THE DARK GREY SKY

Written by

Anthony George Senda

INT. MR. BROCKS APARTMENT MORNING

NARRATOR

Home. (PAUSE) A simple word and one that once meant so much. But
now there was a difference. She was gone.

Gone forever and it now meant that home had now become a prison.
Empty and foreboding and filled with memories of the past and
the ever present fact that I could have stopped it but my
arrogance and my misplaced trust in what I thought she was
instead of what she had become had blinded me into taking the
actions I did and now I was looking at myself in a new light.

Was the life I had worth it?

Was the sacrifice worth it for someone who seldom not only
didnt appreciate it but who thought that getting money and
things were due to her as if she was some ancient queen waiting
to have her weight tallied in sacks of coin on a scale?

(DEEP SIGH)

39 years.

Would I do it again?

Probably not.

Some of the reasons were right but her thought processes and
mine were from another time and another planet.

I worked hard to keep things going but it was never enough

because, deep down, she was never satisfied.
Not only with me but people and her way of life.

And never would be no matter what anyone did for her or how much
anyone tried to tell her that her way was not the right way to
act in a civilized society.

It was not all her fault, of course.

A succession of bitter relationships and dire unhappiness and

her being influenced by a companion who was truly evil, selfish,
and did her best to take advantage of her whenever possible and
influence her into doing things she would never do on her own.

It was time to move on but since the breakup Ive felt like a
deer trapped in amber, unable to move and my senses have been
dulled by despair and depression.

This polemic probably bores the hell out of the listener, for
its another one of those Guy screws up relationship stories
but since Id been involved with her for so long, I knew of no
other way and am terrified of being alone.

I dont know if I can start over.

At 64, one doesnt have a lot of time to do the things that came
easy at 25.

The body betrays and other people rush around too fast these
days and starting anything more than a passing acquaintance
seems pass.

People are either: busy, paranoid, weird, or just disinterested

with the concerns and thoughts of others.

Everything seems to be HURRY UP or I HAVE TO GO NOW and

someone you might grow to like is gone in an instant, seldom to
be seen again like two ships passing in a heavy fog.

(SIGH)

But Im babbling I suppose.

There may be time yet to succeed at anything I want to do.

My friends say I have a third-eye or sixth sense and I do to

an extent but I can never seem to use it for my benefit or, when
I do, my interpretation of whats going to happen is either very
wrong or off.

I did predict a major quake two years ago as Id had a sense

that something was wrong where I lived for months and, sure
enough, a major quake struck across the bay two years ago. But I
predicted another quake on another fault the next year and
nothing happened.
 One of these days Ill have to see about getting my abilities
more finely tuned.

But now was not the time and I reached over and took a sip of
coffee out of the giant I dont do mornings cup when the phone
rang.

I answered it and a rough voice filled with years of a street

sense was behind it.

MICHAEL VULTURNO

Hello. Mr. Brock? I have a problem. Can we meet somewhere?

NARRATOR

I told him to meet me at Swansons, the local coffee bar, in

twenty minutes.

I took a quick shower and shaved and dried and dressed.

Like a matador preparing for the bullring, I had a set routine.

Shower, shave, take the days clothes off the clothes horse.

Pants, underwear, socks, shoes.

Shirt, tie, my wallet with my P.I. ticket in it and then my

holster which I wore on my front hip, unlike others, because
when I needed to draw my weapon I wanted to get it in a hurry
not reach around my back which would give an enemy time to kill
me.

I reached over to the shelf on the horse and grabbed my gun: an

Army .45. No Glock or new gun for me.

My old Army gun had served me well and had even saved my life
more than once.

I put the gun in the holster, put on my jacket, made sure the
cat had food and water, petted the cat, grabbed my keys, locked
the door, and headed down the stairs to the street.
EXT. MR. BROCKS APARTMENT MORNING

NARRATOR

Suddenly I heard the squeal of abused tires protesting in vain

and even louder brakes when a black sedan turned the corner and
a pair of hands wielding a shotgun did its best to ruin my day.

I heard the Mossberg fire before I saw the shot, of course.

I dove over the short stair fence in front of me and before I

hit the ground, my gun was in my hand. As I fired, the shot that
was meant for me hit the wall and peppered it with gunshot as
the smell of cordite filled my nose.

I got off a shot which starred the right rear window of the
sedan and then got off three more shots and got lucky.

One went through the open window and hit the gunman squarely in
the head, lodging in his right eye. He slumped down in the seat
with blood pouring out of what was left of his shattered eye
socket.

Another traveled through the window and hit the driver in the
right side of his ear and his head fell on the steering wheel
hard.

As he did, the car went out of control and hit the fire hydrant
across the street from my building and chopped it off quicker
than a Ginsu knife and the hydrant fell over dead onto the
sidewalk.

Water spouted in all directions, but mostly up.

Forgetting about getting wet, I walked over to the car to

examine the remains of my handiwork and saw that both of the men
were clearly dead as was the car they were in its grill
smashed in and its engine still trying to turn over and finally
dying but its blaring horn still continuing to honk as it almost
sounded like a wail for help.

I looked at the gun hed used.

 It was a Mossberg 751T with the full twenty-five round clip,
illegal in California but hoods dont give a damn about gun
laws. They get them when law abiding gun owners cant.

A military weapon normally only available to the military and

probably stolen from a shipment or lost by an underpaid and
underappreciated soldier whod sold it cheap on the black market
to supplement his service pay.

Even when they serve, we always treat our veterans like dirt
during their deployments and upon their return as well, with
many maimed and forgotten like disposing of a used Kleenex.

Not caring about the legalities, I opened the passenger side

door, bent over, and rifled through the hoods pockets.

As I thought:

Nothing.

No I.D.

Not even lint in his pockets.

Thoroughly soaked now and hearing the sounds of approaching

sirens as the faint glimmer of dawn peeked through the grey
shroud of night and I went around the back of the car and
wrenched open the drivers door and searched the drivers
pockets as well.

Nada.

So having achieved nothing for my mornings labors, I walked

over to the bench that was in front of the building and sat
down, water pouring out of my clothing as I did so.

As I did, a few residents in their bathrobes came up behind me,

their eyes all wide at the sight of the car and the two dead
men. The small crowd started to mutter about how awful a thing
it was and the usual pleasantries of the morning when two cars
came up and pulled over to the curb, out of reach of the
spouting hydrant.

Someone must have called the fire department too, for one of
their smaller trucks rolled up behind the two cars. But the
firemen would have to wait as this was first a crime scene and
then a flood.

As I sat debating whether I should go upstairs and change into

dry clothes, the doors opened on the first of the two police
cruisers.

A police sergeant got out of the first car on the drivers side.

I saw it was my old friend, Sergeant Bill Ross.

Hed been on the force for years and some thought he WAS the
force, all 225 pounds of toughened Irish steel.

He worked out in his off hours and it showed.

A muscular man with short cropped grey hair, around six feet,
give or take an inch, and steely blue eyes that didnt waver for
a second as they quickly surveyed the scene.

Rossy spotted me and was about to wave when the passenger door
opened and a big bull of a man got out.

He was stocky and scowling as his eyes darted back and forth
quickly, wasting no time in his study of the wreckage and the
surroundings.

My day went from bad to worse as he spotted me on the bench and

moved towards me, yelling:

Lt. HARRIMAN PRITCHARD

Brock! I KNEW it had to be you when we got the calls on a

shotgun being fired! If theres trouble around, its certain to
either be caused by you or because of something you did.

Dont move an inch! I want to talk to you.

NARRATOR

So there I was, trapped like a stuffed bear in the claw of a

claw machine at an arcade.
But I was the bear and he was the claw, ready to close around my
neck if I gave him the slightest hint of a wrong answer.

