The Noir Evil

by Richard Paul Caird

  He then recalled that he was asked to give them to them a few days ago by another detective and glanced at them before irritatingly putting them back to one side as he saw the prize that he was after, a cigarette and lighter. He eagerly attempted to light himself up a cigarette and surprisingly noticed that both his hands where shaking and so he held them both out in front of himself and tried to hold them still. He could not as both irritatingly shook and so he forcibly lit up a cigarette before putting them both under his armpits in order to physically make them stop shaking. He sat there miserably as the slightly wet and bent cigarette comically hanged out of his wanting mouth, struggling to stay lit without its life giving oxygen. He then released one hand and frantically puffed on the cigarette, causing its orange glow to become deeper and more pronounced as he then satisfactorily leaned back and let the tobacco nurture his aching thoughts and sooth his weary body. He felt his hands start to stop shaking as the tobacco did its unseen work but still decided to place them both upon the steering wheel in order to confirm his dominance over them.

  The wind and rain had picked up yet again outside as the surrounding old tree’s where swaying dangerously from side to side in an almost bizarre form of mass chanting, almost as if they were trying to tell him something about the murder, the woman or perhaps something else, something more darker and more insidious. The unwelcome children’s screams still sailed upon the bellowing winds outside and in combination with the turbulent rain hitting the automobiles roof, they effortlessly developed an unnerving sound with crept into the dark places of his conflicted mind. He sat there for a few more minutes and was so transfixed by this unnerving sound in combination with the trees enchanting swaying motion, that it made him feel like the potential victim of an unseen dancing cobra which was preparing to strike. After a few moments his interested began to wane and so he took another satisfactory puff of his cigarette whilst deciding to turn his attentions back towards the two curiously unopened letters. His curiosity payed off as he carefully opened up the corner and could see that they were both packed full of money, two hundred dollars was in one envelope whilst the other one had one hundred and fifty dollars within it.

  He reluctantly shook his head in disillusionment as he thought to himself that the whole of the Cleveland police department was so rotten to the core that even the corrupt cops did not now even bother to hide their shame anymore. The competing Italian, Jewish and Irish mobs owned the department, as well as corrupt public officials, and he was determined to do something about it. He had no idea what to do but he did once think about anonymously writing to the mayor about the issue but had always never bothered because it probably would have caused more problems. He theorized that such an intervention would have developed into a form of witch hunt within the department to try and find whomever authored the anonymous letter. He knew that mayor, Harold Hitz Burton, was a good man at heart and that he would shake things up a little within the crooked department if he knew about the rife corruption. A public official like the mayor always wants to impress the electorate and needed a popular crusade in order to help him pick up more votes and he often wondered if he could somehow covertly ‘point him’ towards this particular crusade.

  The disheartened detective carefully placed both envelopes with care back into the glove compartment and then continued to smoke whilst looking out of the window as the rain and leaves swirled around his battered Ford. He then thought about the most infamously corrupt detective within the department and the very man whom had instructed him to give the two officers the money packed envelopes, Detective Lloyd Trunk. Trunk was by definition the worst of the worst and was living well beyond his means and everyone knew about it but said nothing because if you did, you be in serious trouble and would probably either be beaten or sacked. His lavish lifestyle showed within his recent and massive weight gain and there were rumours that he enjoyed regular pizza and was a frequent, loyal patron of his local Italian pizzeria. Merlyo had long ago concluded that the secretive Trunk had regularly gorged himself on mafia pizza and he smiled as he imagined him secretively devouring a pizza which had been lovingly cooked up by stereotypical mobsters.

  Trunk did surprising have one redeeming quality in that he was highly skilled in the ancient art of origami and obsessively practiced it. He would often leave many paper animals lying haphazardly upon his desk as well as other locations which offered a fascinating insight into the man’s calculating mind. He was a lot smarter than his equally corrupt colleagues, O’Donnell and Kilbane but even they could do well in the right environment, helped by the unseen hand of the local mob. Merlyo suspected that all three where so deeply embedded within the police that it would almost be impossible to cleanse the infected department of such deeply rooted infestations. The angered detective then gripped the steering wheel harder, fuelled by an undercurrent of agitation, until his knuckles where white as his thoughts of injustice where only broken by the strong, icy wind and rain that both buffeted against his lonesome Ford.

