WHO'S FLOATING IN THE CHICAGO RIVER?

Hi, all,

I hope everyone is enjoying their Memorial Day weekend. I DO hope everyone thinks of our brave military men and woman at some point this weekend. IF it wasn't for those brave and selfless people we would not sleep safely at night... We should ALL BE PROUD to be AMERICANS!

This weekend is also the last few days of the Romantic Friday Writers May post. So without further ado, I have written another installment of my latest WIP, which JUST happens to be a 1940's Film Noir novella. I hope you all enjoy it...

Here is a bit of the intro scene for those of you who are not familiar with it. It's All Hallows eve. A swanky party at the world renowned Palmer House in Chicago is at full swing. Liberace is performing and a young woman dressed like a flapper disappears behind a huge column.

Doris, the girl's friend notices her boyfriend, Marty, is missing too. Distraught, Doris seeks the help of Marty's best friend to help her find them ...

At 763 words ....

A pinprick of light creeps in through an icy, frosted window early Monday morning. The dusty glimmer highlights a gray metal ashtray littered with stale cigarette butts. The aroma of burnt coffee lingers, assaulting the senses like an unwelcome vagrant. 

Dry, cracked fingers strike a match, and a flame ignites. The sizzle echoes in the dead silence. A broad chest expands like a organ grinder’s accordion as a rush of smoke escapes flaring nostrils. An unshaven, bleary-eyed Cal reads the first line of a smudged letter. 

My dearest Cal,

By the time you read this letter, I’ll be gone ...

He crumples the paper and bangs his fist on the desk. “Damn her!” Pounding the note smooth, he continues to read and sucks in a long draw from the cigarette dangling from his lips. A smoldering ash drops and bores through the note as I’ll always love you turns to cinders, leaving only a wisp of black smoke.

He bolts upright from a knock on the door. “Come in,” he barks, sweeping the remaining letter and ashes into the open desk drawer.

Clancy lumbers into the office. His menacing steel-gray eyes and shiny bald head reflect the overcast winter sky. Cal turns away from his gaze. 

“What is it?” Cal snuffs out the cigarette and faces Clancy.

“Still mooning over that dame, ain’t ya? Tell it to chaplain, we got work to do!” 

“Who’s mooning? You’ve got ...”

“The captain’s riding me good to sniff out any sort of lead to the Juliano murder. I’ve come up with bupkis. And, we can’t group him with the two other big cheeses who got bumped off, cuz he was nothin but a gunsel, so we need ...” 

Cal’s face drains of all color. 

“Geez, I-I’m such a dolt, I forgot you was friends with that hood.”

Cal glares at him. “He wasn’t ...”

Clancy heads for the door, but gives Cal a sideward glance. “Put a lid on it, and meet me outside. I’ll be waitin next to the black-an-white.” He faces Cal. “That dame of yours, knows somethin ... I can feel it in my gut.” 

The door slams and Cal’s head drops onto the desk with a loud thump. He rakes his stiff fingers through his oily hair and pounds the desk again. “Why, Rosemary? Why?”

His stomach lurches as he thinks of Marty’s dead body swimming with the fishes in the Chicago River and the mysterious note that had soon followed. He shakes his head. Was is only three months ago?

Please meet me at the Palace Grill on Canal St. tomorrow at 11:00 am sharp. Come alone.

Cal would never forget that day. The day he lost his heart.

A movie plays through his mind as he recalls All Hallows Eve and his first encounter with a beautiful flapper. In an instant she was gone ... and then the hunt began ... Doris, the flamenco dancer, hot on his heals.   

After combing the streets of downtown Chicago for hours, checking every two-bit, low-life saloon, Doris throws her arms up and looks at Cal. Dried mascara ran in long tracks down her cheeks. “I don’t know of any other joint. We’ve hit’em all.”

Cal nods. “Let’s check his flat.” 

“He wouldn’t! Marty ain’t capable of somethin like that. You're his friend. How could ya think that of’m?” Tears well in her eyes. 

“Do you know where Rosemary lives, then? Maybe she got away. We should check on her. See if she’s all right.”

Doris rummages through her beaded bag, pulls out a crumpled hankie, and wipes her face. She blows her nose like a freight train whistle, and stuffs the soiled hankie back inside the bag. “She lives a few blocks from me. At some flea-bitten boarding house. But we can’t go there ... at this hour the landlady’ll flip’er wig! She's no honey. Trust me on this one.”

Cal sighs and shrugs his shoulders. “Let’s call it a night then.” 

“Look kiddo, you know I’m stuck on Marty, right? And I thought he and me was ...” Doris sniffs and locks her eyes on Cal's. “I can’t rest until I know.”  Tears burst from her eyes and she sobs into her hands. 

Cal pats her on the back. “Well, it’s almost dawn. Let’s grab a cup a joe and swing by her place in a few hours.” 

Doris wraps her arms around his waist. “You're a real pip. Ya know that?”

The putrid air from the day’s slaughter hung like a diseased veil as Cal escorts Doris through the hazy streets of the west loop. 

I hope you all enjoyed this excerpt. I'd love to know what you think.

Enjoy the holiday everyone!