Heavy Feet & Pretty Faces

It was midnight on a Friday when it happened. I was double parked outside of the Sweeney Club. I had two things in common with the people at that club, we both liked Nat King Cole and we were fed up with people. Nowadays, all the fly-boys are out running errands for the Man Upstairs, or getting fitted for their cement shoes. I tell ya, this city was going from bad to worse every minute. It wasn't shortly after my P.O.W experience that I rekindled a relationship with two dear friends of mine, Jack Daniels and Jim Beam. I was down in the dumps and had barely enough money for cigarettes, whiskey, and food. It was looking as if the food was gonna have to go. That night I was dancing cheek to cheek with a table top, and that’s when she walked in.

I lifted my head off the table and watched her sit down. I had always been a sucker for a doll who knows how to make an entrance. I started thinking that this dame could be my Lady Liberty, but I had a feeling that if I got tangled up with this gal I would be the one holding the torch in the end. Just as my thoughts drifted back to the booze that was in front of me, there was a whisper in my ear. “What’s a hard-boiled man like you doin’ in these parts of town?”

I look over my shoulder and it’s that ritzy Jane that I saw from across the room. As smooth as my whiskey I said, “Because I knew a baby faced gal like you would come here tonight lookin’ to talk to a guy like me.” I thought that would have put her in her place, but I thought wrong. “You seem like just a regular lowlife, searchin’ all the joints for the cutest dolls with the ritziest clothes. I know better though. Word on the street is that you’re a washed up gumshoe and right now I’m lookin’ for a detective, but if you are too jazzed to even look at me when I talk, then I guess you are the poor, filthy animal they say you are.” And with that, she smacked me right in the kisser with her pocketbook.

As I dragged myself back up to my barstool I gave myself a quick look in the mirror behind the bar. That dame was right, I looked like hell. I had been wearing the same pants for three days, my jacket had a hole in it and I had a five o’clock shadow four times over. As I heard the click clacking of her heels as she walked away, I realized I hadn’t done any real detective work in almost 2 months; the only cases I had cracked were cases of liquor and cigarettes in my apartment. I figured I should give it to her straight, no messing around. “Hey, I am not gonna mess around, see. I’m gonna to give it to you straight and you can take it or leave it.” To my surprise she turned and looked at me, I wasn’t prepared for this because I was thinking she was gonna leave it. So, I stumbled over the next few words, “Umm uh hey you’re a… a real knockout and umm.” I think she felt slighted by these words because she replied with a look that could’ve peeled the paint off the walls of the club.

Luckily, I got my act together. “Ya know what, I’m gonna be level with you lady. I used to be the real McCoy, a grade A detective, but times change baby. I’ve been at the bottom of the barrel and the bottom of the bottle for awhile and I need a chance like this to clean myself up. If you want darlin’, I’m in my office from 8 to 8 on weekdays.” Sure, I was in the office on weekends, but I figured telling her I only worked weekdays would give me time to make the place look snazzy and more importantly make me look snazzy.

She then looked at me and said, “Ok, I’ll stop by tomorrow around 4.” Damn, there goes my chance to jazz my place up a bit, but I could only think of one thing, “What’s your name?”

Quickly she spoke, “Priscilla Rousseau” and then she was gone. All I had was a name and a face. No reason to help Ms. or Mrs. Rousseau out, just a name that lingered like the smoke from a cigar in a pool hall. I was right, I am the one carrying the torch, I was smitten for this lady, or so I thought.

My phone rang the next morning waking me from a dream where I was in the company of Loretta Young and we were on a boat. I thought that this call better be good. I heard a sweet voice on the other end that said “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Then there was silence, I knew instantly it was her, Ms. or Mrs. Rousseau. I threw a few days worth of newspapers into the closet and took all the garbage off my desk and threw that in the closet as well. I looked back at my desk. It still looked like a small explosion went off in my office. I then closed the door, kicked my heels up on my desk, put the toughest look on my face, and waited. After 5 minutes the door cracked open and the first thing I saw was the pocketbook. I recognized it because it was the same one that got me square in the face the night before. Then I saw her, she was dressed to the nines with her fur coat and red dress. This dame had “It” and I couldn’t help but think about settling down with a gal like her.