He walked over and his clothes were bone dry, though his shoes
were wet as the water now flooded the sidewalk and was beginning
to lap the curbstones on both sides of the street like a mini
tsunami.

Over to his right, the fire chief yelled at him:

AL THE FIRE CHIEF

Hey, Harry! Can we turn the damned water off? Were losing local
pressure and

NARRATOR

A growl came out of the lips of the man in front of me.

An ever present cigar was clenched in his teeth as he yelled

back over his shoulder:

Lt. HARRIMAN PRITCHARD

Yeah, go ahead, Al. But dont touch anything while youre doing
it!

NARRATOR

From the other car, four detectives poured out, their equipment
readied, as they headed towards the car to do the usual stuff:
measurements, photos, and video. Examine the scene in minutiae
while leaving no hydrant untouched.

The fire crew left their vehicle and headed for the hydrant.

One of them was holding a remote control in his hand and the
control was guiding a portable winch on treads that was
motorized.
 On top of the winch was an arm that extended out like Thors
hammer and on the end was a hook with pulleys attached to it. On
the hook was a red temporary emergency hydrant, which was used
in case some driver lost a battle with one of them.

It didnt happen often in my small town but for some reason this
year there had been three incidents where drivers, all women and
all driving in daylight, managed to not only kill three fire
hydrants but also proceed to kill the power for everything for
miles around.

One errant driver even managed to drive her car up the guide
wire of a wooden telephone pole and left her car sitting
perfectly balanced on the guide wire after having snapped the
pole in two and killing a hydrant.

Id heard about that and had driven up to the scene to take a

look. It was an amazing sight and was the talk of the town for
weeks afterwards.

Meanwhile, the contraption which had been built by an off duty

fireman approached the hydrants former home.

It was beginning to be a circus on the street now as a utility

truck pulled up, its blue sides shining as the now full sun hit
its sides and light reflected from its windows in all
directions.

Behind it was a truck from the city engineers and another from
the water department.

Men climbed out of those trucks and in about five minutes the
roar and gushing of the hydrant stopped as the engineers, they
too sopping wet but in rain boots, shut off the water flood for
good.

But there was more.

The medical examiners wagon drove up and, behind it, the van
that nobody ever wants to ride in but that all of us will one
day, came to a stop behind it.

Good thing its a Saturday, I thought, as parking was bad enough

here during the week between the residents, the jurors parking
their cars here so they could walk back to the courthouse four
 blocks away, which pissed off the residents of the building I
lived in and the ones across the street because they had to park
as many as four blocks away during the day. Then, adding insult
to injury, at night came the church parkers, as the office for
the church was behind my building across my back driveway with a
large attached playground while the Catholic Church school, now
empty of kids, was three blocks away with the church on its left
side covering the corner front to back.

Both buildings took up the entire block, while a block away

stands City Hall with its mayor who somehow managed to be mayor
while living outside the city limits and the police department
headed by a tough but friendly five starred Latino chief.

It has a nice courtyard across the way with a big fountain and
wide plaza that kids play in and which is the home for many
local events as well.

A block away were houses on one side, an evangelical church,

and, next to it, the local Masonic temple - built from stone and
gleaming white marble filled with arcane Masonic symbols with
blue panes in the windows and an eternal blue light glowing
above the door.

I wasnt a Mason but my ex-girlfriends father had been a 33rd

degree, as was my grandfather as well, and I hoped that one day
they would allow me to enter their hallowed ranks as well.

The Masons have been the subject of controversy for years but
their members do good works and I had no problem with them and
knew many of the local temples members.

My late Father wasnt a Mason but he had been a Moose and I had
teased him a lot about it, much to his distress, but the Moose,
like many fraternal groups, also do much good work and are to be
admired as well.

I was a member of the local lodge and have spent many hours down
there sitting, poring over case files while sipping root beer or
Peach Snapple or Rush Limbaughs Two if by Teas peach iced tea
- when I can afford a case.
This month I was fully stocked as Id solved a big case and two
stacks of cases of Snapple and Rushs iced tea were in both my
office and in my apartment too.

Meanwhile the medical examiner got out of the van.

He walked over to the car to peruse the scene for a moment and
then walked over and stood next to Harry and asked:

SIMMONS THE MEDICAL EXAMINER

Hey, Harry, who in the hell did it this time? You know how
backed up we are, what with the Gillespie case and all.

Now you give me what looks like a mob hit and thats the last
damned thing we need around here and let me tell you-

NARRATOR

And thats when he saw me and said:

SIMMONS THE MEDICAL EXAMINER

Brock? How the hell are you, boy?

MR. BROCK

OK, Simmons. But Lieutenant Pritchard here may have other ideas
about how I am once he talks to me.

NARRATOR

And with that, Lt. Pritchard, the bulldog of the Homicide

Division did exactly that.

He lit his cigar stub, oblivious to the NO SMOKING signs posted

in front of my building, leaned his full six foot four inches in
front of my face that the cigar stub practically went up my nose
and bellowed:

Lt. HARRIMAN PRITCHARD

(BELLOWING)

Youre damned right I have other ideas about you. Im tired of

always finding bodies with your name attached to them! I want to
hear the whole story and it better be a good one or else Ill

NARRATOR

I knew better than to let him rant, for if I didnt stop him,
hed go on for days so I broke in and said:

MR. BROCK

Hi, Harry. (SARCASTIC) Long time no see.

Now let me see, just where do I begin?

Oh, yes.

There I was in my apartment, minding my own business, when I got

a call from a mystery mans voice asking me to meet with him
because he had a problem.

So I showered, shaved, took a sip of coffee, fed and petted the

cat, got dressed, locked up, and was headed down the stairs when
I became the duck in a shooting gallery!

I dove over the railing of the stair landing while getting out
my gun and returned fire and hit the shooter and the driver.

(FLATLY)

A lucky pair of shots.

Theyre dead. Im alive and I have absolutely NO idea why I

became their target.
 NARRATOR

Pritchard piped up with:

Lt. HARRIMAN PRITCHARD

Yeah, with you, the list of guys wanting to knock you off is
almost endless.

Whos your would-be client?

NARRATOR

To which I replied:

MR. BROCK

I dont have a client but I think I might have heard his voice
before.

Hes probably long gone by now anyway after I didnt show.

NARRATOR

While we were talking, the firemen attached a new fire plug to

the spot where the old one had died, hosed down the street and
sidewalk, and took away the dead fire plug and the robot, gave
their goodbyes to Harry and us and drove off in their fire
truck.

Harry piped up a second time, this time with a look on his face
and his eyes of both puzzlement and sheer vexation in both as he
asked:

Lt. HARRIMAN PRITCHARD

 (PUZZLED)

Are you trying to tell me that you, a former Marine master gunny
and expert marksman just happened to get off not just one but
TWO lucky shots, as you call them?

Got any more fantasies to tell me?

And you shouldnt have missed with the others either.

NARRATOR

While I was waiting to reply, the M.E. piped in:

SIMMONS THE MEDICAL EXAMINER

Can we go examine the bodies now? We do have other work to do.

NARRATOR

Harry looked at him and nodded his okay and then I said:

MR. BROCK

You served, Harry. You of all people know that sometimes things
just happen and you get off a couple of shots but youve got no
time to think about it. The old instincts just kick in and
sometimes you get the bears before they get you. This was one of
those times.

Lt. HARRIMAN PRITCHARD

(RELENTING)

Okay, I buy that. I know youre the best shot Ive ever seen.
Except for me and maybe Rossy over there.

Got any idea who they were?

 NARRATOR

He wasnt going to appreciate my next answer, not one bit.

MR. BROCK

Well, Harry. I did go over and checked the bodies for I.D.

