5

Awfully sorry that this has taken so long. I've been on vacation and watched a lot of television. I think that watching television might actually sap creativity. At any rate, here is the newest installment. Questions and comments are more than welcome.
Someone asked me how long this was going to be, and so I'll say that this is not going to be a book. But probably a short story. Maybe, if this first one doesn't suck out loud, more than one will be written.
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I dropped Marion off at her apartment building and watched her sprint the three yards from the curb head up the short flight of stone steps to her building’s door. Inside, she waved at me and I pulled back into traffic and headed to my own apartment. Fargo rumbled down the drenched and flooding streets with ease, leaving a couple of waterlogged drivers - in new cars, I might add - on the sides of the road, literally in her wake. I took a moment and smiled in appreciation of my trusty steel steed. A couple of years ago, I worked a case for a little, twitchy fellow who wanted me to catch his wife running around like he suspected. I caught her alright, with his brother, the mailman, and... well, sufficed to say, she was definitely not staying true to her vows - unless her vows included rampant infidelity, in which case the husband really had no business hiring me in the first place. He took everything they owned, set fire to it on the front lawn and then the house, and told her he was divorcing her. As payment - the crazy bastard burned all of their cash, too - he gave me what he called, “the one thing that’s been faithful,” in his life; Fargo. I almost told him to keep it, since the thing looked about ready to die, but he insisted and so I took it. I was on my way to sell it to the scrapyard the next day, but a cold snap had swept through town and it was there to stay. I got into Fargo and she started up without a hesitation. She continued to do so all week long. Nothing else was starting, just Fargo and I. That’s when I named her Fargo - after the North Dakota city I got stuck in once in the middle of an ungodly cold streak. I thought it was about time to redeem my feelings about the name. Ever since, Fargo’s never been stuck in the snow, never failed to start in bad weather, never stalled, nor ever needed any real repairs; which is good, since I can barely afford a shave, these days.

I navigated the near-canals back to my apartment building and pulled a U-turn to park along the curb. With a resigned sigh, I opened the door and back into the monsoon, trying to make it across the street without being swept away. I swear I saw a couple of Rainbow Trout swim by, likely heading for the Pacific to see the sights. Drenched again, I muttered under my breath and fumbled with my keys before heading into my building. Up the rickety stairs quietly lest I give away my presence to my landlady - I still owed rent from last month, and she was starting to give me the Evil Eye and make all sorts of wicked-looking gestures at my back - and into my apartment, I breathed a sigh of relief. Made it through another day without getting shot at, evicted, or stabbed by a woman you’ve looked at the wrong way, Ben. Good work, I thought. I tossed my coat onto the coatrack, hung my wet hat on the hook, tossed my keys and my wallet onto my small table and headed over to see about a drink. No food, of course, but a bottle of scotch should get me through. I loosened my tie and undid the top button on my shirt as I picked up the bottle with just a little of my drink remaining. Shaking my head slowly, I made a mental note to spend some of the money Agnes was paying me on more scotch. Oh, and maybe some apples. Bottle in hand, I moved over to my favourite chair - it’s only one of two in the whole place - and sat down. Damp weather is no friend to my bum knee, so it was nice to just relax, bottle resting on my thigh.

I almost fell asleep, I guess, because the ringing phone caused me to jump, which caused my bottle to fall to the hard floor, and the impact caused it to shatter with that sound that only breaking glass - and the breaking of my heart at the waste of good scotch - makes. I snatched up the receiver angrily and said, “What? What do you want?” So much for people skills.

“Benjamin? That you?” The voice said. I knew that voice all too well. Inspector Leon Johnston, Milwaukee Police Department.

“Yeah, yeah. What is it, Inspector? You’re calling awfully late to check on my well-being, though I appreciate your care.”

“Can it, Benjamin. This isn’t a social call. This is just a call to let you know that you’ve stepped in it deep, this time. Don’t go doing anything stupid like leaving your apartment, we’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

“So you bothered the operator and made me spill my scotch just to gloat? Come, come, Inspector. That’s not very neighbourly of you. Surely you’ll at least do the right thing and offer to buy me a new bottle to replace the one that you caused to be taken from me.” It was worth a shot. I figured the odds were better that he would show up in a ballerina’s tutu with a bear on a chain in tow, but something had to go right this evening.

He laughed. Of course he would laugh. The man couldn’t appreciate good scotch to save his badge. “You’re dreaming, Benjamin. Not only do I think you’re just looking for free hootch, I don’t tend to buy drinks for murderers.”

That focussed my thoughts in a hurry. Things suddenly got real serious, real fast. “Now wait just a minute there, Inspector. You’ve got some crazy idea. I think all the rain has gotten into your head and shorted out your brain.”

