Friday, December 23rd
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
The loud cries of my alarm startled my ears. I awoke to a blinding light; my eyes could hardly adjust to its brilliants. Taking hold of my pillow I tried to drown out the annoying screams of the clock and take solace from the annoying cheer of the morning sun but to no avail, this thing was determined to get me to shut it up. It went off repeatedly; the constant beeping grew louder the more I imagined it would stop. The palm of my hand hit with a loud slap, finally quieting the damn thing.
Silence… well as close to silence as one living in the city could ever achieve.
I sat up on the edge of the bed wiping the sharp rocks from my jaded eyes. These long nights are beginning to seem endless, and the day just fades by like a taxi in the ghetto. Files of paper littered my floor, along with the few empty bottles of whiskey. Most would call me a drunk; that alcohol would hinder my ability to work, but if you had to deal with the hell’s I’ve had to endure then you’d find solace with the brown creature as well. The liquor just staves off the fatigue, and steel’s the nerves. I can’t get their young faces out of my head… their case folder held before and after pictures of warm and happy smiling faces full of life without a care in the world, now covered in filth, cold and petrified. The Media has labeled them the ‘The Lost Ones.’
I stood stretching, and like clockwork, I reached over for the glass of unfinished whiskey off my nightstand. I peered through my bent black blinds down at the streets. Being on the 7th floor has its advantages, you can see just about everything, and without a second guess, no one would ever think to look up.
The morning started like any other, I dressed, lit up a cigarette and stood in my office staring out the window. Here I was, Jericho City the gorgeous hidden jewel of America. The beacon of everything I tried to get away from, syndics, the black market, corrupt law enforcement. It’s all here nestle tightly in a blood-soaked blanket, so much for a fresh start. People of all race scramble to find work and shelter. Infested with destruction and slaughter, it’s a chaotic society. Even with all this going about, I still choose justice whatever little meaning that holds. It’s been some time since my last case, and that was from someone looking for a missing pup. I sat through hours of listing to Lady McGuiness tear over the disappearance of her gluttonous prized wiener dog. Still, haven’t found the damn mutt. At least the scenery from the window kept me distracted.
Old lady Ferguson was out walking her Scottish terrier and Pomeranian. Mrs. Ferguson was a 44-year-old widow that stayed a few floors below me, the time alone has made her a nosy old hag, or maybe she was always into other people’s business, either way, nothing gets past Mrs. Ferguson.
Jogging from around the corner was “Green Shorts,” a middle-aged guy who seems to go for a run every morning wearing the same green track runner. Not even with the cold sting of winter did he change up his morning routine. Like clockwork, Mrs. Ferguson toy’s bark feverishly until he passed the apartment complex.
Across the way just a floor down in the apartments diagonal from mines you could get a glance at James Waters putting on an early show. Every so often women would fall victim to his charm being seduced and swept back to his place where they gave into his every desire.
In the room left of him, there was a same-sex couple that seemed to always be going at it, probably out late again, they were no different from the dames and fellas I would see on a regular basis back when I was on the force so many years ago.
I took a swallow from my glass, the green neon from my clock read 11:58 am. The latest case of the “Lost Ones” hummed through the static of the radio. On my desk, tightly wound was that very case,
Oh, girls… The file case felt heavy, weighted with the guilt and shame of not being on time, even worse not being able to catch the son of a bitch that did this. Beautiful little girls spirited away by the Pied Piper, only to be found posed in the snow of central park. My stomach started to twist into knots from the crime scene photos of their small faces covered in blood spatters. Emma and Ava William ages eight and nine.
The William girls stayed across the flat from mines, least to say this was the second time children were taken from under my nose. I had the good gracious of meeting the girls a few months back when I moved to this hell hole they call a city. It was late one summer afternoon, I was returning home from a bullshit case, from a bullshit client, a crooked Rockefeller that wanted dirt on his wife so he could leave her and run off with her brother. Sure, enough she was cheating, twisted enough it was with the poor saps newly out of college daughter. The bottle of bourbon I had left was waiting on my desk ready to be poured over ice, just as I was about to open my door I could hear the soft whimpers approaching from behind me. Emma in her overalls and Ava in a pink shirt and jeans, both of them sniffling and shy… with wide stained eyes asked if I was a policeman, I only smiled and replied, “More or less, what’s wrong girls?”
Apparently, their parents were at work and couldn’t find their cat, grandma was passed out in the living room recliner, teeth dangling from her lips. They asked for my help even going so far as to bring me their semi-cracked piggy bank. Apparently, it has been broken into once before and reconstructed. I bent down with whatever smile I could muster across my stubbled face and told them I’m off the clock, so I’ll help them free of charge.
