The Dame Game

This is a short story idea that I came up with and started last year when we were visiting friends in Melbourne. Think LA Confidential or Dick Tracy... Hope you enjoy, please leave a comment (on Facebook if you like)...

THE DAME GAME

It was almost five, so close to knock off that I was tempted to steal those precious minutes and already call it a day. The name's Donald by the way, Donald Ronald PI. I'm in the mystery business, but for now my bread and butter has been coming from finding lost dogs, cats and the occasional bird, you know, the feathered kind. I needed some honey. Something to sweeten the monotony. That's when she walked in. Five foot two with shoulder length hair the colour of purity. She wore Goochy knockoffs and a cheap purfume but her legs went all the way up to her shoulders and then further still.

"Jonny!" she gasped, "Ya gotta help me!"
Johnathan Johnson had been the previous occupant of my shoebox office. He'd been a PI too until he met an on the job hazzard, cement shoes just his size. I'd asked Florence my secretary to update the details of the door but dogs, cats and birds hadn't been paying well and money was tight.

"Name's Donald Ronald, doll," I replied casually, "Whatever trouble your in I'm sure I can help."

The dame removed her Audrey Hepburn glasses and revealed a rainbow of blues and dark purples around one eye.

"Well mister Ronald," she started with a sigh. "It's about my brother..."

Two hours later I found myself in a yellow cab letting the drivers droan wash over me. The wipers rhymically danced across the windshield as the latest winter downpour fell with muddy fury from the heavens. I was thinking about the bottle of scotch hidden in the bottom draw of my desk in the den. I was in dire need of a shot before I wandered down Sixth and Rose to the pokey little library on the corner. If anywhere it would be there I'd find the info I needed to confirm the dame's tale. That place had a stacks the size of a city block and the old goat that ran it never threw anything away.

As the Central Square Clock chimed 9pm I waltzed into the Old Institute building which had been transformed into a half decent community center, pre-school and library combo as well as half a dozen other things as the community need it. The old bird on the door wearing a dirty-charcole cardigan and her whispy, white hair in a bun I immediately pegged as Library Governess. I purposefully avoided her steely gaze as I walked past her and nodded to show I'd heard when she screeched "Can't stay long son! We close by nine-thirty!"

'Lady,' I thought to myself with a grim smile, 'What I gotta do is gunna take all night.'

I didn't dare whisper a word though, those crazy library ladies guarded their workplaces like Templar's who'd found The Grail.Silently, I mooched my way to the darkened back corner of the old institute and slipped into a dusty nook of the stacks. It felt like days while I waited for the next half hour to pass. Finally though the spektor of a bibliophile hobbled about the shelves herding out the elderly, the homeless and the young families who'd gathered that wet, wintery evening. I was thankful for the librarian's ruthlessness as every last soul was prised from their seats and ejected into the storm still pummeling the streets.

"We've closed!" the ancient voice screeched just before all the lights extinguished and the door clicked shut.

I counted slowly back from two hundred and then a hundred more before I thought it safe to fish out my flashlight. The familiar thin beam flashed over bookstaves and numerals until I'd found the papers that would be the beginning of my search. After only a few hours of page flicking and article scanning I thought I'd located all the pieces of the puzzle. Now I just needed to work out how they fell together. So far I'd worked out that the dame's brother was Jimmy Four Fingers, aka Jimmy the Black Prince, aka The Black Prince of Brooklyn, aka all sorts of other alliases with funny sounding names. He was roumered to be tied up with drugs of all colours, racketeering and had also up on eight different murder charges but the boys in blue could never make anything stick. The name Nasty did not even begin to cover this guy. Jimmy was all sharp edges, dangerous with a capital D... The papers mentioned at least a dozen henchmen, each an expert at their own dasterdly deeds. Finally there was the matriarch, Madam Josephina, she'd taken the reigns off the family business after her hubby Franko mysteriously drowned at a massage parlour... The dame had me up to my eyeballs but I'd made a promise and that was gunna mean something.

The storm had eased to a dizzle as I left the library. My mind span the clues around and around as I passed between streetlights. Guns, gold and girls and the dame was in the thick of it. Her story rang true, the papers confirmed it. They also told me there was going to be a shipment tonight at midnight down at the local docks. I flagged the next yellow cab that tried to fly past me and almost smile as the same driver as before asked, "Where ya headed, Mac?"

It was eleven forty-five as the bright lights of the dock came into view. I paid the driver his dues and watched the yellow beast take off. Next I fed some pennies into the payphone and gave a call to my friend of the force.

"Gus!" I shouted down the line, "Have I got a nugget for you, but ya gotta hurry."

"Is that you D.R. where you at?" murmured Gus, he was probably in bed with his missus and I'd woken him.

"Just get down to the docks as quick as ya can," I urged. "I'll fill you in when you get here."

