It is a bright and clear morning as Ken Cooper walks down the street. The cold autumn wind has him pulling his coat tighter around him. “I hate when it’s cold like this.” He mutters to himself. But he knows that he’ll go up to his office and make some fresh Java. Maybe add a shot of Irish to really take the chill off.
He looks at his watch, it’s almost 7:30. The newsie should have the morning sheets, by now. He see’s the corner stand.
“Hey, Pops, gimme Today’s and a pack of Lucky’s.” he says as he pulls a bill from his pocket.
“I thought you quit smoking.” Pop’s responds handing a folded paper and a pack of Lucky Strikes.
“I had, but I’m feeling cold.”
Pops nods, “Yeah, I get days like that too, only the Missus, would take a rolling pin to me if I lit one again. It took me years to break the habit when we got back. It isn’t the cold for me, it’s the summer heat. You was in Italy?” he asks though he already knows.
Ken nods as he taps the pack on the palm of his hand, then opens it.
With the folded paper under his arm, he fishes the zippo from his pocket, puts a fag to his lips and lights it. He sucks the smoke deep into his lungs. Then exhales a cloud that the wind scatters. “And you were in the Pacific. Guadalcanal?”
“Running the supply depot.” Pops gets a faraway look in his eyes for a second.
The cold North wind blasts for a second, trying to pick up the papers that are weighed down with old bricks. “Yeah, but I didn’t have cold like this, and it’s not even winter yet. Well, you have yourself a good day Mr. Cooper.” He finishes and focuses on another customer walking up.
“You take care Pops. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Ken says as he heads towards the office building, enjoying his cigarette.
A few minutes later he has the percolator on the hotplate. He leans back in his chair and finishes the smoke. “Hopefully we find a good client soon.” He says to himself as he starts reading the paper.
AAA Detective agency had, months ago been hired to find a missing heiress. The payday from that one was pretty good, and Ken thought that he might have made some new connections to the upper crust. But the next clients were back to the same old thing; looking for lost pets, following wives who might be stepping out, and the usual bottom barrel PI crap. He took the jobs because money was money, and as long as the clients paid, it kept the business open. The dough from the Schmidt case hadn’t run out, but he wanted to keep as much of that as he could for the lean times. And turning away small cases can prevent you from getting bigger ones.
The sound of the percolator hit his ears before he smelled the coffee. In a couple more minutes he’ll fill his cup.
Looking at the headlines he notices that the President is visiting some country, and there is a war going on in another country he never heard of. Nothing of interest. “Might was well just read the funny pages.” He mutters.
Flipping, he notices a familiar face on the Society Pages.
“Huddler Family announces birth of latest child.” In the photo he sees a couple holding a baby, flanked by the wealthy families of the city. He recognizes Hillary and Julie standing to the side.
He sets the paper on the desk and fills his mug. The hot, rich aroma fills his nose, and he grips the warm ceramic. It is hot and bitter as he sips it, feeling it warm his insides.
“Hey Boss, sorry I’m running late. Me and Pete..”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you and Pete had a late night. Should I ask or are you gonna tell me before I have my coffee?” he responds with a smile.
Joan takes off her coat, grabs her mug and fills it before she even removes her hat. “It’s cold out there today. I’m glad you had the Joe ready.”
She takes a sip and almost spits it out. “You feeling okay Boss? What did you do? Pour the whole can in?”
He sits back down and smiles. “I was a little cold and wanted it a little stronger than normal.”
“Stronger, Boss? I know you have days when you like drinking in those European joints or that Cuban place, but don’t they serve their coffee in small cups?”
He smiles broader. “Yes, they call it Espresso. I can’t really make it here, but I wanted something dark and strong. Just like you like your men.” He jokes.
“Pete isn’t that dark. He just always has a tan.” She says defensively.
She takes off her hat, then pours half her coffee out, and adds hot water to what’s left.
“You could have just added cream and sugar.” Ken comments.
“You like ’em light and sweet, not me.” She responds. “Is that today’s?” she asks switching the topic.
