James Dona is a writer of Mystery, Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Memoirs, and Southern Lit.
The scandal really started while the good people of Carters Crossroads were listening to a rousing sermon by Parson Cagel. His subject was the fall of Jerico. He stomped back and forth across the stage, illustrating the army of people following Joshua around the walls, when, just as he reached the part where the horns blew, The little crossroads church shuddered as though to illustrate the walls falling down.
The parson didn't seem to notice, as he continued his rousing sermon. But a few whispers started in the back rows and worked there way to the front of the Church.
"That felt like an earthquake."
"We never have earthquakes in North Alabama."
"But that felt like one."
"Couldn't happen here."
After the sermon, people gathered on the lawn and continued their discussion... not of the sermon, but of the earthquake.
"Jason Roof says that surely was an earthquake, and he should know, after spending all those years in California where they have such things."
"Jason Roof? Hah! He sure is uppity after going to college out there on the Left Coast."
"Still, he should know what an earthquake feels like."
Just then a teenager came running up to the crowd. "Come see what happened to Widow Squires' house! That old brick house down the next block? Her front wall just went and fell out into her yard. The inside of her whole house just looks naked!"
The crowd started down the street to see for themselves. As soon as the house was in sight, some of them started to run. While they stood there looking into the house, Miz Squires hobbled up on her cane. She didn't admit to being almost blind, but she stopped in surprise at all the people standing around in front of her house.
"Well, as long as all you folks are here, y'all might as well come in and I'll fix up a pitcher of lemonade. Sorry I don't have any sweet tea made."
Deacon Smith took Miz Squires by the hand and led her around to the side door. "Miz Squires, it looks like there has been a little damage to your house, so we better go in through the kitchen." He opened the always unlocked door and led her into the house, followed by some of the ladies.
Miz Squires busied herself mixing a big pitcher of lemonade, and one of the ladies took a collection of glasses and pint jars down from the cupboard. The deacon explained to Miz Squires that her house was damaged by the earthquake they had felt at church, and made her promise she wouldn't go out on the front porch until it could be repaired. After everyone went home, the widow started to go out on the front porch to sit in her rocking chair, but her way was blocked by the debris from the fallen wall, so she went out in the back yard and sat on her garden bench.
Later that evening, a couple from the church walked by just as Miz Squires came out of the bathroom in her nightgown and climbed into bed. Her nightgown was on the verge of disappearing into the lint filter the next time she washed it down at the Laundromat, and the couple thought she was naked. Soon word got around, and there was a lot of traffic past the widow Squires' house that week.
On the next Sunday, Parson Cagle looked out at the congregation as he was walking to the podium, and almost fell over it. There was the plumber in his work clothes, the banker in a new brown pair of coveralls over his white shirt and tie, and several more men in the congregation wearing bib overalls that some of them hadn't worn in years. He quickly changed his sermon that morning to one he had used before, on the rebuilding of the wall around Jerusalem.
He smiled with approval as some of the men began to slip out the door, and continued his sermon until one of the ladies interrupted to say that there would be a covered dish lunch on the grounds. She apologized for not getting the word out to all the ladies, but said she hoped everyone would stay for lunch.
When she finally got home, Miz Squires didn't even notice that a temporary wall had been built across the front of her house. She went in the kitchen door, and still used that door for weeks after the new brick wall was finished and the porch rebuilt.
Then one day she forgot, and went out on the front porch to sit in the new rocker she found there. When the word got around town that Miz Squires was sitting out on her front porch, there was a steady stream of folks walking by on the sidewalk. They waved and called to her as they passed, but all declined to "come up and set a spell."
In 1956 I was working as chief electrician on the Grace Lines steamship, SS Santa Juana. We stopped at the little Nicaraguan port called "San Juan del Sur". The small town sat right on the beach, with high cliffs behind it, so it couldn't expand beyond its single street. There was only a small pier for the launches, so the Santa Juana anchored in the little bay. The bay was so small I could see the whole harbor from the ship.
I could see a beautiful white sand beach around the bay and beyond the little town, with someone swimming there. The white sand of the beach and the blue of the water, disturbed in places by large boulders on shore and in the water, made a beautiful picture. The rocks, their shadows, the sloping depth of the beach, the clear blue sky above, all worked together to paint a varying canvas of blue and white that no artist could create.
