Here Lies A Fool

A Story by Unknown1982

40s noir, unfinished

Here Lies A Fool

The rain beat the windows like a boxer in a title match, and the winds howled like a wolf on the hunt tonight, almost like it was reflecting what's to come.

I took a long draw from the cigarette between my fingers. Because tonight, my senses were going off, sending a certain shiver through my spine. I could hear the telephone singin’ a siren’s call on my desk, but not one bone in my body wanted to answer it. Against all logic though I picked up, “P.I. Samuel Evens, who's cheating who?”

“Evens? You're still cracking wise?” A soft velvet voice offered.

That voice. “Liara? I thought we agreed we wouldn't speak again?” As soon as the sentence left my kisser, I knew she musta called as her last resort.

“Aw, Moose, what happened to, ‘I’ll always be there for you’.”

She knew what she was doing bringing that name out. Nostalgia washing over me, I answered, “What -what’s wrong?” I put out my cigarette.

“Moose, you do care.” she took a heavy sigh. “Look, Anton came down to the Gin Mill looking for me.”

Anton Moretti, the scariest dope there is, under that plain look is a cold killer. “I thought you cut ties with the dope.”

“Me too Moose, me too.”

“I see.” The logical side told me to hang the phone up now, don't get involved. But the fool in me said, “you can't forget all the things you two went through, there's still something!”. “Where do I fit in all this?”

“Moose, can't you see? Anton and you have an understanding, so I want you to go talk to him, for me?”

“For you? I don't even know this you anymore.”

“You still know this voice, my name, and that I still need your help. Please, For what we had?”

My brain begged my heart to stop playing the fool, but a fool I played. “I’ll schedule a talk.” This will either end with a few new nifty lead holes decorating my body, or well, no that's all I see happening.

“Moose, thank you. How can I ever repay you?”

“Just make sure the engraving says, Here lies a fool.”

“ha-ha, Moose, real funny………………………………………... .Goodluck, you’ll need it.”

With that the call ended, and my life expectancy dropped significantly. I spun the dial hoping Anton wouldn't answer. The phone rang, and finally someone picked up.

A heavy bronx accent answered, “Evens, I thoughts you don't call heres no more?”

“You ‘thoughts” right, Anton. But, this is about the dame.”

“Which one? AHHAHHAh.”

“You know who dang well.”

“Yeah. I dos.”

“What do you want with her?” I asked the question, but I know that unless he had already got what he wanted, it was a stupid thing to ask.

“Let's meets.”

“Where?”

“The Bottle house down on 54th street, 10pm.”

“Fine.” I hung up the phone, and started down to the car. Before heading out, I looked in my drawer staring right at the revolver gleaming at me. That .45 has never looked better. I took it and shoved it in my inner coat pocket.

Once I arrived I saw the smug faced dope waiting by the VIP section. “Anton.” I waved. “Let's get to talking.” The less I see your face, the better.

“Lets!” He led me to the backrooms. “Now, I thoughts you and the dame were done?”

“We are.” I don’t blame his confusion. Why risk my neck for someone who would break mine.

‘Then whys are you here? Ahhaha.”

“Cause’ I said I would see why you're looking for her.”

“Im nots looking for her.”

“I have eyes that say different, Anton.”

“Ims looking for you!”

My blood ran cold. “Me, Anton, what do you want with me?” Did he actually go looking for her, or was this a setup.

“Yous been gettin’ too close to the O’Donald case.”

“The O’Donald case? -Anton, what do you have to do with Casey O’Donald? The poor guy is site seeing the East river right now, your turf is West-side. Unless…

He introduced me to his friend Mr. M1911. “Do you reallys want to finish that sentence?”

“Well, now that you mention, since I have become acquainted with our mutual friend my mind seems blank. Why don't we finish our drink and say our good nights?” I took a long sip of my drink and started to ease out of my chair.

“Sammy-boy, you dig any deeper and you won't needs to dig a grave.” There’s nothing I hate more than abandoning a case, well expect…. dying.

I started the car up. Anton, what are you doing knocking off a random kid? Casey was just a kid, who hung around with Tommy Alberton’s crew, but he doesn't even have a record. The cops are swarming over this, why get involved? I mean they are working day and night, just to find a body in the bottom of the East River.

Pulling in front of my apartment, I felt as though my grave had gotten deeper. I walked over to my building, strange the doors are unlocked. dragged myself up the stairs; all ten flights of them, finally reaching my door. There was an envelope on the mat, I picked it up and went inside. Maybe it's pay from an old job, that would be nice.

