Tulsa Boom Pts. 2 & 3
Here is the next little bit of my hard-boiled detective story I'm slowly getting together... More to come later on...
Pt.2
I awoke the next morning to the sound of the phone ringing incessantly. Looking at the clock, I realized it was after 6 a.m., and only a few people call me that early. “This is Robbie, who is this?” I grumbled, still feeling odd after my earlier meeting with Miss Suderman.
“Robbie, its Sgt. George, I need you to come down to the station house.” The voice crackled over the phone.
I groaned as I rolled off the couch, and sat upright. I lit the last smoke from the pack as I held the phone with my shoulder. “What did he do now? He wasn’t out carousing with the broads again? Was he?”
“No Robbie, they caught him sleeping at Union Station… again. Our friend took a swing at one of the rookies, and the kid took it personal like.” Sgt. George said with a tinge of a laugh. “He popped him in the kisser a few times for his trouble, but he was too pissed to notice.”
“Alright, I’ll be down in a few, wrap ‘em up nice for me and I’ll get the old coot back to his stool”
I took my time getting dressed, thinking about my new case, and the dame who dumped it in my lap. Something about her story seemed hinky to me, but I shrugged it off as I slid my holster and coat on. I grabbed my hat and headed out the door.
As I walked to the station house, I ran the evening’s events over in my head, trying to find a starting point for my investigation, when it hit me. Sgt. George, he’d surely know something. Ever since we were kids at the academy, he was always a straight man. He’d hafta know a thing or two about this recent homicide. See, me and Matt grew up three houses down from each other. He was the ever present Boy Scout to my rambunctious gunsel. Anytime I’d bite off more than I could chew, ol’ Matt would be there to haul my bruised keister back to the stoop. We ended up going to the academy together and then assigned to the same patrol as beat cops. He’s one of the few guys I still trust in the department.
I entered the station house to cold, contentious looks from over half the beats, and acknowledged the few who didn’t look like they wanted me dead in a million ways. I knuckled the desk where Matt was sitting, waiting for him to look up from his duty log. “Still tracking every step Boy Scout?”
“Still getting them shoes gummed up Punching bag?” he retorted. “It’s good to see ya Robbie, good to see a mostly honest face at least. Well, let’s go get the old sod before he starts ranting and hollering for more coffee.”
“Hold up a sec Matt, I need to ask a favor from ya. You here anything about the Suderman murder earlier this week? Some reporter kid working a big story?”
“Maybe, are you asking out of curiosity, or is this some crazy case you decided to pick up?” he replied, knowing my propensity for trouble. “Because if it’s curiosity, I may be able to help, but if it’s a case, then there is a whole mess of paperwork for us to fill out.”
I jangled the change in my pockets as I gave it a moment’s thought. “Well Matt, you know I’ve never been one for paperwork, so let’s just say it’s out of curiosity.”
“Ahhh… I see.” He answered, “Then I may be able to help you then. Word around here is that, that murder wasn’t some two-bit hop head looking for a score. It had all the makings of a contract killing. Clean, efficient, and not a damned bit of evidence except for the .45 shell casing left ON the body.”
“Hmmmm… very interesting. Thanks for satisfying my curiosity, thank you very much. Now about that drunken Dutchman you woke me up about.”
Pt. 3
The Dutchman was sitting in his cell, looking madder than a cat in a rain storm. He held his bundle of clothes tight against his sallow chest, while rubbing his bruised jaw. The rookie musta slugged him pretty hard to leave those kinda marks. See, the Dutchman, or Dusty as he likes to be called, is a tough old bird. Fought the Germans in the Great War, and then came to America shortly afterwards. After the Depression hit, Dusty lost his home to some of the more corrupt slum lords in town, and started living in the bottle. Fortunately for him, some of the local club owners had taken a shine to the old bird, and made him an honorary member of each club. He never went without. But his favorite place was the Blue Derrick. This is exactly where I planned to take him that night.
Mat unlocked his cell, and Dusty came swaggering out, “Well, it’s about time boys, I was getting hungry, and jail food just ain’t no good no more.”
“Well old man, I was thinking of some ham and eggs down at the Derrick, if you are so inclined.” I said to him, seeing his eyes brighten up. “Maybe Ms. Susie has some fresh coffee brewing for us, so let’s get a move on.”
I shook Matt’s hand one last time as I directed the crazy Dutchman through the station house. I stopped by Matt’s desk one last time to leave a note for him to call me if he hears any whispers about the Suderman case, promising to buy him a steak dinner if he gets me any solid leads.
The walk to the Derrick was pretty easy, except for Dusty ranting about the miscreants that the department is hiring these days. We stopped at a newsstand so I could by a pack of Camels. As I dug in my pockets for the right change, I noticed almost every headline on the papers screaming the same thing, ‘Paul Macone: Oklahoma’s Next Congressman!’
