Pastel Noir: The Case Of the Cooked Bookie

[Personalias]

Pastel Noir: The Case of the Cooked Bookie

I knew the dame was trouble when she walked in.  It wasn’t that she looked like a hustlin’ hussy diggin’ for gold, or a two-bit trick turner tryin’ to get one last gotcha on her least favorite sugar daddy before he went and got himself a new girlfriend.  She didn’t. She wasn’t.

She looked like something Betty Crocker made; something wholesome that you just eat right up for dessert. Lady looked like Shirley Temple all grown up, the girl next door but with a spice-rack big enough for a gourmet chef.  The kind of girl that any guy’s second instinct would be to get down on one knee, put a ring on that finger and take her home to meet Mother. I won’t go into detail about the first instinct would be.  

What I mean to say is the dame was cute, innocent-looking, and had big knockers.  Not like my usual female clientele, ‘cept for maybe the big knockers. How did I know she was trouble, then?  

She walked into my office.  Everyone who walks into my office is trouble.

I could tell right away that she was new to all of this.  “Is this the Detective Agency?” she asked me.

“The trenchcoat and fedora give it away?” I said. I thumbed over to door. “Or was it the sign?” 

The dame turned around and looked.  “Looks like chicken scratch to me. Sorry.”

Okay, so I didn’t have the best handwriting.  I’m a detective, not a calligrapher. “What can I do for ya, toots?”  I propped my feet up on the table and took a swig from the bottle I keep hidden in my jacket.  

Bitter.  Cheap. But it’s all I could afford.  A job from this girl? Well, I wasn’t getting the good stuff anytime soon, not unless her daddy had a trust fund.  I’d be lucky if I got paid in pocket. I shouldn’t have been drinking this early in the morning, but from the tears welling up in her eyes I figured I was gonna need it.

She had a seat and started pouring out her sob story out like a smooth malt whiskey.  “Ya gotta help me, Mister, it’s my boyfriend.”
 

“Detective.”
 

The lady frowned and pointed to herself. “Molly…”

I slapped my forehead.  “No, not you. Me. I’m a detective.  Call me Detective.”

“Oh, sorry!  Ya gotta help me, Detective, it’s my boyfriend.”

“What about him? Cheating on ya?  A nice girl like you should have no trouble replacing him after ya kick him to the curb.”

“Oh, I’d never do that, Detective.  I love him, and he loves me.”

Love.  Love was a four letter word that rich folks used to mean “legally obligated.” and poor saps like this girl used to mean “desperate for.”  I’d seen a lot of things in this crazy mixed-up world, but love wasn’t one of them. But if her money was good… “How do you know he’s not stepping out on you, playing a little hide n’ seek?”

“Oh, James would never do that to me, Detective.  He- 

“-Loves you.  I know, I know.”   I pulled the brim of my hat down over my eyes so she couldn’t see me rolling them all the way uphill. “So why do you need to find him so bad?  A dog always comes home for supper.”

“That’s just it, detective.  He hasn’t come home, and I’m worried about him.”

“And you think something’s happened to him?”

“His name is James Macklemore.” she said.  “He’s very important.”

I scratched my chin.  “Never heard of him.”

“Very important isn’t the same thing as popular, Detective.  There are a lot of very important, very powerful, very bad people around here who would like it if James never came home.” 

I mulled it over.  Took my feet off the desk.  Clicked my tongue as I counted up all the ways a case like this could go sideways.  “All right, I’ll take the case.”

“Oh, thankyou Detec-!”

I held up my hand like a crossing guard. “For a hundred simoleons.”

“A hundred simoleons?!”

“Half now.  Half later.”

She looked around the room, hoping that one of my four walls would be on her side. “You don’t work on contingency?”

“No, money down!”

“But I don’t have that kind of money on me.”

I pointed back at the way she came in.  Dame wasn’t worth the trouble. “There’s the door, Molly.”

She gasped like I’d just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.  “Oh wow! You are good!”  Instead of walking out the door and out of my life to go find her lousy beau herself, she turned it up a notch.  She leaned over my desk, making sure I got myself a good view of what her mama gave her. “Maybe we could come to some other arrangement?”

“Like what?” I asked her. Enjoying the view, I took another swig.  Maybe this girl wasn’t as innocent as she looked.

She paused, licked her lips, and then said, “I have no idea…I just thought I that’s what I was supposed to say…”  Maybe she was that innocent. That’s when the water works turned on.

“Please, Mister.” she cried.  “I mean, Detective.  I’m desperate.  I’ve already tried the police, but they’re no help at all!  James is in trouble, I know it! I just do! Please! Help me bring him home!”   

If it’s one thing I couldn’t stand, it was to see a dame cry.  Besides, she’d ditched “love” and was now “desperate.” Now she was speaking my language.  I handed her a tissue to dry her eyes. Any more tears and I would’ve needed a mop. “Okay. Okay.  Two hundred simoleons.”

“Two hundred-?”

“After I find your James.  If he’s as important as you say he is, he’ll be able to get the dough.”  That, and I figured if this James really was out playing peekaboo like I thought he was, he’d gladly pay two hundred big ones for me to keep my trap shut.

“Thank you, Detective! Thank you!”  She leaned over the desk and hugged me like I’d already saved her lousy man.  She turned around and started to walk out, and I couldn’t help but take a peek for myself.  Damn, I hate to seem them come in, but I love to watch them go. Maybe James was in trouble.  Because with legs like that, he was a darn fool if he was stepping out on this one.

   That’s when Molly decided to play a little Detective herself.  Just before she walked out of my office, she turned around. “Do you always drink this early in the morning, Detective?”

“Did the bottle give it away?”

“You’re not wearing any pants.”  

I looked down.  “Oh,” I said. “So, I’m not.”

*************************************************************************************************************

I started the Macklemore case like I start most cases: by checking in with Tommy.  It wasn’t hard to find him. Listen around in this little burg, and follow the sound of police sirens.  That’s where you’ll find Tommy.

Tommy was a good cop.  Played it straight. Played by the rules.  That’s why he was a good friend. That’s also why we couldn’t be partners anymore.  He was Classical and went exactly by the notes that were on the paper. I was more a Jazz man myself.  Played it by ear. Improvised where necessary.  

Thing about Jazz is, you still need a good baseline to riff of.  That was Tommy.

I found Tommy that day in the park, standing over a chalk outline.  Not forty feet away, a ball game was well underway. Kids these days.  No respect. No fear, either. Not even a murder site or a man with a badge can scare them away.  That’s another reason why I got out of the cop game. I got tired of securing crime, taking lip from punks, and not being allowed to bust them in the teeth. 

Not Tommy, though.  

Tommy was busy securing the scene, making sure that it wasn’t contaminated or tampered with.  Boring stuff. Cop stuff. He was coughing up a storm when I came up behind him. “You really gotta get that checked out.” I told him.    I shook open a pack of Victory and slid a pre-rolled out. “Could be somethin’ serious.”

“Says the man with a ciggie in his mouth.”

“It’s my only vice,” I told him.

“That and women,” Tommy said.

“And drinking.”

“You’re not good with money, either.  You still bettin’ on the ponies?”

I didn’t answer him.  Didn’t need to. Classical or jazz, ballroom or nightclub, this was our little dance.  I smiled at him. “Tom.”

“Frank.”  He grinned back.

“How the heck are ya?”

Tommy pointed to the outline where the body used to be.  “Workin’. You?”

“Same,” I said.  I picked my foot up and rubbed at my ankle.

“Legs hurt, Frank?” Tommy asked.  “You know, you could have walked here.  We’re not that far from your office. You didn’t need to take the car.”

“If I didn’t use it, it’d be a wasted investment,” I said. I thumbed back to my ride, a hot red number with four wheel drive, working doors and a horn, clicking ignition switch, gas cap, cup holders and spinning front wheels. I had already named her “Lilian.”  “Now I just gotta pay off the loan.” for it.”

“You and that car.” Tommy shook his head.  “No wonder you never settled down and got you a wife.”

“Yeah?” I asked.  “What’s your excuse?”

“I’m married to the job, Frank, you know that.”  

We stopped talking for a second.  The last notes of the dance were over. Now it was time to get to business  “What do you want, Frank?”

“I’m lookin’ for somebody. James Macklemore,” I said.  I pointed to the chalk outline. “That’s not him, is it?”

Tommy shook his head.  “No such luck. This was a girl.  Body was found out here an hour ago.  No handbag.”

“Must’ve been a mugging,” I said.

“Wagon came by just before you got here and the cleaners took her away.  Still waiting on the I.D. She looked young. Practically a baby. What is it with kids, these days, Frank?  What kind of world do we live in where a lady can’t take a walk in the park by herself? What’s it all coming to, Frank?” I didn’t answer, not that Tommy expected me to. He thought for a second.  “James Macklemore…James Mackle…why does that name sound so familiar?”

I shrugged.  “Beats me,” I told Tommy.  “Never heard of him, myself.”

“Just because you never heard of him doesn’t mean he’s not important.”  Then Tommy snapped his fingers. “Wait! Now I remember, James Macklemore!  That’s Jimmy the Jinx!”

I was so surprised I almost choked on my own cigarette.  If I hadn’t already gone, I would’ve soaked my jockeys right then and there.  Jimmy the Jinx! Jimmy the Jinx was a bookie and a numbers man for the mob! Jimmy cooked everybody’s books and kept a ledger of who owed what.  There wasn’t an ill-gotten simoleon that exchanged hands that Jimmy didn’t have written down in his little book, and these days there was more and more dirty money that needed to be made clean.

Reason why he was “Jimmy the Jinx” was that he also had an inside ear on all the rigged games in town.  If Jimmy liked ya, he’d give you the inside scoop for a sure thing. If he didn’t, you were on your own.  And if he hated you, you’d end up thinking he liked you and then blow all your money on a horse that would never cross the finish line.  When you were gambling with Jimmy, you were gambling on more than just sports; you were gambling on Jimmy, too. With Jimmy, you either won big, or got Jinxed.

Jimmy got away with it because he was good with numbers AND people; a rare double skillset. The Jinx wasn’t a made-man himself, but he was about as close as you could get without being one.  And you didn’t lose money on a rigged bet and go complaining to management. Not if you didn’t want to end up with your shoes full of rocks and sleeping with the fishes.

But there were always sore losers in that line of work, and people who lose enough soon don’t have anything to lose.
 

 Suddenly, ol’ James Macklemore’s disappearance didn’t seem like a case of a beau playing hooky with the hookers.  Maybe his gal pal was onto something. Something new was stuck in my craw, though. What was a plate of apple pie like that Molly dame doing in love with Jimmy the Jinx?

Could a lowlife like Jimmy the Jinx have a home life?  Could a guy who was used to doubling down been looking to settle down?  Or was Molly really just a moll, putting on an act so that I’d get my hands dirty?  Either way, it didn’t matter.

Two hundred simoleons was nothing to somebody like Jimmy the Jinx. He’d gladly pay two hundred simoleons if I found him and put him back with his slice of apple pie; more if it turned out I was right and he was just getting a little ice cream on the side.  To keep a nice dame like Molly, a couple hundred simoleons was nothing so that you could have your pie a la mode. It was chump change. Lunch money. So I was gonna find Jimmy the Jinx and take that lunch money.

I stepped away and noticed a little bit of white stuff on the court.  Powdery and following a little trail before disappearing into the grass.  It wasn’t much, but something about it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.  “What’s this?” I asked no one in particular. I got a bad habit of talking to myself. Go figure.

I rubbed a bit of the powder between my fingers, and took a sniff just to be sure.  “Sorry to contaminate the crime scene,” I said to Tommy, “but you might want to bag the rest of that up, before the wind blows it away.”  I pointed to the stray bit of whit stuff, just on the corner of the cement.

“Why?” Tommy asked.  “That’s just chalk, isn’t it?”   

I grimaced.  Tommy was a good cop, but a crap detective. “I don’t think this was a mugging after all,” I said. “And that stuff’s not chalk.”
*****************************************************************************************************
The Three Monkeys wasn’t a place you went to if you if you wanted to seem like a respectable member of society.  It was a place you went to when you wanted to stop pretending to be respectable. It was a place where the smart girls danced in cages so that the boys couldn’t touch them. The desperate girls stepped out of those cages to sit on some creep’s lap for a couple extra simoleons.  

Everybody in town knew what went on over at the Three Monkeys, but you could never find anybody who worked there or anybody who’d ever been on the inside.  Funny that. Nobody dared go there without a good disguise to hang up on the coat rack after they got in. Lucky for me I already had a hat and trenchcoat. And I didn’t care if I was recognized. 

Most gumshoes would start asking around about Jimmy the Jinx at the racetrack; ask any of the local leg breakers if they’d seen the little weasel.  But if any wise guy and hired muscle knew where Jimmy was, that likely meant he was already at the bottom of the river, and I was in no hurry to join them there.  Besides, if you wanna find a man who went missing, you don’t go to where everybody knows he works. You start where he was likely to play and not tell anybody.

And if Luck really was a Lady, then maybe she’d be a Lady of the Evening.   As I went into The Three Monkeys, I thought, “This might be the easiest two hundred simoleons I’ve made all night.” 

 Yeah…right.

The joint was dead when I walked in the place.  It was still too late in the morning for last night’s customers to take that walk of shame out the door and not nearly dark enough for new customers to want to come in. 

 Business wasn’t booming, but that didn’t mean people weren’t working.  Like any cat-house, The Three Monkeys was a theatre; a place of performance art.  It’s just that all the girls only knew how to play one role. And like any theatre, time had to be set aside for practice.

What greeted me first was the sound of a cheap keyboard chiming out noises that was supposed to sound like a piano, but was closer to a beat up church organ.  Who’da thunk an electric piano could be out of tune? The second thing that came to greet me was the sound of Ma’am Trudeau’s voice. “And five, six, seven, eight!  Plie-and-down! Hold-and-up! Plie-and-down! Hold-and-up!”

