Het gang, let's write a story together

[jamespowers]

This place seems familiar but not the kind of place where I would live. I seem to remember investigating something about a dame and a treasure. If that means I am a gumshoe then this is not a place that I can afford. The couch is obviously leather and the room is decked out with stuff I have no idea about other than it cost plenty of jack that I ain't got in my wallet.
I decide to make my way over to the window to take a gander out. Maybe the locale can refresh my memory. No sooner had I lifted the blinds I heard someone in the room call out: "Well, well Mr. Deckhard I see you are up and around again." I whirled around to see a fat man glarin' at me. He was 6'3 and was wearing a linen suit that looked like he had slept in it. In his hands he held a panama hat in front of him at his ample waist. He had me at a disadvantage. Obviously he knew me but I didn't know him. Hell, I didn't know who I was! Whatever the case, I felt I must know him so I decided to play along.

Next writer.

Regards to all,

J

 

[Johnnysan]

I slipped my right hand under the lapel of my jacket to find any empty shoulder holster against my left side. I would have liked to have come up with a .38 in my hand but brought out a cigarette case instead – plain silver, no initials and no help. I pulled a pill from the case, tamped it down and lit up. I took two long drags on it before I looked up through the smoke at the fat man filling up the door frame.

“It’s awfully early in the year to be pullin’ out the straws, Jake.� I said, pointing to his hat. “But I suppose a hog like you sweats a lot even when it’s cool.�

...next

 

[Jake]

I not sure I like Jake for the name of the fat sweaty guy...... LOL

 

[jamespowers]

His name might not even be Jake. He is just pulling a name out of the air. Deckhard can't remember who he is or anything else.

Next writer.

Regards to all,

J

 

[jamespowers]

Quit the complaining and start writing. I want to see what Deckhard is going to do next.

Regards to all,

J

 

[Johnnysan]

No offense intended...I used "Jake" as a general term, like "pal"! :cheers1:

 

[Matt Deckard]

In his jacket pocket was a passport for a woman named Sarah Hayes, 30 years old and by the photo she looked like somone who should be in pictures. I pocketed the passport and started searching for his ID. I highly doubt she was heading on a trip with this sap.

From his back left pocket I pulled a wallet and a drivers license for the State of Maine. Reginald Gloval -- I never would have figured him to be a reginald. I grabbed the two $50 bills from his wallet and decided to scram before he woke up... I don't think I want to kill him. Now, Am I this Deckhard he claimed I am?

As I walked out of the room I went through the rest of his wallet before tossing it in the closest waste basket.

 

[jamespowers]

I found the front door and used it. There I was standing on Grant Street in the middle of Chinatown. I knew because the sign post was a few feet away from me on the corner. I hurried down the street past the Far East restaurant and made my way to the China Bazaar. I knew I could lose anyone who followed me into that place. There are more exits to that place than Joe's speakeasy around the corner.
Making my way through the place I left through the back side near a market. Well, I must have been here before because I knew my way around. Time to check that address on that driver's license in my pocket. Now that I had some jack in my pocket I could call a taxi and rest my head on the way.
"Hey Taxi!" A yellow cab pulled over to pick me up. I jumped in and told the driver: "114 Fulton Street." The cab smelled like an open sewer but it was better than walking up and down all those damned hills and through the throngs of people. I had to get my head together and be ready for what awaited me at the end of this ride.

Regards to all,

J

 

[Johnnysan]

Fulton Street was nothing to write home about…a long block of shabby brownstones that had seen their better days long before I came on the scene. I made my way up the stairs of 114 and tried the door – it was locked. I figured that I was the kind of guy who would leave a key around somewhere and I was right. I retrieved the key from under the doormat and made my way inside.

The house had apparently been closed up for awhile, but that didn’t account for the smell. Slowly things were becoming more familiar to me and my eyes fell on a sideboard in the hallway. Going to it, I pulled a small automatic from the center drawer and chambered a round. Yeah, this was my place all right – whoever the hell I was.

 

[BellyTank]

I shot myself a look in the hall mirror- my eyes looked like a couple of half-sucked jaw-breakers.

As I let my focus go, I saw it in the reflection- behind me in the bedroom-
I turned and crept in, the little Colt .32 raised, ready.
The it was a She- she was quite lovely, quite dead too- yes, she looked like the type that could have been in the movies-
not today but maybe a week or so ago, seemed her Chanel had worn off.
It's her, Sarah... Sarah Hayes- in the flesh- cute as a bug's ear.
One entry wound, left temple, small calibre- shame...
Why did such a sweet broad need her ears burned..?

I stood over her stiff corpse and wondered what in hell had
happened here, scanning the scene; one dead cupcake, an open suitcase-
then I noticed it in her delicate, clenched fist- a key...
a hotel key... Hotel Rapaport,... Bangor Maine...

