Tartar Dodgely, Private Eye – Scene 6
August 30, 2008
I caught up with Teddy Tinsel outside of Swishing Sweets, an adult entertainment club in Southtown owned by none other than Marcus Trent himself.
First, I had to find Phil Farley and convince him [SFX: FistFight background] that I meant business.
(Faded in from background)
Dodgely: "Who’s the goon who beat me up the other night."
Phil Farley: "Teddy Tinsel."
Dodgely: "Where is he?"
Phil Farley: "In Southtown."
(Fade out.)
When I say I caught up to him I really mean that I nailed him in the face with the business end of a trash can.
[SFX: Crash]
It was lucky I brought the can, because Teddy Tinsel, despite his sweet name was another giant of a man.
Dodgely: "Listen to me buddy, you know who I am?"
Teddy: "No."
[SFX: Punch]
Dodgely: "Yeah you do, you smacked me around two nights ago."
Teddy: "I don’t know you."
[SFX: Punch]
Dodgely: "Well, guess what Teddy. Today’s the worst day of the rest of your life."
[SFX: Punch]
Dodgely: "I’m a cop, and you’ve assaulted a police officer. That’s five years upstate."
Teddy: "What? I didn’t know you was a cop."
[SFX: Punch]
Dodgely: "Well, now you do, Teddy. But, now it’s too late."
Teddy: "Wait a minute, wait a minute. There’s gotta be something I can do."
There WAS something he could do. He could turn state’s evidence on somebody. And, it didn’t matter that that somebody didn’t exist.
Teddy went to the police an hour later and turned stoolie on a poker buddy. The buddy had told him about a job he’d pulled for some rich guy outside of the city. Evidently, he’d killed the rich guy’s wife for him. Put a bullet in her head. Teddy didn’t know who the poker buddy was, but he knew the rich guy was named…
Teddy: "Trent, Marcus Trent."
[SFX: Sirens, police, flashbulbs, "extra, extra"]
The press loved it. I’d say they had a field day but it was more like a field month. Marcus fought for his innocence every step of the way, but it finally came down to those photos. The last day of the trial rolled around and I came to the courthouse to watch the circus; and found myself sitting next to my old pal, Freddie.
Freddie: "Good work."
Dodgely: "What are you talking about?"
Freddie: "I know what happened."
Dodgely: "I told you he did it."
Freddie: "Well, we’ll see won’t we?"
Dodgely: "Today’s the day."
Freddie: "Yep."
[SFX: Court room sounds]
Freddie: "That poor sap."
Dodgely: "Who?"
I was a little annoyed and hoped that he wasn’t talking about Marcus.
Freddie: "His brother."
Dodgely: "Whose brother?"
Freddie: "Marcus Trent’s."
He pointed at a sorry looking fellow sitting a few rows behind Marcus and his lawyer. The guy was a complete wreck.
Freddie: "Kevin Trent. He seems to be taking it harder than Marcus even."
Suddenly it felt like a cloud had settled just below the ceiling of the court room.
Dodgely: "I didn’t know he had a brother."
Freddie: "Yeah, it’s funny."
Something wasn’t right here.
Dodgely: "What’s funny?"
Freddie: "My best detective, Hardy, thought it was Kevin that had done the dirty deed. He was convinced. But, then Tinsel showed up outta nowhere and knocked the theory outta the water."
Dodgely: "He thought it was Kevin."
Freddie: "Yeah, the only problem was that there didn’t seem to be any motive. There was the big insurance policy, but Marcus was going to collect on that, not Kevin. It just didn’t hold up."
Something wasn’t right. Marcus was about to be convicted and something was wrong. I stood up and started out of the court room. I needed some fresh air. I needed some time to think.
Freddie: "Where you going? You’re gonna miss the show."
Dodgely: "I’ll catch it in the papers, Fred."
As I pushed through the doors at the back of the courtroom the smell of flowers filled my head. I knew that perfume, and suddenly everything fell into place. I had been played.
Continue Scene 7
Tartar Dodgely, Private Eye – Scene 5
August 23, 2008
My office was ransacked. I had a feeling it was Trent’s cronies leaving a message for me. They broke in through the window in the door. The window that used to say Tartar Dodgely, Private Investigator now only said Gator.
My desk was turned over and all of the chairs were lying on their sides. The couch was pushed away from the wall and my flask was gone from the wall cabinet. What bothered me most was that whoever had done it had stolen my only bottle of aspirin, and with my splitting headache, that was all I really cared about. Who steals a bottle of aspirin? Animals.
[SFX: Picking up phone receiver and dialing, in phone ringing, click of someone answering.]
Clarice’s Mom: "Hello?"
Dodgely: "Hello, is this Clarice?"
Clarice’s Mom: "No, this is her mother, who is this?"
Dodgely: "My name is Officer Troy, ma’am. Can you put Clarice on the phone?"