The headlines jolted my mind back to Rachel, and the case she brought earlier that night. I was so engrossed with my private thoughts, it took me a few minutes to realize that Dusty was poking my arm, and muttering profane things about my ability to get him anywhere. I snapped back to reality, and we continued the short walk to the Blue Derrick.
Madam Susie was waiting for us when we arrived, having a decent breakfast waiting for Dusty as we walked in the door. Even though it was only a little after 8 a.m. all the regulars had filtered in. Tim and Tracy were tending bar, while the Denise sisters were flitting around carrying drinks to the very appreciative customers. Thankfully Prohibition had ended a few years before, or none of these customers woulda even stepped foot near the Derrick.
“Now this is what I’m talking about!” exclaimed Dusty as Leeann led him to his usual table and set down a nice breakfast in front of him. “Thanks Robbie, for springing me from the clink.”
Susie grabbed my arm and led me back to her private table, “So Robbie, dontcha have any more time for your favorite lady any more? You never come and see me like you used to.”
“Sorry baby, things have been hectic these past few weeks, matter of fact I just picked up a Titanic of a case, got the makings of plenty of cash, and plenty need for some good drinks.” I replied. I scanned the club, and then turned my attention back to Susie. “So, after this case, I’ll take some time off, and I’ll come by more often.”
We sat for a while, enjoying the cool air that flowed through the club, and listened to the sleek brass band play a smooth jazz number. I soaked in the sad sounds of a single saxophone as it played a wailing solo. The spot light shifted from the dark skinned musician, to a curvaceous brunette, wrapped in a sequined blue gown. Her voice brought back memories. As she sang, her eyes swept the room, before locking on my face. When they did, I tried to hide in the shadows, pulling my hat down low. “Oh wonderful Susie, you hired my ex-wife to sing in your club.”
After her number was over, the song bird made a bee line for my table. I gulped down my bourbon in one swallow, preparing myself for the twitter of harassing questions I knew she’d fire off at me.
“Well, Robbie King, no surprise in seeing you here. I always knew you were a worthless club hopping booze hound,” she smirked, looking as self righteous as hell. “No wonder you never have the money for the alimony you owe.”
“Oh come off it Ashlynn, you know I already paid you all the cash I owed. You’re just trying to milk me of a few more grand. Just like when we were married.” I replied.
Pt.2
I awoke the next morning to the sound of the phone ringing incessantly. Looking at the clock, I realized it was after 6 a.m., and only a few people call me that early. “This is Robbie, who is this?” I grumbled, still feeling odd after my earlier meeting with Miss Suderman.
“Robbie, its Sgt. George, I need you to come down to the station house.” The voice crackled over the phone.
I groaned as I rolled off the couch, and sat upright. I lit the last smoke from the pack as I held the phone with my shoulder. “What did he do now? He wasn’t out carousing with the broads again? Was he?”
“No Robbie, they caught him sleeping at Union Station… again. Our friend took a swing at one of the rookies, and the kid took it personal like.” Sgt. George said with a tinge of a laugh. “He popped him in the kisser a few times for his trouble, but he was too pissed to notice.”
“Alright, I’ll be down in a few, wrap ‘em up nice for me and I’ll get the old coot back to his stool”
I took my time getting dressed, thinking about my new case, and the dame who dumped it in my lap. Something about her story seemed hinky to me, but I shrugged it off as I slid my holster and coat on. I grabbed my hat and headed out the door.
As I walked to the station house, I ran the evening’s events over in my head, trying to find a starting point for my investigation, when it hit me. Sgt. George, he’d surely know something. Ever since we were kids at the academy, he was always a straight man. He’d hafta know a thing or two about this recent homicide. See, me and Matt grew up three houses down from each other. He was the ever present Boy Scout to my rambunctious gunsel. Anytime I’d bite off more than I could chew, ol’ Matt would be there to haul my bruised keister back to the stoop. We ended up going to the academy together and then assigned to the same patrol as beat cops. He’s one of the few guys I still trust in the department.
I entered the station house to cold, contentious looks from over half the beats, and acknowledged the few who didn’t look like they wanted me dead in a million ways. I knuckled the desk where Matt was sitting, waiting for him to look up from his duty log. “Still tracking every step Boy Scout?”
“Still getting them shoes gummed up Punching bag?” he retorted. “It’s good to see ya Robbie, good to see a mostly honest face at least. Well, let’s go get the old sod before he starts ranting and hollering for more coffee.”
“Hold up a sec Matt, I need to ask a favor from ya. You here anything about the Suderman murder earlier this week? Some reporter kid working a big story?”
