Will This Night Never End

[J Riff]

Swell! For some reason, this paragraph..
The Imp spat in the gutter, his face more surly than usual as he wandered off. I figured hot-wiring the Oldsmobile was still my best bet, but getting the night watchman out of sight had to come first. From what I could see of the street at the end of the alley it wasn’t heavily trafficked, but it would be just my luck if someone spotted the body and decided to play Good Samaritan. Behind me, beyond the car, seemed to be a dead-end, so I didn’t have to worry on that score.

Trafficked? can you say that?

 

[reiver33]

Lady Luck smiles...

Thirteen

I froze for a moment and then ducked between two rows of packing cases. The overhead lights were missing a few bulbs, but not enough gaps to cover an unobtrusive exit.

“Damn fool waste of time, if you ask me.”

“Well, what the lieutenant wants, the lieutenant gets, I figure.”

From the voices it was patrolman Parker and a buddy, but having the main lights on would compensate for any lack of enthusiasm. The lines of crates ran across the room, with only access lanes leading towards the exit corridor I’d been aiming for.

There was the quiet squeak of metal against metal and I risked a quick glance. I’d cracked my head on a length of copper pipe extending from a rack of the same, dislodging the pile. The Imp was balanced on a short section, like a lumberjack rolling a floating log, swaying as the pipe inched towards the shelf edge.

“Cut that out!” I hissed at him, knowing that if the pipe fell the two flatfoots couldn’t help but hear it. He just grinned, concentrating on easing his ride towards the drop as slowly as possible. I cursed under my breath and set off down the row, crawling on my hands and knees.

Clang.

“What was that?” You hear that?”

“You go down that way, I’ll take this side.”

Great, just great. I had to get out of sight, and fast. One of the larger packing cases lay on its side, straw spilling out onto the concrete floor. I crammed myself inside, pulling loose material up around me as improvised camouflage, and waited.

“You see anything?”

The voice was close by, real close.

“No, I…wait.”

There was an inhuman screech and a gun fired, loud and echoing. For a moment I thought they’d plugged the Imp, serve the little ******* right, but then I heard the furious wailing of a cat in full retreat, and laughter.

“What’s going on down there?”

“Nothing Sarge! Quinn here drew down on a cat, but it got the better of him.”

“Pair of clowns, the both of you. Find anything useful?”

“Sorry Sarge, no sign of our fugitive, like I said.”

“Get back up here. The two of you can keep the guy in the trunk company until the Coroner gets here. We’re searching the surrounding area but I don t want you two gunslingers blundering into John Q. Public. Now move it!”

There was a mumbled compliance, retreating footsteps, and then it was dark. I gave them two long minutes and then eased out of my hiding place, conscious of how straw seemed to have penetrated my pants and shirt. It rubbed against me as I walked back to the isle and towards the exit corridor, no doubt leaving a trail of stubble in my wake. Movement caught my attention and I glanced down. The Imp was trotting beside me, a strand in his mouth. He looked up and sniggered.

“Who are you now, Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz? You’re certainly dumb enough, I have to admit.”

I pulled up, brushing some more chaff from my sleeves.

“You pull one more stunt like that and so help me-“

“Worked though, didn’t it?” He kept walking, “Ingrate!”

I shut up and followed him into the black mouth of the corridor.

- - - - -​

All I could see was the grey-on-black corridor end, and trying to feel my way along the walls earned me a singed hand from a hot pipe and sniggering from somewhere ahead of me. Eventually I found myself in a loading bay, sealed off from the outside world by big roller shutter doors. I could see well enough by a wall lamp that had been left on, well enough to check out the nearest fully-laden truck.

Bingo.

Keys in the ignition, delivery paperwork on a clipboard, propped up on the dashboard. There was even a beat-up brown leather airman’s jacket on a hook between the front seats. I shed my fedora, jacket and tie, cramming them under the passenger seat – out of sight in case I was stopped and had to open the driver’s door. The flight jacket was a tight fit across the shoulders, but not so you’d notice as long as I kept it unzipped.

Hand-cranking the roller door was an effort, but my spirits were on the up-and-up and I could almost taste my getaway. Outside there was a walled courtyard, empty, with a metal gate giving access to the street beyond. There was a little gatehouse as well, which gave me a moments pause, but although the light was on there was no-one home. I figured this was where the watchman hung out when not on his rounds, but I didn’t stop to check. Hell, the gate wasn’t even padlocked, it was that easy. I swung it open and paced back into the loading bay, to find the Imp perched like some grotesque hood ornament.

“Now you look like some barnstorming flyboy who came down in a haystack. Maybe Ray-Bans would be over-the-top, but a silk scarf would sit nice.”

I laughed, as my good humour was fire-proof.

“Like I should take fashion tips from someone who doesn’t even wear pants? You better hang on, short stuff, ‘cos we’re going for a ride.”

The engine fired up first time, and I rolled out through the courtyard and left into the street. I even went back and closed the gate, so as not to make it so obvious. Back in the cab I settled in, flexed my shoulders and turned the lights on. The Imp fussed around in the footwell, trying to free a discarded toffee from the matting. I ignored him and moved off, whistling.

Two hundred yards. I made it all of two hundred yards.

First corner I turned, heading south where I hoped to hit the coast road, and there was a police cruiser broadside across the street. Beyond the reach of my beams but I could clearly see two figures silhouetted by the rotating roof lights. Two figures holding shotguns.

Roadblock.

 

[Clansman]

My only question: did they have Ray Ban sunglasses in the 1950's? If not, you've got an anachronism. Otherwise, I'm reading and waiting for this night to end!

 

[reiver33]

General Douglas MacArthur wore Ray-Ban Aviators, if that helps!

Fourteen

I swore under my breath but decided to play it cool, bluff my way out, and pulled up close to the police. The Imp, however, ducked under the passenger seat and wrapped himself in my jacket, his voice coming up muffled.

“I’d floor it if I was you, bud. Aim for the nose on that cruiser and mash the engine. As long as you don’t take a round through the windshield you’ll be fine. Head for the hills, dump this bucket of bolts under some trees and catch a bus for points east. Maybe you can make a new name for yourself as a short-order cook in some crappy mid-west diner. And if you do get hit, try not to bleed in my direction.”

There wasn’t time for a reply as a police officer approached, motioning for me to cut the engine and roll down the window. I looked down at him, elbow on the door, trying to keep my face the picture of bored indifference.