Clarice’s Mom: "Are you a police officer?"
Dodgely: "Yes, ma’am. I really need to speak with Clarice."
Clarice’s Mom: "Hold your horses, young man. There’s no reason to get pushy. Clarice! There’s a man on the telephone… He says he’s with the police department… How should I know?… Is she in trouble?"
Dodgely: "No ma’am. This has to do with Kathina Trent."
Clarice’s Mom: "He wants to talk to you about Kathina… She says she already talked to the police."
Dodgely: "Ma’am, I need you to put your daughter on the phone."
Clarice’s Mom: "Don’t get your panties in a wad, mister, she’s on her way; and I’d thank you for not calling me on my own telephone, in my own house, and being rude to me. Do you understand that?… You hold on just a second, Clarice. Do you understand that?"
Dodgely: "Yes, ma’am."
Clarice Mom: "Okay."
Clarice: "Hello?"
Dodgely: "Clarice?"
Clarice: "Yes, sir."
Dodgely: "Hello, Clarice. My name is Officer Troy. Do remember the name of the officer you spoke with the other day?"
Clarice: "Yes, sir, Officer Sanders."
Dodgely: "That’s right, Officer Sanders. Well, you see, Clarice, Officer Sanders has been transferred, and I’m taking over his case. I’ve read your statement, and I just want to go back over it with you, if that’s okay."
Clarice: "Oh, sure."
Dodgely: "How did you know Mrs. Trent, Clarice?"
Clarice: "Well, we’ve been friends since grade school, Officer Troy."
Dodgely: "I see, and when was the last time you saw her?"
Clarice: "It was a week ago today, Officer. She dropped by my apartment for lunch."
Dodgely: "Did she say anything that sounded at all odd?"
Clarice: "No, sir. She seemed just fine."
Dodgely: "Did she ever mention her insurance policy to you?"
(Pause.)
Dodgely: "Clarice?"
Clarice: "I’m sorry. I just never heard anyone but her say anything about that."
Dodgely: "Did she tell you about it?"
Clarice: "Is it true?"
Dodgely: "What did she tell you?"
Clarice: "She told me that years ago she and her Marcus took out life insurance policies, because you never know what might happen. She said they were for a million apiece. And then, about three weeks ago she told me that she’d found something odd. She’d found the policies and that hers wasn’t for a million, it was for five million. She thought it was strange and wanted to know what I thought."
Dodgely: "What did you tell her?"
Clarice: "I thought maybe she misread the policy, but she was sure. She said she saw both policies, hers was for five million and his was for one hundred thousand."
Dodgely: "Where did she find them?"
Clarice: "Oh, in his desk drawer. She said he keeps everything that’s important in his desk drawer."
I got off the phone with Clarice and dialed Kathina’s mother. No answer. I didn’t have time to wait. I grabbed my overcoat and hat, rode the elevator down and hailed a cab. I told the cabbie to take me to Washington Street. Washington Street was two streets up from Denbury Avenue, the street Marcus Trent’s mansion was on. This time it only cost a dollar.
[SFX: Door opens and closes]
The rain started when the sun went down. It was that time of year, April showers.
I found an alleyway and an awning and hunkered down until midnight. This part of town gets pretty quiet at midnight. Anyone out that late in this type of neighborhood could count on getting shaken down by the police. That was the last thing I needed. I’d have to be extra careful.
I made it to Denbury untouched. At about the halfway mark, I spotted a squad car parked outside of a cafe with the lights off. It was probably empty but I moved quietly to the end of the block before crossing the street just to be on the safe side.
The gate was lit up like a chinese whore house. Five light posts stood, bracketing the entrance and flooding the entire area with light. This guy, Trent, was paranoid in a bad way. The guard, I couldn’t make out if it was Denny, was sitting in the guard shack, his silhouette visible in spite of the darkness inside the shack. Through the fence I could see the house and the guard house on top of it. It was there to give the guard a good look at the perimeter, and the guard up there probably had a nice set of binoculars.
Luckily for me it was dark and raining.
I walked up my side of the street, keeping myself pressed as close to the shop fronts as possible. At the corner, I pulled my belt loose from my trousers and used it to shimmy up the pole. At the top I buckled the belt, looped my arm through it and cut the telephone line leading into Trent’s house with my pocket knife. The cable fell quietly into the street below. Next, I slid down the pole, drew my pistol, aimed it up at the transformer feeding Trent’s house and put a hole in it.
[SFX: Gunshot and then explosion]
The transformer went up admirably in a shower of blue and orange sparks as I crossed up to the other end of the block. The power to the house went out completely. The entrance gate was utterly black.
I crossed the street and edged my way up the fence. The guard was standing just outside of his hut, pistol drawn and looking around. I squeezed silently up behind the shack walked around the back of it and clubbed him at the base of his skull.
[SFX: Thud and body falling.]
