The Maroon Shawl

The Maroon Shawl
By Mattsey

Some call me a “grifter”, some say I’m just a “g-man”; just a con man just waiting to make a fast buck. I’m neither a con man nor some cop. I’m a private eye, a rouge detective, sleuth, gum shoe. I’m not just any old gum shoe. I’m the best. There’s not a case I can’t solve crack, not a mystery left unsolved, not a rock unturned when Mark Stone is on the case. In the dirty smog filled streets of New York I walk them streets cracking cases in one of the most crime filled cities in America.

It was rainy day in New York that Friday and business was slow. The streets were empty. I spent most of the day listening to the old wireless to some of my favorite swing tunes. For some reason there were no crime in New York for days and this is New York! I mean in one day there were over a hundred robberies and murders in just one day. Man could I use a drink. I got payments to make, pay to rent my office, bills overdue. Times are hard. Crowds of deadbeats were doubling by the day.

As I was about to leave for the bar; when a women in a jet black, slim dress; she wore a black bonnet often used for morning but she didn’t seam to be morning. She said she have a job for me. The hint in hear voice was a different job. On her way out she tells me I have to meet her tomorrow at her newspaper office, the New York Herald at 2am. I told her I accept my payment up front but before I could finish she smiles and says “then come tomorrow to my come office and pick it up then,” then she left. I didn’t tell her I charge five hundred dollars. That’s really strange. One time this guy spent an hour trying to haggling five hundred dollars to twenty but it didn’t work but instead he just left. What can I say; some people are desperate but not desperate enough to spend five hundred dollars.

So that afternoon I went to the New York Herald to find in an old lady and the women that came yesterday. The old lady says “Come in. I’m Ann Redding and this is my daughter in law Nancy.” Tears came flowing out of her eyes. “We need you to find a gun that killed my late husband Derrick” she sobbed. “Because they couldn’t the killer by finding the gun code on the handle of the gun that killed him,”

“But the brainless police officers that protect this city can’t find it. So we decide to seek private help. So can you help?” Ann interrupted in. I said

“I’ll try my best madam but the thing is I take my payment up front.”

“Oh I sorry I forgot about that,” as she got out her check book still sobbing uncontrollably “How much is it?” 

“Five hundred dollars” I said as she wrote down in the check book from her handbag.

Later as I past the newsy on Main Street, Mack was selling New York Herald. The murder was on the front page and there’s a frenzy of people was buying papers off Mack. By the time I manage to fight crowds to Mack there were one paper left and I got it. We I got back to the office with a cup of coffee and egg, bacon and sausage sandwich and I began to read the paper in the comfort of my chair.

There I found out it wasn’t a murderer who killed him but a butcher. Derrick tried to run out of the New York Herald where he was shot 15 times!!! Some of the bullets busted his liver and kidneys. Plus his intestines were ripped open by several bullets!!! He barely made it out of his office. He bled to death painfully and slowly. This put me off my sandwich and it went in the trash. Later I called the police chief for a copy of the police report of the murder and able to speak to the detective on the case.

Then I wonder who would murder and kill Derrick and how he or she would dispose of the gun. As I wonder and waited for the report I couldn’t understand why Nancy just wanted didn’t cry the first time but in front Ann she drips like my office ceiling. 20 minutes later I got a call from the chief I have to pick the report tomorrow and with last contact killed I know very little. So I decide to call it a night and get some sleep. After that newspaper article I doubt I could get a wink of rest.

On my way back to my to my apartment I saw Mack. “Hey Mack, what do you know about Derrick Redding?”

“Well that depends how much you paying?” replied Mack. The young kid was standing by the side walk selling newspapers. He was a good friend, someone I could trust.

“What?” I cried “You greedy pig! Fine here’s ten bucks”

After parting with my money Mack told me he had a long lost son who live in the over side of town called Tom Trump. He was put up for adoption when Derrick was 16 and his girlfriend broke up because of this accident. 2 weeks ago he went to met him for the first time and hopping he would take over the family business but the guy didn’t take well. In fact he said he’ll kill him! When I got back to my apartment I couldn’t sleep this case is getting stranger by the minute. 

The next day I went to the police station and I suspected, everybody is making a bets will I out smart the police again and find the gun. The spread was 1 to 21 of me finding the gun. Low lives, they couldn’t find their nose if their finger was stuck in it.

After I got a copy of the report quickly escape the donut crunching ogre cave. Most of them were hassling to see how I’m doing on the case, jerks. I went back to my office and began to look through the case files. It didn’t help much. Most of the file just describing his horrifying and painful death and the only bit I needed was the part where they looked up about his affair four weeks before his death he had found his long lost son. I looked at some photos of the crime scene. On one of the photos it showed Derrick Redding lying on the ground with a silky shawl towards the back of his office. Another photo showed his desk caked with blood but on the corner was a wine glass of claret and an ash tray with several cigarettes in it. Some think didn’t add up.

