Cassidy St. Claire and The Fountain of Youth Parts I, II, & III

by A. H. Rousseau

  “Meh. I'm sure someone will write a better version of it at some point. Regardless, I think we should check the storage yards.”

  “Just say that next time.”

  “Just go!” said Joseph.

  ---

  Out in the storage yard, stacks of lumber littered the ground as brick walls stretched nearly twenty feet high in all directions. The trio walked out slowly into the yard, looking at the ground, the bright late-morning sun beaming down on them.

  “I don't see any footprints,” said Joseph.

  “Neither do I,” added Barnabas.

  “There is certainly a lot of crap out here,” said Cassidy.

  “It's a factory,” replied Barnabas, sounding insulted.

  Joseph looked around the yard and noticed an iron stairwell running along the outside of the building and up onto the roof. “Maybe he went up onto the roof,” he said.

  Cassidy turned around in place, looking all over. She sighed in frustration. “Yeah. May as well try there first. As good a lead as any.”

  “I'll have to go first,” said Barnabas. “There's a locked gate preventing access to the roof.”

  The three walked up the stairwell, their footfalls clanking on the ironwork as they ascended. Reaching the top, Barnabas reached out to find the pad lock opened. “It's unlocked,” he said back to Cassidy and Joseph.

  “Really? That's great!” said Cassidy. Barnabas opened the gate and stepped over a small brick hump to reach the flat area of the roof, a thin layer of soot over the entire surface. Cassidy reached the top and looked over the building, the expanse of San Francisco and its harbors visible all around her. Heading off toward the middle of the building were plainly visible footprints in the black dust.

  “Now those are footprints,” said Cassidy. The trio followed the trail for about fifty feet before reaching an area of the roof where all of the dust was gone. The footprints disappeared into this clean area and didn't continue anywhere else. “What the hell?” Cassidy expelled. She walked quickly and frustratedly around the clearing, looking for any more prints. “They're just gone?! What the hell did he do? Fly out?!”

  “Maybe... a crane? Or something?” posited Joseph.

  “That would be one hell of a crane,” said Barnabas. “We're at least one-hundred-and-fifty feet from anywhere a crane could be anchored.”

  Cassidy paced and breathed heavily. “I actually wish we had hit a dead-end back in the factory. We could have at least assumed he just walked out a door, but no, he climbed onto the roof, apparently farted and flew away!”

  “Cassidy?!” a voice called in the distance. Cassidy snorted and trotted back over to the edge of the roof, looking down. It was Levi. “What are you doing up there?” he asked.

  “Getting angry!” she yelled back.

  “What? Why?”

  “Nevermind! We're coming down!” she said as the three started back down the stairs.

  “Good. Because the police are here.”

  “Did you get everything you could?” she asked.

  “Yes,” replied Levi. “There wasn't much. Single hole. Huge bullet. His face was gone.”

  “Yggghh!” Cassidy exclaimed.

  “Yeah. The ballistic force behind this was off the charts. I've never seen anythign like it before. More like a nautical shell than anything else. It went straight through his head and then through the wall. There was a quarter-sized hole through one of his portraits.”

  “Did you find it?” Cassidy asked, reaching Levi in the yard.

  “No. I can't get into those offices without a key.”

  “I've got that,” said Barnabas, jangling a large set of keys in the air.

  “Well, onward Christian soldiers. Let's find that bullet.”

  ---

  Cassidy, Levi, Joseph, Barnabas, and a police officer all walked into the other office. They saw the hole left where the bullet had entered immediately. It had exploded through portraits on the wall, scattering paper shrapnel on the floor and on a small table abutting the wall. “Well, that’s hard to miss,” said Barnabas. Cassidy tracked the trajectory with her eyes, resting on a tall filing cabinet on the opposite wall. There was a noticeable hole in it.

  “Ahh. Success.” She walked over and opened the cabinet. Inside, ripped through the folders and resting in the back of the drawer just beneath a dent in the cabinet wall, was a mangled piece of metal about the size of a large walnut. She held it up for all to see. “Holy shit,” she gasped. “That’s not a bullet. That’s a goddamn shell. Anything you can tell us about it?” she asked as she dropped it into Levi’s open palm.

