The Night Owl

I stand in front of a white sheet draped over a shapely figure displayed on the embalming slab. The chill of the morgue runs up my spine as the mortician removes the sheet. As the cover is pulled away, I recognize the face of the deceased immediately. Her auburn hair caresses the fair skin along her high cheekbones. Her lush lips are still covered by the ruby rouge lipstick that she had left on my collar. Her perfume pierces the stench of formaldehyde bringing me back to the evening when her vivacious silhouette filled my doorway.

It was an evening like any other at the office – quiet. The feathers of the stuffed barn owl on my desk rustled as a warm wind blew through the window. Work had been slow as of late, so Margret went home early again. She left making her idle threats to quit over her pay. She’s been threatening that for years, but I always come up with the dough. Besides, there’s no better job for a person like her than being a secretary to an ex-cop turned gumshoe. It’s not the money that interests Margaret. Her pay has always been the upscale gossip about the promiscuous lives of the high and mighty, the rich and powerful, and wanna be celebrities that I’m hired to follow.

It had been a month since my last job, the coffers were running dry, but I was able to pay myself with a bit of cheep scotch that I keep in the desk next to the old Colt .45. I was taking a pull when a knock came at the door.

“We’re closed! Come back in the morning.” The knock came again. “I said we’re closed damnit!” At the third and final knock, I wrenched the door open, “ Are you deaf? I said—,” and that’s when I saw her, the auburn hair, the rouge lips, and the scent of the perfume had taken me.

“I’m sorry,” she said sweetly, “I was looking for Night Owl Investigations, you wouldn’t be Jack Prudent by chance would you?”

It took me a moment to break my stare, it had been a while since I had laid eyes on a stunner like her. I stepped aside and welcomed her in, “yes, come in, I’m the Night Owl himself.” She sat across from me. Her sapphire eyes blazed with sadness and scorn in the dim light of my office lamp. I raised my glass to my lips, “How can I be of service? Let me guess, long lost sibling, cheating husband, lost dog perhaps, Miss?”

“Gloria Rumsfeld, and its my husband, Curt. He’s been acting strange of late. We don’t speak, he takes his dinner in the study. He comes and goes without a word, and has been receiving phone calls at odd hours. I over heard Curt saying for them not to call him at home. I’m at my wits end. ”

“That could be a lot of things Mrs. Rumsfeld.”

“No, I just know it is. He’s done it before, and he’ll do it again.”

“They always do. Some men think the grass is greener, but I don’t think there could be any greener grass than you, if you don’t mind me sayin’ doll.” Her cheeks turned red as if she had put on a fresh layer of blush. “Do you think it’s the same ‘other woman’? ”

“I was the ‘other woman’ the first time, I am his second wife.”

“Doesn’t feel so good, now does it?”

“I never! If I knew I was gonna be harangued by some alcoholic sneak who gets his rocks off by sifting through others’ misfortunes, I would have never come here.” I remember the crystal tear drops sliding down her cheeks. I damn myself for making her cry, but I thank Curt for bringing her to me.

“Now, now, Mrs. Rumsfeld, I’ll admit I’m a bit rough around the edges, but trust me I’m the man for the job.” I twisted the spine of my desk lamp to spotlight the framed news article on my wall – Detective Jack Prudent Does it Again. “That year was hell, thirty-three homicides, all of ‘em solved and put away. Trust me, if the Brass didn’t find out how I took my coffee, I’d still be out there doing some good, Mrs. Rumsfeld, but here I am. We are in a bit of a bind here, you can’t afford anyone else, and I can’t afford not to take it, so I’ll help you.” I handed her a cloth to wipe her eyes, “But the truth of the matter is this, what ever I find, are you prepared for the answers? There is no going back, once you know, you know.”

“I understand, but I just need to know why, it will make it easier to leave. . . At least I think it will.”

“No offense Mrs. Rumsfeld—”

“Please, Gloria will do,” she said with a smile, as she wiped her eyes.

“Gloria, it is never easy, but maybe you’ll find some green grass for yourself.” She blushed again. Her eyes met mine, I could feel her heart skip at that moment. She stood in a rush as if she had some unspeakable thought. I wonder if that was the first time she thought of us together. We made arrangements to meet again with the outcome of my investigation. As she slipped away into the night, I thought of taking this case pro bono, but Margret’s voice rang in my ear,

“Jack Prudent, I swear, if every woman that walked in here paid with butterfly kisses, we’d be in the poor house. If this keeps up, how are you gonna buy that rotgut you pour down your gullet?”