I threw my coat on the rack and ripped the envelope open. Inside, I pulled out a photo, it was an empty grave with a headstone that read “Here Lies A Fool” Well this calls for a drink.

…..

Laying in my bed, I couldn’t help but wonder. Where does Liara fit into all this? I mean sure, she dated Anton but that's all. What could Anton want with her, he never was one to chase too hard after a doll. Maybe she has information? But what about? Or was this just a ploy to pay off an old favor?

CRASH! WHAM! BAM!

Either I'm hosting dance night and no one told me or I need my .45. I mean in either case a little liquor would loosen the situation up. I pulled open my drawer, but my gun wasn't there. I tried once more, open, shut, open, but it still wasn't there. You fool, you left it in your coat.

THACK!

“If anyones there, Do you take ice in your drinks because I make a mean Scotch on the rocks. But if you don't, I understand, It can water down certain drinks.” I slipped into my robe and grabbed my bat. “Did you catch the Yanks game last night? I heard Ruth really sent THAT BALL FLYING!” I swung like I could win the world series.

WHACK!

That'll teach you not to save me the last dance. Now who is this thug and more importantly, who sent him?

“OWWWWWW!” he started to get up.

“Stay down unless you want me to go all Jim Bottomley on you.” My adrenaline was gung-ho, but my shoulder was not too slap-happy about the idea. “Who are you? Who sent you? And where did you get that jacket, it looks like great material.”

“No one sent me, my Jacket is from Macys, I got a great deal on it.”

“No Kidding a thug like you couldn't afford something like that, but I asked who you are?”

“Oh, right.” He stuck out his non-busted arm.” I'm Cassidy O’Donald, dead man walking.”

“I think I’ll make that drink, you want one?” Dead man is right.

“I’d love one.” he plopped down on my couch.

“Of course, make yourself at home.” No, no, I love making drinks for men who are supposed to be dead and not putting THEIR MUDDY SHOES ON MY NICE WOOD TABLE. “So Casey, do you normally get killed and come back alive or is that a new trick? Because last you were at the bottom of the Harbor, styling some nice concrete shoes?” And why did you come here?

““How’d you know?”

“P.I. Samuel Evens, pleasure to meet you. It’s my job. But besides that, why did someone want to off-you?” I brought the drinks over to him. “Why does Moretti want you dead?”

“Moretti, who the heck is that?

“You know, Anton Moretti, leader of the West-side gang. Kid this isn’t a game, your life's on the line.” I sat down next to him. “Can you think what could have triggered all this?”

“Well, it really started back a few months ago when I met a beauty named Rose.”

“We’ve got a real Casanova here”

“What?”

“Nothing, continue.”

“O-kay, As I was saying…… I was walking down the block and I bumped into this amazing, beautiful, goodlooking, abso-”

“I get the picture.”

“Right, anyway. I was so dumbfounded when I saw her I just stood there and she said to me, ‘Are you going to stand there gawking, or say you're sorry and help?’She started picking up her stuff. ‘I see you choose gawking.’

I -I -uh, I'm sorry.” I started helping her with her stuff. “If I broke anything or hurt you in any way, I'm very sorry. I would offer to pay for that, but a little short on dough.’

I interrupted him, “So let me get this straight, Casey, the only reason I'm looking into this case right now is because you met a dame? And let me guess, it was with a girl named Rose Alberton?

“Wait how did you-”

“Look kid, you've dug yourself a nice deep grave to lay in, and I'm not seeing a way out just yet. So let's call it a night, and we can talk in the morning when I'm coherent, awake, and have a cup of joe in my hand, deal?”

“Okay, but-”

“You can take the couch, there's a blanket in the closet. Goodnight, O’Donald.” Looks like I've got a case, a real doozy of a one at that.

The next morning came quickly, too quick. When I walked into the living room he was still dead asleep. As I put on a cup of joe, I grabbed the paper laying it on the counter and began looking outside to the already dreary looking day. I looked through the paper. What a shame, Marty’s bar was closed, the governor's making promises he won’t keep, and Anton Moretti washed up dead, what a shame…..HE WHAT!?!?

“Anton Moretti was last seen meeting Samuel Evans, who is a professional P.I. who has had a known history of antagonism with Mr. Moretti. With that many believe the disappearance of Casey O’Donald is linked to Mr. Moretti’s case.”