The Case Of The Leggy Dame [Part 1]

The city is a disgusting place, filled with disgusting people. The most lowlife scum you'd ever hope to not run across. Take Vinny The Greaser for instance. Vinny was a loan shark, and he had dipped his toes into a few other things at times such as racketeering and peoples homemade potato salad at picnics. Vinny was kind of a jerk. But worse than all that was the fact he was just always greasy, hence his name. He just reeked of grease, no matter how often he bathed or tried some new sort of skin care regimen. Vinny was greasy, there was no escaping that.

And the city was full of people like Greasy Vinny. I have busted so many of 'em that I could easily run down a list for you. How about trying this one on for size? A few years back, I found myself embroiled in a case unlike any other I'd ever faced before or since. It started late one night when I was still in my office, eating take out and smoking cigars like nobodies business. It was raining out, the perfect kind of night for crime. Crime never seems to happen on nice evenings, does it? Crime always coincides with the absolute worst weather. Perhaps it's for theatrics, I don't know, but if that's the case then I gotta hand it to these crooks, that's commitment to their craft.

There I was, feet up on the desk, chewing away at my chinese food like a bear tearing into a freshly caught fish from a stream, and that's when my office door opened. It'd been happening a lot more lately. I think it's the hinges on the door, they're fairly old and thanks to the draft my door opens a lot more often than I'd like it too. Scares the hell out of me sometimes, if we're being honest. But then it opened a second time, and in she walked. A leggy dame entered my office. She had two very long legs. Honestly, she was just all leg. A pair of sentient disembodied legs entered my office. She sat in the chair on the other side of my desk and, somehow, lit up a cigarette of her own and began smoking.

"I hear you're the best," she said, taking me by surprise.

"Do you know?" I replied, "That's weird, most people who've hired me have said otherwise. Where are you getting your information from? And can you thank them for me?"

"Let's cut the chat and get down to brass tacks."

"Do they make any other kind?"

"I have a job for you," she said, leaning forward (well, best as a pair of sentient disembodied legs can lean forward, I suppose) and, with one of her feet, put a file down on my desk before continuing, "A few weeks ago a guy I know, let's call him Mack, was gunned down by the wharf. Thing is, I've got it on good record that he's not dead, and merely gone into hiding. I need you to not only find Mack for me, but also figure out who it was that plugged 'em and why they did it."

"Do you know anyone who might want Mack dead?" I asked, opening the file and thumbing through it.

"God, nearly everyone in the city. Mack was a union boss, so the people up top weren't too happy about him trying to fight for better wages. He had a target on him right from the get go, it wasn't so much a question of who was gonna pull the trigger, but more when they would do it."

"I wish I had a union. I'm freelance. I mean, there's a detectives union, but I....I'm not really allowed there anymore. Not after the Miss Greyfine incident, may she rest in peace," I said, taking my hat off and running my fingers through my thick black hair, "In your opinion, um..." I stalled as I hadn't really gotten a name from her yet.

"Adelaide. Adelaide Storch," the legs said. I have to admit, I still wasn't entirely sure how she was in any way capable of speaking, but some things are perhaps better left to the mystery. I do love a good mystery after all, I mean, look at my career. I didn't go into this because it pays well, because, it doesn't pay well.

"Adelaide," I replied, "In your opinion, whom do you think is the most likely culprit of committing such a heinous crime?"

"Personally?" Adelaide began, crossing her legs, "I have two possible names for you. One is a low level street thug, goes by the name of Mervin Kessler, or as he's better known in his group Money Laundering Merv."

"God, these guys need to stop picking names that just give them away," I muttered to myself.

"Merv's had it in for Mack for years now, after they had a falling out when Mack left the business. Said he didn't want no part in it anymore, and that ticked Merv the hell off, see, cause Merv...well, let's just say he wasn't exactly the type who got along with others. Mack handled all the interacting with their supplies and such, other gangs, so when Mack left he had to hire someone new and that someone new did not work out quite as well. Took Merv for everything he had."

"What all did Merv have?"

"Not much, sadly, but he was still pissed and he blamed Mack for it all, said he'd left him to swim with the sharks," Adelaide said, taking a long drag off her cigarette, "Second possible suspect? Benny Grimes. Benny is a bit more tactful, a bit more...cautious, if you will. Benny runs a brothel and casino, and Mack took him for all he was worth."

"How so?"

"Mack found out that Benny's machines were rigged so that the users always lost. So Mack got himself hired as a bartender there, said Benny liked the cut of his jib. He then looked into how to repair these machines and after a while, one of 'em broke. Mack kept his trap shut about his repair knowledge, but he took the machine home with him when no one was lookin', see. Once home, he had all the time in the world to figure out how to unrig it. He then brought it back to the casino, under the guise of it being a new machine, and now was rigged to only win all the time. Mack would often play on his days off or during his break, and he took so much cash right out from Benny's ugly nose, without him ever even suspectin' it bein' anything other than sheer dumb luck."

"This Mack fella sounds like a hell of a guy, I think I'd like to be friends with him honestly," I said, pouring over a few candid snapshots of Adelaide and Mack together, seemingly happy, drinks in their hands. Staring down at this handsome mug of his, I couldn't help but wonder the same thing I always wonder when these hopeless dames come through my door lookin' for their fellas...what drives someone to a life of crime. I mean, I just couldn't believe anyone would just willingly turn to a life of crime, only because it was so damned time consuming. Being a detective, I only work when I have a case, but crime? Crime never stops working. That's a full time job, like a doctor. Extremely dedicated field of business. Good for you, crime.

I looked up at her, legs and....well, legs, seeing as that was what was there, and I thought to myself this cool chick really knows her beats. She's on the up and up, and that may actually help me for a change. Often I'm faced with hysterical bawling widows, just wondering where their lousy deadbeat husbands have disappeared to. Most of 'em, not surprisingly, have disappeared to a hole six feet in the ground. Except for Alvin Labelle, who somehow wound up in a hole six feet in the air. Still trying to figure out how that one worked. Some mysteries are meant for the ages, I suppose.

"Adelaide, I like you. You seem like you're on the ball, you walked in with extensive knowledge and even some potential leads. I'll gladly take your case," I said, "But there's something I want you to do for me in return."

"What's that?"

"I need you to be my little fly on the wall. Get close to these guys, track 'em for me because I can't be in two places at once, much as I really wish I could. But since cloning technology is likely far from our grasp just yet, I'm having to face facts that I'm a sole man and can only do so much on my own. Be the little birdy that tells me, Addy, and help me find Mack so we can bust these no good punks and bring back the union leader."

Adelaide stood up and then lifted up her leg, so I took her foot in my hand and shook it.

"I'll keep you posted with what I find," Adelaide said, and with that, she turned and walked out of my office, legs and all.

The thing about this business is you never really know who's going to come walking in through that door at any given moment. Could be a man with a hit on you, could be a woman in need of assistance, and, depending on if it's my birthday, could be a clown. That's always a pleasant surprise. Except that one year where my assistant, Peggy, hired a hitman disguised as a clown who wanted to put me down. Thankfully he'd gotten his water pistol mixed up with his real pistol and so I was able to take him out instead. Choked him to death with one of those never ending handkerchiefs they hide in their sleeves. Be a real cryin' shame if it weren't so goddamned funny.

I picked up my coat, put my smokes in my shirt pocket, threw my hat back on my head and left the office to find Mack. Little did I know that Mack wasn't the only thing I was going to find. And no, before you ask, the other isn't religion. I'm Jewish and happy with that, thank you very much.