Somebody besides me was going to wake up with headache for once. I dragged his limp form into the shadow behind his shack and used the little building as a brace to get up over the steel fence. It’s nice when things work together like that.
I was over it in two shakes and racing up the now pitch black drive way to the house. The phone line was cut and the power was out. With the storm, that would buy me about 15 minutes.
I circled the house until I was under the study windows and used a gutter drain to pull myself up the wall. The rain nearly contributed to my early demise more than once.
I knocked out one of the center panes, unlocked the window, and poured through onto the plush green carpet. The study was empty.
Trent’s desk was a testament to American craftsmanship. It was enormous and immobile. Every drawer slid freely and with no catches. Every drawer except the bottom left one that is. It had a small keyhole set high up on the right side of its face. I snatched up a letter opener from Trent’s desk, jammed it into the keyhole and jerked up and down once. The catch on the lock clicked out of place and the drawer slide open.
A chain is only as strong as its weakest link and locks only keep honest men honest.
I found what I was looking for pretty quickly. It was in a folder at the bottom of the drawer. Photographs of Kathina. She was lying dead in a pool of her own blood with a bullet hole in her forehead. She was wearing the dress she had worn into my office that day. There she was and here I was. Why hadn’t I listened?
I slid the folder back into place and jammed the drawer back into the locked position. I knew the evidence was here, now I needed the police to know. And, I needed them to find out before Trent got wise about the break in.
As I slid down the drain I decided to give Phil Farley’s bodyguard a visit.
Continue Scene 6
Killing your Infected Friends: When is the Best Time?
August 21, 2008
The scenario rises again and again. The survivors of a zombie outbreak face constant attacks from zombies, and dangers from the undead as well as their less-than-friendly living brethren.
Finally after a days, or even weeks, of running and jumping and dodging, not to mention a lot of saving each other’s lives, they find out that one of their number has been bitten.
They might be blissfully ignorant of the fact that a bite equals an unpleasant death and consequential rise from the grave, but it always happens. The smallest scratch, that makes bodily fluid transfer possible, creates a zombie.
So, as a survivor, what is the protocol when dealing with our doomed compatriots? Should they be slain on the spot, their brains destroyed and their body burned, lest they should rise and track down their former friends?
Or should they be given every accommodation? Should they be allowed to live out the remainder of their lives in the company of their friends? And, only when the last breath has passed from their lungs and their dull, staring eyes have reopened, filled with murderous, apathy should we destroy them.
This is a question that has plagued survivors time after time, and will continue to be an issue in the future. I can’t give you a hard fast rule for dealing with your companions because every group of friends is different.
Immediate and merciless destruction of a victim of zombie contamination may work well in some groups and cause stress and turmoil among the remaining survivors of others.
Only the group can know what’s best.
With that said, I’d like to make sure you can make a well-informed decision when the time comes, so here is some information you may find interesting.
The Process of Becoming a Zombie
An infected individual, depending on the size of the wound, may have anywhere between 24 and 120 hours before they die and their corpse is reanimated as a flesh-eating menace.
Before reanimation, the infected will go into an extended coma, accompanied by high fever, that generally lasts between 4 and 7 hours. At the end of the coma, the victim’s heart and nervous system stop during what is known as clinical death.
The final rest of the victim has a wide range, it can be anywhere from less than a minute to several hours, so this is really one of the more dangerous times to be with the infected friend.
When the zombie rises, it’s important to remember that it is a zombie and is in no way related to your former friend. The only thing the zombie shares with your friend is their body. More than one person has been lulled into the false belief that they could do something to cure their loved ones. Don’t become a victim yourself.
Considerations During Destruction
To stop the zombie you must remove the head or destroy the brain. Removing the head severs the spinal cord and stops the zombie from moving. Destroying the brain destroys the creatures conscious mind.
This is an important distinction. Studies show that an immobile zombie with a severed spinal cord still has a conscious mind trapped inside.
Further Dangers
When destroying the newly created menace keep in mind that all of its body fluids have the potential of infecting you. A single drop of blood mixed with your own will make you the next to die.
Finally, I think it’s important to discuss your plans with your companions well in advance. An open line of communication is always important in any group, and especially important when you may have to kill one of them.
The Survivors and Choosing Your Companions
August 20, 2008
Zombies and zombie stories are a study of humanity. Because, and bear with me here, zombies aren’t the primary element in a zombie story. The most important ingredient in a zombie story are the survivors at the heart of the tale.
Without survivors and their often harrowing tale, there is no zombie story-telling genre. Because, let’s face it, by themselves, zombies just aren’t all that interesting.
That group of undead flesh-eaters stumbling their way toward the survivors is simply another piece of the environment in which the survivors have to survive. And, the survivors are the meat of the story.
All of this comes from a recent comment from Dana on the Big Box Stores as Shelter from the Living Dead post:
Any place that might attract a lot of people would be just as scary as the zombies. Eventually, people start to freak out and you either get “Lord of the Flies” or crazy evangelicals such as in Marcia Gay Harden “The Mist” – (brilliant performance, btw).
