Pistol Pete
07-17-05, 04:03 PM
Chapter 1: Ghosts From The Past.
This is the seedy side of town and Jake Hawks is on his toes, never knowing who, or what, might leap out of the dark. Steam wafts up from the wet street grates, giving an air of surrealness he usually only knows after an all-nighter at Kat's place. The streets are empty, but there are always eyes peering through cracks in window curtains, or below the grates. Jake lights another cigarette and adjusts his pistol, just in case someone might be watching.
He crosses over to 2nd Street and sees Tony's light on, three floors up in the Fidgit Building. With his hat pulled low, he walks down the sidewalk to the front door and is about to ring up when the sound of glass breaking comes from behind. He quickly draws his gun and wheels around, just in time to see a lone figure darting into a doorway! "Must be a drunk.", he says to no one. He puts his .45 back in its place and proceeds to ring Tony. Tony Gacha: Jake's boyhood friend and sometimes sleuth partner. They've been in the private dick business for years and have always depended on each other when clients turn sour. This visit is a bit different, in that it’s someone close to both of them. Jake rides the elevator up and takes a right down the hall to Tony’s office. Opening the door, he sees Tony sitting at his desk, feet up, and reading the Tribune.
“How’s it hangin’, buddy? What da hell you doin’ out this timea night?”, asks Tony. “Not too bad, considering the climate. This town sucks, ya know? I got a…we got a problem”. Jake grabs a chair in front of the desk and helps himself to a bourbon. He’s more of a beer kinda guy, but anything is welcome this late. “So what’s up?”, asks Tony. “It’s Cammie.” (Cammie: Suella Martin. A girl/woman, they had palled around with when they were kids but hadn’t seen for years since her dad was reassigned in the Army.) It’s been two years since the war ended and Jake had forgotten about the carefree things that mattered before he left for England, four years earlier. Tony puts his feet on the floor and leans forward, waiting for the rest of the story.
Jake reaches into his right coat pocket and pulls out a small bauble on a gold chain, a silver pixie playing a flute. Jake and Tony had given it to Cammie as a good luck charm, telling her that it would always keep them together. “Where the hell did you find that?!”, hollers Tony. “It was in my mail slot this morning.”, Jake replies. After a couple of hours of explaining why he was in the dark about Cammie’s necklace, and Tony taking the conversation into ‘old times’ bullshit, Jake went back to his place to catch a few Zs.
Morning comes way too early with a phone call from a woman who says she’s calling for “a friend who needs your help”. The one sided conversation is clipped, she seems a bit upset, very persistent, and wants to meet with Jake later that afternoon at the Central Library. He gives in, if just to get her off the line. “This is all I need.”, he says, wiping his face as if that would remove the hammered look at 6:37am. First things, first: Get a cigarette, make coffee and…”Hey! How did she get this number?!” Jake’s home number was only known to a very select few. “Oh well, guess I’ll find out later.”, he thought.
Finding a place to park downtown around noon is sometimes a chore in this city. Jake finds a spot near the rear of the library and hoofs it over to the entrance, wondering how he’s going to recognize the woman from the call. He takes a seat on one the benches out front and lights a smoke, watching the myriad of people passing back and forth across the plaza. A shadow moves up to his left side…“Mister Hawks?”
With the sunlight glowing off her golden blonde hair, she looks like an angel from some renaissance painting. Lips red and full, with deep blue eyes to die for. “I suppose you’re the one that woke me up during a great dream. It was me and these triplets and we were..ahh... This better be worth it!”, says Jake, looking annoyed but feeling like he wants to bed her right then and there.
“I really need to talk with you Mr. Hawks.” she tells him. “You wanna go some place a bit more private?”, asks Jake. “No, Mr. Hawks. This is better right here. I like it out in the open.”, she says. Jake was thinking the same thing, but it wasn’t about business. “A very dear friend of mine is in a lot of trouble with someone who wishes a great deal of money from her.”, she says. “Ah…”, Jake pops up, “blackmail, eh?” “No, he’s white, but he means her harm! I’m really scared for her because she…….” The woman drifts off into a crying jag, mumbling about apricots and toy trains. Jake looks around and spies a street vendor. A bagel and coffee would be nice right about now.
