Goose City Read online

"We received the call at 9:30," said the uniformed officer. "The caller was a distraught female."

  "Where did it originate?" I asked, swatting at biting flies.

  “It was a Babylon number,” said the uniform as he flipped through his notepad once more.

  “An obvious ploy to throw us off the trail,” I said. “No one from Babylon would call the police to report a murder.”

  People in Pippen Hill and Babylon had a street code of not snitching.

  "Did your men sweep the Well?" I asked.

  "No sir," responded the uniformed officer.

  "Get some men to sweep the Well," I said. "Send forensics and the coroner's team down."

  The uniformed officer made the call, ordering his men to sweep the Well. I went back up the hill, leaving Dick and the uniformed officer with the victim.

  Once at the top of the hill I got out of my Hazmat suit. I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. I watched as the forensic team took the footpath to the bottom of the hill. Then I turned my eyes to a slow moving ship on Mulberry Lake.

  “Detective,” said a voice behind me. I exhaled smoke and turned to see a female uniformed officer. “We found someone in the Well.”

  I followed the female officer inside the Well. The place smelled of urine, alcohol, and sex and used Mist. Graffiti covered the walls while used condoms, broken beer bottles, and empty Mist vials covered the floor.

  Standing near a broken down crap table were two more uniformed officers and a man I knew very well, Simple Simon, a homeless eccentric who mostly keep to himself. He had the habit of referring to himself in the third person and appearing around my crime scenes. He even helped me solve a few cases, most notably the ‘Three Little Pigs’ case. He always looked the same, unkempt gray hair and a thin face with grey stubble and wore the same clothing, a raggedy gray pinstripe suit with worn over black shoes.

  Reaching into my jacket pocket, I removed a pack of Black Hen and offered one to the Simon. He quickly took one and I lit it for him. His hand trembled as he brought the cigarette to his cracked lips.

  “What are you doing here Simon?” I asked as I placed the pack of Black Hen back into my jacket pocket.

  “Simon house this is,” said Simple Simon “In here they had no biz.”

  “Who are you talking about Simon?” I asked.

  “Simon saw the act they did commit,” he said as his eyes fluttered. “With the rock, his head he did hit.”

  “Who are they?” I asked. “On his head was a black hat,” replied Simon, he hand shaking as he brought the cigarette to his lips. “On her shirt was Young Rats.”

  Dick finally joined us and said, "Simple Simon."

  “Hello Dick in the mud,” said Simon as he exhaled smoke in Dick’s direction.

  “What did they look like?” I asked.

  “Pale, very pale. Short is the girl and boy like a rail,” responded Simon as he grasped at something in the air.

  Looking at the two uniforms, I said, “Let him go. Simon smiled at me and rolled his eyes at Dick before moseying up a broken escalator. Simon stopped at the top of the escalator and said, “On his arm was a snake, but she is a fake.”

  “Did you understand any of that nonsense?” Dick asked as he scratched head.

  “Yeah,” I smiled. “We just need to find a short, pale girl and a thin, boy wearing a black hat with a tattoo of a snake on his arm.”

  Chapter 3

  After finishing up at the Well, Dick and I sat in our favorite greasy spoon, the Flying Pig gulping down chili dogs, fries, and cola. The usual lunch crowd of blue-collar workers was present. The Pig sat along the imaginary line established by the Unicorns and Lions that divided Pippen Hill into north and south sections. One of my life's missions was to erase that line right along with the Unicorns and Lions.

  Gazing out the window at the busy street, I saw a lot of good, hardworking, honest people trying their best to stay out of the sewer. Walking among the good people were the crabs trying to pull them into the sewer every chance they got. Many families lived on social benefits and most of the kids failed to graduate from high school. Those that didn't graduate usually joined one of the gangs or became a prostitute.

  I grew up in Pippen Hill. If you made it past the age of eighteen in Pippen Hill, it was a life's milestone. I was one of the lucky ones thanks to Mother Hubbard who still lives there. She always talked about the good old days when Pippen Hill or the 'Hill' was the most vibrant part of Goose City before the Lions and Unicorns turned it into a cesspool. I’ve tried getting Mother Hubbard to move, but she refuses with the hope of the glory days of Pippen Hill returning.

  “I can't believe fuckin' Henry Emperor," said Dick with a smile. “Next time put some clothes on before an interview.”

  “It’s what happens when you get greedy,” I responded.

  "Thanks for giving me the case," said Dick sarcastically. “Hopefully I can get it wrapped up quickly and not have to deal with him anymore.”

  “I agree," I said before shoving fries into my mouth. "What do you think about pretty Lucy Locket?”

  “What about her?” Dick asked, looking at me sideways.

  “You know what the fuck I mean man,” I said. “Is she doable?”

  “Of course, she's doable,” Dick responded with a smile.

  “I didn’t know you were into brown sugar,” I said with a smile.

  “The dick doesn’t see color,” said Dick. We both laughed.

  “Can I get you, guys, anything else?” asked Molly, everyone's favorite waitress at the Pig. “Coffee or pie.”

  “Nothing for me,” I said as my attention went back out the window.

