Hello everyone! my name is Isabella and I'm kind of new to writing for this topic. However, I am in no way new to writing. This is my third serious story on the site. My story that I have just finished is entitled The Scarlet Line and is the second most popular story in the Spring Awakening catagory. SO anyway, I really hope you enjoy this new story of mine. ALL CHARACTERS ARE HUMANIZED!!!!
I DON'T OWN THIS GENIUS BRAIN CHILD OF TOM MCGRATH!
Brrriiiiiing brrriiiiiing brrr-! James Blake hit the alarm clock sitting on his bed side table before it had the chance to wake anyone else at six am sharp. He ran a hand through his black hair before pulling himself out of bed and walking to his dresser to get ready for the day.
Mr. Blake, or Skipper as he was known as by his friends and colleagues, was a man to be respected. His years in the service had made him a strong willed person who did anything to make sure his goals were attained. On his dresser top stood an old black and white picture of him and his boys. His best friends from the service. The boys he could always count on, and could still count on.
All four of them worked together now at their own agency; investigatory agency that is. Penguin Operations Incorporated, second floor, apartment four, right on the corner of Central Park West and West 61st street, New York City, New York. They had saved up for years to buy the old office, but it had been worth it in the end.
Skipper fastened his tie in the mirror when someone else in the apartment awoke.
"Skip, why do you have to get up so early?" Marlene yawned, wrapping her silk robe around her night dress.
"I have to get down to the agency," Skipper said with a smile, grabbing his hat. He pulled her to him and quickly kissed her, "I'll be back by six."
"Alright," She said as he began to walk out the door, "Try not to get yourself killed." He smiled.
"I'll try." And with that the door shut.
Skipper and Marlene had been engaged now for two months, due to be married that coming spring. Marlene was a kind woman with a will strong enough to match that of her fiancé's, yet still remained perfectly cute and naïve in Skipper's eyes. Her short stature, standing at a petite five foot three inches did nothing to temper that will what so ever. She watched out the window with warm brown eyes as skipper walked down the street, smiling to herself, wondering how she could have been so lucky.
Skipper unlocked the door to the small office and flipped on the light. Four desks stood vacant of actual people, but what lay on the desks were as different as the men who worked them. Skipper put his things down on his well organized desk near the back of the room, where he could sit and do his work while supervising the rest of the boys. He flipped through some of the files from the day before when the phone rang.
"Penguin Operations, this is James Blake speaking." A deep voice answered him over the phone.
"Hello Skipper."
"Officer X," Skipper said, lounging back in his chair, resting his feet up on top of the desk, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"How quickly can you get down to 113 South Lexington in Brooklyn?"
"You want to tell me exactly why I need to get down there?"
"We have another murder, the land lady won't talk to us," Skipper put his head in his hand and sighed.
"Try and see what you can get out of her, I'll be right down once the boys get here."
"Fine, we'll wait." Skipper heard the phone slam down and the busy tone before hanging up his own phone. As soon as he set the phone down, his second in command, Eli Kowalski came barging through the door with a large box, overflowing with God knows what for some new invention.
Eli Kowalski was the tallest of the four, standing a lengthy six foot two and by far the most intelligent. Although Skipper had street smarts beyond compare, Kowalski was the only one to turn to for scientific analysis. Kowalski's background in the newly emerging nuclear physics and radar from the war had left him a man with intelligence far beyond compare. Where natural style lacked, brains filled in.
"Morning, sir," Kowalski said, putting down the large cardboard box onto his blue print littered desk. Skipper looked at the pile of seemingly useless junk apprehensively.
"Uh, Kowalski?" he asked pointing to the box. Kowalski looked back down at the box.
"Oh this stuff? Skipper nodded, "It's nothing, just some things for my new invention!" He excitedly tossed a blue print at Skipper. Skipper turned the blue paper several directions before looking back at Kowalski who was rifling through his box of stuff.
"That's great Kowalski… uh… what is it?" He did not look up from the box.
"I have no idea, but I'll figure it out sooner or later." He reassured. Skipper rolled the blue print back up and tossed back at his second in command just as their third team member, Rico Flintlock, came through the door.
