The Framing of Jon Smith

[joegoda]

5631 / 50000 words. 11% done!

It was not good news that Mary was the one I saw. The little Match Girl was an icon around these parts, and everyone loved her. Of course. She was little and cute and always carried this air of wide-eyed innocence with her, regardless of her being way older than any living person. I don't count Vampires and Zombies. They aren't living and I've never met one. I'm not even sure they exist.

Anyway, during the rewind, little blonde haired, big blue eyed Mary was coming out of the big wooden double door with it's gold-rimmed glass windows and walking down the the concrete steps toward the street, carrying the pooch. Like I said, she had a grin on her. Now, that grin might have been because she had seen Mendlehousen all broken and busted, or it could have been because she was walking away with Mendlehousen's doggie. Little girls all like doggies, right? So, let's say that Mary came to visit her old friend, Mendlehousen, found him crumpled like a fast food wrapper, and took the dog. Just to keep it safe, you know? Give it a good home and such.

Mendlehousen and Mary were friends? That's a new one on me. Mary had lots of friends, but Mendlehousen had... acquaintances. Hmmm. I jotted this down in a little brown Moleskin notebook I carried in my back pocket.

"Hey!" A voice from the street called up to me. I turned toward the voice and there was a young man and woman, both in their 20's, looking up at me. "You okay, mister? You don't look so good." They were both dressed in leather long-coats and big floppy leather hats, the style of the day. She had on red stilettos and he was wearing red high-top sneakers. An odd combination, but I'm not very style conscious. The man's face showed concern, while the woman was standing at attention, pulling gently on his arm, her posture saying "Lets go, leave him alone. He's just another one of those...". Whatever those are.

My voice came out a bit gravelly and squeaky. "I'm fine. I just have a little... No, I'm fine. You all going to a Rave tonight?" I coughed a bit, and not for dramatic effect.

"Yeah, Bunsen Burners is playing. They say they're gonna be bringing up the devil!" The excitement on the man's face wasn't mirrored in his partners. She just looked bored and impatient.

"Johnny," she said quietly, "let's go. He's fine. He said so."

I ignored her. "You believe that?", I asked Johnny. "That they can raise the devil?"

"Heck, man... These days I'll believe just about anything. But wouldn't it be super cool if they did?"

No Johnny. It wouldn't be super cool at all. The devil, as portrayed in Christian mythology, was a myth... such as described by the word 'mythology'. My belief, you see. Yours may vary and best of luck with that. However, the other side of the devil, the various and sundry incarnations of the devil that came from the fevered imaginations of human beings after centuries of looking for someone else to blame for their misfortune? Very real. As real as a nightmare. As real as the hurt of a broken heart. As real as the tears from a baby that cannot yet tell you why they cry.

I've seen the devils and the demons conjured up by crazy people. All teeth, claws, destruction and bloody death. The demon wars were real, and I was lucky to get out of it.

"Sure," I told him. "SUPER cool. You be safe, all right? Sometimes those Raves can turn nasty."

Now I got the girl's attention. "You a cop? Or something?" I saw her nostrils flare as she took a big sniff. she laughed, her lips curled in derision. "You aren't a cop. You don't even have a lot of anything, do you?" She let go of Johnny's arm and started walking away.

Johnny just stared at his mate. "June! How incredibly rude!" He turned to me. "I'm sorry mister. Sometimes she gets like this." He started walking after his girl, pulled away by June's wake.

"Just remember what I said," I called to him. "If things get hairy, don't forget to duck!" He turned briefly and waved back at me.

June was a sensitive, apparently, and can smell magic. I'd heard of them, just never met one. And, just as apparent, she didn't like me a whole lot. Snobs. You find 'em everywhere.

I turned back to what I was doing and scribbled in my notebook. Cars were passing on the street next to the Brownstone, and I noticed that the faces in those cars were turned my way. Odd, I thought. I showered and everything. So, I pulled my head out of my work and visually scanned the neighborhood just a bit closer. There were a few folks on the sidewalk, just walking like folks do, going where folks go. Some were stopped at the corner of 5th and Bridgeway, three houses down, waiting for the light to change.

They were all looking my way. "This means that somebody knows something," I mumbled to myself. Mister Obvious, if nothing else... that's me.

"Yep. That they do, old son." A middle-aged voice, with a soft Irish melody to it, belonging to one Richard Reed, a minor detective on the City's payroll, and another friend of mine. I jumped, startled at his voice so close at hand and he laughed.

"Don't do that to me, Dick!" I growled at him, shooting him the finger. "You know I hate that."

