Fear Gives Men Wings: Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

The rain hadn’t stopped for days. Tonight was no different. The streets were relatively empty as the rain came down with an unstoppable fury. The lone car pacing down the street was a black Lincoln Continental. The white headlights cut a swath through the darkness; the double yellow line was the lone guide. Red lights flared as the orange blinking of the left turn signal was applied. The Continental eased slowly across the intersection and continued its steady pace down the main street of Lansdale. Streetlamps, with their fluorescent white bulbs, helped lead the car on its route, which led east down Main Street. The street was the best maintained place in all of Lansdale. The sidewalks were straight and level, not a bump or divot to trip across. The stores reflected the neatness of the street. They were all high-end, filled with expensive goods that were sold to rich, white collar men and women. The street was the small white spot on the otherwise dirty canvas of the city.

         The Continental’s pace was easy on purpose. Jack Bradshaw was in no particular hurry. It was Monday, statistically a slow day for him and his business. It wasn’t that nothing happened on Mondays, it was that Jack had just finished up a job and there hadn’t been anything new put in front of him yet. Jack eased the car through the night, driving toward his office at the corner of Main Street and Park Ave. The building that had been his office for seven years was single story, made of brick; an early ‘50s stereotype. Jack had bought it from a dentist who was relocating to another city. When he first moved in, it still smelled of fluoride. The small yard was kept by Jack himself, though he had been told that getting it serviced was far more convenient.

Jack parked the Lincoln in the front of the building and stepped out into the rain. It had been coming down steady and heavy for what felt like weeks, but Jack didn’t mind. It was just water, anyway.

         The concrete path that led to the front door of the building was shimmering in the warm glow of the lamp at the door. Jack stepped lightly down the walkway, the padded soles of his shoes splashing through the puddles in front of him. The lights were on in the building. Jack pulled open the door and was met with a wave of warmth. He shook the water droplets off his trench coat and placed it on the coat rack next to him. The coat was black, made of leather and had belonged to his father. He took off his hat and placed it on top of his coat. Stamping his feet on the mat, he made his way down the short length of the hallway and into a reception area that was lit by a single fluorescent light in the ceiling. The light shone on a small, metal desk. Papers were stacked on the left side of the desk and a wide computer monitor was on the right. The low hum of the computer running was slightly audible over the tapping of the keys on the keyboard. Behind the desk was the woman responsible for the noise of the keys. She was blonde, slim, wearing a silk blouse and black sport coat and matching black pants. Her blue eyes flashed when she looked up at Jack and her smile was white, wide and toothy.

         “Evening, Jack,” she purred, her voice as smooth as velvet. “How’s everything?”

         “Just fine, Miss Stevens. Any messages?”

         “Yes, a walk-in, actually. She was here under an hour ago. She left the name Gebbins and said she’d be back sometime around eleven.”

         “Urgent?”

         “A missing person.”

         “Did she file a report with the police?”

         “Yes. They said they’d keep an eye out for him. But he’s only been missing for a day and a half and she says he does this all the time.”

         Jack rubbed his chin. He’d forgotten to shave this morning. The coarse hairs scraped his palm. “Alright. That’s all?”

         “It’s Monday, Jack.”

         “Yeah. He’s in the office I assume?”

         “Yes, he came in right after Mrs. Gebbins.”

         “I see. Thanks, darling.”

         She smiled bright at him. “Sure thing.”

         Jack stepped past her desk and opened the glass door into his office. White letters filled the pane with two lines. The first read: Arnold and Bradshaw. The second one: Private Investigators. Jack flicked on the light switch and the low hum of the fluorescent light heating up greeted him. Jack made his way to the right side of the room to his desk. The room was cluttered with all sorts of papers, most of which had left their homes in the filing cabinets along the far wall and had found refuge on Jack’s desk. It was a mess with papers, mostly newspaper clippings and notebook paper with small notes or sketches on them. Jack grabbed the papers and stacked them to his right. He plopped down in his chair and slid forward. His laptop had been underneath the papers and he flipped it open. The black screen lit up a pale blue and Jack leaned back in his chair. Across the room from him was another desk, equally messy with papers and clippings. It was a replica of Jack’s mahogany desk, but it had a leg missing. Two telephone books stacked on top of one another were substitutes for the missing leg.