Some of the crew who were off watch went ashore on the launch, then walked through town to the beach. It was close enough that I could recognize the crewmen from the ship. After I got off work I went ashore with one of the watch engineers and one of the sailors.
We went around to the beach, left our clothes on a large rock at the water's edge, and went in swimming. The other men in the crew, who had been there for a while, soon left to find a cervesa in town. That left only the three late-comers, who were enjoying the refreshing warm waters. Suddenly, I heard the engineer yell out, and I looked back at the beach just in time to see a man running away with our clothes. The man quickly disappeared into the brush along the shore. We rushed back to the beach, to discover our shoes still there, probably because the man ran away when he heard the engineer's yell.
We put on our shoes and looked around for the thief for a few minutes. But there were too many places for concealment, and too many paths to follow through the brush along the shore. I didn't think it was so bad losing my clothes, as I had only five dollars in my wallet, but there were many papers that would have to be replaced, especially my seaman's document and driver's license.
The engineer cautioned that there might be bandits waiting in the brush with machetes. We gave up the chase and started walking back through town to where the launch docked. It was Saturday, so the streets were full of campesinos who had come into town for their weekly shopping and amusements. The many bystanders stopped to look, and to laugh openly at the plight of these "Gringos estupidos". They all seemed to know that we had lost our clothes, and had to walk down the single main street in our bathing suits.
I thought of the Senior Day parade I ran away from in high-school. I was scheduled to be dressed up as "Lonesome Polecat", which would have exposed for all the town to see, the large brown birth mark covering my lower right leg. In those "Jim Crow" days, I kept my brown leg covered to avoid the hazing of my classmates, and the possible suspicions of ignorant "rednecks" that I wasn't pure white. I waited for that fateful day with a lot of anguish. I knew the time was fast approaching, but not the specific date.
Then one day it happened, and I watched for an opportunity to escape. I tried to just walk away casually, but the senior assigned to catch me was there immediately, and led me to the restroom where the victims were being prepared. Fortunately for me, there were more juniors than seniors that year. My captor had to go and get a second victim, leaving me standing alone for a minute. I casually walked out, went down to the basement, and strolled out the back door. I went to a gully that came up to the rear of the school yard. I plunged down the slope into the gully, and made my way down to the bay. From there I walked along the bay shore to another large gully that ran in-land for a mile or two. I followed the gully to its source and went home from there. I escaped the ignominy of being paraded through the streets of Eastshore then, but it seems you can't really escape your fate. It will catch up with you later when you least expect it, I moaned to myself.
I was even more embarrassed when we got to the launch, and the three pretty teenage missionary girls were waiting aboard for their parents. I was especially embarrassed because of the large brown birthmark, so I went toward the bow of the launch and sat down where they couldn't see my leg. They talked about it among themselves in Spanish, assuming I didn't understand the language, but it was clear they understood my embarrassment. Why was I surprised that they seemed to be sympathetic to my plight, in this, my most embarrassing moment?
The giant cruise ship Infinity pulled alongside the dock in San Juan, Puerto Rico. Standing on deck, I noticed that we were near the little downtown airport. There, across from the airport, was the long pier where the SS Olde Voyager had docked so many years ago. A rusty old freighter sat alongside that long dock, about where we had tied up then. Could it really be 45 years ago? I was just a young seaman at that time, and it was my only trip to Puerto Rico.
When the Olde Voyager returned to San Francisco that trip, we were sailing up the ship channel to Alameda when the steering gear failed. The chief electrician and I were out on deck, anxious to get ashore, when the ship made an abrupt right turn and came to rest on the mud-bank at the edge of the channel. We both ran back to the steering gear room, assuming that one of the main steering pumps had failed and we needed to change over to the other one.
When we got down to the steering gear room, the motors were all running. Then we noticed oil sloshing around on the deck, below the slatted floor boards. George said, "The hydraulic line broke. They can't control the rudder from the bridge."
I looked at the valves and saw that we could shut off the control lines and steer with the emergency hand-wheel. The rudder control quadrant showed that the rudder was now all the way starboard, which explained why the ship had turned into the mud-bank. I closed the main steering control valve and opened the auxiliary, while George called the bridge on the sound-powered phone. He told the captain what happened and explained that we could operate the rudder from the steering gear room.