  All of a sudden a massive gust of wind blew an old, tatty and ripped newspaper onto the already soaking wet window of the Ford. Merlyo’s preoccupied eyes where suddenly greeted with a picture of a smiling Eliot Ness and his ‘Untouchables’ as the author of the newspaper article explained one of their famed exploits into stopping Al Capone’s bootlegging operations in Chicago. Merlyo happily read the surprise article with vigour, glad to have a momentary distraction from his depressive mental state whilst he smoked. The wind then mercilessly blew the old discoloured newspaper back into the unknown darkness that lay just beyond the dancing trees and he curiously watched it as it chaotically flew away.

  He quickly opened up his notepad to write down the name ‘Eliot Ness’ as a reminder to incorporate him within his anonymous complaint letter to the mayor that he had just decided to finally write. If Eliot Ness could stop Al Capone’s bootlegging operations in nearby Chicago then he could defiantly stop the rife corruption that was deeply rooted within his Cleveland department. He then reiterated Edward Burke’s famed quote that he had once heard, as if to solidify his determination to put pen to paper “Bad things happen to good people when good people do nothing”. Whilst he pondered this meaningful quote he took out his notepad and glanced down at the basic drawing he had done of the female torso and suddenly felt a shiver go down his spine. As he looked up and away from his disturbing notepad he then momentarily thought he caught a glimpse of a small, childlike shadow within his rear view mirror and heard a child’s laughter coming from behind the back of the rattling Ford.

  He quickly looked behind in an almost frantic fashion whilst his hand instinctively repositioned itself upon his colt official police revolver within his shoulder holster. He did not dare leave the Ford because he was already spooked by his own troublesome mind and afraid of what he might do and so he remained still and simply listened. After a few minutes of just hearing the wind and rain attack his sanctuary, he felt a bit foolish and relaxed before sitting back uncomfortably into his leather seat as a rush of blood moved towards his cheeks due to his embarrassment. He then smiled to himself as he took one last puff on his cigarette before examining it by smelling it, making sure he had not smoked one of his partner’s legendary surplus of magic weed creations. He then smiled to himself again as he stubbed it out within the Fords ashtray, amused as his own anxiousness within his disturbing surroundings.

  He then started the Ford’s engine which immediately roared back into life and was just about to leave the unsettling area when he saw something rather curious sight high up amongst the swinging trees. Remarkably a large an ominous looking owl was leisurely sitting on one of the swinging branches and staring right back at him with its large, focused and unflinching eye’s. It ruffled its magnificent brown feathers within the turbulent wind as it looked at the detective whom was entombed within his own automobile and was apparently oblivious to his surroundings. The inquisitive detective looked at it with interest as it keenly observed him wit
hin the safety of his Ford and as he watched its curiously unflinching eyes he felt eerily strange, as if they were attempting to look deep inside his very soul.

  An uncomfortableness effortlessly filled him as he got the impression that this impressive owl was something more than what it appeared to be, something more mysterious and something far more sinister. He suddenly felt a violently harsh wind blow against the shaking Ford, almost as if the owl’s spirit was attempting to gain access to his sanctuary and invade his troubled mind. Merlyo looked up again and was amazed that the owl was so transfixed upon him that it was still skilfully able to easily steady itself whilst it swung violently on the thin tree branch. After a moment he smiled at himself again for being so paranoid and wished he could question the mysterious flying beast that sat so observantly high up on the tree. He then whispered to himself “I wonder what you’ve seen huh?” before he then broke off eye contact with the strange creature and drove off down the bumpy and disused dirt road and revealingly away from the disturbing homicide scene. The owl keenly watched his departure and that of its quarry, the escaped young soul that had accompanied him within the Ford’s trunk without his knowledge. The owl’s hunter’s gaze continued with great interest and focused precision before it then flew high up into the turbulent winds of the darkened sky and disappeared into the ether.