Back when I was working homicide, the hunt was always the best part. I felt like a raptor looming over my prey. Watching. Waiting for them to make the wrong move as I swooped in for the arrest. They say that Justice is blind, but an owl sees through the dark. The Night Owl they called me, but those days are gone. While true detectives hunt the most dangerous game, I am left with the mice of men. Men like Curt Rumsfeld. He was a predictable animal, most men are, but he was clockwork.

Six o’clock he wakes up, then breakfast, eggs over easy with toast, tea never coffee. Seven o’ clock, Curt leaves his and Gloria’s castle out in The Hills, and drives across town to his office at Hudson and Hudson Accounting, he works on the 6th Floor. He works diligently from eight to two o’clock, before having lunch at Schlenk’s Deli, at the intersection of 4th and Freedom Avenue. For lunch, a ham sandwich on white bread with mayo no mustard hold the onions. Then he returns to the office for the rest of the day, then back to The Hills he goes. At home, he takes a plate into his study where he closes the door, just like Gloria said. There is no street view of the study, and no windows to speak of. Between six and ten o’clock, was the most unpredictable time for Curt. I saw him emerge from his study to answer as few as three phone calls to as many as ten. Ten o’clock, lights-out. Then the accountant wakes up and does it all over again. The monotony drives a man to drink, by a man I mean me.

For weeks I watched this mouse of a man scurry about, from one hole to another. He was cautious and calculated, as if he knew he was being watched. And all the while, I saw Gloria tormented by this mouse. How I wanted to catch him in a trap so that she could be free of him, but he never broke his routine. As for Gloria, she was much more than a trophy wife as was led on. I found her to be scurrying about from one side of town to the other, but never to the same place twice, and she was always sure to be home before Curt. It crossed my mind who I should really be investigating, but Gloria was the one who hired me.

It was a Friday when Curt broke his routine. He stayed late at the office; he came out carrying a briefcase. For a pencil pusher he was lean and moderately handsome. I followed him uptown to a nightclub — Bruno’s. The flashing neon of the nightclub sign lit up the street. I watched from my car as Curt sauntered up to the club. He bypassed the line of Greasers and SOCS waiting to get inside. The gorilla of a doorman let Curt in without a word.

Back in the day, word of mouth had it that Bruno’s was a hotspot for the Mob to sling their dope, but there was never enough for Vice to run a search warrant on the place. I had to remind myself, I no longer had the key to the city, no more flashing tin to get me inside. Now, I had to play it smart, or else I’d end up in the river with my fingers cut off like all the others who crossed the Mob. It was easy enough to get inside through the kitchen entrance. I had some extra scratch to bribe the cook on his smoke break. “Margret is gonna give me hell for this, but at least I’m not spending it on rotgut.”

Once inside, I found Curt sitting at a horseshoe booth with a mix of heavy hitters with the Mob. Three I had run-ins with from my copping days— ‘Fat’ Tony Costello, Jimmie ‘The Bat’ Giuseppe, and Frankie ‘Pliers’ Palmeri. The ‘Big Three’ we used to call them. All enforcers. All acquitted killers, thanks to the shoddy work of the lightfoot that took my place in homicide. I took a seat in the corner and ordered two fingers of scotch. I was out of the sight of the ‘Big Three’ but still had eyes on Curt. The chatter in the club grew quiet as the stage faded black. Curt hit Fat Tony in the chest to shut him up, as a piano arpeggio sprung from the darkness and a spotlight fell on the stage. The spotlight illuminated a dark haired beauty as she struck the keys of the Baby Grand.

While all eyes were on her, mine were on Curt. He never blinked while he watched her perform, he didn’t want to miss a moment. He saw her in that moment how I saw Gloria. The more I watched, the more I hated him. In frustration, I hit the table with my fist. At its sound, Curt broke his glance; our eyes briefly met. He whispered in Fat Tony’s ear and returned to the black haired beauty. I had been made, but he didn’t know me. If I left then, I had a chance of keeping my fingers, but I’d leave with only a couple hunches of what Curt was up to. I needed to catch him pissing in the wind in order to free Gloria.

