SWNOVELS Chapter 2 - Dead Canary
CHAPTER 2 – DEAD CANARY
A white bustling edifice built with the sole purpose of bringing justice to the people. But on this day it looked more like a paparazzi gauntlet of probing cameras, officious questioning, and calumny wordplay. The press were out like buzzards picking up any scraps they could, no matter how rotten. Alongside them came the timely protests of the community, each holding a makeshift pole of scrabbled emotion, all bearing their weight in words shouted loudly at anyone that looked of interest. For cars trying to get through, it was a maze of human emotion.
Demo and Bob Cat had solved the Cuerpo Morto case days earlier. Despite Bob Cat’s correct assertion that the words were being entirely mispronounced, Demo would always remember it that way. It would be cataloged along with the others, for better or worse, in a library of morbidity. The duo was out looking for one of their less insidious desires. They were hungry and heading over to their favorite Italian sandwich place. It was just a hopscotch game away from the courthouse and had some of the best spicy beef subs in town. What had started as a logistical convenience was now a thing of habit. Their many visits to the courthouse had unknowingly led them into a predictive schedule of Italian bovine. The pair sat silently in their car until the commotion came into plain view.
“Now what are these idiots doing?” said Bob Cat.
Demo looked at the crowds outside of the courthouse, imagining them as little children screaming at the adults to make it all better.
“Looks serious,” Demo said back.
Bob Cat took the speed of the car down a notch. The crowds appeared now like impervious walls of upset flesh.
“This is going to take forever. Is that Jacky?” mumbled Bob Cat, feeling his growing hunger pains getting the better of him.
Demo glanced over just in time to see Jacky standing outside the doors to the courthouse wrangling with the belligerent reporters, like a lion protecting its kill from the hyenas. She was obviously flustered and angry. But Jacky had a way of looking good no matter what the situation. Her teeth, like white headlights, flashed on and off as she spoke.
“She looks worked up. This must be serious. It’s not like the courthouse to get such celebrity treatment.”
Bob Cat moaned. He knew Demo’s curiosity would overtake the need to feed. He wanted to get it over with.
“Fine, I’ll park the car. But we aren’t walking a mile this time. Even I can feel this one out,” said Bob Cat, upset.
Demo nodded his head while his scan continued. People of various backgrounds were there. Some looked poor, while others, the cream of the avarice crop.
“What a cluster. You think people could at least park in some reasonable fashion,” said Bob Cat, reaching into his pocket to look for one of his chewy, addiction sticks.
“Forget it. Just leave it in space. We’ll deal with it later,” said Demo, signaling towards the back of an old Volvo.
Bob Cat screeched the car to a stop inches from hitting its back. He was still fishing in his pockets for some nicotine relief.
“Damn it, I must have left the pack in my other pants,” he mumbled aloud.
Demo shook his head as he scratched a dry patch of skin on his wrist before creaking the car door open. For Demo, getting in and out of their company car was an evident reminder of how slow the consultant detective business could be.
“You have other pants?” asked Demo, stepping out of the car.
Bob Cat gave him the appropriate answer through use of his clever hand configuration. Demo smiled before breathing in some of the cool air.
Is it autumn? I can’t even remember what month it is.
Bob Cat joined him outside the car with a nic-fitting slam of the door. A dictionary of curse words followed that could have made even the most seasoned sailor tear up.
“Bobby, you’ve just gotta go cold turkey. Those things are affecting your brain.”
Bob Cat put up a fake smile that obscured his true feelings.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about? I’m hungry, depraved, and stuck outside the last place I wanna be. How could this day get any better?”
“Wish you hadn’t said that,” said Demo, seeing an all-too familiar set of white, pearly pebbles heading his way.
“There you two are. I was wondering when the garbage guys would show.”
“How does she do that?” mumbled Bob Cat. “Woman’s got a freaking radar dish on her head or something.”
Demo smiled politely at Jacky who, as usual, was dressed to kill. Behind her followed a group of ravenous, media driven scavengers, all waiting for her to slip. Jacky seemed oblivious to their presence. She strode like a woman with purpose. It was this that frightened Demo the most. A woman like Jacky never sent birthday cards, and as sure as her pants were always one size too tight, was never that excited to see them.
“Jacky, it’s been ages,” said Bob Cat, throwing his arms in the air as if enticing Jacky to enter into his previous embrace.
“Oh, no, no, never. I appreciate the gesture though,” said Jacky arrogantly.
“Apparently not long enough,” Demo whispered into Bob Cat’s ear.
Bob cat snorted, and then instinctively shoved one of his hands into his pockets, still looking for his lost golden sticks of relief.