After a bit of pointless looking up through the phone book and another partnering to another ten bucks he found the address of Derrick’s long lost son, Tom. He lived on the over side of town by the river; the cheap side. He runs the bakery on 6th Street. It was a small building with only one oven. He makes a fair bit of profit to get by. So the next day I went to visit his bakery. It was in a nice neighborhood; full of kind people earning an honest living; which I can’t say much too some people in New York. Most people I know are thieves and crooks.

When I looked in through the window I saw a brown haired young man with an apron sweating over an oven. I went into the minute I said derrick’s name he toss me out and closed his bakery. I waited a few second and as I was about to give up he came to apologies “I sorry about that. I’m still in shock” then he takes me in. The bakery was small and simple; it had one oven, a small desk with a cash register and a sign to choose from. After I came in he swiftly flipped the closed sign behind me. Then we sat and I as some tough questions.

Tom answered questions the best he could. Derrick paid another private eye the find his son and one day he popped in and expecting him to love him and take over the family business but like anyone else would do he flipped. Threw him out and told him to never come back. For months Derrick’s been begging him to help him; so much he called the police to tell him to back off.

I asked if I can speak to his mother; Derrick’s old lover but she and his step dad: Peter Thump; retired baker are living in the woodland close to the boarder of Canada in a nice rustic cabin. Their doctor said the country air would do wonders for Peter’s heart. So it was another dead end. I left and headed for his office. He had no leads, no clues and no ideas. Before I left I asked does he own a fire arm.

“Of course,” he replied. “Every man and woman carries at least a pistol if they could afford it. You can never be too sure in New York,” Could it been innocent Tom? I left the bakery and headed back to my office.

When I got back into my office he just collapsed on his chair and drifted off to sleep. The mystery of the case riddled him inside his head. Who could have done this; that could have such rage and hatred against Derrick Redding? I decided to dig deeper into Derrick’s life. I looked over files and folders; trying to find anyone with a motive, anyone Derrick has left on bad terms and has plotted a horrid revenge.

Over and over I looked over his records again and again through out high school, collage and his time serving in the US army in the Great War. He’s like me; I too fought in the trenches. Derrick Redding is probably the kindest guy in history. Why anyone would want to kill him. He was a great guy through high school, collage and also he saved men’s lives in the Great War. I decided to visit his mother. Maybe a visit with his old lady I’ll find something I could use.

I took a cab to the richer, more legal side of Chicago. It was a good place; nice big fancy houses and huge flowery gardens. I could get used to this. Maybe I’ll retire here. Na, I doubt I’ll get invited a lot by the neighbors.

As the cab came past Derrick’s mother’s house my jaw dropped. In this neighborhood of big and fancy was just a simple white painted house. I guess Derrick’s mother ain’t so big about living large. In the end of my trip it turned out she weren’t at home so I returned back to busy New York.

In my office I flipped through the folders and photos in the crime scene. Some think was just not right. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I also noticed under the blood which stained his desk were papers under there. What were them papers? I asked myself. I needed to know.

Suddenly the door opened. It was Nancy. She wore a silky maroon dress with matching long gloves and she was puffing a cigarette. She came to my desk.

“Hello, Mr Stone,” She said. “Just came to say I’m leaving New York,”

“Why’s that?” I asked putting down the papers.

“Well with the death of Derrick I’ve decided I need to leave this town.”

“Where would you go?” I asked

“California,”

“California,” I echoed. “California a real rough place to get by I hear.”

“Really?” She said leaning towards me. “Why don’t you join me? With Derrick’s money we could go places further than California.” She lent right up to my face and whispered. “I leave at nine tonight.” She kissed me softly on my lips and left the office with out a single word. Suddenly it hit me. I rushed to the photos. I knew it! I looked at my watch. It was twenty past three. I grabbed my coat, hat, and pistol and rushed out my office. I had a few things I needed to do before I caught a plane.

It was a windy night as I stood on the runway with only a single lone plane. There by the empty two man plane Nancy stood with a raincoat like mine trying to keep out the wind. I strolled up to her with my hands in my coat pockets. She had a devilish smile on her ruby lips.

“Well, Mr Stone. I see you have accepted my offer.” She said.

“Not quite,” I replied drawing my pistol from my deep pockets.

Mark, what’s going on?” she asked shocked to the core.

“Don’t piss on my back and say its rain. I know what you done.”

“I don’t know what you mean?” she said looking puzzled. “What have I done?”

You now what you’ve done. You killed your husband!” I yelled. In a claming tone I asked for the gun.

She shook her head in denial. “I didn’t kill my husband,” She said beginning to sob uncontrollably.

“Don’t lie!” I shouted. “It all adds up; the claret, the ash tray, the cigarettes, the maroon shawl. I you’ve done it.”

“Why?” she sobbed with tears running rapidly down her soft cheeks.