         A man was behind the broken desk. His head was face down on the desk, crumpled in his arms and his chest was moving rhythmically up and down. Jack shook his head. He opened a drawer on his right hand side and pulled a tennis ball from it. In black marker the words ‘alarm clock’ were written. Jack reared back and fired the ball at the head of the man behind the desk. It struck him squarely and bounced against the far wall then rolled back across the room.

The sleeping man snapped up, his head moving wildly from side to side. “Huh? What? What happened? Are we under attack?”

“Yeah, the Iraqis want their gold back and they want it now.”

“Damn, Jack. Can’t you be like a normal person and shake me awake? I probably have head trauma from all the times you’ve hit me with that ball.”

“Maybe you should stop sleeping here and I wouldn’t have to use it?”

“I was hard at work before you showed up.”

“Right. Stevens briefed you on Mr. Gebbins’ disappearance?”

“Yeah, told me the whole story.”

“The wife should be back soon.”

“Another distressed damsel.”

“Aren’t they all?’

Just then the office door was pushed open. Miss Stevens’ blonde head poked through the door frame. “Mrs. Gebbins is back. Should I send her in?”

“Of course.” Jack replied. “Look sharp, Ben. Seems like we’re back in business.”

They both stood and made for the door. Miss Stevens gestured to the woman standing in the hallway to come forward. The woman stepped into the light, walked past the desk and into the office. Ben pushed the door closed behind her.

“Take a seat, Mrs. Gebbins.” Jack said, offering up the lone seat in front of his desk. Ben remained at the doorway, his back leaning up against the clear glass. “My name is Jack Bradshaw and he is Benjamin Arnold.” She turned to look back at Ben and received a small nod in return. “What can we help you with tonight?”

She was old, maybe not in age but in appearance, with fading brown hair that had wisps of gray curling around her ears and sprinkled through the rest of her head. She was wearing a dark blue, wool coat, with black buttons running down the front. Though she was seated her hands were still in her pockets. Her face was small and mousy, a sharp nose and gray, wavering eyes. Her voice added to her diminutive appearance. “My husband has gone missing. I think that something very bad has happened to him.”

“What makes you think that, Mrs. Gebbins?” Ben asked, shifting his weight from left to right.

“Please, call me Katy. I’m aware that he’s involved with some rather, er, disreputable characters.” Every sentence ended with an upward inflection, as if she was not sure if what she was saying was entirely true.

Jack’s brow crinkled. “Disreputable, how?”

“The Russian mob, I believe.”

“Really? And you told the police of your suspicion?”

“It is not a suspicion, Mr. Bradshaw. I have evidence.” She produced a small manila envelope from her coat and placed it on Jack’s desk. “It’s all right here.”

Jack’s eyebrows raised and he half smiled at Ben. He leaned across the desk and took the envelope. It contained single, 8x11, black and white picture, blown up to proportion. It was taken from a distance but was very crisp. It showed two men standing on a corner, one noticeably shorter than the other.

“The man on the right is my husband and the man on the left is definitely a member of the Russian mob.”

Jack rubbed his chin again. “How do you know this?”

“I just know. He looks like a Russian mobster, doesn’t he? And isn’t it your job to know all the seedy individuals in this city?”

Ben laughed. “Katy, if we knew every seedy individual in this city, we wouldn’t be taking on any small time assignments like this.”

Katy Gebbins shot him a stern look.

Jack shook his head and passed the photo on to Ben. “He didn’t mean that, Katy. What he’s trying to get across is that this is unsubstantiated evidence. You can’t go making accusations that your husband is connected to the Russian mob just because you have a photo of him with a man who you believe is unsavory.”

“So, what does that mean, Mr. Bradshaw? You can’t help me?”

“I didn’t say that. We can definitely keep an eye out for you husband but I’m sure that he will come back eventually, right? You told Miss Stevens that he does this often?”