George took orders from the bridge, and I operated the little valve wheel to set the rudder at the requested angle. Of course they called in a couple of tugboats for security, but we steered the ship off the mud-bank and on into the dock. My only chance to steer a ship, and I couldn't see where I was going.
The hydraulic line was repaired, and we later sailed the ship up the coast to the Columbia river, where we took on another load of lumber. There weren't any more interesting adventures before I got off the ship to go back to college.
Several years later I heard that the ship was sold to another company, and its name was changed to SS New Voyager. The new company was hauling grain to India, and I had seen enough of that long run from the Gulf to Calcutta. I wouldn't sail on that ship again.
I was shocked to hear that the New Voyager broke up and sank in the stormy North Atlantic on one of its trips. Several crew members were lost, and the ship went down while it was being towed to port.
Now my curiosity drove me to get off the cruise ship and walk down the long pier to look at the rusty old freighter tied up there. It was hard to read the name of the ship's stern in the gloom of evening, but it actually looked like it was SS Olde Voyager. Of course that couldn't be right. My eyes are getting weak in my old age.
I walked along to the gangway, and looked up to see several men hanging around up there at the head of the gangway. It actually looked like Chang, the one-eyed Chinese cook, Joe, the Hawaiian Portuguese who should have still been in San Quentin, and Herbbie the Bos'n. They looked down and saw me and motioned for me to come aboard. I didn't see a gangway guard, so I started up.
#
"Must have fallen in. Probably came off that cruise ship. Don't know what he was doing out here on this empty pier."
"Someone on the ship saw him keel over and fall in. They called us right away, but it was no use. The poor old fellow must have had a heart attack. Probably walked out on the pier to get some exercise"
Rick Kirby wasn’t sure his son was ready for a trip into space. There would always be hazards, but Jeremy had wanted to make this trip since he was ten. Besides, engineer Kirby had made the trip several times before, and the risk factor was so low it was statistically the safest way to travel. Not like the early days, when ships were blasted into orbit by controlled explosions.
They sped along the Bayshore Guideway, toward the Peninsula Levport. Rick was relaxed as the car slowed to enter the Lev exit. He had to admit that there was just a little tensing of his muscles as the car pulled into the parking area and threaded its way to an assigned slot.
Jeremy hoisted his own travel bag onto the manrail. It only took a minute for them to arrive at the check-in station. From here they viewed the ship that would take them into space and down to Australia. Even Rick marveled at the great levitation rings, spinning in opposite directions so fast they needed almost total vacuum to keep from burning up. They were so large that the far side of their vacuum housing disappeared in the lingering fog. Jeremy blurted out, “The rings must be a mile in circumference. But Dad, why is the cabin so small?”
“It isn’t that small, when you get close to it. It just looks small at this distance, compared to the levrings. We’re working on ways to make the system more efficient. At this stage of development we need an enormous ratio of rotating mass to payload.”
“So how many tons of rotating mass does it take to lift my weight?”
“Quite a few. Let’s get aboard, so we can see the control room before we take off.” He was glad Jeremy was too interested in the mechanics of the ship to think scary thoughts of going into space and back.”
Jeremy thrilled when he saw the flight deck, with many screens around the room full of technical data and views of all parts of the ship. He was bursting with questions, but they would have to wait. They settled into their assigned recliners and strapped themselves in for the trip. Overhead screens showed a view from the control room, looking out over the levport. One screen showed the passengers, as an attendant scanned the cabin to verify that everyone was properly secured.
The pilot announced liftoff, and Rick felt a slight pressure from the recliner as their ship accelerated upward at about one G. He had made similar flights before, but was still thrilled by pictures on the screens, showing a widening panorama as they rose above the bay. He had also flown in airplanes many times, and the smoothness of this climb was still amazing. The great mass of the levrings was immune to the air currents that made airplanes shudder and bounce.
Jeremy was lost in study of all the screens showing details of the operation. “We’re going straight up now. Shouldn’t we be heading for Australia, Dad?”
