joegoda | The Framing of Jon Smith

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I decided that I didn't even want to pop in to my tiny little apartment. Tommy D's was where I was wanting to be. Quiet conversation and the dulling effect of Jamesons. That's what I needed right now. I climbed in my blue rattletrap of a VW Thing and tootled down 5th to Waterton, about a block away. People were still staring at me, and it was starting to bug the crap out of me. Knowing that they were staring at ME was important. It wasn't the building and it wasn't Dick Reed. They were pointedly staring at me for some odd reason. Freaked me out, maaaan, as one of my orphanage brothers used to say.

I got to the corner of 5th and Waterton, and felt the change immediately. A sudden shiver came over me and then it was gone. I looked over at the nearest pedestrian, and just as pointedly, they looked suddenly away. It was as if I had reached some predetermined spot in the road and everyone who found me so interesting suddenly did not.

This was an oddity even more interesting than being the object of everyone's attention. Yes, the fact that I was such a focus was one thing. Yes, it was creepy in a very creepy sort of way. But to have that activity suddenly stop, brought two questions to mind. One; Why? Why did they watch me so intently? and B; Why did they stop watching me, and just as intently. It reminded me of that game that I never played in the Orphanage. "I'm not touching you" except it's "I'm not watching you." and I'm NOT watching you so intently, you will know that I'm not watching you because if I was watching you, it wouldn't be half as noticeable as right now when I'm NOT watching you.

It was true, too. Bad enough when they were watching me, it was double bad now that it was apparent they were NOT watching me. I had to go back. I don't know why, there was just something nagging at me. That's not quite true. I did know why I had to go back. It was because I didn't know why these ordinary people were doing the things they were doing. So I whipped a U-turn, pretty easily done on the wide street, even in my thingmobile, and started driving super slow back down the way I came.

What I had in mind was to see if there was a spot at which folks started watching me so intently again. And I'll be darned but there wasn't. There was no spot at which the heads swiveled around to start watching me as if I was the hot topic of the week. There was, however, a point at which the feeling of distinctly NOT being watched quit, and everyone started not watching me, normally. You know what I mean. The folks on the street just started acting normal again. There was one guy in a stripped driving cap who waved at me and smiled amiably. Bastard. A couple with a baby stroller nodded amiably toward me and the woman actually winked at me. What the hell?

I had no idea what this meant. The point where the world became normal again was three houses down from Mendlehousen's Brownstone. What did this mean? I had a nagging feeling I should know this! This was sneaky magic 101 and I've been around some pretty sneaky magic.

There was this guy in the Orphanage who used to be able to turn invisible just by staring at you. Not that he actually went invisible, mind you. He just did that mind trick so that you just didn't see him. What these folks were doing reminded me of that, but none of them went invisible that I could see. So... what was I missing. This was gonna bug me for a long time. I needed help. Definite inebriated help.

I drove down to Bridgeway and turned right, towards my side of town. This area, Mendlehousen's area, the rich area... this wasn't my place, and I felt it. My place was run down, newer, a bit more scrappier. Remember, I grew up among kids that liked to staple your sheets to your bunk. While you were in them. My apartment was just like that. A tiny 600 square foot place just big enough to handle my ego. It just so happened that Tommy D's was half way, give or take, between here and my little hideaway.

I drove down Bridgeway, past 3rd and 2nd, ran an amber light at Meridian, where the roads quit being numbered and started being named for States. Further on down, I turned right on Iowa and puttered my way towards Tommy D's, which was on Iowa and Cautious. Yeah, they name the streets odd here. But they all run north and south, east and west and they tend to be exactly one block apart, except when they aren't. You know... some goober buys a whole block and more and thinks he can extort more from a City than they are willing to pay for the right to build a street through his house.

Mary. What does Mary the Match Girl have to do with this? And what the hell could do that sort of damage to a guy like Mendlehousen? Not Mary, for sure and true. For all her age, she was still in the body of a little girl and that meant she had the strength of a little girl. She couldn't have beat a six foot plus man to a bloody pulp if she wanted to. So... what did she have to do with this? Hopefully I can find her and ask her. Not tonight, though.

And back on 5th, all those people staring at me, and then NOT staring at me. What the heck did that mean? What was I missing? Ah well... time wounds all heals. I will figure it out. I always do. But now, to drink. Perchance to dream. Aye, there's the rub.

Tommy D's is a dive. Not a full fledged dive in the sense that all the bad kids come to play here. Tommy is a big, serious fellow, standing almost seven foot tall in his bare feet. He was the State bare-knuckled freehand fighting champion for nine years straight. Then he tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and broke both his arms in two places. For good measure, he tore both rotators cuffs and for some reason his clavicle broke as well. Foul play were not words that came to the lips that might be connected to the brain that actually thought the words. Instead, everyone curses that foul crack, that nasty crack and raises a toast to Tommy every November 18th, which was the day he quit fighting and opened his place here on Iowa and Cautious.

The street gained the name of Cautious because if you aren't then you won't make it to where you were going. The street twists and turns and has hills and bumps and potholes the size of large badgers. There are, some of the more magically inclined say, places along Cautious that lead to other dimensions and other spaces. The street's original name was Red Crossing, or something like that. Back in the 20's it changed.