I’d much rather face my fate outsmarting and hiding from zombies by myself or with a small group than have to deal with a bunch of freaked out crazies proclaiming that the attack was God’s will, or even worse, proclaiming themselves as gods.
Dana hits on an extremely important point, and one that I have overlooked in my preparation posts:
One of the most important parts in getting prepared for the Zombie Apocalypse is choosing proper comrades, and keeping that list small.
Proper companions are people who are skilled at many things, do not hold overly strong opinions on subjects of race and religion, are good campers, ex-military, ex-boy scouts, and extremely smart.
Now, I realize that it’s difficult to find all of those traits in one person, but the more the better.
Things you want to avoid are people with abundances of aggression, vanity, arrogance, or strongly religious or racist characteristics. Usually it’s a good idea to avoid people that you wouldn’t want as a friend…
If a person thinks that the apocalypse is “those people’s” fault then you should probably start watching out. Because it’s just a short jump for them from saying that it’s those people’s fault to saying that it’s your fault.
Next thing you know, you’re being thrown into an awkward crowd-surf on top of a sea of zombies.
Not good.
In the next post I’ll cover another important topic in this vein: Killing your friends, when is the best time to shoot your infected companion?
Leucotome The Musical (AKA: The Orbitoclast)
August 20, 2008
I have an idea for a stage musical called Leucotome: The Musical. Perhaps subtitled “The Tragic Life of Walter Freeman.”
Everything about it sounds like a lot of fun, and I think it would be a fantastic project. The only problem is that I know absolutely nothing about writing musicals, let alone music.
But, I can see it in my mind’s eye and it’s glorious. It’s the life and times of Walter Freeman (fictionalized for drama’s sake, of course).
Walter Freeman reinvented the lobotomy in the 1930’s. Before Freeman, the lobotomy was a horribly medieval process that involved drilling holes at the top of the victim’s forehead, and performing the lobotomy through each of them with a complicated and faulty device. After Freeman, the lobotomy, while still medieval, left fewer scars – because Freeman discovered that a lobotomy could be performed through the eyes of the subject with a glorified ice pick.
He called the new procedure the “Trans-orbital Lobotomy” and proclaimed it a miracle cure.
Freeman, a psychiatrist, started out working with a number of neurosurgeons to complete the process on hundreds of patients, but eventually he convinced himself that he was capable of performing the procedure himself.
Now, not only did he do it himself, he performed the procedure on his patients in his office!
The story is beautiful in the horror of it. Watts, his neurosurgeon friend, walked in on him performing the procedure once and completely turned his back on the well-meaning psychiatrist.
The story goes on, and I haven’t even gotten to the fictionalized parts of it yet – everything so far really happened!
All in all, Freeman was responsible for the lobotomies of over three thousand individuals. He was a little obsessive about it, and once performed 25 of them in 24 hours.
Freeman was a showman at heart and would often perform the procedures for medical audiences, where, after he grew bored with one-handed lobotomies, he started doing them with both hands at once.
The story is ripe for a musical retelling and I don’t think anyone would regret it…. Okay, well maybe I would.
If you or anyone you know writes music, is familiar with the process of musical storytelling, and is a little twisted, please let me know.
Big Box Stores as Shelter from the Living Dead
August 16, 2008
I’ve been having a conversation on the Shelter from the Living Dead post with Jacob.
Jacob thinks that a big box store like Wal-Mart, Sam’s or Costco would be a great shelter because of the ready access to supplies and because of the limited entrances.
Most recently he made a good point about the entrances:
well you do know that cosco has the same consept as walmart but the front doors are all metal lift doors like storages and there imployee do only have handles from the inside so no one could break in.
I thought I’d respond with a full post.
Jacob,
No, I didn’t realize that – and it’s a good point. A building with metal door covers would be a great boon. Things to keep in mind are marauders (who could find a way to break through the metal lift doors) and spoiling food.
Several years ago, in my neighborhood, there was a Food Lion (a grocery store that used to be well known in the southwest) that had to close its doors because it was going out of business.
The owner of the store closed and locked the doors without doing anything. In other words, he didn’t get rid of any of the food. The power was turned off, and the food was left to rot on the shelves.
Several weeks later, the neighbors started complaining about the noxious smells.
In the end, a team of haz-mat protected workers with masks and full body suits had to go into the store to clean up the mess. The gas coming out of the rotting food was too poisonous (aside from being gross) for anyone to face it without gas masks.
If that gives you an idea of the dangers of fresh food in supermarkets, it would be for the best. Technically it’s possible to spend the time and effort to remove the food – but, you won’t have that luxury during the first wave of the zombie apocalypse – and, the first wave might last long enough to put you into a bad situation with the food.