They were clean. Probably out-of-town roofers hired-

NARRATOR

Harrys face turned bright red like the old Charley Weaver
battery operated bartender toy from the 1950s and I could even
see a teensy hint of steam hissing out of his ears as he blew
up.

Lt. HARRIMAN PRITCHARD

(ANGRY)

Not only are you a pain in the neck but you should know better.
You messed up MY crime scene and should have left things alone.

This is the kind of crap that got you tossed off the force in
Pittsburgh, then Vegas, and L.A., and

NARRATOR

I broke in and said with a smile:

MR. BROCK

(SARCASTIC)

Why, Harriman. You still care.

 (DEFENSIVE)

You know that in all those cases, the review boards exonerated
my actions as justified and in one case I got a commendation for
good police work that led to a ring of nationwide internet
stalkers being sent to prison who were operating out of
Missouri.

Besides, I wasnt fired by anyone. I resigned.

I was tired of suits who had forgotten what it was like to work
the streets telling me what to do.

Can I go now, please? Im sopping wet and theres a chance my

mystery man might still be waiting for me. Ill come over and
give you a full report later.

NARRATOR

He waited a second to calm himself and said:

Lt. HARRIMAN PRITCHARD

Go ahead but were not finished with this not at all.

NARRATOR

The M.E. came over and said:

SIMMONS THE MEDICAL EXAMINER

They died instantly. Damned good shooting under the

circumstances. Pity we cant find out what they were doing
trying to pepper Brock but were done here. Keep me advised.

NARRATOR
 And with that, he waved goodbye as his man placed the bodies
into the coroners van and they drove off.

With the usual nothing to see here stuff having been finished,
the crowd had gone back inside and I wearily trudged back
upstairs to shower and change.

(DRYLY)

Again.

INT. MR. BROCKS APARTMENT MIDDAY

NARRATOR

This time, I decided I wasnt going to waste time.

I picked up the phone and called Swansons and Annie, the coffee
server, picked it up. Hearing her cheerful voice always made me
feel happy.

We flirt a lot every time I go into the coffee shop but so far I
wasnt lucky enough to wrangle a date with her, much to my great
loss.

ANNIE

Good morning. Swansons. This is Annie. How may I help you?

MR. BROCK

(SMILING)

Hi, beautiful. This is Brock.

Has anyone been waiting for me?

ANNIE
There sure is, hon. Hes been tapping his heels, gulping coffee,
and keeps looking at the door and the Kitty Kat clock and I
think he might leave at any moment.

MR. BROCK

Do me a big favor and go over and smile at him, ask him if

theres anything hed like, except you of course, and tell him I
was unavoidably delayed by an emergency and Ill be down in
thirty minutes or less.

And could you do me a big favor and let me take you out to
dinner? Theres a Bogie festival down at the Castro.

My heart breaks into little, tiny pieces every time you say no.

ANNIE

(LAUGHING)

That sounds nice.

Ill give it some thought and let you know. And Ill give your
friend my best smile too.

NARRATOR

We said our goodbyes and I hung up the phone thinking of what

she looked like in my mind, sighed for a minute, and peeled off
my clothes and put all of it into a giant garbage bag after
retrieving my gun, holster, and wallet.

My dry cleaner wasnt going to like me much. The suit, shirt,

tie, and everything else were soaked through.

Muck was on my shoes.

I took some Simple Green and cleaned off as much as I could and
put them in a window to dry.

Now to look at my gun and wallet.

 The wallet got lucky it was bone dry.

My gun did not fare so well. I pointed its barrel into the
bathroom sink and a flood of water came pouring out.

I went out of the bedroom and grabbed a couple of gun cleaning

swabs and shoved them gently down the barrel and got most of the
water out but, like my shoes, there wasnt enough time to do the
job right.

I grabbed an unused humidor from the visitors pipe rack in the

den after I went in there.

The den adjoins my bedroom and serves as the man cave during
sports seasons and my own private film noir revival sessions
with friends or alone when my pals werent available.

Inside were manly decorations: Steelers, Pirates, Pitt and

Penguins memorabilia, Iron City Duquesne beer signs, a neon
Steelers and Iron City sign, some H.J. Heinz stuff, and the
lighted model of the Gulf Oil Building that would display the
weather in Pittsburgh and here by voice command, and a Gulf Oil
and Steelers clocks on the walls above the entrances to the den.

Even the carpets had Steelers colors on it and the big 115 inch
set mounted on the wall with chairs and a couch and my built-
for-two recliner reserved for me.

There was an indoor grill, a popcorn machine, a hot pretzel

cart, a bar tap with Iron City Duquesne and Augustiner beer on
tap flown in from Pittsburgh from the breweries because Id done
the owners a big favor and got free beer for life, and a scale
model of the city and, attached to it, a scale model of
Kennywood that Id had built by friends at Paramount when I was
on the force in L.A.

Every ride and light on it worked just like the real park and,
in MY room, Kennywood was always open.

It was a veritable shrine to Pittsburgh and it had been

constructed with the money from a well-heeled, grateful client
whom Id saved from being poisoned by, of all things, her butler
in his attempt to get his inheritance early.
 He inherited a life sentence in one of Pennsylvanias prisons
and did not handle it well. He wound up in the prisons psych
ward and wasnt on this planet anymore.

I poured some anti-moisture granules in the humidor,

disassembled the gun and buried it in granules, closed the lid,
and put the humidor on the bar, walked through the den doors
after hitting the button that closed the twin Teak doors with
the Steelers and Pirates logos etched in the glass insets in the
middle of the doors.

The lights in the den shut off automatically as they closed. I

crossed the bedroom into the bathroom, opened the doors of the
shower and turned the jets to ultra-hot to get the chill out of
my bones.

Twenty minutes later, I was done.

I turned on the exhaust fans which were on a timer and would

shut off when the sensor determined that the steam and heat were
exhausted and the bathroom cooled off.

I grabbed a new towel, threw the used one in the hamper, and
toweled off in the bedroom. Then I went into the closet and made
a decision: Do I dress to impress the client or Annie?

I chose Annie.

A blue suit, white tie, and the rest and today I was going to go
full retro and stepped on the stool in front of the hat shelf
and took down a box with a fedora in it.

Not just ANY fedora.

It had been worn by Mike Hammer himself, Stacy Keach, and I

bought it at a Hollywood auction after his show went off the air
along with some other screen related P.I. items.

And so I pushed the code on the gun safe and it opened with a
beep, telling me all was well, and I pulled out the gem of my
collection: a gun worn by Humphrey Bogart in The Maltese Falcon.

No prop gun, this.

It had been used in films before and was quite lethal but it had
yet to be utilized in that way.

I fought a collector in Vegas at auction for it and had won and

I figured if I was going to be a P.I. it helped if people saw
that I looked like the public perception of what one looked and
acted like.

Living in L.A. and Vegas had helped.

Id gotten to know the rich and the seedy but being assigned to
film crews as a technical advisor opened doors that would have
never been opened otherwise and, after taxes, I hated my case
money to be just sitting collecting musty interest.

I wanted something to show for part of my money while investing

the rest for my really old age.

Now for the gun.

Sometimes I will use the Webley once used by The Old Man in a
firefight in the back alleys of San Francisco but it was really
too heavy for extended use so I reached into the back of the
large safe and pulled out the gun I call Weapon 3.

It was screen used by Robert Vaughn in the TV film Return of the

Man from U.N.C.L.E. and I had obtained it with attachments and
case from someone who knew how much I had loved the show.

I really shouldnt use it but I always felt imbued with the

style of Vaughn and his character, Solo, when I wore it.

A NOT screen used cousin, a Heckler & Koch P7M8 sat in a case on
one of the shelves as did a fan armorer built U.N.C.L.E. Special
with attachments and T.H.R.U.S.H. rifle also built by the same
armorer in its case.