“I swear they were here? Maybe that old hag took them, just trying to make my day worse.”
Demo grabbed Bob Cat by the shoulders.
“You really shouldn’t talk about your wife like that, Bobby. You’ve got to start fixing things, not make them worse,” said Demo, a decibel too loud.
Jacky snorted holding back an inappropriate laugh.
“I thought she was your parole officer. Shows what I know,” she said, still doing her best to keep it professional.
The trio sat tightly packed as they spoke, but the relentless probing of the media was starting to break their professional defenses down.
“Let’s get out of this crap storm. I need to talk to you guys inside.”
Bob Cat mumbled another verse of profanities underneath his breath, his stomach grumbling loudly. Demo nodded without speaking. He hated being in the spotlight, especially with the mangy vultures of the media. He’d had one too many run-ins with them, and what came out of his mouth never seemed to read the same way in the papers. Off the trio went, carving a path through the media with Jacky in the lead. She sliced through the crowd like the butcher she was. No one dared stand for too long in fear of facing her infamous wrath.
It took them a few minutes to reach the front of the courthouse. The cool feeling from moments before was replaced by the sweltering heat of the amassed crowd. Demo found it hard to breathe. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been near such a large group of people. It was an ongoing paradox that never quite fit together; a man who hates crowds and works in a big city. No wonder he was so miserable all the time.
“Clear out of the way!” Jacky screamed.
The buzz was unreal. People picked at Bob Cat and Demo like they were the ones being ushered in for atrocities they’d committed. Death threats and obscenities made a thick, deafening wall of noise.
“Why are they so angry?” asked Demo, doing his best to scream over the crowd.
“Just get inside and we’ll talk.”
Once the trio burst inside the courthouse doors a wall of blue uniforms united to push the mob back. Demo gasped for air. He wasn’t sure what phobia he had, but it had something to do with what had just happened.
“Stinking vultures, they’ll do anything for a story,” said Bob Cat, directing the conversation at Jacky.
“Well they’ve got good reason to be. We’re bringing in a big perp from witness protection today. A perp who they believe has been involved in decades of murder and says he knows about some long gone thug who helped orchestrate them. Probably just another schmuck who snorted his last line.”
Demo’s eyes widened. He glanced back and forth between Jacky and Bob Cat.
“Does this have to do with the blood legacy murders?” Demo probed.
Jacky rolled her eyes giving a look of solicitation at Bob Cat to say something. Bob Cat laughed and then pointed at Demo.
“What, you think he wouldn’t figure that out? He’s a straight up nerd on this stuff.”
Demo’s eyes glistened with curiosity.
“It is, isn’t it?” Demo continued, ignoring Bob Cat’s remarks.
Jacky looked around the courthouse as if searching for anyone who might be eaves dropping on their conversation.
“Look, I’m not going to say that it is or it isn’t. But what we’ve got going on here is way above even my pay grade,” Jacky said, looking nervous.
“But those murders have been going on for decades. Why the sudden interest here today? Haven’t they stopped?” Demo asked.
Jacky now looked as jittery as ever. It was apparent that the subject was really pricking at her nerves.
“Look, let’s just say this recent murder was a person of interest, someone that caught the butt end of some bad PR.”
Bob Cat let out a growl of anger.
“Someone of interest? Wow, you put that sentence together well, sugar. So whose rich kid was it? Some millionaire, politician, or celebrity?”
Jacky shifted on her heels and let out a high pitched squeak on the freshly waxed floors.
“It was the Governor’s son. But don’t you two idiots leak a peep of that. If you do, I’ll trace it back to you both and roast you on the hot seat, got it?”
Demo’s smile faded. He looked at Bob Cat, who also didn’t seem to like what he just heard. Jacky went to say something else, but stopped when she saw a flashy suit she knew all too well.
“That rat fink decided to finally show up,” Jacky said, forgetting to hush her voice.
Demo and Bob Cat turned just in time to see the living offspring of hubris and ego. The man’s cat-like eyes had already found them, and he was coming at them fast.
Bob Cat looked at Demo, giving the go ahead to run. But Demo knew there was no escaping at this point. They’d have to endure what was known as the Mars effect.
“Mars Baloducci,” mumbled Jacky.