“What’s the problem, pal? If this is a spot check you’re welcome to check my load, even kick some rubber, but I have to say the heavy artillery is a new one on me.”

The patrolman eyed me.

“Cut the wisecracks, buster. Paperwork, licence and registration.”

I handed him the clipboard containing the delivery docket and bill of lading. On impulse I checked in the glove compartment and, bingo, there were the company insurance details. The officer propped his gun up against the wheel arch and flicked through the documents by the light of a pencil torch. I could tell it was a cursory examination at best and started to feel a little easier.

“Yeah, yeah, this all looks fine. Licence?”

This was the tricky one. I fumbled in my rear pants pocket for my wallet, which I’d remembered to keep handy, and flicked it open. I actually have two driving licences in different names, stuck back to back, just in case. So I flipped them over before slipping them back into the wallet and handing it over.

The officer squinted at the poor quality picture and shone the flashlight in my face for a better look.

“Howard Bell? That’s not the name of the driver on the delivery manifest.”

Not such a cursory examination after all.

“Yeah, the regular guy got sick. Look, you can call the office number and have them confirm it. Just explain why you’re holding me up so I don’t get it in the neck, OK? Why are you holding me up, anyways?”

He hesitated for a moment and I felt a chill run through me. If it went bad I was out of options – I didn’t even have a tyre iron to hit him with. Then he shrugged and handed back the documents and wallet.

“Looking for a fugitive, so don’t go picking up anyone trying to bum a ride. What you got in back?”

I jerked a thumb towards the load.

“Nothing anyone could hide in, and it’s too full to squeeze between, but go ahead, knock yourself out.”

My interrogator shook his head and waved to his buddy, who got into the cruiser and moved it back.

“Nah, I’ll give it a miss. Just remember what I said about hitchhikers though.”

I started up and rolled forward, careful not to scrape their fender as I edged past. Up through the gears, nice and smooth, while the strobing lights dwindled in the mirror, and finally disappeared behind a rise.

Relief washed over me and I had to pull over, suddenly feeling exhausted. I rested my head on arms, still gripping the wheel, while the world sorted itself out. I figured maybe an hourly update on traffic passing through the roadblocks, and a few minutes more before some smart cookie realised both the watchman and truck belonged to the same company. The vehicle checks couldn’t have been in place for long, so I had at least thirty minutes or so before they started looking for both the truck and my new identity. ‘Howard Bell’ was a guy I’d served with in the army, and he’d hit on the idea of swapping pictures on duplicate driving licences. As he was doing five-to-ten upstate for armed robbery, I didn’t think he’d mind being implicated in my flight from justice.

I drove; keeping to the main highways, keeping just within the speed limit. After twenty minutes or so the approaching deadline got too much and I pulled over, still a long way from what I’d consider my home turf. Wiping down every surface I remembered touching took a minute or so, although they could probably pin the theft on me if they really wanted to. Still, there was no sense in handing them a gift-wrapped conviction. I left the Imp dozing on the passenger seat and headed off.

The flight jacket stayed on to start with, and I carried my bundled clothes into a vacant lot before changing. I was on the edge of Chinatown, not a place I had much experience of, but finding an all-hours pawn shop didn’t prove difficult. The jacket only got me a few bucks and a packet of smokes, way under its real value, but it was obvious the guy behind the counter considered it stolen and I was in no condition to argue. They had these full-length mirrors in the pawn shop, and I could see why I didn’t exactly come over as Mr Respectable; crumpled suit and hat, mangled tie, sweat-stained shirt – plus a liberal smattering of straw chaff to round off the image. Neat.

Most of my new funds went on a cab across town, cash up front, but to me it seemed like money well spent. I had him drop me two blocks from where Sally Saks had an apartment. It was a safe bet someone would be keeping tabs on her, but it’s hard to keep someone under surveillance without becoming obvious. I knew from experience that as long as you can spot the watcher there are ways to get in and out unobserved.

Although I figured Sally would appreciate a heads-up phone call, it was a sure thing Detective First Grade Woolf would have a wire-tap in place by now, plus I knew how she liked surprises. There were only a few other night owls about at that hour, so it wasn’t like I could lose myself in a crowd while checking out the area. Instead I walked straight past her place and down the steps to the basement flat on the corner, pausing on the stairs to light up and take a quick look round.

Nothing.

That meant either she was in police custody, or in the tender care of Conrad Gramsci, or something worse. I didn’t dwell too long on the third option, as there was damn all I could do about it just at the moment. Still, even if her apartment were empty it could still yield a few bucks, plus something to eat, so I decided to take the risk. You could walk round outside the basement flat and come up a second set of steps into the side street, so I circled round the block and made a second pass.

As I approached her apartment this time, a man came down the adjacent steps and paused, tapping out a smoke from a cigarette case. He looked in my directing but I couldn’t see him properly as the streetlight he was standing under suddenly flickered and died. I slowed my pace, figuring it was just some ordinary Joe wanting a light, but the situation started to make me uneasy. The shadow around him seemed more than just the absence of light, more like an area of grey illumination which blurred all detail. We were only a few paces apart when the man spoke.

“Mr Helath, at last. I was beginning to think something unfortunate had happened to you. Well, something unfortunate that I had no hand in, at any rate.”

Beaumont.

 

[Boneman]

He looked in my directing but I couldn’t see him properly as the streetlight he was standing under suddenly flickered and died.

He looked in my direction...

Can't find any other mistaikes, and the writing just flows along, as per usual!

 

[reiver33]

Maybe this will start to make a bit more sense...

Fifteen

Instinctively I reached into my jacket pocket, as when I carry a piece it’s usually a snub-nose revolver. Something small and easily discarded - the Webley had been a real departure. Nothing there, of course, except the strange rosary the priest had foisted on me. I ran a few beads through my fingers as Beaumont put away his unlit cigarette. It was as if I could suddenly see him, clear as day, and despite the bonhomie he looked tired and stressed out. When he spoke the warmth in his voice sounded forced and unnatural.

“I’m unarmed, Helath, you know that. That little spic dandy relieved me of my firearm, may he burn in Hell.”

Something in his tone suggested he knew, or thought he knew, what had gone down outside The Bolthole.

“You think Raul is dead then, Beaumont? Why’s that?”

He arched one eyebrow.

