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The slither of sound almost jumped me out of my skin, but I
didn’t make a move. On the outside, anyway. Inside, needles raced up my spine,
and my heart beat a little faster. Worse yet, the two beers I’d had while
asking questions in a tavern were starting to work. I had to take a leak.
With bated
breath I waited for the first glimpse of the culprit.
Rats! I mean
really, rats. I had been listening to the rustle of rats, thinking that the
second story man I was hunting was in the alley. Well, he might be. There was
plenty of room for all. I remained still, even when one long-tailed rodent
crawled onto my shoe and looked up to my face. I smiled down at him, and he ran.
My smile can do that to a lot of people, too.
My name’s Dooligan, but my friends call me Dooley. I’m a
private dick. I don’t do divorce cases, and I don’t work for big
corporations, as a rule. I like to work for people with genuine problems that a
by-the-book policeman might not do so well at. A large book of rules would
hamper the cop. I tend to make my own rules as I go along.
When Pop Priest
told me all the shops in his neighborhood were being hit by a burglar, I sent him
straight to the police.
“I tried that,
Dooley. They have been all over the place, interviewed people, taken prints, but
they have come up with nothing. Four of us have gone in together to pay you. I
remember the killer you caught in the hospital, and I’ll bet you can tag this
thief, too. What is your usual fee?”
“Whatever you
can afford to pay. You and Byron over there have been friends for years. I
should work for free.”
“Nothing
doing. When’s the last time you got a free drink out of me? Or a free steak
from Byron?”
“The last time
we went fishing, Pop. It’s been too long.”
Priest filled me
in on the details. Sometimes the thefts offered no clue as to how entrance was
made. Enough were from the overhead apartments to label the purp as a second
story man. He had been glimpsed by old Mrs. Avery as being lean and agile, with
a huge turtleneck covering most of the face. Hardly a unique description in a
cold climate.
Snow was late in
coming, so there was no good way to ID footprints. Whoever this guy was, Priest
said he was sure he had inside information, for there was always something ready
to steal. No cigarettes and pocket change for this guy. Pop had been hit three
times, the jewelry store four.
I asked why
deposits weren’t immediately made.
Pop looked sheepish. “After the first hit, I started to do
that. But, don’t ask me how, the other two times I filled the bag, set it on
the back shelf for a minute, and it was gone. There was nobody else in hack of
the bar.”
“Still drink
Canadian Mist, Pop?”
“Yes, Smart
Ass, I do, but that had nothing to do with it. Some nights I sleep here, waiting
to nail him, but he hasn’t shown.”
I checked out
the jewelry store and found the thief liked fine antique work, but had recently
taken nice new gold pieces as well. Byron’s story echoed Pop’s.
A fairly new
business had moved into the old shoe repair shop, and I went in to see if they
had a story.
I should say
she, and I should say WOW. Long brown hair, pretty face, low cut purple dress
that changed my answer to, “What’s your favorite color?” Hoooah.
“Yes, may I
help you?” she said with a half grin. She must have been used to the reactions
of breathing men.
“Hi,” I
smiled back. “My name’s Dooley, and I’m investigating a series of heists
in the neighborhood. Have you been robbed recently?”
Her face dropped
like she would cry. I wanted to take her in my arms and, well, never mind.
“Two night ago. I had saved two thousand dollars to buy some oriental rugs. I
was careless and left it under the counter. The police could find no signs of
forced entry.”
“Just like the
rest,” I told her as I looked over her wares. Mostly antiques, with some
modern collectable memorabilia thrown in. There were some very nice old pictures
of this city.
“I remember
that hotel. It was on the corner of Pop’s block.”
“Yes, it
burned in 1961. There used to be three hotels; now there are none.”
“So that’s
why the rest of the stores didn’t go. Not only were there two firewalls, but
there was enough space between them to hose it down.”
“Yeah, they
built things better in those days.”
“Anybody ever
buy these pictures?”
“ Sometimes architects do. They study the old designs, and I suppose they
figure out how to tie into them.”
“Sold any
recently?”
“Yes, let me
see.” She opened an account book on the counter. “Here we are. Billings
Design, Darlinggate, New Hampshire.”
Okay, now I was getting somewhere. My guess was that this
phony firm had good enough info to map these old buildings down to the last
nail. Just for the hell of it, I went back to Pop’s. I walked in back of the
bar, and he said not a word.
Sure enough, I
saw what I was looking for. There was even a smudge of dust to confirm it.
“Better lean a
little heavier on the dust rag, Pop.”
“Oh, now what
are you on about?”
“Let me guess.
Is this the spot where you put the bags?”
“Sure is.
Why?”
“Just this.”
With the point of my penknife I lifted the slide of the dumbwaiter door. It
hadn’t been used in so long that everybody had forgotten it existed.
“This was a
restaurant here that serviced the Whistler Hotel next door. That building has
been a hardware store for the past sixty years. There is a two foot distance
between the buildings.”
Pop just nodded
his head. “I knew you’d come to the root of it, pronto.”
“Just one
problem, Pop. I don’t know who is doing it.”
The timing was
right for another hit on the bar. I would check New Hampshire tomorrow Maybe I
would get lucky this evening.
The rat scurried
to the rear, then ran back by me. So, my wait was not to be in vain.
Now I saw just a piece of a shadow, now heard the scuff of a
foot. Another ten seconds and I would make a jump.
NOW! I hit the
perp so hard we rolled over, and I jerked him up and slammed him into the wall.
My hand slid around his front and found….a breast! What the hell?
Instantly it
fit. I spun her around. She looked me straight in the eye. It was the girl from
the antique shop.
“How did you
know?” she asked.
“I didn’t
until I grabbed your, uh…”
She actually
laughed. “Dooley, you are actually a gentleman. The big mean detective, a
gentleman.”
“Look, Kid,
tell you what. If you don’t tell anybody that, I’ll see what I can do for
you in court. Deal?”
“Deal”
And more like
lovers home from a tryst than detective and prisoner, we walked out onto Main
Street.
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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