  He looked at it for a moment, prodding it with the pointer finger of his other hand. “No. Not a chance. It’s too deformed to provide any useful information. All I can tell you is that it was one hell of a gun if it was able to fire this. Loud, too, I'd imagine. It's actually kind of puzzling why they would have used this.”

  “Could have just been the gun they had on hand,” said Joseph.

  “Then that would imply it wasn't a planned killing,” added Barnabas.

  “We've got to explain it somehow,” replied Joseph. “Why would they assassinate someone and use a gun that is, in itself, a clue to their identity? Much easier ways of killing a man than blowing his head hollow.”

  “Maybe Clarence was an asshole?” added Levi.

  Barnabas chuckled. “No. Clarence was a very nice young man. He thought about quitting at least once a month because he didn't like guns.”

  Cassidy chuckled quietly. “Yeah,” she said.

  “What else do we have at this point?” asked Levi.

  “Not much,” replied Joseph. “At least no much I can see.”

  “Well, we know that the murder must have happened late last night after the last people had gone home,” added Barnabas. “This factory floor only assembles leather. It’s very quiet. Any gunshot would have been heard by anyone in the building.”

  “He might have been here to specifically meet with whoever was paying him,” said Joseph.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We still don’t know for sure that he was the leak. Hell, he could have been having late-night rendezvous with his secretary and her husband found out,” added Barnabas.

  “I think we can safely go ahead and guess that he was the leak.”

  “I do, too, but I don't want to impugn the memory of a good man without absolute evidence,” stated Barnabas.

  “Evidence doesn't matter,” said Cassidy. Everyone stopped to look at her. “His actions will never be known. This was an attempted robbery. Nothing more. Ain't that right?” she asked, looking at the officer standing next to her.

  “It's your factory, your show, ma'am. The department knows how to be discreet,” he replied.

  Everyone stood around uncomfortably for a moment. “Well, we still have to figure out in which direction we want to proceed,” said Barnabas, breaking the silence.

  Cassidy looked at the floor for a moment and sighed. “We need more information. Anything at this point. Shit. We’re going to have to rip his life apart. His wife, his papers, his house. What’s his wife’s name?” Cassidy asked, looking at Barnabas.

  “Melissa.”

  “That’s it. We’ve met before. Very nice woman. Liked Jules Verne.”

  “Did they have children?” asked Cassidy.

  Barnabas thought for a moment, then replied. “No. I think they were trying, though.”

  “Trying?” asked Cassidy, her frustrated expression melting from her face. Joseph looked at her with a concern. “How old was he?”

  “Not old. Maybe thirty. Thirty-one. Prime years,” replied Barnabas.

  Cassidy looked at the floor and crossed her arms. “Thirty-one.”

  “He was a good man,” said Barnabas.

  “Yes. He was,” added Cassidy as she let out a big sigh. “I’m sorry, I suddenly feel as though the wind has been knocked out of me.” Cassidy paused, her eyes darting back at forth, searching for understanding. She li
ghtly stamped her fist on her thigh. “Why did he get mixed up with this?”

  Joseph placed his hand on Cassidy’s shoulder. “Answers will come,” he said.

  “I hope so,” said Cassidy. “I hope so.”

  The group stood silent for a moment. “Well,” said Joseph, “the police will want to take the body out. Best get ready.”

  “Yeah,” said Cassidy. “Yeah.”

  ---

  Cassidy and Barnabas stood outside of the factory by the entrance gate. A brick wall surrounded the large wooden and steel structure. The sun stood high in the sky and both Cassidy and Barnabas squinted in the bright light. Cassidy shuffled and kicked at the dirt with her boot. A carriage pulled up. The driver stepped down and opened the door. Stepping out onto the pavement, clothed in a beautiful yellow and white dress and bonnet, was Melissa Duval. Melissa nodded to the driver than walked over to Cassidy and Barnabas. Cassidy stepped up, introduced herself, and shook Melissa’s hand. She then stepped aside as Barnabas spoke to Melissa.