  An hour later Merlyo was relieved to finally get back home after being so traumatised by the strangely macabre homicide scene that was surrounded by child screams from afar and haunting child shadows that he thought he saw. Even the peculiar old swinging tree’s and there companion, the ethereal owl that had so utterly consumed his interest, gave the entire troubling scene an almost dreamlike quality. As he eagerly got through his residential homes front door he thought he heard a child’s giggle, followed by a feeling of something brushing past his legs and the patter of little feet ascending his staircase. The startled detective instinctively rested his hand again upon his shoulder holstered revolver again before then quickly shaking his head in disbelief and whispering to himself whilst smiling “Jesus! Get a grip already!” He then proceeded to calm himself by doing the well versed routine of collecting and reading his mail before then going to the fridge to get a refreshing glass of cool milk. He then warmed the milk in a pan until it simmered and drank the comfortingly warm liquid which quenched his parched throat and put him at ease, causing him to briefly close his eyes.

  He then suddenly and alarmingly heard the same child’s giggle followed the quick pitter-patter of little feet coming from his upstairs bedroom. He now anxiously withdrew his revolver whilst gently placing the glass of milk upon the table top, certain that his ears where not deceiving him and assured of his intent. The veteran detective then listened intently as he quietly and carefully proceeded upstairs, every footstep was magnified by his staircases creaking wood under his nimble feet. As he came to the top of the stairs he called the elusive child to come out and reveal herself “Come on out ya hear me! I’m a policeman and I got a gun! Stop messing around! This isn’t a joke ok!” There was no response, just deathly silence and after he had briefly looked around his humbly furnished rooms, he opened the creaking last door to his bedroom and everything was dead still and motionless. The tiredness from the unusual days relentless activities suddenly overcame him as he holstered his revolver, lay upon the bed and unwillingly drifted into the beckoning arms of sleep.

  He then had a nightmare of himself attempting to reach a little porcelain skinned girl as she helplessly sank into the murky depths of Lake Erie. Her outstretched hand was reaching out for him as he battled to reach her through the unruly and foreboding foliage that he had got so easily tangled up in. He could not seem to reach the fully bodied and young dark haired girl whose outstretched hand soon sank beneath the unclean and rancid murky water, leaving only her vacantly motionless face looking up at him from the depths. Occasionally he would reach her but it was always the same, she was being dragged down deeper and deeper into the murky depths by a large shadowy figure with ominous, owl-like eyes that resonated light through the depths and back into the detectives helpless face. He felt within the dream as though he loved and knew her but how was this possible when he never knew her in real life and only in death?

  He then woke up in the middle of the night whilst he was profusely sweating and was further troubled when heard the constant and persistent dripping of water coming from an unknown location. He then got up and searched the house with his shaking revolver within his sweaty hand but to no avail and reluctantly returned to his bedroom and pulled the bedsheets up to his eyes. He lay there wide awake as he actively surveyed the dark and shadowy room around him knowing that she, whomever she was, was haunting his dreams and preventing him from getting some restfully revitalising sleep. The very shadows appeared to evolve and take a life of their own as they mocked him from there sacrilegious realm of shadows.

  Eventually however he drifted back to sleep only to awake paralysed with fear as he saw a young girl standing in the corner of his room wearing a ripped, white and revealing nightie as well a wedding vale which covered her featureless face. Her body was gushing with water from every orifice and her skin was rotten and putrid before something terrifying then happened. She suddenly and abnormally moved towards him, literally gliding effortlessly across the floor before then straddling him upon his bed. The faceless creature then began to violently strangle and throttle him as he remained paralysed with fear and he desperately gasped for the life giving oxygen that she was so cruelly denying him. He looked at her in horror as he squirmed under her vice-like grip and pleaded with his eyes for her not to remove the vale that concealed her horrifying true face. Just as she released her grip she then suddenly motioned to take off the wedding vale and he awoke screaming, petrified of the horror that had now invaded his home. The Lady of the Lake was a nightmare born from the distant dark images of his infernal mind that had metamorphosed into something that he strangely knew would haunt him from now on.