Anslym that was the cat’s name apparently, he was stuck up in a tree crying its head off. Less than thirty minutes on the case and it was open and shut. The sisters took fond of me that day calling me old man, showing up after school to bug me about the day and how mommy and daddy are hardly ever home. They wanted to know more about the detective life, no way I could give them the adult version, so I introduced them to the adventures of Sherlock Holmes. They loved him, they enjoyed his tales so much they would beg me to give them mysteries to solve, and I did without hesitation. It wasn’t like that the girls had miraculously changed my outlook or taken away my loneliness-– but somehow in the course of three months, these two little angle’s curved me from my demons.
November twenty-seventh, at 11:45 p.m, there was a loud knocking at my door, I answered only to be greeted by a silver badge. The hallway was busy with cops all over the place the mother was in a broken mess in the arm of her husband as he tried to talk to the police. Emma and Ava William had become victims of the psychopath known as the Pied Piper that had since terrorized this city.
It was always the same, taken on a Sunday with no forced entry or fingerprints and killed on a Saturday without an ounce of evidence to catch the bastard. Whoever he was… he was good but so was I, and there was no way I could let this go.
Weeks went by with nothing to show, I had nothing to follow up on, and the trail was getting cold. I wanted to tell myself that there was nothing left for me to do, they were like all the others. Taken on a Sunday night, and six days later they would show up somewhere in the city with life stripped from their bodies, clothing changed from what they were abducted in, into white garbs and posed like resting angles stained with blood.
“… But that’s not the truth is it, daddy? You can keep pretending, or you can admit it, they’re just like me and the others…”
Yea son, they’re just like you… exactly like you and all the rest… the loud roar of the twelve p.m subway rattled me back to reality, I do that from time to time. Get lost between the real and what was real. I took hold of the half empty glass of brown and down it, suppressing the darkness.
The ice clung to the bottom of the glass, and before I could top it off, there came a knock. I had just enough time to get myself together before the door crept opened, my stomach started to have that knotted feeling again, a bad idea was heading my way, and it was walking right up to me. She was more than beautiful, she was an angel in red; it was evident from the cut of her high dollar clothes and her well-tended long black hair she came from money. I tried not to stare at her ch legs as she walked across the office in her black Christian Louboutin Pigalle pumps towards me.
“Korban? Korban Black?” she asked, her voice was mild and sultry, the kind of voice that sent men to their knees begging. I stood to shake the beautiful woman’s hand noticing how cold she felt from the winter air outside.
“At your service” I motioned her to the chair in front of my desk. Something was off about this, I could already tell from the pit of my stomach this woman was bad news, it hasn’t even been five minutes after she walked through the door and presented her case yet.
“My Name is Jevadiya, Jevadiya Love.” She nestled in the chair making herself comfortable.
“Wait did you say, Love… that wouldn’t be any relation to Mayor Edward Love would it?”
“Yes, the same, he’s my husband.” This was going from bad to worse. Mayor Edward Love, a man of power. Built things, did some charity, had things named after him, won awards, owned things, people. One of the trophies he had won had taken steps through my door and was sitting in a chair in front of me, something warm and engaging nestled in my stomach.
“Mrs. Love, so what do I owe for this pleasure?” I asked. I leaned back in my chair and watched her talk, it wasn’t hard work either, Jevadiya Love was easy on the eyes.
“We had a burglary a few nights ago,” she started.
“Mr. Love is unaware of this as of yet, he’s away on business. The Theif knew what they were looking for. A special gift from one of my husband over sea business associate, something very dear to him.” Her mouth worked beautifully, it was skilled in the art of telling only half-truths. I could tell it in her eyes as she spoke. My Bullshit detector was working over time, and everything in me was screaming to turn this case down, I was teetering on the edge of a cliff.
“You do realize what little chance we have of recovering stolen items right?” I asked, trying not to notice the bronze hip that became visible through the slit of her dress as she shifted in the seat.
“I don’t think you’ll have much trouble with this one,” she said.
“It’s a very distinctive item.” she dug around in her handbag, which on its own would pay my rent for months, and removed a photograph that she passed over the table.
I picked up the picture and almost dropped it immediately, I was staring down at the edge of a cliff with no bottom. I suddenly didn’t want anything more to do with this job, I didn’t want this woman in my office, and my father’s handcrafted flask in the top desk drawer was screaming to be let out. She smiled at me, and I flipped the picture over. It was a book-shaped box, an eerie decorative bible box that had embellishment of biblical imagery, Dantes depiction of the Inferno.
“Doesn’t seem all that unusual.” I pushed the photograph away from me.