“Not yet, Son. We need to clear Bay Area airspace first. Look at that screen showing the inertial thrusters. They’re pointed straight up to assist in the ascent. When we get a little higher you’ll see them start to rotate to begin the flight toward Australia. The auto-pilot will control the thrust so we don’t exceed Temp-One until we are clear of the atmosphere.”
Jeremy’s eyes lit up. “Yeah. Temp-One is the maximum safe outer skin temperature. We don’t have to have all that heat shielding like they did in the early space ships. I wouldn’t want to see the outside of the ship turning red from air friction.”
“It also isn’t efficient. Once we are out of the atmosphere we can accelerate much faster. We don’t have to carry all that streamlining material. Shape doesn’t matter in the vacuum of space.”
Rick watched the altimeter climb to fifty miles, and the thrusters start to tilt. At seventy miles he watched the thrusters tilt to horizontal, propelling the ship toward Australia. The horizontal velocity increased above 1000 miles per hour, as the acceleration pushed them back against their now-vertical recliners. He watched the screen showing the Pacific Ocean below, with an occasional surface ship that seemed to speed across the water toward San Francisco, no matter which direction it might be sailing.
Jeremy watched the thruster. “Dad, I still don’t think I really understand how thrusters operate.”
“Well, go back to the original rocket operation. They accelerated hot gasses out the tail of the rocket. Remember the equation, F equals MA.”
Jeremy’s forehead wrinkled. “Force equals mass times acceleration. And for every action there is a reaction. The acceleration of hot gas in one direction provides the force to accelerate the rocket in the opposite direction. Those rockets burned a lot of fuel, and out in space they needed to carry oxygen in some form to make the fuel burn. Sometimes the rockets exploded. It was like riding on a bomb. I’m glad we have thrusters instead, but how do they work?”
“Well you understand your third grade physics. In order to accelerate the rocket in one direction you need to accelerate mass in the opposite direction. Now suppose you could use a linear motor to accelerate a heavy steel rail out the back of the rocket instead of the hot gas.”
Jeremy laughed at the thought. “You’d run out of rail pretty quick. Then what would you do?”
“Preposterous of course. But for a second there it would work. To keep the process going you would have to make the rail into a hoop, and accelerate it in a circle.”
“Great! Now you’ve got a big iron hoop hanging out the side of a rocket. That would never fly.”
“ Of course not. But it illustrates a fundamental principle. The linear motor driving the hoop propels the rocket by converting linear thrust into rotary acceleration. In practice the hoops are made small enough to fit inside the rocket.”
“But Dad. The hoop has to keep accelerating to provide the thrust force. What do you do when the hoop is going fast enough to fly apart?”
“Well, fortunately a linear generator on the opposite side of the hoop can decelerate it while producing a thrust in the same direction as the accelerating motor did. So the hoop accelerates to a maximum safe speed, then the accelerating motor turns off and the decelerator generator brings the hoop back to a lower speed. The hoop oscillates between the two speeds, providing continuous thrust.”
“But wouldn’t the ship rotate in the direction opposite to the hoop rotation?”
“That’s why there are a pair of hoops, in line, with their rotation in the opposite direction. The motors are reversed in position, and synchronized so they cancel the ship’s rotation.”
“And there are two more hoops, set at right angles. They keep the thrust even in that plane, right?”
“Yes, and the generators are individually controlled to provide some rotation of the thrusters. That is necessary to keep the levitation hoops level. The thrusters are mounted on gimbals to provide additional lift or horizontal travel for the ship.”
So, why do they need the big levitation hoops, when they could just use thrusters?”
“We haven’t been able to produce thrusters strong enough without needing too much power. The generator cycle of thrusters in one plane are synchronized with the motors in the other plane, so some power is recovered. But the losses are so high it takes a lot of power to supply the system. On the other hand, the levitation rings have little loss once brought up to speed. So the initial lift uses very little power. The rings are accelerated on external power at the levport, and the ship’s internal power only needs to supply power to compensate for the losses.”
Jeremy was silent for a few minutes. When he spoke, he said, “And the internal power from the atomic fusion generator can’t be made a lot bigger because it would be too heavy for the levitation rings.”
“That’s right. We still don’t know how to build fusion generators without a heavy magnetic Tokomak. It took almost a century to develop a Tokomak small enough to power this ship. It may take another century to discover how to build a smaller and lighter power source.”
