Problem Child
titleless
- Joined
- Feb 21, 2001
- Posts
- 27,935
It was a misty night in L.A. Unusually cool for September. It had been a little over nine months since the Japs bombed Pearl, and the streets were pretty quiet for a Friday night. But it was 1:30 A.M., and most of the boys were off fighting the war.
The 1932 Chevrolet coupe rolled up to the curb outside Dilly’s bar and the lights went out. A tall lean figure got out of the car and strode toward the saloon doors. He pushed the doors open, and walked through, swaggering a little. A few of the regulars looked up, and then went back to what they were doing.
He was a cool drink of water, a head higher than most, with that squinty-eyed look that a fella gets when he’s just bitten into a leftover tuna sandwich he shoulda thrown out two weeks ago. He wore a grey fedora, pulled low over his eyes, and a grey double-breasted suit that seemed a bit worse for wear.
“Whiskey, neat,” the stranger said.
The barkeep eyed the stranger. “Sure thing fella.”
The stranger sipped his whiskey and stared straight ahead. He seemed tired, and serious. Serious like nobody’s business.
“You from around her, Bub? I don’t recall seeing you before, ” asked the barkeep.
“Oh, I’m from around Mister…all around.” said the stranger, in a quiet voice.
The barkeep pondered that for a second. “My name’s Dillinger, but they call me Dilly, or Dillybar,” he leaned closer to Rick and said in a lower voice, “They call me monstercock too, but that’s between me, you, and a few certain ladies, hehehe,” said Dilly, expecting at least a smile out of his customer.
“DeVille’s the name…Rick DeVille,” said the stranger in a low monotone.
Glad to meet ya, DeVille,” said the barkeep. He extended his hand, but Rick sat pat. It was his way. Never make friends…they’ll only turn on you in the end, was his personal motto.
“What’s your game, Deville?”
Rick looked up over his whiskey in the smoky dim neon haze, “Come again?”
“Your game. Your bag. Your racket. Your deal man, what do you do? Cop, lawyer, accountant? What?”
Rick set his glass down and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. Too many late nights and shady two-bit characters had given him that look…the look that told people he had seen too many late nights and hung around too many shady characters.. “Private Dick. P.I. Gumshoe. Jack of all trades, master of none. I find people…people that don’t wanna be found.
Dilly eyed the stranger and slowly wiped a whiskey glass with a dirty towel. “Who ya tryin’ to find tonight, pal?”
“A dame. A broad. A hot little number with a set of gams that can wrap around a man and make him forget his mother’s name, with a set of headlights that would make Henry Ford jealous. A kisser that can stop a clock, and I mean in a good way, buster. A rear end that that’s aces and eights. Eyes you could drown in. Hair like silk, black as…
“Okay…I get the picture Bub. She’s a piece, right?”
“Yeah…a piece,” Rick replied. “A piece of heaven, with a heart full a sin.”
Rick pulled something from his wrinkled jacket and pushed it across the bar toward Dilly. “That’s her…ever seen her in here?”
Dilly held the photo under the dim light by the register and studied it.
“I think…yeah, I think so…but she was blonde last time I seen her in here…about a month ago. She comes in every so often. Hot little number. I don’t know her name though. Rita, or…Lucy…something like that.”
Rick took the photo back and tucked it into his jacket. “Ruby. Ruby Fruit, if you can believe that. She’s a high class call girl from Reno…one of the best, or so they say. Chrome off a trailer hitch kind of talent. Golf ball through a garden hose. They say she killed a guy once. Got him so excited, his ticker just gave out…but that’s just a rumor.”
“Why are you looking for her?” asked Dillinger.
“Her old man…her rich old man hired me. Seems she put a dent in his bank account, and split town. He didn’t even know she was turning tricks…I let him in on that little gem. Now he wants his cash back, all fifty grand, along with his sweet little wife. Gonna try and make her see the error of her ways I suppose.”
Dilly poured another shot of Jack and Rick downed it. “I'm staying at the Continental, downtown. Lemme know if you see her in here, willya?”
