Welcome To Central City

by Adam C Mitchell

  Grinning at Decker, Jack refused to give his opinion letting the detective either sink or swim. He could sort this, and if it went down like a lead balloon, Jack had someone to carry the can. Eventually, Decker nodded a ‘go on then’ to the woman.

  “Go next to the bookcases for a minute and have a good whisper, but I warn you NO fishiness” Mrs. Josephine helped Sandie to her feet, helping her hobble over to the bookcase despite Sandi's noticeable concern over what may happen. The Corporal moved with them, yet still kept a small distance between them in case Sandie needed him. Sandie faced the bookcase, her lover offering her a chair. They both had their backs and faces away from the law-men, Sandi's shoulder being firmly grasped by Mrs. Josephine. Decker came over to Jack, “what do you think?” he muttered.

  “I think Sandie will come through for us, Decker.”

  “That bright spark idea, about Josephine husband hit centre. I missed that one. How’d you make it?” Decker asked, showing a whole new respect for the P.I who he previously thought was a bit of an ancient tool.

  “Simple Decker, the kid… She’s a dead ringer of Sandie. Plus, Josephine said she told him about the pregnancy, when he was in the army. Well I can’t imagine a soldier, even a slightly shady one, not doing the moral thing especially after most saw the chaos in Holland and all those fatherless children left behind, so if you figure it all in, it wasn’t a great leap really.”

  “So? Well…” the whispering over at the bookcases, had been getting louder. So that the ‘S’s became sharp hisses, no doubt coming from Mrs. Josephine. Now a clear sentence came from Sandi's mouth “I’ll be dammed if I will!” Mrs. Josephine cautiously looked over her shoulder, making sure, with a pinch of a shoulder Sandi's voice lowered. But it wasn’t for long. From What Jack could tell Mrs. Josephine was trying to make Sandie do something. Sandie, who kept shaking her head, didn’t seem taken by the idea, her so called lover put an arm on Sandie. It was quickly rebuked, then they kept whispering like nothing else mattered. Sandie then shouted deliberately making the Corporal step forward, “Go to hell, it was you, I didn’t put the dam knife in him, BITCH!” she jumped as best she could from her lover falling into the arms of Bronson, Sandie looked back at Mrs. Josephine, her eyes black blazes in a white face. Decker and Malone moved carefully towards them. “BITCH” she spat at Sandie, spinning to face them.

  “I killed him. There I said it. He came for that- that bitch’s brat, and I-” Decker went to take hold of the killer just in case, he missed the slap, but it caught Sandie of guard. Seconds later she was cuffed by Bronson. Sandie had gone down fast! Sprawling over the floor. Jack helped her up, for a slight girl though, she was rather heavy. He managed to get her back onto the Davenport. Then the woman’s story poured out like water.

  “I married Ronson in Providence in 1913. We went travelling around Europe and then into Germany, he had a job on the rail-line. We didn’t stay long due to his gambling debts, then we headed to the island town of Eiswerder, on a promise of a fresh start. We drifted from job to job, town to town, until eventually Ronson and I met Sandie and her dam patisserie stall. Ronson could tell Sandie wasn’t exactly an angel, but neither were either of us. Most of how we ended up is true. We couldn’t make something that awful up. The difference being when the dead officer’s pals came, Ronson saw yet another opportunity and took it.

  “I didn’t know what it was until a few weeks later. He’d lied to them of course he always did, telling the Nazi’s he had a deposit box in Eiswerder and he’d split it with them, if they turned the other cheek. They agreed telling Ronson to pay up within a week. But he didn’t and that’s how we all ended up in Spandau, and like I said the British attacked and in the panic the three of us were split up. Finding ourselves together again months later, with Sandie pregnant with that pig’s child. We had to get across the channel, so Sandie and Ronson pretended to be married, with me a god dam escort of sorts. “But the two of them grew closer, during a detour via Paris and then Dover. I could see their attraction was real. I had to do something, so one night I saw my chance. I knocked him out, tied and gagged him. Then locked him in a room. Then the next day told Sandie he had to stay behind to sort out some business, which would help us when we eventually settled stateside. Anyway, by the time we got to the U.S and found this place, baby Jenna was born. Because Sandie wasn’t married, we carried on the ruse. That’s how it stayed Jenna being the link between us, until we actually fell for each other or so I always believed. Everything was great until last year when Ronson showed up, looking for Sandie and ‘their’ child. I COULDN’T ALLOW THAT! NOT NOW! It took me awhile but slowly I put him off, the months went by until Christmas time and I saw them together in our bed of all things, it was the final straw. So I started plotting again this time for a more permanent solution. I thought I did it back in England, with no joy, no this time I’d make sure he wasn’t coming back.