“Yes, but I just have a bad feeling about this time.”

“Understandably so, but I think we should give it some time before we go running after your husband.”

“I understand.” She hung her head slightly.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Gebbins. If anything comes up concerning your husband, we will keep you informed.” Jack smiled slightly at her.

She picked her head up. “Thank you, gentleman.” She stood and turned to leave.

Ben pulled the door open for her and she walked out. He closed the door and plopped down in the seat she had just left. He slid the photo across the desk and leaned back in the chair.

“I know who that is,” he said, pointing to the man on the left.

“Me too.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

Jack shrugged. “Why didn’t you? It doesn’t matter. He’s untouchable anyway. The real question is why would the mayor’s aide be working with the Russian mob?”

“I thought I recognized this guy from somewhere! Oh man, the mayor’s aide is in bed with the Russians? That’s probably how they keep themselves out of jail and stay so well-funded. So, are we gonna take this one or not?”

“Yeah. But we’re not gonna jump straight down the rabbit hole on this one, understand?”

“Yeah, yeah. I thought the reason why we left the force and started up this investigating stuff was to get around all the political red tape?”

“And we will do that. But this isn’t Rambo and we can’t go running in and blast everyone who we come into contact with.”

“Oh, you’re pinning the Guererro case on me?” Ben laughed. “Your motto is shoot first, ask questions never!”

“Shut it. I can’t think on an empty stomach. Let’s get something to eat.”

The streets were still empty as the rain continued to come down. The headlights of Continental cut through the rain and blackness as it sped along the road. Streetlights lent their feeble light to the road ahead, but most was covered in a blanket of darkness.

Jack was riding shotgun, staring blankly out the window. The raindrops were driving sideways on the glass.

         “What’s on your mind, Jack?” Ben broke the silence. “You haven’t said much since we left. Come on, don’t hold out on me. What’s going on?”

         Jack blinked and looked over at Ben. His blond hair seemed to sit so perfectly on his head, not a strand out of place. Ben’s face was tanned artificially, with freckles on his cheeks and nose. His chin jutted out a bit but it was square. His eyebrows were perfectly lined, and Jack could read his mood just by watching them. His eyes were a jade green, piercing but comforting at the same time. They were staring at him when Jack blinked again.

         “Hello? Jack? Come in, Bradshaw. You’re spacing out again.”

         “This whole thing seems, I don’t know, odd, somehow…” Jack’s voice trailed off.

         “I don’t follow you.”

         “This Gebbins woman comes in, asks us to find her husband, we say we’ll keep an eye out and then she just leaves.”

         Ben’s eyebrows rose slightly. “So?” Ben punched Jack on the shoulder. “You’re thinking about this too hard. Yeah, it’s strange but that’s how it is these days. Just because you’re married doesn’t mean you’re intimate with that person. Maybe she does care what happened to her husband but, like she said, he does this often.”

         “I guess so.”

         Ben laughed. “Come on, Jack! Snap out of it! At least our lives aren’t at risk in this one. All we need to do is find this one guy, and that’s it. Piece of cake.”

         “That’s what you say about every job we get.”

         “Alright, so every case we’ve gotten other than the Guerrero case was a piece of cake and the Guerrero case was good for us. We need to stay sharp.”

         “Yeah, I think we differ on the definition of staying sharp. You’re idea of staying sharp is going in guns blazing and-.”

         Ben laughed. “Lay off me. Where are we going to eat anyway?”

         “Let’s go to Michael’s. Haven’t been there is awhile.”

         “Not since what’s-her-name left.”

         “Just drive.”

         They both stared back into the black abyss before them. The rain showed no signs of stopping.

         Ben pulled the car to a diner along Route 309. The place was never crowded, even this late at night when kids go out to hang out and smoke. The diner was small but not the kind of claustrophobia-inducing place that made Jack queasy. The only reason they stopped in was because it served the best chicken fingers east of the Mississippi. It was a place they used to escape the real world. All the blood, the corpses, the empty bullet casings, the blank stares of the dead, was left outside in the driving rain, when they entered.