 

[Biltmore Bob]

Suddenly, a pounding on the door. Just my luck. Standing over a dead dame with a heater in my paw.

"Deckard, I know you're in there..."

 

[BellyTank]

I sneaked a peek through the curtains- it wasn't the Law, it was the fat guy with the Panama again,
now sporting a dent in the lid and a .45 in his hoof.
This time he had some immoral support- some thug- real ugly, with bad posture... the face almost rang a bell-
he looked like Lon Chaney having a bad day in Church.
Seemed they expected me to be there, it is my place after all, or is it?

I made a bee-line down the hall to the back door- locked, damn!
Across and into the kitchen- an open bottle of VAT-69 and two glasses on the table-

funny, Vat's not my poison- I'm a Malt man, plain and simple.
I heard the front door open and made a dive for cover.
They're in the bedroom, talking- they've both been here before...

"Looks like he's not here yet- that bump on the noggin musta slowed him down a spell.
You get the key and the stuff, I'll do the rest",
the fat guy grunted... the pig.

While they were about their grim work in the bedroom with the late and lovely Miss Hayes,
I shimmied sideways down the hall, like a dishevelled Phantom- out of the open front door,
doing all I could to deny the sickening, dull crunching from inside the house.
I knew it wasn't a bowl of Kelloggs' and they sure weren't Seventh-day Adventists.
Out- into the street and an old Pontiac across the road and down a piece.
The key was in the ignition- I turned the engine over and it puked into life.
I sat there waiting, the straight-eight idling, both of us baking in the unrelenting heat.

I hunkered down behind the wheel, the auto on the bench seat, at the ready, collecting my thoughts
and struggling to recall the day's muddled events.
I scoped my face in the rear-view mirror- my eyes redder than the ACP.
I needed a drink... a smoke...

Out they came; Panama and Quasimodo, humping two large suitcases.
Animals!
The thugs hurled the cases into the trunk of the Coupe with little respect, threw themselves in the front with little more
and took off- lurching down the street like a bat out of hell with its skivvies on fire...

 

[jamespowers]

I started the car, my car I supposed, and followed them. Not too close but close enough so I would not lose them. They were going pretty fast and it was a see saw of trying to keep up and trying not to be made as a tail. I was starting to get my memory back and I knew these schmoes were not to be toyed with or I would end up wearing cement shoes. The dame was obviously the dame I had remembered earlier but where was the treasure she had hired me to help her find? I thought she would be safe hiding out at my place. I was wrong. She was still my client and I was going to get to the bottom of this case one way or the other.
Where were they going and who were they taking with them? I had the key. Did one of those cases contain my client and the other contain the treasure? I would just have to keep tailing these two and see where it took me. Maybe there would be answers at the end. They were already leading me onto the Bay Bridge---the ugly step sister of the Golden Gate. Where were we going? There were far more questions than answers but that is always the way it is in my line of business. You ask too many questions and it could get you killed. I prefer see ing things and I was going to see something---I hoped.

 

[flat-top]

BANG!!!!!!!! I ducked as heard the shot. Did they spot me? Nope...my ride just had a blowout. With my heart still pounding, I eased the car off to the side of the road. I shook my head as I watched the two thugs disappear across the bridge.
Hoping to find a spare, I opened the trunk. The smell hit me like a fist. More death. Another corpse. But who was this? A man, maybe mid 40's,his expensive suit covered in blood. If this was my car, does that mean I did this?
Amnesia and two stiffs.......this was not my day.
flat-top

 

[Matt Deckard]

No ID on this corpse, somebody probably took his ID same as Sarah's was taken. Why the murders? why one in the trunk and one in the apartment? what's the deal? Did I do this? Why was I halfway across town?

He looks familiar, though that is the least of my concern. This overwelming feeling came over me... a memory... somone is in danger, who? I can't remember.

I gotta get moving...

 

[Biltmore Bob]

Yeah, there's a spare. Under the body. Holy mackerel, dead weight. I wrestle the spare out from under the dearly deceased. Not much of a spare, no tread and about half empty. Jack next. Can't...seem...not here. Well I'm not real suprised, just my luck, ya know. What next? Flag a car? Uh Oh! Flashing lights, SFPD Star on the door. I ease the trunk shut.

"Deckerd, we thought that was you, been trying to catch up for ten minutes. I got the Captain with me, wants a word with you," said a lanky mutt of a San Fransico patrolman, as he aproached me and the spongy spare...and the dead man in my trunk.

"Just between you and me, I thought you got the dirty end of the stick at the review board, sorry 'bout the job. I heard you went to work for yourself, som PI thing," he said, but he really did'nt look that sorry.