  He spoke with a look of melancholy on his face, gesturing slightly. Melissa’s expression went from concern, to flat, to increasingly distorted by pain. She looked up at the factory, then back to Barnabas as tears began to pour from her eyes. She collapsed into his arms, sobbing. He wrapped his arms around her, tears escaping from his own tightly-shut eyes. They both fell to their knees, clutching one another.

  Cassidy stood a few feet away from them. Her gaze fell to the ground, her hands crossed in front of her. She backed away from Barnabas and Melissa and then walked slowly across the street to her carriage. Her driver, a young, tall, slender Chinese man, opened the door for her. She gripped the edge of the doorway as she placed a boot on the step. She paused, looking down at her boot. “Home, Sheng. Let’s go home.”

  Her driver, Sheng, gave a comforting smile and nodded. Cassidy got into the carriage and Sheng shut the door.

  ---

  Cassidy sat at her desk, slumped slightly into her chair, resting her elbow on the arm rest and her cheek on her hand. In her lap was a large, leather-bound book, open at about the halfway point. The sun was low in the sky by now, and stark shadows were cast from the window frames over Cassidy. Margie walked into the office with a tray of tea.

  “Hello, Cassy dear,” she said.

  This roused Cassidy slightly. She straitened in her chair and breathed deeply. She rubbed her eyes as she spoke. “Oh, hi. I was drifting off to sleep.”

  “I thought you might like some tea,” said Margie, as she started to walk toward Cassidy’s desk.

  “Margie, I would love some tea. Are you having any?”

  “I can if you would like.”

  Cassidy smiled lovingly at Margie. “I think I would like that very much.”

  Margie smiled back. “I assumed as much, which is why I made tea for two.”

  Cassidy started to clear off a space on the desk, pushing aside books and papers. “I’m glad to see your psychic powers have not faded.”

  “Nope,” said Margie as she placed the tea tray on the desk. “Strong as ever.” Margie picked up one of the two chairs in front of Cassidy’s desk by the backrest and placed it directly aside Cassidy’s chair. “So, what are you reading?”

  “Dostoyevsky. I’ve always found that Russian writers are best when I’m profoundly sad.”

  Margie nodded with a concerned look on her face. “How are you feeling?”

  “I am…” Cassidy smiled and laughed a little, “profoundly sad.”

  Margie nodded again, this time leaning over and placing her hand on Cassidy’s thigh. “I know, dear.”

  “It was weird. It hit me like a train. So sudden. Clarence was dead. I’ve dealt with death. Lord knows, I’ve dealt with death. But it never affected me like this. I've thought about it, as to why. The best explanation that I can come up with is that everyone who has died around me deserved it. No. That's too strong a word. They didn't deserve it. But it wasn't... it wasn't a surprise that it happened. Even my parents. They were never just some guy working in an office. They are always bandits, or robbers, or assassins, or gunfighters. Who was Clarence? He was nobody. He was just some man. Seeing him there, powerless, splayed out on the floor; it made me feel like the foundation of the world had been blown out from under me — the rules that governed the way the world worked suddenly stopped applying.”

  Margie sighed and rubbed Cassidy’s thigh back and forth. “You know, Cassidy, I sometimes worry that maybe… what I mean to say is that the world is filled with very bad people, and sometimes they crack into polite society. Hell, sometimes they are polite society.”

  “I know… I know. And really, I should have experienced everything I needed to experience to… to… to make me understand this. It doesn’t make sense that this should have hurt me so much. I don’t know why it’s causing my conception of reality to seemingly become undone.”

  “I don’t know either,” said Margie as she poured herself some more tea. “All I know is that events of such pain can sometimes cause people to think about things without realizing they are thinking about them. I don't want to make it sound like I'm calling you unfeeling or unsympathetic, but It may not be Clarence’s death that is truly upsetting you.”

  Cassidy gazed back, unblinking at Margie. Her brow furrowed, her eyes searching within for answers. She finally looked away and held her tea cup to her mouth. She held it there for a moment, not sipping. “Any ideas?” she finally asked Margie.

  “Cassy, I have spent years trying to figure out you. You are, at once, both supremely simple and frustratingly opaque. And I dare not take a guess as to which of those two characters is in effect now. My only advice, and I think it's good advice so you damn well better listen, is that you probably have some idea about the cause in some recess of your mind, and you cannot be closed off to that knowledge. Let yourself know what you need to know.”

