“what can I do for you, sir?”
Ben took a deep breath, Here we go he thought this was defiantly him, the perp in Handley’s little snapshot, round faced, goatee and receding hair. Finally gold, now don’t mess it up Morgan.
“you can tell me who ordered some white roses, to a single woman out at Rook Falls!”
“was there a complaint, sir? Asked the male florist.
“Oh no, I’m a civilian employee for the police, just playing errand boy. No I'm here just to check on the person who sent and paid for them, I don’t know the details just doing as I’m told, you know what that’s like don’t you.” The plane girl paused on her way out the door, staring at him with blue eyes from a pleasant face. “police? What’s the matter, why do the police need to come knocking.” she said behind a nervous smile, the man behind the counter saying the same, but with excited, flailing arms. Morgan took a small step forward calming the atmosphere down with a strong solid wave of his open hand. “Listen, I’m no cop, and I don’t want to be hear either. Listen way I see it, is if you got a duplicate record or receipt of your F.T.D orders hand me the one I need and we can all go about our day.”
The florist ran a stubby fingered hand through his hair, and dug a flat yellow book out from behind the counter. Flipping through the pages, “you know there’s no law, saying you can’t send flowers this way.” but he gave the receipt over anyway.
The carbon copy of the F.T.D order was a total bust, Unless Abraham Lincoln paid two dollars and ten cents, to have a bunch of white flowers to Miss Handley. So unless the president came back from the dead and had a thing for our deaf dear, he had a bust lead he cursed inwardly. Unless…
“Who took the order, Sir?”
“Nobody. There was an envelope under the shop door the morning the delivery was to be made, with a note of the recipients name and address, from Mr Lincoln. What’s the matter. Eh?” Then Morgan grabbed the florist by the wrist “cut the crap, you sent them flowers buster. Haven’t you Mr Bell.”
“Bell! Bell?” the man’s eyes narrowed “my names George Pittman, I run this business, I’m above board me, pay my taxes and everything honest.” Ben didn’t loosen his grip not even for a second. Even though he knew he was playing a bit hard and fast with the rules.
“Then someone’s framing you my dear, Mr Pittman.”
“Framing me! For what?”
“Murder! Morgan said quietly, Pittman reacted to that news like he’d just taken a solid blow to the face, “it’s a terrible mistake, or a sick joke detective and if it’s a joke I'm not laughing! I wouldn't, no couldn't hurt anyone, not even a flea.”
“so your telling me you don’t know Ashford Bell?”
“Honestly detective, it’s the first time I’ve heard his name.”
“What about Edward Henderson? Heard of him?” the male florist shook his head.
Your not very talkative are you? Maybe a trip to headquarters will help you sing a song I like.”
Pittman shrugged “I’m telling the truth, there aint’ nothing on my conscience. You know I’m not afraid. I’m a clean honest man. I’ll go anywhere you want, well if you can drive me that is!”
That’s when Ben noticed it, he should have spotted it sooner, Pittman was an amputee. Both legs were gone and he was perched behind the counter on a high stool.
Ben’s honest worry about his former flame had clouded his judgement, made him make a rookie mistake. He knew he’d gone in to hard, he knew he should have scoped the place out first, but it was Louise. So to try and make up for his blunder, he did his best to describe the man who was escorting Louise to god knows what.
“So know him?”
Morgan could see the second, the light went on in the man’s eyes. “I’m not sure detective, but from what you said and you know how you put it, and the like. Well it sounds like it could be Steven?”
“Who’s Steven?”
“Steven Flynn. He’s a crook and a low life for sure. Christ even among other crooks I’m told here’s considered spoilt.”
“Yeah, Yeah. Who is he? What does he do? Where does he live and what other crook do you know hey Mr Pittman.”
“He’s Miss Flynn’s brother, the woman who just left. She really owns the shop, I run it for her if you follow. In lew of a rather large debt for a funeral, my late wife. Well she’s a diamond she knew I was a single farther, hard up and had gotten in with the wrong crowd that hung around Portland Street, in fact it was Steven who got me in that mess, not that I knew who he was at the time. Well loan sharks hurt you if you can’t pay, and well I couldn’t hence the legs. Well Jenna, I mean Miss Flynn, found me gave me a job and wiped my debt, I owe her a lot. No she’s an angel no doubt but Steven’s a real grade A bastard. Always robbing his sister blind when she’s on her own here, on my days off. Does his dealings he two id wager, not to mention getting way to many girls into trouble if you know what I mean!”