  “I’ll have a piece of cherry pie,” said Dick. “I’ll be right back,” said Molly.

  “What are you looking at?” Dick asked.

  “That girl sitting at the bus stop has ‘Young Rats’ on her shirt,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  I quickly made my way across the street to the girl sitting at the bus stop. She was slightly overweight with black hair, pale skin and a bunch of piercings. She didn't fit the description of the girl described by Simon. Just from the look in her dark eyes, she was most likely high on Mist.

  “Excuse me, where did you get that t-shirt?” I asked.

  Looking up at me with dead black eyes, she said, “The Crooked Sixpence grandpa.”

  Grandpa!? To these kids, anybody over twenty-five is considered to be old. I didn't have time to get into a heated discussion with her, smiling I asked, “Who are the ‘Young Rats’”?

  “Where have you been? Livin’ in a cave? They’re the hottest band in G-Town,” said the pale girl.

  Thanking her, I made my way back across the street to the Pig. I tapped on the window just as Molly placed a slice of cherry pie with whip cream in front of Dick. "You don't have time for pie; pay the lady and let's go!"

  After paying for lunch, Dick joined me at my car. "What the hell is so important that I had to leave my pie?"

  "The Young Rats my friend," I said. "Let's go to the Crooked Sixpence."

  Chapter 4

  Eight blocks from the ‘Pig’ in the northern section of Pippen Hill stood the bar and hall the Crooked Sixpence. I've never been to the place because it didn't host my type of musicians. I preferred the smooth and soulful sounds of the Kilkenny Cats or Ol' King Cole or the jazzy sounds of King Boggen.

  Sitting on the corner of First Avenue and Eighth Street, the black two story building occupied half the block. On the exterior walls were painted white stars with the name of past performances. Over the front entrance was a large marquee sign. A person wearing a baseball cap, a pink t-shirt, and ripped jeans was on a ladder adding a coming attraction to the marquee. We patiently waited for them to finish.

  “Little Kittens plus Burnie Bee and Dapple Gray, Sept 4-5, 9 PM,” read Dick. “Sound like fun. I’m there in the front row. ”

  The person finally climbed down the ladder. It was a female with burnt orange hair, lip and nose piercings
, tattoos, and a lot of dark eyeliner. Across the front of her pink T-shirt were the words Little Kittens. “The box office isn’t open yet,” said the female as she studied us.

  “Oh, we’re not here for tickets,” I said.

  "Then you must be the police," retorted the female.

  "You are correct," I said as I extended my hand. "This is my partner Detective Whittington; I'm Detective Horner. Perhaps you could help us out."

  “I'm Dusty," said the female as she looked at my extended hand. "Helping you depends on what you need help with Detective Horner. I’m no snitch.”

  “We're not asking you to snitch on anyone,” said Dick quickly as he stepped toward Dusty. Surprisingly, she didn't flinch.

  Intervening, I said, “Everyone relax, we just want to ask a few questions about a band that plays here.”

  “Which one? We got a couple of regular bands that play here,” said Dusty as she continued staring at Dick.

  “What can you tell us about the Young Rats?” I asked.

  “They’re a good band. Ev’rybody like ‘em. They always sell out,” said Dusty, turning her attention to me.

  “What are the band member's name?” I asked as I pulled out a pen and notepad.

  “What’s all of this about?” asked Dusty.

  “I want their autograph," said Dick sarcastically. "It’s a police matter, just answer the question.”

  Looking at Dick, Dusty said, “Like I said earlier, I’m no snitch.” Turning, she walked away and muttered something under her breathe.

  "We can take you down for obstruction of justice," shouted Dick. Dusty shot us the bird before going inside. I grabbed Dick by the arm to stop him from going after her.

  “Let her go," I said. "We can search the internet.”

  "Twenty dollars, she'll tell 'em we were asking about 'em," said Dick as we walked back to the car.

  We cruised down Eight Street back to GCPD headquarters when we got another call. “All available units report to 36th and Thomas in Pippen Hill.”

  Turning on the sirens and flipping on the lights, I pushed my ’69 Coachman north. "I wouldn't want to live anywhere else,” I said.

  Chapter 5

  Wesley MacDonald of Old MacDonald’s Organic Farm walked through a hydroponic greenhouse, inspecting the crops and the work. He personally greeted each worker.

  At the age of thirty, he took over the family’s failing farm and quickly turned it around by venturing into organic crops, antibiotic and range free chicken, pork, and beef and mercury free fish. His ingenuity earned him the businessman of the year five times.

  Most of the workers at the organic farm, from Babylon and Pippen Hill, worked there as part of their court ordered community service. Only a few were from Banbury Cross or St. Ives, all at the recommendation of their parents. The farm supplied room and board to the offenders to ensure they completed their community service. The farm also offered an education program for those that wanted to graduate from high school and beyond. Some offenders remained as full-time employees after the completion of their community service.

  Wesley MacDonald believed that hard work was the key to keeping kids out of trouble so they could positively contribute to society.

  He stopped at a section where a young red hair girl tested the nutrient level in a trough. “How’s everything, Jill?”