         They took a booth by the window looking out onto the deserted street. The rain splashed on the window as a soft melody hung in the air with the smoke of cigarettes. A tired-looking woman in a waitress’ outfit approached them. She hacked up a lung before asking them what they’d be having.

         “Don’t know yet, Jack, what do you think we should have? It’ll be on me, since today is payday.” Ben smiled at the waitress.

         “Congrats.” Her voice was like rubbing two rocks together. “So, what’ll it be, or do you need another minute?”

         “I think I’ll have the usual, there…,” Ben glanced at her name tag, “…April.”

         April wasn’t amused by the joke. “Son, if I knew what your usual was then I wouldn’t have asked what you’d be having, would I?”

         Ben shrugged. “I guess not. In that case, I’ll have the chicken fingers.”

          April took his menu and looked over at Jack. “And for you, son?”

         “The same, thanks.”

         April nodded slowly, lingered at the table for a second, then turned and shuffled off.

         Ben sighed and gazed out the window. “You know we’re just mercenaries.”

         “Why’s that?”

         “If we weren’t mercs, we’d be doing this with a badge and a smile.”

         The green eyes were focused on Jack again.

         “Yeah, but we gave that up remember? In a way we are mercenaries but we aren’t the ones creating the crimes.”

         “I guess but…” His voice trailed off, lost in a deep thought.

         “We do this because we want to help people. We aren’t hurting anyone. We just hurt their wallets.” Jack laughed.

         Ben smirked. “Now my partner is a comedian.”

         The music changed to a soft piano clinking to the beat of a snare drum.

         The silence was broken by the ringing of Ben’s cell phone. Ben looked at the caller ID, then smiled as he flipped it open.

         “Yeah?” Ben spoke into the phone.

         The phone was new, and a lot nicer than the old phone that Ben had carried. He nodded a few times, his eyebrows rising slightly, then angling inward, then settled back to normal. A few seconds later, he snapped the phone shut and smiled again.

         “What was that?” Jack asked, as April returned with the baskets of chicken and fries.

         “Oh, nothing.” Ben said, stuffing fries into his mouth.

         “Buying time for an excuse? I guess it’s none of my business.”

         Ben nodded.

         Jack half-smiled. “It’s not good to keep a partner out of the loop. There’s no Ben in team.”

         “Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing serious and it doesn’t have to do with work. So, no need for you to know.”

         Jack shook his head.

         “What?”

         “Can’t keep secrets for too long. Especially from me.”

         Ben’s eyes narrowed at this. “Alright, Mr. Detective.”

         “What was it?”

         “Just a little business transaction.”

         “Is that where you’re getting all this money from? A little side operation?”

         Before Ben could answer, Jack’s phone rang. Jack flipped open then phone and pressed it to his ear

         “Bradshaw.”

         Jack nodded a few times, and then twirled his finger in the air. Time to move.

         Ben frowned. “What is it?”

         Jack snapped the phone shut. “Mr. Gebbins is dead. Shot in the middle of the street.”

         Ben’s eyebrows rocketed upwards. “Really.” It was more of a statement than a question. “Where?”

“Highland Street. 300 block. Pay up and let’s go.”

Ben produced a thick wad of cash from his jacket. He unfurled a couple of bills and placed them on the table.

Jack cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

Ben smiled and placed the wad back in his pocket. “Think I left enough tip?”

“Yeah, the way April sounded, she could use the tip for lung surgery sometime soon.”

They made their way out of the diner and piled into the Continental. This time it was Jack behind the wheel.

“No sense of urgency?”

“No, it’s under control. Local PD is handling it apparently.”

“Reckon Mrs. Gebbins will want to know who did it?”

“Let’s hope so, or no pay for us.”

Highland Street was in West Lansdale and was one of the worst areas in the entire city. It was made up of dozens of different cultures. Mexicans, Turks, Brits, Irish, Italians; it was a United Nations meeting in the ghetto. All the people came to this place in search of the American Dream and ended up with the nightmare. The 300 block was a child’s early drawing of a house. The apartments were closely packed together, with small alleys barely separating them. Every window and doorway was covered by thin, metal grates. Some had small porches and coverings over the steps leading into the entrance, though most were covered in random trash and old newspapers. Slanted roofs deposited water into the muddy patches of earth that had once been green yards. Neglected walls were crumbling bricks covered in layers of graffiti. 