"Sure thing, Dick Tracy," said Dilly, with a sly grin.
"Thanks."
Rick tossed a buck on the bar, adjusted his fedora, and strode out into the night.
The 1932 Chevrolet coupe rolled up to the curb outside Dilly’s bar and the lights went out. A tall lean figure got out of the car and strode toward the saloon doors. He pushed the doors open, and walked through, swaggering a little. A few of the regulars looked up, and then went back to what they were doing.
He was a cool drink of water, a head higher than most, with that squinty-eyed look that a fella gets when he’s just bitten into a leftover tuna sandwich he shoulda thrown out two weeks ago. He wore a grey fedora, pulled low over his eyes, and a grey double-breasted suit that seemed a bit worse for wear.
“Whiskey, neat,” the stranger said.
The barkeep eyed the stranger. “Sure thing fella.”
The stranger sipped his whiskey and stared straight ahead. He seemed tired, and serious. Serious like nobody’s business.
“You from around her, Bub? I don’t recall seeing you before, ” asked the barkeep.
“Oh, I’m from around Mister…all around.” said the stranger, in a quiet voice.
The barkeep pondered that for a second. “My name’s Dillinger, but they call me Dilly, or Dillybar,” he leaned closer to Rick and said in a lower voice, “They call me monstercock too, but that’s between me, you, and a few certain ladies, hehehe,” said Dilly, expecting at least a smile out of his customer.
“DeVille’s the name…Rick DeVille,” said the stranger in a low monotone.
Glad to meet ya, DeVille,” said the barkeep. He extended his hand, but Rick sat pat. It was his way. Never make friends…they’ll only turn on you in the end, was his personal motto.
“What’s your game, Deville?”
Rick looked up over his whiskey in the smoky dim neon haze, “Come again?”
“Your game. Your bag. Your racket. Your deal man, what do you do? Cop, lawyer, accountant? What?”
Rick set his glass down and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. Too many late nights and shady two-bit characters had given him that look…the look that told people he had seen too many late nights and hung around too many shady characters.. “Private Dick. P.I. Gumshoe. Jack of all trades, master of none. I find people…people that don’t wanna be found.
Dilly eyed the stranger and slowly wiped a whiskey glass with a dirty towel. “Who ya tryin’ to find tonight, pal?”
“A dame. A broad. A hot little number with a set of gams that can wrap around a man and make him forget his mother’s name, with a set of headlights that would make Henry Ford jealous. A kisser that can stop a clock, and I mean in a good way, buster. A rear end that that’s aces and eights. Eyes you could drown in. Hair like silk, black as…
“Okay…I get the picture Bub. She’s a piece, right?”
“Yeah…a piece,” Rick replied. “A piece of heaven, with a heart full a sin.”
Rick pulled something from his wrinkled jacket and pushed it across the bar toward Dilly. “That’s her…ever seen her in here?”
Dilly held the photo under the dim light by the register and studied it.
“I think…yeah, I think so…but she was blonde last time I seen her in here…about a month ago. She comes in every so often. Hot little number. I don’t know her name though. Rita, or…Lucy…something like that.”
Rick took the photo back and tucked it into his jacket. “Ruby. Ruby Fruit, if you can believe that. She’s a high class call girl from Reno…one of the best, or so they say. Chrome off a trailer hitch kind of talent. Golf ball through a garden hose. They say she killed a guy once. Got him so excited, his ticker just gave out…but that’s just a rumor.”
“Why are you looking for her?” asked Dillinger.
“Her old man…her rich old man hired me. Seems she put a dent in his bank account, and split town. He didn’t even know she was turning tricks…I let him in on that little gem. Now he wants his cash back, all fifty grand, along with his sweet little wife. Gonna try and make her see the error of her ways I suppose.”
Dilly poured another shot of Jack and Rick downed it. “I'm staying at the Continental, downtown. Lemme know if you see her in here, willya?”
"Sure thing, Dick Tracy," said Dilly, with a sly grin.
"Thanks."
Rick tossed a buck on the bar, adjusted his fedora, and strode out into the night.
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will be interesting, yes?
