by Julia Proud
* * *
"Fold," said Big Jesse throwing his cards on the table, and Valenti raked in the pot with a chuckle.
Ed was playing Hold 'Em and the night was still young. He planned to get all of Big Jesse's suds before dawn, and then enjoy a deep drunken sleep on the floor of his apartment, just like he'd done countless times before.
Sure, something felt off, a bit odd, and out of place, but he was just adjusting. It had been weeks since he last went on a bender like this, and he only needed a few nights to get the hang of it again.
Ever since that talk about him becoming a copper, Ed hadn't been by Mr. Barnes' place or at the firing range. He just didn't see the point for it anymore - it had nothing to do with that conversation, he told himself.
Ed felt that all that bother and hard work that he had put into becoming a good shot, would have ultimately been for nothing. And of course, he needed money. During the weeks that Ed had kept Mr. Barnes company at the firing range, he had been spending plenty of greens and not making anything. All that Ed was doing, now, was get some money. Yes, that was it. Ed simply needed money, and the fastest way he knew how to make some, was gambling.
Those thoughts became more and more convincing by the hour, and after a few more nights spent in the company of booze, Ed was sure that he was actually doing Mr. Barnes a favor by not showing up at his doorstep anymore. The old man had probably been sick of his mug but just too nice to say anything.
Ed felt comfortable now. He was back in a familiar place, holding in his shaky fingers the dented silver flask. Once again filled with the fiery liquor Ed craved so much, the flask brought him the peace of mind he yearned for.
It was morning. Ed couldn't sleep and just stared blankly out his bedroom window. What day was it? Did it even matter?
The snow had gone for good and left the gray street dry and basking in the spring sun. That flivver stood out from the other cars as the piece of shit that it was. A 1921 two-door center, Model T Ford Sedan - Ed could see it clearly now that the snow had melted away.
He took a gulp of whiskey from his flask and put out his cigarette, heading back to bed and hiding under the covers.
A quick look around his bedroom revealed a desolate view of old newspapers, empty packs of cigarettes, bottles, and dirty clothes soaked in tobacco smoke and booze, piling up by the dresser. He couldn't remember the last time he had cleaned up the place or himself for that matter. But it was too early to worry about that - Ed needed to get back to bed and forget about it. He needed to forget about everything.
Yet some things were harder to forget than others.
Not long after he closed his eyes, Valenti saw a row of rats scurrying along a fence in the white of snow, going past dead soldiers, ignoring them.
Where were they going that was better than a dead body?
Ed followed the rats and soon felt the world turning upside down, there was snow everywhere and those rats were so large! The vermin were now swimming and frolicking in a pool of booze that endlessly poured from a giant dented silver flask. The second Ed realized that he had become one of the rats, he screamed and jumped out of bed ending up on his knees and palms staring down at his dirty carpet. He could hear his violent deep breathing, and the crystalline gulping sound coming from the whiskey flowing out of his opened flask that had fallen out of bed with him.
Ed grabbed the flask and blindly threw it at the wall.
The key was where he had left it, so he turned the coil box on. With shaky, uncertain hands, Ed touched the steering wheel and glanced at himself in the rear mirror. His long, blond hair was a mess and the collar of his shirt was stained and ruffled. He felt drunk and dizzy even if he hadn't had a drink in hours.
Why was he there in that old heap of crap?
Ed didn't know exactly, but it made some sense to him that he'd try to start the car one last time before he sold it for scraps. He had no money left - gambling wasn't exactly a sure thing and he had lost a lot over the past days. Ed figured that he could get at least fifty bucks for the flivver - he knew a guy.
His heel hit the switch and the old Ford coughed just like it had done before. Ed was certain it would die, but in the next moment the engine growled and shook the dormant jalopy to life.
What did just happen? Ed wanted to know and looked at the dashboard and down at the pedals and lever as if the answers would be there. It was still that same pezza di merda he had tried to start and failed months ago, but for some reason, the Tin Lizzie was now running.
