Warm milk
Princes and dragons
A kiss goodnight
The dreams are coming…
Can you see them coming?
Many of the people who know me nicknamed me Jack Rivers, the Jack-of-all-trades. This is due to the nature of my business. People call me—from the rich to the poor, the coppers, and the shamuses, and the crime lords of the Metro, I’ve met ‘em all. They tell me their troubles. My job is to solve their problems—as long as they have the scratch to pay me.
I’ve done jobs as simple as sneaking in hop for the junkies. I’ve also done jobs that almost sent me to the big sleep. I’ve been in dutch from time to time but always I’ve managed to slip myself out of ‘em. People tell me I’m a hard bo. I answer them the same as always: When you’re doing what I’ve been doing, there’s no choice but to be hard. The alternative would be to be pushing daises and I won’t allow myself to be maggot food.
But there’s this one time when I myself started to doubt whether I’d be able to make it out alive.
It started off as a normal Saturday evening in the Icecube. There I was, seated in my usual spot in the bar waiting for a guy named Marko. I remember having an empty glass cradled in my hands. A voice from behind me spoke up.
“Want another glass Jack?”
I looked behind me and I saw Vinnie, the bartender—he was a small man with a stiff, gray mustache and a balding head. I gave him a nod and handed him my glass. He smiled and started to pour whiskey.
I directed my attention again to the people having a good time. The Icecube, like most evenings, was full—the rich and the famous of the Metro, patsies just waiting for me to pick them clean of their hard-earned dough.
“So, what’s your business tonight Jack?”
I turned around and I saw Vinnie handing me my glass back. “Waiting for Marko,” I answered him before taking a drink. “The guy owes me some cabbage.”
“That big lug?” Vinnie said as he went picked up a glass and started wiping it clean, “how much does he owe ya?”
“A pair of C’s.”
Vinnie whistled a long note. “Good luck to ya pal. You’d have more luck squeezing dough out of a rock than from that boob.”
I emptied my glass and I smiled at Vinnie. “Everyone pays their debts to Jackie Rivers, Vinnie. Everyone.”
“Whatever you say Jack,” was all he said in reply. He placed the empty glass down and picked up another.
The lights grew dim then. I looked in front and I saw spotlights were focused on the stage. The red curtains were pulled and there she was, standing with a microphone in front of her—definitely the most beautiful thing I ever laid my eyes on, a natural looker.
Everyone had gone silent inside the Icecube. The dame smiled a sad smile at everyone. The band behind her started to play and she started to sing. She had a smoky voice, like that of Billie Holiday’s, and she was singing some forlorn song about two lovebirds that were separated. I couldn’t pull my eyes off of her.
“Hey, hey, Vinnie,” I said without looking away from the stage.
“Yeah, Jack?”
“Who’s the canary?”
“She’s new. Boss hired her just the other day. Now let’s see, what’s her name again? I’m not good at names…”
I couldn’t remember what Vinnie was saying. My head was slowly filled by her voice. Like a siren’s song, I found myself being lured to her. I stood up and I left my glass on the counter. I could hear Vinnie saying something behind me but I didn’t stop to ask what it was, I just kept on walking towards the stage, towards her.
When I was about six feet away, her eyes found me. She continued on singing and I continued on falling. I knew I was in love. I had to get her.
She was finishing her song. She was singing how she would keep on waiting for her lover to come home to her once again. Her voice slowly died down. The sound of applause filled the Icecube like rainfall. I must’ve looked funny standing there—quiet, in awe, in love. She smiled at me and then she took her bow and turned to leave.
Wait! I wanted to shout but my voice got lost in my windpipe. The curtains were closed and the lights were turned on and I remained standing there.
The following morning I found myself walking along Gambler’s Alley—an alleyway where the gamblers and the other lowlifes of the Metro gather. The place stank of sweat, booze, and broken dreams. It’s long and wide enough for seven men to stand side by side. Card games, horse races, any form of gambling you can think of it’s possibly here in the alley. The coppers won’t mind as long as they get to have a piece of the action and additional scratch in their pockets.
At the horseraces section I found Vic the stick. He was with a group of people and they all had their backs on me. They were gathered ‘round a radio listening to today’s races. I waited for the race to finish. I leaned my back on the wall and lit a stick of cigarette.
A horse named Bay Blur was leading the pack, but very close behind him the Man O’ War was quickly catching up.
“They’re neck to neck now folks,” the radio announcer said. “I wager this one will be a photo finish ladies and gents. Man O’ War’s now running side by side the Bay Blur. They’re gaining distance away from the others. No one’s giving in. These two horses are giving their all folks. Bay Blur’s starting to take the lead again. That horse sure can run. But wait! Man O’ War’s pushing it hard! He’s catching up, he caught up! He’s now taking the lead. Man o man this is one hell of a horse race folks. The two horses are closing in on the finish. Bay Blur’s struggling to catch up. Man O’ War is in the lead by mere millimeters I’m betting. The finish line’s just ahead…and the Man O’ War takes first place! Incredible come from behind finish!”
Shouting and protests rose from the crowd as the men started to disperse. Most of them had their shoulders slumped and their heads down. Seemed to me Bay Blur was a favorite.
I blew smoke into his direction and I asked him, “How much did you lose Vic?”
He looked at me with his huge, round eyes. “Oh, hi Jackie,” he said with his ever present depressed voice, “lost myself a double sawbuck to that no good stinkin’ horse race. It’s a banana race Jackie. That race was fixed, I’m tellin’ you.”
