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Crime, Thrillers & Mystery / Hush, Little Baby - Part 5
There was some sort of congestion on the road into St. Ives, so the cabbie apologetically dropped me off a couple of miles early. A half-dozen or so women were carrying empty sacks back and forth across the road, while a nervous-looking thin man was complaining about bad stitching and the high cost of cat food to anyone that would listen.
Once I’d made it into the town proper, I located the Cart & Bull tavern by asking the more disreputable-looking passers-by. Call it a hunch, but I figured that an associate of Pete’s wouldn’t keep a reserved table at the Ritz. My keen detective instincts paid off; I got directions, and the password to get in.
The Cart & Bull was a waterfront dive, and the smell of rotten fish and moldy hempen rigging permeated everything from the mud under the broken cobblestones to the cracked and streaked clapboard siding clinging to the walls of the row houses and storefronts. The chain holding the top of the faded tavern sign had rusted through, and it hung upside down, creaking in the light breeze from the harbor.
I knocked on the door, and a deep voice called out from the other side.
“No soliciting, Sharpie. Beat it.”
“Sorry, Pal,” I replied. “I was just wondering: ‘Have you any wool?’” There was the sound of a bolt being drawn back, and the door opened a crack. I pushed it open and nodded to the goon on the stool just inside as I stepped down into the taproom.
The door was closed and locked behind me, and I took a moment to let my eyes adjust to the gloom. A few dusty low-watt bulbs gave off enough light to make you appreciate that you couldn’t see more of the place. Years of cigarette smoke had given the walls and beams a jaundiced look, and left a permanent blue fug in the air. The mismatched furniture was scarred and dented, and the unfinished plank floor was stained here and there with something that probably wasn’t strawberry jam.
I grabbed a seat at the bar, an ornately carved wooden number that must have been liberated from a better class of saloon. The brass rail was missing long pieces, and those that remained were discolored with grime. There was no mirror behind the bar which, considering the state of the place, was probably a blessing.
I ordered a pint of the local brew, which was served in a wooden mug. I took a big swallow and gestured with the mug. “Nice touch,” I complimented the bartender.
He shrugged. “It melts glass.”
I took a small sip, and motioned him closer. “I’m looking for somebody,” I told him.
He looked unimpressed. “People don’t come here to be found. Maybe you noticed the lock on the door?”
“Well I’d hate to tell my boss that I missed the Rover after coming all this way.”
The bartender took out a rag and started wiping down the bar top, making it dirtier. “Don’t know no Rover,” he said.
I pulled a bill out my wallet and dropped it on the bar. His towel hovered over it a moment, and when he moved on, it was gone.
I waited, but nothing seemed forthcoming. I raised an eyebrow at the bartender, who looked at me blankly.
“What?”
I made a complicated gesture that reminded him of my question, and called to mind the recent interaction between my money and his towel. He made a much simpler gesture in return.
“I told you. I don’t know no Rover. Far as I’m concerned, you just paid for your drink.”
So that’s the way it was gonna be, huh? I narrowed my eyes at him as I pulled another bill out. It went the way of its twin, and the barkeep started to wander off again.
“Hey!” I said. He turned back to me.
“Look, mister. You pay your tab and you’re a helluva tipper, but I don’t know anyone called the Rover.”
I was digging for my wallet again when a voice behind me interrupted. “He really doesn’t, you know.”
I spun around on the stool to find a dwarf standing nearby. He was about three-and-a-half feet tall, probably eighty, ninety pounds soaking wet. He was wearing a blue workshirt and nondescript grey trousers. Piercing blue eyes stared out from under a black stevedore’s cap. A scar started under his left eye, and ran into the four days’ growth of beard he sported.
He nodded at the bartender. “Hey, Tony. Gimme the usual.” Tony set a bottle down on the bar, and the dwarf reached up, swapping it for some crumpled bills. He picked up a couple of glasses, caught my eye, and jerked his head over towards a corner booth. I followed, sitting down on the thin, threadbare cushion opposite him. The dwarf poured a couple of shots of whisky, and pushed a glass at me. “I don’t do the song,” he said. “Whattaya want with the Rover?”
“You know him?”
“Yeah.”
“I just need to ask him some questions.”
His eyes narrowed. “What kind of questions?”
“The kind that can keep a man up at night, wondering about his choices in life.”
The dwarf sighed. “You’re working the Weasel thing, huh?”
I finally made the connection. “You’re the Rover.”
He nodded once. “Yeah. You can call me Geoff, though.”
“Why?”
“Because it happens to be my name. You think we all go by adjectives?”
“Sorry. So where’d you pick up ‘Rover’?”
Geoff shrugged. “I wander around a lot. Another day or two, and you wouldn’t’ve found me here.”