  Cassidy nodded quietly. “To thy own self be true,” she said. They sat there silently, sipping their tea, with Cassidy leaning her face on her left hand. “Is that an almond cookie,” she finally said.

  Margie laughed. “Yes, love. It is,” she said with a motherly smile.

  At that moment, Amos walked in. “Miss Flynn, young Abigail has set a stew on fire in the kitchen. I believe that your attention would be appreciated.”

  Margie adopted a look of frustration and shoved the front of her skirt down as she got up. “For Pete’s sake. One moment, Cassidy dear. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Cassidy smiled, nodded, and shooed Margie away with her hand. “Sure, sure. Go take care of things.”

  Margie hurried off toward the door with Amos stepping out of the way just as she reached the threshold. “Abby! Whatever you do, do not use water! That only makes it worse!”

  Cassidy smiled at this then relaxed back in her chair. She picked lightly at the edge of the arm rest as she stared at her teacup on the desk.

  ---

  Cassidy’s office was now dark. The lamps in the foyer cast a rectangle of golden light deep inside the room. Amos walked into the doorway, casting a long shadow into the room. “Miss St. Claire?” he said. There was no answer. “Miss. St Claire?” Again, there was no answer.

  “Cassidy!” Margie said, appearing behind Amos, giving him a start. He turned, with one side of his upper lip raised, to give her a look of profound annoyance.

  “Hunffngg!” Cassidy snorted. From the darkness came the sound of heavy breathing, chapping lips, and a tongue doing battle with cottonmouth. “What time is it?” groaned Cassidy, from inside the darkness.

  “Slightly past eight o’clock,” replied Amos.

  “Why didn’t anyone wake me for dinner?”

  “I didn’t want to disturb you, dearie,” said Margie. “Besides, you looked adorable. All scrunched up in your chair, a little bit of drool coming out.”

  “Yes. Positively cuddly,” added Amos.

  “Ah ha!” Cassidy exclaimed through a yawn as she stretched. “I knew it. You watc
h me sleep.”

  “Only when I wonder how you’ve managed to stay alive this long,” said Amos. “Besides, this isn’t because I wanted to hear your sultry voice; you have a visitor. Jacob has arrived with an urgent message.”

  Jacob appeared behind Amos. “Cassidy!” Amos was startled again, and he gave the same look to Jacob. “Big news!” Jacob said. Amos stood aside to let him into Cassidy’s office.

  “Amos, can we get these lights on?” asked Cassidy.

  “Right away. I will get the lighter,” Amos replied.

  Jacob stepped further into the office, nearing the source of Cassidy’s voice. “Very exciting!” Jacob said in his trademark Russian accent. “I received a telegram from a friend who says that a man was trying to sell some strange pieces of metal. Strange metal? What else could it be?”

  Amos walked in carrying a long match and walked around the walls of the office, turning on and lighting the various lights which all produced a slight hiss as the gas moved in. The first lights revealed Cassidy to have stood at high attention, with her hands pressed flat on the surface of her desk.

  “Excellent,” she said. “I hadn’t even entertained the possibility that we would have had him this quickly. A real criminal mastermind, this one. Where is he?”

  “My friend? He is in Monterey.”

  “Is that where our mastermind is?”

  “Oh. Yes. Both of them are there. My friend said that the man was unsure of how valuable the metal was and was unable to sell it. My friend followed him to a hotel. He is there now.”

  Cassidy sighed in annoyance. “Shit. How the hell far away is Monterey, anyhow?”

  Amos, who was just lighting the last of the lights, responded. “About one hundred miles.”

  “Well, we’re sure as hell not running. When’s the next train to Monterey?” Jacob shrugged. “All of our trains are out. Probably wouldn't be able to get a connection until the morning... No matter. Jacob!” Cassidy spoke as she started putting on her over shirt and coat from the coat hooks behind her, “we are going to go make camp at the train station. When the next train comes in, we are on it. I don’t care what else is on it. Chickens, shit, lumber. We are on that train.”