With the brass brigade on their way I cut a few fence wires and started the next stage of my investigation. My partner, a little Walther PPK was safely secure in an ankle hostler. I gave it a quick once over and found to my satisfaction it had a full clip and one in the chamber ready to go. It was then a matter of getting close enough to the action so I could snap some black and whites as the deal went down. Gus and his mates would appear a few moments later and the whole thing would be tied up neater than a store bought gift at Christmas time. Or so I'd hoped...

By midnight I could see three of the ten containers mentioned in the papers and a group of shady looking characters hanging around them. I counted at least three semi-automatics amongst the goons and guessed there would be so many more. My little pea shooter was no match for the arsenal before me so my only option was to hang back and watch. The first container was cracked and the merchandice marched out. I pitied the girls as they came out in twos and threes, bleary eyed at full of confusion. That would soon be replaced by gut twisting fear, but for the moment confusion was more than sufficient and a touch appropriate. A third of the dark suits vanished as the newly delivered sheep were herded into a couple of unmarked vans. Another of the guys disappeared as a forklift loaded his van with mysterious crates, packed solid from front to back I heard the groan as the van sank onto its axles, the crates obviously heafty. I hoped that Gus and his friends would be there in time to cut off all of those vans and rescue whatever and whoever was inside. It was then that I got the tap on the shoulder.

"What's going on?"

It was Gus. He looked like he was still in his pyjamas.

"Where is everyone else?" I whispered over my shoulder as I tried to show he hadn't suprised me.

"Who?" Gus asked with the same look of confusion I imagined on the faces of the girls from the container. "All I brought with me was this," my contact with the police force murmured waving in my face a chunky two handed blunderbus which was not standard issue.

"At least we've clawed one back on the spray and pray stakes," I murmured, still noticing how badly we were out numbered. "Did you catch the plates on those vans?"

"What vans? I found a hole in the fence and followed it to you..."

"Crates of guns, vans full of girls destined for the streets, I don't know what else is in those other containers..."

"My car's two blocks from here... Follow the van with the crates and when it gets to where its going call me..."

"Gus, you bailing on me and heading home?" I asked, disappointed.

"Not a chance chum! This might be my big break!" Gus announced. "I'm clocking on and headed to work early, you look like you need a hand..."

Gus' car was an old buick 69, a wildcat with an engine that purred. Behind that wheel I caught the van struggling with its load in no time flat. After that it was just a matter of hanging back and cruising. We left the docks far behind. As the van pulled up to the gates of an abandoned factory I knew we'd reached our destination. I needed to backtrack a mile or so to hunt down a phone. When I dialed Gus was right there on the other end.

"555 Ninety Archers Rise," I stated with surprising calm. "The ex tram factory."

"Thanks D.R.," Gus replied, excitement in his voice. "Sit tight. We'll pick you up from the diner."

"Gus, don't come alone..."

I hung up and settled in for a long wait and a few cups of coffee. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye I spied the dame. A 75 convertable corvette the same electric blue of her eyes and she was in the driver's seat speeding towards a date with trouble. I couldn't wait, I was her knight and Gus' buick was my armour.

By the time I'd paid the waitress and jumped behind the wildcat's wheel the corvette was nowhere to be seen. The road was straight though and I knew where the dame was headed. When the tram factory came back in sight again the gate was wide open, welcoming me in. There were a whole bunch of buildings I could choose to search first but there was only one with the lights on and a forklift outfront. To a PI that was like leaving a single piece out of a toddler's puzzle and asking if I knew what the picture was. The PPK was in my hand and the safety off before the engine on the buick died. Scanning the scene I spotted at least three black vans and the convertable. As I heard the building's entrance swing open my pea shooter was instantly trained on the dame's t die for features.

"Oh Donald! Thank the world of goodness you're here!" she purred. "What I need right know is a good man and from what I've seen you're one of the best."

"I've got the boys in blue on their way... Hop in and I'll take us back to the cafe... We'll leave it to the professionals," I assured the dame.

There was a moment of uncertainty, something cloudy behind those dark glasses but I was too far gone to see it for what it was.

"Sure," was all she said as she kissed me.

I was planning our wedding or at least out first date as I dropped dreamily into the wildcat's driver seat. I was brought back to earth like a lightning flash as my cuffs clicked around my wrists and the wheel.

"Thanks," she added brandishing my little pea shooter, loaded, leathal.

Then the dame disappeared.

I winced each time the PPK echoed, counted all eight shots and didn't breath until the dame appeared again. Two unmarked bags under each arm. Her glasses were gone, probably colatoral from the battle I hadn't seen. As she dropped the spent pistol in my lap I finally noticed the black eye from yesterday was gone.

"Amazing what you can do with makeup isn't it Donald Ronald, PI."

She'd taken the cash and stolen my heart. We were players in the Dame Game and she had played us all.