Miss Vicky & Maddux's World

Chapter 01

The Envelope

As I’m taking the stairs down, the neon light on the wall is blinking like a fucking heart attack. I don’t know if this is the right place, but during my years on the force we used to come here a lot. Society has changed in ten years, I’m just trying to keep my head screwed on straight. If you’re looking for a Dick Tracey-type private eye, I’m not your man. Maddux Marlow that’s my name. Ex-cop, ex-football player, thigh end the best position of the game. I’ve never been afraid of rough plays or fights, if you act like a jerk I won’t mind kicking your ass.

The night is young, but it’s been raining for the last week. The only good thing about the constant rain is that it had washed most of the shitty smells from the stairwell. The Palm Tree, what a dump, the kind of place where scammers, liars and thieves hang out. Not a place for a classy-looking young woman like her. If I’m lucky enough there will be something here to lean on. I relay on luck for this case since there’s not a lot about it. The way this case came to me a few hours ago, was a bit unusual.

Someone pushed an envelope under my office door when I was about to hang my self. The rain had gotten to me. The bright yellow envelope taunted me as a ray of light brightened it, catching my eye. Curiosity made me step off my desk. Can’t kill my sorry ass without knowing what’s inside. Just a quick peak, and I’ll go on with my business afterward. Five grand and an out-of-focus picture. Normally I would mind my own business but there something about this mysterious picture. Something intriguing with all these elements on it; a guy in the background a lite pink and blue neon light, and off course the girl. An unreadable note on the back, unreadable except for one thing, It might be her name, Miss Vicky. The rope still hang over my desk.

I thought the stairs smelled bad, it’s worse inside as I opened the door, nearly fell on one knee. A stench of piss mix with vomit went straight to the back of my throat. My broken nose makes it hard to breathe, but I could still smell the the carpet. The barman might not be the owner, but I’m sure he knows something about this girl, he’s my go-to guy.

Not sure if I should sit on the greasy-looking stool or stand while the barman was still talking to the two nonworking waitresses sipping drinks through straws. Standing and leaning over the bar as I put my foot on the foot-stand seems to be my best option. Stayed there for a while snooping around before the hobo-looking barman gave me some attention. The way he limped on his way to see me, I could tell he’d been shot at, maybe a few times. I pointed to the half empty coffee pot. He shook his head, said the coffee is for staff only. And if I wanted a coffee I wasn’t in the right place. So I pointed out the cheap rum bottle. He poured me a drink in a glass I’m afraid to touch with my bare hands. He ask me if it hurts, the broken nose. I divert the question on his tattoos. He was proud to show them off. When I saw a tats on his left hand, I knew he’d done time.

The Palm Tree used to be a great place to hang out, I remember when I turned twenty-one it was the place to go. You were cool if you got in. Now it’s so filthy and disgusting. Mostly lonely, washed-up alcoholics hung out here to forget they had a life a long time ago. They are scattered all over the place half drinking half sleeping. There’s a guy at the bar, I’ve arrested him a few years ago, he’s harmless. Two other guys sitting at a table talking about the women at their jobs. And there’s one man alone at the end of the bar; on the look out. I could see he’s nervous about something. Maybe about me. I will keep an eye out for him.

Some kind of disco-grunge music spewed from the Jukebox. Only half of the light are working. Supposedly in the dim lights people couldn’t see their pathetic life. After sipping my drink down it’s time to go to work. I showed him the blurry picture of the so-called Miss Vicky. Not her best shot, but it’s all I have. While he look at photo, one of the waitresses smiles at me in a flirty way. The barman squinted at the photo then paled as if he had seen a ghost. I think I saw him send a signal to the guy at the end of the bar. If there is one thing I learned while on the force, it’s how to tell when someone is lying.

Breaking his fucking nose seemed to be a great idea, but first I had to questioned the sloppy out-of-date waitresses with fake eyelashes and nails. I should get myself another picture, nobody seemed to recognize her in this one. A hunch that they were lying, but I can’t break all their noses. I had enough of this smelly shitty place.

The neon light on the wall was still blinking and the rain pouring in my face was getting on my nerves. When I got to the top of the stinking stairs, I see this kid across the street. He should have been in bed by now, but he’s just sitting on the stairs under the rain. He looked straight at me while I pull out cigarette case from my inside pocket. Only two cigars waiting in the case. I picked the one with the chewed tip and lit it, he crosses the flooded street. He Pulled out a smoke, lit it and faced me.

My brown leather trench coat dripped on my boots while the kid and I smoked in silence. After a minute or two he took a step forward and asked my name; said he knew me by reputation, said he wanted to work with me, asked about the girl. Now he had my attention. He knew there was something suspicious the last time he saw her. She left The Palm Tree in an black four doors sedan, with the plate number, DRC 77K. I could run the plate later, but it’s probably nothing. The kid might be the last person who saw her alive. He wanted to be my ‘wing man’, no way! he was too young and the job too dangerous for a kid. It might even be too dangerous for me, but I’m a big man, I can take it. Didn’t want him to get shot in the back. She looked dead to him, but she moved her arms. Two big guys put her in the back of the car, she was moving like a drunk or drugged woman. Paid the kid a lunch at my favorite diner at the corner of the street, and gave him a twenty for his scoop.