I got absolutely mobbed by my fellow oldster gun owners whenever

I took them out to test fire them at the local gun club.

We all remember the show and cult status it had for a while but
the young gun owners have no idea why we revere the guns and the
show but some have become fans through re-runs.
 Or I could just say the hell with it and really go with
something that would stop almost anything: the COP .357 that I
had to fight the Feds to keep, for it shoots mini grenades and
does wonders if you want to demolish a house quick.

But having low friends in high places helps and being a part
time licensed gun dealer helps.

I would have to call my friend Dan and The Spy Kids and see if
they had any new spy-related stuff I could acquire soon.

I put the 3 in the well-worn holster and put it on my hip,

having gotten dressed by this time which isnt always easy when
you have broad shoulders and wear 3XL shirts.

No fat yet, if I worked out and didnt get too indulgent but
finding 13EEE wide shoes with a high instep sure was a pain.
They never fit quite right in the stores, being either too tight
or too loose, so I had to have mine custom made by a local
cobbler.

The cat meowed at me for attention and scratching at the door

was her litter mate and life-long adored friend, Fluffy. Fuzzy
loved him and followed him everywhere. Fluff was insisting on
wet food even though it wasnt nighttime when I usually fed them
and with her radar-like sense for canned wet cat food going to
high alert, the third of the trio, Little Girl, paddled her
furry paws across the carpet to my feet and I soon had a cat
crescendo of meows directed at me all sounding like theyd NEVER
had wet food even though they all got fed nightly.

I reached down and petted Little Girl who is all black and has
very soft fur like her sister, Fuzzy the small tuxedo cat, and
petted Fluffy as well who was having none of it as he stood on
his hind legs begging and meowing and looking cute.

I took the can, dished out three portions, put the can in the
sink and soaked it so it could be washed and recycled later and
added some kitty crunchies or kitty crack as a lady friend
once called it, said my goodbyes but was ignored by bowl lapping
cats with intermittent crunching and headed to my door, grabbed
the keys, and had already put my wallet in the new suit, put
on the hat, and locked it behind me.
EXT. MR BROCKS APARTMENT MIDDAY

NARRATOR

I was taking no chances this time.

I walked to the elevator after checking it out and pushed the

button to the lobby one floor below.

All of this would be gone soon as the owners were going to

demolish the building but were waiting on the completion of my
new house and office.

It would be completed in a month and the contents of my

apartment would be ripped out and incorporated into my new home.

I got out of the elevator and pushed a button on my key ring and
the indicator light on one of my cars beeped and the door
unlocked.

I walked around the car to do a pre-drive check to see if it had

not been tampered with from the outside, turned on the LED light
on my key fob and looked in the interior and looked at it as
well and then popped the hood to ensure I had no surprises under
there like ACME dynamite or cut brake lines.

Id watched too many Mannix episodes and didnt want my brake

lines cut or drained and wondered why the screenwriters never
had him check for it despite them having the bad guys do it all
the time.

The check complete, I got in and sat behind the wheel.

It was a Kelly Green Mustang, fully restored by CF and he had

bitched mightily when I had him put in the automatic.

I cant drive stick but McQueen had when hed used one of these
in Bullitt and this was one of the backup cars that had been
wrecked in filming and it took years to find it sitting in a
barn rotting and paying several figures and a year and a half to
restore as CF had other projects to restore before mine.
It had modern conveniences added to it like WiFi and Bluetooth
and an iPad attached to the dash and GPS and an iPhone7 that
already had a defect in it discovered by a tech guy on YouTube.

It hissed and I was waiting for the inevitable recall/fix from

Apple.

I turned the key and the motor kicked over and the motor put out
the roar of its big Mustang engine and I settled in.

We were trying to talk the owner of the Bullitt Charger to

relinquish it as well but no dice so far.

How I got this is that a group of rich AND mystery and car
loving friends pooled our funds, draining our bank accounts, and
the other guys said it needs to be driven and not sit in a
museum.

And we beat out that big car collector in Encino who has almost
one of every classic car ever made and only drives them once,
too.

I buckled the seat belt and put it into drive and felt silly
driving seven blocks but this time I was going to be ready if
shotgun wielding gunsels showed up.

None did and I parked the car across from Swansons, got out,
and set the alarm and didnt have to put money in the meter as I
had a handicapped placard and my plates read SHAMUS1 and
walked to the door of Swensons, pulled the handle, and walked
in.

INT. SWANSONS/SWENSONS AFTERNOON

NARRATOR

As I had pulled the door open, I saw myself reflected.

Six foot two, grey hair, still sparkling blue eyes, crows feet
underneath, not much of a gut kept that way by working out and
studying the ways of Robert Parker and his weightlifting book
which was on my Spenser shelf in my office.
 Thinking about that made me wonder how McGee had kept fit for
all those years and where did he go when Bahia Mar got rid of
their boat slips, but I digress.

Big hands, big feet, and an occasional limp from the bullet
fragments lodged in my right knee, courtesy of a killer who
killed my partner in the Burgh a long time ago.

He died at the hands of another cop in a shootout but the

fragments in my knee couldnt be removed and gave me trouble
when it rained or got really cold, so I stayed away from ski
slopes, ice rinks, and Santas Workshop.

I shrugged and moved towards the counter.

The other coffeemaker, Navy John, saw me first and said:

NAVY JOHN

(WARMLY)

Hey, Brock. How ya doin? The usual?

NARRATOR

(ANNOYED)

So much for my hoped for anonymity in front of my mystery client

and my trying to get a look at him before he sized me up.

I nodded yes and was reaching for my wallet to pay when sweeping
around the counter came Annie and at that point, everything
changed.

Annie was sunshine, and happiness, and puppies, and kittens, and
everything else in between. Her smile would light up a cave and
Id never seen or heard her be unhappy. Everyone liked Annie.

ANNIE

Youre here finally. Im so glad!

 NARRATOR

And with that, she wrapped her arms around me and gave a big
kiss right on the lips.

Which I didnt mind, but I was taken aback a bit and puzzled.

ANNIE

You go and sit with your friend and Ill bring you your coffee
and we now carry pies. Would you like a piece?

NARRATOR

I was famished and hadnt eaten in a while, but I burn it off

quickly. Always have.

MR. BROCK

Sure, Annie. Peach if you have it, with vanilla ice cream if
possible. No whipped cream, please.

NARRATOR

I stood while Annie got the order and scanned the room.

Some of the regulars were in attendance:

Conspiracy Bob, who claimed UFOs were landing in his backyard

every day and the CIA knew about it but were covering it up in a
vast anti-Grey alien conspiracy.

Bicycle Billy, who had been kicked out of his in-laws and was
still unemployed since he graduated high school, and who lived
under a bush with his bicycle.
Annoying Al, who bothered every customer, new or old, when they
came into the place and would interject himself into their
conversations unwanted.

I had tried to be nice to Al by telling him NOT to talk to me

repeatedly but he was somehow brain damaged or something and
didnt quit bugging me until one day Id had enough and put my
.45 barrel in his mouth, mid-sentence, and told him in no
uncertain terms that if he didnt STOP annoying me whenever I
came in to get coffee or to chat with the staff or Annie, I was
going to air condition his head.

He stayed far away from me after that.

Drone Dolly, who was a pal of Als and she was even weirder than
he was.

Jazzbo Johnny, an old jazz musician down on his luck and

homeless who I fed and gave money to on occasion because Id
heard him play in New Orleans long ago.

One day I hoped to help him get back on his feet and play again
and buy him his own pad.

Wall Street Wally, who was constantly on his cell phone while
monitoring every stock, futures, and money market from L.A. to
Hong Kong while chatting up his latest business deal in
unending, VERY LOUD, conference calls to who knows where that
lasted for hours, or so it seemed.