He wanders over and orders a coffee and egg bagel with sardine salsa. “How’s it going Louie?”, he asks the vendor. “It’s going fine, and my name ain’t Louie!” Jake gets his food and walks back to the weird woman on the bench. “Pain in the ass.”, he mutters. When he gets back to her, she’s still going on about weasels and unmentionables, not even noticing he had left. Jake has a seat next to her and sets his coffee and bagel down on the far end of the bench. He then turns and grabs her by the shoulders and screams, “What the hell are you talking about?!! And I don’t wanna hear anymore about fruity trains or animals with underwear!! OK?!!” Completely startled, her composure returns to normal. “You see, Mr. Hawks, there’s a considerable fee to be paid for your services and…discretion.”, she says. “What services?! You haven’t said shit, except about mechanical shorts and queer ferrets! What is it you want from me, Miss….?” “Dianne. You may call me Dianne.” she tells him. “OK, Dianne, what am I supposed to do for your 'friend'?” “Save her from herself, Mr. Hawks.” Mockingly, Jake repeats her, “Save her from herself, Mr. Hawks. Do know how corny that sounds?!” Dianne looks Jake in the eye, “OK. How about for $10,000?” Ten thousand smackers?! He wouldn’t make that much in ten years with his calypso band. “Ten Gs? Sure Miss, I can handle that. Shall we go to my office and talk it over?”, Jake asks. Dianne suddenly puts her hand to her head and exclaims, “Sorry, but I’ve got this awful headache. You understand. I’ll call you.” With that, she gets up to leave and hands Jake the butt end of a carrot. “This is to seal our agreement, Mr. Hawks.” As Dianne walks away, Jake looks bewildered at the carrot butt and yells out, “Hey! You want some of this bagel?!” After a few seconds, he lowers his head. “Pain in the ass. Hey! How did she get my number?!”
Jake walks back his car and takes off for Tony’s. As he drives, he thinks about the woman and what she might have to do with all this. Why didn’t Cammie personally contact him? Why all the cloak and dagger? Is this a setup of some kind? Why did he eat that frigging bagel? Oh well, things will sort themselves out sooner or later, he figures. At that, his stomach starts to rumble and he feels a fart coming on. “Oh man, that’s bad!!”
This is the seedy side of town and Jake Hawks is on his toes, never knowing who, or what, might leap out of the dark. Steam wafts up from the wet street grates, giving an air of surrealness he usually only knows after an all-nighter at Kat's place. The streets are empty, but there are always eyes peering through cracks in window curtains, or below the grates. Jake lights another cigarette and adjusts his pistol, just in case someone might be watching.
He crosses over to 2nd Street and sees Tony's light on, three floors up in the Fidgit Building. With his hat pulled low, he walks down the sidewalk to the front door and is about to ring up when the sound of glass breaking comes from behind. He quickly draws his gun and wheels around, just in time to see a lone figure darting into a doorway! "Must be a drunk.", he says to no one. He puts his .45 back in its place and proceeds to ring Tony. Tony Gacha: Jake's boyhood friend and sometimes sleuth partner. They've been in the private dick business for years and have always depended on each other when clients turn sour. This visit is a bit different, in that it’s someone close to both of them. Jake rides the elevator up and takes a right down the hall to Tony’s office. Opening the door, he sees Tony sitting at his desk, feet up, and reading the Tribune.
“How’s it hangin’, buddy? What da hell you doin’ out this timea night?”, asks Tony. “Not too bad, considering the climate. This town sucks, ya know? I got a…we got a problem”. Jake grabs a chair in front of the desk and helps himself to a bourbon. He’s more of a beer kinda guy, but anything is welcome this late. “So what’s up?”, asks Tony. “It’s Cammie.” (Cammie: Suella Martin. A girl/woman, they had palled around with when they were kids but hadn’t seen for years since her dad was reassigned in the Army.) It’s been two years since the war ended and Jake had forgotten about the carefree things that mattered before he left for England, four years earlier. Tony puts his feet on the floor and leans forward, waiting for the rest of the story.
Jake reaches into his right coat pocket and pulls out a small bauble on a gold chain, a silver pixie playing a flute. Jake and Tony had given it to Cammie as a good luck charm, telling her that it would always keep them together. “Where the hell did you find that?!”, hollers Tony. “It was in my mail slot this morning.”, Jake replies. After a couple of hours of explaining why he was in the dark about Cammie’s necklace, and Tony taking the conversation into ‘old times’ bullshit, Jake went back to his place to catch a few Zs.