The pressure holding them against their recliners slackened. The voice of the pilot came over the speakers. “We are nearing the midpoint of our flight, and our recliners will now be rotated to begin the deceleration phase.”
The recliners began the slow rotation, to face in the opposite direction. The feeling of weightlessness came and went, as the ships deceleration pressed them again into the recliner cushions. Rick said, “We should be sitting on the Sydney levport in about half an hour. I know you will enjoy Australia.”
Before Jeremy could answer, a sudden shudder rattled the ship. Rick tensed, wondering what could have caused this unexpected event.
“What was that Dad?”
“It may have been a collision with space junk or a small meteor. We’ll just have to wait for the pilot to tell us. I’m sure the crew is checking to see what happened.”
The pilot’s calm voice came on the speakers. “We’ve been hit by something. It has damaged the shell of the levitation rings. No immediate problem, since the vacuum of space is as good as we are able to achieve on the ground. The levitation rings are at normal speed now. But we must restore the integrity of the vacuum system before we can reenter the atmosphere. We are diverting to Pago Pago in American Samoa as a precaution.”
“What do we do now, Dad?”
“We just wait. The ships emergency procedures call for an attempt to patch the hole in the vacuum chamber around the levitation rings. One of the crew is always suited up for a space walk. We should be able to watch it on the outer-ring cameras.”
One of the outside screens showed a section of the vacuum ring, where a small hole was easily seen. As the image moved in closer, the jagged tear in the housing loomed larger. They saw a rip in the metal that went from the hole to the outer edge of the housing and disappeared out of sight beyond the camera image. Rick looked in horror at this tear. He knew it was beyond space repair. He tried not to give away his feeling to his son.
One of the cameras now turned to the cabin exit port, where a space-suited crewman scooted out and moved off toward the site of the damage. When he arrived there he stopped to communicate with the Captain. Then he came back to reenter the cabin.
The Captain came on the screen. “We are near American Samoa. The vacuum ring can’t be patched in space. We will detach the cabin and drop the levitation ring into the sea where it can be recovered later. The thrusters will be used to power the cabin to a landing at Pago Pago. If the thrust is not sufficient to slow our descent, the cabin will be detached from the thruster and power module. We will land the cabin inside the harbor using the emergency parachute. Remain in your recliners until we make a water landing in the harbor.”
“Why can’t we land using the levitation rings, Dad?”
“Without vacuum the rotating rings will burn up in the atmosphere. Nobody has jettisoned levitation rings, and we don’t know what will happen. They could explode, or start a fire in the cabin. We hope the thrusters will slow our descent enough to get us down.”
The recliners moved to their horizontal position. The Captain came on the screen again. “We are still able to use the levitation rings to slow our descent until we start to enter the atmosphere. When we start to lose vacuum out there, we will fire the separation bolt charges and the emergency retro-rockets. The levitation rings will continue to descend until they start to burn up. Whatever is left of them will drop into the sea near Rose Island. We will go to emergency power on the thrusters to slow our descent, and to steer us toward the airport at Pago Pago.”
Rick felt the sudden jolt from the separation. The emergency retro-rockets fired at the same time to push him down into the recliner. One of the screens showed the great levitation rings fall away from them. It seemed in no hurry in its departure. He suddenly realized he was holding his breath, hoping it got far enough away before it hit the atmosphere. It suddenly dropped away faster, as the pilot followed emergency procedure and slowed the rings rotation to speed their descent.
The instrument screen showed the rate of cabin descent. It was slow enough to avoid burning the cabin, but not slow enough for a safe landing. The image of the levitation assembly was getting smaller, but now glowed red from the atmosphere’s friction on the internal rings. It was soon just a glowing light in the distance.
The Captain’s image came back on the screen. “We have successfully jettisoned the levitation assembly, and are entering the atmosphere at a safe speed. The thrusters are not able to slow us enough for a safe landing, even on water. We will jettison the thrusters and the main power module. Then we will deploy the parachutes and aim for a landing in the harbor.”
Rick suddenly felt a sense of loss. He had worked on the design of those thrusters, and this was the first time a set had to be jettisoned. But never mind that. He hoped the steering system for the parachutes would set them down inside the harbor. The seas outside would be pretty rough this time of year.
