Dixon Night

Part of an idea for a detective-mystery story.

I paused as I entered the door into the Blue Moon, down on Fifth Street. The soft sounds of mellow jazz floated through the air, and I recognized the piece being played up on the small stage. It was one written by one of the Dorsey brothers, but I did not remember which one.

Carl, standing behind the bar, waved me over. Pointing to the upper balcony, he whispered," He's been asking for you, Dix, and he's also been drinking. You know how he gets. So, watch how you approach him and be careful."

"I will, and thanks for the heads up, Carl. I owe you one." I replied.

At the foot of the stairs leading up, I loosened the forty-five in my shoulder holster. Hoping I would have no need for it, but you never can tell. Especially when large amounts of booze are involved.

He saw me about the same time I saw him. He stared with a look of wonder on his face. Whether from not believing I had actually come or wishing I had not. He looked rough, like he had been sleeping in his clothes. They were dirty and sweat-stained. It had been a while since I last saw my brother.

"You look like crap, Gabe. What have you been doing to yourself? "

"Well, you know me," he slurred out his words.

"I thought I did. Maybe at one time, but now, I am not so sure anymore. What do you want? I can't give you any more money, and I wouldn't if I could. Looks like you'd just drink it up."

He looked at me across the top of the candlelight. "She's back in town," and he downed the shot in his glass.

"So what! You blew your chance, and she ripped out your heart. Get over it. Clean up and find yourself another dame." I snapped back.

His puppy dog eyes pleaded with me, "Can you find her for me?"

"No! Why should I?"

"I'm your brother for Christ's sake," he sobbed.

"Gabe. You gave the family up a long time ago. Go talk to Dad. But, clean up before you do. And try staying off the booze for a while. You smell like a brewery." I stood up and started to walk away. His hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.


"Don't you walk away from me," Gabe yelled. "Just who do you think you are?" he demanded, ignoring the looks from those around us.

Staring him back in his eyes, I growled," Someone better than you right now. And don't you ever lay a hand on me again, brother. Maybe we'll talk again when you're sober. " I walked away and did not look back, until I reached the door, and then it was only a glance. He stood there staring after me.

It had started to rain again. The misty, soaking kind that brings along fog. Another wonderful night in the city.

I tried hailing a cab, but none seemed to want to stop in this part of the city. I can't really blame them, though. This was not a nice neighborhood. Crime has been rampant for years.

So, I turned up the collar of my raincoat, tugged down my fedora, and started walking. It was a good three or four blocks until I reached a bus stop. There I could catch the Redline route or maybe a cabby taking a nap behind Pete's Bar.

I hoped Gabe would get his act together and forget all about her. She moved on with her life, and so should he. A sound off to my left drew my attention to a darkened alley. Breaking glass could mean anything, but the gunfire spelled something altogether different.

Something told me I was going to miss the last bus tonight on the Redline. I peeked into the alley, and the light was terrible. I could barely see well enough to distinguish shapes. I paused to allow my eyes to adjust. Shadows leaped out at me from all directions.

Cautiously, I started down it and heard running feet leading away from me. The stench from rotting garbage, mixed with urine, was overwhelming in this narrow space. Why did I have to be so darned curious?

Crunching glass under my feet announced I was in the right spot. Then I saw the outline lying on the ground. I didn't need to strike a match to realize it was a body. Someone was having a worse day than I was. The knife sticking out of the chest confirmed death. I could see when I leaned closer for a better look. I avoided the blood and went back out of the alley to the nearest phone and called the Police.

Sergeant Mick Macklin arrived first and gave me a questioning eye. "Well, Dix?"

"I was heading to the Redline and heard breaking glass and gunshots in the alley. Walked in and heard running feet, then found the body. I didn't touch a thing."

"How long ago was this?" he asked, writing everything down in a little notebook.

"Not more than fifteen minutes ago, Mick."

"Any idea who it is?"

"No. I didn't get a good look at the man. Not much light in there."

"I got a torch with me. Let's go take a look."

He pulled a flashlight out of his pocket and beamed it down the alley before us. We could see better, but it still wasn't the greatest. Maybe ten feet at the most. The shimmering broken glass winked at us out of the night.

