Simon Says: Case of the Singing Lady Blues (standard:mystery, 3848 words)
Author: pjlawton	Added: Jan 18 2004	Views/Reads: 3551/2543	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A hard-boiled private detective makes a fatal mistake. He can't correct it but he can make those responsible pay.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


TJ was standing outside the roped off area when I got out of my car.
With his head he motioned me to follow him into a long alley.  Melissa 
was toward the back, peacefully sitting against the wall, quite dead. 
There were no signs of any type of disturbance. Unless you noticed the 
needle sticking out of her arm you would have thought she simply sat 
down for a nap. Only this nap was forever! 

“Well Sherlock, what do you think. M.E. says she's been dead for about
two hours. Overdose?” 

“No way TJ, she didn't use. She had a brother die from an overdose and
swore she would never use any narcotics. I don't think she even took 
anything stronger than aspirin.” I was rambling a little, I suppose 
because of my hangover and also because I felt awfully guilty for what 
I was seeing. 

I quickly outlined what I knew about her situation. TJ was sympathetic
but with the lack of any other evidence he indicated that it would 
simply go down as an accidental overdose. He then told me to go on home 
and let it go. My client was dead after all. 

“Look Simon, I know you tend to take your cases personally but you have
got to let go. This stuff is just going to eat you up inside.” 

“Okay TJ. I'll go home and sleep on it.” To keep from getting into that
same old argument we had many times I simply agreed with him and headed 
home but I wasn't about to let it go. 

*** 

It was almost 6:00 A.M. when I stumbled back into my office cum
apartment.  My only thoughts were settling my rear down on my cot for a 
much needed rest. Hopefully that would be at least a partial cure for 
my splitting head. I was almost ready to drop off when I happened to 
see the red blinking light from my answering machine.  My first 
instinct was to ignore it and wait until I was thinking a little more 
clearly but something told me I should listen. As the first words came 
out, I was wide-awake! It was Melissa's soft voice. 

“Simon, I'm sorry.  I don't know why I talked so badly to you. I know
you were just trying to help. I am going to take your advice and make a 
clean break from FDJ. In fact I'm going to tell him tonight.  I'm 
supposed to be at his office at 10:00 P.M. I'm still going to need your 
help. Can you meet me there?” 

Her words took me back to earlier that evening. She had come to see me
to tell me she no longer needed my help. She was afraid and had decided 
to give in to FDJ and do what he wanted. We argued for about an hour 
before she stormed out of my office. After she left I went to my 
favorite watering hole and got drunk. Real mature, huh Simon? 

I rewound the taped message and played it again and this instance paid
more attention to the time. She had called about an hour after leaving 
my office.  I guess I had been a little too high to notice the message 
button when I staggered home around 2:00 A.M. But, by then it was 
already too late. I don't think I have ever felt any lower than I did 
at that moment. If I hadn't been such a jerk and ran off to drink away 
my frustrations then she would still be alive! 

I couldn't bring her back but I could make sure that her killer or
killers would pay. I owed her that much!  I wasn't sure what happened 
but I was sure that it was on Fat Daddy Jack's orders. Later today I 
would just have a little talk with him. 

I didn't have to wait long. About an hour later my phone rang disturbing
my much-needed sleep. Groggily I answered. 

“Simon.” 

“It would be smart if you minded your own business.” 

The voice sounded familiar but it took me a few seconds to place it. 
For a big man his voice was small and squeaky sort of like that 
professional boxer Mike what's his name. “Well, Jack I was about to 
give you a call. I believe we have some unfinished business.” 

“I ain't got any business with no P.I. I was just calling to let you
know that Melissa came by to see me last night and signed a new 
contract.  She asked me to tell you that she didn't need you anymore.” 

“Jack, you're a fat pig and a liar. Don't even try to tell me you don't
know about Melissa?” 