  An extremely tired detective Merlyo had an overwhelming sense of dread as he sat uncomfortably with his partner within the bouncing Cleveland police wagon. They were both currently on their way to yet another mysterious decapitation homicide report that had been reported earlier that morning. An agitated and tired Merlyo took off his newly bought straw hat and then loosened his multi-coloured tie enough so that he could unfasten the top of his light pink shirt to release the accumulated heat from within his body. This heat had long ago saturated his entire body within a thin layer of sweat which pervaded all and made him feel incredibly uncomfortable. The old police wagons air conditioning was useless in the humid air that was developing within its stifling interior and Merlyo blew refreshing air upon his face by forcing it strategically upwards and through his cracked lips.

  He then revealingly took off his dark brown jacket, which stylishly matched his trousers and placed his thumbs underneath his red suspenders to relieve the pressure that was cutting into him. He then looked down with pride at his multi-coloured bright tie that he had recently bought before noticing that his dark socks where dripping in sweat and begging to be released from there prison of shiny spectator shoes. He immediately then obliged his feet, too to the distain of his uncomfortable looking partner whom squirmed under the newly released foul odour that now infiltrated his nostrils. His trusty younger partner, Detective Martin Zalewski was attempting to keep all his attention upon the unruly and difficult road that lay ahead as Merlyo’s body odour smell attacked his senses, causing him to instinctively reflect this discomfort within his face.

  Merlyo’s internal feeling of dread that he was secretly experiencing was about the ominous report of another dismemberment homicide which sounded oddly reminiscent of the unsolved Lady of the Lake homicide that had happened just over a year ago. This particular homicide had given him continual nightmares ever since and he had not been able to get a good night’s sleep since the strange events that had taken place after he had investig
ated the murder scene. Even now he struggled to keep his eyes open due to this lack of restful sleep and the rain clouded his already limited vision of the lawless streets of the run-down and downtrodden area of Kingsbury Run. Kingsbury Run mostly housed all the unemployed vagrants within a self-created shantytown and low wage workers whom worked mainly within the areas of unskilled labour and rubber works. These low wage factory earners where in turn housed within basic, humble homes which dotted the surrounding shantytown landscape and provided ample trade for numerous aspiring criminal enterprises.

  All the trappings of a socially rejected and desperate community where also flourishing here such as the illegal gambling trade, the selling of drugs and the ever dependable trade of prostitution. All the vices that a tired and depressed worker needed had grown here unabated thanks to the nearby train hub which catered for all needs of the desperate, needy and outcast. Most of the workers had all come here on the railroads seeking employment from all over the United States and all these trains fed through Cleveland in a bottleneck within the Kingsbury Run area. This transportation hub had ironically once been known as “millionaires row” thanks to the creation of vast amounts of work a few years ago but now it was an unforgivingly and unfriendly place which offered nothing to a keen new worker except for all the trappings and vices of a long gone, wealthier community.

  The street gangs, pimps and mobsters had long ago successfully sought control over the vulnerable masses here whom now found themselves trapped within this labyrinth of desperation. These desperately unfortunate people either forced there sorrows down with drink to find their faith at the bottom of a glass or where lucky enough to find work in a variety of illicit businesses enterprises. These “enterprises” that had sprung up like weeds to feed the ever expanding appetites of the desperate masses and accommodated all the sordid escapism desires of this downtrodden community. Kingsbury Run was filled with all manner of usually strange people whom fed on the dreams and aspirations of these desperate and needy, eagerly absorbing there sadness within by raiding what little savings they had left. This hive of criminally deviant activity had not gone unnoticed by the police but these weeds had become so strong over the years, due to the corrupt departments own neglect, that there corrosive influence had even spread to the halls of justice within central Cleveland.