 Ma’am Trudeau was the proprietor of the establishment.  Like her name implied, Trudeau was a madame: a word which here means that she was a hooker that got too old to play the game, but was smart enough to know how to run it.  She was old school, back from a time when turning tricks was supposed to look classy instead of sleazy.  

Trudeau was classy, too.  The kind of broad that made you think of Mother, but not of what-Mother-used-to-do.  She was good to her girls, too. Kept them clean. Gave them a place to work their craft that was off the streets.  Made sure that none of the menfolk got too rough with ‘em. In another lifetime, she coulda been a dorm mother to a bunch of rich sorority girls.  But in this one, she was Ma’am Trudeau. And Ma’am Trudeau was a lot of things. The only thing she wasn’t, despite her name, was French.

I walked past the parlour room and into the main showroom where guys went to get drunk and work up their appetite on a free show before forking up the cash for a private one.  I sat down and a sleep-deprived and surly bartender asked if I wanted a drink before I opened my trench coat and showed him that I had brought my own. That didn’t improve his mood, or his vocabulary, but he left me alone.  Up on stage, Ma’am Trudeau’s girls were dressed in tights and tutus. “First position! Plie! Second position! Plie! Plie-and-hold! Rest and up!” Apparently, the Ma’am was trying to inject a little bit of old-school class into her girls’ act.  Also apparently, the girls of the Three Monkeys wanted to play hooky and had been cutting class. “No-no-no, Tabitha! Bend at the knees! Head up! Back straight! Ballet will do wonders for your posture.”

“Excuse me,” one of the girls asked, raising her hand like she was in school.  “But how will Ballet help us…y’know…?”
 

A dry chuckle buzzed up from behind closed lips.  “Ballet will also make you especially…limber.” That got a giggle from the girls. It got a laugh from me, too.  

Squealing and scattering erupted from the stage.  I’d finally been noticed. Some turned away like if they couldn’t see me, I wasn’t there.  A couple were yanking their tutu’s down over their tights as if they had modesty to preserve.  A few yanked those frilly skirts up to hide their faces. Almost all of them were blushing so bad that you couldn’t tell where skin ended and tights began.  

All that hullabaloo only made me laugh louder.  Give one of these girls a feather boa or a folding fan and they could change your religion.  Put ‘em in fish nets and a cage, and they were sex panthers on the prowl. But make them wear tutus and tights and they were school girls all over again. 

Ma’am Trudeau turned around and regarded me like I was the piece of meat.  I’d known the Ma’am off and on for a long time, but she was a broad I could never get a read on.  You never knew quite what she was thinking, and there was always the distinct possibility that if you found out, you might not like the result.  Here, the Ma’am was in charge. And Trudeau might not have really been French, but you didn’t stay in the game as long as she had without a certain je ne sais quoi.

“Franklin, yes?”  I could count the number of people that I’d allow to call me Franklin on two fingers. Ma’am Trudeau was one of them.  “How nice to see you when the sun is up. May I help you?”

I tipped my hat by way of respect, but left it on by way of business. “I’ve got a few questions about potential clientele, Ma’am. If, that is, if you don’t mind.”  

The Mama Hen turned to her gaggle of chickadees.  “Emily, lead the girls in their stretches. Especially Tabitha.” She stepped off the stage and then turned back around.  “This won’t take long. Two minutes, three tops.” That lightened the mood.

The room she led me into wasn’t far away, but it was quiet.  No beds. Just a massage table. Nobody would think this was a room for catching forty winks, and only an idiot would think that anything above the waist ever got rubbed on that table.  The monkeys wouldn’t tell, though. Ma’am Trudeau had a wicked sense of humor and the wallpaper in this place reflected those sensibilities.

See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.  The old Japanese proverb about not exposing oneself to sinful acts had become the ultimate promise of discretion in this den.  Whatever happened in these rooms would only be witnessed by the little monkeys etched on the walls, and they weren’t exactly credible witnesses.

Funny though, that there was never a “smell no evil” monkey.  Because places like this always had a kind of smell to them: all incense and perfume with a little something extra lurking just beneath the surface. Places like the Three Monkeys always had that kind of smell, the smell of sweet oils and powders doing their damndest to cover up whatever juices spilled out of the last client that used the place.  

And you didn’t consciously notice it, but there was always something off about the whole thing.  Like a good gorilla mask on Halloween. It could be a hell of a mask, but if you squinted you knew those were human eyes staring back at you.  All the sweet smellin’ snuff and mumbo jumbo covered up the smell, but that didn’t make the smell go away. 

My nose was itching. Something weird about the smell too.  Something familiar that I didn’t quite want to put my finger on….something evil.  That’s why the place wasn’t called the Four Monkeys. Ma’am Trudeau didn’t make promises you shouldn’t keep.

I sat down on the massage table, all casual as you please, and tried to get the ball rolling.  “I’m here on my kind of business, not yours,” I said. 

The old broad leaned in, a playful smirk on those lips.  She wasn’t the starving lioness out hunting for the pride these days, but that didn’t mean she didn’t still go on the prowl.  Even old lions liked a little cat and mouse. “You’re thinking of my girls’ kind of business, not mine, Franklin.” she said. “The girls and their boys mind their own business.  Meanwhile, I mind everybody else’s.” Two of her fingers tiptoed across the table and sashayed over to my thigh. “That’s what you and I have in common.”

 “Any of your girls mind the business of a James Mackelmore?” I asked.

“James…James…James..” she tapped her finger on her chin.  “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

“Jimmy the Jinx.”

“Oh! Jimmy!” she said.  Then she smiled. “Yes, I know who you’re referring to.  Sadly, I can’t say that I’ve seen him here.” She didn’t move her hand off of my thigh.  “Ever.”

“Can’t say or won’t?”  I slapped a simoleon on the table beside me.

She looked at the money.  Left it there. “Take your pick.”

“I thought it was your job to mind everybody’s business around here.”  I slapped another simoleon down. 

“It is,” she said.  “It’s also my job to be discreet.”

“I’m not in the business of discretion,” I said.  “I’m in the business of the truth.”

“I know, Franklin.”  She was unbuttoning my pants before I knew what she was doing.  “That’s the difference between you and I. Discretion.”

I ignored my pants and went for the money I’d laid out.   “Then what good are you to me?”

She stopped my hand.  Pocketed the money between her jugs.  “Lay down and I’ll show you.”

“Not interested,”  I told her. “Not right now.”

Her hand started snaking south.  “I can change that.” 

I swatted her claws away.  “No Ma’am,” I told her. “Not in the mood.”

She stepped away and let me hop off.  “Very well,” she said. “See if I care.” 

“What you should care about is a missing man. “

That got a laugh out of her.  “Jimmy? Missing? Please, Franklin, no need to be so dramatic.”

“So you do know something.”

“Of course I do, I just can’t say.  And Jimmy’s always in some kind of trouble.  That’s why kids call him the Jinx.”

“Jimmy’s got a girl who’s awful worried about him.” I said, hoping to appeal to her softer side.

She took the bait.  “Girl? What girl?” Ma’am Trudeau was a lot of things, and she definitely wasn’t French.  Lady wasn’t a homewrecker, either.

“A girl named Molly.”

The Ma’am tweaked her lips to the side. “Oh,” She said.  “That girl. No sense of fun at all.” She walked over to the door.  “I’d stay away from Molly if you want to keep playing your little games, Detective.  She’s trouble, that one.”

“Don’t I know it,”  I said. “She’s a dame, ain’t she?”

The old broad rolled her eyes and smirked.  “Typical boy.”

“Am I gonna get my money back?” I asked.

“It’s mine now,” she said.  “For services rendered.”

I growled.  “What services?”  I didn’t like being taken advantage of.

“Discretion.”

“I don’t need any of your discretion, Ma’am.”

She laughed through her nose.  “Oh, you do, Franklin. Believe me, you do.”

“What I need is answers.”

“I’m fresh out of those, I’m afraid.”

“Then I want money back.”

Her hands weren’t going anywhere near those jugs of hers, and I knew I wasn’t getting a refund.  “I’ll put it on your tab,” she said. “Consider it payment for future services.”

“How do you know I’ll be back?”

“You’ll be back,” was all she said.  Damn it, I hated it when she was right.

“You gonna open up the door or do I have to pay for that too??”

The Ma’am smirked at me and pointed to my ankles.  “You gonna pull up your pants, or do you want my help with that too?”

I looked down.  My pants had fallen back down to my ankles.  I really oughta stop drinking so much.
*********************************************************************************************************
The stiff rustling of crinoline flapping against the wind caught in my ears as I was loading up into Lilian, still sore that my trail had gone cold. A hand tapped me on the shoulder.  

A fella with slower reflexes would have found himself sucker punched right in the jaw  by some mook if that hand hadn’t belonged to a lady. 

A fella with slower reflexes would have accidentally sucker punched a lady square in the kisser if that hand hadn’t been attached to some mook.

Good thing I’m not a fella with slower reflexes.

She let out a little squeak as my fist stopped inches from her face; a field mouse being swiped at by a feline.  It was one Ma’am Trudeau’s girls, still decked out like a ballerina. Tabitha. “You forgot your hat sir.” She held out a beat up old blue bonnet that would’ve looked more at home on an old lady’s head come Easter Sunday than on mine.
 

“No I didn’t,” I scoffed, patting the top of my head.  “I’ve got mine right here.”
 

“Are you sure?” she said.  The old bonnet was right up in my peepers.  That’s when I saw the little note pinned to the inside. 

I’m not always the sharpest hammer in the crayon box, but I can take a hint when I’m given one. “Oh, so it is.” I said, taking it and getting a closer look.  “My mistake.”

I squinted down at the note.  It was complete jibberish. Either the Dame had a doctor’s handwriting, or she’d learn to read and write on the Orient express when it was traveling across five miles of rickety tracks.  She leaned in and whispered, “It says, ‘Diner in 5 minutes. Don’t be followed’.”

I nodded and then ditched the bonnet.  “Thanks,” I said.

“Welcome.”

************************************************************************************************************

The Walk-On-In was the greasiest, dirtiest, most low-life Diner in Town.  No self-respecting gourmand would ever be caught dead in that joint. It was also the only place in the city where you could get a decent cup of joe and a patty melt no matter what time it was.  Good thing I didn’t have much in the way of self-respect.

I took my usual spot by the window.  Cathy, my usual waitress (hell, Cathy was everybody’s usual waitress; only waitress in the whole joint as far back as anybody could remember) came up and took my order.

“What’ll it be, Frank?”

“Coffee,” I said.  “Black. With two creams and three sugars.”

“Sorry, hon.”  Cathy said. “Coffee maker is on the fritz again.”

“Fine.  Gimme a patty melt.”

“Can’t.  Stove’s broke, too.”

“Got any donuts?”

“Just the day olds.”  My teeth hurt just hearing that.

“Water?”

“Plumbing’s busted.”

“What do you got, then?”

“We got some burgers under a heat lamp.  And some tea.”

“Iced tea?”

“It’s not hot, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I took a deep breath. “I’ll have a tea, then.”

Across the diner, a skinny arm attached to a dame too young to have seen so much waved me over.   I went and took a seat across from her. Tabitha had changed out of her tutu and into a scarf and sunglasses, a little handkerchief wrapped over a head of red hair so hot it could’ve fixed the stove.  

All of that in five minutes, travel time included.  Getting in and out of clothes was an indispensable skill set in Tabitha’s line of work.  Now that I thought about it, either Tabitha had a twin or something wasn’t quite adding up.
 

 “How’d you manage to get here so fast?” I asked.

“I walked,” she told me.  I know a liar when I hear one. Tabitha wasn’t one.  I looked out the window of the Walk-On-In. Lilian was parked just out front.  Traffic wasn’t that bad, but Tabitha and Tommy were making good arguments for public transit.  Either that, or this little burg was littler than I thought.

I was still keeping the car, though. At this point if I started walking I was throwing money away.   

Speaking of simoleons…

Cathy came up, a saucer in hand.  “Here’s your tea,” she said. Then she slid a piece of meat on a bun in front of Tabitha that was so stale it looked like it could be polished and spit shined.  “And your burger.” 

After Cathy left to go deal with some other poor unsatisfied customer, Tabitha and I took to our meals.  A good cop would have pressed the poor girl, pressured her until she sang like a stool pigeon. I wasn’t a good cop, though, and Tabitha was no stool pigeon.  She was a songbird and a good detective knows that canaries sing in their own good time. Time was something I had a little bit of just then.  

Besides, I was thirsty.

I took a sip of the tea and made a face.  To call this batch tasteless and watered down would have been a grave insult to tasteless and watered down drinks everywhere.  “Something wrong with your tea?” Tabitha asked as I reached into my coat pocket and poured a something something into the cup. 

“Not at all,” I told her.  “I just like food that tastes. Something wrong with your burger?”

“Not at all,” she said.  She went about pretending to eat the rock hard slab of meat.  Mouthing at it, even going so far as to make little smacking and chewing sounds, but not actually putting any of it in her mouth.  Good thing, too. She probably would have chipped a tooth. “I’m just trying to watch my figure. You know how it is.” 

I did.  “You should try the tea, then.  Very low calorie.”

We sat there, not eating the awful food in silence.  Finally, when we were both done pretending to eat, Tabitha got herself ready to spill the beans for real.  “Jimmy was at the Three Monkeys the other night.”

“Thought so,” I said.  A dirty dealer like Jimmy the Jinx had to have a piece on the side.  This case was as good as wrapped up. “He was cheating on his gal, playing patty-cake.”