And kids playing Pokmon GO, jurors, assistant DAs, and

Sherriffs deputies from the local courthouse five blocks away,
mothers pushing babies, runners, and the locals getting their
latte fixes for the afternoon and at times some really hot
looking babes.

If only I wasnt so smitten by Annie and her charms.

Then I saw my would-be client.

He wore a trench coat that was fully buttoned and a black

fedora, both looked like he never took them off.
He was tall like a skeleton, about six foot four, and looked the
part, bald, and had a black striped shirt and white tie under
the trench coat with matching pants and shoes to match.

He was chewing on a silver plated toothpick and eyed me

carefully.

There was a bulge under his right arm that was probably a gun
and I quickly looked around to see if hed brought a violin case
with a Chicago Typewriter in it.

He saw me sat down, but was still tense, and finally spoke:

MICHAEL VULTURNO

Well, Brock. I see you finally decided to make an appearance.

(DARKLY)

I dont like to be kept waiting.

NARRATOR

I replied while sipping the first of my coffee which Annie had

gotten just right.

MR. BROCK

I was unavoidably detained. My apologies.

Imperial entanglements, you know.

MICHAEL VULTURNO

(ANNOYED)

Okay, Brock. Okay.

So the cops rousted you now lets get down to MY business.

 NARRATOR

He paused for a moment as if to stop to oil the gears in his

brain and said:

MICHAEL VULTURNO

Like I told you hours ago: I have a problem.

I know youre a hardass but I know you are discreet and mostly
played by the rules when it suits you.

My wife has disappeared. I cant go to the cops for reasons Im

sure you know.

So you have to find her. Cost is no object.

NARRATOR

I had enough time to recognize him Mickey the Vulture, big

boss of San Franciscos North Beach, syndicate scum and killer,
though hed never been successfully charged because witnesses
either recanted or were found floating like flounders in the bay
headed out to the Pacific or stuck under a piling.

One stiff actually made it somehow to Alcatraz just in time for

the twice daily tourist boat to come alongside and give the
tourists and bloggers something to chat about for years.

I finished my coffee and had worked on the pie enough that I was
full and stood up so it could work its way down and spoke in a
peach scented voice:

MR. BROCK

Other than fattening my bank balance, why should I work for a

creep like you?

And lets continue this outside the mice are listening and
some of them have big ears and bigger mouths.
 NARRATOR

I looked over and saw Annoying Al. He was trembling from trying
to resist getting up to come over to the table. I calmed him
down by opening my jacket and reaching toward my gun.

He sat back so hard, air hissed out of either the chair cushion
or him I wasnt sure which since he had more hot air inside
him than the biggest Whoopee cushion ever made.

EXT. SWANSONS/SWENSONS AFTERNOON

NARRATOR

We got up and Mickey headed to the door, pushed it open, and

turned and took about three steps towards the black painted
aluminum chairs and wired black tables left outside for the
local sun worshippers who liked their smoothies drenched in
vitamin D when the noise of squealing tires came around the
corner in front of the burnt out DiMaggios restaurant and, of
all things, a 1933 cream and black colored Chrysler Six luxury
sedan that had been bought in a bungled attempt for Al Capone to
escape from Federal custody when he was being shipped to
Alcatraz by train.

His confederates all died in the attempt, but there was one of
Big Als cars with not one but TWO Chicago Typewriters jutting
prominently from the rear windows and the front passenger had
one in his hands too.

The car had been sold at auction in 1987 for $51,000. It was
probably worth a lot more now.

These guys were taking no chances on missing their intended

target.

I saw, before the typewriters began sending their special

delivery letters, a small figure of a black bird in full attack
 mode with talons extended in an oval painted on the drivers
side door.

I was still behind the door and had my gun out - but they
werent after me.

Their typewriters delivered their deadly package, all right.

No C.O.D.

As chance would have it, lunch hour was over and by this time
the small plaza alongside Swensons was empty except for the
Vulture and he never had a chance as the bullets turned him into
a human cribbage board and he went down with blood pouring out
of every hole.

The sedan turned right and raced up the street and turned right
again and was out of sight in seconds.

In the street lay the shell cases of the Thompsons, the drum
models, the stench of cordite and blood was in the air, and as a
woman behind me who had happened to walk up just in time to see
the carnage screamed loud enough to beat out Memorex, the wail
of police sirens could be heard approaching.

For the second time in one day, I was in trouble.

It was like Dj vu in spades and I was the joker.

I decided I had better go through the formalities and see if he

was still alive.

But given the amount of holes in him, Swiss cheese had a better
chance to be alive than he did.

I went over to the body and got on one knee.

First I felt his pulse and then felt the carotid artery.

Both big nothings.

Then I felt under his collar and his armpits and came up empty
again. He was deader than last weeks flounder.
 While I was searching his body, I lifted his wallet, his cell
phone, and his keys. His other pockets were empty, not even
small change.

He hadnt had a chance to pay me but I decided he would have

been my client - dead or not, hed asked for my help.

If anyone asked, Id tell them he hired me and would worry about

the legalities later.

(DETERMINED)

Three people were dead, one was missing, and I had to find out
why.

I got off my knees, brushed my pants off, and stood up.

The street was soon filled with all varieties of vehicles.

It looked like a demolition derby in Latrobe.

Fire trucks, ambulances, PG&E trucks, water department trucks,

the Red Cross, a fire department Chiefs red car, a Sheriffs
car, and leading the pack was the black sedan of my pal and
adversary, Harry.

He got out and yelled orders to first stop anyone from leaving
the scene and other things, and then saw me and yelled:

Lt. HARRIMAN PRITCHARD

Brock! What are you, a one man crime wave? Or have you turned
big on us and decided to wipe out the hood population one creep
at a time?

MR. BROCK

(SARCASTIC)

I love you too, Lieutenant.

Lt. HARRIMAN PRITCHARD

 (STAMMERING)

D-dont get smart ass with me, you you

NARRATOR

He was so mad he was sputtering like Mauna Loa on a slow day and
after a second or two he continued:

Lt. HARRIMAN PRITCHARD

Okay, Brock. I know you think the police are your personal
servants and are at your disposal 24/7 but what happened this
time and DONT leave anything out.

NARRATOR

The other officers roped off the scene and technicians were
taking measurements, using GoPro5s and iPads and others were
questioning witnesses on the street and inside of the coffee
shop.

Annie was being questioned and she looked a bit green around the
edges.

The customers and employees were being grilled too.

As I watched and looked around, I thought something big must be

happening other than just a missing wife.

A mob boss doesnt just get taken out for a lark.

And why did the two gunsels try to kill me earlier?

What was the reason for the killers in the car and whose car was
it?

And, finally, where was Mrs. Mickey?

I couldnt think of her by the Vultures real name, Michael

Vulturno, which is one reason he got the nickname Vulture or
MV for short.
 He, like his namesake, had become an expert on preying on the
weak, the helpless, and the easily strayed.

His organization was big into loan sharking, extortion, numbers,

bookmaking, prostitution, and White and Asian slavery for the
massage parlor circuit.

You name it and the Vulture had been into it.

But he had one redeeming grace.

He wouldnt sell drugs or prostitute under-aged kids and anyone

in his organization who did so wound up as part of a new
foundation for one of the new hospital annexes in Mission Bay.

I suspected his lieutenants would maintain that policy, for

drugs and kids gets the Feds involved and in a big way.

I told Harry as much as I could and that the Vulture had been my
newly hired client and that I didnt and couldnt say much,
which was exactly the truth.

Harry had blustered a bit but finally told me to go home.

By that time the sun had begun to set, the CSI boys were done
with their investigations and the coroner had taken away the
body.