Morning comes way too early with a phone call from a woman who says she’s calling for “a friend who needs your help”. The one sided conversation is clipped, she seems a bit upset, very persistent, and wants to meet with Jake later that afternoon at the Central Library. He gives in, if just to get her off the line. “This is all I need.”, he says, wiping his face as if that would remove the hammered look at 6:37am. First things, first: Get a cigarette, make coffee and…”Hey! How did she get this number?!” Jake’s home number was only known to a very select few. “Oh well, guess I’ll find out later.”, he thought.
Finding a place to park downtown around noon is sometimes a chore in this city. Jake finds a spot near the rear of the library and hoofs it over to the entrance, wondering how he’s going to recognize the woman from the call. He takes a seat on one the benches out front and lights a smoke, watching the myriad of people passing back and forth across the plaza. A shadow moves up to his left side…“Mister Hawks?”
With the sunlight glowing off her golden blonde hair, she looks like an angel from some renaissance painting. Lips red and full, with deep blue eyes to die for. “I suppose you’re the one that woke me up during a great dream. It was me and these triplets and we were..ahh... This better be worth it!”, says Jake, looking annoyed but feeling like he wants to bed her right then and there.
“I really need to talk with you Mr. Hawks.” she tells him. “You wanna go some place a bit more private?”, asks Jake. “No, Mr. Hawks. This is better right here. I like it out in the open.”, she says. Jake was thinking the same thing, but it wasn’t about business. “A very dear friend of mine is in a lot of trouble with someone who wishes a great deal of money from her.”, she says. “Ah…”, Jake pops up, “blackmail, eh?” “No, he’s white, but he means her harm! I’m really scared for her because she…….” The woman drifts off into a crying jag, mumbling about apricots and toy trains. Jake looks around and spies a street vendor. A bagel and coffee would be nice right about now.
He wanders over and orders a coffee and egg bagel with sardine salsa. “How’s it going Louie?”, he asks the vendor. “It’s going fine, and my name ain’t Louie!” Jake gets his food and walks back to the weird woman on the bench. “Pain in the ass.”, he mutters. When he gets back to her, she’s still going on about weasels and unmentionables, not even noticing he had left. Jake has a seat next to her and sets his coffee and bagel down on the far end of the bench. He then turns and grabs her by the shoulders and screams, “What the hell are you talking about?!! And I don’t wanna hear anymore about fruity trains or animals with underwear!! OK?!!” Completely startled, her composure returns to normal. “You see, Mr. Hawks, there’s a considerable fee to be paid for your services and…discretion.”, she says. “What services?! You haven’t said shit, except about mechanical shorts and queer ferrets! What is it you want from me, Miss….?” “Dianne. You may call me Dianne.” she tells him. “OK, Dianne, what am I supposed to do for your 'friend'?” “Save her from herself, Mr. Hawks.” Mockingly, Jake repeats her, “Save her from herself, Mr. Hawks. Do know how corny that sounds?!” Dianne looks Jake in the eye, “OK. How about for $10,000?” Ten thousand smackers?! He wouldn’t make that much in ten years with his calypso band. “Ten Gs? Sure Miss, I can handle that. Shall we go to my office and talk it over?”, Jake asks. Dianne suddenly puts her hand to her head and exclaims, “Sorry, but I’ve got this awful headache. You understand. I’ll call you.” With that, she gets up to leave and hands Jake the butt end of a carrot. “This is to seal our agreement, Mr. Hawks.” As Dianne walks away, Jake looks bewildered at the carrot butt and yells out, “Hey! You want some of this bagel?!” After a few seconds, he lowers his head. “Pain in the ass. Hey! How did she get my number?!”
Jake walks back his car and takes off for Tony’s. As he drives, he thinks about the woman and what she might have to do with all this. Why didn’t Cammie personally contact him? Why all the cloak and dagger? Is this a setup of some kind? Why did he eat that frigging bagel? Oh well, things will sort themselves out sooner or later, he figures. At that, his stomach starts to rumble and he feels a fart coming on. “Oh man, that’s bad!!”