Tabitha shook her head.  “No, that’s not it at all.”  The look of confusion on my face must’ve been as plain as a piece of wheat toast.  “He came in and he was crying up a storm. Ugly crying, too. Snot pouring out of his nose and everything! He just couldn’t stop!”  Normally the crying doesn’t happen till after the John leaves, and it’s not usually the customer that does the sobbing, no matter the story.  “He’d been drinking. You could tell because of how funny he was walking. We all thought it might have been a breakup.”

“That doesn’t pass mustard,” I said. “He’s got a cute little number looking out for him.”

“He was blubbering when he came in.  That’s all I know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not the one that uh…played with him.  Beatrice did.”

“Then why am I talking to you, and not Beatrice?”

Cathy came back, an old teapot in her hand.  “Looked like you could use a refill.” She didn’t know it, but whatever the opposite of earning a tip was, Cathy was doing it.  

All out of my own brand, I took another sip of the watered down swill passing as tea.  “Thanks,” I said. “Tastes good.”

Tabitha frowned.  “She didn’t even fill it up yet.”

“Oh…I thought she’d already…never mind.”  I waited and watched Cathy pour the not-steaming liquid air in my cup, and made a show of downing the junk.  “Oh yeah!” I said. “That’s the stuff.”

Cathy ignored me and looked over to Tabitha. “How was your burger?”  

“Very filling.”  Tabitha rubbed her stomach.
 

“Would you like a doggy bag to take the rest home in?”

“Oh no thanks,” Tabitha said.  “I’m just awful with leftovers.”  

I just had to sit there while they jabbered on.  My patience was starting to wear thinner than a politician’s hairline. “I think we’re fine, Cathy.  Thanks.” I was praying to whoever up there would listen that Cathy would take the hint.

The man upstairs must’ve been hard of hearing, because Cathy didn’t. “Can I interest you folks in dessert?”

The only thing I was hungry for was whatever info I could dig out of Tabitha.  “No thanks.”

Turns out Tabitha was bad at taking hints, too.  “What do you got?”

“Ice cream,”  Cathy said. “We’ve got chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, and blue.”

“I wouldn’t,” I warned.  “The ice cream here is more like custard; more doughy than creamy, and it’s way too salty.”  Speaking of salty, Cathy looked like I’d insulted her own mother. “Sorry Cathy,” I said “Anything goes is good for a lot of things, but food ain’t one of ‘em.  And my conscience won’t let me have Tabitha find out the hard way.”

“Have it your way, Frank,” Cathy said before leaving to peddle the garbage on some other rube.  Damn, I loved this place. When the two of us had managed to regain a sense of privacy, I looked across to Tabitha.  “You were sayin’, sweetheart?”

 

“Beatrice didn’t show up for work today,” Tabitha said,  “Day off. But Jimmy was her customer, and she told me everything that happened.”

“Okay?  So what did they uh…play at?  Peekaboo? Monkey see, Monkey do?”  There were only so many metaphors a guy could come up with before out and out saying doing the pants-off dance-off.  “Uh…gotcher no-?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Whaddya mean, nothing?”

Tabitha folded her arms in front of her like she was talking to a child.  “I mean ‘nothing.’ Jimmy just talked, and she listened.”

How sad does a guy have to be where a callgirl is the only person he can confide in?  “What’d he talk about?”

“That’s the thing,” Tabitha said, “Beatrice didn’t know.  According to her, Jimmy was talking crazy. Something about running the numbers and figuring out the truth.”

“What truth?”

“I don’t know.  Beatrice never said.  But whatever he told her must’ve done something to her, too.  She asked for the day off right after Jimmy left.”

Sounded like whatever Jimmy found out about broke the both of them.  No wonder James Macklemore ended up in the cathouse. If whatever Jimmy found out drove the man to tears, no wonder he didn’t want to burden his gal pal with it.  I can’t think of a single married stiff who’d want his wife to see him cry.

  I slapped a fistfull of simoleons on the table.  “Lunch is on me, let me know if there’s anything else worth remembering.” 

“Franky!” I wasn’t even to the door when Cathy called out.  “Don’t tell me you’re trying to dine and dash!”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Cathy,” I said.  “Money’s on the table!”

Cathy waved the money around like a lawyer presenting Exhibit A.  “I know! And it doesn’t cover your bill!”

“Since when does three yellows and a red not cover a burger and tea?”

Neither of us were moving.  We were just yelling across the dining room of the Walk-On-In while everybody else got a show with their meal. “A burger and a tea is two purples and a green!” she said.   I liked Cathy, but we were both prideful-by-nature workin’ stiffs.

“TWO PURPLES AND A GREEN?!” I shouted back.  “That’s highway robbery!”

“Not in this economy!”

 I patted myself down, trying to find two purples and a green.  Then I remembered Ma’am Trudeau and her little “you’ll be back” fee.  Had I given her two purples and a green? Crackers, I had! I didn’t have time for this.  “Put it on my tab, Cathy,” I said, and walked away before she could object.

I was halfway to my car and a hand was on my shoulder again.    “Detective?” Tabitha said. “There was one other thing, I remembered.”

“Yeah?” I said.  “What’s that?”

“Jimmy came in dragging a suitcase behind him.  But he didn’t leave with one.”

I felt an odd rumbling in my gut.  Intuition, they call it. “And let me guess,” I said, “Beatrice went steppin’ out lugging it behind her?”  Tabitha didn’t have to say anything. The look was all over her face, like she’d just smelled sour milk. “Any idea what was in it?”

The call girl reached into her purse and pulled something out.  It was a pink and blue plastic ball on a stick; hollow on the inside.  I could tell from the little beads jiggling around, and gave it a test shake myself.  It sounded like a maraca that was only half full of beans. “This fell out of it,” Tabitha said.  

A rattle?  You didn’t see a lot of kiddie stuff in my line of work, never mind baby stuff.  What would the mob’s best odds fixer be doing lugging around a suitcase with a rattle in it?  I wracked my brain for a hot second and gave the rattle another shake, just in case. Nothin’.

This case had started at Boringville and accelerated real fast straight to Suspicious City- population me- and all signs were starting to point to Dangerburg.  But a rattle? The trolley had just taken a swift left turn and was headed straight into Weirdsville.

**********************************************************************************************************
Breaking the rattle had yielded nothing but cheap cracked plastic and little beads of rice.  Still, I felt an odd little sense of satisfaction breaking it with that rock. Who knew that taking out a piece of one’s own inner child could be so cathartic?

After Tabitha had gotten herself back to The Three Monkeys, I played out a hunch.  Rattles are hollow by design. I had a hunch that maybe Jimmy was getting out of cooking books and into smuggling.  Turns out my hunch was wrong and now all I had was a broken baby toy for my trouble.

Why the rattle, though?  Was Jimmy the Jinx reduced to tears because he found out he was gonna be a Daddy?  Did that mean that Beatrice was in the family way? Had Jimmy stepped out with Beatrice and now the stork had a special delivery on the way with Jimmy’s signature on it?  Was that what was reducing him to a blubbering mess? 

 But why would Jimmy need to figure that out?  Why would a call girl not tell him? A bun in the oven was often a chance to retire with a handsome sugar daddy.  Jimmy wasn’t handsome, but by all accounts he had plenty of sugar. And anything as simple and normal as somebody gettin’ knocked up, especially one of the girls at The Three Monkeys; that would have been impossible to keep under wraps.  Dames couldn’t help themselves talking about that kind of thing. The gossip around town would’ve been “baby this” and “baby that”. There might’ve been a rattle, but something in my skull was telling me that there wasn’t a baby.

Being a detective is a lot like putting together a jigsaw puzzle, only you don’t get to look at the box to figure out what you’re making: there’s a bunch of other pieces from other boxes all mixed in, and nine out of ten times someone’s pointing a gun at your head while you try to put anything together.  The picture I was getting didn’t make any sense, so I figured I was still missing a couple of pieces. 

I didn’t want to go to the track.  I really didn’t. Honest. But if I was going to learn whatever “truth” turned Jimmy the Jinx into some kind of blubbering blob, the next logical step in that equation was visiting his primary place of business.   I only hoped that my work ethic was stronger than certain…let’s say “predilections.”

The racetrack was no Churchill Downs, that’s for sure.  The horses were all underfed and rail thin; more like greyhounds than thoroughbreds.  It might not just have been diet, either. Jimmy, and his boss, Benny “The Bully,” made sure that the odds worked out in their favor every time.  Those old nags were likely so doped up as to make a Hollywood starlet envious. I’d hit rock bottom before I noticed that not one of the ponies ever so much as blinked.

  The jockeys were all semi-pro; too big in stature to make it in the big leagues where little people rode like the wind.  The fact that four out of every five of them were on the take didn’t help either.

There were a particular set of smells and sounds about the old track too.  Something you got used to after a while and your nose turned a blind eye and your ears tuned out as you became part of the crowd. 

But when you were fresh, it stuck inside you and itched in your brain like a bad hangnail.  You wanted to pick at it until it bled just to make the tiny little irritation go away. It smelled of sweat and horse manure mixed with unbrushed teeth and unwashed socks.  It was the smell of addiction, pure and simple. It had the sound of hoofbeats and old worn out shoes trying to keep up; like maybe if you ran further down the rails that’d make the ponies go faster.  It was the sound of disappointment and exultation depending on who you bet on. It was the rip of tickets being torn up and the paper thin shuffling of simoleons changing hands. The sound of false hope. 

A lifetime ago, before I got clean, these were the smells and sounds of home.  The announcer called the race as the crowd looked on, cheering and rooting for their favorites, while hoping they didn’t have to go home empty handed or deeper in debt than when they started.  

“And they’re off!  It’s Hogwash in the lead, followed by Applejack!  Coming into the first turn, it’s Cabbage in the lead by a head and Mother-In-Law nagging at the rear!  Rounding the second turn and Queen of Hearts cuts off Cabbage’s head, and Sherbet is circling around and now running in the wrong direction! This is a bad day for anybody who wagered on Sherbet!  Coming around the final turn, breaking away from the pack is Little Snot! Now it’s Queen of Hearts! Little Snot and Queen of Hearts! Queen of Hearts and Little Snot! It’s gonna be close folks!  It’s gonna be close! It’s Little Snot! Little Snot wins by a noooooooose!”

Torn tickets went into the air, a ticker tape parade of frustration and anger. Little Snot wins by a nose.  Heh. If there was ever proof that this was a rigged and stupid game, that was it. Little Snot wins by a nose.  Benny The Bully must’ve had a good chuckle when he decided that’s who was gonna win the race. 

“Frank?”  A blue policeman’s hat and a gold badge walked its way out of the crowd.  “What are you doing here?”

“Hey Tommy,”  I said. “Don’t worry.  Strictly business this time.  Not pleasure.”

“Still trying to find Jimmy?”

“That’s my excuse,” I told him.  “What’s yours?”

Tommy looked to the left.  Then the right. He leaned in real close, all confidential-like, his voice just above a whisper.  “Followin’ a lead, Frank.” he said. “Boys in the lab ran some tests on that powder.”

“Yeah?” I said.

Tommy took my arm and led me off to the side we could talk in private.   “We think we might be able to use it to finally pin something on Benny The Bully.”

“Everybody knows the races are rigged,” I said.  “Everybody with half a brain.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Tommy had a look in his eye, a look I’d never seen it before.  “That powder stuff,” he whispered, “the stuff you found at my crime scene? High grade black market stuff.”

I blanched. “Wouldn’t that stuff have been on the white market?”

“It’s so white it’s on the black market,” Tommy said.  “And we think that those ponies might not be ponies at all, but mules, if you catch my meaning.”

I did. “So you think that this horse race is really just a dog and pony show?  A way to launder dirty money and smuggle in nose candy under everybody else’s nose?”  Tommy nodded. “But if that’s the case, what was your Jane Doe doing so far away from the ponies with a pinch of purloined powder by her perished pantaloons?”

“Perished pantaloons?”

“Sorry, Tommy,” I said.  “I was on a role. My point being, what was the dead dame doing so far from the dang drug racket?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out,” Tommy said.  “I’ve got myself a Jane Doe. But I didn’t see Jane run, so I’ve got to find the Dick that chased her away.  Smart money is on Benny.”

“Ooooh, good one,” I said.  “You’d make a pretty good private eye.”

“I’m a better cop,” Tommy said.

“You don’t think our two cases are related, do ya?”

Tommy shook his head.  “I don’t think so. I don’t think something like nose powder could have made Jimmy break and go blubbering at a cathouse.” he said.  “Probably something more personal. Benny’s got his greasy fingers in enough pies though, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s to blame for Jimmy’s disappearance, too.”

“Speaking of which,” I said, looking over my shoulder.  “I’ve got to see a man about a horse, if you catch my drift.  I’ve got a couple bets to look into.”

“Jimmy’s not gonna be in his office, Frank.  That’s what ‘missing’ means.”

“Yeah,” I told Tommy, “but Jimmy’s a bookie.  Bookies got books, don’t they? There might be something in there I can use.”

Tommy frowned.  “That’s breaking and entering;  A&E. You can’t search the place without a warrant.”

I poked Tommy’s little gold badge.  “You can’t search the place without a warrant.  I, however, can get lost looking to place a bet and stumble onto something, completely by accident.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t need an accomplice, just a lookout.  You won’t even have to look out for anything. Just be seen.  That’ll keep people away.”

Tommy looked confused.  “How-?”
 

“Who besides me is gonna want to talk to one of the boys in blue?  If people see you on patrol, all the bad guys peepers are gonna be on you, not me.”  

“Frank…” I was pushing it.  I knew. Tommy needed more convincing.

I shrugged, trying my best to be nonchalant.  “Who knows, I might accidentally stumble onto notes that pin that nose powder and the Jane Doe onto Benny himself.”

Tommy stopped frowning.  “You’re a terrible cop, Frank.”