The only evidence of the Vulture on the plaza was the pockmarks
in the brick where some bullets had hit and the blood, now being
hosed off by the manager of Swensons once Harry had given his
okay.

It had been a long day and I was nowhere close to solving the
mystery. So, I decided when in doubt, drink!

I went back into Swensons.

INT. SWANSONS/SWENSONS LATE AFTERNOON

NARRATOR

The crowd had gone home as had all the staff except for Annie.
I motioned to her and when she came up to me, I reached out and
gave her a big hug.

MR. BROCK

(TIRED)

Im sorry you and the shop got involved in this.

I dont know who or why but Im going to find out who did this
one way or the other.

ANNIE

(SHAKEN)

Its all right. I just never saw anyone die before.

And certainly not like that.

NARRATOR

Annie put her head on my shoulder and started weeping.

I reached out and started stroking her hair and whispered:

MR. BROCK

(WHISPERING)

Its going to be fine. Ill do my best to make sure nothing ever

makes you cry again.

NARRATOR

Her sobbing subsided to sniffles and she looked up at me and

looked into my eyes.
 I handed her my linen handkerchief and she dabbed at her eyes
and cleared away the tears from her rosy cheeks.

In about a minute, she was her smiling self again.

ANNIE

I have to lock up and do the shift change.

Can you wait here, please, and walk me home?

NARRATOR

I nodded and tried to keep my heart inside my chest as it beat

like a Buddy Rich solo.

She went back behind the counter and, the manager, having put
away the hose and locked up the metal chairs and tables and
brought in the table umbrellas, came inside.

Navy John was a tall, thin guy who still wore his beard Navy
style.

Grey haired now, but some of that came from having been a SEAL
Team Leader and some from working with Deadeye Doug, infamous
former SEAL who made it good becoming an action star on TV and
was now writing fiction too.

John had been in the SEALs for 15 years and only quit after his
leg was mauled by a shark off the southern coast of Iran. Most
guys would have bought it then and there, but Navy John had his
medic tape up his leg and completed the mission at hand the
destruction of an al-Qaeda terror cell that wasnt going to just
go quietly into Gitmo.

He and his team dispatched them to Hades or Allah, got intel

they needed for the spooks back home, and got to the pickup
point and it was only on the chopper on the way out that John
had passed out headed for Walter Reed and retirement after a
secret ceremony at the White House to get the medal, as did two
of his team with appropriate honors for the rest the mission
being classified to this day.
John could be gentle as hell but could also be counted on in a
pinch, bad leg or not. It only hurt him when it rained, but not
lately since California was still technically in a drought
situation except for crazed politicians in Sacramento and
elsewhere, mostly liberal loons like Governor Moonbeam whose
latest ecological triumph was signing a law to put diapers on
cows.

John piped up, his voice sounding like that of a bosuns pipe
from all the scalding black coffee hed drank for years:

NAVY JOHN

Hi, Brock. Thanks for taking care of Annie. It means a lot.

Shes such a sweet girl.

NARRATOR

I nodded and he continued:

NAVY JOHN

They sure tore the hell out of the umbrella. Harry gave me a
couple of shell casings. He said they had enough for evidence.

I think Ill have the shot through part put into a frame with a
picture of the crime scene and the Vultures picture and
biography, and have it framed for the back wall, and sell the
swaths on ebay for charity. Maybe half to the Kids Klub and half
to the Sea Scouts at the marina.

You think that would be okay? I know theyll be coming in here

to look at it in droves.

MR. BROCK

That will be fine and the charity thing is nice too. Even the
Vulture wouldve approved. He liked kids.
 NAVY JOHN

Yeah, I know. He was real upset when the Kids Klub and all the
scouting organizations refused his donations and returned them.

I understand he used the money instead to help kids and families

in need.

NARRATOR

I looked at my watch, wondering when Annie would be done.

MR. BROCK

You never know about some guys. I guess itll get him some
brownie points in hell.

NARRATOR

I thought about that watch for minute.

It was a twin of the one my reporter friend wore all the time
except this one had gone to the moon and back and, as he already
had one, he gave it to me after he helped dispatch a monster
whod been dispatching burgomeisters in Milwaukee by marinating
them in their own suds and sucking out both the marrow from
their bones and their souls.

Wed barely got away from that one alive and my Polish friend,
though hed never say it openly, had been grateful for the help
and thus the gift of the watch.

Wed not seen each other in a while and I wondered if he was

still giving the Chi-Town cops fits along with his boss, whom he
infuriated on an almost daily basis.

Poor Vinny. When his ace word star was on a mission to fight the
unholy, his milk consumption went up a hundred fold.
So did the pain in his stomach and the demands from the suits to
fire the veteran.

People said you could hear his yelling even above the noise of
the L train that went by their office windows twenty times a
day.

But Vinny always found a way to keep him on.

Besides, most of the time he wasnt even sure of much of

anything except that whatever assignment Vinny had assigned to
him, the object of his attention had other ideas of what he
thought was newsworthy.

It was a pity that our story and so many there would never see
them in print.

The powers-that-be made sure of that, while privately and very

grudgingly thanking all involved for their help in keeping
scores of incompetent politicians and police officials employed
when they would have been fired if the truth were out.

That watch still ran like it was new and my friend Techno
Tommy had offered to update it so it would be compatible with
my iPhone but I liked it just the way it was.

John spoke up just then and nudged me back to the present.

NAVY JOHN

Well, its been nice chatting but the mess out there shot our
day in here to shreds and I still have to send the days
spreadsheets to the home office, make up the deposit for the
armored car in the morning, and try to explain the drop in sales
to my accountant and partners.

(SHAKING HIS HEAD)

They arent going to believe it!

NARRATOR
He paused when behind him walked Annie. She put her hand on his
shoulder and said:

ANNIE

Everythings set up for tomorrow and the next two days while Im
off.

NARRATOR

With that, she looked at me and waved back at John and we walked
out the door with me exiting first as I was a bit gunshot, no
pun intended, given the events of the day.

EXT. SWANSONS/SWENSONS EVENING

NARRATOR

Annie came out and I offered her my arm, which she took, while
overhead the first sight of the full moon peeked out from behind
a wisp of evening fog.

We walked down the street and talked about things other than the
shop.

Me, about my cats, and Annie, about a new recipe she had tried
for Jell-O pineapple upside down cake.

EXT. ANNIES APARTMENT EVENING

NARRATOR

Time went by so slowly yet so fast, in a sense, and before we

knew it, we were at her door. I could see the big arched picture
window of her flat and in the window sat the huge double cat
tree for her cats, Trippy and Lilliput.
Trippy was a tuxedo cat who got her name by her habit of walking
a few steps, turning her head to the right and meowing as if she
were either seeing something or talking to herself, and then
walking a few more steps and turning her head in the other
direction and doing the same thing.

She would do this for hours and we both think she was also
holding a conversation with herself at the same time about
either what she was seeing or what she had just meowed.

Lilliput was a black, long haired cat who was very small and
whose favorite activity was to make Annie or I or anyone who
came along toss her small wadded up balls of tin foil or the tin
foil like packaging from cigarette packs made into a ball.

Shed dart across the room, catch the ball in midair, and then
run and drop it at your feet and then run back fully expecting
you to toss it at her again.

She could do that for hours too until she got bored or got tired
and flopped down and went to sleep.

They adored each other and Annie too, and I was very fond of
them and theyd always look for the treats and toys I would give
for Annie to give them when she got home from work and got so
excited to see her with lots of leg rubbing and nuzzling.

Annie let go of my arm and opened her purse to get her keys out.

Thats when she said something that made my heart flutter like a
squadron of butterflies over a field of buttercups.