“There was gunfire after my departure, but I certainly wasn’t going back to see who was last man standing. Now you’re here, and they’re not - the inference is obvious. I have to say, Helath, that no one had you pegged as being quite so trigger-happy. Four in one night? The police must be quite eager to-“

“I didn’t shoot that kid, in my office. There was someone else there, by the outside door.”

Beaumont stroked his chin, almost musing to him self.

“Really? She didn’t mention that. I wonder why…”

I let go of the rosary to scratch my nose and he seemed to regain some of his old charm – sounding more forceful and self-assured.

“Look, Helath, I’m here simply to ask for your co-operation. And for that to happen we need to make a phone call. I suggest we use the booth across the street.”

“My co-operation? You threaten me at gun point and now I’ve got the drop on you it’s like we’re potential partners? What gives?”

He gestured towards the phone booth.

“Please, Luke, it will all become clear in a matter of moments. Oh, one thing first though. If that little runt doesn’t stop dicking with my car I’ll cheerfully roast him on a spit, OK?”

I followed his gaze to the front wheel of a Buick Special packed by the kerb, where the Imp was trying to jam a discarded toothpick into the air valve of the off-side tyre. The Imp looked round, his face a mix of confusion and fear, and I knew exactly how he felt.

“Beaumont, you, you can see him?”

The big negro smiled.

“Lets just say I can see what you see, and leave it at that. Now, that phone call?”

We walked over the booth, not exactly arm-in-arm, while Beaumont regarded me quizzically.

“I think I’m beginning to understand why you were considered so suitable, ignoring the revenge aspect of this whole affair.” While I floundered for an answer his voice changed, becoming deeper, more guttural, the French accent more pronounced. “Papa Legba?”

I cried out in pain, clutching at my left temple. It was like I’d been stabbed in the head and I could almost feel the needle-pointed blade being withdrawn. The bullet scar burned like a five-pointed brand surrounding the wound but there was no blood on my cheek. The negro watched me suffer, laughing with delight.

“Mère Erzulie, pardonnent ce pécheur!”

The lack of pain was almost worse, so sudden was the relief. I staggered and Beaumont took my arm to steady me, obviously satisfied at the outcome.

“Excellent, just excellent! You’ve obviously stood at the crossroads and been noticed. We could probably have pulled this off without le fétiche vivant, but no matter, what is done is done. Sit here and rest a moment.”

He guided me to a bench beside the phone booth and I slumped down, feeling exhausted. Nothing he said made any sense and the very act of talking seemed to push reality further and further away. Beaumont patted me on the shoulder., seemingly in an expansive mood.

“You know what caused all this trouble? All this running around? A burst water main, downtown. Peter Ulm got stuck in traffic and his daughter didn’t get the envelope to you in time. As simple as that. “ He shook his head. “I warned him to ditch it, but he wouldn’t listen, tried to improvise, tried to prove his worth. Dorothea ends up dead and he blames you, goes gunning for you, and he ends up dead as well. I suppose you can blame Sally Saks for that though – she told me you were heading for the Blue Cat and I merely passed the information on. Tragic, and a needless waste.”

I coughed, unable to speak, but he could see the question in my eyes and glanced up at the apartment block opposite.

“Sally Saks? A nice girl, if a little headstrong. Bit of a minx, if truth be told. Nice apartment – she’s done wonders with it. Although she really needs to do something about the bedroom rug, it’s getting a bit worn.”

I looked up at him, feeling uneasy, and managed to speak.

“You, you’ve seen her apartment?”

He laughed.

“Of course I have. In fact, I’m there now.”

 

[reiver33]

This section contains a racial expletive (sorry).

Sixteen

The world suddenly shrank to just the two of us, our eyes locked together. I blinked.

“What?”

Beaumont pressed some loose change into my hand.

“Make the call. You’ll see.”

It made no sense but I stood, jammed in a dime and dialled Sally’s number – although I could see the Imp lurking behind a hydrant, making ‘hang up’ gestures. A man answered on the second ring.

“Told you I was here.”

It was definitely his voice, even though it couldn’t be. I stared at the handset, then at Beaumont, then across the street where a man was standing at Sally’s window, holding a phone.

“What the hell is this?”

“Ask to speak to Sally. Ask her to describe the man at the window in detail if you can’t make him out clearly at this distance.”

I just knew the two of them would be identical, right down to the diamond tie-pin. It was impossible, but I’d seen too much that night to believe just in the strictly rational. I swopped the phone to my left hand and dropped my right into my jacket pocket – as if pretending to have a gun would somehow help me regain control of the situation. I really didn’t want to have a conversation with the other ‘Beaumont’ as that would somehow make the situation more plausible. There were muffled voices and then Sally came on the line.

“Luke? What’s going on?”

I hesitated, as nothing I could say was going to make this right. My fingers played with the Hanged Man and suddenly things made more sense. I hung up, turning to face Beaumont.

“What are you then, twins? Identical twins? I go in there while you make tracks to establish an alibi? Is that how the two of you make a living then, Marcus, dirty work in plain sight?”

His face hardened.

“I’m Charles Beaumont, Mr Helath, and that was my brother Marcus on the phone. He’s the arson investigator whereas I don’t officially exist, which you must admit does have its advantages. Now, in about two minutes time my brother will bring out Sally Saks, and he is armed, I assure you. All three of you will be going for a little ride, all nice and friendly. Play ball and nothing happens to the girl. Otherwise she gets it and you still end up going for a ride. Understand?”

“Cute set up, Beaumont, but no sale. Don’t get me wrong, I like Sally, I really do, it’s just I’m not prepared to go to bat for her. So I can walk away and spill my guts to the cops, who I’m sure will be very interested in re-opening some of the arson cases your brother investigated. Sorry, chum, but you picked the wrong guy to lean on.”

He sneered at me, but I could see the doubt in his eyes.

“You’re lying, Helath, we know you’re sweet on the girl. The two of you were cozying up to each other as soon as Harry Furie shipped out, so don’t come the hard case with me now.”

I gave him my best lecherous, Devil-may-care grin, although I really needed a gold tooth to carry it off properly.

“Oh yeah? Who told you that? Look, Sally, she can be good company and a willing bed mate, but if it comes down to a choice between her and me, well, hasta la vista, baby. Get me?”

Oh, Charles got me all right, and I could tell this wasn’t playing out anything like he’d hoped. To be honest I’m not sure what would have happened if he’d called my bluff, as just then Marcus and Sally appeared on the apartment steps. He had his left hand on her shoulder, fingers so tight I could see her wince, with his right in his jacket pocket.