The black haired beauty’s performance ended in a thunderous applause. She stood and bowed; her sequin dress reflected the spotlight. She blew a kiss to Curt before she disappeared backstage. Curt quickly followed with a bouquet of flowers in hand; the Big Three were in his tow. Frankie Pliers was left outside to guard the stage door. Pliers is known for dumping bodies, not for his doorman skills. He’s smarter than the other two, but not by much, and has a bigger ego than the three combined. I walked up to the stage door, and was immediately met with resistance.

“Sorry pal, no can do. Backstage is off limits.”

“Alright, alright, I ain’t looking for no problems, just need a light. You smoke?” I placed a cigarette to my lips.

“Do I smoke?” He chuckled, “I tried quittin’ but remembered momma didn’t raise a quitter,” Pliers removed a lighter from his pocket and lit me up. If the boys back at the precinct knew I was getting a light from Frankie Pliers, they would have called me crooked.

“Smart woman, give her my regards. Wait a minute, don’t I know you?”

“Sorry pal, you don’t.”

“Yeah, Yeah, you’re Frankie Pliers.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“Sorry, Mister Pliers, sir. I mean no disrespect. I just gotta say, I’m an admirer of your work.”

With that, I had him hook, line, and sinker. The look on Pliers’ face was smug and giddy like a school boy’s, he straitened his leather jacket as if it were a tuxedo. “With all due respect, I heard about you in the papers, them coppers definitely didn’t know what they were doing.”

“It was circumstantial, ain’t nothing concrete.” I had to grit my teeth, we had this scumbag dead to rights back then, but the Mob’s bribes bought his freedom. I had to put that behind me, Gloria was the important thing now.

“Definitely circumstantial, but I gots to know, how’d you do it? Only if you’re willin’ to part with some trade secrets, Mister Pliers, sir.” Pliers took a long drag off his cigarette, released a ring of smoke, and leaned in close.

“There’s a reason they call me Pliers, kid. You get yourself a decent pair that can cut through bone, and the rest is cake. No fingers, no problems. Even better is when you’re able to get all the teeth out. Then you let the river beat the body to a pulp down at the rapids.” My gut churned in disgust, I heard all I could stand. I leaned back, took a long drag off my cigarette, then put it out with my foot.

“What did you jus say about my mother?”

“What, I didn’t say nothin’ bout you’re mother.”

“Nah, you said something you son of a bitch.” Everyone thinks that you gotta hit someone on the chin to knock them out, but the best place is the nerve on the side of the neck. Hit that baby hard enough, they go down like a bag of rocks, and that’s what happened to Frankie Pliers next. He hit the ground so fast that no one in the club saw what happened, and I was through the backstage door like a roadster.

I lingered at the corner of the dressing room hallway, just within earshot of Curt, Fat Tony, and The Bat. I removed the 16 mm camera from my pocket and prepared to take photos. I could hear Curt knock lightly on a star studded door, and whisper sweet nothings into it.

“Connie my sweet, please open up. I’m sworry it’s been so long, but daddy’s had business to take care of. Oh my darling, I have brought you a gift, a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and I have another surprise for you if you open the door.”

“Yous want me to bust it down, boss?”

“Yeah, boss. I can get the bat from the car, and we’ll be right in there.”

“No you idiots! Do you know nothing about romance? This is just the game we play. Sweetums, will you please open the door, the animals are getting antsy. . . Connie you open this damn door, or I’ll let these two bust it down!” The door swung ajar and the black haired beauty erupted from within, and latched her arms around Curt’s neck.

“I’m sworry daddy, I had some girly things to take care of, but I’m all yours now.”

“Lay one on me baby!”

“Sure thing daddy,” Connie pressed her lips against Curt’s cheek leaving a bright red smooch behind. Little to her knowledge she was also showing love to my camera. Each kiss was another dollar added to my payday, and guaranteeing Gloria’s freedom. To my dismay, my greed got the better of me as I stepped into the hallway only to be seen by Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.

“Hey boss, looks like we gots a looky-loo.”

“Well, don’t stand there you idiots, go get him! And bring me that damn camera!”

I busted through the backstage door into the clubhouse faster than Mercury himself. The door swung wide hitting Pliers just as he was regaining consciousness. Fat Tony and The Bat tripped over their fellow homicidal maniac allowing me to escape into the crowd, and out the front door I went. As I fiddled with my keys to get the car door open, I dropped them. On my way back up, I saw of Jimmie in the reflection of my window. I fell aside as the baseball bat flew by me spraying me with glass. Fat Tony had arrived, but had stopped to catch his breath, there’s a reason why they call him Fat Tony.