Jack and Ben arrived on the scene twenty minutes after leaving the diner. The red and blue police lights colored the walls and reflected off the windows like a Fourth of July spectacle. Stepping out of the car and into the rain the made their way through the small gathering of civilians who had come outside to see what had brought the cops out this time. The yellow DO NOT CROSS tape boldly stood in their way.

A yellow jacketed officer stood behind it and put his hand up to stop their progress. “Sorry, sir. This is a crime scene, no one is allowed past without proper clearance.”

A rotund man in a soaked trench coat and equally soaked fedora walked up to the yellow guard and whispered in his ear. The yellow guard nodded and lifted the tape to allow Jack and Ben to pass.

Chief Carl Watson extended a stubby-fingered hand to them, which they shook in turn. His bushy, gray moustache covered most of his upper lip and quivered as he spoke.

“Arnold, Bradshaw, welcome to the scene of the crime. Miss Stevens informed me that you were working on finding this man. Sorry you couldn’t find him alive.”

Jack shrugged. “It happens. What’ve we got here?” Jack asked.

“Victim is in the bag over there. Two gun shot wounds, one in the lower back, no exit, and one in the chest, with an exit wound. Shot from point blank range with a big caliber weapon, unsure of the ammo or make of the gun.”

“Guess he got messed up.” Ben said, grimly.

“You’d be guessing right,” Watson continued. “The victim, as you are aware, is David Gebbins, the mayor’s aide and also allegedly had connections to the Russian mob.”

“We talked with his wife about that. She gave us a photo of Gennady Tolkachev and Mr. Gebbins having a meeting.” Jack said.

“Interesting.” Watson mumbled, shaking his hat and slicking back his gray hair.

“Do you think he screwed the mob in some way and this is retaliation?” Ben asked.

“We aren’t sure. We haven’t gotten a solid ID on the shooter yet. Gebbins’ mistress is over there.” Watson jerked his thumb toward an ambulance where a blonde in a white night gown was being treated by paramedics. “She was with him when it happened.”

“She’s been hit too?” Ben asked.

“Yeah, shot in the leg.”

“Domestic dispute, maybe?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Listen, I’m getting out of this rain before it kills me. I’ll let you two get to work. If you need any help, you know where to find us.” With that, Watson waddled off into the night.

Ben shrugged and looked at Jack. “Good use he was. Points out the dead man and then leaves. Tell me why he’s chief again?”

Jack smirked.

“Who’s the first on the scene anyway? That fat bastard strolled off before he could even tell us that!”

Jack shrugged. “Let’s go ask the yellow guard there.”

They approached the guard who, noting their approach, put a grim smile on his face.

“Who’s the first on the scene?” Jack returned the smile.

“That’d be Officer Jenkins.” The guard pointed a slim finger toward a covered porch on the other side of the street. “He’s that gangly-looking kid over there. Green as they come.”

Jack smiled and nodded his thanks. They made their way over to the stoop that Officer Jenkins was sitting on.

The guard had been right about gangly. Jenkins’ face was gaunt and pointed, with high cheek bones and a nose and jaw that jutted out at sharp angles. The tips of each almost touched. His arms looked too long for his body and his uniform seemed to be draped over his body like a sheet.

“Jenkins?” Jack asked as the kid looked up.

Jenkins stiffened at the sound of his name. “Officer Glen Jenkins, sir.”

Ben laughed. “This isn’t the army, kid. No need for ‘yes, sirs’, or ‘no, sirs’. I’m Ben Arnold and this is Jack Bradshaw, we’re investigating the murder for Mrs. Gebbins, the widow. They said you were first on scene?”

“Ye…yes, that’s right.”

“What happened, Jenkins?” Jack asked, gesturing to the street behind him.

