Crime Takes No Holiday: A Detective Story Novella

by Thomas Lewis

  “I don’t like this. You could get hurt.”

  “I don’t like it either, but I have to live up to the sign on my door. This is just … what I do. I chose this. I took the dollar from you, and we have to find out who’s behind this. It’s the only way to find Elle.

  “But you? You need to stay in this car. I mean it.”

  Kate only shrugged, which I did not interpret as ‘OK, Jack, I will’.

  PART SEVEN

  I Told You To Stay In The Car!

  So it was on. I circled around to intercept, stealing behind these goons with my sawed-off. From a lone dim streetlamp reflecting off the wet streets, I caught the silhouette of a firearm now in Thug Number One’s hand, and possibly a silencer on it.

  Being creatures of habit, like their vermin pals before them, they also opted for the back door. The window was still broken and the lock no longer working, so maybe this was a good plan. If ‘Young Bessie’ and I were successful, it would not be.

  Once they were out of sight, Kate’s part in this was to quietly let all the air out of both passenger-side tires on their sedan, virtually foiling any potential getaway, while I crept behind these goons, fully loaded, to the side of the house.

  As I leaned against the clapboards, for some reason I picked this moment to re-evaluate my career choices. Maybe I should have just become a gynecologist, like Dad suggested.

  I peered around the back corner, then took up a position behind a large palm tree where they couldn’t see me until well after exiting the house. Getting breezy now. The moon’s decided to take this opportunity to play peek-a-boo with the clouds. I silently cursed every new shining star, and cocked ‘Young Bessie’ as quietly as I could, waiting for them to finally exit.

  I heard movement at the doorway, but suddenly, sirens, now growing closer. Oh shit. Had some neighbor called the cops? I hope not; I was leaning up against a palm tree with a loaded sawed-off. This could be difficult to explain.

  The thugs scooted back inside. I saw Kate trotting back towards the DeSoto, and I wasn’t sure if the sirens had thwarted her little prank. I waved her back in that same direction, vehemently whispering “Stay In The Car!”, which was stupid because I couldn’t say it loud enough for her to hear without it being loud enough for our dopey friends to hear.

  The sirens were getting fainter. False alarm. LA. Now, there was nothing for them to do other than leave. Eventually, they did.

  “I told you, she’s not here!” Thug Number One whined to Thug Number Two.

  OK, one out, wait for it, there’s the second one.

  “So who turned that light off?”

  “Those companies make ‘em burn out so you have to buy more–oof!”

  That was the sound of Thug Number One landing face-first on the ground. I might have neglected to mention that the first thing I did after reaching the house was to run a tripwire between two palm trees at about seven inches off the ground, directly in their return path. Thug Number Two then promptly fell over Thug Number One.

  “Ahem,” clearing my throat loudly.

  I was honestly just hoping to only get the drop on them and wrestle out of them who their employer was, hoping the business end of ‘Young Bessie’ would be persuasive enough to loosen their tongues. But Thug Number One proved to be pretty agile. He popped back up, whirled, and stupidly tried to draw a bead.

  POW! I had to drop him with the sawed-off. I had to.

  Didn’t catch him dead center, but enough so he stumbled backwards and slammed into a little shed, breaking through the door as his pistol went flying across the yard. He’d likely not be a problem anymore.

  But I’d made a small but critical error; I was planning on saving the second barrel for Thug Number Two, should I need to, but somehow I’d discharged both barrels into Thug Number One. Sucks for him, but when I went to face Number Two, who was leveling his weapon at me from the ground … click. Uh-oh.

  He heard the click and began to chuckle evilly, his sidearm still pointed at me as he slowly rose to a standing position.

  “Say your prayers, bitch.”

  I swallowed hard. Now, all I could see of his gun was the business end of the silencer gleaming in the moonlight, as were crooked teeth. His only reason to not shoot me dead at this point would be to revel in his dominant position, to pause and enjoy my plight. This slight hesitation would be a tactical error.

  I was considering rushing him using Bessie as a cudgel, knowing the odds of prevailing would be exceptionally slim, when I thought I saw something resembling a lit fuse sparking on the ground just behind him. It was not my imagination. Another spark of light arced through the blackness, seeming to land this time directly in his pants cuff. My 20-10 vision perceived these lit fuses as perhaps belonging to two 50-packs of Black Cat firecrackers. Holy cow!

  This instantly changed my strategy; I two-hand threw Bessie at him and attempted a duck and roll behind the palm tree while grabbing for my .38.

  PaPaPow! Pow! Pow!Pow! PaPow! Pow! PaPaPaPow!

  Thug Number Two was now jumping up and down on top of an impromptu colored light show, screaming and dancing like a demented madman He fired three errant shots in various directions. I’d never seen anyone dance and hop around squealing quite like this, as he tried to dislodge the firecrackers from his cuff.