And, after spending weeks clearing out the rotting food (probably through the roof and down the wall) – and after smelling it as it rots outside for many more weeks, you would eventually find your shelter surrounded by thousands of starving undead.
You would be trapped, and eventually a well-supplied, well-armored group might come along, fight their way through the zombies, tear down your thin metal drop doors, and hold you at gun point while they take all of your remaining supplies.
In the end, they would probably either kill your group or leave it unprotected and without supplies in a sea of zombies.
Now, I realize that’s the pessimistic view, but I think it’s better to know what’s possible.
I still say that a fortified series of houses, well stocked, and high off the ground are the perfect shelter. They may be unrealistic, and not likely – but they are the best protected from all threats.
Thanks again Jacob.
Tartar Dodgely, Private Eye – Scene 4
August 16, 2008
I was awake but I was having trouble opening my eyes. I could force one of them open and make out a blurry mix of grays and blues but the light coming through was too much for my splitting headache. It was like fighting my way out of a pit full of pillows, I just couldn’t seem to get anywhere.
Finally, sheer will-power won out and I forced one of my eyes, the left one because it didn’t hurt as much, open with my fingers. The world was still blurry around me but it was starting to clear up, and my left eye stayed open.
I was definitely in a jail cell. It was a cell at my old precinct, I’d seen this cell before. Always from the other side of the bars, but I knew it well. Other than me, the cell was empty.
Dodgely: (slurred) "Hello?"
I was hoping for a guard, a janitor, anything.
Dodgely: "Hello?"
[SFX: Kathunk sound]
Someone peeped through the spy window.
Dodgely: "I’m awake."
[SFX: Kathunk sound]
I passed out again, satisfied that they knew I was back among the world of the living. I couldn’t have been asleep very long, because my head was still full of boulders, when the door opened.
[SFX: Cell door opening.]
Dodgely: "Hey, Freddie."
Freddie: "Don’t, ‘Hey, Freddie’ me, Dodgely, you’re in hot water here, kid."
Dodgely: "What happened?"
His jaw dropped comically.
Freddie: "’What happened?’ ‘What happened?’ he says. Are you kidding me, Dodgely. You only just pulled the stupidest stunt of your entire life. Do you really not remember?"
I thought about it. I remembered going to Trent’s house. I remembered the long drive way and the enormous guards, but everything else was still a little hazy.
Freddie: "Let me refresh you. You entered Marcus Trent’s home by impersonating a police officer, accused him of murdering his wife, and assaulted one of his body guards."
It was coming back now.
Freddie: "He had you arrested for trespassing and brought here. He wants us to press charges for impersonating an officer of the law."
Dodgely: "Wait, wait, wait. He said I assaulted one of his body guards?"
Freddie: "Dodgely, that’s the least of your worries right now."
Dodgely: "Did you see those guys? They’re like mountains."
Freddie: "Listen to me, Dodgely. What the hell were you thinking?"
Dodgely: "I wasn’t thinking about assaulting one of those goliaths…"
Freddie: "Why did you go over there, Dodgely."
I had to tell him. I should have told him straight away, maybe he would be able to help.
Dodgely: "He killed her, Freddie."
Freddie: "Who?"
Dodgely: "The wife."
Freddie: "No, he didn’t."
Dodgely: "Yes, he did."
Freddie: "Okay, Dodgely, what makes you so sure."
Dodgely: "I saw her."
Freddie: "Kathina?"
Dodgely: "Yeah."
Freddie: "Where?"
Dodgely: "Yesterday, at my office. She came in wanting to hire me."
Freddie: "She wanted to hire you?"
Dodgely: "Yeah."
Freddie: "Why?"
Dodgely: "She said her husband was trying to kill her."
Freddie: "Why didn’t you tell me that?"
Dodgely: "I wanted to catch the guy, not get hauled in for twenty questions. Isn’t there an investigation? He’s got a huge insurance policy."
Freddie: "No, Dodgely, there is no investigation because there’s no body. She’s an adult and missing. That doesn’t warrant an investigation."
Freddie stared at me hard for a minute. He wasn’t happy. He looked like he was about to snatch up his gun and pistol whip me.
Freddie: "Did she pay you?"
Dodgely: "No, I turned her down."
Freddie: "So, you don’t have a check from her?"
Dodgely: "No."
Freddie: "Any evidence at all?."
Dodgely: "No."
Freddie: "Then it never happened. I’m letting you out of here to go get some rest, and because there’s no reason for me to continue holding you. I’m going to seriously consider bringing you up on charges, and I want to give you a clear warning, Mr. Dodgely. If I find out that you’re sniffing around this case. If I find out you’re anywhere near this case, I’m hauling you in. I’ll hold you until your trial, and then I’ll send you up the river. I’m not kidding around here, Dodgely."
He turned on his heel and marched out of the cell.