  Last month I found out through the grapevine he’d been staying at a local hotel. I sent him a telegram courtesy of the Union, pretending to be that Jezebel, asking to meet here tonight saying ‘I wanted to leave with Jenna.’ When tonight came, he arrived early. I told them both to pour themselves a drink of wine, and I’d see Sandie later, as I left I hoped the poison would do the job.It did, to a point. I snuck myself back in, waiting to get rid of them BOTH. But with no joy. I walked in saying my engagement had been cancelled, then I noticed Ronson had gotten faint. He must have known was something was up. Sandie, the dumb cow, hadn’t drank a drop yet. The little one was crying so he went to see to her. I took out the knife from my study drawer and was about to kill the fat twit.”

  “That’s when Sandie came in and screamed bloody murder. She tried to stop me, getting between me and Ronson. We scuffled I stabbed him I thought and she got a fat lip and then cut deep. Ronson was dead by now, or so I thought. But Sandie was a witness. She now had to be gotten rid of, too. As we fought she managed to get away and I chased her to the nursery.

  But she managed to get behind a locked door. I tired kicking the door, with no joy, making my way back downstairs. I almost died right there on the rug. Ronson was gone!

  “I’d managed to get Sandie out of the Nursery, with a plea for forgiveness and bit of stick and carrot, then scared her into that fairy tale of an alibi. I’d burnt our clothes and smashed a window to fake the burglary. So now you know it all detective. Chapter and Verse.”

  RECEIVED YOUR TELEGRAM [STOP] WILL BE COUNTING DOWN EVERY SECOND UNTIL YOUR TRAIN GETS HERE [STOP] A THOUSAND MILES COULDN’T KEEP ME FORM MEETING YOU [STOP] MY DEAR MOTHER IS WITH SAM SO SHE WILL SEE YOU SOON [STOP] BUT I'M A BIG GIRL NOW AND STAND ON MY OWN FEET [STOP] I GUESS MY WAY OF ANSWERING THAT PARTICULAR QUESTION YOU HINTED AT WILL BE ALRIGHT WITH HER [STOP] PLEASE HURRY HERE SOON [STOP] OH AND ITS VERY THIN BLUE LACE [STOP]

  LOVE JESS

  Mrs. Josephine Ronson, raised both hands in a gesture of finality, like a conductor at a symphony.

  “There you have it,” she added with a dirty look.

  “Anything to add?” Jack asked Sandie, who was staring at her bandaged leg.

  “Only to Mr. Stevenson,” she replied angrily.

  “And who’s that?” Jack enquired,

  “My lawyer,” she said defiantly, her courage now returned.

  2 Dahlia Black Avenue

  Tannery’s

  Central City

  U.S

  MAY 12. 1949

  Dear Sam,

  Why don’t you come and see us? My husband says it will be alright, after all, we’re family now. We are living in a small log cottage all alone. With our nearest neighbours an hour’s drive away so it’s nice and private. Our cottage is right on the estuary, literally out of our front door. Yes, it’s certainly quiet and private down here. The Stevenson’s are down at the moment; you know the ones I told you about in my last letter. They’re here with us for a fortnight, but then we will be all alone just the three of us so you and Collin will be able to get to know each other properly.<
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  I can’t believe what happened to them. It’s such a cruel world, I’m glad they’re here I’d hate to think of them all alone in that big house.

  The estuary is real big and rocky in places, but very deep. Collin doesn’t swim at all, but he insists on going out in our own little lime green boat with me every time I want a little adventure on the water. Isn’t that wonderful devotion? A real husbandly love, to risk his life possibly for little old me? If there was to be an accident, god forbid he wouldn’t be able to save himself, much less me. Why, I’d need somebody’s help to reach the shore, and as for my dear Collin he couldn’t paddle let alone swim to safety. But let’s not talk about things like that. Cousin Sam just come here as soon as you can. Collin is reading this over my shoulder and says any relative of mine can stay as long as they want. And his cars and more are to be used as needed. Isn’t he generous? He wants you to feel as if you lived here. Isn’t that nice?

  Sincerely

  Jess

  Decker spoke to the Corporal, as the officer from downstairs came to join Decker.