“Because, you were over looked; I got another report from the police station. It found papers underneath all the blood on his desk. It said he was leaving every think to his son! You would get not a single penny!”

“But I loved my husband,”

“Really?” I asked. “Even, after he had left you alone to fight in the war and cheated with a French woman there? And, had a secret son from an old flame? And, even the fact after years of love and caring he was leaving the business to his long lost son and giving you nothing. Could you still love him after that?”
“You don’t have any proof I was there,”

“Do I?” I asked. “When I saw photos of the crime scene a lot things didn’t add up. There was a glass of claret on his desk; Derrick Redding wouldn’t have drunk that. He fought in the Great War; for all veterans’ a simple claret weren’t strong enough for him, he would have drank whiskey. The cigarettes, looking through some old medical records states Derrick was shot in the chest in the war. He could never smoke again. And finally the icing on the cake, a silk maroon shawl found on Derrick’s back. It was a gift from Derrick and,” I said reaching into my spare pocket and producing the shawl. Nancy glared at the silk shawl as it was forged in the fiery pits of hell itself. “If you look along the trim of the shawl it has sewed in “I will always love you, Derrick Redding,””

Now at this point Nancy face was soaked with tears and was crying uncontrollably. He tears made me feel pity on her. “You don’t understand.” She sobbed. “Do you know what’s it like having someone not return your love?”

“Save it!” I snapped. “Give me the gun,”

Nancy reached into her duffle bag and through the gun to me. It landed on the ground. She had now stopped crying. She was silent.

“I’m sorry,” she said starting to cry once again.

“I’m sorry,” I said feeling sympathy for her. “But you butchered your husband!”

“And he butchered my heart!” she screamed. “You don’t know how it’s like! Every day he challenged my love! He would forget my birthday and our anniversary! He left me alone to fight some war and cheats on me with some French whore! He had a secret son and cut my out of his will to give every think I would get and give it to some bastard he only know for a few days!”

For some reason I felt pity for her. She had wasted her life loving someone who never gave any back to her. All she wanted was a little love. Suddenly I dropped my gun onto the hard runway tarmac.

Nancy looked puzzled. “What are you doing?” she asked.  She had now stopped crying.

“I guess I do understand. So get out of here.” Nancy face lit up with joy. She leapt up and hugged me. “Where will you go?” I asked. “To California?”

Nancy let go of me and spun around facing the plane. “I don’t know,” she said sound happier. “Maybe I’ll go to California or I’ll just leave America all together. See the world a little. I’ll go to England, start my own hotel perhaps.”

“You got money?” I asked.

“I’ve got a few savings,” she smiled. “Yes it’s agreed. Come next year I’ll own the fanciest hotel of all of London. I could picture it now, velvet curtains, soft cotton sheets and the finest brandy England could offer”

“Brandy, huh. Sound like my kind of place,”

Nancy went silent. “Why don’t join me?” I fell silent. “I could use someone like you,”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry but all my life is in New York. If I leave I’ll be leaving a part of me. The idea of the finest brandy is tempting but I’ll afraid no. Besides I all ready got myself a good gin joint just a stone’s throw from my office. I’m sorry. ”

A smile came to her face. “I understand.” I handed her the Shawl and she stuffed it in her duffle bag.

I smiled and stuffed the silky shawl into my pocket. “I guess its goodbye.”

“I guess.” She said. Nancy made her way to plane. I followed her to the door. “Goodbye, Mr Stone. Next time you’re in England as for Louise Shawl, the owner of the fanciest hotel of England. Thank you Mr Stone. I guess you ad was right; you are the best there is” I blushed with embarrassment.

“Well, Miss Louise Shawl until the next time we meet Goodbye.”

She stepped into the plane and I closed the door. As she fired up the engine I slowly walked back from the plane. The engine grunted and spurted as the plane began twirling the propellers. I looked at her. I saw her in the plane. She blew me a kiss and began moving the plane.

She unrolled the wind and threw down her shawl wrapped in a bundle on to the runway. Quickly the plane built up speed and like a majestic eagle the plane took off and vanished into the night. As the plane took off it blew my hat clean off my head and it drifted far behind me.

I looked down at my feet and there was the shawl. I unwrapped it and three wands of greenbacks! I quickly counted them each, there was three thousand dollars! There was a note. “You keep it, as a little memento. See ya around Mr Stone, signed Louise Shawl,” I smiled; I’ve never seen so much money in my hands before so I guess in owe Louise. It was a small fortune. I stuffed the money and the shawl into my pocket and went to find my hat.

That night Nancy Redding had vanished off the face of the earth and Louise Shawl had just been born. I knew she would be okay. “She’s both a pretty face and a smart thinker.” I muttered to myself. “She’ll go far in the world,”

I found my hat. I lent down and picked it up. I turned around, I popped my hat on and began to walk away from the airport. As I walked away I could help but sighed. “Of all the women in New York why did I have to fall for her?”

The End