The 26th Letter

by Larry Flewin

  Tucked into a paper envelope, the bundle turned out to be a small cloth bag, white linen or cotton, cotton or linen, faded grey with age. In it a gold cross and chain, decorated with a lot of gems, rubies and emeralds judging by their colour. The cross looked old and felt solid, sitting in the palm of my hand like it was made to be there. That meant expensive. I gave it a thumbnail assay just to be sure. The gold paint didn’t rub off so what I had was solid enough. Solid gold.

  That drew a deep whistle of appreciation. What I had in my hands was a coupla years of easy living. It felt good sitting in my hand, like it was meant to be there, like I could forgive someone’s sins or bless their baby. If this was the kind of stuff Darius had been fencing, no wonder Michael was involved. There was probably a whole lot more around somewhere, but I wasn’t going looking for it just yet. I had the key to his success in my hot little hands and I wasn’t going to let it go cheaply.

  And then there was little missy, one moment a half-drowned rat, the next a high-class dame with bad taste in male companions. I’d found her man, and I’d found out why I was looking for him, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that Michael was involved, but then do I always get things right?

  Let them come to me, the both of them. Let me in on the caper or buy me out I didn’t care which. I had better things to do than play ring around the rosy with those two so the sooner this ended the better. But would it.

  My prize joined the other bundles of joy in my hidey hole. I couldn't help but smile as I closed up shop. My pockets were full of more money on me than I’d seen in the last couple of years. They had been pretty darn lean, what with life taking the nosedive it had, so being flush felt pretty damn good. I could eat, get my shoes shined, and buy a paper without stealing it or ducking out the back way. Thanks Gran, I owed you one

  The empty tin box and the packing papers I sat square on top of my desk. Easy to find should somebody come snooping around again. And they were bound to after all the ruckus. One way or another word would get out about what I might have and they come out the woodwork the pair of them. It was just a question of who was going to be first. The thought of it almost made me want to phone Michael and tell him to get his butt over to my office.

  I kind of liked this prairie watering hole, warts and all. I had a pretty good thing going here, even if it didn’t pay all that well, and I was getting too old to keep starting over again. That plus a few personal reasons, here I stayed and here I played. It kinda summed up what those two were going to have to pay for.

  I like breakfast. It's my favourite meal, when I can afford it. Everything is deep-fried, red-hot, and has a taste like no other. I try to get in early enough for breakfast to still be breakfast when I order it, but today it was closer to noon when I wandered in and sat down. One of us told me to get lost, until I waved a twenty at her and told her to get to work. She snatched the bill out of my hands and rubbed it between her fat little fingers. Satisfied that we were square a menu flew into my lap, and a pencil started making noises on a pad.

  And wouldn't you know it, could it get any better than this, she waltz’s back into my life, again. Not exactly my favourite person in the world, but it was breakfast, and I was feeling a little generous.

  "Hey, doll face, long time no see."

  She was dressed to kill, which seemed appropriate considering that's what she'd had a hand in doing the last time we'd met. It was a red silk traffic stopper with matching heels and a pillbox hat. She sashayed over to where I was sitting, cool as all get out. I could smell her perfume from all the way over there, which meant it was just as expensive. My little orphan Annie had found a sugar daddy in a helluva hurry, but he wasn't exactly what I would have recommended.

  "Hi yourself. Mind if I join you?"

  "You got guts honey I'll give you that. I don't know whether to hug you or shoot you."

  "I never did like guns," she purred. "How about buying a lady breakfast instead."

  "I'd buy her one if she was here, but since it's you, I’ll spring for toast. Have a seat.”

  "Thanks." She eased her silk clad rump into the seat opposite. She reached over, took a slice, sank her pearly whites into a corner of it, and put the rest back. She looked as intoxicating as her perfume, but I knew what kind of company she kept, so I wasn't about to share and share alike.

  "So what's with you and Michael, honey. Class act like you and a jerk like him doesn’t figure. He paying you for your time or something."

  "Well now, after a comment like that, I don't know whether to hug you or shoot you myself. Michael is .......a means to an end, and not a very pleasant one I might add. But he does pay well."

  "Fair enough. What's the name on the door, be nice to know who I'm talking to the next time I go for a flying lesson.”

  "You can call me anything you want, but my friends call me Rita."

  I downed the last of my coffee, pushed away my plate, and fingered two smokes. I lit them both and offered her one. We made smoke rings together while we sized each other up. She was a cool customer, make no mistake. In between puffs, I tried to decide what was on her little mind, and where I fit in. She and Michael had something going, and it involved me. And now I had something valuable that they didn't. Is that why she was back into my life so quickly?

  She sat back and went through the same exercise, with just a bit more of a smile on her lips. Or maybe she read minds. Either way it only meant more trouble.

  "So".

  "So yourself, doll. What's next on the agenda. Gonna teach me how to drive?"

  "Not quite what I had in mind, but it'll do for a start. Lead the way."

  “We’re going somewhere?”

  “Why not. You’re here, I’m here, it’s a beautiful day.”

  “I don’t think so. This time of the day I don’t look much past breakfast.”