“He’s done a bang up job putting you in the cross hairs Pittman. He sent your picture to this sweet naive girl up in Rook Falls- so shed come to Liberty to get married, or at least that’s what she thought would happen.”
“Holly Mother!”
“Pittman, tell me where he is, where’s the dirt-bag live?”
“Sorry detective not a clue. His sister booted him on his rear, kicked him out of her apartment over on Lexington. But I guess you could phone her...” A freckled faced juvie burst into the small flower shop. “My Pa, sent me sir, for the ivy for my Ma’s birthday. Mr Pittman I have the money this time, honest look, see look!”
“Okay Jimmie, excuse me one second detective.” as the amputee dropped himself into a small wheelchair, and scuttled around an ornate floral display and disappeared out of sight. The young boy must have been about eleven or twelve if Ben had to guess, and seemed to take pride as kids do when given responsibility and carefully counted out the Sixty Two Cents on the counter.
“Here kid,” Ben laid down a one dollar bill, “pay with that, take the change along with your sixty two cents and go get your ma’ a gift. You here” the little boy couldn’t believe what the man next to him had done, and smiled a toothy grin from ear to ear.
“yes sir, thank you sir”
Morgan didn’t really have time to play nice, but the kid reminded him, of himself at that age, and even apparent hard up detectives have a soft spot at times. But the soft moment past as both he and Jimmy slowly began to get impatient, it wouldn’t take Pittman five minutes to get one order, time was against Ben and Louise’s life as literally in the balance. So giving the kid a farewell smile jumped around the counter and went to find the florist. Morgan side stepped behind a small partition just left of the ornate display that cut the shop in two. Pittman was leaning face down over a wooden bench – his head under the spreading fingers of a rather large potted plant. There was a dark puddle on the back of he bench, the patch growing as drops of crimson splashed into it from the gaping wound in the florists neck. A sharp-bladed set of secateurs, seemed to have been snapped in to, with one one of the bladed halves now stuck fast at the base of the neck, against the glistening crimson disk. Other than the cape of blood down poor Pittman’s back, there was blood on his hand too. Ben Morgan took out a small handkerchief and wrapped it around his hand, in an attempt not to contaminate anything before the corner got there. Carefully he lifted the wrist of the deceased. His well trained eye’s catching the tell-tale slash across the base of the fingers.
That settled it! Morgan thought kicking himself he was only a few feet away and didn’t catch whoever they were in the act. But he could do what he swore to do when he out on the uniform, get justice for those who couldn’t. He knew know one could cut his hand that way! Especially when his throat had been slashed. No, the way Morgan read the scene was who ever killed Pittman did it from behind, while the florist potting for the customer. He had tried to block the bladed weapon he assumed when he noticed someone was behind him, despite it being in vain as the blade first seem to sever
e the jugular. Then the attacker added insult to injury and almost underlined the act with a murderous exclamation mark stabbing him again at the base of the neck. But unfortunately for all the disabled florist did to protect himself it failed. Not even five steps to the left of the dead amputee’s back, was what looked like a rear delivery door with a rusted wire screen nailed over what looked like a previous broken glass panel.
Checking it Ben noticed the door was closed but not locked, a perfect escape for a killer. With the handkerchief no longer safe to sue due to the blood spatter, he instead tore a piece of the florists wax paper from a roll used to make up bouquets, that lay near the work bench, and wrapped it around the back doors handle and twisted. Then opened the door. A narrow alley ran behind the two-storey red brick, it was barley wide enough for one man to walk down, let alone at speed dodging garbage cans and debris from the other shops on the street. The alley much to Morgan’s annoyance had a cement carpet that looked pretty fresh and new, maybe a month or two so there would be no foot prints. At least if it was old cement, grime may have built up and caught even a faint hint of a shoe, but no there was nothing- and there wasn’t anyone in sight.