Jenkins went off on a tangent, describing quickly how he had found Gebbins lying in the street with his mistress slung over him, shaking him in vain. He ran off the details so quickly, almost as if he had memorized them in anticipation of the questioning, that his face started to turn red from the lack of air. When he finished, he sucked in a long breath and rested his back against the stairs of the porch.

“Excellent, Jenkins. Glad you rehearsed before we came. Well done.” Jack’s smile seemed to give little color back to the officer’s pale face. Jack turned to Ben. “Go talk to the mistress and see if you can get anything more out of her. Maybe a description of the shooter? I’m gonna go take a look at the body. Jenkins, follow me.”

Ben nodded and walked off. Jack stepped off the stoop and made his way across the street to where the black body bag lay. He turned and looked back and found Jenkins still seated, his palms planted firmly on the ground. Jack sighed and walked back over to Jenkins.

“I…I can’t look at the body. I just can’t do it. If I see a dead person, I get all dizzy and sick.”

Jack shook his head. “Alright. You stay here. I’ll go and see what I can dig up. But here’s a word of advice, kid. If you want to make it anywhere as a police officer, you’re going to have to get used to seeing these types of things. Especially if you’re the one patrolling the area with the highest murder rate in the city. Got me?”

Jenkins nodded meekly.

“Good.” Jack patted Jenkins on the shoulder and then turned back to the business at hand.

The rain was a light drizzle as Jack unzipped the body bag that contained David Gebbins. He was not obese nor was he the thinnest man either. The face in the picture provided by Mrs. Gebbins was the same that Jack looked down on now. His hazel eyes were still open and staring a hole into Jack. They should really close the eyes, he thought, zipping up the black bag. He stayed crouched next to the body and surveyed the scene. The lack of yellow tabs puzzled him. Only three, he thought. This is not some random act of violence. He finished looking over the scene; Watson had told him as minimal an amount as possible. But that’s the best I could get, he thought, there isn’t much evidence. Though, he could be holding out. Watson was a known for his anti-private investigating stance. Jack shook his head and made his way back over to where Jenkins was seated.

“Alright, Jenkins, did you get anything else off of the woman?”

Jenkins shook his head.

“Did you get any information out of the people living in the tenements or any of the people standing behind the tape back there?”

         Jenkins again shook his head.

“So, what did you do then?”

“Well, when I showed up, the woman was kinda standing over top of the dead guy…er…victim, with the shotgun in her hand. I thought she was the shooter, so I drew on her.”

“Did she make any attempts to shoot you?”

“No, she was kinda limping along, holding the shotgun. I asked her to drop the gun and she didn’t reply. I yelled at her to drop it and kick it over to me but she kinda let it fall and grabbed the victim around the shoulders. It looked like she was crying. By then I knew she hadn’t shot him. So, I called it in.”

“Then?”

“I approached slowly, and she stopped crying and looked at me. I think she realized that I was a cop. She started shouting and pointing in that direction,” Jenkins pointed a bony finger down Highland Street, “but I couldn’t understand what she was saying.”

“She was speaking a different language?”

“No, it was English, but between her sobbing and the thunder and the sirens, I couldn’t understand anything.”

“So, when did you get something out of her?”

“After the medics arrived, she said she would only talk to me and her lawyer. She said something about Leon Brand too. Who is Leon Brand?”

Jack shrugged and rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Jenkins, you did as best you could. Go home and get some rest, kid.” Jack placed a hand on his shoulder but Jenkins didn’t look much better.

Jack stepped back out into the drizzle. He made his way over to the tenement where the forensic analysts were working. They were in the hallway, dusting off the walls and doors. The ceiling was low, lower than most places where people lived. There was a circular spray of bullets in ceiling.

“Shotgun?” Jack asked aloud.

The forensics guy pulling little pellets out of the holes nodded and dropped the bits he got into a plastic bag. Jack turned to the first door on the right. It had a large hole in it. Another forensic analyst was using a small duster on the door handle.

“Anything?” Jack asked again, bending down to get a better look at the handle.

“Nope. This place is one of the cleanest crime scenes I’ve seen in quite some time. No shell casings, no prints, no hair fibers, nothing. This guy was killed by a ghost.”