“Moving on again?”
“Seemed prudent, since…” He made a gun out of one hand, and brought his thumb down. It looked like a derringer.
“So you know. Pete didn’t.”
“Pete’s an idiot. I wouldn’t trust him with a shopping list.”
“He knew where to find you, though.”
“Couldn’t be helped. He was the only driver available when I set up here.” He poured another belt, and topped me off, too. I tilted the glass towards him in thanks.
“So you know who did it?”
He rubbed his whiskers tiredly. “I have a pretty good idea.”
“Who?”
“No idea.”
“But…you just said…”
He held up a hand. “I know who had a good reason, but I don’t know any specifics.”
“Well why don’t you explain it to me?”
Geoff just looked at me for a minute, then sighed and drained his glass. He set it down on the table with a small thump, folded his hands together, and leaned towards me.
“I’m a small-time cracker. You make any size jokes and we’re done here.”
“Don’t be so sensitive, Stretch. Go on.” He frowned, but continued.
“I got word that the Weasel wanted to see me about a job. I figured this was my break into the big show, so I went to see him. He needed something boosted from Gruff’s Exchange. You know it?”
“Over in Contrary Gardens?”
Geoff nodded. “That’s the one. Big import/export business. Antiques, art, jewels…anything people will pay a lot of money for. The Weasel figured he’d get what he wanted less than wholesale, so he told me to pick it up for him.”
“You mean steal it.”
“No. I mean play shuffleboard with it.”
“Why don’t you leave the sarcasm to the professionals?”
“Yeah, right. The Weasel had the whole job covered: blueprints, guard schedules, what kind of alarms I was likely to run into, and the type of safe Gruff’s favored. He even had a fair guess on the size of the package. I spent about two days going over it all, and went back to the Weasel. I told him that I could do it once I was in – a safe is a safe, after all, they just change size – but getting in would be tough, and getting out with the package would be tougher.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
Geoff fidgeted a little bit. “It was bigger than me.”
“The job?”
“You sure you’re not related to Pete? The package, you idiot.”
“Oh. What was it?”
“Some antique mirror in a heavy frame.”
“A mirror.”
“Yeah.”
“I knew the Weasel was a bit vain, but that’s still strange.”
“You don’t have to tell me. But I just get the goods, I don’t worry about the whys of it all.”
“So who did you get partnered with?”
Geoff grinned a small grin (like he had a choice). “Maybe you’re not so dumb. It was some bird.”
“A woman?”
“No, an actual bird.” He poured another round. “Of course a woman.”
“Who was she?”
“We didn’t exactly exchange business cards. She was slim, with long brown hair. Like down to her knees long. It was a light brown in the middle, darker on the edges. She wore a white sweater and skirt with black shoes. She was a looker, all right.”
“How tall was she?”
Geoff gave me a look. “She was a giant.”
“Oh poor little you. Make a guess.”
He shrugged. “I dunno. Five feet, maybe. Maybe a little more.”
“Any distinguishing marks? Like scars on her knees? Or an ankle tattoo?
“You’re not as funny as you think you are.”
“So what was her part in all of this?”
“She drove us over to Gruff’s. We got there right before it closed, and she tied up the staff acting like she was there to make a big buy for her estate. She played it like she couldn’t make up her mind; had them running in circles. After a couple of hours of that, they were so anxious to get her out of there that they didn’t bother to check on the place too close. They never saw me. I waited a little while to make sure the watchmen were keeping to their schedule, and went to work on the delivery door in the storage room. Got the door open, and we loaded the mirror into the truck and took it back to the Mulberry Bush. The Weasel wasn’t there, but my money was. I took it, and asked her to give me a lift back. She handed me a chair, instead. ‘Stand on this and hail a cab,’ she said. ‘I’m waiting for him.’ She said it kind of weird, too. Kind of dreamy, like. Not the first part - she was just mean, then – but the last bit.”
Curiouser and curiouser, as an old acquaintance of mine used to say. “How long ago was this?”
“About a month.”
“I didn’t hear anything about Gruff’s getting boosted.”
“If your business was built on security, would you take out an ad about a heist?”
“Good point.”
Geoff took another swallow of his whisky. “So what happens now? You runnin’ me in?”
“For what?”
“Theft, trespassing, breaking and entering, littering. Take your pick.”
“Why are you so anxious to get locked up?”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Because whoever went after the Weasel is coming after me, too,” he finally whispered.
“How do you know?”
Geoff stood up, which didn’t take long. He reached into his pants pocket, and slowly laid a small bunch of posies on the table. “Got these yesterday. They were left on the bar in an envelope with my name on it. No one saw who left them. That’s a pretty good trick in this place.”