Rico was never much of a talker. Previous injuries from the war and defects from birth had left his vocal cords trashed and left Rico unable to speak. Well, almost. Rico could still rasp out a few words when he tried, but other than that it was nearly impossible for the man to utter a cohesive sentence. Rico was a burly looking man, with a scar on the left side of his face from the accident that had left him literally speechless. His sheer brute force and sometimes loose cannon tactics had led him to be the team's arsenal specialist. But he was not without a heart. Like Skipper, he too had someone in his life. Carlotta, a blond woman from Spain, had captured it back when they were serving on the French-Spanish boarder. She had moved out to be with Rico soon after the war ended and had stayed with him ever since.
"Morning Rico," Kowalski said, not looking up from his blue prints, rifling through the box. Rico grunted what little response he could. Skipper looked at Rico and gave a nod instead of a vocal greeting, Rico returned it and sat down at his desk, pulling an old antique revolver out of his brief case and began to fiddle with it. He was convinced he could make it work again.
Skipper looked at the clock hanging above the door. He had to get the boys down to the crime scene, but they were one solider short. Skipper decided they couldn't wait any longer.
"Men, Officer X called." Rico put his head onto his desk and groaned in annoyance.
"I concur with Rico, Officer X always calls. What makes this any different than the other three hundred and forty-one calls he's left us before?"
"Murder case," Skipper said. Rico looked up, suddenly interested in the topic, "Says the landlady won't tell him anything, he needs us to get down there as soon as we can to knock some sense into her." Rico pounded a fist into his hand with a violent smile on his face. Kowalski gripped the bridge of his nose and pinched his eyes shut.
"He meant figuratively, Rico." Rico gave a groan of disappointment.
"Good then, well let's move out." Skipper said grabbing his coat.
"But, we're missing Private," Kowalski pointed out. Skipper did not hesitate putting on his hat and opening the door.
"Don't have time to wait for him. Rico, leave Private a note and meet us at the curb." Just as Skipper began to walk out be ran smack into the youngest member of the team.
"I am so sorry, Skippah" young Peter Barry, Private, said. Peter was the by far the youngest of the group, entering the service at the young age of nineteen in the British Navy. He met the team when they all began to serve in the north of France and came to New York as soon as the war ended. Despite all the team had been through during the war, he still held an air of innocence about him. He stood at a short five foot four with coal black hair and bright blue eyes that made him look still child-like. Private had an amazing talent for seeing things that the others usually didn't see. Although when he failed to see the obvious is when he earned a swift slap on the back of the head from his leader. It wasn't that Skipper wasn't fond of the boy; he just didn't have any time for slow thinking. Private began to walk past Skipper into the office before Skipper held out an arm and pushed him back.
"Don't bother, we have work to do."
"Work, sir?"
"Ah yes," began Kowalski, "Officer X called in… again."
"Uh huh!" said Rico
"Officer X? The crack-pot cop? What does he want?"
"This is serious Private! It's a murder case." The color drained from Private's face. He was quite squeamish.
"M-murder? Who?" Skipper slapped his hand to his forehead.
"I don't know, but we're wasting time!" Skipper pushed passed Private, the men followed him quickly.
South Lexington was not a street you wanted to be caught on during the night. No where The New York neighborhood was littered with drug dealers, mobsters, and the lowest crawls of life the city had to offer. A law enforcement officer's paradise.
Police cars crowded the street around the apartment building, however the police seemed to be lounging around, waiting for something, or someone. Officer X stood lounging against the hood of his car picking at his nails for non-existent dirt when he heard Skipper loudly clear his throat.
"It's about damn time you boys showed up." he scolded.
"Well we're sorry, we didn't know the lazy brigade was handling this operation or we would have shown up earlier." Skipper retorted with heavy amounts of sarcasm. Officer X shot him an angry glare from behind his sun glasses and motioned for the four agents to follow him.
The crime scene had barely been touched since the police had gotten there, but it was obvious that a fight had gone down between the killer and the victim. Bed sheets torn from the bed, table over turned, broken beer bottles on the floor, and bullet holes in the wall.
"Any idea who it was?" Skipper asked as the five stood in the door way. Officer X handed a file to Kowalski, containing some of the crime information.
"Ah, interesting." Kowalski said with almost disbelief reading through the file, "Vincent 'Mad Rat' Riatonni, sir." Skipper now looked at Kowalski.