  “Sir, got a call from dispatch, requesting assistance over on West 35th Street a burglary gone wrong by the sounds, mind if I shoot down there?”

  Decker just shrugged a permission to the young copper.

  “The Wagon Bronson,” Bronson left for the wagon. Jack couldn’t help but feel sorry for Sandie, “Go see Jenna, doll, go see your daughter. You don’t want to see this. She’s going away for a while, and take it from me good-byes are never good.” He helped her to the stairs and then went back to Decker and everything went crazy.Their female con had managed to break free of Decker and had knocked him out cold. She now held his piece and was coming for Jack. He automatically ran forward grabbing her wrists. They fought hard trying to regain control. He’d almost wrestled the piece from her hands, when she got Jack good in the crown jewels’. He fell back hard, then a distinct pop filled the room. Jack froze as he saw the muzzle flash and then glass around them followed by a window frame, stars and…

  Obituary

  Jack Tiberius Malone, 42 of Central, was pronounced dead by doctors on

  February 1st 1949.

  Mr. Malone’s parents both passed due to a house fire in 1936.

  Jack leaves behind an wife and daughter aged five years, three days.

  Jack Malone formerly of Malone Investigations and Bonds and later as a partner of Hammet and Co. Investigations and Bonds. Malone served as a soldier in the 1st Infantry gaining various commendations most notably a Purple Heart for his actions saving his C.O. from heavy gunfire.

  Upon leaving after five years joined the N.Y.P.D making Detective, eventually leaving nine years later to become a Private Investigator.

  The associates of Hammet and Co. respectfully ask all donations go to St. Jude’s, the church where he found his faith and sobriety, and also the place of the forthcoming funeral.

  The full newspaper story, read tomorrow’s spreadsheet.

  End.

  WELL I DIE TOMORROW

  Well I Die Tomorrow

  There was no point, really, no point in wasting my last nickel on the parking meter, so instead I just didn’t bother. I just sat in my beat-up grey Ford, listening to some awful street performer warble “Swinging on a Star.” No, I just sat there quietly for well over an hour, waiting for that bastard Gerry O'Connor, and thinking. One of the main things I thought about was if a leaking bucket full to the brim of bitterness in a man’s soul could make him cross that thin line of no return. However, in my case, sitting there, I’d realized I’d already crossed that line some time back. I’d crossed it the night my sweet daughter Chloe was killed in a flaming wreck beside the highway, on the way out of this would be Gomorrah. She had become nothing more to the world than another innocent victim of Central City. Her killer was a drunken fool behind the wheel—even if the papers made out otherwise in the cover-up. She was a teacher for Christ sake; there wasn’t an ounce of evil in her; just love and smiles. I still remember it—I came home one night from work. It was a Wednesday, if I remember rightly. I’d come home, to find my wife and high school sweetheart had taken my pistol, a war trophy form Germany, and given herself a brass headache. Killing herself, out of loss. That’s the day I think I crossed that line, and after a few years of grief and twisted hatred for this damned city and those in it, I'd become a very different man. Preferring drink and the shadows, to the light and life, the world outside Central City had to offer.

  I had lost everything that mattered to a man, everything I’d fought in the war to try to protect. That of family and home. I was a man who didn’t care any more; I’d lost weight way too much to be considered healthy for a man of my age. My once-strong nerves were now shot to hell in a hand basket. Insomnia had become my present companion, and to top it all off, I’d totally given up chewing food, preferring to drink it straight with ice, instead. My once rock-solid passion for my career had died the same day I’d lost my dear Sally. My job and its demands now seemed just too pitiful to really care about. I knew my demeanour and life were worrying my partner Jeff Collins, who after putting up with me for longer than he deserved one day gave me both barrels.

  “Nathan,” he said, his tone both angered and measured, but with just enough worry to make me sit up and listen. “Nathan, you’re sick. Can’t you see it? Don’t lie to me, either; you need serious god-damn help. I’m worried about you, pal,” he said, trying to smile “You look like you’ve already brought the farm and gone to bed in your own pine box. Why don’t you see a doctor, get some help, maybe?” I had to take a moment

  “I have, Jeff,” I said truthfully. Jeff was the one person who I couldn’t and never would lie to; he gave the Kovakx's a shot, especially with Sally and the baby being left with nothing after the death of some P.I. in the city. He made me a partner in his business and gave Sally a job in the office, bookkeeping, and the like. I owed him so much. “Jeff, there’s nothing wrong with me—well, except for that dark little voice in the old head. That’s honestly what the quack said, but he does say a shrink would probably do me some good.”

