Dirk Marlowe and The Silent Murder

My feet hit the floor to the sound of crumpled newspaper- as they do every night. A final security measure put in place for anyone who may try to catch me as I sleep. Eyes yet to open,  I fumble for my smokes. I strike a match and its heat briefly warms my face. With a deep inhale, it’s time to go to work.

Its been quiet lately- good for people, bad for business. No sooner had I pulled the key from its lock on our front door than the phone rings. I make my way across the creaking floor boards of our 2 room business and pick up the receiver. “Reagan & Marlowe” I answer. Nothing- and then a breath. “Hello?” I try again. Nothing. “Look pal I don’t know if its too early or too late for this- what do you want?” “The Bop,” the voice finally says and then a dial tone.

I slug down a shot of whiskey and I’m locking the door I just opened. Knowledge of The Bop alone was enough to peak my interest- you’ve gotta know the right people to know about this place, and well, I know the right people.

I make my way through The Crooning Keys to the bar top- “Good evening sir, what will it be?” The bartender asks. “Dry gin martini, five olives,” I reply. “Five olives sir? Are you sure it’s five?” The bartender questions. “It’s five.” I confirm. He mixes my drink, which actually only has one olive, and slides it toward me on a napkin. I reach for it, lifting the glass to my lips with one hand while discretely palming the key that was under it with my other.

I throw down a couple bills and make my way toward the bathroom. Past the bathrooms at the end of the hall is a mundane looking curtain but behind it a door. I unlock it, cross the threshold, hand the key to Eddie- the bouncer- and look out over the patrons, illuminated red, by the light of The Bop.

“Mr. Marlowe” the bouncer greets me. “Eddie, we’ve known each other for 10 years, any time you want to start calling me Dirk, feel free to take that liberty.” “Whatever you say Mr. Marlowe” “I had a call earlier, Eddie, and I’m thinking it wasn’t from any of the usual clientele- anyone new around this evening?” “Not that I’ve seen sir.” He replies. “Well I’ll just take a look, anyhow.” “As you please, Dirk” he quips, and I grin without looking back.

It’s busier than usual. Iris is singing. A spectacled man brandishing a cigarette holder and sporting a pencil mustache raises an eyebrow when he sees me and starts walking my way. “Dirk- how wonderful to see you here this evening.” He beams. “Mace.” I acknowledge simply, still looking around the room for anyone who might not belong. Mason Parrish claims to be an artist- but all I’ve ever seen him make is a mess of himself, and judging by how he’s putting on at the moment he’s well on his way to a masterpiece. “Oh, we are in process of detection, are we not?” He asks with a stupid smile. I disregard his asinine question: “Mace, you haven’t met any new friends lately? Brought them around?” If the secret of The Bop were to get out I wouldn’t have a hard time believing it was the fault of Mason Parrish. “Oh you know I’m not allowed to tell anyone about this place, Harper would never pay my rent ag…” he stops himself and I learn another piece of the Parrish puzzle. Harper Duncan was the owner of The Bop, who now, it seems, also supports Mason Parrish’s lifestyle. Harper Duncan is the kind of man who comes from money. And the kind of man who seems to do very little except generate more money. He’s scum.

With the realization of what he’s divulged, Parrish excuses himself with a comment I’m sure he thought was clever, and he’s off to bother another poor soul. After Iris sings a couple more songs and I’ve had another drink I figure this was all a wild goose chase and I’m making my way to the door. “Give me a ring if anything seems out of place tonight, will you Eddie?… Eddie?” The imposing bouncer doesn’t answer me, which I come to find is most likely due to the fact that he’s now dead. Eddie was a big guy, and if I see a lot that goes on, Eddie was able to see even more. It's what made him the best. It’s why he was the bouncer of the best kept secret in the city.

There was no gunshot. There was no struggle. He never imbibed on the job. Yet in the forty-five minutes I was here, in a bar only few know exist, one of the toughest and most observant guys I know was silently murdered.

