Glad you liked it, Jacamo. There’s a bunch more of Chesh posted here, if you want to dig for it. Thanks!
Crime, Thrillers & Mystery / A Pocketful of Rye - Part 5
It was shortly before ten o’clock when I stepped down the worn wooden stairs that lead to the front door of The Well. The building used to be a private residence until our downtown area expanded and overtook it, and now it houses a few upscale boutiques. You can tell they’re upscale because they’re not called “shops.” The basement was originally used as a wine cellar, and stays cool and slightly damp year ‘round. The general atmosphere, sparse lighting and rough stones that make up the walls gave the place its name.
As I entered the place, a stout man behind the bar did a double-take, then reached over and rang a small brass bell that was mounted to the wall behind him.
“Ding dong bell!” he called out jovially. “Pussycat’s in The Well!” His grin raised the general wattage in the place as he beamed at me from behind his handlebar moustache. I waved a paw at him as I put my hat on the rack beside the door.
“How ya doin’, Johnny?”
Johnny Flynn is the whole reason I go to The Well. He’d caught me staggering home from some random bar one night and accosted me.
“You are not getting your money’s worth,” he’d said in that deep, musical voice of his.
“What do you mean?” I’d asked, though it probably was closer to “Whumnn?”
He’d slapped his chest proudly. “At Johnny Flynn’s place, you spend same amount, you cannot walk home afterwards. Or stumble, even, yes?” And he’d let out a big booming laugh. “Big drinks, my friend! Big drinks; very small cost! You see Johnny next time, hokay? Hokay!” Then he’d engulfed me in a big bear hug, stuck his card in my hatband, and strolled off, leaving his laugh behind.
Since then, The Well had become my shelter from the rest of the world, and Johnny Flynn my Bartender. That’s with a capital “B,” and he’s earned it. He knows when to offer advice and when to just listen. He knows when you’ve had enough and when to leave the bottle. One time he let me run a tab for almost an entire year before I got back on my feet. That was for drinks and food. Johnny makes the best moussaka this side of the Greek Isles. I’d only ordered it the first time because I didn’t know how to pronounce it, then complained when it didn’t have any mice in it. He still ribs me about that from time to time.
The smell of onions, mushrooms, and peppers sizzling in olive oil grabbed me and dragged me over to the bar, where Johnny was keeping a critical eye on the pan.
“You are hungry, yes?” he rumbled at me, gesturing with the pan.
“Not tonight, but thanks.”
He picked up my arm with one slab of a hand, shaking his head. “Look at you,” he said disapprovingly. “Bones. You do not eat enough of Johnny’s good food! Come…I catch you a mousie, yes? Ha!” He slapped my shoulder, nearly dislocating it.
Nothing about Johnny Flynn is subtle.
“Another time, Johnny. I’m here on business tonight.”
Johnny bent his head down and looked around conspiratorially through slitted eyes. “There is danger afoot, yes?” Then he roared out a laugh that weighed more than I do. He thinks all detectives are like the ones in the pulps: suave, easy with women, always ready with a wisecrack. I’ve pointed out all of the evidence to the contrary, namely…me, but he refuses to believe it. He plays along like it’s all a big joke. Sometimes when I review my life, I have to agree with him.
He slid the veggies onto a rectangle of garlicky dough and rolled them up expertly. He walked it over to one of the tables, and returned to set me up with a nice scotch.
“So what is this business that brings you to Johnny’s place tonight?” he asked.
“Not sure,” I replied. “My secretary took the call. Someone wanted to meet me here.”
“Of course! Johnny’s is the best! Even mysterious fatal females know this, yes?” He grinned.
“First of all, Johnny, it’s ‘_femme fatale_’, and secondly, it was a man that left the message.”
Johnny gestured to the door. “Perhaps this, then, is your caller. I will clean off a booth, hokay? Hokay!” He took a buspan and a towel over to an empty booth, and I swiveled around to see who had come in.