Driving around his neighborhood, Ed was filled with joy and excitement - he hadn't felt that way in some time. It was running! The damn, crappy, bucket of trouble, was running!
Valenti steered and entered the boulevard, joining the busy evening traffic. He was heading south and without much thought, Ed drove right down Mr. Barnes' street and parked the flivver in front of the old man's house.
The knock sounded a bit louder and more persistent than Ed had expected. It was probably his sudden enthusiasm that made his movements so brisk and uncontained.
The damn Ford's started. I just thought I'd let you know. You can use it now - Jake’s car - if you want it.
Ed tried to figure out what to say to Mr. Barnes and realized that he had no plan, no actual reason for being there other than the impulse to share the news. Ed considered apologizing for disappearing on the old man without a warning, but he wasn't sure how to exactly phrase that either.
He knocked again and looked at the windows for any sign of movement. Maybe Mr. Barnes wasn't home. Ed wanted to turn around and leave when he heard the door open.
"Mr. Barnes - ” Valenti started but his greeting ended abruptly the moment he laid eyes on a gray-haired woman.
"I'm sorry. I was expecting Mr. Barnes," Ed quickly explained himself as his shaky hands ran over his tweed jacket, trying in vain to adjust his uncouth appearance.
"He's gone," she said.
"Do you know when he'll be back?" Ed asked without thinking, but noticing the woman's confounded gaze and black outfit, he suddenly realized the meaning of her words.
"He died a couple of days ago. The funeral's today - if you want to come," she spoke eying Valenti but keeping her curiosity and repulsion to herself.
Cazzo.
Ed shook his head and took a step back almost falling down the stairs.
"I'm his sister. I know that he did a lot of charity. Won't you come in for a warm meal?" she asked trying to encourage Ed to come inside, but he wasn't really paying attention to the woman.
"How did it happen?" he asked keeping a hold of the railing as if afraid that the stairs would play a trick on him.
"You don't know?! It figures." The woman rolled her eyes and seemed to recognize her brother's hand in Ed's ignorance. She went on to explain, "Young man, Mr. Barnes had lung cancer - everyone knew that he didn't have much time left."
Ed nodded and with trembling fingers reached into his pocket for his flask, but found it too heavy in his hand, so he simply held on to it.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Valenti mumbled and made his way to the old Ford with uneasy feet and a burning sensation in his throat.
He started the Tin Lizzie and drove away without looking back. Despite his head pounding in terrific waves of pain and his vision stubbornly remaining blurry even after he had wiped his eyes countless times, Ed had made it to the firing range and parked the car on the dirt road, a few yards away from the highway.
But he didn't get out of the car and remained in the seat, looking out at the uniformed coppers roaming the police range firing grounds.
The last thing he had said to Mr. Barnes was looping inside Ed's mind, and the image of the old man walking away overlapped with those words.
See you tomorrow.
That was all Ed had said. See you tomorrow. As if he was going to come the next day and join Mr. Barnes at the firing range again. As if he was a man of his word.
Ed stayed in the car, watching the new recruits firing their gun
s - he could tell those were the new police recruits by their flimsy light blue shirts, a sort of improvised uniform they were made to wear.
It was a beautiful day outside, filled with life which resonated vibrantly to the bangs that flooded the air around the firing range. Ed's heart seemed to jump startled by every shot and it hurt. It hurt to just sit there in his car, and it hurt to think.
Ed stared down at the dented silver flask in his hand. It wouldn't hurt if he didn't care. But Mr. Barnes had been right. Ed did care. That was the truth.
His shaky fingers uncorked the full silver flask, but Ed didn't drink.
Instead, he got out of the flivver, and poured the hooch mumbling a prayer in Italian, the one his mama had taught him a long time ago, and that he thought he had forgotten.