Had I been a cop? Well I guess my name is Deckard after all.

I noticed the mutt's name plate read J. Powers, so I replied "Thanks, Powers, it was a bum rap from the word go."

A second man approached from the squad car. He stood about six two and looked to weigh about two twenty. He wore a nicely tailored gray pinstripe double breasted suit. He was topped off with a wide brimmed felt fodora. Probably a Stetson or a Knox. What the hell do I know, I got amnesia.

"Hey Matt, Where the hell ya been? The Chief was about to put an all points bulletin out on you. I ain't even seen you at the gym lately either. It's hard to find a good sparing partner, ya know, what the hell's that smell?

 

[Matt Deckard]

"Smell wasn't here til' you two arrived", I excaimed. "Why should I go to the station, I'm out... o-u-t out"! "what's with the $300 suit?"

Powers looked a bit stunned at my attitude, so perhaps I went the wrong direction. I can't remember either of the two that stood before me so I took a gamble that the suit was an oddity.

"I quit that gym!"
"How 'bout a hand with this tire Powers? you do still serve the public don't ya?
I'm a citizen in need."

All I could think about was a pressing need to get somewhere fast, somone I needed to protect before Reginald from Maine got there.

 

[jamespowers]

"Geez, what's eating you?" Powers replied "I'll help you with that flat if you want. Where's the jack?"
"At home" I said---trying to keep him out of my trunk.
"That figures! I thought you were supposed to be prepared for everything being a big dollar gumshoe and all now."
I felt bad for giving Powers the business he was an affable guy. He even took a few bullets for me when he was my partner but that was a lifetime ago. Seeing him brought me back to my senses. I am sure who I am now---unfortunately.
"I got a jack in the police car. I'll bring it over and change the tire and have your highness on his way."
"Thanks Jay I would really appreciate it." That should hold him over for the next time I need a favor.
One thing I can say about Jay, he knows how to change a tire fast. The tire was changed and he pumped up the spare good and full.
I am off again. This little mishap has cost me time but maybe I can catch them---sure if miracles happen.
I no sooner thought that than believed. There was my marque along side the road with my earlier affliction. It appears old Reginald could not change a tire faster than Jay.

 

[BellyTank]

Here we all were, together again under the Sun- the good, the bad, the ugly... and the deceased...
...just outside of Oakland.
I veered the old Pontiac past them a stretch and swerved in behind some trees for cover. Where were these characters headed in such a hurry with my late charge? North? Further inland? Where dammit? Why? What's with the key, the Bangor, Maine angle? What was in the second case?- installment number two of the lovely Miss Hayes, or something else? Well, wherever this serial matinee was headed, she was still gonna be late- dead on time. Questions, questions- but where are the answers... my brain was beginning to itch like poison ivy, where's the Calamine?
I struck a match on the dash, lit up the last Lucky and tried to plot their course for them... their actions.
Flipping open the glovebox for a map, I spied the revolver lurking, a .357, a full load and a box of slugs- a serious iron and plenty of lead, just my cup of meat, just the minerals I was lacking. Who needs a map anyway?
Those two dirty birds sure are in trouble now...
The unwanted stranger riding shotgun in the trunk was giving me the distinct impression he wasn't a summer-boy.
I was developing a case of the heebie-jeebies.
I needed a drink... a long one.

Within a couple of minutes they were back on the blacktop and I was again their faithfull shadow.
They continued inland for a good stretch, then turned to the right, South, toward Danvile, I was sure they still hadn't made me.
A couple more miles and the Coupe screeched suddenly, rudely to a stop, like it was on the wrong end of a short rope - so did the Pontiac but with a lot more style.
The goons reversed up a few yards, then hooked a sharp left down the dirt road- I was still on them like a rash under their cheap, sweaty suits but those pigs were oblivious, blinkered in their evil.

"Mount Diablo State Park... Maintenance Depot,...no... tresspassing... hmmm..."
OK, it's a nice day for bird-watching and all but whatever their devilish plans are, whatever they packed in those cases,
it sure won't be no picnic spread...

 

[Biltmore Bob]

"We all know Deckerd was the fall guy in that shooting last year," said the plain clothes San Fransisco Police Captain to the Patrolman,"but it's gonna be my ass if the Chief finds out I seen him, and did'nt bring him in," he lied.

Powers threw the jack into the squad's trunk with a grunt.

"Ah crud, I got grease on my hands", what now Cap?"

"Much as I hate to, we do what we get paid to do," the Captain said with grimmace. It was the same face he made when he got a bad olive in his afternoon martini. He made a mental note to have a talk with Rick, the owner of his favorite Gin Mill.

They both got back in the squad and the car accelerated after Deckerd.