“What about the three markers outside? Anything there?”

“Watered down blood that is probably the victim’s and a piece of cloth that could be anyone’s. I didn’t know we put a third one down. Somebody must’ve found something else. It’s a crapshoot out there, what with the rain coming down like it is.”

Jack nodded. He stood looking through the hole in the door when he heard the creak of a door opening behind him. An elderly man poked his head out into the hallway.

Looking from left to right, he wore a worried expression. “Is it safe to come out?”

Jack took a stride toward him and flashed a smile. “Evening sir, my name is Jack Bradshaw. You live here, sir?”

“I do, son.” The man had a slight accent that Jack couldn’t place. “Are you police?”

“No, sir, I’m privately investigating what happened here. Do you know what happened? I’m not looking for a statement, nothing on the record. Just asking for some help here.”

“Investigator? That’s just a fancy word for police.” The man let out a small chuckle. “Police haven’t asked me for help in a long time, son.”

Jack ignored the comment. “Can you help me?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t see anything. I was inside my room, watching Jeopardy. I heard one big bang, some shouting, two more big bangs, more shouting, and then two more bangs.”

“You decided against checking it out?”

“Yes. Son, I’m old and I’ll be dead soon, but if some crazy people are gonna come around here and start shooting, I’m not gonna stick my head out and see what the fuss is. I don’t have a death wish.”

Jack’s shoulders sank. “Alright, thanks for your time sir. Goodnight.”

“Hope you catch him, son.”

Jack turned away from the man and almost ran directly into Ben. Jack jumped back. The green eyes were sparkling and Ben had a big smile on his face.

“Got anything, partner?” Jack asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, as much as we’ll need.”

Jack’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“What?”

“The woman’s name is Stephanie Black and she’s from England.”

“Great. Maybe that’s why Jenkins couldn’t understand her. Wait, he said she wouldn’t talk to the police without her lawyer?”

Ben smirked. “You forget, I’m a charmer. Also, I’m not police.”

Jack nodded. “Now, something useful?”

“Right, she told me that she was hanging out in the room, waiting for her man to come home. She said he comes once or twice a week, they have a quickie and he leaves. Usually predetermined times, because of his busy schedule and all. This time he bursts through the door, without calling. She’s completely unaware that he was coming. He comes running into the place and starts shouting, ‘Someone’s out to kill me!’ He goes searching for the shotty, finds it, and waits by the door.”

Jack was switching his view from the doorway the hall and back again, playing out the scenario in his mind.

“But the shooter is too fast for Gebbins and disarms him.” Ben pointed to the ceiling. “He got a shot off but then got his nose bashed in. The shooter throws the gun toward Ms. Black, apparently unaware of her presence.”

“So, she fires the second shot that gave the door a window?”

“Right. The shooter blasts her in the leg, then runs out a finishes Gebbins in the street.”

“Alright, solid. Did she get an ID on the shooter?”

Ben nodded. “Of course; she almost blasted the guy. She said he looked like he had premature graying in his hair, he was wearing a black track jacket and black pants and had on those thick black glasses like the singer from Weezer.”

“So, he was old, but maybe not?”

“Basically.”

“Jesus, a professional.”

“Seems that way to me too. No evidence and a vague description of almost anyone in this town. The real question is why?”

“I don’t know. But that’s why we do what we do.” Jack sighed, and then rubbed his temples.

“What’d you get?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? So I win the award for best detective tonight?” Ben smiled broadly and pumped his fist.

“What? This is one of the few cases where you’ve actually had more evidence than me!”

Ben’s smile disappeared. “Regardless, this is some heavy shit.”

“Got that right, partner.” Just then, Jack’s phone rang. He flipped it open and pressed it to his ear. A few ‘yes’ answers and ‘mm-hmms’ later, he closed it. “Katy Gebbins.” Jack’s answer to Ben’s mouthing of the word who. “She says she’ll double what she promised us to find the killer.”

Ben frowned. “News travels fast. And what was the determined amount?”

Jack shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Ms. Stevens is handling it. Besides, you seem to be well off with your little secret side project anyway, so what’s it matter to you, merc?”