“Yeah Tom,” I said.  “But I’m a great detective.”

************************************************************************************************************

Jimmy the Jinx’s office was more like a cave; all echoes so that even a whisper became amplified into a full blown shout.  No secrets allowed in Jimmy’s world. It was a place of numbers and rigidity; nothing on the walls except betting odds on row after row of square panels, all carefully calculated.

I didn’t bother saying hello.  Either no one would be around to hear me, or someone I didn’t much feel like chatting with would come find me.  Instead I just tiptoed around to see what I could see.

Jimmy didn’t have a desk; kid did most of the notes in his head and a proper piece of pine was just taking up valuable real estate.  Guy didn’t even have a calculator. Just a fancy abacus, only with more beads than any sensible human being knew what to do with. Only Jimmy knew what he was keeping track of with all of those crazy pieces of twisted up wire.

Scratching my head, I realized something was off about that chain of thought; something about it didn’t track.  Jimmy was notoriously good with numbers. His bosses though? Not so much. He’d need some kind of record book, something to show the muscle so that they laid off him, and something to make sure that people like Benny The Bully didn’t think Jimmy was getting an unfair cut.  I thought to myself, If I were a skunk like Jimmy and I had something I needed to hide, where would I hide it?

Jimmy didn’t have a desk.  He did, however, have a chair.  Real fancy. Fancier than anything else in the office.  A lot of love and care went into that thing; more love than any stupid old chair deserved.  I started poking at it, prying away.  

That’s when I found the secret compartment.  “Nice!” I said, pulling out the plastic bag. Opening it up, I found what I thought I’d been looking for.  Jimmy’s books. In here, there might just be the break in this case that I needed.   

There was just one problem: Jimmy was really good with numbers. Too good.  So good it was like he was writing in another language. I opened the book and I couldn’t make heads or tails out of anything!

It might as well have been Chinese for all I understood it.  This couldn’t be what the mob bosses looked at! They were idiots!  I reached around in the plastic bag the book had come in. Maybe, just maybe, there was some kind of cipher or decoder ring, something to make all this jibberish make sense. 

My hand grasped around something round and hard.  My decoder ring theory might have had more merit than I supposed.  Ripping it out of the bag, I thought back to my Little Orphan Annie days. “Be sure to drink your-,” I stopped.  My mouth dropped open. “Teething ring?”  

When Tabitha put her hand on my shoulder at The Three Monkeys, I thought about how fast my reflexes were and how slower reflexes got sucker punched in the mug by some mook.  One thing I forgot about, though, was that when a mook really wanted to get the jump on you, he didn’t tap you on the back. He just knocked your lights out by hitting you with something really really heavy from behind. 

*******************************************************************************************************

It was all stars when I next opened my eyes.  “Wakey wakey, piece of bakey!” I heard a deep, dumb voice say.  “See, Boss? I told ya I smelled a cop! I told ya!”

I still couldn’t see straight, but I recognized who spoke up next.  Everybody in the whole damn city knew his voice. “Oh come now Patrick ,” the voice said.  “A bacon joke? You can do better than that. Besides, our esteemed Mr. Franklin is not a cop. He’s a private investigator.”

“Sorry, Boss.”

I groaned, the adrenaline kicking in.  Only two people in this world were allowed to call me Franklin.  Benny The Bully sure as hell wasn’t one of them. “Don’t” I groaned.  “Call me Franklin, unless…”

Benny came into view, stroking his fancy long-haired Persian in his arms like he was some kind of Bond villain.  Thing was just as doped up as the horses from the looks of it. “Unless what, Franklin?”

“Unless you want a fat lip to match that fat head of yours!”  

A boot from Benny’s mook came down on my chest, pinning me to the ground.  We were out of the office, but I couldn’t tell much else. 

Benny kept stroking his cat. “You’re hardly in a position to be making demands, here, Franklin.” I bristled at his taunt, just like he wanted me to. His goon, Patrick, put a little more weight on me, pinning me in place.  Benjamin “The Bully” Coffer was good with people. So was James Macklemore. But James was good at schmoozing and sucking up; making you think your run of bad luck was just that…that’s why he was Jimmy the Jinx.

Benny wasn’t the biggest mook in the city.  Not the smartest bulb in the shed, either. But Benjamin was good at pressing buttons; at making you angry or scared or frustrated, whatever it took to get you to do what he wanted you to do.  That’s why he was Benny The Bully. Nobody called him Benny The Bully to his face. Nobody but me.

“Don’t call me Franklin!” I choked out. “Ya…ya BULLY!”

There was murder in Benny’s eyes.  “Patrick…”

“Yeah boss?”

“Pretend our friend here is a trampoline, if you please.”

“Mess with me, and you’ll get the chair!”  I said. “And I don’t mean the one in Jimmy’s office.”

Benny smiled.  It wasn’t a good smile, either.  “They’ve given me the chair before,” he said.  “Twice.” He scratched his coked-out cat on the chin.  “It didn’t take.”

“Third time’s the charm, Bully.”

“STOP CALLING ME THAT!”

“I’ll stop when you do…”
 

Benny opened his mouth and then froze.  Meanwhile, Patrick was looking at my stomach as if to see if he could touch the roof with a few good bounces.  Finally, he said “I see no reason we can’t be civil,” he paused. “For the moment.” The foot came off my chest and I was able to breathe.  “What were you doing in my establishment?”

I sat up and coughed up a lung.  Those Victories were gonna be the death of me.  Benny was polite enough to wait whilst I regained my composure.  Patrick wasn’t gonna let me stand up, however. “I’m looking for a missing person,” I said, deciding to play it coy.  “James Macklemore. You ever heard of him?”

“You know I have,” Benny said.  “Only Jimmy isn’t missing. He stole something from me.  Something I would very much like returned”

“Lemme guess,” I said.  “It’s in a suitcase?”

Benny smiled again.  It wasn’t any better the second time around.  “Very good, Detective. You’re living up to your reputation.  Let’s see if you’re as smart as everyone says you are. I want you to find what he stole from me.”

“Help me find him and I can pump him for information.”  I thumbed towards the mook who’d had his boot on my sternum.  “A lot more subtly than the Jolly Green Giant over here.” I purposefully left out mention of Jimmy handing off the suitcase to the girl at The Three Monkeys.  No need to give him any information for free. No need to put Tabitha’s friend in danger.
 

Eyes half closed, Benny did some calculations of his own, and I don’t mean numbers.  “That won’t be necessary. We’ve already found Jimmy.”

I ignored the warning glare from Benny’s muscle man and picked myself off the ground, dusting myself off.  If Jimmy was found, this case was over halfway through. But if Benny the Bully was telling me this, that meant that I was in deep with the sharks.  Better to go down swinging than to go out on my back. “Why don’t you just ask him where’s the case yourself?”

“I’m afraid Jimmy is in no condition to speak.”

“That’s a shame,” I said.“Figured you’d be smart enough to kill the poor sap after he told you where he hid your loot.”   I gestured my head towards the goon who clocked me from behind.  “Did the abominable snowman here hug the rabbit too hard?” If Patrick understood the reference, he didn’t show it.  He probably didn’t get it. Bugs Bunny was a little too highbrow for lugs like him.

The strangest sound came out of Benny.  It took me a hot minute to figure out that it was laughter. When guy like Benny The Bully laughs, it’s never funny.  “Kill? Kill?” he said. “I didn’t do anything of the sort. What happened to Jimmy, was much, much worse,” he said. “And it could very well happen to you if you don’t find that suitcase.  It could happen to all of us.”

“What did happen?”

“Patrick?  Bring Jimmy out.”
 

Patrick disappeared behind a wall and came back with something in tow.  Someone, actually. It wasn’t until the big lug put the bundle down that I realized that it was a person.  He was almost naked, wearing nothing a little patch of off-white-tinged-yellow material puffing out around his waist, and drool covered fingers matching drool coated lips.  His hair was mussed up like a kid who needed a haircut and didn’t have a mother to drag a comb through his hair.

It was like being at a modern art convention.  I didn’t know what the hell I was looking at. It wasn’t until he started talking, babbling around his saliva soaked fingers, that I got a clue.  “Won-to-fee-won-to-fee-won-to-fee!”


That’s when I knew who it was.  I rubbed my eyes just to make sure.  It was straight out of a comic book. Pure Looney Tunes, with an emphasis on Looney.  Jimmy “The Jinx” Macklemore, sitting in a wet diaper and sucking on his thumb like a giant baby without a care in the world.

The hell had I gotten myself into?

“So, Detective?” Benny said.  “I believe you’re free. Willing to take the case?”

(To be continued)

[Personalias]

I’d seen a lot of things in my time: people caught literally red handed trying to smuggle dope in paint cans, men caught cheating on their wives with women who turned out to be their long lost daughters, and then there was the case with the ferret…don’t get me started on the ferret.  I’ve seen some pretty wild stuff in my time, but Jimmy the Jinx crawling around on the floor with nothing but a diaper? That had to be somewhere near the top of the list.

“The hell is this?” I asked, pointing down at what used to be Jimmy “the Jinx” Macklemore.  I couldn’t even think of him as that anymore. At most he was just…just…Jimmy. Not even Jimmy.  Baby Jimmy. Even that left a sour taste in my mouth, and I couldn’t explain why. It felt like some cat had just scooped a pawful of kitty litter into the back of my brain.

Benny the Bully, mobster extraordinaire, just shrugged, all nonchalant like, and said, “This is what happens if you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

I pointed a finger. “You did this to him?” 

“I did nothing of the sort,” Benny said, still petting his zonked out cat.  “This man…” Benny stopped himself. “What used to be this man, stole something from me.  Something that did not belong to him.”

“Was it yours?” I asked.

His personal mook cracked his knuckles.  Of course it was Benny’s…as much as anything is.  “It came into my possession by way of a smuggler who’d gone upside down on his loans.  How it came into the smuggler’s possession is neither my business, nor my concern.” I wasn’t going to get any more info out of him, so I held my tongue.  “It was stored in a plain brown leather suitcase so as to avoid notice.“ he continued.

“And Jimmy noticed…”

“Correct.”

“What’s in the suitcase?”

“That I cannot say.”

I crossed my arms.  “How do you not know what’s in your own bag?”

“Why don’t you ask Jimmy?” 

I looked down at Jimmy.  He’d rolled onto his back and was doing everything he could to get his toes in his mouth.  “Whatever’s in the bag did this to him?”

“That is correct,” the Bully said.  I just looked at him, confused. The wheels in Jimmy’s head were spinning, but the hamster had died.  In a weird way, I could relate. “It is my understanding that this is what the Allies had planned to do in the big war.  The bomb was more humane, they decided.”

No kidding.  I gave Benny and his muscle a hard look.  I might not have been a cop, but I wasn’t just a mercenary, either.  “You planned on using something like this?”

“My plan was to never use it,” he said.  “Never speak of it. Keep it hidden away from the eyes and ears of the world.”

I pointed to Jimmy.  The poor schmuck had given up on his toes and had decided that crawling around was better.  Benny and his bodyguard kept eyeing Jimmy like he was some kind of leper. “You had a weapon like that and you weren’t gonna use it?”

Benny stepped sideways to avoid Jimmy, but still kept his cool.  “I will admit, I am a man of, shall we say, flexible morals, but I am also a man of business.  I have nothing to gain by destroying our world.”

“Not even for a ransom?  Playing chicken with the ol’ doomsday clock?”

I’ve never seen Benny look hurt before.  I still didn’t think I had, but something flashed across his mug that made me think I’d hit a little too close to him.   “Contrary to what the funny papers say, Detective, I’m not playing at being a super-villain. I have no volcano layers and no moon lasers.”

“The cat doesn’t help.”  What can I say? I couldn’t resist a good jab.

Benny didn’t take the bait.  “My greatest victories are the ones nobody ever hears about.  Only my failures are ever made public.” 

I nodded.  “And putting the word out that you had something that big would have just put a target on your head.”  Things were starting to make sense again. “Then why didn’t you give that suitcase to the police?” I asked.  “Let it be the authorities’ problem?”

“It is my experience that people with that kind of authority rarely make sound decisions.”  Benny stopped petting his cat. “You used to wear the badge,” he said. “Do you think the police in this town would handle such a responsibility?”

That one stuck in my craw, but good.   Guys like Tommy, they meant well, but when push came to shove… “They can’t even handle a two bit hustler in a suit.”

Benny put his cat down.  Maybe I had made him a little self-conscious.  “So why should I give them the keys to Armageddon?”

The man had a point.  “Okay,” I said. “Okay.  So what if I take this case about your ‘case?  What’s in it for me?”  

“A million simoleons.”

I almost had to hit the front of my skull to get my eyes back in place.  A million simoleons? That was more dough than a bakery! I wouldn’t even know what to do with that kind of money!  I couldn’t even picture it! Still, I had to keep my cool. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch is you keep this arrangement, and what you’re looking for, between you and me.  Nobody else needs to know. Knowing can be dangerous.”

“Jimmy knew?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Ask him yourself.” I didn’t even break eye contact with Benny.  “Go on,” he said. “Try it. Ask him. I need to see something, just in case.”

I’m usually good at smelling a rat.  Nothing stank here except for Jimmy’s diaper.  I went over to the poor sap and bent over. “Hey, Jimmy,” I said.  “Molly’s looking for ya.” Nothin’. No recognition at all. It’s like I was talking to a stranger.  “What was in that suitcase, little buddy? Can you tell me?”

Jimmy let out a string of sounds that I couldn’t repeat if I wanted to.  They weren’t even words this time. Not even “Won-To-Fee”. Just babble.  Gurgling like a drain full of hair. I stood up and shrugged.