Snap! Expect he probably did have a gun where I only had a rosary, wound round my fist like a makeshift knuckleduster. I could see the pale fury in Sally’s face and knew she was going to try something, anything, she just needed a trigger.

Enter the U.S. Navy, stage left.

Two sailors in dress whites, flanking your typical bar girl floozy. The three of them were weaving their way along the sidewalk towards Sally’s apartment. However, I could tell the two guys were exaggerating their drunkenness, probably so the girl thought she was going to get off lightly. I saw Sally take a deep breath. Showtime.

“RAPE! This nigger is trying to kidnap me!”

The navy boys, both white, snapped to with a “Say, what?” look, taking in the mixed-race couple on the steps. Marcus spun Sally round, raising his open right hand to slap her. I brought my fists up but as soon as Charles saw the rosary, the Hanged Man, he shied away – crying out in some language I didn’t catch, maybe French.

I heard the muffled bang-bang-bang of a small calibre weapon used up close and personal, barely louder than a firecracker. Marcus staggered back and toppled over the hand rail, leaving Sally standing there, holding a smoking automatic. Charles started running, towards Sally or his fallen brother I wasn’t sure, but he only got as far the sidewalk before the seaborne KKK waded in. All three men went down in a flurry of fists and curses, and the floozy started screaming. Screaming in a calculated, almost resigned way, as I guess being a witness was preferable to running in high heels.

Sally scurried down the steps and across the road. I took her by the hand and we made tracks, down the first side street, heading away, anywhere, just to get a head start on death.

 

[reiver33]

Seventeen

After half a block I had to stop, pulling her into the double-width doorway of a grocery. I took the gun from her unresisting hand and pocketed it, seeing her eyes glowing with exhilaration. Abruptly she seized my face in both hands and kissed me, her tongue making all the running. I took her in my arms and got a good feel of the goods, not that she had much in the way of curves, wondering if she wanted to go all the way. We weren’t exactly strangers to the al fresco side of things, but rarely someplace so exposed.

Sally broke the clinch and stepped back. I half-raised my hands in case she suddenly had a mind to slap me – its been known – but she just smiled. Then kneed me in the groin. I doubled over, choking, clutching at myself with both hands. Sally pushed me away and I staggered out onto the sidewalk, fighting down the nausea, feeling the ache in my teeth. She didn’t sound happy.

“And that’s for getting me mixed up in all this, dickhead!”

“Is there a problem here?”

It was a beat cop, nightstick at the ready, barely ten yards away. I could barely spit, let alone talk, but Sally turned on the charm, her voice all sweetness and light.

“I’m sorry, officer, just a lover’s quarrel, nothing more. My so-called boyfriend went to a fancy-dress party on his own, and by the time I showed up he was in a clinch with Little Bo Peep. It was all just so embarrassing, but you know how bitchy these church socials can be.”

The cop eyed us both suspiciously, but it was obvious his sympathies lay with me.

“You OK, pal? You want to press charges?”

With an effort I managed to stand more-or-less upright and smiled through gritted teeth.

“No, officer, it’s fine. I guess I had it coming.”

He stood there for a moment, tapping the end of his night stick against his left hand, then raised it to his cap in salute.

“OK folks, take care now. Just try and keep it indoors next time, huh?”

Sally murmured some pleasantry and took my arm, helping me down the street as the cop plodded on. As soon as we were round the next corner I shook her off and leaned against the wall, cursing under my breath. She just laughed.

“You had that coming, Luke. That goon back there was waiting for me when I got back from Lorenzo’s, bundled me inside and kept me at gun point for hours. String of damn-fool questions about where you were, what you were doing – like I should care.”

I spat and wiped my face on my sleeve.

“You told him I was going to see Fast Eddie, yeah?”

“Damn right I did! Anything to keep him sweet. He tried to come over all friendly and sophisticated, but I could see the mean streak in his eyes, clear as day. He called someone, let them know you were headed to the Blue Cat, but I figured you could take care of yourself. Which I guess is what happened - am I right or am I right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Look, I need to get off the street, I need to sit down and rest for a minute. You know anywhere we can go that’ll be open at this hour, apart from Lorenzo’s?”

Sally looked up and down the street, getting her bearings.

“Yeah, maybe. I have a girlfriend who lives close by and she’s a bit of a night owl. Might be worth a visit. “

“You have friends? Really? How’d that happen?”

She smirked at me, not quite sticking her tongue out but you get the general idea.

“This may come as a shock but some of us have a life outside the office, Luke. A life that’s more than just bars, diners and whorehouses. Now pick up your balls and follow me, cowboy.”

Sally set off with me in tow, wincing at every step. I’m sure she set the pace so I’d have to hurry in her wake, just to make me suffer that little bit more. She can be an complete little bitch sometimes, really.

Thankfully we didn’t have to go far, only a couple of blocks or so. I caught up with Sally outside an apartment building, keeping her thumb on the buzzer until someone answered.

“Martha? It’s Sally, Sally Saks. You got company?....Well, then let me in and break out the booze….” She glanced in my direction. ”Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Up two flights of stairs. You can draw your own picture.

Martha turned out to be a heavyweight brunette in a threadbare housecoat. She had traces of face cream on her cheeks and eyes that would believe any infidelity committed by a man. Cute.

The lounge was small, made smaller still by too much furniture in a variety of styles. Martha served us gin with flat lemonade, but at least no one threw it in my face. The two girls sat on the bed-settee while I was relegated to the over-stuffed armchair beside the over-stuffed bookcase. Sally took a long swallow before starting.

“Martha, this is Luke Helath, my boss.” The two of them exchanged a meaningful glance and I felt my face colour, just on general principle. “Luke’s one of those guys that attracts trouble, and this time he dragged me into it as well. This big negro held me hostage at gunpoint, in my own apartment, to make Luke do what they wanted. Finally I was taken outside and I feared the worst, you hear all these stories, and, well, I shot him.”

Sally let out a sob and covered her eyes with one hand, provoking a hug from Martha and some meaningless words of reassurance. I looked away, as I’m not real big on theatre, and tuned out their conversation. I took a slug of the goddamn awful gin and let my gaze wander over the shelves. Martha was something of a bookworm by the looks of things and a couple of titles caught my eye; books on Canada, but seemingly written in French.