  The short red hair girl turned and smiled. “Everything is fine, but the water flow for the lettuce seem to be a little slow.”

  Wesley nodded. “Just place a work order to have the pipes inspected. However, when I asked how everything is, I was referring to you. ”

  Jill Dobb was sent to the farm by her parents hoping to keep her from further shaming the family’s name. They told their friends she was away at a French boarding school. At the age of thirteen, she rebelled against her parents at every opportunity. She twice ran away from home at the age of fifteen. At sixteen, Jill exchanged sex for drugs. On her seventeenth birthday, she dropped out of high school.

  Her parents, Sir Winston and Dame Elizabeth Dobbs, gave her no options. Three years had passed since she came to the farm. At the age of twenty-one, she decided to accept a full-time position as a hydro house manager.

  “I’m okay,” said Jill while checking and logging the nutrient levels.

  “Indeed, you are,” said Wesley with a smile. “You are doing an exceptional job managing this hydro house”

  “Thanks,” replied Jill as she continued recording the nutrient levels.

  “I notice that you signed out at 9 PM on Thursday, but never signed back in,” said Wesley. “Is there anything going on I should know about?”

  “No," said Jill as she looked away. "I went to the Sixpence. Afterwards, I came in and went to bed. I guess I forgot to sign back in."

  “We can’t let that happen again. I made your parents a promise that I would keep you out of trouble and…,” started Wesley.

  “…so they can keep donating money to help you keep this farm running,” shot back Jill.

  Wesley laughed and said, “I don't need your parent's money sweetie. However, if I...."

  Jill knew the rest of the sentence then said, “It won’t happen again.” Wesley patted her on the back and walked away.

  Once outside the greenhouse, he reached into his pocket and removed his cell phone. He dialed a number and waited for someone on the other end. “Inform your boss a shipment is ready for pick-up and the price is doubled because of your men’s little screw-up. Be at the South entrance at eleven.”

  He pocketed the phone and continued making his rounds.

  Chapter 6

  By the time, we arrived at the scene in north Pippen Hill it was littered with news reporters as expected. The media vultures were circling to show the world the bad side of Goose City again. Margery Daw, a short and feisty blonde, led the kettle.

  We tried our best to avoid her, but she had the eyes of an eagle. She was on top of us quicker than a cheetah on a gazelle. “Detective Horner! Detective Horner! What can you tell me about the case? ”

  “I just got here Margery. I’m sure you know more than me,” I said as I pushed her microphone out of my face.

  “Is the victim a prostitute? Could we have a serial killer in our midst?" shouted Margery? She hounded us with questions until we were safely on the other side of the police tape.

  “Let me guess,” said Dick as he looked at the media vultures, "murder in Pippen Hill equals media.”

  A uniformed officer greeted us and led us to the crime scene in an empty lot between two dilapidated row houses.

  Bobby "Bookworm" Snooks, Jenny Wren, and a few other uniformed officers were at the scene. Bookworm wore latex gloves as looked at the body.

  On a wooden cross was a Caucasian nude female with a tiara on her head. She had a single puncture wound in her left side and both her eyes were missing. The odd thing was that her body didn’t have one drop of blood on it. There wasn’t any pooling of blood around the body.

  “Bookworm and Jenny, nice to see you guys doing some work,” said Dick with a huge grin.

  “I was bored and decided to tag along,” said Jenny as she adjusted her shades. “This one is all Bookworm.”

  Jenny and I joined the police academy at the same time. She graduated at the top of the class. I always thought she would make the jump to the administrative side instead of being a detective. She said by being a detective she could take the bad guys off the streets.

  “Ain't no place like the Hill,” I said as I lit a cigarette. "Where's forensics?"

  “You're looking at forensics,” said Bookworm, as he carefully searched the grounds around the victim. He embodied his nickname. Everything he did was by the book. The only other thing he loved more than his job were reading books. The guy could recite every page of the detective's manual.

  “What kind of sick fuck are we dealing with here?” asked Dick as he looked at the victim.

  "The kind of sick fuck that is angry at the world," said Jenny. “Wh
y cut her eyes out?”

  “She was looking at the murderer as he killed her,” said Bookworm as he continued to search around the body for evidence. “Maybe the killer took them as some kind of sick trophy.

  "Shouldn’t there be blood on or around the body?" asked Jenny.

  “There should me,” responded Bookworm. “Maybe the sick fuck drained her.”

  “Any idea who she is?” asked Jenny.

  Taking a closer look at the victim on the cross, I said, “Lavender Blue, a woman of the oldest profession. Works for a pimp named Robin Redbreast.”

  I knew Lavender Blue from busting her a few times for operating outside of the red light district. Pippen Hill was the only place in Goose City where prostitution was legal. Most of the girls who were prostitutes changed their given name to reflect something personal.

  “I will assume that’s not her given Christian name,” said Bookworm. “Do you think he could have done this?”

  “No,” I said, “They’re his money makers. If she isn’t working then he’s not getting paid. She usually hangs with a girl named Rosemary Green”. Jenny quickly scribbled Rosemary's name on her pad.