  The look on his face, illuminated in freeze-frames from the flashes below, was kind of absurdly hilarious. He turned dazedly to face whoever threw this, instinctively aiming his Luger in that direction.

  Not so fast. I leveled my piece to fire, but both he and I were too late; there was a ‘whoosh’ and a crossbow bolt slammed into the palm tree over and above my head, right after ripping through his carotid artery.

  He fell to his knees and bled out as he fired off three more silenced rounds into the treetops. The gagging, strangling sounds as he reached for his throat … I still have nightmares.

  I emerged from behind the palm tree.

  Pop!

  The final straggler firecracker made me flinch. Smoke was rising from Thug Number Two’s feet as he lay still on the ground. Wow. What a dramatic way to exit the stage. Smote by firecrackers and a crossbow. All Chinese technology.

  There was still a bit of a mystery as to who might have turned the tables. The first clue would be a soprano voice.

  “I hate that word!”

  What word? Oh, that one.

  I glanced up and saw a now-familiar face emerging through the shadowy moonlight. Kate had backed me up, returning the earlier favor of saving her life, by saving mine. What a girl.

  Both our ears were ringing, and all I could think to say was,

  “I Told you to Stay in the Car!”

  Somehow, this irony made the five-foot-zero Engineering grad student coed wielding firecrackers and a Chinese crossbow for her first time laugh, which made me laugh. Tension relief, I guess, because there was nothing funny about any of this.

  I looked over. Thug Number Two’s pant leg was now on fire. I tromped the flame down. God damned Rayon slacks.

  Kate’s mood shifted accordingly.

  “Oh my God, I killed a man. I took a life.”

  “You took a life only to save a life, Kate. He raised his weapon to you. You saved our lives, and that’s all that matters. I’ll help you deal with this, I promise. But you only did the right thing, Katherine. You stepped up.”

  Sirens, again.

  We quickly composed ourselves and I dragged both thugs and their weapons inside and later swore up and down that ‘somebody must have’ shot them there. Inside rather than out, so if they connected Kate and me we’d be shielded by the castle law. For insurance, Kate had the presence of mind to hose down the back steps, which erased all blood and gunpowder evidence. It had been a wet, dewy Thanksgiving holiday, after all.

  Then I had a brainstorm. I picked up the gun Thug Number One has been carrying, shot lifeless Thug Number Two three times, and put the weapon back in Thug Number One’s hand. I wanted to the same sort of thing with
Thug Number Two’s weapon, but Thug Number One was unconscious, yet still breathing.

  “This’ll confuse the poo out of everybody.”

  “What?”

  “Nevermind. We need to get you away from all of this, and don’t you say a word to anybody.”

  Sirens getting closer. I patted my pockets looking for the car keys, then looked up to see Kate dangling them at me. I rushed her out of there, wanting her out of this mess, and I also didn’t want a search of my trunk, although this strategy didn't exactly go over as hoped.

  “… Uhh … I’ve only driven a car once before, Jack.”

  “Time to learn how. There’s a key there for the apartment, it’s one floor up from my office. Go there and wait for me. Drive safe. And slow.”

  She’s an engineer, and smart; she’d just figured out how to take a murderous goon down with fireworks and a crossbow, so she’d figure this out. Besides, this new DeSoto has an early version of the Power-Glide automatic in it, so I had faith in her.

  Ironically, I’d approached this showdown in a way designed to give these goons an opportunity to not get hurt, an opportunity they decided not to take, and which eventually left them both breathing dirt. But I’d screwed this up. What I should have done was throw a flash grenade first, then I could have just stepped up and sapped them both while they were off balance and disoriented, and disarmed them.

  If I’d have done that first instead of confronting them with ‘Bessie’, they’d still be here. And Kate would not need to have … and she wouldn’t now be carrying a burden. This was an enormous tactical blunder that bothered me for the rest of my career.

  PART EIGHT

  You Still Got Your Mirror On Ya?

  I was sitting on the front step trying to look as casual and innocent as I could, as two squad cars pulled up. Two spotlights nearly blinded me. Four uniforms jumped out, guns drawn. I raised my hands up, my Navy-issued Zippo lighter held high, thumb to palm so they wouldn’t mistake it for a gun.

  In the confusion, I’d sent Kate away with the crossbow bolt, but not the crossbow itself. Since a ‘sawed-off’ just under eighteen inches is right on the borderline of illegal, I’d thrown Young Bessie back in the trunk before sending Kate away.

  “Easy, fellas. It’s all over. Let me take you around back and show you where they broke in.”

  I lowered my hands just enough to light a Lucky. They stood me up and patted me down for weapons. I knew two of these guys.