[SFX: Door slams]
I understood. We’d been friends for years, but his career and his livelihood had to come before our friendship. And if his higher ups found out that he was taking it easy on a private dick because he was friends with him, they’d cut him in a heart beat. He didn’t want to send me to jail, but he would to protect his own job.
I didn’t want to cause Freddie anymore trouble, and I really didn’t want to go to jail; but I couldn’t let this go. This guy, this scum bag, Trent, had murdered his wife for some quick cash.
[SFX: Cell Door Opening]
Guard: "Let’s go, Dodgely."
[SFX: Foot steps]
And he was damn well going to get his reward.
Continue Scene 5
Dana’s Puppet
August 14, 2008
Dana is making a puppet for Stage West’s next production: “The Long Christmas Ride Home.” It’s kinda creepy – But, it’s creepiness aside, she’s done some really good work on it – and, we’re documenting it with a video series. Here’s the first episode, there are more to come but you’ll have to catch the rest of them on the Stage West website under videos: Stage West Videos.
Tartar Dodgely, Private Eye – Scene 3
August 9, 2008
[SFX: Car stopping and engine Idling.]
I arrived at Marcus Trent’s home twenty minutes after I left the cafe. The trent mansion was the sterling image of the American millionaire’s home. It had been featured in numerous television shows for its decadence; and if it wasn’t for the ten foot steel fence surrounding the property, it was more likely to be mistaken for an enormous hotel.
I guess Trent wanted to keep people out. Of course, the fence would also keep people in.
Cab Driver: "That’s two dollars pal."
Dodgely: "Two dollars! Did you charge me for the stimulating conversation too?"
Cab Driver: "It’s a long way, and I charge extra for trips to the suburbs. Don’t forget, I gotta drive all the way back."
Dodgely: "Here’s three if you’ll wait for me."
He took the three dollars and eyed me in the rearview mirror.
Cab Driver: "I can only wait for a half hour, after that I’m outta here, with or without you."
Dodgely: "You got it, Bub."
[SFX: Car door opening then closing, footsteps on pavement]
The cabbie had parked directly across from the gate, and as I walked up I spotted the guard. He was already watching me, and before I stepped onto the drive he was standing in the door of the security hut.
Guard: "What do you want?"
I flipped my wallet open just long enough for him to see the reflection on my Private Eye badge. It was a trick that worked well for me, most people never even looked.
Dodgely: "Police, I’m here to talk to your boss."
The guy’s name tag said Denny and he was a muscle-bound bus of a man if I’d ever seen one. His arms were as big as my thighs and his neck was wider than his own head. He looked like he’d swallowed two other men.
Guard: "You guys already got his statement."
Dodgely: "We need another one."
The guard looked at my face closely.
Guard: "What the hell happened to you?"
Dodgely: "Boating accident. Phone up your boss."
[SFX: Phone being picked up, Rotary phone dialing.]
Guard: "Sir, another police officer is here."
[SFX: Muffled, staticy speaking]
Guard: "Yes, sir."
[SFX: Muffled, staticy speaking]
Guard: "Yes, sir."
[SFX: Muffled, staticy speaking]
Guard: "What’s your name, buddy?"
Dodgely: "Dodgely."
Guard: "His name’s Dodgey."
Dodgely: "It’s Dodgely."
[SFX: Muffled, staticy speaking]
Guard: "Yes, sir."
[SFX: Phone hanging up]
Denny made me wait a few minutes before he opened the gate and let me walk through, but evidently I had passed the initial smell test.
[SFX: Gate opening, and footsteps]
Guard: "Just follow the driveway. There are three other guards watching you, so don’t go wandering."
[SFX: Footsteps continue through]
It was an abnormally long, cobblestone driveway (Another reminder of the enormous amounts of money invested in the property) and I learned two things on my walk. One, Trent’s extravagant taste bordered on eccentricity and might be considered a bit depraved. And two, Denny had lied, there was only one other guard watching me.
[SFX: Muffled organ doorbell, after a moment a door opening]
The old guy at the door must have been Trent’s butler. He was wearing a bow tie and looking down his long narrow nose at me.
Butler: "Can I help you?"
I flashed the badge again, he tried to get a closer look but it was back in my pocket and I was talking before he could ask.
Dodgely: "I’m here to see Marcus Trent."
Butler: "He’s already given his statement."
Dodgely: "I know. A few more developments have come to light, and I have more questions for him."
Butler: "What kind of developments?"
Dodgely: "Are you going to let me see Trent, or do I have to come back here with a warrant?
Butler: "A warrant?"
Dodgely: "I’m sure the press would love to see us knocking down your door."
That got his attention. He stepped aside and waved me into the house.
[SFX: Door closing.]
Butler: "This way please."
[SFX: footsteps throughout]
From the inside the place seemed even bigger. I could easily imagine playing a game of tennis in the entry hall. Large paintings, animal rugs and expensive furniture lined every open surface; and the wide, slowly spiraling staircase was crowned by the biggest crystal chandelier I’d ever laid my eyes on. I stopped on the stairs and pointed up at it.