The cabin shook and the sound of exploding bolts signaled the separation of the cabin from the thrusters. The heavy thruster module dropped away quickly as it was shut down at separation, and the cabin’s fall was arrested by the emergency parachute. The outside screen now showed a view of the harbor, and they were drifting toward it.
There was still one more anxiety. They must steer the parachute into the harbor so they could land on its calm waters. All the screens went blank, as power was shut down for the landing. Rick regretted that they couldn’t watch the rest of the descent, but knew this was a part of the emergency procedure. At least he was here to experience the first emergency landing of a Levitation Ship. He hoped he survived to recount the story to the many people who participated in its development. Jeremy showed no sign of concern.
During the boat ride to shore, Jeremy called his cousin on his satellite phone. “Hi, Chuck. We just landed in Pago Pago, and Dad says we can tour the island before we leave for Sydney tomorrow.”
James Dona is the pen name of James D. Cummins. My first three Mystery novels form a Sea Stories Trilogy:
The Souse American Run,
The Sea Chameleon,
and Maelstrom Mill.
These novels were published by Publish America. They are available on the internet from:
publishamerica.com,
barnesandnoble.com,
amazon.com.
They may also be ordered from major bookstores.
Ivan Trumbull savored his meal of grilled salmon at the Old West Bar and Grill. His wife Babe was seated across from him, eating her salad. Their meal was interrupted by the shriek of the fire alarm. Ivan covered his ears and jumped up with a look of exasperation. “They don’t need to make those things so loud.“
Babe rose with a look of concern. “Shouldn’t we go outside?
“No. I see no signs of fire. Probably tripped by accident. Might be a grease fire in the kitchen, though.”
He looked around the room, where some people were heading for the exit. Most people were out of their seats. He said, “Let’s go outside. I can’t stand that piercing shriek.”
They joined a stream of people heading for the sidewalk, but a few people stayed behind, not seeming to mind the screaming alarm. They waited on the sidewalk for the noise to stop. It was nearing dusk, in a warm evening. A distant siren signaled that the fire department was on its way. Babe said, “Maybe there is a fire.”
“No, the fire alarm system probably sends a signal to the nearest firehouse. That way they get quick response in case there really is a fire.”
The first fire truck rolled into the parking lot just as the sound of the alarm stopped. Ivan said, “We can go back in now. I want to finish my salmon before it gets any colder.”
Babe laughed. “I knew nothing would keep you from your salmon for long.” They smiled at each other. These two chubby middle-aged people showed their affection for each other in their loving gazes.
As they were returning to their booth, Ivan gave a perfunctory wave of his hand to private detective Joe Scallia, who gave the slightest of nods. That one will get caught with his hand in the cookies one of these days. Some people skirt the very edge of what’s legal in his trade. Hope I don’t have to go into that business when I retire.
A flashing red light from the rotating beacon on the fire truck shone through the windows, making the western motif memorabilia on the walls and ceiling even more surreal. The manager came over and offered to warm up their food. Ivan said, “The food is OK, but did you have to hold a fire drill while we were here?” He laughed to show he was kidding.
“Somebody tripped an alarm back in the restroom area. Stuck a lighted cigarette under a sensor. Some practical joker. I could kill that guy.” He went on to the next table to apologize for the incident.
Four men came in, and sat at a table next to the bar. Ivan recognized one of them, the boss of the local gambling and loan sharking operations. Someday we may get lucky and tag that guy. I’d like to get him off the street. George Kroner seemed to have a good-luck charm. He was never there when his places were raided. The men with him were probably bodyguards or cronies. Ivan studied their faces, for future reference. Someday we may get them all in the net.
Ivan turned back to his meal, which had gotten cold by now. He was looking for the waiter so he could pay the check, when a shot rang out. The alarm sounded from the back door exit. A woman’s scream came from near the restrooms to break a momentary silence, except for the beeping of the door alarm. Now a great hubbub arose in the crowded room.
Ivan jumped to his feet. His quick eye surveyed the room. He patted the .38 police special in his shoulder holster, and made his way toward the sound of screaming. His eyes scanned the room in that direction, alert for any threat.
