Major City, 1938. It was rainy outside, and as the sky wept bitter tears on those mean streets of the city, a pair of eyes watched over the city like the eyes of God. These eyes belonged to a young man who was leaning back in his office chair with his feet propped up on his desk, with a stack of papers, photos, and case reports he had no real intention of digging through right now. In one hand he had an unlit cigarette, and in the other was a glass, half full with bourbon. As he glanced at the drink in his hand he smirked to himself, recollecting the old days when he was just a boy and his parents would tell him things NOT to do.
“Don’t run in the house.” “Don’t stay out past 9.” “Put that cigarette down, don’t you smoke in the house!” But every time he was told not to do something, it was his very first instinct to try it. Maybe that’s why this prohibition thing was such a stupid notion; maybe the rest of America was just like him. You didn’t even have to really like the swill, but the feel of danger and rebellion was all it took to draw people to it. He raised the cigarette to his teeth and sighed. He didn’t really like smoking that much either…but again, James Troy wasn’t the kind of person who liked being told what he could or couldn’t do.
Or maybe he just liked danger. After all, not just anyone would sign on to be a private eye detective. James had tried his hand at the force, but the longer he ran with he cowboys in the MCPD, the more he started to realize just how royally messed up the law actually was. Screw that business. What kind of system would honestly let a rapist walk free because he was a little roughed up in interrogation? Police brutality? Of course police were brutal…they had to be! Unlawful detainment? The bastard had tried to bolt out a three story window and it was all James could do not to let the idiot take a swan dive to the pavement below. They should be thanking James for saving his life, not giving him a rip! But it didn’t matter…he left that circus and now worked on his own terms and in his own way….at least most of the time.
She walked in wearing her favorite coat and fedora to keep the rain off. He liked that look on her. It was a classic look, and it made HER look classy, though he tended to like it when she was just in a dress or dress down attire. She let her long wavy hair free and the woman set her coat on the hanger by the door as she approached. Her heeled boots clacked on the floor as she moved and she stood in front of his desk, leaning across it, her rouge lips making the most alluring of smiles.
“The famous James Troy, sitting behind a desk with nothing to do but watch time tick by?” She asked. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were getting sick of this private eye business.”
“Good thing you know better, Elizabeth.” He answered. “I’m not sick of anything…just appreciating the little things.”
“Little things?” Elizabeth asked as she strolled around his desk and took off her hat, tossing it on hers which was on the other side of the room. James turned his attention out the 5th story window that he had been gazing out of and tried to look past the rain towards the harbor not far away.
“This world is sick, doll.” He grumbled. “You know that better than most.”
“What of it?” She asked with a bit more venom to her tone than she probably meant.
“If a man can’t take a minute to appreciate moments of silence and solitude, then he’ll go insane, or just become a recluse.”
“Well thank God in Heaven that you spend so much time by yourself.” Elizabeth teased. James smirked and took another sip of his drink.
“Ha! When I have a feisty partner like you around to irritate me on a day by day basis? I only get solitude in my sleep.”
“Don’t lie, James…I nag you in your dreams too.” Elizabeth grinned, sitting at her chair. Her desk was far more neat and orderly than James was…but that’s the way Elizabeth always was. Elizabeth Frost hadn’t originally been a detective like James had been. She used to be a singer at a nightclub in the upper east side.. Two years into her work, before she started pushing towards broad way, her mother and father were killed in a carjacking. Furious when the seemingly disinterested police department couldn’t gather together enough evidence to find the killer, she’d come to James, and after he’d helped her catch him…she kind of stuck around.
At first he was annoyed, but in time James grew to recognize that she wasn’t just a tumor on his livelihood. The girl had some skills, especially when James needed to do any interrogating. The way she can bat an eye can make most mens hearts melt. And put her in a cocktail dress and the wolves will come out to play, no question. Aside from being a femme fatale, she also had a keen eye for detail and James made sure to never go to a crime scene or stake out without bringing her along. It’s a shame she never became a detective. She would’ve done well. Actually, no…strike that. The more James tried to picture it, the more he recognized how fast that life would’ve destroyed her. Unionized organizations like that tend to swallow up talented youths and spit them out like bad tobacco. He was glad to have her as a partner…even if he would never say it to her face, or without a gun to his head.
“Have you looked at some of the open cases on your desk?” Elizabeth asked.
“Glanced at them.” He answered absentmindedly.
“You sure? How can you tell what’s even on your desk with the way its jumbled up?” Elizabeth teased. “Do you even remember what color your desk is?”
“Brown.” He growled.
“Should I clean off your desk and check?”
“That depends. Got a nice little maid outfit to wear while you do it?” James remarked. Elizabeth giggled and shook her head as she opened the drawer to her desk and began shuffling through papers and folders. James grinned back and took another swig from his glass, glancing out the window to the rainy sky.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“Sexual fantasies aside, you really need to take a look at this.” Elizabeth muttered, standing up having found the file she was looking for. James turned his attention to the manila envelope she was holding and plucked it out of her hands, opening it up and glancing at the case.