“Banks.” “Marlowe.” The chemical smell in the room only slightly eclipses that of alcohol on Jonathon Banks’ breath- but I let it slide, we all let it slide. Banks has had a rough go of it- survived some truly tough moments in the war, well, at least most of him did. Now equipped with a prosthetic leg and a wounded psyche Jonathan Banks never makes mistakes. “Shame to see Eddie this way,” he says. “He was a good one. What do you make of it?” I inquire. “Well, I find no external signs to raise any questions, but I haven’t opened him up yet and I’m still waiting on the lab results- don’t suppose you want to stick around for either of those. I’ll call you if I find anything out of the ordinary.” I tip my hat to the coroner- “Banks” “Marlowe.”

Its 1:27 am and I’m standing at the office stoop- there’s a light on and since I’d caught its first flicker from down the street I’d been wondering what my partner was up to. As I throw down my cigarette and ascend the steps I realize he’s not alone. Not alone in a way that the pair of voices fall silent once my shadow darkens the doorway telling them they’re not alone. I take a second to turn the knob, offering the pair a moment to play this out however they need, and I enter. “James- its a bit late for you isn’t it?” James Reagan, my partner, who appears to be alone, usually handles the day accounts. He runs what he calls a “healthier” lifestyle- always boxing, never drinking, early to bed, all that… but damn does he love his cigars… we all have our vices. “Well Dirk, one makes exceptions for friends.” “Something happen with a friend of yours I should know about?” I inquire. “Come now, we had our differences but you, me, and Eddie we helped each other out more than once,” James responds. “Iris, come on out darling” I assert. James exhales audibly and rolls his eyes so hard I can hear that too, as Iris emerges from the hall. “Mr. Marlowe- what gave us away?” Iris’ sweet, dark voice could make any sentence sound both alluring and intimidating simultaneously. “I wasn’t at The Bop tonight and Eddie’s death hasn’t been made public yet, that’s how” James answers for me. One corner of my mouth turns up in a grin. “Okay spill it, what are the two of you in here cooking up you thought you needed to hide from me?” I burst out. “We didn’t necessarily know it was you, love.” Iris answers. She can get away with a lot but that’s as flimsy as it comes- I let is slide anyway. “So what’s the scoop, have you seen Banks? What happened tonight?” James asks. “It’s like this,” I begin, “Nothing happened. Nothing happened tonight. I went to The Bop, Eddie was guarding the door as usual. I had a couple drinks. Mason Parrish managed to only mar 5 minutes of my life, and I managed to not be bothered by anyone else. Oh and Iris- fine performance as always. So except for the fact that I got a phone call leading me to The Bop in the first place, Parrish drunkenly divulging that Harper Duncan supports his lifestyle, and the fact that yes, I saw Banks this evening, and neither he nor I know how in the world someone managed to silently off Eddie in front of a room full of people, without the slightest bit of commotion. So besides that, the night has been slow- you can go get your rest now James.” “Dirk” “Darling” they manage simultaneously just as the phone rings and I pick it up before the end of the first chime- “Reagan & Marlowe” I answer louder than normal. “The Bop,” it answers. “Oh it’s you my dear, well I don’t much like being stood up, but on nights like these I tend to get particularly thirsty- so shall we try this date again?” Just a cough in return, but its wet, Ive heard that rattle before- its blood. “If you’re under the weather we could get together another night,” I try. “I saw you, but I couldn’t get to you.” It retorts, but in a much weaker tone, their words are labored, they’re in pain. Iris and James lean in so close its as if they’re trying to crawl inside my ears- “Look, it uh, its getting a bit late here for my partner, he’s yawning as we speak, and it seems as if you may need some rest yourself- why don’t we all get some shut eye and you come on down by our offices first thing in the morning?…” ::click:: as the receiver on the other end is put down. The clock says it’s 2:17am. Iris grabs a bottle and pours two drinks as James rises for his coat- “As much as I hate to admit it, you’re right, I need to rest and with the way you handled that call it seems there’s not much else we can do tonight. Let’s see what Banks has found by morning,” James decrees as he walks out the door, “evening all.” “Evening James,” we reply in tandem. “To Eddie,” Iris raises a glass and slides the other to me. “To Eddie.”