The diner, is a twenty-four seven place, called Dine For A Dime, my favorite place in all the world. A little cozy place for people like me, the night crawlers. The best place for a home-made meal. An old airstream trailer parked on the sidewalk in a not so good neighborhood. The guys on the force, they all come here to eat, even the retired ones. The kid could stay here for the night, it’s a safe place. While enjoying his lemon pie, he gave me good advise, always eat my veggies, don’t know if it’s a useful tip, but I’ll try. He’d been staring at my nose for the last five minutes. He didn’t ask what happened and I didn’t ask what he was looking at. We stayed there in silence for a while.

Then, between two bites he says her name out of nowhere, Victoria Vitali. The name Vitali rang a bell, but couldn’t remember where I heard the name before. He knew her because she was a regular client at The Palm Tree. She often gave him money to eat. So, I had been right they were all liars, if he knew her by her name, they sure knew her too. He asked me if I had a partner; not anymore, I work alone now. Since I left the force I don’t need a partner, and don’t want one. He wanted to help, but it would be too dangerous for a young Boy, so I asked him to keep an eye open for me, just in case.

Left the kid with his lemon pie and went back to my Chrysler that was park in front of the bar. There’s a note squeezed in between the wiper and the windshield. The water made the note all blurry like the fucking pictures. I can almost spell a word, look like ‘emergency’. As I was sitting in my car listening to the rain falling, I thought about a place where I could get a coffee; a coffee and a donuts. I’m going to visit my ex-partner.

The police stations, a filthy and dirty place, the lobby is surrounded by bulletproof glass. I could still see the blood spatters from the last guy who blew his brain out. I bet it was a sawed up shotgun. Since the social media boom society doesn’t want those cleaning job anymore, they are all fancy bitches who wants to be rich by posting videos of them eating pasta, or doing some pranks. As I wait for the secretary to call my ex-partner. The lobby had two television, one was dead with a bullet hole, and the other one was tuned to the only working station, the weather Chanel. The weather girl is said, if it rains tomorrow we will break a twenty-five years old record.

Finally, John Jenkins showed up after fifteen minutes of watching the fucking television. He’s a good cops, he’s been pulling his weight for a long time, I hoped he knew something. Three years since I’m out of the cop business and he still call’s me partner. As he let me in his small office overloaded with files and boxes every where, I noticed the empty space where the coffee machine was. He tells me they had been stolen from the police station as well. Bummer, I thought I could get my coffee here.

The moment I ask him about the Miss Vicky case, his lower jaw fell to the ground. He said, he isn’t allowed to say anything because of the ongoing investigation. Right after that he kindly threw me out of his office like a used rag. His manners changed towards me, he was suddenly not friendly anymore. Even though we had been partner in the force for ten years.

Back in my Chrysler, tired and wet. I have to changed into dry clothes. Time was, I had another use for the back seat, but now I use it as a wardrobe, there’s laundry everywhere. So I change my wet black shirt for a dry black shirt, the same with my pants. I sit still for a moment while I take a Roxy for my back pain. Since I’ve been shot I have to take pain killers even if I don’t feel that much pain.

My cigar between my two favorite finger, my trigger finger and my give the finger finger, enjoying the scent of a perfectly rolled up Cuban. My eyes closed for about, I would say five minutes, as I’m thinking about the day I got shot in the back. I remember that day as if it was yesterday.

We went on a call for a violent husband. I was the first to get out of the patrol car. I walked towards the house, with my hand on my gun handle ready to take it out. He told me to go behind the house, just in case the man would try to run away. I was walking slowly step by step on the left side of the building. When I came to the end of the wall, I could see the back yard. Just as I was going to step forward, I heard the gun shot. Almost at the same time, I felt a burning sensation in my lower back. Then I fell on the ground,I try to call it in, but I was in too much pain. John finally got out by the back door, and he call it in. He later told me, he made the guy flee, but we never caught him. I’m still looking for him to this day, I think I will never catch him. My partner took care of me and my wife while I was at the hospital.

A car passing by splashed water on my side window taking me back to reality. Meeting the parent is what I should do. My vintage Chrysler is hard to start with all that humidity In the air, someday, I should get myself a new car. Moving around the town is painful during the good days, but now it’s harder because of all the water accumulation. Anxiety get me each time it rains.

We lost our daughter Mary on a rainy day. My daughter would have been twenty today, but she never saw her tenth birthday. They never found her body, so they assume the worst. There’s a small empty coffin under ground . When she never came home from school that day. Her mother blamed me for it, and she never could get over it. She couldn’t cope with the lost of her child, she killed her self in the middle of the street. She sliced her throat with a kitchen knife in her car, on a red light. Stayed there for a long day, I had to drive her car full of blood to the hospital with her in the passenger seat. There’s a lot of dead bodies every where now, people don’t mind them anymore.

Whenever I feel this way, there’s only one place where I feel better. Mr. Chang noddles mobile stand. Mr Chang isn’t anymore Asian then me, but his noodles are good. His three-wheel cart is big but he manage to steer it down the street like a pro. It’s like half of an Uhaul trailer welded to the front of a bicycle. Even with his crooked back, he’s moving that thing. I’ve seen Mr.Chang pedal that cart down the streets, feeding us his chicken noodles, ever since I was a kid. Sure he was faster in those days, but it’s still comfort food to me. On each sides there is a folding planks used as tables. Mr Chang had everything figured out. Some say he’s rich some say he’s head of a Conspiracy, some even say he’s the boss of the noddle mob, who knows. I’m in love with his chicken noddles since my younger age.

On to the Vitali's house.