The Iris of the Madonna.
May. 13th, 2006 11:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
joegodaIn an alleyway, breath short and tense, a man was running for his life. He glanced quickly over his shoulder, not missing a beat. In him mind there were thoughts of how he should have given up smoking long ago, how much he loved his children, his wife, his life, and how he really wished he had never gotten involved in this stupid fucking deal in the first place.
Hot breath coming in short gasps, chest aching from the strain on muscles used to sitting in an office chair, he ran, hoping to get to his car in time. In one hand he had a bag, not much bigger than a large thermos. In his other were his car keys, and as he ran, he fumbled to find the one for the door to his car, parked next to a dumpster, under a fire-escape.
Footsteps followed him. Dark shapes belonged to the footsteps, and they were moving much faster than he was. He was to his car, fumbling key in lock when they caught him.
There were two men, one large and heavy, the other short and slender. They called each other Pinky and the Brain, after a popular cartoon they both enjoyed. Pinky was the large one, which left the other as Brain. Not that the shorter man was that intelligent. In truth, he was not.
"Fred," said the larger one, as he held the frightened man by the neck with one hand, and with the other hand pinned Fred’s arm behind him, "you have something we gotta take from you. If you hadn’t have run, it would have been so much easier"
"Yeah, Fred. Running’ was the last thing you should have done." Brain pulled a toothpick from his mouth, and pulled a slim blade from his pocket. "Not that it made any difference to me. I get paid regardless of the direction this thing turns out"
In the dim moonlight that filtered into the alley, Fred could see a slim flash of steel, sharp and needlelike. He started to cry out but the blade flashed into his belly, rupturing his diaphragm, puncturing his heart and ending his life.
"Guess he didn’t have much to say, Brain."
"Guess not, Pinky"
Pinky picked up the bag from where it had fallen. He placed it very carefully in the pocket of his overcoat. "Hey Brain, let’s take the package back to Amos, get our pay and go to Angel’s for a drink."
"Pinky, I think that’s an excellent idea", replied Brain, chuckling.
Both men the walked casually back the way they had come. The sky had closed up, covering the moon. There was a mist like rain falling down, drawing a shimmering shroud over the dead man.
In the city, though very little is ever seen, very little goes unnoticed. The city, they say, has eyes as well as ears. After the killers had left, two other figures detached themselves from a niche in the wall, walked over and examined the dead man.
"How curious." said the taller. "I wonder what that was all about. I wonder what he carried that was worth his life.
The other, stooped and not nearly as tall said, "I don’t know, Justin. I do know that we ought to report this to the Mulligan soon as possible. Bein' around a dead guy is not the most healthy place to be. Besides, dead people give me the creeps. Can we go now?"
"In just a moment, Rat. Let me look first". Justin Stone pulled white latex gloves from his pocket, bent down to the dead man and gently searched his pockets, taking care to disturb very little and place everything back the way it was. He did find, and did take one small item and never felt a moment of regret. "All right, Ratman, let’s go get something to warm you up on this rather blustery night. Shall we go to Dots for a bit?"
"Justin, I don’t really give a shit, as long as it gets me out of the rain.
Dots was an all night diner, built by the Valentine Manufacturing Co. in Wichita, Kansas. It had been purchased in 1957 and was still around to serve the late night residents of the city.
The diners owner, Dot, had inherited it from her father, and still ran it pretty much the same way he had. For 50 cents you could get a cup of coffee. For a buck, you could get a ham sandwich, with cheese. If you were cold and homeless, you could spend a few warm hours with conversation and something to warm your belly, as long as you didn’t cause any trouble. It was clean, it was safe, and it stayed open all night.
Nobody knew how Dot could afford to sell her goods so cheap. If anybody asked she would just say that she had angels on her shoulder.
In a booth towards the back, Justin Stone and Raphael Jones, known to just about every one as Ratman sat and drank hot, strong coffee. Justin was deep in thought, his dark brows knitted tightly above crystal clear blue eyes. Ratman sat quietly, knowing that nothing he would say would penetrate the intense concentration that Justin was involved in. He reached in his pocket, fished out a quarter and dropped it in the old Crosley jukebox on the table. He chose D8, George Thorogood’s version of Bad to the Bone, sat back and sipped his coffee while he waited. His gazed crossed the cramped diner, seeing who was here and what signs he could pick up. There wasn’t much activity in the diner tonight, it being so late.