After 3 or 4 further pours and some idle chatter many men would kill for, I’m walking Iris home. Walking her home knowing full well that butterfly knife in her topcoat and her skill with it is all the protection she needs- but I just lost a friend so she pretends she needs an escort. A kiss on the cheek later my hands are fists in my pockets, a cigarette I’m not smoking is hanging from my lip, and I'm walking the cobblestones. I find my apartment. Door dead-bolted, newspapers dispersed, gun under my pillow. I toss and turn for longer than normal- a lot of things happened tonight. Too many loose threads begging to be tugged at, but the one bothering me most is that James and Iris, my partner and my friend, decided they needed to keep something from me. And I don’t like that one bit. My brain is a whirl as my eyes heavy and I drift off…

::crunch:: ::crunch:: My reflexes know the newspaper around my bed is being disturbed before my brain can rationalize it and my hand is on my gun. But its too late. Cold steel is on my throat and I feel the trickle of blood it has drawn. “Put it down.” a voice in the darkness instructs. I comply. ::cough:: comes the voice and its got the same wetness from the phone call- “Mr. Marlowe, ::cough:: I need your help.” And as my pupils adjust and my nerves relax I see a set of scared, wet, eyes looking frantically around the room and then down into my own- but their colors don’t match and I know exactly who’s got a knife to my throat.

The trail of smoke from a cigarette loosely held between two fingers on her left hand cast a halo- like circle over head, but Iris Dawn was just this side of angelic. Most men knew her as the singer from the exclusive bar The Bop, but I had known Iris for quite some time- before the glitz, before the knife tricks, before her stage name. But even fewer knew about that. “Mason, darling, you simply can’t think Dirk is that stupid- I’ve known him long enough- that man misses very little.” Mason Parrish, the artist, sat in a chair at the opposite end of the room, coming down from a cocktail of sorts: “I don’t think he’s stupid I just didn’t know he would be at The Bop this evening…” he replied. Iris continued: “He was tipped off, by whom I do not yet know, but it would be better to find that out sooner rather than later. Rest up, love I’ll see what I can do.” She kissed Mason on the forehead, walked by the large circular window comprising most of the front wall of his flat, moonlight accentuating her impressive figure, and exited the front door which latched closed behind her.

“Okay listen- I’d say I don’t want any trouble but it seems trouble is already here. Why don’t you move that knife just a little further from my throat and we can talk about what brings you by…Mr. Duncan.” Being caught off guard isn’t something I’ve made a habit of, but having a millionaire do so while brandishing a knife to your throat is new in every kind of way. ::cough, cough:: “I wasn’t sure you would listen Mr. Marlowe- I know we’re not exactly friends,” Harper Duncan, one of the richest men in the country, looking in less than peak shape, moved the silver-handled blade from my throat, put it back in his waistcoat and collapsed into the chair near my bed. I slowly sat up, moved the revolver, which rest under my pillow, a couple of inches closer, and lit a cigarette. I waited for Duncan to make the first move. “I’m in trouble,” he finally let out. “I’ll say. Assault is worrisome business, but its little more than a scratch so I supposed I can overlook it- my locks on the other hand cost money, you didn’t break any locks getting in here, did you?” I ask. “Always with the jokes Mr. Marlowe.” “Only when things are funny. What do you want Duncan?” “Someone tried to kill me tonight-“ ::brrrrring, brrrrring:: the phone let out. This late at night, or should I say early, its never good- so the decision is to let that trouble in or not. I decide to answer and let Duncan stew a bit more. “Hello?... Is that right?…. I see, well no, I haven’t, not tonight anyway. Okay, yes, well I’ll let you know. How’s that? Oh, yeah, yeah, sure, I’ll see you then. Okay, sleep well Iris.” Harper Duncan’s mis-matched eyes had remained blankly fixed on the floor for the entirety of the phone call, his breathing labored, until the mention of Iris’ name. At which point those mismatched eyes became wide as saucers and he stood faster than he seemed capable of, under the circumstances. “I’ve got to go.” He said, as I put down the receiver. Iris has been known to incite many things, but terror is not one I’m familiar with. “What’s the hurry? You’ve made all this trouble- busted up my place, pulled a knife on me…” He looked chaotically around the room, checked the spot in his waistcoat for his knife and rushed out the door- which he had left open upon his entrance, and upon his exit. Yet to rise from my bed I extinguished my cigarette and knew there was no rest left in this night. It was 3:58 am and I had even more questions than when I had laid down.