Before us lay the body. It was a man, middle-aged. Salt and pepper hair, glasses, and a goatee. Dressed like an academic type. Whoever he was, he did not belong around here. He looked familiar to both of us, but we couldn't place him.

The knife was still there. Sticking out of the chest. A Bowie. And that was strange for this part of town. Guns usually settled the arguments. The blood was bright Red and had run down the side to pool under the body.

Neither one stepped close to disturb any evidence. We went up the alley cautiously, as the flashlight wasn't any good ten feet away, and we found where the suspect had stepped in the mud. Shining the flashlight around us, we noticed the trash can. We were about fifty feet from the body and could not see it from this distance. We took a bucket out of the trash and covered up the footprint to save it from the rain.

At the entrance of the alley, flashlights appeared, and the flashing lights from arriving cop cars and the ambulance illuminated the area more. Making things easier to see. Still, we were too far away for them to notice us down here. Even with Mick's flashlight. Soon, the reporters started showing up, yelling out their questions, and it was time to leave. Mick knew where and how to get hold of me. Being on the cover of tomorrow's crime beat paper was not something to look forward to. So, I ducked back down the alley and out the back way.

I had never gotten along with cops since being kicked off the force five years ago. Thank God, Mick was one of the few I could still call a friend, and we helped each other out from time to time. He turned and went back down the alley. The Captain no doubt would want to hear his findings, being first on the scene and not read them in the paper tomorrow morning.

Captain Connor O'Malley was not known for his sense of humor, and tonight his mood is foul as hell. He had been woken up in the bed of his mistress when he had told his wife he had the overnight shift. "What's the scoop, Macklin? "

Someone called in gunshots down the alley, and when I arrived on the scene, I found the victim with a Bowie knife in his chest. Nothing's been touched so far. I have the photographer on his way to take pics."

"A Bowie, you say? I could see that if we were out West, maybe fifty years ago. But not here in this time and age. Any witnesses?"

"No, Sir. A phone call and then the body. Not much to go on. Not even any Homeless drunks around on a night like this. The same ones, anyway, are down at the Mission warm and dry."

"Maybe you should check that Jazz Club nearby. Maybe one of their patrons saw something. I know it is a long shot, but ask anyway." Pulling his raincoat collar up around his neck, he turned to walk back down toward the police cars and ambulance waiting there. He ignored the reporters whom he thought of as nothing but leeches.

Two blocks away, Dix stepped through the door of an all-night Cafe. Sitting at the counter, he ordered coffee, Black and strong. He needed his wits about him tonight. He tried to place the face of the dead man, and he could not quite remember where he'd seen him before. Dix knew if given the time, it would come to him, and usually at not the right time. But most importantly, he wondered about his Brother. Man, there was one messed-up kid, for he would always think of him as such.

Recalling their conversation, he said out loud, "Hell no!" The waitress behind the counter walked over and asked, " You okay, Dix? Been a while since you've been in here." She smiled that, wanting to be more than an acquaintance's smile.

"It's Gabe." That was all he said.

"What now?"

"Same shit, different day. Wish he'd get over that tramp and move on. He wants me to track her down for him."

"And there is no way in Hell you are going to do that, brother or not. Am I right?"

'Yes, Delores. Fill me up again." She got the pot and brought it over to the counter. "Can I get you anything to eat? You are looking a little thin even for you."

"Thanks. Whatever you have will be fine." He said, taking a sip and turning as the door opened, letting in a couple who obviously were on their first date. She was shy and plain-looking. He was gawky, and his nose was too big for his face. The overbite did not help matters much either.

Ten minutes later, Delores set down a large plate full of food. Eggs, Hash Browns, Flapjacks, and Toast. "On the house she stated, turning to walk back into the Kitchen, where she stared at him through the window opening. How she wished he were her man, but she was not his type, nor had she ever been in the past. She dreamed on.

As he finished, two beat cops strolled in and took a corner booth. Dix knew them both. He nodded as he left the Cafe. Neither returned the nod, which was okay with him, as they had not gotten along when he was on the force. He paused as the rain seemed to have let up a bit. Still, the air was chilly, and he imagined there would be fog along the river. A good thing he didn't need to go that way. He went West for four blocks to the Red brick office, which he also called home nowadays.