Mars Baloducci was his name; yet another peculiar signature amongst the ethnic, churning sea that was the city. He was an average sized man who made up for it tenfold with an obvious ego. He had a comprehensive ensemble of clothing that was exhaustively placed, layer upon layer, displaying the greedy exuberance he so loved. He had a perfect touch of grey amidst thick straws of pampered, auburn hair. Each hair was meticulously placed. His eyes were an off shade of blue that starkly contrasted against his artificially baked skin. His name reflected his attitude of being as close to deity as earthly possible; a god walking amongst mere men. An engrossing, masculine aroma permeated the air, waging an unseen war against the luscious feminine scent of Jacky’s perfume. The two mixed together like oil and water. The outcome of their combined smell was one of pure nausea.
“I’m walking down the hall and see my favorite trio. Sulking like always, probably dodging the public eye? And I’m thinking, why would Miss Stockholm bring in the two amateur magicians? Is there a circus in town? Well, what exactly are you doing here?”
Bob Cat furled his lips in preparation for a verbal onslaught. Jacky interjected just in time to stop the chaos before it started.
“We’re just discussing a past case that we solved—nothing more, nothing less—and it sure isn’t any of your business, Mars.”
Mars haughtily laughed, taking an expensive looking phone from his pocket. His retort came just as quickly.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Ortega. He’s my four o’clock tomorrow. I’d love to read you the number of broken injunctions I pulled from the interview alone, but it’d probably slip right through those waxy ears. And have they found that magically disappearing hammer yet? I’ll spare you the details, but I’d bet your entire year’s salary that he walks.”
Jacky practically hissed beneath her breath at Mars’s arrogant remarks.
“We’ll see about that. That’s why it’s a courtroom and not a Turkish bath. I wouldn’t expect you to understand that, seeing as you spend so much time in one, and so little in the other,” retorted Jacky, pursing her lips to try to control her emotions.
Mars grinned from ear to ear with an almost seditious glint of pleasure.
“Oh, how I love to see you, Jacky, even with your two incompetent sidekicks keeping you company.”
Bob Cat snapped forward.
“You watch it, Mars. I’m not beyond wiping that smug, pampered face all over the floor.”
Demo put an arm on Bob Cat assuring that the situation wouldn’t escalate any further.
“Let it be. This guy is a waste of time,” Demo whispered to him.
Mars, now content with ruining the attitude of everyone, plunged his overpriced phone back into its silk lined pocked.
“I’d love to confer with you all some more about the intricacies of courtroom etiquette, but I have a case to win that’s going to launch me even further up those pearly steps,” said Mars, pointing at the granite stairs leading to the belly of the courthouse.
Jacky shook her head.
“You’d do anything for the right price wouldn’t you, Mars? A regular old gold digging sham. You took the case, didn’t you? You’re the one who struck the bargain? Do you know how many people have died leading up to this? Have you not seen outside? This place is on the verge of crumbling down.”
Mars put one of his manicured hands out in front of him. He examined it carefully as he spoke, ignoring the machine gun blast of questions.
“Alleged murders, of which my client may have nothing to do with. I’d watch your accusations if I were you. Your little flea circus might work on the outside, but believe me when I say I’m the king of the courtroom. And If I feel even a prick of a hair on the back of my neck that you three are somehow mishandling my client’s information, I’ll file enough injunctions on you to fill a library.”
Mars felt his pocket buzz. Without a second thought he snatched his opulent phone out of his pocket and placed it to his ear.
“It’s probably nobody important. You know how these things go.”
Upon answering the call, his face went from smug to horrified.
“He’s gone? What do you mean, he’s gone? I had him on queue for today! What do you mean his car’s gone?”
The group listened as Mars’s voice began to shake. It was obvious that something had gone terribly astray. At that very moment, an ensemble of terrified screams came from outside the courthouse doors. Without thinking, Demo swung the doors open, barely missing a reporter’s face before he saw what had started the commotion.
It took a moment for it all to sink in. But how could it? None of it seemed real to the slightest degree. However, there it was; the tangible embodiment of the crowd’s horror. On the very street that Demo had just been on was an old Cadillac, off-white, almost yellow in color. But what was on the inside is what shook his soul. In the driver’s seat was a man covered in blood, struggling to keep his foot on the pedal. His eyes looked faded, almost empty. He was completely naked apart from a worn pair of underwear. The car parted the crowds and stopped suddenly at the front of the courthouse stairs. Everyone watched in horror as the man exited the car. He was barely able to navigate his way around the car to the stairs below were Demo stood. Blood trickled down his exposed body leaving a grisly trail of horror behind him. No one dared to approach him. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the man collapsed to his knees and brought what appeared to be a blindfold into plain sight. The man rattled away, fighting off the obvious signs of an impending death. With one last burst of energy he secured the blindfold around his head and put both arms up in the air. Within seconds, he collapsed, leaving a body and a pool of blood behind. The once bustling crowd transformed into a sea of petrified statues. No one knew what to do.