Harry Houdini played this town back then. On the way between California and wherever he was going next. he stopped in our little burg and did a show. Maybe it was the fact that the street crosses the river at it's widest part and he wanted to practice his famous water escape. You know the one. He's all handcuffed and chained and locked in a trunk that's lowered into a rushing river. Then mere moments before everyone suspects he's dead, he pops up behind the watching crowd and scares them into rampant applause.

Well, the story goes that Harry was driving down this street with a certain vivacious blonde on his arm, or in the passenger seat. Whatever. Anyway, the story goes that Harry and the blonde disappear from view, right at the corner where Tommy D's is now. The car didn't go over a hill or around a corner. It disappeared, as in vanished and in faded from this reality. Now, when the car reappears, Harry's alone. No blonde and the man is, to say the least, freaked like Daffy Duck. Says that he was in another world altogether and some sort of muck ridden monster grabbed the girl right out of the seat. Harry said he was lucky to be alive because just as another of the monsters was reaching for him, he found himself back in this world.

Of course, it's just a story. But it is one of the many stories that revolve around Cautious, and how the street got it's name. Still, it's a good story, and I like it.

So, Tommy D's got built on the very same corner where Houdini allegedly lost a blonde. Coincidence? Who knows? Who cares? It was the 20's and heck, maybe Harry ended up in R'lyeh and his blonde got et up some friend or other of Cthulhu. Maybe even the big C himself. Who knows? It was the 20's, when magic was all the rage and some wizard or witch was calling up some demon or other and then being possessed or eaten or disemboweled or something horrific. Did it stop the magicians from practicing? Not even a nit or a twiddle. Did it keep the high powered magical mighty from becoming the Elite of society, able to command mayors and even governors to do their bidding? Nope. No way, Jose'. Even with all those folks being eaten and possessed, the Mage-like continued their rise in status to where they are now. Ivory tower folks who are nigh untouchable.

But then there's Mendlehousen and him, with near every bone broken in his body. He certainly wasn't untouchable, was he? No magical diplomatic immunity for him, was there? So this begs the question: who? Why? And who again. Okay, so it's more than one question.

Mendlehousen was a nice guy. I've seen some of his performances. Hell, my own orphanage was the recipient of his good will. Free medical treatment goes a long way when you don't have parents with insurance. Lunches paid for does wonders for a kid used to an empty stomach. From some of the staff, Mendlehousen was a saint. I used to think so too, 'specially when Christmas came around.

Then I got older. Dated a bit. Grew more cynical, and yes, the two go hand in hand. Mendlehousen is, or rather was still a nice guy, but no longer a saint. Now I just wonder what sin he was paying for. And who decided to call his debt.

Tommy D's. A dark little hole in the wall, with smokey ceilings and dark rough timbers and dark solid wood paneling and booths tucked into nooks and crannies where whatever goes on, goes on and we don't ask and they don't tell. Small round tables just big enough for two to talk about their future with tall back chairs designed to remind one of when they were a child and their feet didn't touch the ground. Long rectangular tables for those crowds of folks who feel the need to loudly discuss the outcomes of the most recent game, whatever game of whatever sport or the crowd of bridesmaids seeing who can be the one to cause the not quite a bride yet to blush the longest and the hardest.

I swear, Tommy put a spell on the place so that every conversation could be heard by only the parties intended. That every party was just the right intensity without spilling into, around or over the tables and booths right next door. There was never a fight that wasn't taken outside. Never an argument that wasn't settled right then and there and the participants shook hands and raised a toast to each other in camaraderie. The noise there is always just the right level and if you want to talk you can talk. If you want to hear the Juke, you hear the Juke. And the Juke ain't no damn Interweb MP3 playing piece of crap. It is a real, honest to god and goddess 45 playing beast. You put in your money and you press B25 and you get Elvis. Or you press D13 and you get Frank or D42 and you get Dean. Yeah, I'm a snob about certain things. You can keep Elvis. But don't mess with the Rat Pack. That is just bad mojo.

Tommy D's. No place like it in the world. Sometimes I wonder if it is even IN this world, considering where it sits, at the corner of Iowa and Cautious. It's a dive. A hole in the wall. A place where one goes to HIDE out.

It is here where I hide out, and many others as well. Tommy D's. Where folks are just folks and magic be damned.

I parked the thingmobile in a slot under the red and blue Neon proclaiming that Pabst is the best and walked around to the side entrance. Tommy D's doesn't have a front entrance. All it has is side entrances. And it's never called Tommy's. Never called TD's. It is always called Tommy D's. Woe betide those who try other. Strange betide those who try other.

Tommy D's side door is a 200 pound, solid, ancient oak door, bound in 2 inch straps of pure hand wrought iron and carved upon with not one, not two but three levels of protective runes. Knowing the effect that Iron has on certain non-human magical types, and knowing that runes- in the right order - are power words from a time when Cthulhu was just a kid, Tommy decided to hedge on the edge of Caution and see if old the Big C and his ilk could be kept at bay for a while longer. Oddly, or perhaps not so, to us earthly human types, the door swings open as if it was on oiled ball bearings.