I turned back to the touching human drama where the tears had subsided.

“….been so brave. Of course I-“

“Martha? Sorry to interrupt, but can you speak French?”

She looked at me, clearly flustered.

“What? Yes. Well, enough to get by. My father was French-Canadian but he moved here before I was born. Why?”

What does this mean…” I struggled to reproduce the sounds, “…’le fétiche vivant’ mean? Any idea?”

Martha’s lips moved soundlessly as she turned the phrase over in her mind.

“Ah, well, living, or alive, a fetish. A living fetish?” Her face reddened and she glanced between Sally and I. “Is this something kinky? I’ll have you know I’m strictly a one-to-one kind of girl!”

I managed to keep a straight face and Sally smothered a smile with a large mouthful of gin. Although Martha was attractive in a well-rounded kind of way, even the thought of seeing her naked produced a painful twinge in my loins.

“No, Martha, nothing strange or kinky. It’s just something I heard and wondered what it meant. Obviously I can’t reproduce the sound of it properly, not having your ear for languages. My apologies. Sorry.”

The girls returned to their own private world while I mulled things over. The translation hadn’t helped any, as a fetish was just a fancy term for something kinky – like having the broad always dress as a French maid. In my line of work I’ve come across the full range of obsessions, from the relatively innocent through to the completely deviant, with the pictures to prove it.

Checking out the bookcase got me a dog-eared dictionary, which tied in with Martha’s apparent fondness for word-puzzle magazines. I flicked through it to F-F-F-Fetish…

Something, such as a material object, that arouses sexual desire and may become necessary for sexual gratification.

Like I thought. But there was more…

An object that is believed to have magical or spiritual powers, especially such an object associated with animistic or shamanistic religious practices.

Gotcha. Like those badly carved dolls the Cupeno Indians tried to sell last time I was down near San Diego. But a living fetish? I’d heard of goats and chickens being sacrificed at some of the weirder parties with occult overtones, but this seemed something else again. Could someone believe that an animal had magical powers?

Then it hit me, hard, like the time I stopped Barry Hogan’s curveball with my head. No, not an animal.

A person.

 

[J Riff]

Still in Canada? No beat cops, no nightsticks - cars, tasers and guns, a few on bicycles. And would not let anyone walk. They would be searched and detained for far less than this. Otherwise, good as usual.

 

[reiver33]

Los Angeles, Riff, the summer of 1951!

 

[J Riff]

Ok. I have never, ever seen a beat cop here. LA in 51 bejabbers, yes. !! Carry on, move along or the RCMP will be here with tasers. Put down that roscoe.

 

[J Riff]

- a straight face and Sally smothered a smile with a large mouthful of gin.
No comment neccessary or forthcoming.

I fell into the deep black pool that opened at my feet. Dunt need a comma?

 

[reiver33]

Yeah, yeah, I missed a comma...

Eighteen

My mouth felt dry and a long swallow of gin didn’t seem to help. It came back to the kid in the office, the one who looked like me before his face blew apart. Peter and Dorothea Ulm, they believed the kid was ‘magical’, and could be used to their advantage – whatever that meant. Complete ********, of course, but I bet they were steered that way by the Beaumonts. Hell, I’d lay even money it was the twins who came up with the lookalike, for a finder’s fee.

Maybe the kid got scared at what he was mixed up in and skipped out. Came looking for me and they took him down before he could spill the beans. But that meant he knew a lot about me, perhaps from hearing them discussing me. So I was back to the why, with a big question mark.

I sat back, drumming my fingers on the dictionary, trying to work the angles. I didn’t need to know why if I could just nail down the who. Then Gramsci and the cops could try and make sense of it while I took a well earned rest someplace quiet. Like the moon.

Father and daughter, so maybe there was a Mrs Ulm as well? The unknown shooter? The woman who was now out to get me? I shook my head, ignoring the funny glances this brought.

Charles Beaumont had said there was a revenge aspect to all of this, one that obviously predated the death of Peter and Dorothea. Plus Gramsci and Father Malik thought I’d know the killer, but from the photo Mrs Ulm wasn’t anyone I recognised.

However…

Maybe she was just the Ulm step-mother, a marital retread. Over the years ‘Astor & Associates’ had been instrumental in ending a lot of marriages, a lot of them acrimoniously. Maybe Jimmy dealt with Mrs Ulm in her former guise, while Harry and I handled the husband. Maybe, with Harry dead and Jimmy away on business, I was the only target available.

Maybe, maybe, too many maybe’s.

I sighed and drained my glass. On impulse I lifted the phone directory and turned to ‘U’. Ulm wasn’t exactly a common name and there couldn’t be that many, even in a city the size of Los Angeles. It turned out there were more than I thought, but…

Bingo.

Ulm’s Emporium. A cornucopia of delights for the serious student of the Occult. Let Peter & Elise be your guides through the netherworld of Mystery & Magick.

The address was Downtown and I considered it well worth a visit, preferably carrying enough firepower to stop a charging elephant. Sally’s little .25 automatic didn’t fit the bill and I was almost starting to miss the Webley with its heavyweight charm. Something else to think about.

The night was starting to catch up with me and I needed to freshen up.

“Ah, Martha, can I use your rest room?”

Martha glared at me for another interruption, but stayed civil. Mostly.

“Um, yeah, down the hall, second door. Just remember to put the seat down.”

I quit the self-help group and checked out the bathroom, stripping down to my shorts and shaking the straw from my clothes into the tub. Getting the geyser to work proved beyond me, so I settled for a wipe-down with a face cloth and slicking back my hair with cold water. I even tried to sponge off the worst of the stains my suit had collected, although there wasn’t much by way of improvement. Back in my clothes I looked in the mirror, not overly impressed at the face that gazed back; deep-set eyes cloudy with fatigue, stubble, a hint of premature grey at the temples.

A voice spoke from behind me.

“You look like ****. And that’s my considered opinion, by the way, not just a rush to judgement. At least on death row the prison uniforms will be clean, maybe even ironed. Hell, your friends might chip in and buy you a new suit for the trial. Sorry, bud, I was forgetting you don’t exactly have any. My mistake. Hey, you think that big broad uses the loofah to-”

“Can it!”