He hadn’t changed much over the years. I could see by his face that he’d put on some extra pounds, but his six-four frame hid most of it. His hair had started to grey at the ends of his short sideburns, and he’d shaved off his moustache and beard at some point, emphasizing his large nose and cleft chin. He looked older, but there was the same youthful glint in his blue eyes, he still had that bounce in his walk, and he still had that slight smile on his face, as if everything amused him.
Oscar Wentworth Lewis, III.
He walked across the bar to stand in front of me. He carried a rolled-up newspaper. I carried five years of bad memories.
“Hey, Chesh,” he said quietly. “I’m glad you got my messages.”
I stood up. And before my former partner could say anything else, I punched him in the nose as hard as I could.
We sat in the booth. I had a scotch on the rocks in front of me and tape around my knuckles. Ozzie had gin in his glass and an icepack pressed up against his face. I’d followed his toppling form all the way down to the floor, landing punches to his jaw and eye before Johnny and another customer managed to pull me off. Johnny, having that eerie Bartender ability to read the situation, wouldn’t let me storm out, and after a brief cooling off period while he did some first aid, he made us sit down together in a booth at the back of the place.
“So talk,” I said. “Tell me what you know about the orchestra, then get out.”
“Chesh, listen. I…”
“Save it, Ozzie.”
“You don’t understand.”
My glass threatened to shatter in my hand. “Oh I understand just fine, partner. “ He winced at that. “If you have something that’ll help me with this case, great. Otherwise, we’re done talking.” He didn’t say anything. “Let me help you out,” I offered. I dug the two notes he’d left out of my pocket and laid them on the table. “Don’t trust who?” I asked, pointing to the first one.
“Russ and Carpenter,” he said.
“Covered,” I snapped. I pointed to the second note. “Who isn’t who they appear to be?”
He sighed. “Odelia Coleridge.”
“Fine. Not really anything I hadn’t suspected, but it’s nice to have confirmation.” I stood up. “Goodbye, Ozzie. Don’t let me see you again.” I started for the door.
“Deirdre is dying, Chesh.”
He said it so calmly. So matter-of-factly.
I didn’t turn around. “I don’t know anyone by that name,” I said.
“That’s a load of crap, Cheshire.”
“I don’t know anyone by that name,” I repeated. “I thought I did. I was wrong.”
I walked out into the night.
I met her seven years ago. She was a waitress at a little restaurant near our office uptown. Oh yeah, we were doing good business. Ozzie, otherwise known as Oscar Wentworth Lewis, III, otherwise known as the wise old O.W. L., was something of a local celebrity back when he took me on as his assistant. He worked closely with the DA’s office – was on retainer with them, actually – and his involvement in a case could usually guarantee a win for the city. He was detailed, thorough, and had a network of contacts that could generally provide him with the information he was after.
Ozzie was treating me to dinner because I had found a crucial deed in the records room at City Hall, and he was able to prove a land swindle for the District Attorney in an election year. The city had an airtight case, and Mark d’Carabas went to prison for a long time.
The waitress came over to take our orders. Her nametag said “Deirdre.” She was a skinny thing, with a cream-colored coat and a long tail. She smiled at me with a shy little grin, and I stammered out my order. I think I ordered my soup medium rare. Ozzie laughed at the both of us throughout the dinner because we were so obviously attracted to one another, and so ham-handed about it. He suggested that I arrest her and take her to the movies instead of jail.
I never did arrest her, but I did finally take her to the movies. We held hands throughout the entire double-feature. She had the softest paws.
Ozzie and I spent a lot of time at that restaurant, and Deirdre came over to the office after her shift most nights. I was working crazy hours then, too, and sometimes she’d show up at the nightclub or gambling hall I was staking out, just to let me know she was there. She never did anything to blow my cover; she’d just walk past me on her way to the powder room, or take a seat at a craps table in my line of sight. Sometimes the three of us would go out on the lake in Ozzie’s boat and fish, then he would grill our catch on the shore as the sun went down, and I played the fiddle while Deirdre danced. Ozzie had a beautiful boat. He’d bought it cheap from a salvage yard, and spent a lot of time fixing it up. He painted it a rich green when he was finished, and named it The Walnut. It was a good two years.