I think my insult hit a nerve because his voice got a few octaves
higher. “Do you know who you're talking to? People have disappeared for 
talking to me like that. You sorry ..  ” 

I interrupted his shouting.  “Yeah, yeah right Jack. Give it up and stop
flapping your fat face.  Let me tell you something, I don't care how 
long it takes, I'm taking you down for what you did to Melissa, you got 
that?” 

He was screaming incoherently as I slammed down the phone.  I think
maybe I upset him a little. I planned to upset him a lot more. 

*** 

The next few days went by very slowly. I spoke with TJ a couple of times
about Melissa but his hands were tied. It was a closed case.  I wasn't 
about to let it go that easily. I decided to apply a little pressure to 
FDJ. Each evening as he left his office I was staked out right across 
the street. I wasn't in the least bit trying to be inconspicuous. I 
wanted him to see me and know that I was watching him.  What was that 
old saying, shake the tree and see what falls off.  I figured he would 
get tired of seeing me sooner or later and make a move against me. 
That's all I needed. 

One evening about a week later I saw a little piece in the entertainment
news. The piece said: “Mission Street Records will release a Memorial 
two CD collection of songs by the late Melissa Albert. The collection 
will contain a CD of her greatest hits and a CD of never released 
songs. This new song CD was to be her latest and was almost ready for 
production before her untimely death.  The two CD Set will sell for 
$49.95.  Projected sales are one expected to be well over one million 
sets” 

Wow, 50 million reasons to see Melissa dead. I could now see that she
was worth more to FDJ dead than alive. Poor kid never had a chance. I 
thought I would just have to turn up the heat a little.  Turns out I 
didn't need to. 

That evening as I was leaving my favorite watering hole two men were
waiting for me.  I saw them as soon as I left the doorway but pretended 
not to notice. Maybe they were there just to watch me, but I didn't 
think so. I was right.  About the time I reached my car they moved 
toward me.  About an arms length away the bigger of the two spoke. 

“Okay bro, lets go, the boss wants to talk to you,” he said, showing me
the gun in his waistband. I guess he thought that would scare me or 
something. 

“Sorry boys, I'm afraid I've got other plans,” I replied keeping my eyes
on the smaller of the two. He looked to be the more dangerous. 

The big one grunted something unintelligible and reached for me. That
was a big mistake.  With my good left leg I kicked him in the shin, 
hard. I was wearing my wingtips with the stiff leather soles. I think 
maybe I cracked his shin because he bellowed in pain and starting 
hopping crazily in a circle. 

A second after the kick I sent a straight right jab to the nose of the
second guy. When I was light heavyweight champion of the Police 
Athletic League I was told that my right jab was my best and deadliest 
punch.  I must have caught him good because the blood started 
immediately to pour as he flew backward against the side of the 
building. With his eyes watering and his nose bleeding I knew he wasn't 
much of a threat anymore. I wasn't sure about the big guy. 

When I turned back to him I could see that he was still hopping around
but was trying to draw the pistol from his belt. I walked over and 
kicked him in the other shin. That did it. Down he went, again 
screaming in pain as his weapon went flying. 

I went back to the little guy still trying to clear his eyes and stop
the blood flowing. I grabbed him by the shirt and gave him a good left 
hook just below the ear. He went down and out like I had hit him with a 
2X4. 

Moving over to the big man I said, “Tell your boss that I'm not finished
with him, oh yeah and also tell him that if you two are the best he's 
got... “ 

I didn't bother to finish my sentence. I've got to say this about the
big guy, he was game, dumb yes, but game. As I was talking he was 
trying to hold his injured leg and still crawl after his fallen pistol. 
Just for good measure I walked over and kicked him in the head! 
Goodnight boys. 

*** 

The next day I called TJ to see if he had any thing more for me. He was
sorry to say that he didn't. I told him about last nights little 
episode. He wasn't impressed. 