"Yeah," he said amiably. "And that's why I do it." Richard Reed, Dick to only a few folks who won't misuse the name, was thin as his last name and had a shock of bright red hair. He looked like a match stick. His eyes were bright blue and he had a star-shaped birthmark under his right eye.

"So, Johann, did you find anything?" Dick knew about my small talent, and had some respect for it.

Like most of the police force, he had either no talent or a talent so small, it wouldn't even register as magical. Like knowing who was calling on the telephone. That's not a big deal. Neither is being able to look backwards 5 minutes, but you'd be amazed at how useful it is when you don't remember where you left your keys.

"Not yet," I half fibbed. "Dick, how long have you been here?"

"About half an hour or so". Rubbed a hand through his mane. "Why?"

"Did you see anyone come in or go out of the building?" I shrugged. "You know how my stuff works, and I'm trying to see if I saw anything relevant."

"What did you see?" He asked.

"I'm not really sure. Just a kid."

"Well," he said, smiling with his eyes. "If you saw a kid, then they must have been playing around the stoop here. Hasn't been hide nor hair of anyone in the building near the body since I've been here."

Huh. Now, I know that my rewind and fast forward sight can only look a few minutes in either direction. I know I saw Mary come out of the brownstone's doors. And here was Dick, good old dependable Dick, my friend for many decades, telling me something that I knew was patently not true. But then again...

"Dick, how many tenants live in the building?", I asked. "Mendlehousen lived on, what? The fifth floor?"

"Hell, Johann", Dick shrugged, "Mendlehousen owned the whole fifth floor." He looked back up the steps toward the building. "I dunno. Seven? Eight families occupy the first three floors and the fourth is co-owned by four singles." He pulled out a small blue spiral notebook. "Yeah. On the fourth we have James Franco, Mary Shelly, Daniel Harris, and Sheldon Cooper. On the third, there's the Adams, the Hernandez and the Eastons. On the second floor, only two families - the Crookshanks and the Wrights. First floor has three families again. Johnson, Flemming and Frieze."

"Any one of them heard anything?", I wondered. "Seems to me that with the body in the shape it was in, a heck of a racket must have been made."

Dick laughed, a deep chuckle. "Funny about that, Jon." It just sounded odd when Dick used my nickname. "Nobody heard nuthin'. Not a lot of help there."

"Anyone see anything odd? Notice anyone in the hallway or any unusual visitors?"

He answered what I figured he would. "Nope, nope and nope. Nobody heard nuthin. Nobody saw nuthin."

"Groovy", I muttered, meaning anything other than groovy. "How bout the Match Girl? Anyone see her?"

Dick straightened sharply, and a dark cloud covered his face. "Mary? What would Mary be doing around here?"

It was my turn to shrug. "I dunno. Just asking, Dick."

He cocked an eyebrow my direction. "That was the kid in your vision?"

"Yeah."

"Oh shit", he said. "Really? Johann... really?" He pondered a bit on that, chewing the inside of his cheek. I kept my own counsel, knowing not to disturb Dick's cud chewing. "Well, if nobody saw anything, and nobody heard anything, and nobody saw anyone unusual, what does that mean?"

"Buddy", I said, shoving my hands in my pockets and trying to ignore the chill that came over me. "It means that somebody is lying to us." I didn't let Dick know I included him in my next statement. "It means that maybe Everybody is lying to us."

A heavy silence fell like the blanket of deep, dark thoughts during a funeral. Dick didn't look at me, and instead stared blankly out at the streets.

Long, hard moments passed before he spoke. I wanted him to be the first one to say anything, to see what that anything would be. What he said surprised me.

"What are you lookin' at?" He was staring hard out at the street. I followed his gaze.

"You see 'em too, Dick?" I was referring to the folks that seemed to have nothing better to do that to stare our way.

"Yeah," he said, his soft voice becoming more like granite as his temper rose. "It's like they never saw a couple of guys talking about a murder before. I wonder what's going on?"

He pointed out at one couple nicely dressed couple walking their cat. Yes, the City makes folks put cats on leashes here. Damn foolish notion. I don't particularly like cats, myself, but I suspect that nobody asked the cat how it felt about the issue. And if they did, the cats weren't talking.

"Hey!" Dick's voice raised a bit more. "I asked you what you were lookin' at?"

The fellow in the nicely dressed couple quickly averted his eyes. "Not a thing, officer." He was wearing a gray fedora with the tip of an peacock's feather tucked in the band. His voice didn't quiver with the sound of contriteness. "Not a thing. We're just out for an evening stroll." His voice sounded like it was one made for control.

