Jack stood on the corner of 96th Street and East 97th Street. Rays of sun pierced the the gray curtain that hung over the city. He looked at his watch; 07:48. The Grove Tower stretched into the clouds. The sidewalk was full of men and women in business attire hurrying to their jobs. No one seemed to pay Jack any attention. He pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket and lit it. This gained him a few dirty looks from passerby’s. He ignored them and headed to the alley where he saw the woman enter in the security video. Jack caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked up. A traffic camera was pointed at him. How curious, he thought. Shouldn’t that be pointed at the street. He pulled his eyes from the camera and proceeded to the alley way.
The alley was narrow and the buildings gave one the feeling of being incredibly small. Steam from street vents billowed in the alley. The wet pavement glistened in the early morning light. A row of dumpsters sat against left side of the alley. That would be a good place to dispose of a murder weapon, thought the detective. He stepped up to the first one and pushed the lid open.The smell of rotten food smacked him in the face and he recoiled. God the smell! He buried his nose in his elbow. His ear twitched, someone was coming down the alley. The click of a hammer of a pistol being cocked. The soft pop of a silenced gun was almost lost in the ambient noise. Jack slipped between the dumpsters, sparks flying as rounds impacted the metal around him. He drew his pistol and poked his head around the dumpster; his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest. The alleyway was empty. He felt a pain in his upper arm; his hand felt something wet on his sleeve. He looked down, a hole was in his coat. The black wool of the coat masked the presence of blood. He gritted his teeth as pain shot up his arm. He holstered his pistol with some trouble, stood and stumbled out of the alley. He hailed a cab, and fell into the back seat.
“Thirty-one Natoma Drive! And make it fast!” growled Jack, clutching his arm. Blood seeped between his fingers.
“You okay der?” asked the cabbie.
“Yeah. Just fuckin’ drive!” barked Jack.
“Alright! Hang on!” exclaimed the cabbie. The cab sped off into the city.
*****
Jack’s arm was soaked with blood by the time the cab arrived at the destination. His hand clutching the wound was stained with blood. The smell of iron filled his nostrils. He stumbled into the building and called the elevator. A small dribble of blood splattered on the floor. The elevator arrived and he stepped inside, and punched the button with his floor on it. The elevator seemed to rise slower than usual. He swore under his breath. The elevator doors slid open and Jack stumbled out. His breath was short and his head spinning. He staggered to the office door and fell through it. He stared up at the ceiling. He heard someone moving about and Jenn’s terrified face looking down at him. Pain blurred his vision.
“Oh my god! What happened!?” Her voice was hurried and pitched higher than usual.
“Got shot. Medkit… in bathroom,” he stammered, closing his eyes. He heard her get up and open a door. Closing his eyes seemed to dull the pain. Jenn returned shortly. He opened his eyes slowly; the room was spinning.
“What do I do?! I don’t know how to dress a bullet wound!” cried the woman.
“Get the biofoam!” grunted Jack through gritted teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut. He heard a pop, something plastic hitting the floor, and the distinctive clicking of an aerosol can being shaken. His arm went numb as the foam filled the wound. His eyes blinked back tears. Jenn’s face was a whiter than a freshly fallen snow. He smiled.
“Thanks.” Jenn helped him sit up.
“What happened?’ she asked.
“We found Jewel. She went into an alley near Grove Towers and I went to search the joint. When I got there someone fired a silenced pistol at me,” said Jack. Jenn clapped a hand to her mouth. Jack looked up at her.
“It’s an occupational hazard,” he reassured, “Help me get this coat off.” Jenn helped Jack to his feet and into his office. She pulled the bloodstained, coat and jacket off and carried them into the bathroom. Jack leaned against his desk. His stark-white sleeve was glistening with blood. Jenn returned, pulled his tie loose, and began to unbuckle his holster. He groaned as she moved his arm. She hissed at him to be quiet before laying the holster on his desk and moving on to his shirt buttons. She expertly removed the shirt and took it into the bathroom. She returned holding a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. She fumbled with the package before finally withdrawing one and placing it to his lips and flicking open the lighter. He puffed on it.
“Thanks sweetheart,” grunted Jack, “You remove men’s clothes often?” His speech was slurred; the painkillers in the biofoam had started to effect him.
“I’m not a nun and hush, you need to sit down,” she scolded. Jack’s legs shook as he made to move around the desk. Jenn supported him and set him gently in his chair. He grunted. The phone rang.
“Stay,” commanded Jenn.
“I ain’t goin’ anywhere” murmured Jack. Jenn left the office and answered the phone. Jack couldn’t make out what words she was saying. She poked her head into the office.
“It’s for you,” she informed.
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Check back in next week for the conclusion of the Curious Death of Mr. Grove!
I like the image of the garbage smell smacking him in the face!
ReplyDeletePasserby's should be passersby ;)