There were only two other patrons in the place.
Milky Saturn was near the front, which made sense. Milky was a prostitute, or Escort, excuse me very much. No much past her prime, she was still a darn good looking woman, though her sense of humor had been a bit dulled by her cynicism.
John Frewer, sat at the counter, near the register. He was a washed up Stock broker, who got tired of the race and the games and decided that life is much better if the only folks he lied to was himself. He and Milky sometimes got together, when the nights were cold and the loneliness got to be too much for both of them.
Hell, Ratman himself had been the beneficiary of Milky’s arms and charms, once upon a time. It’s possible that everyone had, at least once. At one time, Ratman thought he was in love with Milky, but something in Milky’s attitude gave out a no trespassing sign. Ratman still had a warm spot for her, but it was a guarded one.
Rat got up and walked over to where John was sitting. Sidling up to his own seat, he said "What’s doing, John? Anything you heard about?"
John shook his head. "Not a damn thing, Ratty. I was selling some CDs on Market Street the other day, and heard a little news, but nothing very big." The CDs John sold were Certificates of Deposit. They may have even been legitimate.
"What news did you hear?" Rat asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Nothing really. Just about a major player moving into the area. Supposed to be a real SOB, too. Not someone I’d like to be messing around with. I heard that with him competitors sometimes disappeared."
"Does this guy have a name?"
"You are certainly nosey tonight, Rat.", John said raising his own eyebrows. He crinkled his nose with an ever so slightly evil grin. "You looking to make a score?"
Rat raised his hands defensively, "John, you know I don’t do that sort of stuff any more. I’m just askin for Justin, cuz you know how he craves information. Besides, if this guy you’re talking about is that bad, why would I want to cross him? I do not want to disappear."
"Just asking, Rat, just pullin your leg, so to speak." John spread his hands and shrugged. "No, I didn’t catch the person’s name. I just hear rumors, you know. Just tidbits and little things. Like how this guy blew into town about a week ago, set up shop really quick, put the word out for some muscle and went shopping. He asked a lot of questions from a lot of folks. Seemed he was looking for flowers, but why nobody could figure."
"Flowers?" Ratman scratched the side of his nose. "What the hell would he want to flowers for? Specially if he was hirin’ muscle? That don’t make a whole lot of sense. Sure there’s competition in every business, but somehow I don’t think the flower business is all that rough."
"Well, that’s all I heard, except for the typical hopes and dreams of the lost folks out in the world. I made a few good scores and that was about it."
Ratman heard Justin call his name. "Good to be talking to you, John. Try to stay a step ahead of the law, ok?"
John clapped his hand on Ratman’s shoulder. "Not to worry, Raphael. You do the same."
Back at the table with Justin, Rat asked "What’s up, Justin?"
"I think it’s a bout time we brought Mulligan into this. I thought about not involving him, knowing that someone would find the body, but I figured Mulligan might be able to provide some useful information down the line."
"What’s the big deal, Justin?" asked Rat. "It’s just some poor schmoe that got whacked for something that didn’t belong to him. I don’t see the puzzle or mystery."
"That’s because, my dear Ratman, you didn’t see the pawn ticket that the man had in his pocket" Justin pulled a crumpled piece of paper out and shoved it across the table. Ratman picked up the scrap and looked at it. "It reads Schuman’s Pawn at the top.", Justin said, " It was a ticket made out to Fred Parkman, who apparently pawned some 'artwork' for 20 dollars and picked it up just today. Fred Parkman is, or was, the dead man back in the alley, apparently."
Ratman said, "You mean he was killed for a 20 dollar piece of art junk? That doesn’t make any sense, Justin."
"And there, Rat, lies the puzzle. There’s the mystery. I wonder what the art piece was. Why was he killed for it? Why such nasty business over a 20 dollar bit of pottery or glassware or china? Excuse me while I make a call."
Justin stood up and stepped outside to place the call. There was too much tin and metal in the old diner to allow any good cell phone reception. Rat walked over to Milky’s table.
"Hi Milky. How’s tricks?"
"Ha Ha Ha, Ratty. Not terribly funny, but not terribly bad either. Business sucks. Seems nobody wants this ol’ body of mine anymore"
"Awww, Milky. You know that’s not true. Times are just tough, that’s all. Money’s tight all over."