“Money is money, my friend.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. Listen, I have something to take care of. We’ll catch up tomorrow? Say, ten thirty, at the office?” Ben made to walk away.

“Hold up. Where are you going?”

Ben smiled. “I have something to take care of. Don’t worry about it. Go home, get some rest. You look tired.”

Jack didn’t reply and watched Ben walk out of the building into the night. Jack stood in the hallway of the apartment, staring at the hole in the wooden door. It was nearing one o’clock in the morning but he didn’t feel tired. The forensic analysts were finishing up and packing their things. Jack walked over to the one that had been dusting the door handle. The analyst was taking off his suit as Jack approached.

“What do you need, Detective?” The man said, without looking up.

“Private investigator.” Jack replied. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his card. “Give me a call with the results?”

The man took the card and nodded. “Shouldn’t take more than a day,” he said, examining the card.

“Thanks.” Jack said.

Jack stepped out of the fluorescent light of the hallway and into the dark, wet night. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He patted his coat pocket for the pills before realizing he had left them in his other coat. Besides, he thought, I’m quitting.

“Mr. Bradshaw.” A voice from behind him.

Jack turned and found himself face to face with a bald man in a black suit and matching tie. The man’s round, hairless head shimmered from a combination of light and rain. Jack noticed something different about this man. His face was also completely hairless. No signs of any stubble on his face and his eyebrows were completely missing. The lack of eyelashes made his black, coal-like eyes seem like an endless pit. Jack was wondering where all the man’s hair went when he spoke.

“I take your silence as a presumption that you are indeed Mr. Jack Bradshaw.” His voice was level and stern. “My name is Max Gordon.” He flipped open his wallet and flashed a badge in Jack’s face. The letters FBI were displayed in blue. “We have been following the actions of Mr. Gebbins for quite some time now. His unscrupulous dealings with Gennady Tolkachev are something of an interest to us at the FBI. It’s unfortunate that we were not able to reach him before they did.”

Jack stared at the man. “What does this have to do with me?”

“I am under the impression that you were aiding Mrs. Gebbins in finding Mr. Gebbins?”

Jack nodded. “I still am.”

“Not any more. The FBI would like you to cease any and all operations regarding the death of David Gebbins.” The G-Man’s face displayed no emotion.

“Why?”

“As I said, the matter is of national security and we cannot have any interference from any outside sources.”

“Outside sources? Couldn’t we work together on this? We probably both have valuable information for each other.’

         Gordon shook his head. “We know everything you know and more. The only thing you can help us with is staying out of the operation.”

“What makes this so important to the feds? Don’t you have better things to do than mess around with the local Russians?”

“I actually do have better things to do than waste my time talking with an investigator like yourself. Mr. Bradshaw, I will not ask you again. You are to cease all operations regarding the death of David Gebbins or legal action will be taken upon yourself and your business. Do I make myself clear?” The black eyes flickered in the light.

“Crystal.” Jack shivered but it wasn’t from the rain.

Gordon surrendered a small smile. “Have a good night, Mr. Bradshaw.”

Jack watched as the FBI man turned and was enveloped by the night. He stood in the low, orange glow of the streetlamp for minutes before taking out his cell phone. He punched in Ben’s number. It rang several times before going to an automated voice messaging system. Angrily, Jack pressed the END button. He then placed another call.

“Jack, how convenient, I was just getting ready to leave.” Miss Stevens’ voice on the other end.

“Did the FBI come by or call you anytime tonight?”

A slight pause. “No, nobody called or came by. Pretty lonely here. Depressing, really. Just would like to have one person come in and -.”

“Alright. I just got done talking to an agent named Max Gordon. Do you think you could look him up in the FBI databases real quick? Something wasn’t right about him.”

She sighed. “This counts for overtime, right?”

Jack smiled. “I’ll take you out to dinner sometime. Wherever you want.”

A giggle. “Oh please, Jack. Alright, it’s a deal then.”

“You’re the best.”

“I know.”

Jack closed the phone and went back to where he parked the car.