“Maybe, are you asking out of curiosity, or is this some crazy case you decided to pick up?” he replied, knowing my propensity for trouble. “Because if it’s curiosity, I may be able to help, but if it’s a case, then there is a whole mess of paperwork for us to fill out.”
I jangled the change in my pockets as I gave it a moment’s thought. “Well Matt, you know I’ve never been one for paperwork, so let’s just say it’s out of curiosity.”
“Ahhh… I see.” He answered, “Then I may be able to help you then. Word around here is that, that murder wasn’t some two-bit hop head looking for a score. It had all the makings of a contract killing. Clean, efficient, and not a damned bit of evidence except for the .45 shell casing left ON the body.”
“Hmmmm… very interesting. Thanks for satisfying my curiosity, thank you very much. Now about that drunken Dutchman you woke me up about.”
Pt. 3
The Dutchman was sitting in his cell, looking madder than a cat in a rain storm. He held his bundle of clothes tight against his sallow chest, while rubbing his bruised jaw. The rookie musta slugged him pretty hard to leave those kinda marks. See, the Dutchman, or Dusty as he likes to be called, is a tough old bird. Fought the Germans in the Great War, and then came to America shortly afterwards. After the Depression hit, Dusty lost his home to some of the more corrupt slum lords in town, and started living in the bottle. Fortunately for him, some of the local club owners had taken a shine to the old bird, and made him an honorary member of each club. He never went without. But his favorite place was the Blue Derrick. This is exactly where I planned to take him that night.
Mat unlocked his cell, and Dusty came swaggering out, “Well, it’s about time boys, I was getting hungry, and jail food just ain’t no good no more.”
“Well old man, I was thinking of some ham and eggs down at the Derrick, if you are so inclined.” I said to him, seeing his eyes brighten up. “Maybe Ms. Susie has some fresh coffee brewing for us, so let’s get a move on.”
I shook Matt’s hand one last time as I directed the crazy Dutchman through the station house. I stopped by Matt’s desk one last time to leave a note for him to call me if he hears any whispers about the Suderman case, promising to buy him a steak dinner if he gets me any solid leads.
The walk to the Derrick was pretty easy, except for Dusty ranting about the miscreants that the department is hiring these days. We stopped at a newsstand so I could by a pack of Camels. As I dug in my pockets for the right change, I noticed almost every headline on the papers screaming the same thing, ‘Paul Macone: Oklahoma’s Next Congressman!’
The headlines jolted my mind back to Rachel, and the case she brought earlier that night. I was so engrossed with my private thoughts, it took me a few minutes to realize that Dusty was poking my arm, and muttering profane things about my ability to get him anywhere. I snapped back to reality, and we continued the short walk to the Blue Derrick.
Madam Susie was waiting for us when we arrived, having a decent breakfast waiting for Dusty as we walked in the door. Even though it was only a little after 8 a.m. all the regulars had filtered in. Tim and Tracy were tending bar, while the Denise sisters were flitting around carrying drinks to the very appreciative customers. Thankfully Prohibition had ended a few years before, or none of these customers woulda even stepped foot near the Derrick.
“Now this is what I’m talking about!” exclaimed Dusty as Leeann led him to his usual table and set down a nice breakfast in front of him. “Thanks Robbie, for springing me from the clink.”
Susie grabbed my arm and led me back to her private table, “So Robbie, dontcha have any more time for your favorite lady any more? You never come and see me like you used to.”
“Sorry baby, things have been hectic these past few weeks, matter of fact I just picked up a Titanic of a case, got the makings of plenty of cash, and plenty need for some good drinks.” I replied. I scanned the club, and then turned my attention back to Susie. “So, after this case, I’ll take some time off, and I’ll come by more often.”
We sat for a while, enjoying the cool air that flowed through the club, and listened to the sleek brass band play a smooth jazz number. I soaked in the sad sounds of a single saxophone as it played a wailing solo. The spot light shifted from the dark skinned musician, to a curvaceous brunette, wrapped in a sequined blue gown. Her voice brought back memories. As she sang, her eyes swept the room, before locking on my face. When they did, I tried to hide in the shadows, pulling my hat down low. “Oh wonderful Susie, you hired my ex-wife to sing in your club.”
After her number was over, the song bird made a bee line for my table. I gulped down my bourbon in one swallow, preparing myself for the twitter of harassing questions I knew she’d fire off at me.
“Well, Robbie King, no surprise in seeing you here. I always knew you were a worthless club hopping booze hound,” she smirked, looking as self righteous as hell. “No wonder you never have the money for the alimony you owe.”
“Oh come off it Ashlynn, you know I already paid you all the cash I owed. You’re just trying to milk me of a few more grand. Just like when we were married.” I replied.