"Yeah, maybe. Think your boss would be interested in a go?"
"One, he’s not my boss. He’s my friend. And two, I can’t remember that I’ve ever seen Justin with anyone. He’s pretty tightly wound, Milky. He doesn’t let anyone in, that I’ve ever known; not even me. I think I’m the closest thing to a friend he has"
Outside, Justin was just finishing up his phone conversation. He stepped into the diner and motioned for Ratman to come with him. "Mulligan was very interested in the body. He said they had been following a couple of thugs for a few days. When I described the events to him, what I heard, he said that the killers sounded like his Pinky and the Brain. Of course he asked me if I could positively identify the two men. And of course I said no. I expect he’ll be paying me a visit tomorrow."
"Mulligan’s a good guy, Justin", said Ratman. "Straight as an arrow, but not quite as sharp. You know he pretty much expects you to solve this case"
"I don’t do cases, Ratman. You know that. I solve puzzles, that’s all. Let’s go home."
They walked the few blocks to Justin’s five story brownstone, which he bought with the insurance money from his parent’s death. That and a few well placed investments made Justin a very wealthy man.
The brownstone was one of those buildings built in the late 1800’s destined to last forever if kept up. When Justin bought it, it was pretty run down, but a little work, a little time, a lot of money and it was now a showplace, and the city had placed the building on its historical registry.
Justin Stone's parents were murdered by a bell tower sniper in 1972 when he was five. Both of his parents, John and Sarah, were professors and were walking their son across the green when a single bullet pierced John's skull and Sarah's heart.
Consequently, Justin suffered great emotional shock. So great that his emotions curled away to a dark place, pulled the dark in after itself and hid away like a small child afraid of monsters. Justin grew up a sociopath, but as he put it, he is a rational sociopath, because "an irrational sociopath commits acts of violence because he has no concept of the consequences. Only an irrational person wouldn't recognize that creating pain causes pain.. your own. It's better to be a good guy than a bad guy. It doesn't hurt so much"
Hot breath coming in short gasps, chest aching from the strain on muscles used to sitting in an office chair, he ran, hoping to get to his car in time. In one hand he had a bag, not much bigger than a large thermos. In his other were his car keys, and as he ran, he fumbled to find the one for the door to his car, parked next to a dumpster, under a fire-escape.
Footsteps followed him. Dark shapes belonged to the footsteps, and they were moving much faster than he was. He was to his car, fumbling key in lock when they caught him.
There were two men, one large and heavy, the other short and slender. They called each other Pinky and the Brain, after a popular cartoon they both enjoyed. Pinky was the large one, which left the other as Brain. Not that the shorter man was that intelligent. In truth, he was not.
"Fred," said the larger one, as he held the frightened man by the neck with one hand, and with the other hand pinned Fred’s arm behind him, "you have something we gotta take from you. If you hadn’t have run, it would have been so much easier"
"Yeah, Fred. Running’ was the last thing you should have done." Brain pulled a toothpick from his mouth, and pulled a slim blade from his pocket. "Not that it made any difference to me. I get paid regardless of the direction this thing turns out"
In the dim moonlight that filtered into the alley, Fred could see a slim flash of steel, sharp and needlelike. He started to cry out but the blade flashed into his belly, rupturing his diaphragm, puncturing his heart and ending his life.
"Guess he didn’t have much to say, Brain."
"Guess not, Pinky"
Pinky picked up the bag from where it had fallen. He placed it very carefully in the pocket of his overcoat. "Hey Brain, let’s take the package back to Amos, get our pay and go to Angel’s for a drink."
"Pinky, I think that’s an excellent idea", replied Brain, chuckling.
Both men the walked casually back the way they had come. The sky had closed up, covering the moon. There was a mist like rain falling down, drawing a shimmering shroud over the dead man.
In the city, though very little is ever seen, very little goes unnoticed. The city, they say, has eyes as well as ears. After the killers had left, two other figures detached themselves from a niche in the wall, walked over and examined the dead man.
"How curious." said the taller. "I wonder what that was all about. I wonder what he carried that was worth his life.
The other, stooped and not nearly as tall said, "I don’t know, Justin. I do know that we ought to report this to the Mulligan soon as possible. Bein' around a dead guy is not the most healthy place to be. Besides, dead people give me the creeps. Can we go now?"
