Detroit Gumshoe
A Linus Stitcher Story
Episode #1
By Charles Sams
Text copyright © 2015 Charles Thomas Sams II
All Rights Reserved
The following story is an original work of fiction and should be treated as such any resemblance to actual people or events is completely coincidental.
Cover Photo By Shawn Wilson
Used under Creative Commons Share Alike 1.0 modified for this book
For Chris, Joel, and Wayne
May your waders never be dry and your lines always tight
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 1
The man walking down the alley looked like every other man in Detroit from a distance, tattered shirt, worn out shoes, and a hole in the knee of his jeans. Darnel Hamels looked up from the dumpster he was diving in and thought for a moment he recognized the man. It couldn’t be him he thought and went back to his scavenger hunt.
“Darnel Hamels, how the hell are you,” said the man with the hole in his jeans.
“Linus Stitcher, I ain’t seen your ass since Fallujah,” said Darnel.
Darnel jumped down from the dumpster, took one step toward Stitch as if to shake his hand and bolted. Darnel followed the alley, took to the street for a block, and found another alley. Stitch was closing the gap fast and was finally able to tackle him. Stitch’s big body came down hard on Darnel’s much smaller frame. Stitch got up fast. His chest was heaving, his lungs were burning, and he could feel warm blood running down his skinned knees and an elbow. Darnel stayed down.
“Goddammit Darnel, you know I hate running.”
“I know that’s why I did it. That and I got nothing to say to you.”
“Bullshit,” said Stitch, “What do you know about Lamar Milton?”
“I don’t know nothing about no fucking dead cop man,” said Darnel.
Stitch helped Darnel up and brushed him off, “Look bro, Milton was infantry, served three tours in Iraq. He was involved in some shit and I need to know about it.”
“Yeah, I know. But that doesn’t mean I need to mix up in the shit too,” said Darnel.
“What do you know?” asked Stitch.
“You got twenty bucks?”
Stitch took a wallet out of his boot and smiled, “Didn’t know I was carrying it there did you. I got to move it around to keep people like you from taking it.”
“Yeah, yeah you the smartest white guy I know.”
“I got forty bucks and I want forty bucks worth of information.”
Stitch held up two twenties.
“Word on the street is Milton was on the take.”
“Who was paying him?”
“Don’t know man,” said Darnel.
Darnel held out his hand.
“That ain’t forty bucks worth,” said Stitch.
Darnel rolled his eyes, “Alright, word is he also had a habit.”
“What?”
“Pills man, they said he couldn’t shake the war so he took all kinds of pills for it.”
“That doesn’t explain why somebody would execute him. It might explain him blowing his own brains out but not somebody else doing it for him.”
“Look man, I don’t know nothing about no execution.”
Stitch held up the money again, “Why don’t you clean up and get off the streets Darnel. Companies would kill for your skills. Logistics, transportation, artillery.”
Darnel snatched the money out of Stitch’s hand, “The war’s over for me bro. There ain’t no need for men like me.”
Darnel turned and walked down the alley, disappearing into the mist from a steam grate. It reminded Stitch of Iraq and laying down smoke to get his men out.
Chapter 2
Stitch sat at a back table in The Boat Works bar with Donnie Pratt.
“It don’t add up. Darnel says he’s on the take but there’s nothing in his DPD personal file to indicate that,” said Stitch.
“Everything a person does isn’t always in a file,” said Donnie.
“I know that,” said Stitch, “So I checked with internal affairs, they’ve never investigated him.”
“Listen Stitch, the whole goddamned town is corrupt. Who’s to say they just didn’t look the other way.”
“Good point.”
“If I were you I’d start with his partners. See what they know. The names should be in his DPD file,” said Donnie.
“They are.”
The bartender yelled across the room, “Stitch, you boys want two more.”
“You want another?” asked Stitch.
“No, I have to get down to the dock. I’m taking a client out for the evening bite.”
“Smallies?”
“Hundred fish a trip man, all five pounders,” said Donnie.
“Shit, this case comes up right in the thick of it.”
“No more free trips Stitch,” said Donnie, “You use all my gas, drink all my beer.”
“Is that anyway to treat a man that pulled you out of a burning Humvee?”
“I think you used up that goodwill a long time ago.”
Donnie threw some cash on the table.
“Here, I’ll buy you another beer.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Say, how did you get this guy’s personnel file?” asked Donnie.
“Department’s full of old friends.”
“You mean vets.”
Stitch smiled.
“The partners, start asking them questions. They’ll point you somewhere,” said Donnie, “I got to go.”
Donnie walked out and Stitch ordered another beer. He sat there thinking about five pound smallmouth bass and Lamar Milton’s partners.
Chapter 3
Stitch drove his old pickup truck through the city of Warren, over to Van Dyke, and up into Sterling Heights. Louis McKay was washing a car in the driveway. Stitch blocked him in with the pickup. McKay held the hose on a tire he was rinsing. Everybody knew he was a cop, he couldn’t believe somebody had the balls to block him in his own driveway.
