If there wasn’t a few feet of snow on the ground I’d wander around the city and let my brain work on this puzzle. Instead I grab some lunch at a diner and read through the paper both to distract myself and see if anything sticks out. I grab a pack of smokes and head home only to find that my door has been messed with. I give a casual glance up and down the deserted hallway before trying the knob. Still locked.
Stealing myself, I unlock the door and push it open waiting at the threshold. No obvious noise so I cautiously step inside and sweep the room. Everything looks fine, nothing outta place, maybe I was wrong, getting a little jumpy. Then I see the note on the table. I pour myself a shot and light up a smoke before sitting down and reading the note.
“Look at you, not just one big investigation but now there’s two. Excited to see where this goes. I can’t wait to see where you take it.”
Your Friend
I sigh, exhaling a cloud of bluish gray smoke. The number of people who’ve been in and outta this apartment that haven’t been me is really quite disturbing. I’m going to have to talk to the landlord about their security. And who the hell is this mysterious “friend”? As troubling as that may be I have to table it for now. Helping out Bill and probably by extension Max has got to be my top priority.
It’s been a few hours so I call Matt again and this time he picks up. I try a bit of small talk before asking about what I really want to know, Leonard Sullivan. Once I start asking questions about Sullivan, I’ma little more cagy than I need to be and Matt starts getting a little antsy. He doesn’t know Max but says Leo is a hard ass, a real bottom line kinda guy. Wants the job done and no excuses. When I ask about boxing Matt clams up and I get the sense that he’s not being truthful. I let it go and we make tentative plans to get together at some point.
Now I haven’t seen Max since the war so I’m not really sure how to read him but he was always a good guy, solid and dependable. So what’s up with him? Here’s what I figure:
Maybe he’s having trouble with Evie. It wouldn’t surprise me and she left in a bit of a huff last night but I don’t think he’d tell me either. Best to steer clear of that mess.
Could be he does know about the underground boxing. Matt’s a big boy, he could even be doing some boxing himself and doesn’t want to get in trouble with either Sullivan or the law. That could be worth pursuing.
Maybe he knows Max or at least knows more about him. Seems like a funny thing to clam up about. Unless he knows that something happened to him or was going to happen. Again that seems unlikely as Matt was always a stand up guy. It’s been a few years though, so who knows.
He said he wasn’t too familiar with Open Arms for Vets but maybe he used their services. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that but maybe he feels ashamed about it? Big strapping guy admitting that he needed help, I can see the rub. Of course he’s been in Jersey all this time so maybe I can rule that one out.
Lastly, maybe he’s in trouble with the law. I suppose I could ask Brian to look into it. He’ll probably be up to his eyeballs in work with Max missing though. Every cop in the city will be beating the bushes so to speak. Unless Matt really hit the skids this one doesn’t feel right either. The guy I knew wouldn’t be on the wrong side of the law but people change, as I know all too well.
I try Brian at home, no surprise he’s not there. I exchange pleasantries with Vicky before she’s torn away by the kids. That woman is a saint, all those kids and Brian almost always at work. God bless ‘em they make it work.
When I call the station the officer who picks up is no fan of mine, which he makes perfectly clear. I’m about as cagey with Brian as I was with Matt, by product of the job I guess. Besides, I don’t want to drag Bill’s name into this. I don’t know who all the players are yet and bringing up Bill’s name can only lead to trouble. Instead I give him Jim Jackson’s name and ask him to see what he can find. He’s not entirely placated but says he’ll check when he can. As I expected, he says the whole place is in an uproar with Max going missing. He doesn’t know much more than what I heard on the radio so I drop it.
Later on that night I decide to hit the streets. I figure there won’t be the usual activity but so far I’m shootin’ blanks so I figure it’s worth a shot. There’s a kid I busted by the name of Phil Phillips that gives me useful information sometimes. Hangs around with a bunch of punk kids, mostly just causing trouble but nothing serious. At least not yet.
I find Phil and his gang atop a huge snow bank throwing snowballs at cars. I ask for a few words and we begin to dance. He breaks my balls and I let my balls be broken so he saves face with the boys. Then we can get down to business. I ask him about the boxing ring and he slyly says that some of the guys box while rubbing fingers together. I pass along a few bills that he quickly pockets and then he says he knows about the boxing ring. He calls over one of his fellow ne’er-do-wells named Donnie.