He elbowed his way through the gathering crowd. A body lay on the floor near the restrooms. George Kroner! His lucky charm failed him tonight. A man bent over the body and expertly checked for a pulse. His quick examination of the wound demonstrated the kind of expertise that only a doctor would have. The man rose to his feet and looked around.
Ivan said, “Is he dead, doctor?”
The man looked at Ivan. “You are a policeman?”
“Off duty. Lieutenant Ivan Trumbull. City homicide detective. This will probably be my case. Your name?”
“Dr. Tom Hardy. Resident at City General. I’m off duty too. This certainly won’t be my case. He’s dead. A bullet to the back of the skull. Killed instantly. The man who ran out the back door was a good shot.”
The haggard manager came up. “I called 911. The police should be here in a minute.”
Ivan walked to the back door and looked out. A police cruiser already sat outside in the parking lot. Two uniformed patrolmen jumped out of the car and started toward the front door. Why aren’t they coming this way? He opened the door and called to them. They turned and ran up to the door with guns drawn.
“Lieutenant Trumbull! You’re here already? We just got the call on the radio.” It was patrolman Lundy and a partner Ivan didn’t know.
Ivan said, “You were in the parking lot already. You were here on the fire alarm call, right? Did you see the person who ran out this door?”
Lundy’s face was a study in confusion. “But...But.... We didn’t see anybody come out that door. We were sitting here for a couple minutes. We were just about to go in for our break. Nobody came out of here.”
“Well then! Secure the other doors. Don’t let anyone leave until we get some backup to check out everybody inside. The shooter must have opened the door, then ducked into the restroom. Now we have a whole restaurant full of suspects!”
The two men fanned out to cover the other doors. Approaching sirens sounded from several directions. The department is on the ball tonight. So much for my night off!
#
Joe Scallia was carrying a long-barreled 38 in his pants pocket. He offered the gun for Ivan’s inspection. The barrel was cold, it was fully loaded, no odor of recent firing. Joe handed Ivan his gun permit.
Ivan said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get a residue swab of your hands. Just routine. This gun hasn’t been fired tonight.” Ivan called over a technician.
Joe said, “Guess you have to follow procedures, but I just came from the firing range. I tried out a new gun I just bought. It’s out in the car. I haven’t washed my hands--I’m just a slob I guess. Of course you’ll find residue on my right hand. That big forty-five kicks out a lot of it. But go ahead. Take your test for the record.”
After the technician took a swab of both his hands Joe led Ivan out to his car. He pulled the forty-five out of the trunk. It was unloaded, and of course it had cooled off from it’s afternoon firing. Ivan looked at the gun with disgust. It was a model that any police officer would call “a piece of pipe,” a cheap gun not built for accuracy. Why would any professional buy a gun like that?
Ivan said, “I’ll have to take both guns in to get a ballistic on them. Do you have any other guns with you?”
“Sorry Lieutenant. That’s my entire arsenal. Can’t afford any more on the money I make.”
#
Patrolman Lundy came up as Ivan re-entered the restaurant. “We found three guns in the trash can behind the bar. Those three “associates” of the dead man were unarmed of course. They must have a friend on staff here. We took swabs of their hands to see if one of them fired the murder weapon. The victim was also unarmed.”
“Good work, Lundy. You’ll make a good detective someday. We’ll need to talk to the staff. Especially anyone who was behind the bar after the shooting.” Ivan turned to the two men from homicide, who had just arrived. He gave them all the information he knew.
#
Ivan held a meeting with his staff the following morning. All eyes turned to see his partner, Jenny Dean, enter the squad-room door. Ivan sighed. The sight of her spectacular beauty would delay the meeting. He had to partner with Jenny. She was too much attraction for any of the younger men in the department to cope with on the long shifts they worked.
“Jenny, I want you to track down the story I got from Joe Scallia. We need to verify that he was shooting at that target range yesterday afternoon. Mike, you and your partner can check out the men who came into the restaurant with the deceased. Saunders, you and your partner can check out all the restaurant employees, even if they weren’t working last night. I’ll go see the folks at the crime lab to see what they have.”
#
Ivan went from the crime lab back to the restaurant. It was closed, thanks to all that yellow crime-scene tape. The manager agonized over the loss of business, but his employees needed time to get over the shock, and the notoriety would bring in crowds of the curious when he reopened.