Once the flask was empty, he hid it inside his jacket and walked into the firing range towards the fellow he knew was in charge of the place. Valenti actually knew most of the guys there, some even by name and by their skills. All of that time he had spent there with Mr. Barnes, Ed had had the opportunity to meet plenty of coppers. So, when he said that he wanted to use a Colt, nobody argued. And when Ed said that he wanted a recruit uniform, nobody refused.
That day, March 24th, 1927, Ed Valenti made a promise to himself - to be the kind of cop that Mr. Barnes had believed he could be.
He donned that light blue shirt and cut his untidy hair short, and he kept that dented silver flask empty on his nightstand, so that every day, when he woke up at dawn, he would see it and remember his promise.
Ed may have failed to help all of those dead people that were forever haunting his dreams - his fellow soldiers, his Billie, and the kid, Jake. But Ed could still try and help protect others. And maybe someday he'd have a good night's sleep. Maybe someday Ed wouldn't be tempted to drink himself to death.
Until that day came, Ed made sure that his dented silver flask remained empty, and that he'd give his best to becoming a cop. But not just any sort of cop. Ed promised he'd be a good cop.
More Ed Valenti
Find out more about Ed Valenti and how life as a police detective is treating him two years later from the action in A Good Car by checking out Julia Proud’s novella: A Dead Man. More information at: https://juliaproud.com/.
A Dead Man (Excerpt)
Laying low, moving slowly, and always keeping an eye on the mobsters from the red-tiled roof, Ed waited for them to split up.
Two of the Italians started heading right, following the blood drops, while Tony Two-Times and a fellow enforcer lit up their cigarettes, laughing, knocking on the bathroom windows of the nearby rooms with the hilts of their guns.
“C-come out, dick! Don' be such a p-pill, pill!”
Ignoring Tony Two-Times, Valenti crawled closer to the edge of the roof, watching the thugs that were approaching the pile of debris, and as one of them stopped to light up a cigarette, chuckling amused, the other went on around the mountain of rubble.
The instant that thug was alone, Ed crept down from the roof and on to the pile of construction materials, then jumped him; tackling the guy, the detective pinned him to the ground.
The scream of surprise alerted the others, and it was only a matter of seconds before the partner would throw his freshly lit ciggy, eager to help.
Punch to daze, aim his Colt, shoot the thug, steal his gun.
The plan sounded fine in his head, but Ed managed only to punch the guy and draw his gat before he heard a voice that seemed too close for comfort.
“Oi! Frankie!”
The detective turned and aimed at the new-comer without hesitation.
Four.
The shot hit the thug in the neck proving to be efficient and deadly.
Ed aimed the revolver back at the Italian he was sitting on top of, but the effects of the punch had worn off and so, the goon kicked the detective off. Valenti's back hit against a large bag of rubbish before he fell to his knees. The thug managed to grab back his gun from the grass – Detective Valenti could tell the gun was a Savage – and, with a trembling hand, the Italian goon pointed it at Ed.
He fired but the detective was already on the move, climbing up the bags.
Valenti pulled the trigger.
Five.
The bullet missed the thug by a little, but Ed managed to cause enough hesitation to buy himself a few more seconds to get back on the roof.
Tony Two-Times and his lackey spotted him up there and started to shoot wildly in his direction.
Bullets flew by Ed, shattering some red tiles near the edge, hastening his retreat along the roof, to the other side, away from the goons’ line of sight.
“Where'd he go?”
“J-jus-jus' g-go after 'im. G-get up th-there, there!”
Ed stayed low and listened to their yells. Crouched but still moving with haste along the roof, he tried to guess where Tony's voice was coming from.
“You g-go 'round, d-don' l-let 'im escape!”
So, Tony was now without his lackey.
“I see him! I got him!” shouted the thug on the roof as soon as he caught a glimpse of Detective Valenti. “Fucking hate heights…” he added in a lower voice, and the detective could see him struggling to walk on the inclined surface, wobbling about to get to the other side of the roof, all the while his gun pointed in Ed's direction, only to be lowered as soon as the wielder believed he lost balance, which occurred with every step he took.
“Sh-shoot 'im, F-Frankie!”