"Him? I thought no one would ever cross that crazy mobster."
"Apparently somebody did," Private said quietly, staring that bullet holes left in the wall.
"Right," Skipper said tearing the file from Kowalski's hands studying it and suddenly slamming it shut, "Rico, I need you to indentify the type of gun used by the killer. Kowalski, examine the body, attempt to determine the cause of death. Private, look for clues." The team dispersed to their designated areas as Skipper walked the apartment alone.
The apartment was a little dingy, but not under furnished. Riatonni was a mob boss after all, those funds obviously went somewhere. The yellow stripped paper on the walls and white carpet that had seen better days gave the apartment a cheerier tone than the other homes Skipper had seen. Each room was furnished with elaborate cherry furniture. As Skipper walked into the bed room he saw Kowalski kneeling over the body.
"Well?"
"Cause of death was fairly easy to identify," Kowalski said pointing to the dead mobster's head, "Death by gunshot." Skipper nodded.
"Ok, see if there was any struggle before death," Kowalski looked around.
"Shouldn't be too difficult, sir," Kowalski said before opening his brief case taking out a pair of rubber gloves. Skipper turned around and spotted a picture frame on the mobster's dresser.
It was obviously a wedding picture. Riatonni was standing in his typical tuxedo, holding a young beautiful bride close. She had light hair standing with an innocent look on her face. She was dressed in a modest white wedding gown, holding what looked to be roses. Suddenly someone tapped Skipper on his shoulder. He turned around quickly and came face to face with Officer X, who was holding an ugly looking woman with red hair by the arm.
"This is the land lady I needed you to talk to," The woman pushed X off of her.
"Don't touch me!" She said sassily.
"And this is…" Skipper said acknowledging the woman.
"Alice." She said, her arms folded against her ugly yellow dress.
"Right, well Alice I need to ask you a few questions. If you would come with me, please." Alice begrudgingly followed the head detective. They sat down at the kitchen table and Skipper pulled out the notepad.
"So, could you please tell me what happened the night in question?"
"Why should I tell you?"
"Because if you don't you could be prosecuted for harboring valuable information from a law enforcement official." Alice opened her eyes and looked at Skipper.
"You can't arrest me for that," She said smugly, calling his bluff.
"No, I can however arrest you for forty-eight hours without reason." And with that she began to retell the events of that night.
"Well, I remember Riatonni coming back to the complex from a night out with his boys. He was obviously drunk, I mean I could tell. I know everything that goes on in this place, everything. He stumbled upstairs and went into his apartment. It was pretty quiet for a while, but then I heard gunshots and yelling."
"How many gunshots?"
"Five, followed by some mumbled talking and one more gunshot. I saw a couple of people leave the place then I saw Katrina come back in and-"
"Katrina?"
"His wife. Pretty little thing from Massachusetts. They were married a couple years ago. Anyway, she came back and I heard her scream. I ran upstairs and there he was, on the ground, dead. Is that all you need? Cause this is kind of wasting my time." Skipper finished his notes.
"Almost, where is this Katrina?"
"Staying at her parent's house I suppose."
"Any clue what she does for a living?"
"She doesn't work. Tried to be an actress a few times, but it never really worked out for her." Skipper finished up his notes, closing the notepad, looking at Alice.
"Well thank you, Alice. That will be all." The woman got up and left the apartment in a huff.
"She seemed pleasant." Private said standing next to Skipper.
"Yea, about as pleasant as playing leap frog with a unicorn, Private." Skipper pocketed his notepad, "Did you find anything?" Private nodded and put several things down on the table in front of Skipper. A small pouch of white powder, a ring, a business card, and a ripped piece of silk.
"This is all I could find, or that the police would let me take, Skippah." Skipper picked up the small bag of powder and gave Private a look.
"Well, now at least we know why he was mad," Skipper put the powdered drug back down onto the table and picked up the ring.
"I think it's his wedding ring sir." Why would he take this off? Skipper thought as he put it back down and picked up the beaten up business card.
"What on earth is this?" He said looking at the business card depicting a woman in rather racy clothes.
"Not sure, Skippah, found it in the coat pocket of one of his suits in his closet, but look on the back." On the back was another picture and phone number for the Lemur Bar and Club in the Bronx.
