“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.

|| Dirk Marlowe will return ||