“The box itself isn’t, but what’s inside is.” She said. I sat back in my chair, still going against my better judgment I continued to listen.
“I don’t know what the box contains, I just know that my Husband spent his whole life in search of what was in there and he would be infuriated if he returns home with it missing. That’s why I would like for you to find it before he get’s back.” I still was getting bits and pieces of the truth, but the end of the month was nearing, and I needed the money.
“It’s five hundred a day plus expenses. Two days in advance.” I said. She didn’t hesitate to agree, reaching for a book in her bag and wrote me a check. I wish I would have asked for more if it was going to be that easy.
“Just keep a record of those expenses,” she said as she handed it to me.
“My husband and I like to pay attention to our finances and where our money go.” She smiled at me again with those pure white pearls.
“I have the very best in bookkeeping system and personal. I’ll have everything itemized down to the very last penny.” She looked around with a bit of disbelief.
“Right… just make sure you do.”
“Now that we have that out the way tell me more about the burglary.” I took a cigarette from the pack in my shirt pocket, and Mrs. Love gladly took one when I offered. I stood and walked around the desk, taking a seat at the edge. As I leaned into light her’s, my nose was greeted with her perfume. Strong, sweet, and sexy as hell, I tried to pay attention as she spoke.
“As I said it was a few night’s ago three to be exact. I just got back from a little soirèe with some friends of mines just a little after two in the morning, I believe.”
“You… Believe?”
“You must understand Mr. Black I was a bit under the influence.” Jevadiya threw that smile out again, and I caught it with no foul. In my line of work, detail is everything, no matter how small you may think it is, to a detective it could be the key lead to solving a case.
“Were you alone?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Shame,” I said before my brain had time to catch up with my mouth. Mrs. Love blushed a bit while tapping on the diamond-encrusted wedding band seated on her ring finger.
“Mr. Black, do you flirt with all of your clients?”
“Only the really hot ones.” I made my way back to my desk, the sweet aroma was taken me out of my element.
“Naw but go on, I have a rule about mixing business with pleasure.”
“Shame,” she smiled.
“Touchè Mrs. Love, please go on.” I gestured while reclining back, throwing my feet up onto the desk.
“As I said before it was a bit after two in the morning. At first, I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, but then I found that the back kitchen door was opened, fearing that someone was there I quickly called the police.”
“And?”
“Once they arrived and did a sweep of the house, there was no one there, and nothing had been damaged. The only thing that was taken was that Bible box.” Reaching back into her signature handbag, Jevadiya pulled out a vanilla envelope.
“You have other valuables?”
“Mr. Love is something of a collector of rare and…” Jevadiya paused with a disgusted look on her face, it was as if no matter what kind words she could think of, the mere thought of Mr. Loves memorabilia left a sour taste in her mouth.
“Distinguish artifacts.”
“And that Box was all that was taken?” She nodded. Something was off, and it wasn’t the stealing that bothered me. Mrs. Love was lying about something in her story, but I couldn’t exactly tell where the lies begin and the truth ends.
“You’ve already contacted the police, why not have them search?”
“This is a bit of a time-sensitive matter, and I would like to handle this with the utmost discretion. If the police were to get involved Edward would know I let something happened to his precious collection.” There, the slight crook in her smile. The lie surfaced its head only briefly, my guess the husband already knew already, but there was something shady about the item in question that discluded the law involvement. I sat up properly to look over the police report and sure enough, not a mention of the missing property.
“Insurance?” I asked. She shook her, strengthening my hunch.
“Welp, I can’t make any promises as I said before it’s very little luck into recovering stolen items, but I’ll ask around and may have to make a visit to your home at some point.”
“Just do what you can Mr. Black. Who knows it could be sitting somewhere in some antique dealers room even now just waiting for you to walk past and see it.” Was she dropping a clue, her lips were hiding something.
“Right, well I’ll get right to it. Do you have a number I can reach in case I need any other information?” She got up pulling out her business card next to the photograph and advanced checked. With one last flash of those pearly white, Jevadiya left taking most, not all of her perfume with her. I stood throwing my jacket over my shoulders, I resisted the urge to play with the check. Instead, I folded it into my wallet placing it into my pocket along with her card and my keys. Taking another glance at the photograph, only sicking my feeling for having taken this case. I had stepped over the edge. The cartoon moment when gravity waits for the coyote to realize his mistake before the plunge. Wouldn’t be the first time a beautiful pair of legs steered me down a wrong spot. I pulled out my father’s flask, throwing back a mouth full of the liquid creature to kill the unsettling sensation. Placing the cap back on, I tucked the flask into my inner coat pocket.
Chaos Theory© 