Part 1: Trouble in the Night
Part 2: The Screams of the City
Part 3: Shadows in the Dark
Part 4: Gleam in the Gutter
Part 5: The Dark Night, and the Cold Ground
Part 6: The Deal at Dawn
Noir Cat 7: The Showdown at Sunrise
Continued...
James stopped the car outside of a small warehouse with several broken windows, tarnished brickwork and a sign that warned "No Trespassing." James and I got out of the car and as we did, I heard a voice call out, "That's far enough!"
I heard the cold click of a gun being cocked. I looked up. The early morning sky was grey; the clouds from the night before barely shot through with the rays of a low hanging, wintery sun. My eyes wandered over the facade of the building. Then I saw it. The tip of a long-barreled gun, and a glinting eye behind it. I could see the vague outline of a man, a shadow just darker than the blackness behind him. I heard three more clicks and saw more gun barrels appear.
I didn't move a muscle. I didn't even tense. I knew one move and they would shoot just to see me die. I opened my mouth to say something, but the voice spoke again: "I'm sending someone out to say hello. You don't move, and you don't speak until they check you out."
I remained still, showing no sign of fear. I wanted to glance at James. Somehow I hadn't thought to ask him what was going to happen once we got here or what else he knew about this gang and its leader.
After what felt like an hour but was probably only a few seconds, the rusted metal door to the warehouse opened and a familiar thin face appeared. He strode toward us quickly and, when he reached us, patted down James, looked at me and, seeing that I couldn't very well be hiding anything in my fur, motioned for us to go into the building. James started as if to enter, but I decided enough was enough.
"We're alright out here. You've got all your guys with guns to keep you safe, come on out and deal George."
I kept my eyes trained on the window where the gun and the shadow where sitting. I saw the barrel twitch. I hoped it wasn't his finger tightening on the trigger. After a pause, the voice said, "Alright."
Another wait, and the scarred man came striding out the door and I got my first real look at George Gracious. I would find out later that George Gracious was not his real name. His parents were from somewhere in Europe originally. They were very poor and, when they realized that they were going to have a baby, decided it was time to make a fresh start in the new world. George's father worked every job he could find and, as soon as they had the money for boat fare, they made the voyage. George was born in the Atlantic ocean, mid-way between London and New York and given the name Alexander Krynganofski. He grew up poor and ashamed.
The story goes that as soon as he learned how to add in first grade, he was finding creative ways to make money. From schoolyard shakedowns to racetrack shenanigans, the Krynganofski kid was known throughout the neighborhood as a tough young guy with a head on his shoulders and a savvy nose for a good score. Then he vanished. Five years later, he came back. He was taller, fitter, well-dressed, and he wanted to be called George Gracious. He soon got together a small organization and, within a year, was one of the major crime bosses in the city. It was in the middle of that year, during his heady ascent, that James and I crossed his path at a warehouse that was soon to be known (and feared) throughout the city.
When he first appeared, I was struck by how tall he was. His pinstriped suit was clearly well made. Spotless from head to toe, his clothes gave off the air of a floor too good to walk on, or a lawn to perfect for walking. They shouldn't be worn, at least not by the man inside them.
He walked up to us without saying a word. He stared at James for a full thirty seconds before bending down to look at me. I know I'm not an imposing figure. I stand at 2ft nothing on my good days. But George Gracious made the mistake of looking me in the eyes. Ever since I was young, people have been telling me about my eyes. They are a little large and very green and I have always know now to use them. I can stare down anyone and anything. When George Gracious tried to give me the intimidation treatment, I just stared back at him. I could see he was unnerved. I don't think he'd had anyone do that for a little while.
"I think I have something of yours." I said, breaking the building silence. With that, I dropped the cufflink at his feet. Make him bend down and reach for it if he wanted it back. He did bend down and pick it up. As he did I saw a flash on his wrist and saw the cufflink's twin. He hadn't changed everything since the night before. Realizing his shirt might have been exposed when he reached down, he quickly covered his wrist with his other hand. No sooner had he inspected the cufflink than, to my surprise, he dropped it again.
"Never seen it before in my life."
With that, he turned on his heel, and, with his thin faced man following, they went back into the warehouse. There was the soft "click, click, click" as the gun barrels were taken back from the windows. The door slammed behind George and his henchman, and James and I were left standing in the early morning light with more questions than answers. The sunrise was hidden by the clouds and the grey cloak of dawn hung over the city. The leafless trees skeletal fingers rattled against the cold sky, and the broken hulk of the warehouse loomed like a concrete monster poised to swallow us whole. The night had gone.
As James and I drove back through the city, my mind turned to the woman in white. I knew I hadn't imagined her. One more lost lady in a city like this isn't something to get mushy over, but she stuck with me. I pushed her out of my mind. Sometimes it's best to let sleeping secrets stay hidden in the smoke and steam. Cities know how to bury their bodies. I got back to my apartment and found the super repairing my door. While he finished up, I cleaned. By the time he was done, I was ready for bed. So I curled up next to the window and, looking out over the skyline, finally went to sleep.