With a chuckle he said. “You must be getting old Sherlock. I can
remember the day when you would have only had to hit the little guy 
once. And by the way, kicking a man when he's down, shame on you!” 

TJ could always make me laugh. Feigning annoyance though I barked,
“Yeah, it's easy for you to say, you still got two good legs. Big flat 
feet, but two good legs.” 

“Hey, ease off there Mister PI. Seriously Sherlock, you had better start
watching your rear. FDJ isn't one to let that go. He's got to protect 
his rep you know. Besides, those boys probably can't wait to get 
another crack at you. 

My tone suddenly went hard and bitter. “I know TJ but I can't just let
him get away with killing Melissa. If I can't get something on him, 
then I just have to make him come after me.” 

“Okay my friend. Just remember I can't help if you step over the line.
Let me know if you need any legitimate help. Take care.” 

After he rang off I sat for a while and thought about what we had said.
I made a decision. I was going to take Fat Daddy Jack out. Maybe not 
legitimately, but somehow he was going down.  It took awhile but I 
finally came up with a plan. 

*** My plan was simple and easy to implement. I was going to set my self
up as a target.  When they came to get me then hopefully I would be 
quicker and get them. Simple plan right?  All I had to do was set it in 
motion. I pulled out my cell and called FDJ's office. 

“Let me talk to the fat slob,” I sarcastically said. 

“What, who is this.” I heard 

“Tell the blob that Simon wants to talk.” 

“You're a dead man walking,” was the next voice I heard. 

“Been watching old movies have we, Jack, or did you come up with that
line on your own?” 

“You listen to me Simon, you're dead.” His little squeaky voice was
getting higher and higher. “It's just a matter of time.” 

“Yeah right, who's going to do it, you? Your boys sure weren't good
enough. I don't think you can move that fat rear-end fast enough to 
cause me any worries. I just wanted to call to let you know that you 
aren't going to be around to spend any of Melissa's money. One way or 
another, you're history.” 

I could hear him sputtering and choking. Maybe he was having a coronary
and my job would be done. Naw, I never was that lucky. “Oh yeah,” I 
said, “and you have a nice day okay?” I quickly broke the connection. 
If that didn't get him riled up then nothing would. Now I just had to 
wait. 

*** 

Setting the stage was pretty easy. When I had two good legs every
morning I would go over to Riverside Park for a 3-5 mile run. I 
couldn't run much anymore but I still occasionally went to the park for 
a long walk. I figured that was a good place for them to make their 
move. Before painting a bulls-eye on my back I had to make a few 
preparations. I kept all my tools of the trade in an old WWII wooden 
footlocker in my office. I knew exactly what I needed. 

Opening my footlocker I put away my usual everyday handgun, a Walther
P22 .22 caliber semi-automatic pistol usually worn in a belt holster. A 
few of my friends had questioned my choice of weapons but loaded with 
.22LR hollow points my little P22 could put up a sizable fight. 

For this particular job though I felt that I would need a little more
stopping power. I pulled on my shoulder rig with my Russian MR-445 
Varjag Heavy Pistol that was chambered for .40 caliber S&W cartridges.  
The Russian SPETSNAZ Special Forces had developed the MR-445 for their 
use. It was a good steady weapon.  Whereas most .40 Cals like the 
Taurus or Glock held ten round magazines, my Varjag carried fifteen 
rounds. Those five extra rounds could make a real difference in a tight 
situation.  Loaded down with a couple of extra ammo magazines, I headed 
for the park. 

Nothing happened the first day, or the second, or the third.  By the
fourth morning I was beginning to think they wouldn't take the bait. I 
figured I had better turn up the heat a little more.  Through my old 
training officer at the Department Sergeant Willis Jackson I was able 
to get FDJ's cell phone number. They had been keeping tabs on Jack from 
some time hoping to make a case. So far no good though. I guess I'll 
have to take care of that for them, I thought. 

I called FDJ's cell. He answered with some sort of high-pitched grunt. 