Then, reality hit and hard. While I was in La La Land thinking about my future with Ms. Priscilla Rousseau, a few hoods snuck in with her and smashed my knee with a pipe. After the pain went away a little, I looked up and saw that dame and her goons standing over me. At this point I was all balled up, confused about what was gonna happen to me, but that feeling vanished quickly. Ms. Rousseau sorted things out real quick for me.

“Let’s not waste time flappin’ our gums,” she said “I want you to know that you have just become the fall guy for our next job.”

I couldn’t believe it. This doll was a hood, a crook, a gangster. How can a dame that was puttin’ on the Ritz just the night before turn in such a bearcat? Well, I guess stranger things have happened. But still, I was shocked she was going to frame me, but for what I didn’t know. So, I said the only thing I could, “What!? Be level with me. It’s bad enough you busted my knee. Tell me what I’m bein’ framed for here.”

“Oh you haven’t been framed yet. You will be though if you don’t tell me what happened to the oak chest that was evidence in the Jack Malone case.”

The Jack Malone case was the last case I worked on about two and half months ago. I busted the guy on jay walking, but when I told him he was under arrest, he ran. I chased him 5 city blocks to his apartment where he barricaded himself for 17 hours. Finally, with some back up, I busted in and found him passed out on the floor with an empty bottle of bourbon next to him. As we were searching the place we found an oak chest filled with orders for jobs and hits. Turned out this guy, Jack Malone, was a wanted hit-man. I said to her “I don’t know nothin’ from nothin’. That was over a month ago. Anyway, what’s it to you if I know where the chest is.”

Ms. Rousseau simply gave me a look and said, “Maybe you can remember something if we take a drive.” And with those words, the two goons bound and gagged me and carried me into a waiting car outside. Something about those two guys gave me the heebie- jeebies. They probably weren’t loved enough as a child. Even though I was sure that these crooks were gonna knock me off as soon as we got to where we were going, I couldn’t help but notice the wonderful lavender perfume Ms. Rousseau was wearing. She smelled like a spring garden in full bloom, and even though my life was in peril, this dame had me in a trance.

It’s amazing what you hear when you can’t see anything. I learned that Ms. Rousseau was really Mrs. Pearl Malone and that she was the widow of Jack Malone. It turned out he was sentenced to death. It also turned out that a very important legal document stating the inheritance she was supposed to receive from her father was in the chest, and it just so happened that Mrs. Malone’s pop croaked three days earlier. It was the most informative car ride I ever had.

When the car stopped and the blindfold was finally taken off my eyes I saw that we were at the docks by West 57th street. Also, to my dismay, I saw that my feet were being put into boxes of wet concrete. I thought I was just going to end up being framed, not killed. Then I remembered that gangsters lie, all the time. I was sure this was the end for me, I was about to meet my maker, but the gal had one last thing to say. “If you can remember where that chest is we will let you go.”

My heart jumped, my pulse raced, and then my mind went blank. I mean nothing was running through my brain. I felt like a flat tire and there was nothing I could do to inflate my intelligence. Then, like a kick in the face, I knew the answer. I blurted out “It’s in garage on South 34th. The name of the place is Garder’s.”

Priscilla Malone looked at me said “Thanks” and then sped off with her two goons in the car. I tried to walk, but I realized my feet were in dried cement and I couldn’t move. Needless to say, it was a long night. Luckily, a stock boy got to work early and saw me standing there in my concrete shoes. Obviously he was curious, but I only said this to the young fella.

“This city is full of people who ya just don’t know. I was snake bit by a beautiful dame and I ended up in these shoes because she turned out to be crooked. All I can say is watch where ya tread and keep your nose out of places where it doesn’t belong. Also, don’t let lavender perfume and red dresses blind your judgment. Now, could you be so kind as to get me a hammer so I can break outta these cement shoes and walk to the Sweeney Club to get a stiff drink. It has been a long night.”