Dodgely: "What does something like that cost?"
The old butler looked up at the chandelier then back at me.
Butler: (Laughing).
[SFX: Footsteps continue]
Five minutes later we were standing outside of Trent’s study in a green-carpeted hallway.
Butler: "Please wait here while I announce you."
[SFX: Door opens then closes.]
I sat down across the hallway in what looked like a royal throne and waited. I’d never met Trent before but I knew the class. He was at a slightly higher level than I was used to dealing with, but this was exactly the type who hired private detectives. It was the person who had everything and decided that they wanted their own army too. Most of them couldn’t buy the police so the next best thing was a private eye. Their own personal police department. And, it made them feel powerful. It made them feel stronger.
Of course, Kathina had said that Marcus owned the force, it might put him up a step on the evolutionary ladder, but it was the same mindset.
[SFX: Door opening.]
Butler: "You may enter, sir."
[SFX: footsteps on carpet.]
Marcus was seated behind his desk facing away from the door. He had a ledger book and a pen in his hands and looked like he was in the middle of something important.
[SFX: Door closes.]
I entered the room and sat in one of the high backed leather chairs across from his desk. As I sunk into the fine, brown leather Trent spun in his rotating chair to face me. I’d seen his face in print before but he was bigger and more impressive in person. Lantern jaw, high cheekbones, and a cleft chin; He had the face of a warrior.
Marcus: "What can I do for you, detective."
Dodgely: "Your wife is missing."
Marcus: "Yes, I know."
Dodgely: "I’m here to go over the details of her disappearance with you. I want to make sure that we have all the finer points."
Marcus: "For the investigation."
Dodgely: "Yes. I want you to repeat what you told the other officer."
Marcus: "Very well. I was meeting my wife for lunch yesterday. It was a late lunch because I had several meetings in town. We planned to meet at Dooley’s on 23rd at two thirty. I got there and waited a half hour before I got impatient and drove home. I called her friend Clarice and I called her mom. Neither one of them had seen her. Finally I called the police."
Dodgely: "That was awfully quick. Do you always jump to conclusions that quickly?"
Marcus: "Kathina never goes out. She hates Silver City. There are only three places she ever goes by herself: Here, her friend Clarice’s apartment, and her mother’s house. When she wasn’t at any of them, I assumed she was missing. If you knew Kathina, you’d understand."
Dodgely: "Her friend, Clarice. Do you have her phone number?"
Marcus: "Klondike-five 2232."
Dodgely: "And her mother?"
Marcus: "Fives 1821."
[SFX: Knocking on door.]
Marcus: "Enter."
It was the butler. He was looking as smug as ever and carrying a folder.
[SFX: Footsteps on carpet.]
Butler: "Here you are, sir."
Marcus: "Thank you."
[SFX: Footsteps on carpet]
The butler left, just as smugly, and Trent opened the envelope and thumbed through its contents.
Dodgely: "Why were you meeting for lunch?"
Marcus: "Excuse me?"
Dodgely: "Was there a special reason for your lunch date?"
He was still thumbing through the folder but paused to look up at me, amused.
Marcus: "Does a guy need a reason to have lunch with his wife?"
Dodgely: "You meet her for lunch everyday?"
Marcus: "No."
Dodgely: "Okay, I was just asking if yesterday was special."
He shook his head slowly and looked at me more carefully. He seemed to notice my mashed up face for the first time. He looked back down at the folder before closing it up and setting it aside.
Suddenly, I knew. The folder was a dossier on me. From the minute I talked to the guard at the front gate, they were collecting information on who I was. The butler threw it into a folder and carried it in here right under my nose. Marcus knew I wasn’t a cop now.
Marcus: "What precinct did you say you were with, Dodgely?"
Dodgely: "I didn’t."
Marcus: "Let me see your badge."
Dodgely: "I’ve gotta go."
I headed for the door.
[SFX: footsteps on carpet]
Marcus: "Not so fast, Dodgely."
I stopped with my hand on the doorknob.
Marcus: "I know who you are. You’re a failed punk with a fake badge, and I’m going to see to it that you spend the night in a jail cell."
I popped off without thinking. It’s one of my weaknesses and the cause of most of my misery in life. It’s why I’m not married and why I don’t have a cush prestigious job on the Silver City P.D.
Dodgely: "And I’ll see to it that you don’t get away with murdering your wife, Trent."
I pulled open the heavy oak door, and came face to face with the second guard. He was built exactly like Denny, like a lion with a person suit, three sizes too small, stretched around him.
Marcus: "Stop him, Tommy."
The guy was slow but there was no stopping his momentum. His over-sized fist flew over my head, missing me by less than an inch and I popped in two low ones, just above his belt. It was like punching pavement, and the rest of his body followed his punch, right over the top of me.
