Like all good stories, this one starts with a beautiful woman.
I could hear the clacking of her heels on the marble floors approaching my office door. I snuffed out the cigarette that had been dangling lazily out of my lip long enough to create a pile of ash which accumulated like autumn leaves on my windowsill. After all, it doesn’t make a good first impression to be gazing wistfully at the rain, chain smoking, when someone is about to ask for professional help.
I waited to turn until I could hear the click of the brass doorknob signaling that she had reached my office, but there was nothing. Silence.
Confused, I turned to see a small envelope slip under my office door. I picked it up and caught the scent of lavender perfume lingering in the air. There was a hastily scrawled note on the front which read, “For your eyes only, Mr. Diamond” and was signed with a waxy red lip print.
I chuckled to myself as I opened the envelope. I wasn’t Mr. Diamond, of course. However, I had worked for a rich gentleman named Carson Diamond. So, in a way, this envelope was still meant for me.
Inside was a bill, from a Dr. Shaun, who had apparently treated someone named Ramona Bang. There was minimal information on it, but she was charged fifty dollars for “taking the cold”.
“An illegal operation”, I mused to no one.
Mr. Diamond had hired me to spy on his wife last year. He was convinced she was cheating on him with an enforcer for Big Ricco. She wasn’t, despite going to his speakeasy daily. Although, she did have an oddly close relationship with Mrs. Ricco.
I had spent the better part of three months tracking her movements, but when the time came to deliver my report, Mr. Diamond simply told me to keep my fee and that he no longer cared about what it said.
Damned peculiar, but I was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Besides, in my line of work you see a lot of infidelity, and rarely do my clients follow through on the information I find for them. Mr. Diamond was no saint, and I suspected he dropped the subject because of his own dalliances.
Ramona Bang, that name was familiar. Oh yeah! She was a singer at Big Ricco’s. Diamond had her around the house a few times. I figured she was the one who had put him on to his wife’s nocturnal activities.
I could call on Diamond, but he made it pretty clear he didn’t want to hear from me again. So, the next best thing would be to hit the speakeasy and see if I could have a chat with Ms. Bang.
I soon found myself standing in front of a strange sculpture of lobster traps and various flotsam at the far end of the Wilson Shipyard. Ricco Wilson had worked very hard to create the façade of a legitimate businessman. He was so successful he was now making more money from the shipping industry than he did from his more illicit activities.
Of course, that didn’t keep him from sticking closely to his roots. The entrance to the speakeasy was well-disguised, but thankfully the telltale sign of scrape marks along the base of the dockside dressings were highlighted by the streams of rain running down the side of them like tiny rivers.
I tugged at one of the ropes of a trap near the center of the stack, and the whole wall slid open blasting my senses with a waft of thick cigar smoke and the smooth sounds of a vibrant jazz band.
A guard shot a look my way. It was Rourke, the one Diamond assumed was foolin’ around with his missus. From that look, I could tell that Mrs. Diamond was safe from him, but I should keep my drinking to a minimum tonight if I wasn’t in the mood for a different kind of adventure.
“Hey, Rourke!”
A sly grin danced across the face of the giant man, his short-cropped red beard contorted just a little. Somewhat threatening, somewhat amused, and a little bit sweet.
“Hey Dickie, long time no see.”
I gave him a friendly chuckle and signaled to the bartender for two fingers of whiskey.
“Yeah, well. Business kept me away.”
“Funny, business is usually what brings you in.”
“Spot on. Speaking of which, Ramona on tonight?”
Rourke’s face took a sour turn. At first, I thought he might have been jealous, but his reply revealed something darker.
“The lovely Ms. Bang hasn’t been in for over a month. Why do you ask?”
A month? My mind flashed back to the receipt in the envelope. It was dated March 5th. Last month.
“Oh, no particular reason. I just got a package left at my doorstep. Thought it might have been hers.”
Rourke’s brow furrowed. He was a brute, but not a dumb one.