I looked round, finding the Imp sitting on top of the geyser, his legs dangling. He pretended to take offence and ignored me, picking his nose. Well, screw him. I headed for the door, but from the corner of my eye it looked like my reflection stayed put, turning to watch me go. My head snapped round but the mirror was empty, and I felt like a fool. Just a trick of the light, but the hand I raised to my mouth trembled, and I had to make a fist until it stopped. The Imp sniggered.

“Man, but your nerves are shot! I remember when you was the steely-eyed shamus, always ready with a wisecrack. These days you look ready for a long stay in Camarillo, along with the other loonies.”

I stormed out but managed to resist slamming the door behind me. At least being riled meant my hands didn’t shake when I rubbed my eyes, and I felt a deal more alert. Back in the lounge I stood in the doorway until both women acknowledged my presence. I tried to smile but it came out more like an insincere leer.

“Sorry to rush off like this Martha, and thanks for your hospitality, but Sally and I need to get going.”

Smart cookie that she is, Sally took her cue from me and stood up, with Martha following suite. Sally gave me a ‘take a hike’ gesture that our hostess didn’t see.

“Just wait for me downstairs, Luke, I’ll be there in a minute.”

I lifted my battered fedora from the table and sidled down to street level, staying in the entry hall. After a few minutes Sally appeared, breezing past me while holding up a handful of bills that I plucked from her hand.

“Twenty bucks. It’s all she had to spare. I spun her a line about how you were going to stash me in a motel until all this blows over. You know, do the noble thing and not stick me in the firing line for your own selfish ends?”

There’s always this background level of abuse and banter with Sally, and I’ve grown used to it, but my patience was wearing thin. I followed her out to the street and then grabbed her shoulders as she stood there, waiting for me.

“Now listen up doll face, this is serious. Remember that girl I said stepped into traffic outside the office? Well, her father came gunning for me round the back of the Blue Cat and I had to put him down. That leaves just the mom, who I think shot the kid and started this whole business off. She’s one of those fruitcakes who believes in the spirit world, voodoo, the occult and all that jazz. For some reason she’s out to get me and was using the Beaumonts, the guy you shot and his brother, as foot soldiers.”

Sally shook herself free and glared at me.

“So, what gives? Those Beaumont creeps are out of the picture and I don’t see you running scared because of one middle-aged woman, no matter how loopy she is. What aren’t you telling me, huh?”

“There’s someone else out there, Sally, someone who wants to see me go down. I’m in the frame for a handful of homicides and I don’t think the cops will be overly concerned about any loose ends.”

“You got enemies, Luke? Gee-whiz, what a surprise! This phantom got a name or do we just stick a pin in the phone book?”

I looked her straight in the eye.

“Harry Furie.”

 

[StormFeather]

What a Christmas Treat. Thank you!

 

[reiver33]

My last segment until I'm back on night shift over New Year...


Nineteen

There was a pause. Then she slapped me. Hard.

“I’ve had enough of that name to last me a lifetime!”

I rubbed my cheek.

“OK, OK! But you’re sure, absolutely sure, that Harry is dead? Because there’s someone out there using his name to mess with us.”

“Enough already! Look, I got this letter from the Marine Corps saying how he was missing in action, and then his mom came round one evening to tell me he was confirmed dead. His body had to be left behind enemy lines or some such bull, so all they sent her was his medals and a flag.”

I frowned at that.

“Cathy Furie came to see you? The two of you don’t exactly get on, huh?”

Sally grimaced, all tight lipped and humourless.

“She called me a tramp and whore and just after her son for the death benefits and pension. She said it was a blessing we didn’t get hitched before he shipped out. I called her a control-freak bitch and slapped her. She slapped me back and said she knew I’d started cheating on Harry as soon as his boat left dock. We kinda’ got into it then and the neighbours had to call the cops. I haven’t seen her since and she didn’t tell me where or when the funeral was. I know it’s just an empty coffin, but all the same…”

Her voice trailed off and while Harry had been a pal, I was more concerned with the here and now.

“Look, Sally, the Beaumonts knew about your screwing around after Harry left, with yours truly as prime suspect. It’s obvious his mom has been sounding off to anyone who will listen, so some of his former buddies might have heard the rumours as well. The Corps is a pretty tight-knit bunch, and I can see them not taking this too kindly.”

Sally paced up and down the sidewalk, rubbing her temples as if the conversation were giving her a headache.

“So, what? Some ex-Marine believes Cathy Furie and wants to make our lives awkward? How does that tie in with the negros and Mrs Fruitcake?”

It didn’t, of course, that’s the problem with stringing things together to see if they fit. Sometimes they don’t and all you’re left with is effect rather than cause. I shrugged, pulled out her gun and began wiping it clean with my handkerchief. The last thing I wanted was my prints showing up on yet another murder weapon.

“Beats me, but at least we know this isn’t over, so that means getting you out. Getting you someplace safe.”

Sally stared at me, hands on hips.

“Out? Safe? Don’t come the good-guy, Luke, it doesn’t suit you. I say we find someplace to hole up until the banks open, clean out the strongbox and blow town. Mexico, maybe even South America. Someplace where they’re grateful for U-S currency and won’t look at the bills too close. What we’ve got could last us a long time, at least until all this has died down.”

For about two seconds I was tempted, but there’s a side to Sally that would have me watching my back around the clock. Or watching the money, at any rate. I shook my head.

“That won’t fly, doll. Look, you take the gun and head for the nearest Precinct. March right up to the desk sergeant and hand it over. Maybe even throw in a few tears, like you’re good at. You tell them how you shot some unknown black guy in self-defence, then play dumb. And ask for a lawyer. Benny Schultz has a cousin in the business and he hasn’t paid us yet for deep-sixing that showgirl scam. Try him. ”

“Oh, yeah? Its gonna’ be a bit difficult playing Little Miss Innocent when I lawyer up and they find out who I work for.”

“Which is why we have to move fast, before they start looking for you. If we can head off an all-points then that beat cop probably won’t hear about you, won’t put the two of us together. Face facts, Sally, Homicide are gonna’ grill you big time as to what’s been going on, so you gotta’ be ready. Just admit to meeting me at Lorenzo’s, where you saw two goons take me away, and claim everything else is a mystery.”

She hesitated, chewing her bottom lip, then took the gun and jammed it in her jacket pocket.

“Is this gonna’ work, Luke, or is it just another of your hopeful expectations?”

“It’ll work, trust me! As long as they can’t tie you into anything I’ve been doing this evening.” I frowned. “What happened to that photo I gave you? The one taken outside the Yukon Hotel?”