“And you think the police station would be safer?”
“With all the guns? Yeah, maybe.”
“Again with the sarcasm. Why don’t you just turn yourself in?”
“I’m afraid to go out in public long enough to get to the station. I figure if I’m taken in by someone who’s packing, I stand a better chance.”
“Well you’ve got the wrong cat, pal. I don’t carry.”
His eyes widened a little. “You don’t have a piece? How do you stay alive? I figured your sense of humor would be enough to get you into all sorts of life-threatening situations.”
“Yeah. Good thing I’ve got nine of ‘em, huh? Tell you what. You sit tight here, and I’ll see what I can do about getting you arrested. How’s that?”
“You mean it? You’d do that?”
“Sure. Be my pleasure.”
He broke out in a big smile (relatively speaking). “Thanks, mister. I appreciate that.”
“No sweat, chum.”
“I’ll go pack right now.” He started for the stairs in the corner.
“You only get one small suitcase,” I called out after him.
“And you’re still not funny,” he said over his shoulder, and disappeared around the corner at the landing.
I nodded to Tony and left. The sun was making its way toward the horizon in front of me. I had to squint after being in the gloomy tavern, so I couldn’t see who shot me.
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Dr_D reviewed Version 1 -
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Wickedly funny! I love it. The only thing I would consider is the use of “Curiouser and curiouser” seems a little clumsy, although I haven’t read any of your other work.
Look forward to reading it when it’s published.
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Jacamo reviewed Version 1 -
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I really do like this story,the characters,the story line.the style is most entertaining.I didn’t find any real flaws, and I looked.This material is definately publishable. might change the format around some,but that is my personal opinion.
Lena17 reviewed Version 1 -
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You know, your author’s notes are just as much fun to read as your actual story!! You seem like such a fun-loving person with a great sense of humor, an indulgent imagination, and a real sense of culture (unlike many people!) I really enjoy this story, and I see many good things for it in the not-so-distant future. I wish you the best of luck with that!
Ok, once again, you painted quite clear imagery in my head, very good writing yet again. I loved Geoff (hmm, I wonder where you got the name??? LOL!) As I was reading his dialogue, firstly, I was imagining that little gnome from the Travelocity commercials, & I could hear a high litte squeaky voice registered as him!! haha! So, thanks for that!
Also with the guard who opened the door, I was completely imagining that cyclopes at the Poison Apple from Shrek 2 (haha! as Shrek is the only other story I can think of that uses fairytale spoofs & references. Why must you both be so brilliant??? )
But that’s just me!
Anway, wonderful work! Moving on to chapter 6 (which I might’ve already read, I don’t know….) BUT WHO SHOT CHESHIRE???? Noooo!!!!
~JMB
redpoyzin reviewed Version 1 -
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I love this story. It keeps your interest, the dialogue between the two characters sounds like a real conversation. I love the sarcasm that drifts through their conversation keeps you reading. Geoff stood up, which didn’t take long. He reached into his pants pocket, and slowly laid a small bunch of posies on the table. “Got these yesterday. They were left on the bar in an envelope with my name on it. No one saw who left them. That’s a pretty good trick in this place.”
“And you think the police station would be safer?”
“With all the guns? Yeah, maybe.”
“Again with the sarcasm. Why don’t you just turn yourself?
This story has the potential to be a great read. I would read it. The discriptive words that were used really helps with the imagination. Being a writer myself I find it sometimes hard to find the right words to describe scenery but the writer in this piece did great job. Please finish this story so I can read it.
AmyWalker reviewed Version 1 -
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Nothing really critical from me really just to say I really enjoyed this piece I found it very comical and interesting. The characters are very well-structured yknw like they’re realistic enough to believe well for me anyways. I love it, its awesome stuff. I look forward to reading more of your work. I’ll be sure to try those chocolate chip cookies lol
Amy
Weaver reviewed Version 1 -
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“I figured your sense of humor would be enough to get you into all sorts of life-threatening situations.” Hmmm… I wonder if Chesh could be sort of, y’know, based on another cat in real life… :)
You’ve still got a good balance of humor and seriousness here. I have suspicions about that mirror. Is it one that only works when activated by a particular rhymed incantation…?
I don’t understand why you put a cookie recipe in your notes, but who needs a reason? Emma Bull said that the things one needs for a good writing environment are coffee, cookies, and something exciting on the stereo.
OldShepster reviewed Version 1 -
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What I liked:
You gave your ingredients in grams as well as volume. Seriously!
In my review of your last chapter, I challenged you to find the humor in a setting. With lines like, “an ornately carved wooden number that must have been liberated from a better class of saloon”, you clearly have accomplished this. I’m truly astounded by how funny you are. It’s all in the delivery and “liberated” makes this sentence. Not quite on par with “strategically ensconced”, but what is?