Detective Valenti holstered his Colt to avoid dropping it; then he dashed across the roof and jumped off, hoping he'd land as close as possible to Tony Two-Times. He rolled quickly on the grass and ended up on his feet, facing the motel.
The second he spotted Tony, Ed sprinted toward him with a vicious look on his face, knowing that he had to take advantage of every moment of confusion and surprise he could get.
His punches landed successfully, and he found Tony's grunts of pain and cries for help did nothing to make him stop – on the contrary, Ed felt he was being urged on by the sounds, encouraged to get the murderous twit to suffer as much as possible.
But Valenti had to stop, he had to force himself to snap out of that sweet, blood-thirst-driven haze because it was only a matter of time before the other thugs came to their boss' aid.
About Jazz Noir Collection and Other Juicy Stuff
Jazz Noir is a collection of stories, told from the viewpoint of various characters that struggle with their destinies during and around the Prohibition years, in the Unites States of America, spanning over more than two decades and including at least as many generations – from 1910 to 1935.
The characters from the Jazz Noir Collection are all connected - some more than others. Expect to see recurring characters, like Ed Valenti. By the time the Collection will near its initially planned size, most of the characters to will be tied together by conflicting desires and unraveling passions, by a thirst for revenge, and a need for redemption.
More books from the Jazz Noir Collection: Naked Figure of Desire (Book #1 of the Naked Figure Series), Naked Figure of Power (Book #2 of the Naked Figure Series – Ed Valenti is in this one!) and Dance the Dance.
For more updates on the Jazz Noir Collection, weekly goodies (including email-only free short stories tied to the Jazz Noir Universe and character art), insights into the author’s plans and a chance to influence her decisions (after all, she’s writing for your pleasure), go to this link https://juliaproud.com/and become a Proud Subscriber!
The author appreciates you taking the time to read this work of fiction and is not ashamed to ask for even more of your time, urging you to consider writing a review wherever you have bought the book from. Also, why not tell your friends and family about it and help spread the word?
Oh, and don’t forget: follow @juliaproud2014 on Twitter for laughs, updates and the weekly #ChallengeTheProud.
What event is this Challenge the Proud thing?
You can win all of Julia Proud’s books, pa
st and future. That’s right. Every book Julia Proud will ever write, you’ll get a free copy of it. All you have to do is participate in the Challenge the Proud event on Twitter and you will get a shot at winning this lifetime prize.
Challenge Julia (you must be on Twitter for this) every week with a word or phrase (whatever you want) and she will write a short story around/about that word or phrase. For instance, „Keep your friends close and your enemas closer.” has been Challenge No.4. Check out the short story that resulted from this great challenge:http:/juliaproud.com/challenge-the-proud/pent-up/To be picked for the weekly challenge, just make sure that your challenge has the most favorites on Twitter.
Once this event reaches Challenge No.30, it will move on to the next stage – all of the short stories will be published and offered to the public to read and vote, choosing the one they’d like to see developed into a serial. The challenger that has prompted the winning short story will win the Grand Prize! That’s a 1 out of 30 odds, and if you participate more often and get more challenges turned into shorts, your chances will only get better.
To stay on top of things, and always up to date, become a Proud Subscriber and you’ll only be bothered by Julia’s mails on Mondays.
About the Author
Julia Proud has always been fascinated by stories and spent countless hours scribbling something or other. But she also had a love for exact science and Mathematics. After a few years spent studying Cybernetics and Statistics, she decided to try her hand at Film School, because, erm… why not?
She has always loved the movies and writing scripts turned out to be fitting. But again she couldn’t be still and somehow ended up working as an Animation Artist for various Television Series and even in the Flash Games Industry.
She is currently working as a freelancer, and ardently struggling to figure out this new thing she’s bumped into: motherhood. But despite her winding journey, Julia Proud has never let go of her love for writing and storytelling. As long as she manages to touch another’s soul with her stories she will be proud – bad pun intended.