He came inside, shut the door and rummaged in a jacket pocket and took out a pocket knife. Flicking out the small two inch long blade with the back of his shoe heel. Then slid it into the oval keyhole. Turned it until the bolt of the lock clicked home.
He took a moment and wiped his brow with his jacket sleeve and was about to take out his last cigarette when he suddenly stopped, as the last slim hit of tobacco rolled out of his hand and into the small crimson pool now forming under Pittman’s feet. It was the boy. He poked his head around the corner of what was the counter. Morgan quickly stepped between the kid’s eye line and the deceased Mr Pittman. Know one should ever see someone like that, especially not an innocent kid Ben thought as a small wave of anxiety rode over him. He had to protect this kid from the real evil this city hid well.
“Is he sick Mister?” the youngster asked, thankfully only seeing Pittman for the briefest of moments.
“Yeah. You go home. Tell your folks the ivy will be over later and at no charge, on behalf of Mr Pittman being ill—”
“Okay Mister. Gee I’m sorry—”
“Wait a minute kid. You seen Steve Flynn about recently, say today even? There’s a few bucks in it for you, if you did.” The boy made a face, that said he was thinking for all his little worth. “Naw, sorry Steve aint’ never around these days, well except with girls. Who likes girls though I know I don’t no sir. Don’t like Steve either he’s——”
Ben tossed him a few dollars enough for a root beer and a hot dog, that was his dinner plans anyway, and now the kid could enjoy Liberties finest cuisine, courtesy of the Liberty City Police Department. But after seeing Pittman his stomach wasn’t really in the mood to eat. Probably wouldn't be for a while.
“Hey kid, so where’s he live?” the young boy jerked a thumb toward the ceiling. “He lives with Miss Flynn above the shop, I think” Morgan was startled “That so?” Maybe Steve Flynn kick to the curb wasn’t public knowledge. Well not yet anyway…
Thanking detective for the money, the boy ran. When he’d gone Ben Morgan felt in the pockets of the dead man without causing the body to change position the police boffin types hated it, when badges moved their bodies. The pockets were empty but inside his apron was a small bunch of four or five Yale keys on a brass ringlet. So he took them. It was obvious the key with the most ware, was the shop key. He used it from the street securing the crime scene as best he could. Then he stepped into the entrance way of the second floor stairwell. There was only one mailbox. A big brass one with the ace of diamonds playing card engraved above the name. Jenna Flynn, Floriculturist. He stepped upstairs as stealthily was the old floor boards would allow. There were two doors opening off the second floor hall. Morgan’s eyes couldn’t help but catch another door engraved with a playing card, this time the four of clubs and like before under the card read House Use Only! He had no time to ponder it or it’s significance but told himself he’d note it in the report once all was done.
A crack of thunder seems to echo and shake the city outside, along with curtain of rain rattling of the world made it hard to hear, so Morgan had no choice but to lean up to the door and hope to catch something of interest. Something that would help save his partner.
But now he had no time to think of its significance as behind the other door he heard voices. The tones of the girl who’d asked Pittman to deliver the wreaths… Jenna Flynn. The Irish twang in her voice was more than just distinct, it was almost like a finger print for the world to see. “Why are you here Miss Handley?”
“Oh your brother brought me here.” Louise answered “he said it would be alright”
Ben’s heart skipped a few beats, What was Louise doing, talking? Could she have been caught out by this Jenna Flynn? He put his ear to the door.
“I’m very sorry for you Miss Handley.”
“I don’t understand. Why should you be?” the police woman asked, still playing doing her part. She must have lost her notepad and was doing her best to imitate the few words the real Handley had said, as best she could.
“Ashford said he would be back in a moment. He’ll explain.”
“Ashford!” Louise’s tone was now one of disgust.
“His name is Steven Flynn or so he told me at the station earlier. It all seems very queer. I can’t imagine why he lied about his name. But what do I know you should know the truth, being his sister and all.” The other woman just laughed harshly.
“His names not Ashford, you stupid idiot. I should know after all, he’s my husband.” WHAT! neither police officers needed to fake that shock twist that had just been dropped on them.