Benny’s bodyguard, all ten pounds of stupid in a five pound bag, laughed.  “Yeah…heh…Mondays, amiright? Good one…”

“Patrick,” Benny said.  “Please, leave me and the detective to discuss business.  And take Jimmy with you.”

“Sure thing, Benny…I mean boss.”

Benny waited until we were alone.  “I was afraid of that.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Patrick will not be in my employ for much longer, I fear.” Benny shook his head like his thug was a dear granny that got can’t sir.

 “He understood what Jimmy was babbling, didn’t he?”

“I am afraid so.  Patrick did not look in that case, but enough exposure to Jimmy has started producing side effects.”

“Nukuler?” I said, trying to remember the right words.  “Like what do those eggheads at the Pentagram call it? Radio something…active? Radioactive?”

“Contagious,”  Benny replied. “A disease.  One that you don’t breathe in, but you catch through your eyes and ears.  Being able to understand what a drooler is saying is a symptom. And a bad one.”

That wasn’t good.  “If looking at a fella in a diaper or a teething ring or a rattle is enough to get infected, you an’ me are already up the creek.” 

Benny shook his head.  “Not neccesarily. That suitcase?  The stuff in it has something to do with a kind of… of…mind control…sub…sub-blimp-inal messages,” he said.   “It’s like booze, or that party trick with the ticking watch. Hypno-wutzitz.”

“Hypnosis.”

The mobster put his finger to his nose.  “That’s the word! Booze or hypnosis. If you’re strong enough, you can keep going, go cold turkey, and finish with a clear head.  Patrick has never been much in the brains department. You? You can hold your liquor.” He looked me up and down. “Sort of.”

“You seem to know an awful lot for a guy who doesn’t know what’s in that case,” I told him.

“I said I could not tell you.  Not that I didn’t know.” A grim pall came over him. “Sights and sounds, remember?  Hearts and minds. I tell you too much, you might end up like Jimmy. In this instance, my friend, the truth will not set you free.”

Jimmy was outta the room, but something still didn’t smell right.  “The diaper,” I said.

Benny seemed taken aback.  “What about it?”

“Where’d it come from?  I didn’t think they made them in our size.”

“How would I know?  All I can say is I’m not the one changing it.”

All he could say, huh?  Benny was the type of guy who always chose his words carefully.  Time for me to do the same. “Who put it on him, then? Diapers just don’t magically appear on grown men.”

“They don’t…”

“Well?”  I had him cornered.  He was hiding something.  But what?

“You’re the Detective,”  he snapped. “You figure it out.  Or don’t. Just find that suitcase and bring it back to me.  Better yet, bury it in a landfill. Even better than that, burn it.”

***********************************************************************************************************

Tommy was a bust.  Good cop, but a lousy lookout.  When I finally stepped back out at the race track, he was gone, but not before he’d written a couple of tickets.  Never knew you could fine a horse for jaywalking. Whatever. Tommy could keep playing his game, I’d play mine.

Couldn’t find any tissues in my office, so I picked up a box of wet wipes and rang Molly up.  Before I tried to find a suitcase I had some bad news to break to the dame: I’d found her boyfriend- what was left of him, anyways.  It wasn’t gonna be pretty, but if Benny the Bully was shooting straight with me (straight for Benny, anyways) then things might get too deep way too quick.  If I was gonna cash in my chips, I’d wanna do it with a clean conscience. I’m not superstitious, but I didn’t want to have any unfinished business, neither. 

“Did you find him?”  Those were the first words out of her mouth when she walked back into my office.  Her mascara had been running something fierce. The water company was working overtime on those eyes  “Did you find my Jimmy?”

I stood up from behind my desk and handed her the packet of wipes.  She was gonna need ‘em. That red satin dress wasn’t gonna soak up any tears. “James Macklemore isn’t James Macklemore,” I told her.  “Not anymore.”

“What do you mean?”  she asked.

There’s no easy way to put this.  How did you explain crazy of this magnitude to someone who just wanted a white picket fence?  Better to just rip the band-aid right off. “I mean he’s a baby, now. Or as close as you can get without a time machine.”

Molly didn’t take.  Sometimes it’s easier to be confused than it is to be heartbroken. “That’s…that’s…”

“Impossible, right?  Believe me. I seen it with my own two eyes, sister.  Diapers. Teething ring. Not talkin’. The whole nine yards.  Something rattled his clock but good.”

She stood up.  “Where is he? Take me to him!  My James NEEDS me!”

“You’re gonna wanna sit back down, sister.”  She did. “James Macklemore,” I told her, “is Jimmy the Jinx.  He’s a bookie and a numbers cooker.”

Molly gasped.  Her lip started quivering.  “That can’t be!” She was gonna need that packet of wipes real soon.

“It is,” I told ya.  “Looks like everybody in town knew but you, too.  Sorry to say, but he played ya for a sucker, toots.”  That’s when the rivers started flowing. She started wiping that smokey eye right off her.  “If it’s any consolation, you’re not the first person that he scammed,” I said. “But you’ll probably be the last.”

The gal was trembling, wiping her eyes with one hand and nibbling at her nails with the other.  “Where is he?” she asked. “What hospital? I want to see him! I want to talk to a doctor.”

I turned my back to her.  “Last I saw Jimmy, he was going goo-goo over by the race tracks.  Not much of a change, really.” I winced. Goo-goo…change. Poor choice of words.

“YOU LEFT HIM THERE?”

“I’m a detective, not a doctor.”  I crossed my arms. What’d she think, that I was some kinda super hero?  Still…”No charge,” I said. “I tried to find your man, but all I found was a baby boy.”

I only got silence. Turns out Molly was a quiet crier.  I turned around. I wasn’t a super hero, but I could still be a decent person.  “Molly, I-”

I stopped.  Molly wasn’t in the chair anymore.  She was rolling on the floor, sucking her thumb.  Just like Jimmy. “Goo-goo…ga-ga!”  

I bent over.  “Molly! Molly!  Can you understand me?”

Molly just looked at me and stuck out her tongue.  “Pfffffffft!”  

Jumping Jiminy Crickets on a pogo stick!  What the hell was going on? Benny had said that this stuff was contagious and spread through sight and sound.  Was just mentioning that Jimmy had gone full rugrat potent enough to turn Molly back into a toddler?  

I didn’t know.  I also didn’t have a degree, a mop, or a diaper.  There wasn’t much I could do to help poor Molly, except call for help. I picked up the phone on my desk.  “Operator? Operator! Get me the hospital, I don’t care which one! I need an ambulance, now!”

“C IS FOR COOKIE, THAT’S GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME! OM-NOM-NOM-NOM!”  

I dropped the receiver like it was scalding hot iron and stepped away.  It was all yellow, with little wheels on the housing. Instead of numbers, the buttons were all cartoon drawings of Sesame Street characters on them.  Instead of the operator, I’d gotten Cookie Monster. I looked over to the wall only to realize that the phone didn’t plug in or connect anywhere.

I’ve heard of cases getting wrinkles in them, but never crinkles.

This was bad.  Real bad.

**********************************************************************************************************

I sat in the booth, stirring a glass of room temperature water.  I’d gone back to the Walk-On-In to collect my thoughts. Sometimes you needed a good meal and full belly for a case to really come together.  I didn’t have enough for a good meal, or a full belly, so I settled for sitting around really bad food in place of eating the good stuff.

 Two ambulance drivers, sirens blaring, came when I stepped outside my office and screamed for help.  For some reason they needed to take my car to get Molly to the hospital. My legs hurt from driving anyway.  Let them have it for a while. 

I caught a look at Molly as they loaded her up. She wasn’t as bad as Jimmy had been, but something got her good. Poor kid.  Babbling and going goo-goo all over the place, there wasn’t much a couple of old sawboneses could do to fix her. Likely she’d spend the rest of her life in some padded cell.  

Padded…another poor choice of words on my part.

A stone cold burger slid across the table. “Last job didn’t pay out,” I said without looking up.  “I’m sticking to water.”

“That’s tea.” Cathy said.  “It and the burger are on the house.”  Good ol’ Cathy.

I picked the burger up off the plate, opened my mouth to take a bite and then thought better of it.  Thing was rock solid, bun and all. Wasn’t even hot, either. It was the thought that counted. “Thanks Cathy,” I said.  “You’re a doll.”

Cathy smiled.  She looked tired.  “What I am is bored,” she said.  “Thank goodness my shift is at an end.”  She slid into the booth opposite of me. “Looks like yours is just started, though.  Rough case?”

“The roughest.” 

“You look rough.” 

“Thanks.”  I took a sip of the tea.  I’d be damned if the swill didn’t taste like water.  “Stove still broken?”

“Always is,” Cathy said.  “Always is. Sometimes it feels like this whole world is broken.”

My mind dialed back to Jimmy and Molly: two overgrown babies without a clue left in the world.  Might have been kinda nice, from their perspective. “Don’t I know it.”

“I never wanted to be a waitress,” Cathy said.  “When I was little, I wanted to be a princess. That way I’d get to host fancy tea parties with those little sandwiches and you touch everything with your fingers, but you gotta make sure to lift your pinky.”  She laughed again and yawned. She was tired. We both were. “Just wasn’t in the cards, though.”

We both sat there for a second.  I was missing something. I knew it, and the clues were all over my face.  “I’m looking for a suitcase, Cathy.”

Cathy let out another low yawn.  “Yeah, and?”

“And I know where it went and I got an idea of who took it, but I don’t know where they went.”

“What’s in it?”  

I thought about what had happened to Molly.  Just telling her a smidgen of the truth had made her snap. Could I risk it?  “Not important,” I said. Cathy didn’t deserve that burden.

“Why don’t you go back to where the last suitcase was last seen and look for clues?” Cathy said.  “That’s what detectives are supposed to do, right, Frank?”  

I didn’t quite see the point in going back to the Three Monkeys.  All I’d likely get is consternation from a bunch of dancing girls and their Ma’am.  “The case isn’t at the last place it was at,” I said. “Might not even be with the last person seen with it anymore.”

“What are you trying to get?” Cathy asked.  “The suitcase, who took it, or what’s in it?”

I stirred my watery tea.  “Ultimately? What’s in it, I guess.”

“Suitcases can be unpacked,” she said.  “Things fall out of them, too. Especially the old ones.  I bet if you go retrace its steps, you might find a clue.”

Damn.  She was right.  The baby rattle that Tabitha had given me had come straight from the Three Monkeys. Chances are it wasn’t the only thing that Jimmy had dug outta there.  “Cathy,” I said. “I think you might be onto something.”

She got up and smiled.  “You always wanted to be a detective?” she asked.

“Just something I kind of slid into I guess.”

“Lucky you.  Maybe someday I’ll be a detective, myself”  She walked off behind the counter. I laughed to myself.  Dames couldn’t be detectives any more than fellas could be ballet dancers.

 “Hey, what’s this?”

I didn’t register what Cathy had said until I was halfway out the door.  I stopped and reached into my pockets, digging around for my last couple of simoleons.  She offered me food on the house. Even if it was cruddy and stale, I could least give her a tip.  “Hey Cathy,” I said walking back over and into the kitchen. “I almost for-”

My blood ran cold. Laying curled up on the floor, just beginning to snore, was Cathy.
Her apron was in a puddle on the floor.  There were no puddles under Cathy, though.  The big puffy diaper wrapped around her prevented that.   Her lips moved back and forth, sucking on the pacifier that she’d bent over to pick up.  Poor Cathy. She’d bent over and now was never getting back up.  

Speaking of backed up, Cathy started mumbling and grunting in her sleep.  I pinched my nose and took a step back while her new diaper did it’s job.

Diaper….Cathy was in nothing but a diaper.  Just like Jimmy. Somebody would have had to take their old clothes off and put their new clothes on.  That’s just how it worked. Someone would have had to have left that binky for Cathy to find.

Benny the Bully had hired me to plug a leak. This was no leak. Molly might have been an accident, but the rest of this reeked of foul play and malicious intent. Someone had found what was in the suitcase and was passing it around like candied apples and razor blades. We had a cereal regressor on our hands.

I gave a hard looked around the Walk-On-In’s kitchen. There wasn’t time to get an ambulance, and they had my car.  Least I could do is make sure that Cathy woke up in a relatively safe spot. If she came to with the mind of a little kid to go along with her smell, it wouldn’t do to have her stick a fork in a toaster or something.  Thankfully, by some weird fluke, the walls were already baby proofed: Little plastic plugs were already jammed into the sockets. The knives and forks were all plastic too. Not disposal plastic either. These were too nice to just throw away, with gray silver paint on the blades and brown finish for the handles.  All the edges were rounded or blunted. All of the form with none of the function.

Sensing a pattern, I gave the infamous broken oven a once over.  It wasn’t broken. Just plastic. At least Cathy wouldn’t hurt herself with it.  On a hunch, I went back and checked my burger. Plastic. My mug was empty. Spotless and dry, almost like a drop of liquid hadn’t seen the inside all day.   An entire restaurant, and not a single thing was edible. It was practically a Chuck-E-Cheese in here!

Clearly there were things that ol’ Benny had neglected to mention.

I went over to Cathy.  If she was speakin’ language behind that pacifier.  It was all baby gibberish to me. Maybe in her dream, she was still an adult.  Sweet dreams, Cathy.

The case- and the chase- was on.  I draped her old apron over her like a blanket so she wouldn’t get cold.  “I’ll get ‘em,” I promised Cathy. “I’ll find ‘em, and I’ll get ‘em. Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”

*******************************************************************************************************

The Three Monkeys was standing proof that a lot could change in just a little bit of time.  The place was jumping and bumping, with some raunchy jazz tune belting out for the girls to shake their money makers to.

Even with all the bright lights, though, nobody saw anybody else.  The unspoken rule still applied here; the City’s dirty little open secret.   I didn’t see the Mayor, or the Police Commissioner, or the Chief of Medicine, or the Fire Marshal.  I didn’t see them. They didn’t see me, neither, not that I cared if I was seen. I wished I had had a camera just then, in case I ever needed a favor.  