“Okay, look. Someone dropped a message for Mr. Diamond, I guess they assumed I was still in his employ.”
“What kind of message?”
“A bill, with Ms. Bang’s name on it.”
” Ransom?”
No, this wasn’t a ransom note. If she was kidnapped, why wait a month to deliver the demand?
“Nah. This was something else, for a, uh, doctor’s visit.”
Rourke’s furrowed brow turned into a full scowl.
“What doctor?”
“I dunno if I should say. It’s private information, after all.”
I was trying to be a little playful to diminish his concern, but he wasn’t having it.
“What doctor?”
“Dr. Shaun.”
Rourke growled.
“Fuck.”
“What is it?”
“Ramona isn’t the first girl to disappear after seein’ that guy.”
Fuck, indeed.
“How many?”
Rourke shook his head.
“Not sure, exactly. But definitely at least three. Ramona and another girl from the club. And my brother’s fiancée.”
“Well, seems like it’s worth checkin’ out then?”
Rourke nodded. “You find him… just give me his address.”
Didn’t take a genius to figure out what he meant.
“Sure thing, big fella. But don’t worry, I’ll find ‘em.”
I gave him a sideways smile to reassure him. He saw right through it. I caught his scowl melting back into his impish grin when he thought I was out of sight. After this case, I gotta come back here to unwind.
It was half past four by the time I’d left the speakeasy, but the Doc’s office wasn’t far. Hopefully they’d still be open, and if not, maybe a window would be.
Dr. Wallingford Shaun, General Practice. The letters were etched in gold over the frosted glass of his office door. The lights were still on, so I stepped inside. It was a fairly spartan office, a few wooden chairs, a small hand carved coffee table with today’s newspaper splayed across it. No one else in the waiting room, and at the front desk, a young man sat plugging away at a typewriter. He didn’t seem to notice me.
I cleared my throat to see if that might get his attention. The clacking stopped, and he slowly rose from his seat. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, not as big as Rourke but still might put up a good fight. Not exactly who you’d expect to see at a receptionist’s desk.
“You have an appointment?”
“Nah, just had a bad cough, saw the light on and thought I’d see if the Doc would help?”
The young man shrugged and walked out back for a moment before returning nodding his head.
“Doc will see you in a minute.”
He shoved a clipboard and pencil into my hands and proceeded to sit back at his typewriter, resuming whatever work had him occupied. Strange.
I filled out the paperwork, using an alias. No need to tie myself back to this should anything go south.
The young man took it and motioned for me to go into the office.
It looked different than I’d expected. More like a study, than an exam room. His desk was neatly adorned with a few items, a gold fountain pen, a photograph of what I could only guess was the Doc and his missus. Two books sat on the desk, a Holy Bible, and a copy of Grey’s Anatomy. Behind the desk were bookshelves filled with medical journals and meticulously filed patient notes.
Wonder where the Doc is? Since I was alone, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to peek behind the desk. I quickly snagged the book for the patient’s names beginning with B. It didn’t take long for me to find her.
“Ramona Bang – Taking the cold”
I slipped it back on the shelf and went to the folder marked R.
“Lucinda Rourke – Taking the cold.”
I was beginning to suspect a pattern, but the approach of footsteps creaking on the wooden floors of the hall made me pause, and I hastily slipped the folder back onto the shelf.
As I passed the desk, I saw the Bible was opened to a highlighted passage, and Grey’s Anatomy was opened to “Embryology”.
The Doctor stepped into the office just as I had seated myself back in front of his desk.
“Hello, Mr. Norman?”
“Yes, Doctor…”
“Shaun, I am Dr. Shaun. It says here you’ve developed a cough that is troubling you?”
“Yeah.” I accentuated the point by coughing into my sleeve.
“Well, walking out in the rain is liable to get one sick,” he eyed me noticing that my coat was still dripping on his floor, and as he walked by me, he sniffed the air, “…and the cigarettes don’t help either.”
Smug, arrogant, self-righteous. What a guy.
“So, you got anything that can help?”