And this is the way it has been for me for the past nine years. I like it here. It keeps the voices in my head at bay and lets me gain clarity to the day and figure out what's what with things like the bizarity of murder and why the little Match Girl is in the middle of something terrible, which is exactly where she shouldn't be.

"Johann!" Dick came over to me and gave one of his incredible bear hugs. When Dick, as tall as he is, hugs you, you pretty much disappear and the best you can do is wait until you resurface. "You made it, after all!"

"Hey, Dick." I pulled away from my friend the gentle giant and looked around the room. "Where are we sitting?"

"Tonight, old son", Dick said, beaming, "we are playing DARTS!"

I groaned. Darts. I don't understand darts. I'm sure it's a simple game, but I have trouble with simple games. You know... those with rules about how you score and all that crap. I wasn't good at rummy, and I wasn't good at horseshoes either. Not because I couldn't play, but because the scoring always messed me up. God help me if I ever go bowling.

"Okay. Whatever", I grumbled. "Is Vinny here?"

Dick gained a hurt look on his thin face. "Johann! I am hurt. You don't want to play darts with me?"

Dick is such a kidder. He knows that I have NEVER wanted to play darts AND with not just him, but anyone. "Don't take it personal, Dick. I just can't friggin play that game."

"Of course!", Dick laughed. "That's why I like to play with you. You're so funny to watch when you lose."

I ignored his taunts and wandered over to the far corner where the Dart board was set up. Vinny, Sitch, Rosie and a few of the others were sitting at one of the long tables. I flagged down a waitress as I took a seat next to Rosie. I ordered a Jamesons, without rocks, and no line on the shot glass.

Vinny heard my order. "What? What?", he said. His heavy Yonkers accent tended to make everything he said sound like a challenge. "No ice? Has it been that sort of a day, that you have to have your whiskey without ice?"

"Vinny," I started, "Don't start with me. I'm in the middle of a conundrum."

"Conundrum?" Rosie flicked the ash of her cigar to the side. Rosie is a lovely plus sized woman who can't grasp how lovely she is. A bit damaged on the inside, as loving and compassionate a person as you might hope to meet on the outside. "You have a conundrum? Do tell." Rosie could have had a job in music with the richness of her voice. She just didn't have the drive.

I took the Jamesons from Annie, the waitress and blew her a kiss. "You all have heard about Mendlehousen by now, right? That he's dead?"

Nods from around the table, including Sitch, a 20 some-odd tall drink of water who can't seem to understand he doesn't have to marry every woman who says yes, who was currently eyeballing the obvious assets of a new waitress who had not yet fallen for one of Itches lines.

"Nasty stuff," said Cousin Vinny. "I still haven't finished the exam, but I can tell you that it was done with some pretty high level magic. His essence reeks of it."

"Damn magic folk", said Sitch. "I wish they'd all just fade away, just like Houdini."

"Now, Sitch", Rosie cautioned. "That would include Jon here. You know Jon has a little bit of magic, don't you?"

"Yeah, sorry." Sitch grumbled without taking his eyes of the waitress. "Present company excluded."

"Don't worry bout it", I said. "It's not like this thing will every get me rich or anything."

Rosie touched my arm, which sent shivers down my spine. "Jon, you were saying something about Mendlehousen..."

I drained my glass and flagged for Annie to bring me another. "Yep, Rosie, m'dear. I've been called by our friends at the City to help on the case." There was some general applause. They all know I could use the work and the money. "In fact, I am working with our good friend Dick Weed... oops... Reed on this very case, this very day."

"Good for you!" from Stitch. "That's wonderful", from Rosie. "Sucks to be you", from Vinny.

"Sucks to be YOU", I told Vinny. "You don't know what caused the death yet, do you?"

"No, you bastard, I don't." Vinny sucked at his corona, and smiled. "But I will."

"You said you had a conundrum?" This from Rosie.

"Yep." I let a few seconds pass for dramatic effect. "You guys know how my little talent works, right?"

Nods from all around.

"Five to ten minutes past and sometimes, if I want the headache, five to ten minutes forward, right?"

"Right", Stitch said. "And? I getting bored here, Johann."

"And," I said, "Today I saw Mary at the scene of the crime."

"Mary?" Rosie looked shocked. "The little Match Girl?"

"Mary the Match?" Vinny's eyebrows caterpillared around his eyes. "Little Mary?"

"Yeah," I said, "Mary, the little match girl. That's my conundrum."

"How so," from Stitch.

"Because...," I paused again. "Dick said he didn't see anyone come in or go out while he was there. I saw Mary come out of the door carrying Mendlehousen's dog."

"Pierre?" Of course Rosie would know.

"Yeah. Pierre. And Mary was carrying Pierre. And that's my conundrum." Again the dramatic pause. "Why was Mary there, where I could see her, and why didn't Dick see her."

Speaking of Dick, I could hear the groans of the losers while he won another round.

The Framing of Jon Smith

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