Templeton?”
“He’s already in custody. What happened here?”
“That one shot the blonde and then I walked in and shot him. It was self-defense, Tim.”
“I guess, so. What’s that?”
“Oh, that suitcase, I guess that is why you see what is before you.”
“Any idea as to what is inside of it?”
“Not a clue, but I would guess it has something to do with counterfeit bills. A man paid for an excessive amount of oxycotin with counterfeit money. And over there is the gun that was used to kill James Buchanon.”
Tim walked over and opened the suitcase, there was nothing visible.
“You have to rip the front part off,” said Jenny.
Tim did as instructed and a series of counterfeit currency plates clattered to the bottom of the suitcase.
“Well there you have it. And here’s the money that Mr. Templeton tried to bribe me with,” said Frank as Greg began to arouse.
“Ah, you woke up just in time to walk yourself to the cop car. You should’ve stayed in Dallas. It might be awhile before you see the sun, again,” said Frank.
Outside, Frank could hear the rain coming down on the wooden panels of the boat.
Big Blue Rise 