“Who the hell are you?” asked McKay.
Stitch flashed his ID, “Linus Stitcher, Stitcher Investigations.”
McKay laughed out loud, “A fucking Detroit gumshoe.”
“Just as good as a DPD detective and not as corrupt,” said Stitch.
The smile left McKay’s lips, “What do you want?”
“Want to talk to you about Lamar Milton.”
“He was working alone when he got killed,” said McKay.
“True, but you were his last partner. I was hoping to get some insight into Lamar.”
“Lamar couldn’t shake the war. You know how that feels?”
“I was there, special ops,” said Stitch.
“I could never understand it, I didn’t serve. He would tell me about not sleeping because of dreams. He would tell me about these anxiety attacks that made it feel like his heart was going to explode. He took a lot of pills.”
“That all makes sense, but somebody said he was on the take, a crooked cop.”
“I never saw him take a payoff from anyone, he wouldn’t even take a free lunch,” said McKay.
It still wasn’t making any sense to Stitch.
“You said he took a lot of pills, and that jives with what I’ve been told. Do you know where he got his pills?”
McKay grew sullen and looked around
to make sure they were alone.
“When we first started working together they were all prescription. We would stop while we were on patrol and he would get his scripts filled. Then one day he said they weren’t working so well anymore.”
McKay stopped.
“Was he getting them off the street?” asked Stitch.
“I don’t want to smear a good cop.”
A baseball rolled from across the street and stopped at Stitch’s feet. He picked it up.
“Hey, mister that’s my ball,” said a kid.
“Just a minute kid,” said Stitch, “McKay, just give me a name and I’ll take it from there.”
McKay didn’t want to give it up.
“Why you need this information anyway? The man died a hero. They’ve treated him like a hero.”
“You said you were never in combat right?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, all of our men died heroes. They would send a letter home telling the next of kin that they died honorably serving their country. Then I would sit down and write a letter with the details, what really happened. I probably hurt some feelings and caused some pain but in the end they didn’t have to wonder. I couldn’t send those letters out through normal channels. I had to find somebody that was going back to the states and give it to them because it wasn’t the official story.”
“Mister, give me back my ball.”
Stitch held the ball up, “Get ready kid, here comes the curve.”
Stitch wound up and threw it. It broke straight down, four feet and rolled past the kid. McKay looked at him funny.
Stitch smiled, “Dodgers, triple A.”
“Delmar Owens,” said McKay.
Stitch got in his old pickup truck and drove back east, toward the lake. He had the windows down and wondered how many smallies Donnie had put in the boat so far.
Chapter 4
Stitch rolled the truck to a stop under the shade of a big maple tree. The west side of town had lost their big trees to Dutch Elm or the Ash Borer, but the east side still had some big maples. Donnie looked through the windshield up into the maze of branches.
“Where the hell are we?” asked Donnie.
“Let me see them glasses.” said Stitch.
Donnie handed over the binoculars, “Be careful, those are for the boat.”
“You remember Jennifer Stancheck?”
“Yeah, pimples, greasy hair,” said Donnie.
“Goddamn Donnie, when you put it that way it makes me want to throw up.”
An attractive woman came out of the house three doors down and walked to her car. Donnie’s mouth gapped open.
“See, my instincts about her were right back in high school,” said Stitch.
“You were fourteen years old, you didn’t have instincts.”
The car pulled off and Stitch put down the glasses.
“I thought we were going to see this Delmar character?” said Donnie.
“We are, but while my contact at DPD was looking up Delmar I had him check on Jenny.”
Donnie shook his head, “That isn’t only creepy man, it’s also illegal as all fuck. The fact that we are still sitting here makes me want to take a shower.”
“Calm down mister tool supply naked girl calendar. We’re leaving now.”
They didn’t talk again until they got onto I-94.
“Hey, I like tools,” said Donnie.
“Yeah, those calendars hanging all over the place isn’t creepy at all,” said Stitch.
“Where we going?”
“Delmar lives down off the boulevard over by the Motown Museum,” said Stitch.
“Is she single?”
“Not sure but I’m going to find out,” said Stitch.
The brakes squeaked when Stitch slowed down on Delmar’s street. There were no trees left on the block and over half the houses were abandoned, there were vacant lots everywhere. Stitch pulled the old pickup into the driveway of one of the vacant houses and drove all the way back to the garage.
“If anybody is watching they’ll think we’re scrapers looking to rip the pipes out of the place.”
Stitch pulled his Ruger Red Hawk from under the seat, pointed the long barrel at the floor, and tested the double action. He spun the cylinder.
“You hot?” Stitch asked.
Donnie pulled a Glock from his waistband and checked it.
“When you going to jump into the 21st century Dirty Harry?” said Donnie.
