From the logbook of a Private Detective.

Saturday  2/12/1954

It was a dark and stormy night, it sounds cliché, but as a dark and stormy night goes, this one was an example for all the others – a dark, stormy, gloomy night to look up to; the only light came from a dim, flickering streetlamp on the corner. The rain pattered against the café’s window, I looked out at the dark street. I liked this place, it was one of the only places in the city that served coffee after six o’ clock, and without a steady stream of caffeine running through my veins I was hopeless.
An airy tune floated out of a small radio on the counter, mingling with the pungent aroma of my coffee. My eyes passed over the street lamp again; the flickering was hypnotizing…
“We’re closing soon, mister.”
On... Off… On…Off. They should probably get that light fixed, it was a hazard to drivers. Especially in wet weather like this.
“Mister? We’re closing soon.”
If you tilt your head a bit, it looks a bit like one of those rubber ducks… Flicker. Flicker.
“Sir!”
“Hmm?” I turned around to face the waitress.
“We’re closing soon.”
“Okay, I’ll finish of my coffee and then get out of your way.” I finished my coffee, took a last look at the street lamp, and walked out of the door into the rain.
It was cozy in there, warm, cozy; such a harsh difference to the cold, wet, miserable atmosphere outside. I looked back at the café, wishing I’d ordered a coffee to take away. Oh well. There was business to get to.
I pulled a cigar out of my pocket. Cigars helped me think, helped me focus my thoughts. Lighting the cigar with a match, I turned the corner and walked down the dark street.
Last week I was hired by a woman to find out where apparently priceless replica set of pens all disappeared to. It had seemed like another boring case, just like the one before it, I mean, who hires a private detective to track down a pair of glasses? It turned out that they were on top of my clients head. She said that I hadn’t done enough work to earn any payment, I disagreed. She threw her cats at me. It’s hard some times.
Anyway, last week I was hired to find out where her pens all seemed to run away to. It sounds boring, and I thought that it was going to be boring. But after doing some research, I found out about a group of pen smugglers. These guys were the real thing, taken stationary from people’s homes and selling it on the black market; they were right up there with the compulsive sock stealer. Always stealing a single sock, leaving the other lonely and the owner frustrated.
I looked into it more, and discovered that this group of pen smugglers had a hide out down by the docks. That’s where I was headed tonight. I was going to put an end to their game once and for all. The only problem was getting there. The docks were along way away from where I usually did my work, and I despised public transport. Something about the rickety way that busses trundled along the street, grease and sweat covering the poles, leaving nothing to hold on to… Luckily I had a colleague, Ben, who was always ready for some action, and who owned a car.
I called up Ben, and he said he’d gladly drive me to the docks, but only if he could help out with the case.
Ben and I used to be partners, investigating anything that came our way, trying to get as much money as we could. Our employers never seemed willing to give us much though, eventually we had to fire our secretary, Beth, and move out of our office. We decided that it was too much to try and keep the partnership up, so we went our separate ways. Me opening my own private detective firm, he starting up a top hat shop.
I kept up a steady walking pace all the way to Ben’s apartment, taking puffs from my cigar, thinking about the case. A steady pull from the tobacco filled cylinder, so sweet, I loved the feeling that the smoke made as it swam around inside my lungs Exhaling smoke, shaping it with my tongue to form a slowly dissipating ring, like a friend, leaving me forever. So bittersweet… I took another puff from the cigar, and tossed it over my shoulder. I arrived at Ben’s building’s doorway, and searched for his name on the buzzer list. As soon as I’d pressed the button he answered.
“Hello, who is this?” His crackling voice came through the small speaker, sounding like bees stuck in a hose.
“Me.”
“Oh! Yes of course! Come right in!” The doors unlocked for me, and I opened them, stepping into the lobby. It wasn’t the best looking of buildings, I won’t lie. It could use some sprucing up, perhaps a few plants here and there. I walked to the stairway at the far end of the lobby, floorboards creaking under my feet. This place was the epitome of grime. I put my hand on the stair railing, funny… I didn’t know wood could rust. A dim orange light illumined the stairs as I climbed up to the fourth floor, each step creaking louder than the last. Clearly Ben’s business wasn’t doing well.
I knocked on his door, number 13, and before I could step back, the door swung open outwards, slamming me in the face, knocking me over.
“Hello?” Ben’s head poked out from the doorway. “Hello? Anyone there?”
“Over here,” I wheezed from the floor, my nose about three millimeters smaller now, I could probably have whistled through it
“What are you doing on the floor, and why does your face look so flat…”
“Just help me up, will you?” He reached a hand down, and lifted me off the ground.
“Come on inside and sit down while I get the keys and my hat.” We walked inside his apartment. In comparison to the rest of the building, it was a heaven. I couldn’t have found a speck of dirt if it was holding up a huge sign embossed with a big red flashing arrow pointing towards it. I sat down on a lush satin sofa chair; I didn’t think I’d be able to ever get up. Perhaps I was wrong about Ben; he seemed to be living comfortably.
“Okay! I’ve got the keys, let’s roll!”