“Yous gots him Jimmie,” Tony called breathlessly, “I’ll be right there, hold him for me.”

Jimmie Giuseppe, there’s a reason why they called him ‘The Bat.’ Word on the street has it he was lined up to be a major league superstar, but his temper got him sent to the State Penn after he walloped another player into a coma with his lucky bat. We wanted to put him away for life, but the judge saw him as a kid with a short temper that needed help, or he saw the dirty money in his pocket, either way Jimmie got five years with time spent, he was out in two. Since then, that bat of his was never far off, and he’s never been afraid to use it, especially when he claimed “ self-defense” which he did often. But, now I found myself on the wrong end of that beating stick, and with a high chance my head would be flying over the Green Monster at Fenway.

“Did you see that Tony! This guy tried to hit me! Oh look Tony, looks like we need to call the cops! This guy means business. . . Help! Some one help me! I have to use this bat to get him to stap assaultin’ me! Oh no, he’s comin’ right at me, Tony you’re my witness.”

“Yeah, I gots you Jimmbo, just let me rest. . . Ah, my chest.”

I rolled from side to side to avoid the strikes from the bat, but one hit came down hard on my leg, “Ah, you motha’ fucka!” As Jimmie raised that bat for another blow, I reached into my jacket an pulled my Colt .45. Jimmie paused with the bat over head. “Drop it! I said drop it you fucking mook!” I brought the hammer back with my thumb to show I meant business. The bat pinged on the ground. “Now back up!” Jimmie backed away. I hoisted myself up on the fender keeping a strong bead on Jimmie’s dome.

“Hey, ain’t you that cop, that drunk that got kicked off the force? What was it, ‘Prudence’ or some shit. Don’t yous worry, we’ll be coming for you. Ain’t that right Tony? Tony?” Jimmie looked to his left; Tony was on his back, his face had turned blue. “Oh, Jesus, Tony. Help someone help, I need an ambulance.”

I picked my keys off the ground, got into the car, and sped off. I watched as the Tweedles disappeared in my rear view mirror. I stopped at the pay phone outside my office, and called the number Gloria had given me. I told her to pack and meet me at the office, she agreed. Three hours went by before she arrived. I laid back in my chair sipping my rotgut trying to make the pain go away. Then at long last the knock came at the door. It was too soft for it to be one of the ‘Big Three’ but I had my gun ready just in case. The door creaked open, and there she was, my Athena, my goddess, my Gloria. I lowered the hammer of my gun, and put it on my desk.

“Is that how you welcome all your clients?”

“Just the ones that are trying to kill me.”

“Kill you?”

“Yes, and it’s all over these.” I tossed the 16mm camera to her.

“Is this?”

“It is, but are you sure you want to see them?”

“I have to, if I’m going to be free. I need to know.”

“Very well then, its gonna take some time for me to develop them, especially since my leg’s all busted up.”

“What happened to your leg?”

“Let’s just say, your husband is in bed with some interesting players. He handles the money for the Mob on this side of town. Cooks their books, makes it all copasetic for the IRS. Plus, he’s seeing a hot little pianist on the side at Bruno’s. And, here I am caught in the middle of it all. How do I know you’re not in cahoots with him?”

“I always knew Curt was into the shady side of things, but I never thought it was organized crime.”

“Then what’s with all the running around, huh? All the strange appointments hither, thither, and far. Never the same place twice. By the looks of things, you’re slinging dope for them. I ought to drag you downtown myself.”

“You’ve been watching me? How dare you!”

“Tell me it isn’t true!”

“It isn’t! It’s nothing like that!”

“Then what is it!”

Gloria turned to look out the office window. She held herself tightly. “Before Curt and I met, I was a dime store model. I had my picture taken wearing the latest Pennies’ fashion. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Then he came in, poisoned me with promises of never having to work, never having to struggle. It was all so . . . Intoxicating. But, back then he was a married man and I was his midnight snack. He has this way of making you want him, even when he’s terrible to you. Then one day I had him all to myself. Then along the way he lost interest, and I was in the shadows all over again. I missed my life in the dime stores, I missed my friends. So, I go to a different store every week to model their dresses for them. No big names, just small brand, just so that I can feel seen again.”

I hobbled next to her, and placed my hands on her arms. She turned around and embraced me, and I her. “I see you.”

“You do?”

“I see you now, just like I did the night you knocked on my door.” She looked up at me with her sapphire eyes blazing in the light of the twilight.