I started walking beside him. He was taller than me by a good one foot but he was skinny and always seemed to wear clothes that were two sizes bigger for him, this made him seem smaller. He had thin wispy hair combed to the side and a very bad addiction to gambling. I offered him a smoke, he shook his head.
“Heard you weren’t able to collect last night at the Icecube,” he started to say. On either side of us the voices of men losing and winning mixed with one another.
I took a deep long drag before I answered. “Marko brought his pal along. Heard of a goon named Mr. Wrangler?”
“Sorry to say Jackie but it was my first time hearing the name too,” Vic the stick answered.
Vic knew everyone in the Metro—the rich, the poor, and the in-betweens. If he didn’t know about this Mr. Wrangler, then he wasn’t from the Metro. Curiosity rose within me.
“What’ll you do about it Jack?” Vic asked.
“Nothin’ for now but you know everyone always pays their debts to me Vic.” I said coolly.
Vic looked at me with his saucer-like eyes. “I hate to be Marko right now,” he said.
I took one last drag out of my gasper before I dropped it and stomped on it with the tip of my shoe. “You’ve got names for me?”
He gave a nod and pulled a piece of paper in the back pocket of his pants. “Three names,” he said smiling, “I’m sure you’ll find them to your likin’.”
I took the note and handed Vic a sawbuck. “Thanks Vic,” I said.
He rolled the cabbage and tucked it behind his left ear. “I’ll try to dig some dirt about this Wrangler fellow.”
I nodded and I walked away.
I stood in front of double oak doors—each one of them had an ugly looking lion for a knocker. I rapped on the wood three times with my knuckle.
The door was pushed open ajar and out peeked a very old man with a small wrinkled face. His half-closed eyes looked up at me. “Yes sir?”
“I’m here for Louie Singleton,” I said. “Tell him Jack Rivers is here.”
“Of course sir, if you’ll follow me please.” He opened the door wider.
I stepped inside and I followed the old man. He had a bent back and he was wearing a butler’s uniform. His head had very few strands of silver hair left. Three of his steps were equivalent to one of mine. Eventually the old man stopped in front of a door. He twisted the knob open and he asked me to wait inside.
The room smelled sickly sweet. It smelled of a dozen flowers I couldn’t name. A sofa was in the middle of the room. It was large enough to fit six people sitting side by side. In front of the sofa lay a short wooden coffee table. On the right side of the sofa stood a grand piano, I walked over to it and lifted the covering of the keys. I pressed one down and a deep, low note filled the drawing room.
“Do you play the piano Mr. Rivers?” I heard someone asked from behind me after the note died down.
I turned around and I saw Louie Singleton smiling as the butler closed the door behind him. He was wearing a bright orange polo shirt and corduroy pants. He walked towards the small bar at one end of the room and opened a glass of whiskey.
“No, I don’t play,” I answered looking at him.
He filled two glasses and handed one to me.
“Thanks,” I said.
“I have to say you don’t look like the man I imagined you to be.” His smile hadn’t still left his face. I don’t know why but his smile made me want to plant my fist to it. I tried my best not to.
“I’m sorry I didn’t meet your expectations,” I said.
“Oh no, no, don’t be. I love surprises.” He extended his right hand. “How about a formal introduction eh? I’m Louie Singleton.”
I paused for a moment. I slowly reached for his hand. “Jack Rivers,” I said. His hand felt soft and he smelled the same way as the drawing room—he smelled of a dozen different flowers. I realized then that Louie Singleton’s not like the characters he portrayed in his flicks—the treasure hunter and the rough mafia gangster. Louie Singleton’s a Nance. I pulled my hand away.
“What do you want Mr. Singleton?”
He took a drink and then he said, “It’s simple enough and I assure you that the reward’s more than good.” I waited as he drank some more. “As you know I’m a big deal in the movie industry. By the way, have you watched my latest movie? Daniel Jones: Bounty Hunter?”
“I’m not a movie person,” I answered.
“I see you’re not much of a talker as well. Very well, I’ll get to the point. I want you to find a man. He has something that gives him…power to blackmail me. He called the other day demanding ten grand or else he’ll go to the papers and my movie career will go down in flames. I don’t want to go down in flames Mr. Rivers.” He flashed me a smile, but somehow the smile seemed more sinister. “Oh yes I can pay the ten grand easy. But will he stop after getting the money? I’m afraid he won’t. I want you to track him down and bring me what he has that may ruin me. Understand?”
“I understand well, I just have two questions. Do you know the guy and how much are ya willing to pay?”
“Ten grand Mr. Rivers. I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars.”
The guy may be a Nance but he was no liar—the reward was indeed more than good. I gave a nod of the head and he finished his drink.
“As to the identify of the blackmailer, I believe he’s working for the ‘Metro Mighty Gazette’. He’s a photographer there—Benjamin Rice.” He said smiling. “I believe you have ways to make him…cooperate.”
I gave a nod. “I know some,” I said.
“Very good Mr. Rivers,” he said. “When can I expect the results?”
“I’ll drop by,” was all I said in reply. I placed the glass, still full of whiskey, on the counter and I made my way to the door. I could feel Louie Singleton’s smile on my back.
My blog will soon have a much needed upgrade! Sometime in the first week of June my blog will finally have its own domain. (Yay!). I’ll be transferring ALL of my works here to my new blog so it’ll be a very busy June (for the first two weeks at the most, I think).
I’m very excited to have my own website and to be all professional like.
Only in dreams, in beautiful dreams.