Mrs. Commissioner might not like what her hubby was doing with that dancing girl, and John Q Taxpayer might wonder where a humble civil servant like His Honor got all those simoleons he was stuffing everywhere.  That wasn’t important just then. I couldn’t plan for the future when the present was at stake.

“Hey there, Frank..?” a squeaky high pitched voice said to me.  It was like a mouse playing a bad clarinet. Her face, though, as easy on the eyes as her voice was rough on the ears.

I regarded the dollface attached to that voice.  “Jessica,” I said. “How you been?”

“Good, Frank” she smiled  “Really good. Super duper!”  

I craned my neck, trying to pick my lead out.  Maybe she was in one of the dancing cages. “Is Tabitha around?”

“She’s indisposed at the moment.”  I knew what that meant, or thought I did anyway.  That was a big word for somebody like Jessica. Ma’am’s culture lessons must’ve been paying off.  Too bad with Jessica’s voice, a Roads Scholar would sound like they belonged in the back of the class with a dunce cap.  “You understand.”

I was keeping my head on a swivel.  The Three Monkeys had just become dangerous territory, even if I was the only one who knew it.   Somebody was actively trying to fill people’s brains and pants with mush. Hell if I knew why. “Ma’am Trudeau around, then?”  I was zero for two when it came to helping people, three if you counted Jimmy. Least I could I do was try to give the lady of the house a heads up.  Help her protect her girls and her income. Fellas wouldn’t likely pay for girls that crinkled and squished when they sashayed.

“Ma’am is indisposing someone.”  Jessica said. How about that? That’s twice today I’d seen a girl like Jessica blush.  Never thought I’d see a hooker blush. Not when work was involved, anyway. “Several someones,” she added.  “Things always get real busy for her around this time. Just before and just after-”

Huh.  How about that.  So the ol’ girl still had some moves on her.  Good for her. “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “I get it.  I get it. No need to paint me a mosaic”

“You want me to tell her you’re looking for her?” she asked.  “She can indispose you when she and Tabitha are done.” She pushed me back into an old easy chair that had probably seen some dirty, dirty things in its time.  I sat down. My knees buckled. “Or I could try indisposing you,” she whispered. Her voice wasn’t nearly as annoying when she whispered. “I’ve been practicing on my teddy bears.  Do you wanna be my teddy bear?” My pants seemed a lot smaller just then, and any other time I might have taken her up on her offer. This was gonna hurt me more than it was gonna hurt her.  

“I’m here on my business, toots,” I said.  “Put an egg in your shoe and beat it.”

“Hmmmph…party pooper.”  Finally, she left me alone to stew.

There.  Oblivious around me, everybody else was getting their shake on, dancing to third rate ragtime on a fourth rate record player.  Damn, I hated ragtime. It all sounded the same.

Then I closed my eyes and listened.  “Ahoy there, sailor, can you do the otter dance?  First you take your right flipper and you slap it on your pants.  Then you take your left flipper and you go scoopin’ up a fish. Then you turn your tail around and you go swish, swish, swish!”   My lids rattled open like Auntie Em’s shutters in the middle of a twister. That wasn’t ragtime!

But the folks were dancing to it.  When they swished that I saw they had something on them way worse than just a tail; a tail might get you a free ride to the circus.  These folks were just getting rides to the nursery. The song picked up again. Second verse same as the first. They slapped their “flippers” on the “pants” of the dancers who weren’t even wearing them.  And on the few that were, I could see little thin white slips pokin’ out.

They were here!  Whoever was doing this was here!  But how were they doing it?

I remembered what Benny had told me.  Sight and sound. It spread through sight and sound.  Sight…like a silly little kid’s dance, and sound…like a stupid baby song. 

I pulled aside one of the girls.  “Where’s Ma’am Trudeau?” I asked. I couldn’t hear the dame talking over the music, but at least she knew how to point.

Ma’am was in the same room where we’d had our little close encounter earlier.  No surprise there. She was a creature of habit. I burst in the room. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you gotta turn off-!” and froze dead in my tracks.  Speaking of turn-offs, my pants seemed a lot baggier all of a sudden.

Ma’am was at her massage table.  Only it didn’t look like a massage table, anymore; a bottle of talc and a packet of wipes had seen to that.  Underneath, to really drive the point home, were diapers. Stacks and stacks of diapers. Puffy. Thin. White. Blue. Pink. Plain. Decorated.  And all of them sized to fit people much much bigger than your average toddler.

I broke out into a cold sweat.

Laying on the table, her hair done up in pigtails, was Tabitha.  Her diaper (yes, her diaper) was a pink little number, only not so little from all the swelling, and not so pink because…well…y’know.

“Hello Franklin,” Ma’am said.  “I knew you’d come back. Just a minute while I finish with Tabitha.”

Practiced, experienced hands worked fast. Tapes ripped off, and wipes went to work, followed by a cloud of baby powder that could have been a precision aerial strike. Even from my spot in the doorway there was something familiar about that powder.  How it looked. How it smelled. I’d seen it before, somewhere, next to a chalk outline.

 The new diaper, a white one, was slipped on and taped up before I could muster up a sentence. 

All the while, she kept cooing nonsense and Tabitha was giggling like she was being flirted with and told the world’s funniest joke all at the same time.  I’d seen racecar tire changes that were slower. Hands like that worked quick. Hands like that had done this before. Hands like that could get in and out of a place and pad someone up while backs were turned.

It was Ma’am Trudeau.  It was always Ma’am Trudeau.  She was behind the whole stinkin’ thing.  Literally. Tabitha slid off the changing table and toddled right past me like I wasn’t even there.  No shame. No embarrassment. Just a kid’s desire to get out and do the Otter Dance. 

 Ma’am gave the top of the changing table a pat.  “Hop on up, Franklin,” she said. “Let’s finish what we’ve started.”

I stayed where I was and pointed a finger at the ol’ Black Widow.  “What kind of game are you playin’ at, lady?”

“Game?” she said.  “Games are for babies, silly boy.  I don’t play games.” She patted the giant piece of nursery furniture again. “Come get changed and then you can get back to playing.”  The smell of old diapers and baby powder was seeping into my nostrils, infecting my brain. Just like the ticking of a gold watch. Mesmerizing.  Comforting. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. “It’ll be fast, I promise. Within five minutes you won’t even remember that I did it and you can go back to your baby games.” Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.  I wasn’t playing baby games. I was a Detective. But maybe it was time to stop that, too. Count back from ten and close my eyes. Wait for somebody’s fingers to snap so I can start clucking like a chicken or start stacking wooden blocks.

Outside, the Otter Dance was over. So was the case.  A new song was playing. She’d won. Everyone who was anybody in the entire town was now in disposable underwear and ready to sleep behind wooden bars on a waterproof mattress.  She had complete control and I didn’t even see it coming.

A new song was playing, and I was feeling tired.  Damn tired. Time to just lay down and accept my fate.  I put my left foot forward. It’d be quick at least. No!  I put my left foot back. “What’s wrong, Franklin?” Ma’am asked.  “Do you want a change or not?” It would be so easy to just let go.  Case closed. Brain closed.  

Again, I put my left foot forward.  “That’s right. Come on, cutie,” Ma’am beckoned me to my doom.  I felt goofy. Drunk. But it was a good feeling. Who wouldn’t like getting a little more drunk?  Another bottle. Another ba-ba….

CRIPES!  WHAT WAS I THINKING?  My left foot foot was back again.

“Franklin…” Ma’am’s tone was full of warning; like when a little scamp is just towing the line and cruising for a time-out or a spanking.  Not even thinking about it, my foot was up in the air, shaking like a leaf…not sure if it was staying or going.

I was stronger than that.  “No, Ma’am,” I said slammed my foot down and turned my back to her.  “I’m not layin’ down. Not for you. Not for anybody.”

“I can change you standing up, if you’d like.   As long as you’re not poopy.” Something was strange.  There was something about her voice, something sincere.  For a second I thought she was going all comic-book on me.  Penguin makes bird puns, that kind of thing. But if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she actually thought I was a baby.  “Let me check.” I felt my trench coat lift up, and two warm fingers slide into the back of my jockeys.

I whirled around and slapped her hands away.  A fella would have gotten himself decked. I can’t hit a lady, even one that was tryin’ to ruin me.  “Franklin?!” she screeched. She drew back, shocked. “What’s gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten into me is justice, sweetheart,” I said.  “I ain’t no hero, just a Private Eye, but I know right from wrong.  And this? This is 31 flavors of bad!”

Trudeau shook her head.  “Oh, you poor thing. You poor silly little thing.”  She-devil even smiled a bit. Every chameleon has to show its true colors eventually.

“THIS ISN’T OVER!” I shouted. I sprinted out the door, my trenchcoat flapping behind me, holding onto my fedora to keep from losing it in the wind.  

“Franklin!  Wait!” Trudeau called out after me.  “Come back!” I still need to change you!”

I was out the door and on the run.

*************************************************************************************************************

Heart racing, blood pumping, and my mind moving faster than my feet ever good, I found Tommy on his beat.   It was easy. All I had to do was follow the sound of the sirens. “Tommy! It’s Trudeau! “

Tommy coughed a little bit and cleared his throat.  “What are you talking about, Frank?”

“It’s Trudeau!” I told him.  “She’s behind it! She’s behind it all, Tommy!”

Tommy looked confused.  “Behind what?” he asked.  “Ma’am Trudeau’s an open book.  Everybody knows she’s dirty. But she’s the good kind of dirty.  Now Benny..he might-.”

“Not Benny!” I yelled. I was getting all hysterical.  I took a deep breath. “Okay, maybe Benny a little, but he’s not the one doing this! He found the stuff, but Trudeau is the one using it!”

“Whoah whoah whoah! Slow down! What stuff?  The drugs? Are you sure? I feel like that’s against the rules.”

I waved Tommy off.  He was a dog that hadn’t figured out that his cat had jumped trees and was still barking at the first pine.  “The powder you found outside,” I said. “It’s baby powder. Literally!! Jimmy the Jinx! Molly! Cathy! Pacifiers! Teething Rings! Rattles!  Diapers! The otter dance! It all goes back to her, Tommy. It all circles back to the Three Monkeys and Ma’am Trudeau!!”

I’d never seen Tommy look disgusted before.  Confused? Sure. Annoyed? All the time. But never disgusted.  Before this mess, I’d never seen a call girl blush. This case was just full of firsts.  “What are you on, Frank?” Tommy asked. “You sound crazy. Have you been hittin’ the ba-ba again?”

“WHAT?!”

“I said, ‘Have you been hittin’ the bottle again?’  The sauce? Booze? Are you drunk?”

It was adrenaline and all kinds of crazy making me lose my cool.  You didn’t see crazy without going a little crazy yourself. I grabbed Tommy by the lapels.  “You gotta believe me, Tommy! The mayor! The commish! The fire marshal! They’re all there!  They’re all-”

Tommy pushed me back a step.  “What the commish does on his own time, I can’t do nothin’ about, Frank.  Even I’ve gotta pick my battles these days. It’s none of my business where my boss spends his simoleons.  That’s between him and the wi-”

“NO!” I interrupted.  “He’s a baby! They’re ALL BABIES!”

Tommy dragged me to the side. “Frank!” he hissed.  “Lower your voice! You sound crazy…People don’t just turn into babies.” 

“I found Jimmy!” I told him.  “He was crawling, dressed up…or dressed down…whatever you wanna call it.  Could barely talk. Just started babbling. I seen it! Follow me back to the track and I can show you!  I can prove it!”

“I saw Jimmy, too.”  Tommy said. He rested his hand on my shoulder.  A comforting gesture. “I saw him being wheeled away, just before they loaded him into the back of a wagon.  He looked peaceful. Real peaceful.”

“Hmmm?”

“Jimmy’s gone, pal.”

I was speechless. Another first.  “Frank,” Tommy said. “I think the stress is getting to you, buddy.  I think you’ve seen too much in this line of work and you’re starting to crack.”  

“What do you mean?”

“Listen to yourself, buddy,” Tommy said.  “People turning into big babies? Suitcases filled with…with…baby stuff?  It all sounds crazy, Frank. Real Looney Tunes stuff.”

I thought about it and gave Tommy a nod.  “It does sound kinda whacky when you put it that way.  Maybe you’re right,” I told him.

“I’m only looking out for ya, Frank.”

“Thanks Tommy.  You’re a good friend.” I began to walk away.  “I’m gonna go lay down in my office,” I called back over my shoulder.

“Sure, Frank. Sure.”

“Stop by there if you need me.”

“I’ll check up on you.”

Only I wasn’t going to be in my office.  I was listening to myself. Tommy knew about Jimmy’s trip to the Three Monkeys.  Who’d told him? Not me. He also knew about the suitcase full of mind bending swag that Benny had told me about.  I hadn’t even mentioned that.

I was a lousy cop.  Maybe I wasn’t even the best detective.  But even a broken watch can find an acorn in the winter.

 Something stunk, and no amount of baby wipes and lavender scented powder was going to be able to cover it up.  Tommy was dirty. Tommy was in on it.

I wasn’t the sentimental type.  I didn’t cry unless somebody was chopping onions, or the ending to Old Yeller was on the tube.  Tommy though? That hurt. Good thing it made me angry, too.

Anger I could use.  

I’d cry about Tommy later.

Assuming there was a later.
*************************************************************************************************************
All the good men in town had been lured in, sucker-punched, and turned into total dupes. By my count there weren’t a good many left that could be of any use to me.   Lucky for me, I still knew the address of a few bad men.

The sun was just starting to set when I made it back to the track.  Made good time too. Probably faster than if I’d driven, with the lousy traffic and all.  Things were different than when I’d left.  