ANNIE

I have the next three days off, all my house chores are done,
and there isnt anything on TV worth watching for the rest of
the weekend and so I was wondering if your offer to take me out
still stands?

NARRATOR
 I was almost speechless but managed to squeak out a response,
not out of fear, but sheer, unbridled excitement.

MR. BROCK

Id love to, Annie. Anywhere youd like to go in particular?

NARRATOR

She looked at me and gazed into my eyes and I thought I saw a

hint of moonlight glint in the tresses of her hair.

ANNIE

Well, there is that new dinner place and theyre having the
opening for the new revival of the Glenn Miller Orchestra
tonight and I thought that and dinner would be a nice way to
relax after the day weve both had!

INT. ANNIES APARTMENT EVENING

NARRATOR

With that, she turned the key in the lock, opened the door and
we were assaulted by the crescendo of meowing that came from two
excited cats.

Who was I to disappoint them?

I reached into my inner coat pocket and pulled out two catnip
mousies and a bag of kitty treats which I handed to Annie for
later.

The two cats were rolling around on the floor and began to bat
the mousies around the oaken floor of the entryway.

Annie stepped into the doorway and said:

 ANNIE

Why dont you have a seat and Ill take a quick shower and
change?

NARRATOR

With that, I closed the door and locked it behind me and sat on
the couch next to the statue of Bastet, the ancient Egyptian cat
goddess which was lit up by a small delicate rose colored
spotlight.

Annie had a thing for cats but she also told me that she had a
way with animals and they with her. Somehow I felt hers was some
kind of extra-normal sense not seen in most people.

I settled in when, suddenly, Trippy jumped up on the couch and

nuzzled my hand and quietly requested some petting.

I scratched her ears and head and she settled in and curled up
and was soon fast asleep at my side.

Not to be outdone, Lilliput asked for the same consideration

after she jumped onto the couch as well and in a few minutes I
heard a duet of soft and satisfied stereophonic purring.

It seemed as if Id sat there for hours but it was really about

twenty minutes.

At first I could smell the scent of strawberries wafting from

the shower as the water ran and Annie tended to her ablutions.

Then after a few minutes, I heard a faint sound of singing in a

voice that sounded like velvet and was reminiscent of Vikki Carr
and the notes of Annies singing reached my ears.

Dont break my pretty balloon

I knew the song well. One of Vikkis lesser known songs and
wondered how someone as young as Annie had come by it when the
noise of the shower stopped.
 A tinkling of wind chimes rustled the air and then the breeze
brought the flavor and sense of hibiscus into the room and then
there was Annie standing in front of me.

I was awestruck and stunned.

Standing in front of me was a sight that would have made

Nefertiti weep.

Annie was dressed head to toe in a gold lame dress that went
from her neck to her ankles.

Some designer must have gotten ahold of a time machine and went
back to the 1950s or channeled Jane Russell in Macau or Stella
Stevens or the few times when Faith Domergue was a blonde.

Id had crushes on all of them with the lead going to Stevens

whom Id first seen when I was twelve and like the great Sophia
Loren in Divorce Italian Style, I was too young to know why I
liked them but I was impressed for life by their talent and
charms.

And accentuating that was Annies golden tresses, which had

always been under a tight bun at work and now flowed down her
back, past her waist, and had more traces of gold than Rapunzel
even had in hers.

Annie had Bastet cat earrings on, a small golden cat bracelet on
her right wrist and one around her neck as well, and carried a
small matching gold purse in her left hand.

On anyone else it would have looked like an affectation, but on

Annie it looked like she was born to wear them and always would.

Annie stood and turned all the way around and my eyes bulged out
like a cartoon wolf and she knew it for when she turned back she
gave me a coy look and a small, knowing smile and said:

ANNIE

Well, handsome, I know you know you like what you see and Ive
known that for a long time.
 But Im starving so lets go before all the good tables are
taken.

NARRATOR

And with that, she opened the door and I followed and shut it
after leaving the porch light on, the cats snuggled together
purring away on the bed behind us.

EXT. ANNIES APARTMENT EVENING

NARRATOR

We walked back to my car and I felt a bit sheepish.

Annie should be driven in a coach with four horsemen and an

Imperial Guard, not in a souped-up muscle car but Annie gushed
over the car and said, and giggled:

ANNIE

Wow, the Bullitt car. I saw that movie my last year in high
school. McQueen was always so cool and this is a great car!

NARRATOR

And with that, she put on the seat belt and I had a feeling that
she was going to want to take my car out for a spin, maybe
McQueen style.

She reached over and put her left hand on my right, gazed into
my eyes, and I started the car, turned on the lights, and headed
for The New Stork Club.

EXT. THE NEW STORK CLUB NIGHT

 NARRATOR

As we walked through the crowd and approached the uniform

doorman, I saw the cream of San Francisco Bay Area society was
there along with some common folk who could afford it like us or
,I should say, me for Annie certainly could not afford it not
with what she made at the coffee shop.

Then I was amazed at what the doorman said as we got up to the

velvet red ropes blocking the doorway:

ROBERT THE DOORMAN

Ah, nice to see you again, Miss Ann. Its been a long time. How
is your family and your brother and sister?

NARRATOR

Annie replied and went over and hugged the doorman and said:

ANNIE

Its so nice to see you too, Robert. (Pronunciation: RO-BARE)

I havent seen you since the cotillion soire.

And my family is just fine. Theyd love to see you again.

NARRATOR

I was going to slip him a couple of Jacksons to get us through

but he raised the rope, said good evening, sir to me and waved
us through.

INT. THE NEW STORK CLUB NIGHT

 NARRATOR

When we arrived, I saw that someone had done their research

well.

The place was an exact copy of the famed New York nightclub,
even down to the small storks on each table.

Updated for safety and with the most modern tech but the dcor
was the same, even down to the paneling on the walls.

As we went through the modern revolving door, we could hear the

strains of Moonlight Serenade and, without either of us looking
at each other, both of us started tapping our feet to the beat.

Theres something about Millers music that you get from no

other band, not even Goodman or the great Whiteman and a great
tragedy it was when Miller was killed on a tour of Europe by the
Luftwaffe, though some have said he was murdered and others have
even said he faked his own death as he was a secret spy for U.S.
intelligence.

But thats history for another time and we were guided to our
table at the front of the room right in front of the orchestra.

I helped Annie sit down and then sat down myself and the waiter
came up and said:

EDWARD THE WAITER

Tonights dinner is compliments of the management. And hello,

Miss Ann, nice to see you.

NARRATOR

Annie smiled and laughed for she could see the confusion and
puzzlement on my face.

ANNIE
 Nice to see you too, Edward, and thank you very much. May we
order now?

NARRATOR

Edward took her order first, then mine, made some wine list
recommendations and left.

I was wondering what to say next when Annie spoke.

ANNIE

Its going to be a bit before dinner is served. Lets dance.

NARRATOR

I took her hand and we moved onto the dance floor.

The orchestra had switched to String of Pearls and I held

Annies hands and then she moved in closer and then she was in
my arms and we somehow floated across the dance floor with not a
care in the world.

The orchestra was moving in that peculiar back and forth swaying
movement that Id only seen in old movies featuring the great
big bands.

I was doing my own bit of swaying too.

But it was my knees.

Theyd turned to rubber as I flowed across the dance floor with

Annie in my arms.

In the movies, the orchestra usually would move to a louder and

louder crescendo and then a shot would ring out from behind the
curtain and the hero would find himself holding a woman with a
bullet hole where the back should be and blood dripping down his
hand onto the floor.
But the only thing dripping was the sweat from the headband of
my fedora.

I was swaying worse than the entire clarinet section when I was
saved by the end of the song and I walked Annie, hand in hand,
back to our table and found that our dinner had been served.