Walking up the three flights of steps, he had to step over a couple of drunks sleeping it off. One he knew well. Gabe had found his way here, and as he stood looking down at him, he wondered if he should just let him sleep there or pick his sorry ass up and carry him the rest of the way. Grabbing him under the arms, he dragged him down the hallway until he got to his door. Unlocking it, he dragged him inside to deposit him not too gently on the couch. Throwing a blanket over him, Dix went on into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. A quick wash up and he tumbled into bed. His alarm clock read four thirty.

The telephone woke him at 9 am. It was Mick. " Dix. Do you know where Gabe is? It's important."

"What's going on, Mick?" I asked as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

"Is Gabe there?" He asked again urgently this time.

"Yeah. I found him passed out on the steps just below my place this morning at four thirty. He's snoring away on my couch. Tell me what gives, Mick."

"We need to question him about that stabbing last night. He was seen arguing with the victim earlier. There are witnesses from the bar. Carl said you two had words as well. He called you about Gabe wanting to chat with you."

"Yeah, we did have a few words in the Blue Mule. He was drunk, and I did not want to put up with him. Come over. I'll put coffee on and unlock the door." I hung up. What the hell have you gotten yourself into now, Gabe I wondered as I got dressed.

Twenty minutes later, Sergeant Mick Macklin opened the door, still wearing the clothes he had on yesterday. He did not look ike he was in a good mood. Gabe still snored away on the couch. Mick stood before him and then kicked the side of the couch to wake him up. "Get your ass up, Boy. We need to talk." He reached down to shake Gabe awake.

Startled, Gabe looked up at him, and it took a moment for him to recognise Mick. "The police. Nice job, Dix. Should have left me in the hall."

"Shut your face and sit up. I'll get you some coffee." He walked out of the kitchen carrying two mugs. He handed them to each of them, then got himself one and sat down in his reading chair near the couch. Nodding to Mick, he waited.

Staring at Gabe unnerved him somewhat, which was what Mick wanted. A standard operating practice. "Last night in the Blue Moon, before you had words with Dix, you argued with a man. An academic type. Do you remember that?"

"Vagely. Why?" He gulped coffee, his throat and mouth all of a sudden dry as a Desert. He burnt his lips and mouth, cursing out.

"That man later showed up in an alley not two blocks from the bar with a Bowie knife in his chest and two bullet holes in his legs. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Gabe said nothing. He stared at Mick in disbelief that he actually thought he could have done something like that. He hated guns and didn't own one. "So, I argued with someone in a bar. Happens all the time." Then he looked over at Dix, who sat there as if not a care in the world.

"Should he be worried, Mick?" asked Dix finally.

"Damned straight he should be. Seems he might have been the last one to see the man alive. No one saw him leave after the argument. Gabe, I am going to have to ask you to come along with me downtown. You'll be staying in the Police Hotel for a time. " He stood, setting down the coffee mug. "Promise no problems, and I will not use the cuffs."

Gabe stood on wobbly legs. He looked over at his Big brother, scared as hell. "Help me, please! " He pleaded, sniffing as the tears rolled down his face.

As soon as they left, Dix was on the phone calling in favors from whomever he could recall owed him one. Two hours later, he made the call he had been dreading. He called Dad.

"Hello, Dad. It's me, Dixon. Yes, I have been busy. How are you and Mom doing? Sorry for not calling more often. "

"Have you heard from your brother lately?" Their dad wondered.

"Yes, I have heard from Gabe. As a matter of fact, he is the reason I am calling. He's in trouble, and it's bad."

"What now, Son?" His Father stammered out.

"Last night at the Blue Moon, he argued with a man who turned up later in an alley two blocks away, dead."

"Was he drunk?" His Father asked and then hissed to his wife to be quiet so he could hear what Dixon had to say.

"Of course he was. Over you know who. Wish to God she had never come back to this city. But, Gabe is going to need a good Lawyer if he is charged. Do you still play cards with the Judge?"

"Yes. I will talk to him later this afternoon as he has court this morning. Can you help him somehow?"

"Already working on it, Dad. Will let you and Mom know when i know anything. Tell her not to worry too much."

"Like that is going to happen." His Father replied before he hung up.