Ten minutes later the kettle screamed from the kitchen. Half my face shaven, I rinsed my razor and walked across the room to silence it- as it quieted there was another scream, but this one was from outside and far more blood curdling. I ran to the window and threw it open. A woman was standing over a motionless body. I grabbed my revolver and ran down the two flights of stairs to street level. “What happened?” I asked the woman, who I knew to be one of the bakers from Key and Cross Bakery, certainly on her way to work. “I… I don’t know… I just found him like this, is he… is he…?” She collapsed into my shoulder and I did my best to comfort her as I looked down at the motionless body. Too much expelled blood to still be among the living I knew Harper Duncan was dead. For the second time in two days a murder had occurred just feet from me and I had heard and seen nothing.

It had been two hours since a scream from the street in front of my apartment informed me the millionaire Harper Duncan was dead. Seven hours since I found my good friend Eddie, the bouncer, slumped over at his post, also dead. And just eight hours since a labored voice on the phone started it all. I sat inside Key & Cross Bakery, coffee in hand, going over the facts of the case in my sleep-deprived, caffeine-addled brain. Something was out of place. I had learned things this night, but I also knew things others thought me unaware of. It was 6:30 am now, and if the late night hadn’t disrupted his resolute schedule, my partner, James Reagan would be boxing. The hot coffee burned my throat as I gulped it down. I slid the mug across the counter top and made my way to the gym.

Only partly assisted by genetics, James was a specimen of a man. I found him dancing around the boxing arena, his mahogany skin was damp with perspiration, jabbing at his sparing partner. He was playing with him. His partner, a mean looking fella, had certainly had his nose broken more than once. “Dirk! You wanna go a couple rounds?” James directed toward me without taking his eyes off his opposition. “No I like my nose just the way my mother gave it to me,” I retorted, in a mild attempt to distract the mean looking fella. Which worked for a split second- all James needed. A mighty right cross sent the man to the matte. James stopped his bouncing and helped the poor fella up. “Alright Dirk, what have you learned?” “I need you to get Iris- I’m going to go roust out Mason and I’ll meet you at the office.” “I can do that,” James complied. “What time?” “Who knows what state Mason will be in, so let’s just say by 11am.” “I’ll see you then.” I lit a smoke as I turned and exited the gym.

11:15 am and the four us us were gathered in the front of the 2 room offices of Regan and Marlowe. Mason Parrish sipping a hair of the dog, lounging in a large armchair. James Regan smoking his signature cigar and sat at his desk. Iris Dawn leaned against the wall, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. And me.

“You two siblings are hiding something.” I blurted out. Iris almost dropped her cigarette, Mason spit out his drink with a forced laugh, and James slowly turned his head toward me. “If I didn’t make my living drawing logical conclusions and extracting truth from situations, your bone structure alone would tell me everything I needed to know. The thing I don’t understand is why you Iris, and certainly why you, James, thought you needed to keep this ‘secret' from me. Or why it needed to be a secret at all- but we can save that for another time. Iris, love, before the cops get here I need you to tell me why you killed Harper Duncan.” Mason let out another forced laugh and began to intervene but Iris headed him off “Mason, its okay. I knew we could’t keep running like this forever.” It occurred to me in that moment I had never seen Iris Dawn cry, or should I say Olivia Parrish. A single tear rolled down her alabaster face. “Where should I start, Dirk darling?” She asked, head sunken. “Well Iris, I suppose that brings me back to my question- why did you kill him?”