“Hey fatso, you still around huh?” 

“What! Who the hell is this and how did you get this number?” Suddenly
he realized who was calling. “Simon! Just what in the hell do you 
want.” He was trying to sound tough. 

“Hey Jack, I told you I was going to take you down, got a little
something that you might like to hear.”  I had taken the taped message 
Melissa had left for me and put it into my small tape recorder. I 
pushed the play button and Melissa soft sweet voice filled the air.  “I 
am going to take your advice and make a clean break from FDJ. In fact 
I'm going to tell him tonight.  I'm supposed to be at his office at 
10:00 P.M. I'm still going to need your help. Can you meet me there?” 

All was quiet for a few seconds then FDJ's whiney voice came back. “You
got nothing gumshoe. That proves nothing.” 

Gumshoe? God, how old was FDJ anyway. I hadn't heard that term in years.
He must have been watching old 1940s movies or something. “Sorry Jack. 
Gave you a chance to come and get me but you wouldn't come. Guess your 
heart ain't nearly as large as that big fat butt. I guess I'll just 
have to give this tape to the cops. I'm sure they would be happy to 
have it. See you around,” I said and closed my cell phone. 

If that didn't do it I guess I would have to turn it over to TJ. Anyway,
I figured one more day. 

*** The day started off cold and foggy with visibility down to a few
feet. A good day for a killing, I thought. 

I had been walking for about 20 minutes and was about to start my return
when they made their move. It was a big black limousine and came 
barreling down on me from behind. It must have been the squealing of 
the tires that made me look back and it saved my life. 

The limo was only about 30 feet away when I saw it. I had just enough
time to dive out of the way. As it flew past I caught a glimpse of a 
driver and Fat Daddy Jack sitting in the back. He looked to be holding 
a MAC-10 or Tec-9 automatic. Neither weapon was good from a distance 
put could put out a lot of lead in a short time. He didn't get a chance 
to line up his shot just fired off a complete magazine as they roared 
past. Disappointed, I thought I was going to miss my chance at them but 
no, they were too stupid or overconfident to just keep going. 

The driver was pretty good; with a touch of the brake and a flip of the
wheel he made a perfect defensive driving U-turn and headed back toward 
me. This time my big Varjag was in my hand and I was ready. As they 
neared, I stepped behind a concrete lamppost so I couldn't be run down 
and pumped five .40 caliber rounds into the windshield.  I think I must 
have hit the driver with at least two shots. The limo started to weave 
erratically. As it passed me as fast as I could pull the trigger I put 
five more shots into the side windows. I most likely didn't hit FDJ but 
with all that hot lead flying around he probably messed his pants. 

Unexpectedly the car made a 90-degree right turn and crashed though the
guardrail. It didn't immediately go into the river, but sort of hung 
there for a few seconds. Taking up the preferred shooter stance I 
emptied my pistol into the back window and trunk. I guess one of the 
bullets hit something vital for there was a loud whoosh of the gas tank 
exploding as the big limo went over the edge toward the swirling brown 
water about 30 feet below. 

Ejecting the empty magazine as I ran, I pushed a fresh load home just as
I reached the broken guardrail. I didn't need the pistol anymore. The 
limo was in the water sitting nose down with the trunk blazing. It 
slowly shifted sideways and in less than 10 seconds disappeared. I 
hadn't seen any of the doors open, and besides, I didn't think FDJ 
could have gotten fat butt out without help. Okay Melissa, just like I 
promised, that one's for you. 

In the distance I heard sirens. I guess some bystander had heard all the
shooting and called 911.  I walked back to my lamppost and placing my 
pistol down in plain site, sat down. My legs had suddenly gotten a 
little shaky. Anyway, I didn't want some rookie cop to get nervous. 
Taking out my cell phone I punched TJ's number. Wouldn't hurt to have a 
friend around, after all, I imagined I might just have a little 
explaining to do. 

End 


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