Donnie, it turns out, has taken part in the fights. Last place he boxed was over at the east docks at mixing plant 2. He says there are two ways to get in, either as a spectator or a boxer. If you wanna watch the password this week is Owl and if you want to fight the password is Big Bull. I pass along another bill that Phil graciously decides to share with his gang. When I press them about Max they both clam up tight. They say they don’t want to be involved and just walk away.
That’s alright I figure. This is more information than I had before so I call it a win. Afterwards I head over to the Glow for a quick drink and a bit of relaxation. The music is good and the liquor is better but eventually it’s time to go home. I walk into the apartment, which thankfully hasn’t been broken into yet again and shrug out of my coat. I’m not any closer to finding Mary but I’ve got a good line on this fighting ring. That’ll be my priority for Friday.
Thursday January 2nd
I call Bill to exchange information. He wants to know what I’ve found and unfortunately I have to tell him not much. Mary’s roommate confirmed she’s been gone for a few days. OAfV wasn’t quite a deadend but nothing groundbreaking there. He heard the news story about Max as well, which corroborates the fact he’s missing but the timeline doesn’t match up. I tell him I’ve got someone looking into Jackson. That’s really it. Early stages of the investigation. Bill confirms the password for the fights and tells me the location for this Friday, Mixing Plant #3. He seems like he’s doing ok but I know this is killing him. I tell him to hang tough and I’ll be in touch.
I try Brian again. I hate leaning on him but he’s got access I don’t and that comes in real handy sometimes. Hell maybe if he takes early retirement he’d wanna come on as a partner. Vicky would kill me or Brian or both of us. He’s brusque when he answers but his voice softens just a bit when he realizes it’s me. I ask him about Jackson but he hasn’t had the chance to take a look at him yet. Understandable given the circumstances. I ask about Max but he’s got no new information despite half the cops in the city looking for him. He says the Mayor seems broken up about it though. I trust Brian’s instincts and although I’m not glad the Mayor is torn up it does place him in the probably not complicit camp. I thank Brian and let him get back to it.
I pour another cup of coffee and put on the radio to see if there’s any new developments. At the top of the hour besides the weather reports there’s a story about the gangs in Queens. The Pinks second in command was killed in a street fight. I wonder whether they operate at the expense of the big mob families or conjunction with. Probably in spite of honestly. Mostly they get up to petty crimes, home invasions, robberies. Selling ill gotten gains for quick coin.
The Pinks operate in the south west of Queens while their rivals, the Slicks, operate in the lower half. Aside from stealing from people they mostly keep the violence between themselves. Tit for tat murders and beat downs. Not too much different than the mob really.
It occurs to me with Brian being so busy, that I should try using a clipping service. They were more popular in the 1920’s but there’s still a few of them in the city and I figure it can’t hurt. I call one at random from the phone book and a guy named George answers. We share a laugh over that and then George gets down to business. I tell him I’m looking for information on a Jim Jackson, might be a long shot but if he should find anything I’d be most appreciative. He takes down the information and says he should have something for me tomorrow.
With that done there’s not much else for me to do but get down to the office. Those bills don’t pay themselves. The rest of the day passes in a blur of phone calls and paperwork. I resist the urge to call Brian again, no reason to add to his stress. If he turns something up I know he’ll get in touch. I toy briefly with the idea of going to Antoine’s to talk with DeLuca. You can’t get more connected than that but with any luck he’s forgotten about me. Besides, if DeLuca’s involved he’s not going to be too friendly about it. I also wonder about reaching out to the Mayor and offering my services. Not sure how well that’d go over. I figure I’ll keep it in my back pocket for now.
Friday January 3rd
Two days after the “Blizzard of 47” and the city seems like it’s coming out of hibernation. The road crews are working round the clock and things are getting back to normal. Janice is in when I get to the office and it must be slow because everything is spotless. I help myself to a cup of coffee while we make small talk. I guess I must be acting a little distracted because she gets that concerned look and asks if I’m ok. I assure her that everything is fine and head into my office.