“That?” She shrugged. “The black guy asked about it, so I gave it up. He burnt it and flushed the ashes down the john. Said it was a cool shot, some of his best work, if that makes sense.”

I nodded, more for my own benefit.

“Yeah, maybe. I think the picture was posed, just something to get my attention, but I’m not sure why. Forget about it. One thing though, where did you score the piece? Is there any potential comeback on that?”

Sally half-smiled.

“I got it from Fast Eddie, and he isn’t about to squeal.”

“Fast Eddie? What the hell you getting mixed up with him for?”

“Look, I said there was someone watching me these last couple of weeks, and you were no help at all. So I went to see Eddie and claimed you needed another of those occasional guns you won’t tell me about. He knew me from before, when I’d sit at the counter, chatting to Connie, with you guys huddled up in a booth. Like what you were doing was this big secret.”

Check. One less thing on my internal list of loose ends.

“Cool. Look, say that your fiancé, Marine Sergeant Furie, gave you the gun for your personal protection, before he shipped out to Korea. Wait until they ask, don’t volunteer any information, period. Otherwise it looks like you’re offering up excuses, or trying to establish an alibi. If it gets bad then ask to speak to Detective Panzer in Vice, alone. If you get to see him then mention the Consort Club over the line in Orange County, and smile, like you know all about it. He owes me a favour and might be able to kill some of the heat. Got it?”

She nodded.

“Got it.”

There was an awkward pause, as we both knew this might be the last time she saw me alive. Not that I was feeling unduly pessimistic, but you have to be realistic in my line of work. Sally gave me a little smile, with just the right amount of tremble in her bottom lip, but the eyes stayed dry.

“Catch you later, Luke.”

“You better believe it, kid.”

I winked, turned on my heel, and walked away.

 

[J Riff]

No, you hadda comma there and it doesn't need it. A small point... yet it does seem to matter...
'control-freak' is post-1951 lingo...

 

[reiver33]

Rats! You're quite right - according to Merriam-Webster the first use of the term 'control freak' was 1971...

 

[reiver33]

Twenty

When you turn your back on a dame and walk away, never look back. If you do, and they’re watching, it makes you look needy. Worse still, if you look and they’re not watching, you feel like a jerk. So I kept going, trying to swagger a bit and lighting up a smoke to keep my hands busy.

Around the first corner I flicked the barely used cigarette away and leaned back against the wall, hands on knees. God I felt tired, with gritty eyes and that nagging feeling you’re missing something, but you can’t quite figure out what.

“Give it up, bud. You’ve lost your edge, and that’s about the only thing you got going for you when you’re playing with the big boys. There’s a phone booth across the street and if I was you I’d call the police, hand myself in. Maybe plead diminished responsibility on account of being a complete and hopeless jerk. You know, go for the sympathy angle?”

Guess who.

The Imp was sitting on a mail box, which he seems to have an affinity for, sucking on a discarded stub of liquorice. He crossed his legs and grinned.

“So, you buying into that voodoo angle Beaumont was peddling? Personally I think he was just blowing smoke out his-“

“Quiet! I got enough on my plate without you getting all supernatural on me. Beaumont was just one of those guys who get inside your head and make you see things. Make you think you’re seeing things, but when it comes down to it he was no better than a slick carny huckster. I figure he and his twin sold the Ulm’s a bill of goods, and we’ve all been caught in the fallout.”

The Imp jammed his softened liquorice into the mail box hinge, where it would harden and jam the flap, before standing up.

“Well, you gonna’ ice this Elise Ulm before she gets you, or what?”

I hesitated, chewing it over. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve put guys in the ground and never looked back, but this whole gig had a weird edge to it I didn’t like. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over shooting a woman, if it came down to a choice between her and me, but I usually like to plan these things a bit more in advance. Finding a piece then going round and just blowing her away was more Jimmy Astor’s style, for all his easy going, ‘Aw, shucks’ front, but I was ready to give it a whirl.

I shot the Imp with a finger and thumb gesture before strolling across the street. He played up to it, grabbing his chest with both hands before sliding off the mail box onto the newspaper trapped against its stubby metal legs. Jerk.

The phone rang thirteen times before being answered.

“Blue Cat. We’re closed.”

“Give it up, Connie, you never close. Now be a good girl and go drag Fast Eddie away from the pool table.”

There was a muffled conversation and then Eddie came on. He did not sound best pleased.

“Helath? Man, you got a nerve, calling me after all the crap you caused.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly a bed of roses at my end, Eddie.”

“Jerk. You could at least have mentioned the shooter tailing you, huh? As opposed to turning the alley into the O-K Corral. Man, the police were all over the scene before I could move my car. I had to stand here, playing it cool, making shots while the flatfoots asked awkward questions. Talk about puckered up! I could have spent an evening in the Swish Club and come away intact.”

His tone changed, annoyance replaced by a matter-of-fact neutrality. After all, business is business.

“So, how badly you hurt? I can put you in touch with a guy can patch you up, as long as you understand most of his clients usually have four legs.”

“Hurt? Why you think I’m hurt, Eddie? What you heard?”

“The police came back, in fact they just left. Two detectives, carrying that gun I didn’t sell you. Apparently it had been used a second time, across town, and left what the smart one called a ‘distinctive wound pattern’. By that I took him to mean an exit wound the size of your fist. The big bozo said they found blood at the scene, where they recovered the gun, so it looked like the shooter took one as well. Don’t worry though, no one here knew anything about it.”

Two detectives, one bozo and one smart – that sure sounded like Harland and Wolff.

“Not me, Eddie, but I’m in the frame for this unless I can prove otherwise. Which bring me to the reason for this call – I’m in the market for another piece, but it’ll have to be on credit until I get to the bank. You know I’m good for it and-“

“Forget it chum, no sale. Even if I knew what you’re talking about, which I don’t, you’re not exactly Mr Popular. Look, there was a call a while ago, on behalf of a certain Italian-American gentleman, saying that they wanted to know P-D-Q if you showed your ugly mug. Now that’s a complication I can’t afford, get my drift? But look me up if you get through this and want to shoot a few frames. Be seeing you, Helath.”

Dial tone.