“I think its about time for me to see if the grass is greener, don’t you?”

“I thinks so.”

She kissed me in a way that I had never been kissed by a woman before. In the morning we would be branded with the scarlet letter, but in that burning moment we saw each other and became one, for all but one night, and in the morning she was gone. Day and night I waited for her call, drinking myself into a stupor. I checked the papers to see if Curt had made an attempt to locate her, or if there were any missing person reports. The only good news I found in the papers was that Fat Tony had died of a heart attack that night at Bruno’s. I pulled every contact I had left at the station, and then I found her. A Jane Doe with auburn hair had washed up on the shore of the river just before the rapids. I already knew it was her, but I had to be sure.

So, here I stand in the city morgue, looming over the love I met one night so many weeks ago. The river’s water had done little damage to her body, as she washed up before the rapids. Her fingers were mostly intact, with a couple plier bites in them, but not enough to break bones, with no signs of blunt force trauma. A purple ligature mark was around her neck, no wider than a piece of string, and a cut deep into her esophagus. All the usual suspects are in play, yet none at all.

I tell the mortician her name, then head back to the office. Margaret has finally returned wishing to be paid. “Now is not the time Margaret, you can read your gossip in the paper, I’m getting drunk.”

“You’re always drunk!”

“Drunker then!”

“If its gonna be like that, I’m heading home. I took the liberty of developing that film you had in the 16mm. The photos are on your desk.”

“Thank you, Margret.”

“I’ll be back on Tuesday so you better have something juicy for me.”

I sigh in relief as she steps out the door. I sit back in my chair and sip a glass of rotgut in contemplation. Would Curt be able to kill her? He could have had anyone of the three do it. Well, one of the two now that Tony is dead. But, she looked too good to have been done in by either Jimmie or Frankie. Jimmie would have bashed her with the bat, and Frankie wouldn’t let her keep her fingers. So, its gotta be Curt. I lift a photo and stair at the image. I think about how she never got to see the photos, how she never got closure, how she would never be free. I hear Gloria’s voice in my head,

“I need to know why, it will make it easier to leave.” Without the photos, Gloria could only get what she wanted at Bruno’s.

Bruno’s was quiet as I entered with my .45 in hand. Jimmie was pulling door duty, his bat was nowhere in sight.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Ah! Drop the bat,” I say plainly before I blow a hole in Jimmie’s quad. Jimmie collapsed on the ground yowling in pain as he rolls around in his pooling blood. “Eye for an eye, Jimmie.” Frankie, Curt, and Connie sit in shock as I approach their table. Frankie attempts to stand.

“Nope. Just sit and relax, were gonna have us a little fire side chat, just the four of us. But, I’m telling you Frankie, if you open your mouth, you’ll be joining Jimmie on the floor,” Jimmie lets out a moan, “That goes for you too Jimmie, so shut it. . . So, I have a theory, someone here killed Gloria.”

“Gloria’s dead?” Curt exclaimed, “I thought she ran off. Her bags were gone. I had nothing to do with this.”

“Then it was you, Connie.” I train my gun on her.

“Connie would never do such a thing. Tell him Connie.” Tears begin to roll out of the pianist’s eyes.

“She came snooping for answers, asking why Curt left her. I called her a prude and she threatened to make a deal with the cops to put Curt away. I panicked, I couldn’t let her do that to daddy, so I wrapped piano wire around her neck, and dumped her at the river. I couldn’t do it the way Frankie talked about, so her fingers got messed up. And, the cops were wrong. I couldn’t dump her in the water she was too pretty for that, so I left her on the bank. I’m sorry please don’t kill me. . . I mean us.”

Frankie opened his mouth for the last time, “Yeah, you’re a cop, you can’t do that to us. Yous gots a moral code to follow, we deserve justice and all that jazz!” If you’ve ever seen a watermelon fall on the ground, that’s what Frankies head looked like after he had his say.

My car rumbles down the dark river access road. I can feel the weight in the trunk shift as I bounce over a rut here and there. I come to a stop. The eyes of the Night Owl stare back at me in the rearview mirror. They say that Justice is blind as she ways the scales in the favor of the innocent. But, who decides what justice is, and who deserves to dish it out? Is it a jury of peers, or is it swift revenge from the broken hearted. Is it something that binds us to moral accountability, or is it something more primal like fear, sorrow, and anger? I’ll let you know when I find out, but first I have to stop at the river.