Chapter Sixteen
At the same time as the bombshell of Ben Morgan’s had been well and truly dropped, and on the farthest most eastern edge of the city, Peggy had de-caped, showered downed a stiff scotch and was now nothing more than Jack Malone’s girl, and right now after everything that had gone done in the last god knows how many hours. Being ‘his’ girl was more than good enough she thought as she drifted over the plush lilac carpet of her apartment, and opened the outside door of the small conservatory the refreshing breeze coming off the storm outside washing over her, taking away the last dregs of the chaos she had just overcome. She was taking the view in, the rain putting down a fresh layer of relief over the humid city when Jack Malone walked in, still worse for ware but alive at least. He’d just come back from his debrief and a still scotch or two if she new Captain Costner and his pal from vice Officer Booth, and she did.
Underneath his good arm was a folded newspaper and a dripping coat, that was starting to pool droplets of water on the nice clean crisp carpet. She turned and shot him a playful scowl that said Hang It Up! Which he did curtly, throwing his grey fedora on the coat rack along with it. Then followed his love to the centre of the room. The powder pink laced bra and briefs she wore barley covered anything specially considering she had chosen to forego the kimono, but yet it set off her perfect frame. Jacks eyes were ablaze with a mix of passionate wanting and honest admiration. She is one dynamite girl he thought with a grin, as he followed the intoxicating curves and cute dimples of her figure, as she sank down into a wicker chair. She smiled, motioning him to pull up a chair beside her. So via a b-line at the drinks cabinet he did pouring himself two fingers of scotch, with a dash of vermouth, no ice.
“So, suppose you give me chapter and verse, big boy?” she said pertly, brows arched in again a playful interrogation. “None of them at the precinct have seen you around and poor old Morgan was a right wet blanket without you to hold his hand. Granted those idiots couldn’t find there way out of a wet paperback, but you should have called me at least. Jack I have to say I’m just a trifle hurt, I wont lie!”
Jack Malone now had such an engaging grin and it showed off perfectly the whites of his teeth, as he finally pulled up a seat bes
ide her and sat down. “Perhaps this will explain” he said. Peggy of course new, and did her best to feign complete amazement as she looked at the late evening edition of the Liberty Bugler. Little eddies of excitement came trickling from her ruby lips as she read the information emblazoned on the small broad sheet newspapers front page.
House Of Games: Game Over!
Charter members of the organization are fleeing after shocking exposé, by ace Liberty City Detective Jack Malone. Police have issued warrants for all member of the crime groups inner circle, most notably Deputy Mayor Henley and newly unearthed illegitimate son Beckett Henley, for there involvement in various criminal acts, including the kidnap and assault of Detective Malone, racketeering, smuggling, bribery and extortion to name but a few.
It has come to our attention that earlier today, a startling no holes barred exposé on The House Of Games and all it’s criminal activities within our fair state. Thanks to the information gained from this it has come to light that it is only one of several House Organizations all over out country and abroad. However Liberties blight was ended by our cities own Detective Jack Malone of the 22nd Precinct. A stand in D.A has issued warrants and indictments for at least a dozen leading politicians that we are aware of, two of these include Deputy Mayor Henley and his son. As well as now former D.A Dunham, who is still mysteriously missing, yet the police would very much like to question him.
Dunham has not been seen since a written resignation had been posted to city hall, and know one from his office could understand this, or wished to make a comment at this time. One possible report has it, that he is confined in a private hospital suffering from an array of life threatening injuries, that are threatening his life. Another rumoured report is he is taking a trip out of county to improve his health. Plus, farther and son Henley is reported as flying to Mexico City on an impromptu business trip. Regardless, both gentleman will find an overly warm welcome when they are located and turned over to the newly appointed Sarah Lewison, the first female D.A in Liberty City. This is one of the biggest bombshells in the history of fair Liberty City, and a sea of head figures and politicians both big and small are leaving by rail, sea and air. D.A Lewison interviewed at her office today promises a hard stand with no quarter given, as she plans as he puts it a ‘deep clean’ and states she is taking all measures possible and open to her, to bring back the now fleeing inner circle from prosecution….
The Queen and The Viper Page 14