"What do you think, Johann? Magic Folks?" Meaning, 'are these the elite of the world? Those lucky bastards who, by birth or accident have gained control over the forces of the Universe?'

I should have been flattered that Dick would ask me that question. It means that he lumps me with those snobby people who look at people like Dick as being somehow less than they are. Instead it just pissed me off.

"How the hell should I know, Dick?" My feathers were ruffled and coming out of my mouth in a fast and low growl. "I'm not some damn magician. I am a one trick pony. I do one thing, and even that I don't do very good."

"Hey! Johann, old son. I didn't mean anything by asking you, except to be asking' you." Dick paused and gauged my face. "Okay? No offense meant."

My temperature was stuck a bit on high. He had hit a sore spot with me, a sore spot ever since I was the freak at the orphanage. And freak or not, I learned a long time ago that the temperature shouldn't control me. I should control it. And I usually failed.

"Okay, it's okay, Dick. Here's what I think. I think that most of these folks know something. I don't think they're gonna talk. I think that most of them know someone that uses or can use magic themselves. I don't think most of them live around here. I think that they are watching us to see what we're gonna do. I don't think any of them are pushers or breakers, or else you and me would be probably swimming at the bottom of the river by now. That's what I think and what I don't think."

Breakers and pushers are the goon squad of the magic folks. Generally not very bright, but some of them are. Not always very fast, but again, some of them are. Breakers are bone breakers. Big muscles, small brains. Pushers are the opposite. Like me, a one trick pony, and their trick is to make you think a thing that makes you do a thing. Like thinking you're a fish and that you are supposed to live under and breath water. I've seen breakers; seen the things they can do. Pushers I've never seen and have only heard rumors about, because from what I've heard, if one is after you, you will never know it.

Dick had to remind me of that last bit. "Hey... if one of them was a pusher, how would we know it?"

"Because, Dick", I smiled with my teeth to show that my temper had dropped, "if we were pushed by a pusher, we wouldn't be talking about Mendlehousen's death, and I wouldn't be wondering about Mary."

Dick had to think about this for a while. "Okay." He nodded at me, his red shag bobbing. "I can concur with your observation, Sherlock. So what are they looking at? Just us?"

I shrugged with my hands in my pockets. It was getting cold as the sun started to set. "I guess." I looked at the Brownstone. "Maybe they're looking at something in the building. Maybe they're gazing with reverence at the fifth floor, wishing they could be with Mendlehousen or someone like him." I shrugged again. "I dunno, Dick."

"Hmph." Dick was a hmpher. When he had nothing to say, his hmph was as reliable as a Swiss watch.

"I wonder if Cousin Vinny has found out anything", I wondered aloud, wanting to move the conversation somewhere and hopefully inside where it was warmer. I was definitely getting a chill from somewhere.

Dick said, "I dunno either. I guess I better get back to the station and get some of this paper work done. Johann, old son, you would not believe the ton of paperwork one dead Sorcerer could create."

"Sure I would, Dick." A thought struck me just then, but it was a small one and scampered quickly away. It happens, sometimes. A thought is born, finds a hole to hide in, and stays there until it's needed. I chose to ignore it for the moment, and let it peek out at me from one of my brain folds. "The Elite always create a ton of paperwork. That's why they keep us normals around, you know."

Dick laughed. "Oh, is that why they do that? It's not because there's more of us then there are of them? Hmm. Sometimes, old son, I wonder whose side you're on."

"No worries, Dick", I said, slapping him on one of his mile high shoulders. "I'm always on my side, which today just happens to be the same side as you're on."

"Fair enough, Johann my friend." Dick stepped down to the street and tossed a fist at some of the folks who were still staring at us. Never subtle, was dear Dick. "You will be joining us you at Tommy D's tonight."
Tommy D's was a quiet little joint that played quiet music and let their patrons drink and talk in peace, scattered with just enough pretty waitresses to keep it interesting.

"I think that would be a fair prediction, Dick. And you keep claiming you have no magical blood."

Dick spat on the ground. "Even if I had some, I wouldn't be claiming it, old son. I'd just as soon cut it out with a dull spoon." And with that and a wave, Dick got into his little hybrid and drove off without a sound. Dick and his hybrid. Damned hippies.

The sun had faded to a pale shade of orange fire, which did nothing to make the air warmer. The tower clock chimed the seven hour, which was getting pretty late. I've been snooping here for a little over three hours and had found a few things. Now it was time to contemplate my navel, a beer, and some sleep. Tomorrow was gonna be a busy day, asking questions of folks who don't want to answer and looking for a little Match Girl, who doesn't want to be found.