  “Well I do, and I like what I see.”

  “You’re a pistol, you know that," I said in between puffs. "So tell me, what brings a classy dame like you to a dump like this. Coffee's good I gotta admit, but the menus not your style and if it is it shouldn't be. So, what do you want? “

  “Nothing. Can’t a girl eat without playing twenty questions.”

  “Not with me you can’t, so what gives.”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” she said with a Cheshire cat grin.

  I didn’t like the way this conversation was going. A gorgeous doll just doesn’t drop in and invite you out to tea, not when she's pally with your worst nightmare. This had to do with my late night.

  Maybe the shooter had seen the box or maybe Michael was making an educated guess. Either way, did I want to keep playing along and let them show more of their hand, or was it time to make my own move and trust to luck. I took my lead from her, lit up and sat back, trying to read her gorgeous little mind. The rest of my day suddenly promised to be a whole lot more interesting.

  "Guess I could tag along, if you don't mind being seen with me."

  She smiled wickedly as she got up. "It wasn't that much of a problem last time, was it?"

  "Oh no," I said, straightening my tie, "if you like trains. Personally, I prefer walking. It's lower to the ground."

  And that's when it all came apart. No sooner had we gotten up to leave, then we were diving under the tables. Stella's front window exploded, showering everyone and everything with glass. The bulldog cough of a 45 was unmistakable, even from across the street where the shots were coming from. I grabbed my last piece of toast, and hit the dirt, crouching down hip to hip with my new friend. She was cool alright. A bullet through the window, and she drops like a pro and doesn’t make a sound.

  The slugs were coming in at a steady rate, probably from several pieces being fired at once. They were also coming in pretty high, which meant that the boys were being careful, and taking their time. Since my lady friend and I didn't seem to be the targets, all the high-priced help was really doing was delivering a message. I was glad it wa
sn't anything more personal than that.

  It rained bits of the diner for what seemed like eternity, as Stella's life slowly blew up all around us. Plates, mugs, pie, and my favourite coffee pot, all got the treatment. We huddled together under the table, more out of surprise than fear. I knew Michael could get a little crazy sometimes, but this seemed to be a little more public than usual.

  To add to the moment, my guest had decided to join the chorus. She may have liked trains, but pro or not she sure didn't like guns. All she did was crouch down low with her hands over her ears and let out a screech every time something landed close by.

  You don’t do anything in a situation like this except sit on your ass and wait it out. Like any good prairie storm, it would eventually blow itself out and calm would return. Then everybody would get up, dust themselves off, and life would go on. There was the odd chance that the storm might blow itself inside and try to finish the job, but I didn't think that was going to happen given that Michael’s skirt was closer to me than my own skin. The sudden silence was the signal to move out.

  I made tracks for the back door, low and fast, with Rita right behind me. There was every chance the back door was covered, but I figured my companion would be enough to get us past. Especially if I was giving her a good, hard, hug.

  Out the door, down the alley, a hard right and we were pounding the pavement for all we were worth. Didn't need the hug, but I could have used a map. I lived and played in a city where the streets didn't always make sense. They didn’t go in a straight line for much of a distance and tended to change names at intersections. Made looking up an address a lot more work than it should have been.

  Not that it mattered much at this point. The back door had not been covered but there was a car just down the alley. And surprise, surprise, it turned out to be the Duesie from the other night. It was right behind us almost as soon as we were loose. Garbage cans, boxes, and anything else in its way went flying as it rumbled its way up the alley behind us. I couldn't see how many we were up against, but the guy in the passenger seat worried me. He was standing up and waving a big piece at us. I encouraged my partner to run like hell.

  My partner didn't agree and took every opportunity to let me know it. The second we were out the door, out came the mouth. Guess it came with the clothes or something. She had a lot to say, and she said it as we raced up the alley and out onto the street. She seemed really determined to get me to wait a minute and listen to what she was saying. That I ignored. But not the part about me slowing down so she could keep up. That I heard. It took me a second to yank her heels off, hand them to her, and then the two us ran like rabbits.

  It was like having a target painted to my butt. She was in no mood to go any faster than a walk, and with her bright red duds, we couldn't have gotten lost at the circus. Fortunately, we were heading north on a southbound one-way so the that big V8 had to gear down and dodge a lot of traffic just to keep us in sight. We managed to trade a few shots, us behind whatever cover we could find with the Duesie grinding its way upstream, horn honking, and bullets flying.

  It was all I could do just to stay alive, and not kill her myself. She stopped to duck every time a bullet came close and did nothing else but bitch about the state of her clothes. We were running for our lives, and all she could think of was how she was going to get the grass stains out of her dress. I didn't have the heart to tell her that bullet holes were a more permanent kind of stain.

  I literally dragged her around the next corner and down another wrong way. Our friends weren’t too far behind and continued to blaze away at us. Oncoming traffic scattered and pedestrians dived for cover, giving them a straight shot at catching us. I squeezed off a coupla more shots to try and slow them down, and then tore off down another alley dragging my target behind me.