It had all happened so fast that even Demo found himself still trying to catch up. His mind didn’t work like what most people might call normal. His past had molded him into some sort of sentient being that had a remarkable skill for assimilating a victim’s or criminal’s mindset. He had honed it through the years to a fine witchcraft. It was almost unbelievable to most people that someone could solve cases by ignoring hard evidence, details, and even motives, relying only on pure intuition. But it worked. However, whatever skill set he possessed was sitting quiet and numb in a stupor of lost thought and feeling. He had to know more. Leaving the group and forgetting any protocol, he approached the collapsed man.
“Who are you?” Demo asked with a shaky voice upon seeing the barely moving chest of the man.
The man turned his head ever so slightly before responding. His eyes now looked grey and cloudy, and his life essence was quickly evaporating into the air.
“He told me he’d kill them if I didn’t believe. Now I believe,” whispered the man, letting out one final gasp for air before falling to his concrete resting place.
Demo’s head began to spin. He felt faint and sick to his stomach. But his mind was still acquiring the details. No visible wound, yet what looked to be gallons of blood. And the car. He hadn’t been paying attention to the car.
“Demo, step back!” screamed Jacky, now fully functional again.
“Everyone clear out of here now! This is officially a scene of interest!”
The silence erupted into panicked screams of fright. Tears streamed down the faces of many of the onlookers in the crowd. The disgusting apprehension was all too real. Cameras fired away like artillery shells exploding in the sky. Demo watched the photographers trying to get the best disturbing picture of the dead man, to accommodate the front page news that would engulf the media in the weeks to come; the iconic symbol of the courthouse being torn down by an enigmatic symbol of death. Demo needed space and he needed it now. Without warning he began sprinting through the crowd, desperately trying to get back to his parked car. His mind had taken in so much; perhaps too much. He couldn’t handle it anymore.
“Demo, what are you doing? Wait for me, would ya?” hollered Bob Cat, following behind.
Demo heard Bob Cat and glanced behind to see the chaos still unraveling. Jacky was now caught in the midst of waves of criticism raining in from all sides, and drowning out even her undeniable presence. Mars soon joined her outside, more than willing to placate the media with empty promises of justice for a price. All the while the image of the blindfolded man covered in blood flashed before him, igniting his dendrites like brush fire. But even he could find no point of clarity, no beginning to the maze. Whoever had done this had planned every detail.
Demo opened the door then slammed it behind him. He still felt ill from the spinning photomontage in his head.
Why would anyone do this? Why would they do it in broad daylight in front of everyone?
“Demo, I said wait! I’m getting tired of trailing you all the time. Jacky’s got the whole precinct out tracing this!” Bob Cat paused to see a small slip of paper stuck in the windshield wiper. He seized it, glanced at it, then threw it into the parking lot.
“Well at least it looks like officer do-goody still had time to write parking tickets. This whole system is corrupt!”
Demo closed his eyes, doing his best to bring himself back from the pandemonium. Calmly he began to speak.
“Justice is blind,” he said, eyes still closed. “The man blindfolded himself.”
Bob Cat paused to reflect on the sudden change of direction. His eyes vibrated back and forth from the stress of it all, consummating in the moment.
“Demo, it doesn’t matter if the guy’s dead, and Jacky’s saying the perp is missing as well.”
Demo looked at his hands as he listened to Bob Cat’s rambling.
“Why did he put his hands up in the air? Was it symbolic or out of a last moment of desperation? None of this makes any sense, none of it.” Demo whimpered, feeling helpless.
“It’s just another mob job. It has to be. Stuff like this happens, Demo. We’ve got to pull this together and see what we can get out of it.”
Demo closed his eyes again and rested his face into his palms.
“We need to figure out the car.”
Bob Cat shook his head.
“We’ve got a dead guy and half the precinct scattered about, and you’re worried about that guy’s car?”
Demo was about to say something when his window began to shake under some furious pounding. He rolled the window down to take a better look. It was Jacky. She looked like her once tenacious self-had been torn into a thousand pieces. Her eyes had a wild look to them, of both confusion and rage.
“You two come with me. I don’t give a damn what you’ve got going on, this is more important!”
Bob Cat spat out his window in disgust, still hankering for his missing gum.
“We don’t do ride alongs. I’m not getting mixed into this right now. You can thank your boys for being Johnny on the spot with their parking tickets, though.”
Jacky smacked the car in frustration. Her normally poised demeanor was wearing away, exposing her more human side. She started to yell but was blocked by Demo’s sudden inquiry.
