by Julia Proud
* * *
Ed thought that the statues were ugly too, especially in that yellow tainted light of uncertainty. It was a little over eight in the morning - Ed could tell by the lazy winter sunrise taking a hold of the horizon.
They had been pacing along the 14th Street for a couple of hours now, waiting for a more decent time when they could knock on the door of strangers, and not get reported to the police for it.
The 14th was one of the oldest streets in Maverick and one of the most prestigious because of historic events Ed hadn't bothered to learn about. On one side was the Adams Park, and on the other, the rebuilt 18th century two-story buildings. The mayor had made a big deal out of this neighborhood a few months ago, and deemed the place a must-see for tourists - eh, since when did Maverick, a dark, labyrinth port city, care about tourism? Besides, this street was just a bunch of rich people building themselves town houses that overlooked the largest Park in the city.
Ed came to those conclusions as he studied the area, filling up the time with unnecessary rants about society in Maverick. He didn't really care. He needed distractions because there wasn't enough booze in his blood for him to be at ease, so he filled his head with such silly musings.
The last building on the left was the big white one with the ugly statues, as the B-girl had put it. Ed remembered that those creatures were called gargoyles, but the reason why anyone would decorate their newly renovated and freshly painted home with that, was beyond him.
Mr. Barnes walked up the stairs to the front door and cleared his throat with a few loud coughs.
"I'll do the talking this time," the former cop decided and Valenti didn't argue with him.
Truth be told, the snobs that lived there would take one look at the Italian and suddenly become offended in their Anglo-Saxon fibers, wary of such a strange young man asking them questions so early in the morning.
Inside the house, the light was on - Ed could see the warm line it left between the curtains of the window. Mr. Barnes knocked on the door. The man that opened the door was already dressed and ready to step outside - probably for work.
"Good morning. I'm Frank Barnes, a private dick. Used to be a cop and patrolled these very streets," Mr. Barnes said with a courteous smile, and offered the man his calling card.
"Hello," the man spoke glancing in Ed's direction, so the gumshoe quickly intervened.
"My apprentice, so to speak. The boy wants to learn how investigations work."
Ed smiled recognizing the truth in the lie.
"Oh? And what are you investigating that's brought you to my door step, Mister…" and the man looked at the card. "Mr. Barnes."
These educated, wealthy types, they all had a certain air about them - confidence, pride and a sense of propriety that Ed recognized solely as a way for the rich bastards to say with their every gesture: I am better than you.
"A missing person's case. Have you seen a young man, blue eyes, dark hair, average height? I have a witness sayin' he's been lurking around this neighborhood, maybe you can confirm it?" Mr. Barnes was all business.
The man looked around frowning, as if he was struggling to find something.
"As a matter of fact…" he said raising a finger and Mr. Barnes' hopes along with it.
"I have seen a person matching that description. Maybe a few days ago. Last week, I'm sure - right before I left on business to New York. The weather was dreadful."
"A few days ago?" Mr. Barnes tried to hide his disappointment. "Anything unusual since then?"
"What do you mean?" the man stopped puzzled but then gasped. "Now that you mentioned it, yes! When I came back from New York the other night, my bedroom window was wide-open. I'm sure to leave it closed every time I leave." The man leaned toward Mr. Barnes asking in confidence, "is the man you're looking for a burglar?"
"No, no. Unless you found anything missing . . ." the retired cop looked at the man expectantly.
“Well, no. Not really. I might have left it open after all. My mind has been on work lately. Speaking of which - anything else, gentlemen? I was on my way out . . .” the man raised an inquisitive brow as he stepped outside.
"Oh, of course. Pardon us, mister and thank you for your time." Mr. Barnes tipped his hat and turned around to leave with Ed following him, closely behind.
Valenti had his own theories on what Jake had done but none on where the kid might have gone so he restrained from sharing his thoughts for now, waiting for the former cop to speak first - something stirred in Ed with excitement anytime they got a clue on Jake's whereabouts, but he had yet to admit that to himself, let alone to Mr. Barnes.
"Jake watched this neighborhood and lived inside that man's house knowing it would be empty - but he had no way of knowing when the man would be back," the old detective reasoned.
"Yeah, I got the same story," Ed nodded.
"When Jake heard the man's car in the middle of the night he and the dame from the speakeasy took a powder through the bedroom window and got out of that house just in time. But where did he end up next?" Mr. Barnes wanted to know as he looked around the neighborhood, lingering on the white, eerie-looking park.
Ed also took a moment considering the question and searching for a sign in their surroundings, though he was rather skeptic of what he might find.
Suddenly, Mr. Barnes turned back and walked hurriedly along the row of buildings, watching something along those houses, following that something from narrow alley to narrow alley - it was something Ed couldn't yet make out.
"Hey! Mr. Barnes? Where are we - " But Ed didn't finish his question because he saw the dark spots moving in rows on the snow, along the back fences that wrapped around those old buildings; the spots hurried past trash cans which meant that they weren't interested in their usual menu. Those beings were always heralds of bad news.
He had seen rats move that way before. He had heard their scurrying little feet tap on various surfaces and during the war, their presence only meant one thing. The days when vermin ran amok in the abandoned buildings of the town of Codroipo after the fighting was over, those were among the worst days he could remember going through, during the Great War. Death seemed to be everywhere and the rats rushed toward it without compassion or consideration.
"No, no, no…" Ed mumbled as Mr. Barnes stopped and entered an alley, only a couple of houses away from the one with the ugly statues.
Valenti hurried to catch up to the old man and was just in time to offer frail Mr. Barnes his arms as support. The former cop was having trouble breathing, and he had turned looking away from a mound of snow behind a trash container. The rats were gathering there, one by one, digging, and feasting.
"It's not. It's just trash," said Ed lacking any conviction.
Mr. Barnes tried to settle his troubled breathing and turned around to face the gruesome sight grunting the words, "I have to know."
And they did know, the moment the rats scattered away, they could see that Jake's face peered up from the scarlet snow. Small pieces of his flesh were missing but still, he was easily recognized.
Cazzo.
Jake had been dead for a day.
