Ed Danvers Case Files:
Sins of the Father
Who’s Got Your Goat?
The doc sent me home today. He said my hip would be sore and tender for awhile and I should lay off it. He didn’t send me home empty-handed, though. I’m now the proud owner of a fancy aluminum cane, complete with a little rubber foot. So now I’m the old codger with a cane. I guess it sure beats a plastic hand? Not that Vicksy didn’t make short work of that. The little gadget monkey made himself a screwy new hand that makes noises when it moves. So far he only seems to use it to crack walnuts. The hip’s been behaving, mostly. It was a little touch-and-go when Laurel’s kid hopped on my lap to hear another story about her grandma and great grandma back in New Orleans. I can’t be mad at the kid, she’s only four. But damn, that hurt.
Vicksy was slouched behind the bar staring at the television and going to town on a bag of walnuts. The news was the news. Father Nutso was apparently staying low for a couple. It gave me some time to mull the case. There were three families left after the priest cut up the Pattersons and the Bartlebys. He seems to put some time between his appearances. Two or three days. Of the remaining families, I was keeping a close eye on the Babatundes. Mr. and Mrs. Babatunde, along with the Pattersons and Bartlebys, were the most high profile of the lot. These three had a lot more facetime on the news and had chipped in the most to hire me. The Tylers and Fukimuras have kept a low profile. The Tylers did interviews in the beginning, but the Fukimuras have kept their heads down from the get go. Good for them. The media is bunch of blood suckers. I swear to god, if Vicksy cracks one more walnut…
“Vicksy,” I groaned, “When did you decide you loved walnuts so much?”
“When they got easier to open,” he cracked another one with his metal hand and dumped the content in his mouth. “I was excited to try Brazil nuts, but as it turns out they’re pretty disgusting.”
“Get anywhere with the barflies?”
Continue reading “Ed Danvers Case Files #2 Pt. 2”
Ed Danvers Case Files #2:
Sins of the Father
Give Me a Hand
May 21st, 1987
It’s always when I’m laid up in the hospital when I think, ‘I shouldn’t have taken this case.’ It’s never ten minutes before I get jumped by the very mooks I’m trailing. Sure, I’m getting sloppy. I’m getting old, too. There’s not much to say about the case. It’s your standard philandering. Pretty straightforward. The ones that send you to hospital always are.
The only two who bother visiting me are Cal and his wife, and Vicksy. Laurel drops by too. So I guess that’s …four? I know more people than I thought I did. I had Vicksy smuggle me in some stuff from the office. Not much, just a few files. Something I can stuff under the pillow when the doctor comes in. He doesn’t want me thinking about work right now. The guy also told me to lay off the hooch. Some things are just not going to happen.
I leafed through the manila file folder and noticed Vicksy grabbed the one marked ‘pending.’ That wasn’t the one I asked for. I browsed the files. Laurel’s handwriting is even worse than mine. I hired Laurel after her psychic business went under. I always wonder why psychic entrepreneurs never see it coming? Her old man ran out and she has her little girl, Sophia, to take care of, so I couldn’t just let her wander off into the cold and I had a few shekels to spare a week. Besides, she lives right over my office and I got to annex her old shop, next door. There’s a lot more room and I got a psychic on staff. The cases were humdrum. Remember what I said about humdrum? And then, I suddenly knew why the doc didn’t want me looking at cases. Turns out Gabe, the M.E. dropped by and gave Laurel some pictures and mimeographed reports. He said it would be up my alley. The infuriating thing is, I know he was being a smart ass. And it’s exactly the sort of thing I can’t stay away from. Weird shit is worse than horse, with me. No matter how much I kick, I wind up crossing tracks with the ghost of a mad scientist or a wizard jewel thief. Worst part is, I think the P.D. knows that keeping me strung out means they don’t have to do the spooky stuff. Speaking of horse, since they don’t let you drink in here, I keep plugging away at the happy button. On-demand morphine. One of the perks of getting shot in all the right places.
Continue reading “Ed Danvers Case Files #2”
“Three psych evals in 18 months…” Dr. St. Claire said into the papers he was leafing through, “Says, quote, ‘You were always trying to make the smallest thing about ghosts like back home,’ end quote…”
In one clean arc, I slid a tin flask from my blazer and uncapped it with my thumb. Effortless, economy of motion that comes with years of practice.
“Umph,” I grunted through a long draw of whatever I could afford. Might be Vodka; ruskie shit.
“In the six months since being dismissed from the force, I assume you’ve had some time to rest?”
Continue reading “Ed Danvers Case File: Culver, Fred & Katherine”