“Because that bastard has had Mason under his thumb for years. Because he was a sick waste of oxygen the rest of us should be breathing. Because…” Mason stood from where he had been sitting to embrace his sister who was visibly shaking. I had never seen Iris with such little composure. “It’s my fault. And my sister is stronger than I am. I got into Duncan for too much. I couldn’t pay it back. I started palming drugs for him at The Bop. The more I dealt, the more I took, the more it got out of control. Then,” Mason guzzled the rest of his drink and moved toward the bottle- which I pulled out of reach. “A couple of nights ago, far too strung out, I let slip to Duncan that Iris was my sister… which is when… when he…” I nodded in understanding so the horrid words need not be said. “Which is when you, James, gave him a talking to- isn’t it?” I interjected. James raised his head to look me directly in the eye. “How could you possibly know that?” He asked. “I’d know the work of that right cross anywhere my friend. Beating the most powerful man in the city with your bare hands may not have been the smartest of moves, but I suppose love will make you do crazy things.” The shock in the room was not the divulgence that James Regan and Iris Dawn were in love, but at the fact that I knew it. “Did Duncan know that as well? Is that why he sought my help? Or was he on a path to blackmail me as well?” “We don’t know.” Iris answered for the group. “And so this, Iris, is when you decided to kill Harper Duncan- blackmailing and using your brother, assaulting you, and now the man you love would most certainly meet his end for defending your honor.” I met each one of their gazes as my eyes passed across the room.

::brrrrrng:: ::brrrrrrng:: “Regan and  Marlowe” I aggressively answered the phone. “Yes, hello. Uh-huh. Oh. Oh, I see… well thank you. Yes I’m sorry too, take care of yourself.” ::BANG:: ::bang:: ::BANG:: The front door thudded just as I put the receiver down. I made my way across the room to open it. The cops. Detective Donaldson headed up the group. “Marlowe. Regan. Ma’am.” He greeted us. “We’ve spent the morning canvasing the neighborhood, but we’ve found no witnesses to the death of Harper Duncan. Have you two turned anything up?” Donaldson inquired. I look to James, I see Iris withdrawn and smoking near the corner, and Mason reclining in that damned chair. “Unfortunately we’re coming up with more questions than answers ourselves- certainly no one here was responsible for his death.” Donaldson gives me a glare and looks around the room, lingering on Mason all but pretending to sleep in the armchair. “Let us know if you come across anything will ya Marlowe?” I raise an eyebrow in acknowledgment. The cops make their leave and all eyes are on me. “Dirk…” Iris let out a soft utterance in my direction, “How could you lie for…” I cut her off: “That was Banks, the coroner, on the phone just now. He let me know a couple of things. First, that he could not pinpoint the exact way in which Duncan died. It seems yes, he was stabbed several times in the abdomen, and that was likely to end poorly, but his body also had signs of earlier internal hemorrhaging- including a brain bleed. James, it seems maybe your ‘talk’ with him was a little stern. And it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine that the evidence of arsenic poisoning Banks found had been slyly administered by you Mason- what, over the past month or two? In the drinks he always had you fetch? A little at a time? So my dear, I did not lie for any one of you. Because no one of you killed Harper Duncan. You all did. You just drove the coffin nails Iris.” James and Iris embraced. Mason removed his glasses and slunk over his legs in the chair. I fumbled for a smoke in my over coat. I struck a match and its heat briefly warmed my face. With a deep exhale I opened the front door and as I crossed its threshold, James called out: “Dirk, what did Eddie have to do with all of this?” I barely looked over my shoulder at the trio inside: “Not a thing. Banks found a rupture in his aorta.” I let the weight of the door close itself and descended the staircase leading up to Regan and Marlowe, Detectives For Hire.