“Where’s the ticket?”
Bob Cat winced as if expecting pain upon hearing Demo’s comment. But he knew all too well that there would be no stopping him now. Warily, he opened his door and tracked down the miniscule piece of legality. Without thinking, he tossed it into the car directly at Demo’s lap.
“It’s just a ticket, Demo. Some jack wagon trying to hit quota for the day, poaching at the courthouse.”
Demo opened the ticket quickly and scanned every detail. All seemed in order. It was all filled in correctly except for the date. Demo never could keep track of the days, but it was the year that bothered him. Squinting his eyes, he read it aloud.
“April 10th, 1975.”
Jacky hung her head in close to take a look for herself.
“What’s that supposed to mean? That’s decades ago.”
Demo shook his head in confusion.
“I don’t know. Why would someone leave it on our car? We’ve had nothing to do with this case.”
Bob Cat grabbed the piece of paper from Demo’s hands. He, too, looked over the paper scrupulously. He let out a boisterous grunt of anger.
“It’s gotta be a warning. Dirty bastards want us off their tail. Maybe we stepped too close. What with all the cases we’ve helped on, I wouldn’t be surprised. Mob practically runs this town. It’s a dead canary.”
Jacky stomped her foot, smacking her heels like clogs against the pavement.
“A dead canary? Do you ever listen to what you’re saying? You sound like an idiot.”
Bob Cat’s eyes narrowed, obviously upset at the blatant disrespect he thought he was enduring.
“Says one who has never lived a less than privileged life—I’ll explain it to you, honey—a canary is put in a cage to warn somebody if the going’s good or not. Good canary, good time. Bad canary, well just look at our little friend over there. Mob probably put the guy up to it then offed him as a warning to stay out of their business. I’d suggest we listen. There’s no need to get involved in that.”
Jacky ran her slender fingers through her hair, wafting it out of her eyes.
“Do you honestly believe the mob, if there even is one, would even notice you two lowlifes playing detective? That’s insane! Demo, are you hearing this?”
Demo went to nod but was yanked back into a thought he couldn’t shake. The thought kept lingering like bitter smoke swirling about his mind. The car. The car was out of place. It was ancient. You just don’t see that type of car rolling down the street anymore.
“The car,” Demo mumbled.
“The what?” asked Jacky and Bob Cat, almost in unison.
“The car doesn’t fit. Why go through all the trouble?”
Jacky and Bob Cat’s shoulders slumped. He had lost them completely.
Demo pondered the significance of the car but kept hitting one mental roadblock after another, until it dawned on him.
“Bob Cat, give me that ticket again.”
Bob Cat did as he was told, like an unwilling child giving up his toy. But once Demo had the paper he locked on decisively.
“What’s the license plate number on the car?” Demo asked, looking straight at Jacky.
Jacky appeared slightly caught off-guard by the question.
“Why does that matter?”
“Just do it, please,” said Demo, grinding his teeth.
“Whatever,” Jacky snapped back, whipping out her mobile phone as she stepped away from the car.
Bob Cat drew close to Demo to try and see what he hadn’t been able to see before. The smell of an old time musk filled Demo’s nostrils with his proximity.
“You taking her out tonight?” Demo questioned, startling Bob Cat on the spot.
“She says she likes the scent, reminds her of better times. Figure we’d give it another try.”
Demo nodded, still analyzing every detail. Jacky returned, waving her phone like a victory flag.
“Alright weirdo, you ready?”
Demo said nothing. He sat motionless, staring only at the scribbled-in marks placed in the license plate number slot on the ticket. As Jacky spouted out the last digits of the plate, suddenly the dizzying world of details came to a screeching halt. Folding the paper carefully he placed it into his pants pocket. Bob Cat looked bewildered and decided to speak up.
“Don’t give me this guess what I’m thinking crap. Tell me, what did you find?”
Demo ignored Bob Cat and instead leaned towards Jacky.
“Check the plates against the list of stolen cars in the area. If I’m right we may have a lead.”
Bob Cat raised his voice, still prying for information from Demo’s mind vault.
“Not one second more of this, unless you spill it!”
Demo looked at Bob Cat with sincere worry etched across his face.
“The plate number on the dead man’s car is the same plate number on our ticket. Someone knew we were coming, knew our car, saw us leave, and placed it; someone who obviously wants us out of the picture. Dead canary.”
Bob Cat cringed.
“We ain’t getting out of this one alive,” he said, holding his chest and simulating a heart attack.
“No, I think we’re all in more danger than we realize. We all might die.”