Ozzie eventually promoted me to full partner, and after a few months on that salary, I figured that the time was right to propose to Deirdre. I walked into the office with the ring and the champagne, and waited for her to come by after her shift.
She never did.
Her boss said she hadn’t worked that night, and hadn’t called in to say she wouldn’t be there. I promised him I’d find out what was going on, and yes, I’d tell Deirdre that she was in danger of getting fired. Not that she’d have to keep that crummy job, anyway. I stopped by her flat, but she wasn’t there. I ran all over town looking for her, but no luck. I checked back at the office, but Ozzie hadn’t come back, either.
Finally, having exhausted all other possibilities, I went to the small marina where Ozzie kept The Walnut. One of the night guards told me that he’d seen O.W.L and the pussycat take the beautiful pea green boat out a few hours earlier.
I never saw either of them again.
I didn’t have the experience to manage Ozzie’s case load or his contacts, and after a couple of disastrous courtroom appearances, I was no longer solicited by the DA. Things started to spiral downward. I had to move out of our uptown office into the industrial section of town, then over to the other side of the tracks. My living arrangements made similar adjustments until I was left with a tiny flat, an even tinier office, and bill collectors circling like sharks.
The funny thing is how long I held on to that stupid engagement ring. I’d convinced myself that as long as I had it, there was a chance that Deirdre would leave Oscar and come back to me. I don’t remember what changed my mind, but I finally pawned that ring and used the cash to get completely juiced. That might have been the same night Johnny found me; I don’t know. A lot of that time is jumbled up in my head. Part of it I can’t remember.
Most of it I didn’t want to.
You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.
Reviews
Sort Reviews by Newest | Oldest | Highest Quality | Lowest Quality | Newest Comments |
Mikhail_S reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
I found your characters sweet and the story to be a charming little slice of fantasy and wander through the imagination. You have a vivid and energetic writing style and a vast and fluid vocab!
Something jarred about the expression “the smell of… grabbed me” as this suggests that the smell is literally grabbing her… I know you use it as figure of speech but it is less effective in my opinion!!
Keep going, this is wonderful.
Mikhail
PS Good wit as well… very humourous!
- add/view comments (2)
Jacamo reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
Absolutely! Keept going,Sam Spade the cat,I love it.
dienomight reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
i thought this was a great piece of work. do you always use plots as diverse as this one? i don’t read mysteries that often so i don’t know if i fully understand the genre yet, but i really enjoyed reading it. keep up the good work! i read the grifters when i was much younger and i felt a connection with that book but i didn’t get the same feeling from your piece. i guess that’s good because that means it’s original.
wrtr4evr reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
nice continuatuion. once again, nothing needs to be changed. its very well written. you are a very very good writter. this is like nothing i’ve ever read. keep continuing it, i would like to read it all. very very different than other books and just keep doing what you are doing. it doesn’t need much editting. keep doing what you are doing and good luck!!
Weaver reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
““Ding dong bell!” he called out jovially. “Pussycat’s in The Well!”” (shakes head) It’s not as bad as what they shout one’s first time at Tolly-Ho, at least… I really didn’t expect that line, but I should have. Well. Cat. Ding dong bell. Gotcha. I should learn to pay attention more to what I’m reading…
“I waved a paw at him…” There’s one of those subtle ‘this is an actual cat’ reminders I’ve been missing.
”...then complained when it didn’t have any mice in it.” :) Nope, and that pasta dish doesn’t have rats, either. Totally unfair, ain’t it?
“The smell of onions, mushrooms, and peppers…” You’re a Steven Brust fan, aren’t you? I knew there had to be a scene that mentioned food (with peppers) in here somewhere…
“He thinks all detectives are like the ones in the pulps: suave, easy with women…” Ah, but many women love cute little kitties…
“And before my former partner could say anything else, I punched him in the nose as hard as I could.” It really wouldn’t be a proper hard-boiled detective story without some kind of ‘former partner troubles’ subplot… I guess that scratching him instead of punching wouldn’t be Chesh’s style, even if it is more cat-ly.