"In just a moment, Rat. Let me look first". Justin Stone pulled white latex gloves from his pocket, bent down to the dead man and gently searched his pockets, taking care to disturb very little and place everything back the way it was. He did find, and did take one small item and never felt a moment of regret. "All right, Ratman, let’s go get something to warm you up on this rather blustery night. Shall we go to Dots for a bit?"
"Justin, I don’t really give a shit, as long as it gets me out of the rain.
Dots was an all night diner, built by the Valentine Manufacturing Co. in Wichita, Kansas. It had been purchased in 1957 and was still around to serve the late night residents of the city.
The diners owner, Dot, had inherited it from her father, and still ran it pretty much the same way he had. For 50 cents you could get a cup of coffee. For a buck, you could get a ham sandwich, with cheese. If you were cold and homeless, you could spend a few warm hours with conversation and something to warm your belly, as long as you didn’t cause any trouble. It was clean, it was safe, and it stayed open all night.
Nobody knew how Dot could afford to sell her goods so cheap. If anybody asked she would just say that she had angels on her shoulder.
In a booth towards the back, Justin Stone and Raphael Jones, known to just about every one as Ratman sat and drank hot, strong coffee. Justin was deep in thought, his dark brows knitted tightly above crystal clear blue eyes. Ratman sat quietly, knowing that nothing he would say would penetrate the intense concentration that Justin was involved in. He reached in his pocket, fished out a quarter and dropped it in the old Crosley jukebox on the table. He chose D8, George Thorogood’s version of Bad to the Bone, sat back and sipped his coffee while he waited. His gazed crossed the cramped diner, seeing who was here and what signs he could pick up. There wasn’t much activity in the diner tonight, it being so late.
There were only two other patrons in the place.
Milky Saturn was near the front, which made sense. Milky was a prostitute, or Escort, excuse me very much. No much past her prime, she was still a darn good looking woman, though her sense of humor had been a bit dulled by her cynicism.
John Frewer, sat at the counter, near the register. He was a washed up Stock broker, who got tired of the race and the games and decided that life is much better if the only folks he lied to was himself. He and Milky sometimes got together, when the nights were cold and the loneliness got to be too much for both of them.
Hell, Ratman himself had been the beneficiary of Milky’s arms and charms, once upon a time. It’s possible that everyone had, at least once. At one time, Ratman thought he was in love with Milky, but something in Milky’s attitude gave out a no trespassing sign. Ratman still had a warm spot for her, but it was a guarded one.
Rat got up and walked over to where John was sitting. Sidling up to his own seat, he said "What’s doing, John? Anything you heard about?"
John shook his head. "Not a damn thing, Ratty. I was selling some CDs on Market Street the other day, and heard a little news, but nothing very big." The CDs John sold were Certificates of Deposit. They may have even been legitimate.
"What news did you hear?" Rat asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Nothing really. Just about a major player moving into the area. Supposed to be a real SOB, too. Not someone I’d like to be messing around with. I heard that with him competitors sometimes disappeared."
"Does this guy have a name?"
"You are certainly nosey tonight, Rat.", John said raising his own eyebrows. He crinkled his nose with an ever so slightly evil grin. "You looking to make a score?"
Rat raised his hands defensively, "John, you know I don’t do that sort of stuff any more. I’m just askin for Justin, cuz you know how he craves information. Besides, if this guy you’re talking about is that bad, why would I want to cross him? I do not want to disappear."
"Just asking, Rat, just pullin your leg, so to speak." John spread his hands and shrugged. "No, I didn’t catch the person’s name. I just hear rumors, you know. Just tidbits and little things. Like how this guy blew into town about a week ago, set up shop really quick, put the word out for some muscle and went shopping. He asked a lot of questions from a lot of folks. Seemed he was looking for flowers, but why nobody could figure."
"Flowers?" Ratman scratched the side of his nose. "What the hell would he want to flowers for? Specially if he was hirin’ muscle? That don’t make a whole lot of sense. Sure there’s competition in every business, but somehow I don’t think the flower business is all that rough."
"Well, that’s all I heard, except for the typical hopes and dreams of the lost folks out in the world. I made a few good scores and that was about it."
Ratman heard Justin call his name. "Good to be talking to you, John. Try to stay a step ahead of the law, ok?"
John clapped his hand on Ratman’s shoulder. "Not to worry, Raphael. You do the same."