The End
Emily washes off the grime of the case:
I heard the cold click of a gun being cocked. I looked up. The early morning sky was grey; the clouds from the night before barely shot through with the rays of a low hanging, wintery sun. My eyes wandered over the facade of the building. Then I saw it. The tip of a long-barreled gun, and a glinting eye behind it. I could see the vague outline of a man, a shadow just darker than the blackness behind him. I heard three more clicks and saw more gun barrels appear.
I didn't move a muscle. I didn't even tense. I knew one move and they would shoot just to see me die. I opened my mouth to say something, but the voice spoke again: "I'm sending someone out to say hello. You don't move, and you don't speak until they check you out."
I remained still, showing no sign of fear. I wanted to glance at James. Somehow I hadn't thought to ask him what was going to happen once we got here or what else he knew about this gang and its leader.
After what felt like an hour but was probably only a few seconds, the rusted metal door to the warehouse opened and a familiar thin face appeared. He strode toward us quickly and, when he reached us, patted down James, looked at me and, seeing that I couldn't very well be hiding anything in my fur, motioned for us to go into the building. James started as if to enter, but I decided enough was enough.
"We're alright out here. You've got all your guys with guns to keep you safe, come on out and deal George."
I kept my eyes trained on the window where the gun and the shadow where sitting. I saw the barrel twitch. I hoped it wasn't his finger tightening on the trigger. After a pause, the voice said, "Alright."
Another wait, and the scarred man came striding out the door and I got my first real look at George Gracious. I would find out later that George Gracious was not his real name. His parents were from somewhere in Europe originally. They were very poor and, when they realized that they were going to have a baby, decided it was time to make a fresh start in the new world. George's father worked every job he could find and, as soon as they had the money for boat fare, they made the voyage. George was born in the Atlantic ocean, mid-way between London and New York and given the name Alexander Krynganofski. He grew up poor and ashamed.
The story goes that as soon as he learned how to add in first grade, he was finding creative ways to make money. From schoolyard shakedowns to racetrack shenanigans, the Krynganofski kid was known throughout the neighborhood as a tough young guy with a head on his shoulders and a savvy nose for a good score. Then he vanished. Five years later, he came back. He was taller, fitter, well-dressed, and he wanted to be called George Gracious. He soon got together a small organization and, within a year, was one of the major crime bosses in the city. It was in the middle of that year, during his heady ascent, that James and I crossed his path at a warehouse that was soon to be known (and feared) throughout the city.
When he first appeared, I was struck by how tall he was. His pinstriped suit was clearly well made. Spotless from head to toe, his clothes gave off the air of a floor too good to walk on, or a lawn to perfect for walking. They shouldn't be worn, at least not by the man inside them.
He walked up to us without saying a word. He stared at James for a full thirty seconds before bending down to look at me. I know I'm not an imposing figure. I stand at 2ft nothing on my good days. But George Gracious made the mistake of looking me in the eyes. Ever since I was young, people have been telling me about my eyes. They are a little large and very green and I have always know now to use them. I can stare down anyone and anything. When George Gracious tried to give me the intimidation treatment, I just stared back at him. I could see he was unnerved. I don't think he'd had anyone do that for a little while.
"I think I have something of yours." I said, breaking the building silence. With that, I dropped the cufflink at his feet. Make him bend down and reach for it if he wanted it back. He did bend down and pick it up. As he did I saw a flash on his wrist and saw the cufflink's twin. He hadn't changed everything since the night before. Realizing his shirt might have been exposed when he reached down, he quickly covered his wrist with his other hand. No sooner had he inspected the cufflink than, to my surprise, he dropped it again.
"Never seen it before in my life."
With that, he turned on his heel, and, with his thin faced man following, they went back into the warehouse. There was the soft "click, click, click" as the gun barrels were taken back from the windows. The door slammed behind George and his henchman, and James and I were left standing in the early morning light with more questions than answers. The sunrise was hidden by the clouds and the grey cloak of dawn hung over the city. The leafless trees skeletal fingers rattled against the cold sky, and the broken hulk of the warehouse loomed like a concrete monster poised to swallow us whole. The night had gone.
As James and I drove back through the city, my mind turned to the woman in white. I knew I hadn't imagined her. One more lost lady in a city like this isn't something to get mushy over, but she stuck with me. I pushed her out of my mind. Sometimes it's best to let sleeping secrets stay hidden in the smoke and steam. Cities know how to bury their bodies. I got back to my apartment and found the super repairing my door. While he finished up, I cleaned. By the time he was done, I was ready for bed. So I curled up next to the window and, looking out over the skyline, finally went to sleep.
The End
Emily washes off the grime of the case:
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