I replaced the handset and giggled the loose change in by pocket, considering my options. It looked like Gramsci had ensured I’d be persona non grata, as my old night-school teacher was fond of saying, at all my usual haunts. That left me with…

Jimmy’s Luger, although it was a bit of a long shot (no pun intended).In a normal homicide investigation the police would have turned the office over as a matter of course, but if Detective First Grade Wolff had a weakness, it was that he was too smart. If Harland had been in charge he’d have trashed the place, regardless of the evidence, but Wolff knew I couldn’t be the shooter, so there was no need for an intensive search. Plus I think he gave me enough credit not to stash the murder weapon on the premises. Oh yeah, if their other lines of enquiry drew a blank they’d be back with the crowbars, but I was guessing the place would still be intact, for now.

A police cruiser went past but I resisted the urge to turn away or shield my face, it would have looked too suspicious. Despite the ‘all points’ out on me I’m a pretty ordinary looking guy, and you can’t just pull in every Average Joe in a city the size of Los Angeles, even in the early hours. So I ignored them and they didn’t give me a second glance, turning off a couple of blocks down. I smiled to myself – maybe my luck was changing.

Another taxi cab, another ride across town.

 

[reiver33]

Just a slight interlude...

Twenty-One

I noticed the cabbie eye-balling me in the rear view mirror, like I was someone he should recognise but couldn’t place. It was way too soon for my mug shot to hit the dailies, so I just put it down to paranoia and sat back, tilting the fedora forward to shade my eyes.

The rosary ran click-click-click through my fingers, and I found its presence kind of comforting, although I’m not known for my religious observance. It’s said there are no atheists on the battlefield, and from what little I remember of combat I have to agree. Not that I was getting sentimental you understand, but I could do with just about any help that was going.

Having said that, I wasn’t too keen on ‘fighting the good fight’, as my aunt Julie used to put it, unless I ran out of options. Once you start taking sides it becomes that much harder to get out from under should you back the wrong horse. Father Malik had pitched this whole thing as some kind of good versus evil gig, but in my experience it was rarely that clear-cut. You wouldn’t usually expect to find me on the side of the angels, not unless it came with some fringe benefits.

But voodoo? Man, don’t make me laugh, although I knew there were enough loony-tunes believers out there to supply people like the Ulms and Beaumonts with a living. Easy money, if that five hundred was anything to go by, and I had a mind to be compensated for all the trouble I was in.

I still couldn’t get a handle on Elise Ulm though, and that bugged me. Not many middle-aged moms will calmly plug a teenage boy in the back of the head, so I had to figure her as a stone killer. Now that her husband and daughter were dead she would be breaking out the heavy artillery for my benefit, although I wasn’t unduly worried. Without the Beaumonts to do the leg work I didn’t see her tracking me down anytime soon, unless she had additional help. Which brought me back to what happened outside the bolthole.

It must have been a guy who slugged me, if only because of the whole trunk of the car episode. Unless he or she forced Raul and The Professor to do the manual work before dropping them with my gun. Damn, a guy could go crazy trying to work this out.

No, if my attacker had been wounded – as the police thought – then that ruled out the Beaumonts. Neither twin had shown any sign of having taken a bullet, and I knew from past experience how even a flesh would can seriously cramp your style. Not Elise Ulm either, as she would simply have shot me, end of story.

Which left….who?

Someone who wanted to see me face the death penalty for murder, or maybe get gunned down by the cops. Someone who wasn’t squeamish, given that he’d iced the Gramsci duo, but who didn’t want to kill me himself and trigger a murder investigation. Someone who knew what the hell was going on, which was a damn sight more than I did.

Jealousy, vengeance, discord – they hang round you like dreams.

The memory made me jerk and I had to catch the fedora as it tumbled, placing it on the seat beside me. I smoothed back my hair, trying to make it look like a fancy gesture, but, man, I was rattled. Jealousy, vengeance, discord – that sure sounded like Harry Furie if he knew about me and Sally, but I wasn’t buying into the whole ‘from beyond the grave’ angle. More realistically I could see Cathy Furie hiring someone to make our lives hell, to the extent of sending me down the river, but couldn’t figure how the Ulms got involved.

Then it hit me, the missing link – Harry’s aunt May, out in Orange County.

She was real close to Harry, probably didn’t like Sally any more than his mom did, and given her weird past in Baton Rouge had probably frequented Ulms Emporium. Hell, I bet she even knew the Beaumont twins as well. I grinned and lit a cigarette, cracking the window a ways to let the smoke out.

So I was up against some flaky harridan with a homicidal streak and a piece of hired muscle, who was carrying a bullet. No problem. All I had to do was get Elise Ulm off my case then brace Cathie Furie for the name of who she’d hired. I’d feed the muscle to Harland and Wolff for the shootings and take my chances with any lesser charges they might come up with.

The Imp peered at me from under my hat, his face pure contempt.

“You seriously think it’s gonna’ be that simple? Jeez, talk about being saddled with a lame brain for a partner.”

I wanted to mash him into the upholstery but couldn’t afford to act outright weird, so I settled for muttering under my breath.

“Butt out! I finally got my ducks in a row and don’t need you promoting a one-way trip to China as an alternative.”

He sniggered.

“Like I care? I’m just amazed a bone-head like you thinks that the only folks involved are those you know about. I bet you there’s a regular occult mafia centred on the Ulm’s bookshop, with eager beaver acolytes queuing up to fill Peter’s shoes.”

“Acolytes? I told you to quit chewing on that dictionary, you’ll get piles.”

He flipped me off.

“Ain’t got as far as ‘P’ yet, but thanks for the concern. Look, bozo, say you get the Luger and go after this dame – then what? Ice her and hope for the best? You can bet your bottom dollar that if the whole family ends up in the morgue then Homicide will put in overtime to close the case. Multiple murder doesn’t read well in the morning papers and the D-A is up for re-election. Think you can take that kind of heat? Think Sally can take that kind of heat without fingering you? Think again.”

I didn’t have a snappy comeback so kept my mouth shut. Some of what he said rang true – just shooting Elise Ulm, even in self-defence, would really put me in the spotlight. As I’d said to Sally, we didn’t want the law taking a close look at Astor & Associates. Even if they couldn’t pin Peter and Dorothea on me, let alone Raul and The Professor, there were a lot of transgressions, misdemeanours and outright felonies out there, just waiting for the right detective to come along.

The cab pulled up with a jerk and I swore, startled out of my reverie. I was back at our office building, and fresh out of ideas.

 

[J Riff]

Eyeballing ....is not hyphenated? Lamebrain is one word?