The dialog continues to be outstanding and you did a wonderful job of using sarcastic responses to make sure the reader is in on all/most of the jokes. Great job!
A cliffhanger ending to boot, what more could a guy ask for.
What would have made me like it even more:
I have never said this in a review before, but…your description of the pub’s exterior was so good, I wish you would have started with, “The smell of rotten fish…” Keep in mind, I hate chapters that start with description, but this is such a run down joint and so well evoked, that I couldn’t help wonder what sort of trouble Ches had got himself into.
The bit about the Rover wanting to get arrested so he won’t get gunned down didn’t ring true to me. It doesn’t seem like it would take much to get arrested. Obviously I don’t know where the novel is going, but the part about getting himself arrested didn’t add much to the story and the humor wasn’t as strong as the rest of the piece.
Overall: Your best work yet. The more vivid descriptions really brought the scene to life, but dialog is still your money maker. You mentioned you weren’t sure you wanted to see this published, but it is awfully good. I hope you reconsider.
Hope this helps,
Shep
wordsmith reviewed Version 1 -
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Cat’,
This is not a review specifically of this installment, but rather of everything of yours that I have read here. It’s about literary architecture. It’s one more area where you do real, real good. The attention paid to the overall structure of a piece, or a series of pieces, differentiates the professionals from the amateurs. The frustrating thing about attending to the architecture, for a beginning writer, is that it seems like nothing is happening because no words are making their way onto a page. But as with constructing a building, the most wonderfullest writing is wasted if it’s written into a piece that is not architecturally sound. This is another literary area that you have mastered. Good goin’.
I have gotten to where I can very reliably predict how good a movie will be by the title alone, because the title is an integral part of the architecture of the movie. And if someone has taken the time to get the title right, then they have probably taken the time to get the whole project right. I.E.-”The Boys From Brazil”, “The Hand That Rocks The Cradle”, “Full Metal Jacket”.
To me, one example of this in your work is the title to your satirical piece “Seal The Borders”. We know that we are being set up; and you have the patience not to give away the schtick until you are damn well ready. I.E.-”You know where I am going with this; it’s the Welsh.” I paraphrase here.
And with this series, there is a great big meta joke before we even begin to read any text; the juxtaposition of the hard edged, jaded style of Dashiel Hammet with (in most cases) the softer dreamy style of the fairy tale. And comedy as an evolutionary relaxation mechanism derives from an interruption in the expected flow of energy. Once you have taken the time to nail down a cast iron (or would forged iron be a better metaphor here?? Hmmm) structure, all of the writing is automatically imbued with that higher sensibility.
This is sounding more like a fan letter than a review. If you open it, I’ll owe you big time.
Charles
BFD reviewed Version 1 -
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LOL…ok, the short jokes in this one would just be too easy for me…so I’m not even going to touch those…lol :-) But thank you for clearing up the fug/fog thing in your notes for the reviewer…oh, and I’ve got a GREAT recipe for pototo soup if you want to use it next :-) lol!
But the “mean” way that she said to stand on the curb…tell me more…was she impatient, as if in a hurry to get the job over with – to get to her next ‘meeting’ – feeling like she was being watched – annoyed at how it all went down – bored…women are complex…there’s always an intermediate between ‘mean’ and ‘dreamy’...there’s the reason that they are either one of those things to begin with…lol :-)
Some ideas for you…or maybe just words that sound like something you’d say…(so what if i consult the mobspeak handbook from time to time…lol) :-)
Pete sounds like an “empty suit” to me if he can’t be trusted with a shopping list…as he seems to hang around w/ the tough guys but doesn’t necessarily seem to be trusted or in with them based on your description.
‘Pinched’ is a good word for “locked up”...making sure Chesh stays with the dialect would keep readers mindful of his sketchy character, despite the fact that he is more of an authority in this part…
EAnonymous reviewed Version 1 -
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I think this is the best so far, largely because of your vivid description of the setting. You made me laugh (esp. the bartender wiping the counter and making it dirtier), but I could really see this seedy dive.
The sarcasm and short jokes were exceedingly entertaining as well.
Questions: Chesh is an actual cat (you mention his tail, and hanging from the ceiling in earlier sections). Is he the only non-human character? Was the Weasel actually a weasel? I had expected the Rover to be an actual dog, but he isn’t. Just wondering – it seems odd to have only one talking animal (and none of the characters seem to think it strange). Also, where is Brer Rabbit (actual rabbit?)? Will he come back later with some random piece of the puzzle?
I like the ending, too. This time he was hit? (Shot at vs. shot) Keep it up! :)
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