“The Harbor Murder?” He asked. “I thought the MCPD had that one.”
“They do, but there’s something fishy about it.” Elizabeth explained. She then grinned at her own joke and James rolled his eyes as he looked over the case notes. “The client was one Abigail Gutierrez. Her brother was the one killed.”
“Pablo Gutierrez…body found floating in the harbor. He had bruising on his neck, and the M.E ruled it death by strangulation.” James added. “Yeah, I remember that…but still, the MCPD can handle this one. Why’s Ms. Gutierrez asking us to investigate?”
“It’s been two weeks since the murder and there aren’t any solid leads. Besides, Pablo Gutierrez had a history with the police himself. He was arrested twice for violating the prohibition statutes and was suspected to be a runner for the mafia. Most of the police probably think it was mob related and are expecting the mob to clean up their own mess.”
“But you think different?”
“During my singing days, I’ve seen PLENTY of mob tough guys walk in and out of the door. I know what the mob is like. They aren’t the type of people who deal with in house problems by quietly strangling you and dumping your body.”
“That’s a good point…last snitch the mafia dealt with was sent to the hospital with enough broken bones he could’ve restocked a dog food store.” James mumbled, thinking it over. “So it’s too quiet and subtle to be mafia…”
“And the police have probably already written him off as just a mafia hit gone down, so they’re basically leaving it alone.” Elizabeth added. “Which means the killer is still in the wind.”
“It’s a sad day when low lives like us are more reputable than that police…” James chuckled. He pulled out the autopsy reports and the crime scene photos. James paused on one of the photos of the man’s torso.
“What was the victims job?”
“He worked security on the harbor. Supposedly that’s how he was smuggling in alcohol in shipping containers.” Elizabeth answered.
“Look at this photo.” James pulled out the picture and laid it on his mountain of paperwork for Elizabeth to see. He pointed to the neck where the bruises were most prominent.
“These choke patterns don’t look right to me.” James muttered. “Notice how the bruise is darker around the front of the neck but faded everywhere else…in fact, from the back…” He pulled out a second photo which showed the back of the victims head “…I don’t see any bruising at all.”
“And how is that weird?” James leaned back in his chair and exposed his neck to Elizabeth.
“Put your hands on me like you wanted to choke me.” Elizabeth shrugged and did so, not squeezing in any way, but still applying enough pressure to show that she was placing her hands in the appropriate spots. “What part of your hands would be applying the most pressure?”
“My thumbs and fingers?”
“Right. Strangulation by the hands is usually more broad, with deep bruising around the neck, especially as the victim struggles against your grip. We’d see at least some bruising on the back and sides of the neck, but here there’s barely any.”
“So you think it wasn’t done by hand?”
“No…I think it was probably a rope or chain…some kind of garrote instrument.” James answered. James stood up and walked around Elizabeth, removing his belt from his pants and wrapping the belt lightly behind Elizabeths neck to demonstrate. “From behind, all I’d have to do is pull back on the two sides of the rope…and apply pressure with my foot to your back.” James placed his foot close to the small of Elizabeth’s back to show what he meant and Elizabeth’s eyes lit up in surprise.
“He didn’t see his attacker. They were behind him.”
“That’s my thinking.”
“We’ll take a trip to the medical examiners office and see if he can’t shed a few more details on the corpse, but from the looks of things, Pablo was assaulted from behind and strangled. And there’s no bruising or cuts on his body otherwise, so he likely didn’t put up a fight…he was jumped.”
“So maybe he was targeted?” Elizabeth asked. “But if it’s not the mob, why target Pablo Gutierrez?”
“Maybe we should talk to the sister? See if Pablo was hiding any dirty little secrets.” James offered. He began strapping his belt back on and reaching for his coat and hat. “And let’s try not to step on the toes of the MCPD? They may not be taking this case seriously, but I’d rather not get them upset with me.”
“Want me to take the sister while you handle the M.E?” Elizabeth asked.
“I’d prefer if you stuck close to me, on this one. Our perp is someone who kills without warning and from behind…until we catch this guy, I want someone watching my back.” He growled.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a little paranoid?” Elizabeth asked. James nodded.
“Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean there isn’t someone out there to get you.” James answered. “Half of why I’m alive right now is because I double check every dark corner and every unloaded gun.”
“I’ll remember that.” Elizabeth nodded.
She was a smart woman; James couldn’t stop feeling proud of her for that. She learned fast and adapted to her situations and environment. Elizabeth Frost never stopped growing as an investigator…but James knew she had one last lesson to learn, and it might be the one she needed most of all. The most fundamental rule of the streets of Major City: Trust nothing; always verify. She was still a little naïve to understand that truth. She could keep thinking that way for now…she didn’t need to know how many background checks that James had done on Elizabeth before taking her in as his partner. After one too many close calls, James couldn’t afford to take chances. That’s just the nature of this sick, exhausting city.