I was sandwiched between Tommy and the plush green carpet, and this guy was heavy. He looked down at me grinning, his nose just inches from mine. I could smell his breath, and I remember wondering where he’d gotten the pastrami on rye sandwich that he’d had for lunch just before his head rocked forward and bashed into mine.
After that, everything was dark.
Continue Scene 4
Tartar Dodgely, Private Eye – Scene 2
August 2, 2008
The night passed fitfully. I slept okay for a man who had spent the previous night in a dumpster. After Kathina left, I locked my office door and fell asleep on my couch. I woke up late in the afternoon and took the train home and tossed and turned my way through a twelve hour sleep. That gorilla must have hit me harder than I thought.
I was having a cup of coffee the next morning at Joe’s Cuppa’ Cafe and Freddie walked through the door with a newspaper under his arm.
[SFX: Door chime]
He spotted me straight away.
Freddie: "Hey, Dodgely."
Freddie was my partner when I was on the force. We were both rookies and shared a squad car. Now he was a Detective on the police force and I was a freelancer.
Dodgely: "Hey, Freddie"
Freddie pulled up short when he got to the end of my table and eyed me up and down as if I’d suddenly turned green. It was the brutal beating I’d taken, of course.
Freddie: [whistles]"Look what the cat dragged in. What the hell happened to you?"
He was grinning too. He knew what had happened to me. He may not have known exactly who it was and how it had transpired, but he had seen my old sorry mug in this condition far too many times for it to be a complete surprise.
Dodgely: "One of Philip Farley’s goons."
Freddie was still standing at the end of the table shaking his head over my beat up face and people were starting to stare.
Dodgely: "Will you stop eyeballing me like I’m your lunch and sit down already?"
Freddie sat down with the grin still on his face and waved the waitress over. She made her way over to the table and leaned in close to Freddie.
Waitress: [smacking gum]"What can I getcha, hon?"
Freddie: "Well, I’ll take two of you, Glenda."
Waitress: "In your dreams, Freddie. I’ll get your regular – Two scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee. How bout you Dodgely, you want another cup’?"
Dodgely: "Sure thing, sweetheart."
She was off in an instant, disappearing in that way that only experienced waitresses and stage magicians are capable of.
Freddie was looking me over again.
Freddie: "Not that I thought you were pretty before, but you really look terrible. You want I should put a couple guys out looking for this goon?"
I waved my hand at him and took another hit off my coffee. The goon was no good for my case, and if the cops hauled him in, Farley would more than likely be able to find out who had been trailing him. Freddie lit a cigarette and looked out the window.
Freddie: "Who’s tracking Farley?"
Dodgely: "Who do you think?"
Freddie: "Not his wife."
I nodded slowly and snatched up his newspaper.
Freddie: "It’s always the wife."
Dodgely: "What’s new with you?"
Freddie shook his head wryly, and suddenly Glenda was back with two fresh coffees and then gone just as quickly.
Freddie: "Nothing special, really. Usual crap."
I flipped over the newspaper and scanned the front page. Kathina Trent’s name caught my eye. The side article on the front page read Millionaire’s Wife Goes Missing.
I turned the paper over and held it in front of Freddie.
Dodgely: "You know anything about this?"
Freddie scanned the article and looked up at me with his eyebrows raised.
Freddie: "What’s it to ya?"
Dodgely: "Just wondering."
Freddie: "The man himself called in last night. It took dispatch a couple of minutes to believe that it was THE Marcus Trent. I think it’s bullshit."
Dodgely: "What do you mean?"
Freddie: "I think the dame is off somewhere having the time of her life on his dime, probably with the pool boy. He has no idea, and called in her disappearance. Meanwhile the paper gets hold of it and goes crazy with the story."
Glenda dropped Freddie’s eggs and toast off at the table and sped away.
Dodgely: "When did he call?"
Freddie: "Yesterday afternoon, around four."
The world started to swim around me. That meant that whatever had happened, happened just after she left my office.
Freddie: "Hey, you all right there, Dodgely? You look like you seen a ghost."
I looked up at Freddie and almost told him. I almost told him everything that had happened yesterday. But I stopped. Freddie was a straight cop who would haul me in for questioning if I might be a witness in a major crime. I couldn’t tell him anything.
Dodgely: "Yeah, I think it’s this beating I took. My brains are a little scrambled, I think."
Freddie: "You should go home, try to sleep through the day."
Dodgely: "Yeah, you’re right."
Freddie: "You’ll feel right as rain tomorrow, Dodgely."
I looked around for Glenda.
Freddie: "Hey, don’t worry about the check."
I stood up slowly, unsure of my legs and made my way to the door. I wasn’t going home to go to sleep. That bastard, Trent, had killed off his wife right under my nose. And the son of a bitch wasn’t going to get away with it.
[door chime]
Continue Scene 3
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