  “Come on, Nathan, it’s not a totally terrible idea, a ‘head shrinker’ may help you cage up the past and bury it. Help you move on and things, I don’t know, I’m no expert, after all. All I know is Sally would hate to see you like this.”

  I just shook my head “Sorry, Jeff. I’ll just live with it, and if I have to take it down with me, sorry, pal, no dice.”

  “Take it down with you? Sorry, soldier, this isn’t the Bastogne. Wise up.” Jeff was more than just a friend; he was more like a brother. We’d served overseas, too. We’d spent way too long in a foxhole, freezing together in that wretched forest in Bastogne, and then years later when I’d returned statewide after him, he’d taken me, a battered solider, and turned me into a salesman and then to top that, made me a co-owner of his business. Granted, typewriter sales weren’t flashy but after the last four years, it was normal and enough. He’d been with me, and been my rock through two funerals and seen first-hand my fall from sanity. Well, what Europe had left me with anyway.

  “Chris-sakes, Nathan, don’t talk like that!”

  All I could do was playfully flip a hand at him.

  “Listen, Jeff. It’s like this. As you’ve probably noticed, I don’t give a damn about anything any more. I lost my heart and soul the day I lost Sally. My only child was stolen from me, and I have no little ones to call me Grandpa. But what I have instead and to look forward to is a totally bleak life with way too many years ahead of me, unwanted years left on the clock, and frankly, I just can’t deal with it any more. If it wasn’t for you and the business, I think I’d just follow Sally’s lead.” I could tell after that bombshell he couldn’t—or just wouldn’t—take any more of it in.

  “Nathan. Pal, come on, this is all just talk—surely?”

  I smiled “Don’t panic, Jeff. I won’t. I want to live to see justice for my family. Besides, the blasted business insurance we carry o
n each other says no payout if we play the suicide card,”

  I joked, but I don’t think it helped.

  I could see Jeff start to relax. He still wasn’t sure, but went along with it. “That’s my boy. If it weren’t for the insurance, I’d give you the gun myself. I could use the bankroll. It would come in very handy right now. Business frankly is nose-diving.”

  I could tell he meant it, too. I hadn’t escaped noticing we were way in the red. I just carried on the joke, but more for him than me, saying, “Don’t be a wise guy. I can still give you a fat lip, ya hear me? Any-ways, don’t suppose there’s no way of getting around that little insurance clause, old buddy of mine.”

  “Not in a month of Sundays,” he chortled, shaking his head and almost losing his hairpiece as he did. “Not a chance, partner. You kill yourself, you get nothing but worms and stale air.” That’s when he sat down and looked me dead in the eye. “Anyway, Nathan, just forget about it, will you? And once and for all put all the hurt from the past behind you—besides, I don’t think Sally would want to see you like this.”

  Jeff was right; she would hate me like this. So after a few more pleasantries, I made a show of going to do some work in my closet of an office. However, all I could think about was that damn clause. I couldn’t shake it, no matter how hard I tried. I had told my friend the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I’d given up living without Sally. Even my absolute hatred for that pond life O'Connor did not seem to matter really, not any more. I was just coasting, and too far gone in all the ways that mattered. But on the other side of the tarnished C note, I owed Jeff everything. I couldn’t just leave him without a dime, especially when business was this bad. My friend had pretty much made me the man I was, took a chance on me when the city had washed its hands of me a broken solider with nothing but memories to keep him going. Christ, he even insured my sorry ass for a hundred thousand dollars, as a way of showing how much he appreciated me, and he was a flit, he secretly liked other men, in a way the man upstairs frowned on if you get my drift dear readers. But he never once crossed the line with me. Not even when I could tell he had a few feelings building up for me. He was a real friend. He was who he was; if he was confused I didn’t really care. You can’t choose who you fall in love with after all, even if it was all very one-sided. So killing myself would be a poor return for all his faith and kindness towards me. Unless, however, my death gave him a hundred thousand reasons to keep going. The Idea came to me that night while listening to a Philip Marlowe radio play. I just couldn’t switch off afterwards, so as always I grabbed a bottle, poured myself more than two fingers, and let the darkness in. Then it hit me like a bolt of lightning. A very simple idea; after a bit more thought, I realized there were no possible lose ends, either. It was the perfect solution, which also gave me my first solid night’s sleep in months.