“wise old O.W.L.” Ah, the Owl and the Pussycat… Got it. Is there a boat in this story?
Mark d’Carabas… Funny.
“She was a skinny thing, with a cream-colored coat and a long tail… She had the softest paws.” Oooohhh, Chesh had a pretty lady-cat friend. (I admit, when I first saw the name, I thought she’d be a black cat.) ’Tragic love story’ is also a good subplot…
Other than the nursery rhyme/fairy tale referrences, there isn’t much humor in this chapter, but I think that’s a good thing. As I may have said before, unrelenting humor tends to get boring after a while. Besides, it’s easier to take the funny parts seriously (not the oxymoron that seems at first) if there are sad or scary parts, too, because life is like that.
thewritecareer reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
The OWL and the pussycat – the pea green boat….....oh, it is great how you weave all these stories together to keep them going in this one.
Poor Chesh and his love, Diedre. It actually made me sad.
The O was OWL – I had not guessed that at all. Good twist there!
You have the main plot and the little subplots, which every good story needs. This has me intrigued and I cannot wait to read the rest!
Lena17 reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
This was good; I personally thought the last part was better. Overall, this story is a great, great piece of work; it’s just the general excitement of the piece goes up and down over the installments. Sure, this story is quite detailed, very well thought out, and a fantastic example of a crime thriller. I think I’m missing all the fairytale references from “Hush Little Baby”.
As far as this installment goes, the good thriller tone seemed to be lacking. It was nice, however, to finally find out who the mysterious ‘O’ was; now, I hope I’ll get to learn more about him, see who is, and who he’s supposedly become, in coming back into Cat’s life.
I don’t know what to think about Deirdre, though. She seems like a complete whore!!
Well, there’s my judgmental review! Best of luck with the rest of this story; I’ll still be reading. _
~JMB
Mario007 reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
hey sorry…but i need credits this time(woke up and found five big reviews…)
I like the way you’re gradually doing something totally different than Hush, Little Baby. I was actually wondering after the end of the first part of Pocektful of Rye if this story si going to be personal becasue we all know that when the story becomes personal it grows in importantce. And I’m glad your actually revealing more of Chesh’s past as he is a really cool character to work with and it is a pleasure for the reader to see how he was doing when he was young and not as experienced. Also I liked the fact that your trying to put in a loveline into it.
Once again I’m gonna leave you with me wondering, this time I wonder how will you tie Chesh’s past with this case…
BFD reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
So THAT’S what Chesh has against the water – nice way to work that back in :-)
We are learning so much more about him in this story :-) It’s a nice way to fill in the timeline that you were talking about the other day too. I am a bit curious though why Chesh didn’t ask Ozzie how he fit in, or knew anything about, the orchestra thing? Once Deirdre’s name was mentioned, Chesh’s mind started to wander…
barkada reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
First off, the idea is cool: a new spin on the fairy tales of old, set against a backdrop everyone can relate to. And good protagonist character choice to boot. I mean, the Cheshire Cat, famous for his grin yet a brooding investigator? One just can’t help but love the irony.
Speaking of characters, the differentiated language usage by the various characters sets them apart from each other. Brilliant. ”You see Johnny next time, hokay?” and then the correction of “femme fatale” not only individualizes them but also sets up the characters’ interplay.
The backstory came in in a good manner, too. Not just an all-in-your-face shotgun blast, but introduced in understandable blocks that build on each other.
Once I figure out how to better use the system and how to access your other work, I look forward to reading it.
Thanks…
Showing 1 - 10 of 12
Next →
Review item
Add to favesCreator
Relevant Links
Item Stats
GENERAL
12 Reviews 20 Comments
Version 1
Latest Activity: 7 months ago
REVIEW QUEUE
Appeared in Queue: 68 Times
Skipped: 0 Times
Ratings & Rankings