“Hey, this thing’s never jammed on me and the 3-5-7 is a hell of a round. Besides, I don’t have to worry about shooting myself when I jam it in my pants. You take the back door.”
“Gladly,” said Donnie.
They got out of the truck. Donnie jumped the fence and took up a position near the back door, his eyes peering just over the chest high porch. Stitch walked down the drive way, over to the front door, and knocked. It took a few minutes, but finally there was a voice on the other side.
“What you want?”
“Delmar, open up man, I need to get some stuff,” said Stitch.
“I don’t know your ass, what makes you think I got stuff?”
“Word on the street is you got stuff and I need some. C’mon I’m jumpy as fuck without it.”
Delmar cracked the door. Stitch stuck his foot inside and pushed hard. Delmar let go and fell down. The door swung open and the knob stuck in the plaster. Stitch straddled him.
“Delmar Owens?”
“Yeah, motherfucker that’s me. I thought we covered this already.”
Stitch flashed his ID.
“Name’s Linus Stitcher, I need to speak with you about Lamar Milton.”
Delmar’s eyes grew wide and he pushed himself up from the floor. He was eyeing the hallway as he brushed himself off.
“What you need to know?”
“You look nervous, if I was you I wouldn’t.”
Delmar didn’t let Stitch finish. He bolted down the hallway toward the kitchen and the back of the house. He stopped when he saw Donnie and the Glock.
“Eat some porch man,” said Donnie.
“Delmar, if you would’ve let me finish. I was trying to warn you about my associate watching the back porch. You could have jumped out the side window,” said Stitch.
“Fuck you man.”
Stitch grabbed Delmar by the collar, pulled him to his feet, pushed him against the wall, and frisked him. He didn’t find anything and pushed him down into an old rusty, metal rocking chair.
“Now, Lamar Milton,” said Stitch, “What’d you know about Lamar.”
“I don’t know shit. You know I got rights man.”
“We ain’t the government Delmar and we don’t give a shit about your rights,” said Stitch.
“We know you were Lamar’s doctor feel good.”
“I ain’t talking.”
Stitch shook his head and looked around.
“You know what, I didn’t see to many people around. We got another guy whose talking. Fuck it, shoot him and let’s get out of here,” said Stitch.
Donnie drew down on Delmar.
“Wait,” said Stitch and drew his piece, “Let’s use this, it will leave a bigger hole at this range.”
“Alright you crazy bastards, I’ll talk,” said Delmar.
“What you know about Lamar?”
“They busted me a few years back, raided my crib. Lamar was one of the street cops that showed up to stand guard while they went through my shit. After they locked me up he came to visit me, said he needed something for his PTSD but it needed to be on the down low because he didn’t want the brass finding out.”
“What’d he do for you in return?”
“Just made sure that I was able to move my product around without the fuzz crawling up my ass all the time. If one of my home boys ran into trouble he would make it go away as long as it wasn’t anything serious.”
“Why’s he dead?”
Dlemar licked his lips, “All I know is before they killed him he w
as trying to help me out and make a problem go away for one of my boys. That’s it. That’s all I know.”
“I need a name,” said Stitch.
Delmar shook his head.
“Donnie, go check the street and make sure nobody’s around. Mr. Red Hawk wants to talk.”
“You know I can’t give you no name man. I’ll end up like Lamar.”
Stitch thumbed back the hammer and shot a two by four in half.
“Goddamn man, “Donnie laughed, “that thing spits three feet of fire when you shoot it.”
Stitch was smiling and Delmar was in the chair with his knees pulled up and his hands over his head.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck man. You two are crazy. Two Tone man, Two Tone is the guy you want.”
Stitch waived the barrel of the Red Hawk around, “This Two Tone got a last name?”
“Templeton.”
“When’s the last time you saw him?”
“I ain’t seen him since this Milton shit went down.”
Stitch and Donnie jumped the fence and were gone as quickly as they had showed up. Delmar opened one eye to make sure everything was alright before he lowered his arms and got up.
Chapter 5
Stitch drove west across 696 and got off at Telegraph. He crossed over a tributary of the Rogue River and it made him think about Donnie and one hundred fish days. He wondered if there were any fish up this high in the Rogue. He stopped at the light at Ten Mile and Inkster and studied the houses. The majority were large ranch style homes on nice sized lots. He pulled into Lamar Milton’s parent’s driveway and got out. He could see the haze around the large buildings to the east where the Lodge Freeway intersected 696, downtown Southfield. Loraina Milton was watering flowers on the side of the house.
“Mrs. Milton,” said Stitch.
“Mr. Stitcher. How are you?”
“I would be a lot better if I had all the information you’re looking for at this point. The investigation is a little more difficult than I bargained for.”
Mrs. Milton waved the hose across the flowerbed twice more and shut off the water.
“I have some questions for you and Mr. Milton ma’am, if you have some time?”
“Yes, let me get the colonel.”
Detroit Gumshoe: Linus Stitcher Episode #1 Page 1