  I don't know if I hit the driver or just scared him a little, but the car missed the turn into the alley and slammed into the corner of the building. He jammed it into reverse and floored it back out into traffic, tires screaming. But by the time he had gotten her straightened out and moving forward again, we were a block away and whistling furiously for a cab. Or at least I was. She didn't seem to know how to, or even want to.

  And that's when the trouble really started. The door to safety flew open but she wouldn’t get in.

  "What?"

  "You heard me. It's disgusting in there. I want another one."

  “Are you outta your mind, get in there!”

  I shoved her in and told the cabbie to get lost. And that he did, with no sign of the Iron Lady once we turned the first corner we came to. I tossed a ten-spot onto the front seat, told him to drive to wherever, and sat back heavily in the seat.

  "So what the hell was that all about."

  "What do you mean." She didn't look up, but kept a steady hand on her hips, brushing them off.

  "You, you idiot. What did you mean back there, you want another cab, this one is dirty? You got a really funny take on life, honey. One minute you're lying in the street dead as dead, and the next you're the high society dame with no more sense than a wooden nickel." I preached at her while searching my pockets for another clip for the .45. She'd just had a real good workout and was feeling mighty pleased with herself. I wish I could have said the same for my seat mate.

  "I have no idea what you're talking about, she said, brushing away furiously. "All I know is I missed breakfast, and my suit is ruined."

  "Be happy that's all you missed. Cabs this time of day are hard to find, what with everyone making up for missing breakfast and all. And you still owe me an explanation."

  "I don't owe you anything, and since you're asking, this is all there is to it, unless you would rather ask your friends for a lift."

  “My friends? I thought they were yours”,

  "No, they're not”, she said, lying with a straight face. "I've never seen them before in my life."

  "You're trying to tell me that you don't know anything about this? That was Michael’s prized possession out there trying to run us down. Last time we met you two seemed to be pretty damn close. So why are we running. You owe him money or something?"

  “No. I just thought I’d surprise you and join you for breakfast. That is your usual place, is it not?”

  “So, you’re trying to tell me you have no idea who those guys were. Never met them before, never broke bread with them or anything”.

  “No, I told you. I have no idea who they were. I don’t know why they were shooting at us. I just came for breakfast. And Michael’s just a friend, an old family friend. Can’t a girl have an old family friend and not worry about what people think.”

  I shook my head in disbelief and went back to telling the cabbie where to go.

  “Are you sure you don’t know who they were?” she asked sweetly. “Surely you must know something about them, or what they wanted. It’s not every day someone shoots at you like that is it? Are you sure that was Uncle Michael’s car? I’m sure I didn’t see one like that in his garage. Couldn’t you tell me please?”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m not telling you anything, honey. Uncle Michael? He’s your uncle?”

  “Yes, from the old country. I’m visiting him for a while. I want to move here to this country, and he said he could help me with that. It’s so expensive moving furniture and jewellery and such things, but you wouldn’t know about that sort of thing, would you?”

  “No. And even if I did, I wouldn’t be telling you. Not if you are part of Michael’s family I’m not.” I sat back in the seat, folded my arms, and looked over at her. She was sitting ever so sweetly in her seat, hands folded in her lap, big brown eyes staring at me in all innocence.

  “Why not, I wouldn’t tell anyone, especially Uncle Michael. He gets so cross when he finds out I buy jewellery. I like pretty things and it’s my money. It’s not his business, it’s mine.”

  “Exactly, it’s my business and not yours, so put a sock in it and work on stayin
’ pretty alright?”

  “Please?”

  “No!”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. And slumped back in her seat, arms folded across her chest in some sort of mock rage. Didn’t say another word after that, just stared out the window.

  There was still no sign of our recent acquaintances, but she didn't seem to notice or even care. She was too busy playing angry to pay attention to where we were going. We had just spent the morning touring downtown on the lead plan, and she couldn't have cared less. Somebody had set this all up to dump her into my lap, hoping she could sweet talk everything I knew out of me while I sort of rescued her. Did that put her on my side, or just in the way. I wasn’t sure on that score.

  What I was sure of was where to go next, to my old friend Blackie Duff. He was a bit loose between the ears and made his home deep inside a coal blackened maze of boxcars called the Pacific Northern rail yards. The yards were behind the main rail station, just beyond where the passenger trains came in. Easy to find, and easier to get lost in. A few twists, a few turns, and even God couldn't find you. They were a city within a city, with its own neighbourhoods, beat cops, and dark alleys. And just like any other city, full of its own lost hopes, lost dreamers, and lost souls.

  Blackie was one of those lost souls. No home, no family, and no prospects, just a barrel with a fire going in it, and a boxcar to sleep in. There was a time when he and I were a lot closer. It was just after the big one and we were back in town. A coupla doughboys on the loose with more flash than cash. We even thought about going straight at one point, Duff and St. James, Private Investigators, but he didn't like the idea of being out in the open so much anymore. The war affected a lot of guys like that. He liked his hole in the wall, and even though I only looked for him when I was in a jam, he was always glad to see me. Always had a spare blanket, and a cup of joe on the boil. And this time around I was hoping he might have something new on Michael. Blackie didn’t get out much but he kept his ear to the ground.