~    ~    ~



As we drove through the city, passing skyscrapers shrouded in smog and little corner stores selling odds and ends, I decided to ask Ben why he hadn’t moved into better accommodations, it seemed he had enough money.
“Ben, why haven’t you moved out of that dump? From what I can see, you’ve got enough dough to afford it.”
“I don’t like change.” But Ben didn’t not like change; he was always open to new things. I decided to dismiss it; maybe my old friend had changed. “So what’s the deal with this case?”
“Some collection of priceless replica pens got stolen.”
“Priceless replicas? How can a replica be priceless? It’s just a copy!”
“Don’t ask me. My client said that they were priceless replicas, and her money is going to be feeding me for the next two weeks, so there’s no point in trying to prove her wrong.”
“Fair enough.” He turned his head back to the road and we drove on. It was funny how it never seemed to stop raining in this city, pouring down relentlessly. Obviously the clouds were in league with the rain too, trying to turn everyone to pessimism. There was never any natural light in the city, the clouds kept the sun behind misty curtains all through the day, and in nights like this, kept the moon away from the world. Water constantly pouring down, constantly knocking on roofs, on windows of book stores, cafés… Coffee… I could do with some coffee. It was way past closing time now though.
“Here we are,” said Ben, bringing the car to a slow stop at the end of the road. The water was slapping up against boats and wooden platforms, the rain seemed to disturb everything. A lone dog howled from somewhere in the mist, lit by small lights along the side of the docks. “It’s cold,” Ben observed. “Where are we going?”
“Follow me.” We walked along the docks, heavy mist stirring around our feet, rain falling on our heads, until we came to a small storehouse with dim light coming out of its windows. “This is the place,” I said to Ben.
“So… What now?”
“Do you still own a gun?” Ben nodded. “Did you bring it?” Ben nodded again. “Well come on! Take it out!”
We took out our revolvers, held them up to our shoulders, and nodded to each other. I kicked the door in, splinters flying as it hit the ground, stirring up dust clouds and surprising the occupants of the storehouse. Five men, dressed in raggedy, loose clothes, turned their heads in unison to look at Ben and myself. There was a moment of complete stillness, a waiting game - which of us would make the first move? Like a staring contest with firepower, similar to those times when you’re walking along the street and someone seems like they’re going to crash into you, so you both move to make way for the other, and in doing so nullify the gesture, then you both move again, and again, until finally you smile and motion for the stranger to go past.
“Who are you?” One of the men asked us.
“That’s not important right now; all that’s important is your stash of stolen pens!” I stomped forward and pushed them apart to reveal a locked suitcase lying on a dusty round table with green paint flaking off. “Give me the key,” I demanded.
“Why?” another of them asked.
“Because I have a gun pointed at your heads,” said Ben.
“What, all five of us? With one gun?” Ben considered this for a moment…
“Who’s your leader?” he said. A tough looking man stepped forward, his face angular and shaped by a difficult life. “Good,” Ben said, and pointed the gun at the man’s head. “Give my friend over there the key because I have a gun pointed at someone impotent’s head.”
“Do it,” the man nodded the other four, who reluctantly handed over a small silver key to me. I inserted it gently into the keyhole, and turned. I heard a satisfying click as the briefcase’s lock came undone. I lifted up the lid, and inside were the pens.
“I see that you have the pens I’ve been looking for. I’d arrest you, but pen stealing probably isn’t a serious enough crime. I’ll just go, with my pens.” I felt like I should have said something else, one of those speeches explaining how I, using the process of elimination, solved this case. I always thought that those were a waste of time though and I hadn’t had a coffee in at least three hours. There probably wasn’t enough caffeine in my blood to fuel a speech. So Ben and I left with the pens.




~    ~    ~



We arrived at my employers building after a long drive in the rain the next day, briefcase of pens in hand, I knocked on her door. It was an ornately decorated piece of wood, as if it was made for greater things than opening and closing on rusty hinges, it probably had an entire history behind it. A poor carpenter trying to support his family of five, to buy food for the night; and here it was, a door with a history, opening and closing at the whim of whomsoever might knock on their mighty wooden panels.
The doors were opened by a little old lady. She looked at Ben and I, blinking up at us with eyes encased in huge bug-like glasses. “Hello dears! Did you find my pens?”
“Yeah, here they are.” I handed her the case. “Now, I believe we discussed payment?”
“Oh yes, about that…” Here we go, another client not keeping her word. Maybe I should start taking deposits…
“I understand miss -”
“No, no, no,” she cut in, “I have...” She reached into her pocket and pulled out some loose change. Adjusting her glasses, she slowly counted each coin. “Here, I have eighty cents.” She pushed it into my hands, peering up at me through her giant goggle-like glasses.
I looked reluctantly at the change in my hand, I didn’t want to take it, but it was money, and I was low on money. I nodded. “Thanks.” Ben and I walked back to his car. “You know the café that I always go to,” I asked while getting into the car.
“Yeah?”
“Can you drop me off there?”
“Sure.” He stepped on the gas and we sped away, kicking up the puddles of water in our path. “Say, that lady gave you 80 cents, right?”
I glanced at the money in my hand, and replied with remorse in my voice, “Yeah.”
Grabbing it out of my hand he said, “Great, that just about covers the petrol cost.”

fin