From the looks of the sun it was almost noon, Holmes parked his car between two yellow lines, painted about a month ago yet they fade on the rough pavement. He didn’t care. Instead he just stepped out and saw the apartment complex. It stands over him by three stories, built by brick. There’s a metal stair rail, painted black, that leads to his room. He walked up the stairs. Then he placed one of his keys inside that rusted lock mounted above his door knob. It was a struggle to turn the key but
Holmes managed to do it. With a sigh of relief he pushed the door. His home was small, only the basics, with every wall painted white. He pulled out the last cold one from the fridge. The bottle was already opened. He took a sip from it, but it was all that was left. This is a good day to quit the drinking. He thought. Holmes sat on his only chair on his kitchen table with only one light bulb above his head, hanging down by a long wire. He placed the case files on the desk and held the photos Jimmy gave him in his hand.
He pulled one out. Chuck and Jimmy were both in it, both in black tuxedos sitting at a card table with poker chips in front of them, with Chuck wearing his shades. His head was tilted slightly up and his mouth was open with laughter. Jimmy only slightly smiled, as if he told a joke and was slightly amused with it himself. Holmes grabbed another photo, this time it was a tall man with brown hair in a Kiton suit. Judging from his skin he was probably of Italian decent, and from the looks of the amount of grey in his brown hair he was probably fifty at the most. Holmes flipped through the other photos, all of them about the same thing. This man in the Kiton suit with another broad, if they’re not shopping at fancy stores then they’re at the front door of a cheap motel. The photos were probably intended for blackmail. Holmes thought, but why? Holmes looked through the case file. He found copies of the estate forms for the jazz lounge. The lounge was once a strip club that belonged to the wealthy Ben Gregario, just the lot was worth one million but he sold it to Chuck for just $325,750, this Ben was the same man in the pictures with the Kiton suit. Holmes looked deeper and found a list of people who owed Chuck money, Gregario here owed Chuck $325,750. So that’s what the photos have in common, but that doesn’t explain why he got iced. This case exhausted his brain. I need some sleep; he thought, that will help me out.
Rain fell in an alley. A pudgy man of short stature walked, wearing only his rain coat to keep him dry. He doesn’t wear a hat, mainly because he hardly has hair to get wet. The alley entrance to the lounge slammed opened. The lounge’s light burst out like hell’s fire, being blocked only by a brute who can barely fit in the doorway. The short man began to tremble, but the brute only laughed. He jammed his fist into the short man’s gut, then another onto his face. A tooth flew as a stream of blood followed it. The short man fell to the floor and puked more blood, yet the brute still laughed. He pulled out a gun, six chambered, .357 revolver. He pulled down the hammer and the bullet flew like light-
The blast of the phone woke him off his old bed. He lifted the black phone on the dresser, trying to say something but only a grunt came out.
“Mr. Holmes?” a woman’s voice, a voice that’s full of youth yet full of maturity.
“This is Dr. Arcane; you were supposed to see me about an hour ago around three.”
“Really?” he says as he looks at his cheap white digital alarm clock with the numbers 4:15 in red.
“Yes Detective but you wont get any chance to be one if you don’t show up, how ‘bout seven o’ clock?”
“That’ll be fine,” he grunts and hangs up the phone, not caring if his tone would be considered rude. The phone rings again.
“Oh hey Rick, what do you got for me?”
“I was going to ask the same.”
“Well, Chuck was black mailing Ben Gregario just so Ben would pay his gambling debts to Chuck. So Ben gave his strip club to Chuck, since then it’s been a Jazz Lounge ever since.”
“I see, so the photos were black mailing Ben Gregario, anything else?”
“So far that’s about it, now what do you have?”
“Carlo Cervello, ‘member him?”
“Yeah, he used to run the drug routes and the number rackets here until he died five years ago, what about him?”
“Well rumor has it that Carlo Cervello hired someone, someone on the force, at the time at least, to murder Chuck.”
“It would make sense Carlo owed Chuck $440,000, and where did you here this rumor?”
“Detective Jack Napper, he worked the case back then, some say he still is.”
“Funny, I don’t remember him on the force.”
“That’s because he retired about seven years ago, you’re still patrolling at that time Al.”
“I see, well call me if you find anything else alright?”
“Yeah, and you better do the same.” Rick hanged up, and that was that.
Holmes walked inside the office of Dr. Arcane and Dr. Huntsville several hours later for his daily psychosis. The floor was that of a soft carpet. A leather couch was by him against the yellow wall. Across from him was a blonde woman, a woman who wears her long dirty blonde hair down near her tanned skin, the kind of tan one only gets naturally. Her attire was a light brown suit, button down, with a brown skirt that ended slightly above her knees. Her green eyes glowed.
“Do you know why you are here Detective?” Her voice was calm and smooth.
“Yeah, I’m here because I imagined a man in an alley.”
“Describe this man,”
“Fat, short, round nose, bruised face, claimed to be Jimmy Carabi, problem is Jimmy was found dead in that alley ten years ago.”
“Right, and this man was considered the murderer of Chuck Luis correct?”
“Yeah, he took the wrap.”
“Were you the one assigned to this case?”
“No, I was still in the academy at the time. I never even heard of Jimmy or Chuck until yesterday.”
“Alright, have there been any other hallucinations besides this one?”
“No, but I have had dreams about it.”
“Yeah, two I think, the first seemed like Chuck getting iced, and the other was Jimmy getting beaten’ with a brick.”
“I see, and when did you first have your first dream?”
“The night before the um’ hallucination,”
“I thought you never heard of Chuck until yesterday?”
“Yeah that’s true but the way it happened was just the same as his homicide.”
“And how would you know?” Holmes stared down and scratched his head, calming him.
“I did some research afterwards.”
“I see, and does the Chief know about your little investigation?”
“You don’t think Jimmy killed Chuck do you?”
“Yet you say you never heard of either of them until yesterday.”
“I know, now tell me Holmes,” her voice came down to a whisper. “I need to know, have you been drinking or smoking anything lately, regardless if it’s illegal?”
“No, I haven’t taken any street drugs, nor have I been on any medication, but I used to be a heavy drinker.”
“I know; that’s why you have that flask inside your jacket.” She smiles when she said that, not as a gesture of friendship but as an act of victory, as if this whole thing was a game and she just scored a point. Part of this intrigued the detective, and he smiled back.
“What else do you know about me?”
“You wanna’ get your badge back, that I know for sure, and if you want it you better help me out some more.”
“What’s your next question?”
“According to your police report you had a hallucination of Jimmy Carabi, correct?”
“And in this hallucination Jimmy was talking to you about some guy shooting his friend and beating him.”
“And you had a dream of Chuck getting murdered and another of Jimmy?”
“That’s what I said,”
“And you claim to have no other hallucinations prior or before this incident?”
“And I haven’t. So what’s my psychosis?”
“Hard to say, so I can’t suggest any medications, why don’t you come back next week at this time?”
“I can do that,”
“See you then.” Holmes walked out while another man walked in.
“Afternoon Dr. Huntsville.”
“After noon Dr. Arcane, are you doing anything?”
“Well I’m just finishing this report I need to turn in to the FWPD by seven.”
“I’ll turn it in for you.”