“Yeah, I was just looking at this. Didn’t you mention something about Mr. Huddler being queer? It looks like he is going to be a proud papa.” Ken says sipping his mug.
Joan leans over to look at the picture in the paper. Ken notices the outline of Joan’s bra supporting her full round breasts, through her blouse. “Pete’s a lucky guy.” He thinks and takes another sip.
“Wow! They must a had everyone there. I see the Schmidt sisters, the Laramies, Freemans, and even the Gulsteads. That’s the city’s hoity-toity families. I wonder why they all agreed to pose for the picture?” She says and then takes a small sip, quickly frowning at the bitter taste.
Ken sits back for a second and thinks. “Maybe it’s nothing.” He says aloud, “Maybe they the Huddlers just wanted to make a big announcement in the press to make folks forget about that nasty business with Oscar a few months back.”
Joan dumps a bit more coffee and adds more hot water. “Yeah, Boss, it was probably that. Nothing too mysterious. “
“Yeah, but if Theodore is a nance, then who is really the father?”
“Maybe, his wife really wanted a baby and he agreed to do his part? I heard a pansies doing things like that to keep the family happy. And when there’s that much money in the family, wouldn’t he do what he could, Boss?”
He takes a deeper drink of his coffee. The dark bitter brew tastes good, or at least reminds him of Italy. “Joan, you are probably right. There’s probably nothing to it.” Then he takes the comic pages and hands her the rest.
“But didn’t you want to hear why I was running late?” She asks as he starts reading and chuckling to himself.
“Sure, tell me all about it.” He says, never looking up.
“Well, we was downtown, at this club. Pete was playing horn…..”
Joan’s description of the club, dancing, drinking, and enthusiastic bed play, went in one ear and out the other. Seeing today’s “Terry and the Pirates” “Gasoline Alley” “Steve Canyon” “Lil Orphan Annie” and of course his favorite “Brenda Starr” were far more important to him.
The day was a quiet one. No calls, no mysterious envelopes slid under the door, and no tall blonde “femme fatales”. It was just a quiet, cold day. When he made a second pot of joe, he made it the way he normally did, just a couple of scoops. Joan was much happier with this pot.
Ken kept feeling like there was something wrong, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it. “Boss, I’m done with the paper. Want me to toss it or save it for the next paper drive?”
“Let me see the Society page again.” He said. She brings it over and lays it on the desk.
He looks at the photo again. “Dead eyes of a prisoner. I’ll be damned.”
“What’s that. What prisoner?” Joan says, coming over.
“Look at Theodore’s eyes and mouth. Everyone else in the photo is smiling or at least pretending to smile. Theodore’s face is blank. It’s like the POW’s we dealt with. That blank dead stare, like he is trapped and there is nothing to do about it.”
“I dunno Boss, a lot a them types look like that in pictures. Trying to be, oh what do they call it? Stoic. Standing like a rock or a statue.”
Ken finishes his mug and sets it down. “Maybe you are right. I wish I could ask someone.”
“Why don’t you come down to the Coconut Club tonight and ask Julie? She was in the photo, maybe she knows something.”
“How do you know she will be there?” He asks with a genuine curiosity.
“Didn’t you listen to me earlier? I told you Pete and the Band were playing all week at the Coconut Club and Julie is headlining. That’s why Pete’s so energetic after playing all night. Watching Julie stand and sing, revves his engine and I get to ride him all night long afterwards.”
It’s a good thing she wears a bra, or Ken knows he would have seen her excitement through her blouse.
“Ok. What time does she go on?” Ken grabs a cigarette from the pack in his coat pocket, lights it and takes a deep drag.
“I thought you quit, Boss? She goes on at 8. The band does a warm up gig starting at 7.”
He sits down in his chair and relaxes enjoying the smoke. “Ok. Why don’t you call it a day. I’ll leave in a bit. Coconut Club at 7. I’ll see you there.”
(If you enjoyed Part 1, leave me a comment. Come back tomorrow for Part 2. If you enjoy my writings, follow and subscribe.)
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