  “Hey, Jack. Having a busy holiday, are you? Holster your weapons, boys, he’s one of ours.”

  Mere minutes later, ‘Defective’ Dooley waddled around back to find me casually jawing with the unis and blowing smoke rings. I was trying to look cucumber cool, but inside I was trying to pave over the holes in my story the best I could, some being rather large, gaping holes.

  “Talk later, guys … look’s like ‘Detective Cuntsworth’ has arrived.”

  Again, that classic look of disgust as he saw me.

  “Aw, fer shit’s sake. You again,” as he stumbled over the tripwire I’d forgotten to remove.

  “What the … who the hell would put that–”

  “Beats me. Don’t hurt yourself. Evenin’, Andy. We gotta stop meetin’ like this.”

  Dooley was perpetually in cop mode as he ‘interviewed’ me on the back step, and he seemed perturbed that Captain Janks had called him back in on the Thanksgiving holiday once he’d recognized the address this call was centered on.

  I wasn’t that happy to see Dooley, either, and I was dismayed that we still had no lead on who kept sending this army after us. Lapdog Pyle must have been asleep somewhere.

  “Where’s the doll?”

  As I exhaled a full puff of smoke at his face, “She’s not a ‘doll’, she’s a human being. She was distraught. I gave her my car and sent her away to a safe place.”

  Waving the smoke away, “Little girls can drive now?” as he brushed past me. What a dick.

  I stayed outside as Dooley surveyed the carnage inside, crushed the cigarette butt under my heel as from deep within I heard …

  “Aw, fuck me!”

  Then he came back out to confront me.

  “Four bodies in less than eight hours. My shift was barely over, and here we are again.”

  Pointing as the attendants wheeled Number One past us on a gurney,

  “This one’s still breathing, “Defective’.”

  I was sort of rooting for the breathing to stop; I didn’t need an alternate version to our story of what had happened here.

  The hundred-mile stare. It was becoming Dooley’s trademark. Next, he seemed to be focusing on the broken shed door a bit more than I would have expected. I tried to distract him …

  “Andy, my client’s been attacked twice in the same day, in her own home. She was asleep in her own bed when this all happened.”

  “Really? At six p.m. You were just watching over her, her ‘security detail’?”

  I vehemently resented the air quotes. Who the hell invented those?

  “Your mind’s still in the gutter, I see. She sleeps early to get the late lab time.”

  “On Thanksgiving.”

  I shrugged. “She gets it when she can. And her roommate’s been abducted.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “You don’t seem to know much at all.”

  He let that one slide.

  “Witnesses heard a lot of shots.”

  “Bullshit. Produce your effin’ ‘ear witnesses’.”

  Now I was air-quoting him right back.

  Of course he was bluffing; it was far too early on for ear-witness accounts. He was almost right, but he was bluffing, he might have recognized the distinctive aroma of fireworks. And other than the silenced shots from their weapons, the only sounds were a single shotgun blast and the pop-pop-pop of the Black Cats.

  “Where were you standing when these fools supposedly broke in?”

  “I screwed up, OK? I was out behind this palm tree taking a leak and a smoke when they snuck in, and then they either got into an argument or in the confusion shot each other before I could get back in. I walked in on them just like this.”

  “Oh, come on! That’s your story? You think I’d swallow that crock of horse shit?”

  “You still got your mirror on ya?”

  “So you came at them, out here, with a shotgun, your .38, and … a freakin’ crossbow?” as his eyes locked on that item, which I’d forgotten was laying against a tree.

  “No, to all three! And no, they came at us. At her. In there!”

  “And then what … a flamethrower? That fucker’s pants were on fire!”

  “You don’t say,” faking a look of surprise. “I can’t solve your mystery for you, ‘Defective’, because I was out here!”

  My hands wide open, “Do you see a crossbow bolt stickin’ outta anybody or anything? A shotgun anywhere around here? I started shaking my head in disgust.

  “Flamethrower. Janks’ll make you eat that report. He’ll cut you down to where you’ll need a stepladder just to pull those ugly-ass wingtips on.”

  I started laughing at him. He was not laughing. The vein in his neck was throbbing pretty good. Come onnnnnnn … stroke!

  “If you’re unhappy with the way your investigation’s going, why not just take another poke at me like you did this morning? See where that gets you.”

  We stared each other down as two uniforms in earshot looked at each other, then back at Dooley. It seemed they knew his volatile nature. Things were trending ugly.

  “Go sniff the barrel on my .38,” gesturing to the uniformed officer who was holding it. “Cleaned, cold, loaded and never fired, ‘Defective’. Since this morning, that is. I think what you’re gonna find is their bullets, from their guns, in each other.”

  “Oh, please. If they shot each other, where’s the effin’ shotgun? That guy has a shotgun wound. A big one.”