I was never much for books, but I had always liked stories when I was a kid.  Scary stories, too. Here’s one: can’t remember the title, but it was by a guy named H.P. Lovecat, though it didn’t have any kitties in it that I can remember. 

Anyway, it was about a bunch of eggheads going up a mountain and finding things.  The things didn’t want to be found, and everybody ends up either dead or cuckoo for Coco Puffs.  But just ‘cause they were crazy didn’t mean that they didn’t see what they saw. There was just a darker truth hiding at the top of the world that they weren’t ready for; that nobody was ready for.  Point is, there were things that man was not meant to know, and whatever was in that suitcase was one of them.

Ever hear the one about Edgar Allan Poe?  Guy cuts up a body and stores it under the floorboards.  Guy goes nuts and can hear the heart beating underneath the floor.  Starts talking to ravens, too.  

What I’m trying to say is, the more horrible stuff you saw, the more it left a scar on your soul.  And what you saw after that might be part of the “real” world, and might not be…didn’t make it any less real to you  Didn’t make you any less crazy, neither.

It might have been me, or it might have been the world; one of us was going mad.  I was steamed enough that I didn’t much care. I’d check myself into an asylum after this.  Better a nuthouse than a nursery.

The world was going crazy, and not in the wascally-wabbit way.  This wasn’t fun. Just creepy. Kinda sad. Falling apart, even. I could see it playing out right in front of me, here at the racetrack.

As near as I could tell, the horses were all stick ponies.  The jockeys weren’t even racing as much as they were running around aimlessly.  Some of them had switched out their riding helmets for cowboy hats.

WIth the sun going down, the betting had stopped too, on the horses that is.  The highest stakes game of jacks I’d ever seen was going down. “Watch me go for foursies!” one of the gamblers said.  They were still gambling, but now piles of candy, bags of chips, and rolls of stickers were being piled up in lieu of cash.

Savages.

I walked into Benny’s office.  No knock, just went in as pretty as you please.  “Hey Benny,” I said. “Hope you don’t mind me dropping by.  I just need a couple of things. Patrick’s out back, climbing up a slide for the umpteenth time.”  I didn’t even bother to look at him. “Did you know you’ve got a slide now? Weird, huh?”

Benny was on the floor, a chocolate glaze on his lips and cookie crumbs on his shirt.  He wasn’t wearing any pants, and his shirt wasn’t really a shirt; it was one of those things that connected between the legs.  What were those called again?  

Onesie. 

 Yeah. 

 That’s what it was. A onesie.

“Hey Frank,”  he said. Funny.  Not funny ha-ha. Just funny.  I didn’t think Benny’d be able to talk.  It kind of reminded me of that one scene in Pinnochio.  Sometimes a jackass can still speak English.  

No reason to be uncivil, I guess. “Heard about Jimmy,” I said.  I pointed my toe and poked it through a pile of worthless junk on the floor, ever mindful of booby traps.   “Sorry. I know you two were close.”

Benny’s back was against the wall.  His lids were half closed. Mentally speaking, he was bleeding out, and I was the only one to hear his last confession.  “Tragic. He was taken too soon,” Benny said. I don’t know if he was sundowning or sighing. Maybe both. “He would have liked to see this all play out.  But at least he’s with the father now.”

That made me stop my search for a switch blade.  “I didn’t think you were the religious type.”

“Still go to Sunday School with my Ma.  Never miss a week.”

How about that? “Got any brass knucks?” I asked.  “Flash Bangs? Any kind of heavy artillery?”

It was definitely a yawn this time.  Sugar crash for sure. “A couple of poppers.  A couple of sticks of the ol’ boom boom,” he said  “But the fuses are too short and you’d just blow your hand off. I wouldn’t recommend it.” I threw him a dirty look.  “A weapon you don’t know how to use is a weapon on your enemy’s side.”

Kid had lost most of his marbles, but he was holding on to a couple of good ones. “Good point,” I said.  I went back to looking for weapons.

“You’re gonna lose, you know.”  Benny called out.  

I picked up the Louisville Slugger that Benny kept hidden amongst his stash.  “Oh yeah?” I asked. “Why’s that, pal?”

“Because you haven’t figured out the truth,” Benny said.  “You can’t handle the truth.”

I rolled my eyes.  “Tough talk for a guy that crinkles when he sits.”

“Pot. Kettle. Black.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Franklin.  Nothing.”

“Only two people get to call me that,” I said, pointing the bat. “Ma’am Trudeau’s one.  You’re not the other.”

“Why’s that?”

“Cuz I don’t like it.”

“No,” Benny said. “I mean why is she still allowed to call you that?”

I paused.  A real head scratcher there. “I…I don’t know…”

“Who’s the other?” Benny asked.

Another one sailing over my head.  “I…I…I’m really drawin’ a blank here.”

“That’s why you’re gonna lose,” Benny said.  It’s really frustrating being talked down to by a guy who’s bare -egged and has leak guards poking out the edges of his onesie.

“You don’t think I can take Trudeau down?” I asked, leaning on the bat.

“Trudeau’s not the problem.”

I pointed, this time with my finger, and aimed it between Benny’s thighs.  “She put that bum wrap on you, didn’t she?”

Benny looked down.  Looks like he’d forgotten what he was wearing.  “No, she…” he paused. “Well yeah, she did this one, but not the when and how that you think.  She’s not the problem. She’s not the one shutting everything down.”

Shutting everything down.  Even now he was being careful with his words.  “Wanna tell me who is?”

“And what would be the fun of that, Frank?”  He laughed. He actually laughed. “Game’s still going.  Rules have changed a little bit, but things are still in motion.”

“Since when do you play by the rules?” I asked.

Benny smirked. “I’m a bully, Frank,” he said.  “A good bully knows how to exploit the rules without breaking them.  It’s how we get away with time outs instead of spankings.”

“If you only knew how ridiculous you sounded just now.”

“Pot. Kettle. Black.”

I groaned.  “See you around, Benny.  Maybe I’ll visit ya when you’re in the pen…the playpen.”

“I’ll save you a spot, Frank,” he said.  I was already on my way out. “Oh, and Frank?”

I stopped.  “Yeah?”

“There’s a box under my desk,” he said.  “Open it.”

I rummaged around and found it.  A dinky little cardboard number. Looks like it’d been used more as a stepping stool than anything else.  I opened it. Laying inside was a tiny snub-nosed revolver. It wasn’t military ordinance, but it could ventilate a person.  “Huh…thanks, Benny. This might actually come in useful,” I said, pocketing the piece.

“You’re not so bad,” Benny said. “Maybe next time we’ll be on the same side.”  He reached out his hand.

I didn’t take it. “There’s not gonna be a next time.”

He just smiled, dreamily.  “We’ll see,” he said. He waited until I was almost out the door again.  “Hey Frank?”

“Yeah?”

“You can understand me?  No gurgling? ”  

“Yeah?  Why?”

The dreaminess was gone.  He had the devil in his eyes.  “Cuz I’m just a baby, buddy. Just a baby.”  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Remember what I told you earlier?  Game’s almost over, pal. Game’s almost over. I’ll see on the other side.”

Things were breaking down now; everything was breaking down.  Even me. I wasn’t gonna breaking down without a fight, though.  Just not how I was made.

Benny was right on at least one thing, however.  I wasn’t gonna win this thing just by retracing my steps and going straight back into Madame Trudeau’s loving arms.  And the key to all this wasn’t at the Three Monkeys.

*************************************************************************************************

It was easy getting into the Police Station.  I just sauntered right in like I owned the place.  Tommy wasn’t my only contact on the force and I checked in often enough to become part of the scenery.   Everybody that saw me just saw another houseplant. Ol’ Franky coming in to relive his glory days or try to mooch off of somebody’s contacts for information.

The Police Station was just like I remembered it: a dump.  Piles and piles of paperwork with bored cops asleep at their desks.  Meanwhile, the commish was on one of his outings to the Three Monkeys, living it up.  The fact that he was likely being changed into a fresh diaper didn’t change the fact that he’d gone looking for a good time on the public’s dime.

Shit like that is why I left the force: too much paperwork, not enough action, and your boss got all the credit and perks. As a private gumshoe, I was my own boss, and ninety percent of my cases ended up with me going to the Three Monkeys anyways.  My clients knew what they were getting into when they hired me…most of them.

I wasn’t going to have any clients if this crazy train the entire city was on didn’t come to a screeching halt.  We were all aboard, even those of us who didn’t buy a ticket, and I was in no shape or temperament to be a babysitter.

Slinking into the jail cells was a bit of a shock.  Not a surprise, mind you, but a shock. A fella’s usually not surprised when he’s gained a couple pounds.  He knows he’s had one too many root beers one too many times and that spare tire’s been staring up at him the last couple of weeks.  He can still be plenty shocked when he looks at the doctor’s scale at his latest checkup and finds out just how much extra baggage he’s toting around, though.

So I wasn’t surprised when I walked back there and found a couple of cribs where the cells used to be.  I was shocked. But not surprised.

The only occupied cell had a familiar face that I hadn’t seen a dog’s age. The girl had red hair- damn, I always did have a thing for redheads- and a smile that would melt a cynic’s heart. I’d seen her plenty of times when I went to a certain disreputable house of ill-repute; might’ve even gotten a few dances with her myself, but a gentleman never tells. 

According to my case notes, she’d last danced with Jimmy the Jinx, and things had gone downhill for her from there.

She’d changed since the last time I’d seen her. (Damnit. Changed. Gotta stop using that word.) Under the loosest definitions, she was technically scantily-clad and wild; but I’d have to have a chat with ol’ Merriam Webster about that one.  Her red hair had been bunched up in a single top-knot ponytail. Her lime green t-shirt covered her assets but didn’t reach her bellybutton. Down south, a diaper made her sit splay-legged. Dame looked like Pebbles Flintstone.

“Hey Franky,” she said, waving at me.

I licked my lips and just went with it.  “Hey Beatrice. Good to see ya.”

“You too!” she said.  “Can you let me out?” she asked.  “Tommy said I have to hide here in time out for a while, but you’re the second person to come lookin’ and I’m getting bored.”

It was good to see that Beatrice was the Jane Doe Tommy had spoken of earlier, and that she wasn’t really missing.  But I was running out of time. “Tommy said that, did he?”

“Yeah,” she said.  “Right after he traced me with chalk.” I’d have to talk to Tommy about that later.  Sounds like he wasn’t such a good cop after all.

I was only half paying attention; listening with only one ear while keeping the other one peeled for approaching footsteps, and looking with both eyes.  Not much a big baby could tell me, anyhow, but it was better to keep her quietly talking than loudly crying.  

Suitcase wasn’t under the crib.   Wasn’t next to the toy chest that I swear used to be the evidence locker, either.  “Interesting. Very interesting,” I said. If only someone around could have witnessed.  Beatrice had the suitcase, then Tommy, but where…oh yeah.  

I turned to face the crib. “Hey, do you know-?”

“Can you call Ma’am for me?” Beatrice interrupted me.  She poked the bulging padding spreading her thighs apart.  It wasn’t air making all of that puff out. “I think I’m wet.  I need a change.”

I shook my head.  No way was I inviting the mastermind behind this fiasco.  “Ma’am isn’t here right now.”

“Duh!” the dame said, giggling.  As if I was the one who’d said something ridiculous.  “I know that! But can you go and get her for me? Pweeeeeease?” 

“No can do, Bea,” I told her.  “Ma’am’s at the Three Monkeys. That’s all the way across town and I ain’t got my car.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes.  “That’s like three doors down, tops.  C’mon Franky! Pweeease! I need a change and I want out of this crib…”  She crossed her arms and pouted.  

No sense in arguing with a lady with a fried noodle.  “Later, okay? Later. I just need to find something.” I took a breath.  Here went nothing. “You had a suitcase, right?

She nodded.  Her hair flopped down in her face with every downward swing.  “Uh-huh…”

“And Tommy took it?”

“Yuppers.”

I made a show of looking around in case she hadn’t gotten the hint.  “Can you tell me where he put it?”

“Oh sure,” she said.  “He hid it right in the boom closet.” She pointed behind me.

Boom closet?  Boom….oh. “Broom closet,” I said, turning around. “Gotcha.”  A plain brown door with a plain brass knob. No cutesie stickers or ABC posters on it.  Blended right in with the scenery. I wouldn’t have noticed it if the dame hadn’t reminded me.  

“Thanks, Beatrice,” I said.

“Welcome.”

I went over to the closet door and opened it.  Simple as that. Waiting for me, not even hidden, not even with an old coat or bedsheet, was the thing that had apparently caused all this mess.  A simple plain, boring, old leather suitcase.

I lugged it out and laid it on the floor.  Truth be told, lug is a strong word. The ol’ clothes box had weight to it, but that’s because leather and brass and zippers ain’t light.  Damn thing felt empty.  

Bending over, my hand went for the zipper.  The little teeth parted as I pulled the metal tab around, making the top lid of the bag go slack.  Only one thing left to do.  

 “Don’t open it, Frank.” 

I felt Tommy more than I saw him.  Felt his shadow over me. Felt the gun pointed at my back.  “Don’t open it. For both of our sakes.”

Standing up, slowly, I kept my back to Tommy. “I didn’t hear the siren,” I said. “You done being a cop or something?”

“Sirens are for outdoor voices.  Whispers are for indoors. Every cop knows that,” he paused. “Or did you forget everything you learned at the Academy?”  He spat that last part out like it was a curse. Then he added, “Drop the bat.”

The old Louisville Slugger fell out of my grip and onto the floor.  I hadn’t forgotten any of my training at the Academy, so I knew Tommy would be distracted by the bat, making sure it was settled and not a threat.  His eyes wouldn’t leave me for more than a second, but I didn’t need a second to slip my hand into a coat pocket and palm my gun. Benny’s gun…but it was mine now.  Finders keepers and all that.