Inspector Johnston was serious as well. I could just picture his brow furrowed and his beady black eyes looking hard at the wall as he spoke to me. “You just save your wisecracks, Benjamin. I’ll be there in 20 minutes and we can sort it out in person. You just make sure you don’t go and do something stupid, like... leave town.”

“Oh don’t worry, Inspector. I’ll be here,” I said, just after he hung up on me.

I sat down in my chair, once more, but this time there was no thought of sleeping or drinking. Murder, he said. Sure, there have been people I wouldn’t miss if they got whacked or met with an unfortunate accident, but to actually go out and do the deed myself? That’s not my style. I shook my head a couple of times and then waved my hand in the air as though dismissing the whole incident as if it was a fly buzzing around my head. No, this was just another incident that ol’ Leon was going to try to pin on yours truly because I was the most convenient person for him. Still, this was a puzzle that was going to take some figuring.

The buzzer from downstairs dragged me kicking and screaming from my figuring and I headed down the stairs to open the door and admit Milwaukee’s Finest. Well, one of Milwaukee’s Finest, and Inspector Johnston. “Gentlemen,” I said with something resembling a smile, “give me a moment and I’ll grab my coat and hat. I assume that I’m going with you? I don’t have any thumbtacks or rubber hoses in my apartment, and I know how you have ways of making people talk.” The officer barked a very short laugh, but Inspector Johnston was wearing his usual mask of poor humour.

“Make it fast, Benjamin. I don’t have all night,” he ordered, and then gestured with a tilt of his head for the officer to accompany me back up to my place. We headed back up the stairs - I walking softly and the officer having no concern for getting the attention of my landlady and walking with heavy steps. She must have decided to drink herself into dreamland again because she didn’t stick her head out to shout at me. I hoped that wasn’t my one thing that was going to go my way, because it was a lot like winning ten cents in the lottery.

Inside my place, I set about gathering up my things. “What’s the Inspector’s beef, officer? Or has his normally abusive mood soured even further?”

The uniform smiled a little and replied, “Well, no one likes this rain. And no one likes working in this rain.”

“Tell me about it,” I replied in something just louder than a mutter. “I don’t suppose he’ll let me wait until my coat dries out? Can you think of something worse than putting on a wet coat?”

“Putting on wet underwear, for one. And no, I don’t think the Inspector is going to be willing to wait. Hell, I’m surprised he hasn’t -“

”What in the back room of hell is going on up there? Schultz, you get him down here on the double, I don’t care if he’s coatless and you drag him by the scruff of his worthless neck!” came the bellow from below.

I rolled my eyes and said to Office Schultz, “You were saying?” I picked up my hat and set it on my head. I stepped outside and headed down the stairs, saying with a wry smile to Inspector Johnston, “There we are; presentable as I’ll get. No need to be in such a rush, Inspector.”

“Yeah, you look real pretty. Wouldn’t be surprised if you’re the belle of the ball down at the death house. Which is where you’re going if I’m right,” the Inspector spat.

“Have some faith, Inspector. You’re almost never right,” I replied as we headed out into the rain once more. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to his car, opened the back door, and all but threw me inside. Officer Schultz sat down in the driver’s seat and, once the Inspector was all settled, turned the key. The car made all manner of sounds that indicated potential, but, like most of my romantic life, never got beyond that.

“Is there a problem, Inspector,” I asked, far too politely.

“Shut up, Benjamin. Schultz, what’s the problem now?”

“I think there’s too much water, Inspector. It won’t start,” Schultz said helplessly.

“Move over,” the Inspector ordered, and all but pushed the officer out into the rain to stand on the curb with the door open. Inspector Johnston tried to get the car started, but he had just as much success with that as I’m sure he has with women.

“Inspector,” I began from my place in the back seat, “I am no mechanic, but I think it won’t be starting any time soon. If you want to call for another car, we can use my phone. Or, we can use my car. I don’t mind.”

“Sir, I think that either of those would be a good idea,” piped in Schultz, who was now taking on a drowned rat appearance.

I could tell Inspector Johnson was not enamoured with either of those options, and I could also tell, even from my back seat view, that he was steaming behind his furrowed brow as he stared holes through the rain. “Fine,” he said, “we’ll take your car, Benjamin. But you’ll ride with me in the back. I don’t want you to get any funny ideas about bailing out.”

So, we sledged our way through the water to Fargo and piled in. The car smelled of wet hair and clothes and the windows began to fog almost immediately. Officer Schultz started Fargo without hesitation and soon we were off, heading through the night to the police station.

“Wipe the smile off your face, Benjamin,” Inspector Johnston ordered.

“Was I smiling, Inspector?” I responded. “I didn’t realise. Must be the irony of being taken in for questioning in my own car because the shiny new police cruiser wouldn’t start. I’ll stop smiling.”

Officer Schultz didn’t, though, all the way to the station.