Mine was a minute steak with baked potato and butter, no sour
cream or chives Im allergic to raw sour cream, though I can
eat it if its cooked and the same goes for buttermilk, though I
can eat pancakes and biscuits all day long without a problem a
large salad with tomatoes, cucumber, and red wine vinegar and
croutons, sweet and sour green beans and an iced tea.

I wondered why they called it a minute steak when it took so

long to cook.

Annie had ordered trout almondine with lemon and butter, a small
salad with lettuce, tomato, and Italian dressing, asparagus with
hollandaise sauce, caviar, a shrimp cocktail, a fruit cup, and a
non-alcoholic Tom Collins except that this was blue and I
remembered that you could get those years ago at Harrahs
Casinos when the great man himself was still alive and
collecting not only casinos but great cars as well.

Id met him once when I was young and he treated everyone, young
and old, like they were special and that hed known you for
years even if hed just been introduced to you.

The suits running his company today had made a mess of things
and I kept hoping that hed come back somehow and kick some
corporate butt right out of a high rise window.

Harrah had class and style and only Adelson, Trump, and Wynn had
that anymore in the profit above all else casinos of today.

We ate and made small talk and we had them clear the table and
after a bit I asked Annie if she wanted to dance again and she
replied:

ANNIE
 Its been a long day and I think things have sort of caught up
with me. Can you take me home, please?

NARRATOR

I summoned the waiter, tipped, and thanked him for his service.

EXT. THE NEW STORK CLUB NIGHT

NARRATOR

We went out to the front of the restaurant and I gave the valet
my parking chip and in a few seconds, they brought my car.

I helped Annie into her seat and buckled her seat belt for her
and went to the drivers side and pulled open the door, got out
my keys, started the engine, and we were on our way.

Wed only gone a few blocks when Annie asked me to pull the car
over for a minute.

I asked her if anything was wrong.

She said no but that there was something she had to say to me
first.

I wondered if I had committed some kind of faux pas and was

preparing for the worst when she spoke and said:

ANNIE

Ive been working in Swensons for a long time.

Guys constantly hit up on me and I get really tired of it

because a lot of them have NO manners and are really vulgar.

But you, Brock, are different. Youre always nice, you treat me
like a lady, and always treat me with respect and
 NARRATOR

And with that, she wrapped both hands around my head and drew my
face close to her and gave me a kiss that would have
electrocuted an eel.

I didnt resist at all and we did that for some time without
either of us coming up for air and then she let go, caught her
breath, and said with a tremulous voice:

ANNIE

Theres only three problems with you:

One, you work in a too, too dangerous job and I worry about you.

Two, I and apparently no one else either knows your first name.

(PAUSES, TREMBLING)

And, three, I think Ive fallen in love with you!

NARRATOR

This time it was I who reached over and kissed her, and all the
bells, whistles, and trains, and all the rest of the stuff you
see in films went off for me too and I never wanted it to end
and we held that pose for several minutes until both of us came
up for air.

For once in my life, I was at a loss for words and was overcome
by what she had said to me. This beautiful, smart woman could
have any man she wanted, yet she chose to fall in love with a
relic like myself?

I had trouble grasping the idea in my mind.

If it had been anyone else, I would have assumed she was a gold-
digger out for whatever she could get and, Lord knows, Ive seen
enough of those in my time.
But Id gotten to know Annie and she wasnt like that. Guile and
deception werent in her lexicon. She was the sweetest girl Id
ever met and quite possibly the sexiest.

As I stared at her face and those baby blue eyes and thought,
she said:

ANNIE

I know its a shock to you, particularly since you broke up with

your old flame, but I really, honestly love you and want to
prove it to you.

NARRATOR

With that, she started the car again and in a few moments we
pulled up in front of her apartment building.

EXT. ANNIES APARTMENT - NIGHT

NARRATOR

I unbuckled my seatbelt and got out and went around the car and
opened the door for her and held out my hand.

She got out and took mine and I closed the car door.

As we walked towards the entrance, I did a quick scan of the

premises. No thugs lying in wait, not even The Beastly Brothers.

We walked onto the sidewalk and then up the small concrete steps
until we got to her doorway.

She reached into her purse, took out her keys, and said:

ANNIE

(SOFTLY)
 I always wanted to say this:

Why dont you come upstairs for a nightcap, Brock?

NARRATOR

Id never figured out just why it was called a nightcap but I

smiled my best smile at her.

She smiled back and put her key in the lock and the door opened.
This time she said:

ANNIE

Follow me, Brock. Ill be your pied piper.

INT. ANNIES APARTMENT - NIGHT

NARRATOR

With that, she gave me a sly wink and headed to the elevator.

We got there and I opened the door for her. She stepped in and
looked at me and pressed the letter P on the elevator keypad and
giggled as the car began to climb.

I looked at the indicator lights and then at her face and then
back at the lights and thought:

P is for penthouse.

This girl works in a coffee shop!

How can she afford to live in a penthouse?

I hadnt thought about it earlier but then it dawned on me that,

in my excitement to be with her, I hadnt thought that the
elevator only went to one floor and it was hers.

I figured she must have shared expenses with a roommate.

We got to the penthouse floor and I opened the door again and as
I did yellow lights went on in the Art Deco lamps on each side
of the doorway.

As we stepped out, a small furry black and white bundle came up

and rubbed against my legs and butted my leg for attention.

Annie saw that and laughed and said:

ANNIE

Thats Mini Mouse. He loves attention and petting. His litter

mate, Mickey, must be around here somewhere.

NARRATOR

I finished petting Mini and we walked into the living room and I
saw the sunken couch, the computer table, and big LG curved LED
screen, and a large carpeted cat tree in one corner.

While I was looking, Annie crossed the room and walked into a
doorway and put her purse down on a table I could slightly see
through the door.

Suddenly the strains of music began playing from somewhere. I

couldnt see the source, but I could hear it.

And I recognized the tune.

Gilles Pellegrinis version of Harlem Nocturne by the late Earl

Hagen but this one was the theme from Mike Hammer, the
television version and played in the fast tempo and not the
usual slow tempo that most bands play it in.

I thought of Hammer and what a great character Mickey Spillane

had created and wondered why no one had given Stacy Keach a
chance to come back as an older and wiser Hammer when I saw the
silver and white cylinder on the table in front of the couch.

The music was coming from it and it was one of the new iSpeakers
that Apple was working on. Pictures had leaked of the design but
it wasnt released yet and I wonder how and why Annie had gotten
an advance copy when she said:

ANNIE

Take off your hat, coat, and gun if you like.

You can put them on the couch. The cats wont sleep on them.
Theyre very well behaved.

NARRATOR

I did what Annie asked and folded my jacket across the back of
the couch and put my hat on the couch and put my gun under my
hat.

After I finished, I heard Annie call my name:

ANNIE

Brock, be a darling and come here, please.

Im having a problem with the clasp on my gown.

NARRATOR

I moved to the doorway of the bedroom Annie was standing

slightly inside. She turned until her back and neck was facing
me and asked me to open the clasp.

With a bit of difficulty, I got it open.

Annie turned around and was holding the top of the gown with one
hand and suddenly let it drop to the floor.

Underneath well, there was nothing underneath.

And what I saw would have made Venus de Milo cry tears of envy.
Annie reached up with both hands and pulled me close and I got
another kiss, this one far more intimate, and when my heart
restarted again, she said:

ANNIE

Take off your shoes and come with me to bed and Ill show you
that youre not the only one around who can ferret out
mysteries.

NARRATOR

I took my shoes off, she pulled me into her round bed with the
white satin sheets and she clapped once and the speaker said:

SPEAKER

Good night, miss.

NARRATOR

And the music and the lights went off.

THE END