"Dual card," Skipper said looking at piece of paper. Private nodded. Skipper picked up the last bit of evidence, the piece of silk, "Does this belong to any of the clothes in the closet?"
"No sir, I checked everything. Kowalski actually gave it to me; he found it in Riatonni's hand." Skipper examined the piece of cloth. It was definitely silk, high end silk too. Not very common around this part of town. Its purple color gave it a hint of elegance. It could belong to any thing; a tie, a dress, a nice shirt. Skipper replaced the purple silk onto the table and looked at Private who had begun to place the evidence into the brief case.
"Well then, we should probably head back to HQ, get Rico and Kowalski and let's start figuring this case out."
The boys got back to HQ at around five o'clock at night, but they had a surprise waiting for them in their office. As Skipper came to the door he discovered that it was unlocked, the light inside had been left on.
"I thought I told you to lock the place up Kowalski!" Skipper said looking angrily at Kowalski.
"You did not tell me to lock up."
"Regardless, why didn't you?"
"We seemed in a rush?" Kowalski offered, but then sighed in defeat, "I'm sorry."
"Don't let it happen again." Rico patted Kowalski on the back and followed Private and Skipper into the office. All four were a little taken back by what they saw. A woman was sitting on Skipper's desk looking through the files he had left there. She had short blond hair, styled into a Marilyn Monroe-esque hairstyle that framed her face. Her emerald eyes flicked over the files and then looked up to see the boys. She stood up on her silvery shoes, flustered.
"Oh hello, are you the detectives I needed to talk to?" She said innocently. She was dressed in a simple grey silk dress with black buttons. On her head she wore a small grey hat with black netting covering part of her face.
"Depends," Skipper started, "Who are you?"
"Oh yes, I'm sorry I forgot to introduce myself," She held out a gloved hand, "My name is Katrina Riatonni." Skipper warily shook her hand, "Are you the group of detectives who are covering my husband's murder?"
"That we are miss. My name is James Blake and these are my co-detectives, Eli Kowalski, Rico Flintlock, and Peter Barry." She shook each of their hands, "May I ask why you weren't at the crime scene today?"
"Forgive me, I am still mourning the loss of my husband," She said quite seriously, "I did not feel like facing the police or their questions."
"So why are you here?"
"I needed to meet the people who are going to be responsible for bringing this killer to justice," She smiled, "I'm sorry, the door was open and I thought I'd just wait for you to come back." Skipper rubbed the back of his neck in frustration.
"Well we were going to be heading home now, could we please talk to you tomorrow ?"
"Oh please," She said shooting Skipper a sultry look, "call me Katrina."
"Katrina then, may we meet with you tomorrow?"
"Of course," She picked her purse off of the table, "I will see you tomorrow then Mr. Blake." She walked past Skipper and the rest of the boys shyly. She jumped into a yellow cab. Rico whistled as the cab drove away, Kowalski slapped him in the back of the head.
"You have a girlfriend, remember?" Rico shrugged and walked inside the office. Skipper and Private stood alone on the stoop.
"She was Mad Rat's wife?"
"Well, he certainly knows how to pick 'em" Skipper began to walk inside but Private held him back.
"Skippah, there was something off about her."
"How so, Private?"
"I'm not sure Skippah, there was just something off…"
"She's in mourning Private; she's going to be a little off." And with that Skipper walked off. Private stood alone, staring in the way which Katrina had left in.
"I still don't trust her," The britt said quietly before following in his leader's footsteps.
The year was 1947. Jackie Robinson had broken the color barrier in the Major Leauge Baseball. The first four engine jet had been tested. World War II treaties had finally been signed. And a murder had been commited in New York City.
I truly hope you enjoyed that. please R&R! incase you didn't know, Riatonni is the Rat King in human form. I am going to have a contest during this story. You will get a point for every question you get right and this will last till about... chapter four I guess. The person with the highest score gets a cameo of their very own character put into the story.
Question 1 (worth 4 points): Who/what were the inspirations for Skipper, Private, Kowalski, and Rico's names?
Question 2 (worth 1 point): What famous mobster shares a similar mob name with Riatonni?
Question 3 (worth 1 point): What event happened in Madagascar during this year?
So Review! Send me your answers via a private message or email! Love you all!