I close the door and drop into my chair. I think about the bottle of whiskey in the bottom drawer but light a cigarette instead and absently push some papers around. The kid’s got a good head on her shoulders. I am distracted, tonight’s the night for the fights and I don’t really know what that means yet. Is it going to crack the case? Probably not but I can get a look and see who some of the players are. My thoughts are as hazy as the cigarette smoke that drifts around my head.
I’m startled from my reverie when the phone on my desk jingles. Janice says she’s got a Mrs. Harrings on the line, can she put her through. She transfers the call and I forget about Bill for a little while. Mrs Brenda Harring has a mystery on her hands. A family heirloom has gone missing, her mother’s necklace. It’s a pearl necklace with a gold locket that contains a picture of her mom. The locket has a green cross inlay on the front.
Of course she called the cops. They took a look around and found a scrap of pink cloth stuck in the window frame. The window wasn’t broken though. Maybe that means something, maybe it doesn’t If the Pinks stole it, then it’s in some pawn shop already. Probably sold it for 50 bucks. Cops certainly aren’t going to go looking for it. I ask about her husband, he’s not home, works down at the docks. He won’t be home until late, too late for me to make a run over there to talk to him. I’ve got a weird feeling about the husband, partially because of the window I think. If he hocked it it’ll still be in a pawnshop somewhere but at least I’d know which one.
I tell her I’ll take the case and give her a rundown of my fees. It’s a tomorrow problem for me but I don’t tell her that. Just about as soon as I drop the receiver in the cradle the phone rings again so I answer. “Armstrong Investigations, George Armstrong here.” It’s George from the clipping service. He’s fast and he’s got some news for me. Turns out he found five different articles that mentioned a Jim Jackson.
First one is an announcement that Jim Jackson has just graduated from New Arbin University. That’d put him around 22 years old and obviously not the supervisor of Sullivan Construction. Good for him though. It takes a lot of hard work to get one of those degrees. So strike one.
Article two is a police blotter item. Seems as if Mr. Jackson was arrested and convicted on a drug charge, possession of uppers. Must not have had any priors since he only got community service. This was two years ago. The picture shows a guy with black hair, receding in the front, with a handlebar mustache and a stud earring. I don’t know if this guy’s got the smarts to make it to supervisor at Sullivan’s but he’s dirty so I mark him down as a maybe.
Next article looks like a press release from Benson Plumbing. They promoted Jim Jackson to head of security. No picture, similar skill set, maybe possible. Not a top contender. I probably should follow up though.
Two left. Next one is a sports story. Jim Jackson of the Queens Bears hit 14 home runs this season breaking the record of Phil Limmer who held the previous record at 13. I think we can safely cross this one off the list.
That brings us to number five. Another company press release from, wouldn’t you know it, Sullivan Construction. Jim Jackson was promoted to Head Foreman and lucky break for me, there’s a picture. On a whim I ask George to compare the picture to the guy busted for drugs. I’ll be damned but he says it looks like the same guy.
I thank George profusely and ask him to send the articles over by messenger. The last article happened to mention Jackson’s home address so I decide to go on a little walk about. A quick cab ride later and I’m standing in front of a neat looking duplex. Well standing across the street from and trying to look inconspicuous. I sit on a bench trying to blend in and eyeball the house. Upstairs is a young looking family eating lunch. I don’t imagine that Jackson is at home for lunch so that’s probably not them. Downstairs there’s a woman watching tv, wife or girlfriend maybe.
I get up to stretch my legs and try to get a look around the side of the house. There’s not too much to see and no easy access so I start making my way back around to the front unsure of how to proceed. As I come back around front I can see that something is happening to the woman in the chair. Her head lolls back and her arms fall to her sides. Before I can make any sort of assessment as to her condition a man in a suit comes up to me threateningly.
“What are you doing here? Who are you? What are you doing? You some kinda creep?”
I hold up my hands placatingly and tell the guy I’m just lost. I got off at the wrong stop. I don’t want any trouble. Sensing my “unease” he presses, “That’s right you don’t want no trouble. You better get outta here!” I continue to back away, hands up. Eventually turning away and looking for another cab. I’ll have to check the papers tomorrow and see if anything was reported. Doubtful but worth a shot. She’s not my priority though, I’ve gotta make my way to Mixing Plant #3, it’s getting late.