Ivan walked through the restaurant and tried to look at everything with new eyes. He had eaten here several times, but this time he pretended he was seeing it for the first time. He went to the booth where he sat the night before and studied the room from there, remembering the chain of events. The decor was a bit overdone, with all that western gear on the walls and hanging from the ceiling.
Next he went to the booth where he remembered seeing Joe Scallia. He sat down and surveyed the scene as Joe would have seen it. He then stood up and looked carefully at the room from that vantage point. Nothing jumped out at him, so he walked over to the place where chalk lines on the floor outlined the body as the examiner found it. How much was it moved by the doctor who first examined it? Jenny can investigate the doctor.
As though she had heard his thought, Jenny came in the front door. She walked over to him with a grin that said she had news to tell. “Joe was on the firing range yesterday afternoon. He bought a box of ammo for a forty-five revolver. He was only on the line for seven minutes, shooting up the full box, then left. He was in a hurry. Didn’t score as well as he usually does.”
“And? What else did you find?”
“Joe always shoots there on Tuesday mornings. Yesterday was Thursday. And he came in the afternoon.”
“Might mean something. Might not. He said he just bought the gun. What do you usually do with a new toy?”
“But that’s just it. I checked the gun shops. He bought the gun two weeks ago. Why didn’t he shoot it on Tuesday. He was there Tuesday, but only used his old thirty-eight.”
Ivan smiled. “Good work. Some of the guys would have verified he was there when he said he was, and let it go at that. I think the shooter stood behind that partition, shot old George, opened the door just enough to set off the alarm and make it appear he went out, then ducked into the men’s room to wash his hands. He couldn’t wash off all the residue because it was imbedded in his skin, but it would reduce the level to be consistent with his story. When the screams attracted everyone’s attention to the body, he strolled out of the restroom and went back to his booth.”
Jenny listened in awe, but when he finished, her pretty face clouded. “But what happened to the gun. We were supposed to think the shooter took it with him when he went out the door. Was it one of the guns found behind the bar?”
“No, the bullet was a forty-five, and none of the guns in the restaurant was a forty-five. Joe had his thirty-eight revolver. The three henchmen’s guns, stashed in the trash can behind the bar were; a thirty-eight magnum, a 25 caliber revolver, and a really cute little 22 automatic.”
“So what happened to the shooter’s gun. If the shooter was still in the room, how did he get rid of it?”
“Well, let’s assume the shooter was Joe Scallia. Let’s walk over to where he was eating when the shooting occurred.”
As soon as they stood looking at the booth she said, “oh,” in a tiny voice like an exhaled breath. She walked over to the holstered six-gun on the wall and used her plastic evidence bag to remove it from the holster, careful not to smudge any fingerprints on it.
Now Ivan was grinning at her like a prankster whose joke worked. He said, “That’s ‘the smoking gun’ I’ll bet. We’ll take it to the crime lab, and if it is the murder weapon, that will put the Scallia Detective Agency out of business permanently.”
“But we still have to show a motive.”
“My friendly neighborhood FBI man, who shall remain nameless, gave me the motive this morning. Joe was gambling, and losing big at one of the syndicate places. George Kroner was after him to pay up. Joe seems to have had a different method of payment in mind.”
#
Jenny joined Ivan and Babe for dinner. Babe was fond of Jenny, who was like the daughter they never had. Babe said, “have some more chicken, Jenny. Now you two promised to fill me in on the case. Were there fingerprints on the gun Jenny found?”
Ivan chuckled. “Joe Scallia was crooked, not stupid. He wiped the gun clean, but ballistics proved that gun fired the fatal bullet.”
Babe said, “Why was there a decorative gun hanging on the wall that could be used to kill somebody?”
Jenny said, “The gun used in the murder was one he must have bought on the street. He replaced the harmless display gun with that fully loaded 45 when he ate at the restaurant a few days earlier. Then he set off the fire alarm and in the confusion he switched his 38 for the 45. Most of the customers were out on the sidewalk at that time.”
Ivan said, “He did leave his prints on the holster. That was a surprise, but he was in a hurry when he switched the guns after the shooting. It was only an almost perfect crime.”
(end)
Thank you for visiting. Come back soon to read more short stories.
Jim Cummins
AKA James Dona
jimandaina@bellsouth.net