Back at the table with Justin, Rat asked "What’s up, Justin?"
"I think it’s a bout time we brought Mulligan into this. I thought about not involving him, knowing that someone would find the body, but I figured Mulligan might be able to provide some useful information down the line."
"What’s the big deal, Justin?" asked Rat. "It’s just some poor schmoe that got whacked for something that didn’t belong to him. I don’t see the puzzle or mystery."
"That’s because, my dear Ratman, you didn’t see the pawn ticket that the man had in his pocket" Justin pulled a crumpled piece of paper out and shoved it across the table. Ratman picked up the scrap and looked at it. "It reads Schuman’s Pawn at the top.", Justin said, " It was a ticket made out to Fred Parkman, who apparently pawned some 'artwork' for 20 dollars and picked it up just today. Fred Parkman is, or was, the dead man back in the alley, apparently."
Ratman said, "You mean he was killed for a 20 dollar piece of art junk? That doesn’t make any sense, Justin."
"And there, Rat, lies the puzzle. There’s the mystery. I wonder what the art piece was. Why was he killed for it? Why such nasty business over a 20 dollar bit of pottery or glassware or china? Excuse me while I make a call."
Justin stood up and stepped outside to place the call. There was too much tin and metal in the old diner to allow any good cell phone reception. Rat walked over to Milky’s table.
"Hi Milky. How’s tricks?"
"Ha Ha Ha, Ratty. Not terribly funny, but not terribly bad either. Business sucks. Seems nobody wants this ol’ body of mine anymore"
"Awww, Milky. You know that’s not true. Times are just tough, that’s all. Money’s tight all over."
"Yeah, maybe. Think your boss would be interested in a go?"
"One, he’s not my boss. He’s my friend. And two, I can’t remember that I’ve ever seen Justin with anyone. He’s pretty tightly wound, Milky. He doesn’t let anyone in, that I’ve ever known; not even me. I think I’m the closest thing to a friend he has"
Outside, Justin was just finishing up his phone conversation. He stepped into the diner and motioned for Ratman to come with him. "Mulligan was very interested in the body. He said they had been following a couple of thugs for a few days. When I described the events to him, what I heard, he said that the killers sounded like his Pinky and the Brain. Of course he asked me if I could positively identify the two men. And of course I said no. I expect he’ll be paying me a visit tomorrow."
"Mulligan’s a good guy, Justin", said Ratman. "Straight as an arrow, but not quite as sharp. You know he pretty much expects you to solve this case"
"I don’t do cases, Ratman. You know that. I solve puzzles, that’s all. Let’s go home."
They walked the few blocks to Justin’s five story brownstone, which he bought with the insurance money from his parent’s death. That and a few well placed investments made Justin a very wealthy man.
The brownstone was one of those buildings built in the late 1800’s destined to last forever if kept up. When Justin bought it, it was pretty run down, but a little work, a little time, a lot of money and it was now a showplace, and the city had placed the building on its historical registry.
Justin Stone's parents were murdered by a bell tower sniper in 1972 when he was five. Both of his parents, John and Sarah, were professors and were walking their son across the green when a single bullet pierced John's skull and Sarah's heart.
Consequently, Justin suffered great emotional shock. So great that his emotions curled away to a dark place, pulled the dark in after itself and hid away like a small child afraid of monsters. Justin grew up a sociopath, but as he put it, he is a rational sociopath, because "an irrational sociopath commits acts of violence because he has no concept of the consequences. Only an irrational person wouldn't recognize that creating pain causes pain.. your own. It's better to be a good guy than a bad guy. It doesn't hurt so much"
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-14 04:49 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-14 04:59 am (UTC)I still loves youse guys, the ones that I loves. I just won't be very talkative.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-15 10:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-14 05:06 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-14 05:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-14 05:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-14 05:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-14 05:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-14 05:51 am (UTC)30 years? Then you have had time to chip and polish in your mind, and then some.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-14 01:15 pm (UTC)Welcome to the City. It's how my mind views the world as it is today, when I'm in a darker mood. Justin Stone is a persona I've carried even before the story was born. He just needed a medium.
By the way, I enjoyed your last installment. You should be about ready to publish, yes? You are a much bolder writer than I, and write very tight prose.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-14 03:09 pm (UTC)A dark and stormy beginning......
i'm already hooked.