“Hands where I can see them, Franky.”

I turned around.  “Sure, sure, Tom. Sure, sure.  Hand right where you can-” I whipped the gun out.   I caught him off guard, but I didn’t fire. Had that been anybody but Tommy with the draw on me, they’d have been full of lead.  I hesitated though. He did too. Both of us were getting soft, I guess.

Now we had ourselves a good old fashioned stand off.  Great. Juuuuust. Great.

“You lied to me,”  I said.

“I did it to keep you safe.”

“Keep me safe?” I said, all indignant like.  “How is hiding the truth supposed to keep me safe?  Keep anybody safe?”

“Tommy put me in this crib to keep me safe.”

“Stay out of this, Bea!’  That was both of us.

Guns still on each other, Tommy took a breath.  He was starting to sweat. Good? Bad? Hard to tell.  He must’ve seen my eyes. “Don’t open it, Frank. You won’t like what you see.”

“Why don’t you tell me what I’ll see then?”

“Even telling you won’t help, Frank.”

“Why?” I asked.  “Think I won’t believe you?  I’ve seen some weird shit today, Tommy-boy.  Some pretty weird shit.”

Tommy didn’t shake his head, but his voice was just shaky enough.  “No, I’m afraid you will believe me, and that’s the problem.”  He widened his stance. His finger tightened around the trigger.  “Now put the gun down, Frank. Put your gun down, and we’ll walk out of here together. We’ll forget this whole thing ever happened. We can solve crimes as a team.  Just like the good ol’ days.”  

Tommy was a shit liar.  Only my own sentimentality had blinded me to tripe he’d been shoveling at me earlier.  My eyes were wide open, now.

He wasn’t lying.  If I put my gun down and promised not to talk about it, we’d go right back the way things used to be.  Neither of us would ever have to worry about a thing other than what case we were gonna solve next.  

“Just like the good ol’ days?”  I asked.

My old friend took one hand off his pistol and crossed his heart.  “I promise,” he swore. “ It’ll be like they never ended…”

My eyes stared right into Tommy’s.  Never looking away from each other. My feet, though?  They had other ideas. “The good ol’ days are over, pal!”  With my right foot I kicked open the lid, showing the contents of the case, deadly mind altering weapons one and all, showing…

Showing…

“Nothing…” I said.  

I’m not gonna lie.  After all that build up and suspense, I was a little disappointed.

Tommy put down his gun and walked over to the suitcase.  “Empty? Empty?! How can it be empty?!”

Just then I remembered: Beatrice had said two people had come to see her since she’d been cribbed up behind wooden bars.  I was one. I thought Tommy had been the other.

He wasn’t.

A familiar voice called out. “Hello, boys,” and walked into the room.  Funny thing is, last time I’d seen this voice, it’d been going goo-goo and had been loaded up into my sweet ride on the way to the hospital.

“Hi Molly!”  Beatrice called from the crib.

Molly waved back. Her red satin dress still plenty red, but not nearly as satiny.  Not as long as I remember it either. The lily white tights someone had dressed her in made her plenty pretty, but neither them nor the hem of her dress hid the fact that by the end of the day her underwear would go into a pail.  “Hey Bea, how are you?”

“I’m good,” Beatrice said.  “I needa change though. Can you get Ma’am for me?  She’s just three doors down.”

“Sure,” Molly said.  “Right after we’re done playing here.”

“Molly!” I said.  “What’s going on? Why are you…? I thought you…?”

“I was faking it.  Duh. No one was playing doctor, so nobody said I was dead or done playing.  I’m not out until you’re out.”

It finally clicked.  Molly was just as regressed as Bea. I was just able to understand her now. That wasn’t a good sign.   “Molly!” I told her. “This isn’t a game! This is life or death we’re talking about!”

Molly smiled.  I didn’t like it.  Not one bit. “That’s where you’re wrong, Frank. Isn’t he Tommy?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Molly!  Not at all.” Tommy was a shit liar. He was lying right now.  The fact that he turned his gun on Molly didn’t help his case either.

My gun was back up and aiming.  “Put the gun down, Tommy. I can’t have you offing my client.”

“She’s not a client,” Tommy said, “she’s a witch!  She’s the one behind all this! It’s her fault! Hers!”  

“Oh come off it, Tommy,” Molly said.  She waved him off and waddled around the room like there wasn’t a gun aimed at her face.  “You know the truth, too, even if you can’t admit it to yourself.”

“I was hiding something dangerous!” Tommy said. “Jimmy took the case, which is against the rules..!  But Benny couldn’t be trusted with it! ” Tommy was shaking now.

“Why couldn’t Beatrice be trusted with it?” I asked.

Beatrice looked up from her spot on the crib.  She’d pulled her legs out of the bars and was laying down again, blowing spit bubbles.  “Yeah, why couldn’t I be trusted with it?”

“Because…” Tommy said.  “because…SHE’S A GIRL!”

Molly glared at him  “Wow…super grown-up, Tommy. Very convincing act.”

“Wow, Tommy,” I said.  “That ain’t no way to treat a dame.”

“You’re one to talk,” Molly said.  She poked me in the chest. “But I’ll get to you later.”

“I was doing it for the good of everyone!” Tommy yelled. “For the good of the city!”

Molly threw her hands up to the ceiling. “There IS no city!”

For some reason, I ignored her.  “You were hiding the truth!” I said.  My finger was on the trigger now.

“That’s a laugh, coming from you, Franklin,” Molly said.

I turned my gun on her.  “Only two people are allowed to call me Franklin, sister-”

Molly crossed her arms and rolled her head back.  “Yeah, yeah. I know, I know. Ma’am Trudeau and Mom. And Mom only calls you that when you’re about to be in trouble.”  My chin was scraping my shirt. How’d she know that? “Look at yourselves,” she said. “You’re both aiming squirt guns at each other like they’re real!”

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tommy said.

“Just look, dummy…”

I did.  Somehow, me and Tommy were both holding clear plastic numbers filled with muddy water.  It’d stain our shirt, but neither of us were going to the morgue. I needed a cigarette.  I reached into my coat pocket. Surprise surprise. They were candy ciggies.

“You did this,” I said to Molly.  “Didn’t you? Tommy’s not lying about that, is he?  You knew what was in that suitcase, found it and have been spreading it all over town.  The baby act from before was just to throw me off the scent.”

“Got it one,” Molly said.  “You’re finally doing something right, Detective.”  She practically spit in my face with that one.

Tommy closed the flap of the suitcase and took a seat.  I almost didn’t hear the crinkle from his bum as he sat down.  Almost. “But how?” he asked. “How?!”

The dame grinned.  Dangerous. Real Femmey Fataley stuff.  I should’ve seen it coming. She really was trouble the moment she walked in through my office door.  “It was easy,” she said. “Everybody knew Jimmy had the suitcase. You can’t lug something that big around the playground and people not know about it.  But then he disappeared.”

She looked at me and pointed.  “So I pretended to be his girlfriend to get you to find him.  I didn’t really think you would, but you kept everybody busy enough.  Gave me time to find the Broom Closet.”

“And me!” Beatrice said.

“And Beatrice.” Molly echoed.  “Then all I had to do was leave the right things for people to find and now here we are.”

I was dumbstruck.  A rarity for me, but it happens.  “But why? I asked. “Why end the world?”

“BECAUSE YOU WOULDN’T LET ME PLAY DETECTIVE WITH YOU!” She yelled.  Then her voice went quiet. Eerily quiet. “I got to the trenchcoat at the dress-up station first, but you told me girls couldn’t be detectives.  But I didn’t want to be a dancing girl, or work at a diner.” She took a deep breath. Her eyes were a little teary. “So if I couldn’t play what I wanted, nobody would.”

I put the squirt gun away and waddled over to her.  I put my hand on her shoulder. “Molly, you’re talking crazy, doll face.  Listen to yourself. This isn’t a game. This is real. Ya gotta snap out of it…”

Molly laughed so hard that she doubled over.  She might’ve wet herself, considering her hand shot south in the middle of her gigglefest. “This IS a game, Frank!  YOU snap out of it!”
She was a few fries short of a happy meal, this one.  

“Hey!” she said.  “You take that back!”

I looked at her.  “Take what back?”

“You did just call her a few fries short of a happy meal, buddy,” Tommy said. 

Molly said, “You keep narrating out loud like in those old movies Mom lets us watch.  But we can hear you.”

“And it’s getting kind of hard to ignore,” Tommy added.

“You can?”

“YES!” they both said.

“But I’m a detective…”

Molly gestured to my beltline.  “I already told you. You’re not even wearing pants!” I looked down.  I was wearing a diaper. Old one, too. Ma’am had been right. I needed a change. 

I was crackin’ up.  Had to be.

“You’re not cracking up.  No one is,” Molly said. “They’re just breaking character.  They’ve stopped playing. All except us…”

“And me!”

“You’re not playing, Beatrice.  You’ve been napping all day!”

Tommy bowed his head.  “It’s true,” he said. “When we started playing this morning, Benny had us hide all the baby toys that we couldn’t imagine as something else.  Said it would help us immersion, whatever that means.”

“It means play better,” I said. 

“And it worked” Molly added.  “A little too well. We’re not turning into big babies. We ARE big babies, little brother.  This isn’t a city. This is Daycare.”

I pulled my fedora over my eyes.  I just couldn’t believe this. “But my car…”

“A toy car where you shuffle your feet on the floor,” Molly said.

Tommy added, “Why do you think your legs are always sore and everybody beats you to places?”

I looked up at Tommy “Your siren…”   

Tommy answered that with a howling wail.  Then he bent over and coughed. “Hurts my throat,” he wheezed.

“The Three Monkeys?”

“The Monkey Room,” Molly told me.  “For silly play. Also right next to the changing room.”

“And Jimmy?”

“Gone,” Tommy said.  Aha! I knew it! “His Daddy picked him up early.”

This couldn’t be so.  It didn’t make any sense.  It made too much sense. “No!” I held my gun up, aiming it at Molly.  It was still just a squirt gun. “It ain’t the truth! You’re gaslighting me! Both of you!  You’re in on it together!”

“Ew! Franky! Don’t!” Molly said holding up her hands.  “Don’t! That’ll mess up my pretty dress!”

“Should’ve thought about that before you messed with me, Sister!”

Tommy stood up.  “I…I…I’m telling!” he said, before running off out the door.  “TEACHER! TEACHER!”

We stood there.  Tense. “Don’t do this Franklin.  Mom will be mad if you do. At both of us.”

“Shut up!”  I said. “I just need to think!  I just…just…just…”

Ma’am Trudeau popped her head into the nap room.  “Franklin! Molly! Your Mommy’s here! Time to go home!”

I took off the coat and let it drop to the floor.  Damn. Just when it was gettin’ good. Maybe tomorrow.  “Yes Ma’am.” I said.

Ma’am didn’t even need to look at my diaper to know how bad it was.  “Come over to the monkey room first. Let me change you. I’m not giving you back to her wet.”  She sniffed and waved a hand in front of her nose. “I definitely should have changed you sooner.  Right this way, Detective.”

I wide-stepped it behind her.  Molly put her hands down and walked past me.  Mom was waiting on us. I used both hands to hike up my diaper and keep it from sliding down my ankles.  I’d been wearing it all day long. It’s a miracle it lasted this long. Definitely should have been responsible and stopped playing long enough to get a fresh one. But a Detective’s work is never done.  I’d probably be getting a rash now. Worth it.

“Franklin,” Ma’am Trudeau said.  “You’re doing it again.”

  “Yes Ma’am.” I said.

(The End)

A word from the Author:  One of the things I love about writing is how words can be used to manipulate the reader’s perception.  No props. No trick cinematography. No having to draw and redraw or shoot and reshoot again and again and again.  

Fun little mind tricks can be done just by carefully choosing, including, and omitting certain words.  When I was in college, I took a creative writing class (surprise surprise). I wrote a short vampire story, now lost to the annals of poor record-keeping.

The first time you read it through, it sounded very, almost uncomfortably, sensual and sexual with purposefully suggestive metaphors and mentioning of blood.  My classmates, most of whom happened to be women, squirmed uncomfortably in their seats, thinking I was reading porn out loud (little did we all know what the future held).  Only in the end when I chose to mention fangs, and immortality, and WHERE the blood was being drawn from, did perspectives shift.  

It became a word illusion.  One where, just like those pictures of the old woman and the young maiden, once you saw both faces, you couldn’t unsee them. One classmate, who’d accidentally peeked at the second page, already knew, and so her experience was very different.  Her second reading was everybody else’s first.

That’s what I tried to do here.  Go back and re-read “Pastel Noir: The Case of the Cooked Bookie (Part 1),” and use the lens revealed at the end, that they were all just AB’s at a daycare, playing a silly baby game that they all got a little too into character with.  Do you picture the scenes differently? Are there certain word choices that stand out differently? Have you noticed little clues that were left? Did the twist throw you for a loop? I sure hope so.

Or maybe you were a super sleuth and deduced exactly where this was headed right from the get-go.  Maybe I’m not half as clever in my delivery as I think I am. I might be creative, but I’m not Agatha Christie or Arthur Conan Doyle.  Maybe you all just know me too well. Regardless, I thank you for your continued readership and participation.

Thanks to my commissioner, Mephy, who pitched this idea to me over a year ago. I finally found myself where I was in a place to give this idea the love and attention it deserved.  They say that when you do what you love, you never work a day in your life. Writing this took me back in more ways than one.

[junyour]

I enjoyed this story and wanted a sequel, realizing that it  couldn't be. Thank you for your work

[LtlGary]

I loved the sixth sense level twist at the end! ?