The Doctor stepped up close to me and pulled his stethoscope to my chest.
“Breathe in…”
I did. A crucifix dangled from his neck as he leaned in to hear my lungs.
“Breathe out.”
“I take it you are a religious fella?”
The doctor nodded as he pulled the stethoscope away.
“Many in my profession are.”
“Good reading in Exodus?”
“Oh yes, Chapter 21, versus 21 through 25. When men strive together and hit a pregnant woman, so that her children come out, but there is no harm, the one who hit her shall surely be fined, as the woman’s husband shall impose on him, and he shall pay as the judges determine. But if there is harm, then you shall pay life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.”
“I take it you are against hitting pregnant ladies then, huh?”
The Doctor’s brow creased in disapproval.
“It is not a good idea to mock another person’s faith, Mr. Norman.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Was just trying to lighten the mood.”
The Doctor was unimpressed.
“The mood is light enough, and some tea and a good night’s rest is all you need. Please be on your way.”
“Sure thing, Doc. Thanks for the help.”
I need to get back in here after they close. I stepped away from the desk and almost reached the door when the Doctor stopped me.
“Mr. Norman, you… weren’t reading my files, were you?”
I turned, ready to say no, but as I did, I noticed that the file marked R was sitting next to the file marked B, and a trail of water from my boots and coat was clearly visible. Fuck.
“Oh no, I was just looking for a pen and accidentally knocked a couple files over, I tried to put ‘em back so’s you wouldn’t notice, but, I was never very good at my letters, I guess.”
The Doctor pressed a button on his desk and stretched his hand out towards the gold fountain pen.
“I’m surprised that you felt the need to go behind my desk for a pen, when there was one right here.”
“Oh, no, that one looked too fancy, decorative even. I figured you might have a more ‘everyday use’ one in a drawer.”
“Ahh, I see.”
The Doctor nodded his head, but not at me. The receptionist had come in behind me and grabbed me in a bear hug.
“Keep him still, this shouldn’t take but a moment.”
This kid could definitely give Rourke a run for his money! I couldn’t slip his grip. The Doctor had pulled out a syringe and was stepping forward. Crazy son of a bitch might actually kill me!
“It appears we have a bit of a snoop in our midst. Sorry, Mr. Norman, but I don’t like people who snoop.”
Yup, he’s definitely going to kill me. I had to act fast. No way I could give this brute the slip, so time to improvise. As the doctor approached, I kicked forward hard against the floor bringing the back of my head into the nose of the young orderly. A loud crack, and the loosening of his grip told me the blow struck true, and I dashed away from the man.
The Doc was quicker than I expected and grabbed my coat tugging me back into his desk with a force that knocked me off balance. He then lunged at me about to drive the syringe into my neck. I brought up one hand to hold back the instrument while my other braced against the desk. Damn this guy is strong too!
Locked in battle with this madman, I was startled to feel a cold feminine touch on my bracing hand and felt something thin slip into my grasp. The pen!
I dropped my resistance just enough to throw the Doc off balance so I could push his arm aside as I brought the golden instrument up and drove it deep into his neck. Then gave him a solid punch to the face for good measure.
I looked around for the person who helped me only to see the vague outline of a beautiful woman with curly black hair in a green-sequined dress. The orderly, blood streaming from his broken nose, looked at me and the apparition, screamed in terror, and fled.
A few days later, he turned up at the Police Department and confessed to helping the Doc with the murders. Seven women in all. Some misguided ritual to try and repent for an “illegal operation” the Doc had performed years earlier. Twisted.
Once again, I was staring wistfully out at the rainy neighborhood below, when I again heard the clack of heels on the marble floors outside my office. This time, I spun around like a top, to see Ramona standing in front of me.
Once more I felt the chill grip of a feminine hand grasp mine, and she drew my hand up to her spectral lips, kissing it softly. So cold it almost burned.
“Pleasure doin’ business with ya.”
And then she was gone, and all that remained was a waxy red lip stain on my knuckles.