Author's Notes: This is my very first posting as an author here on ff.net. I wrote this story many years ago and have never had the brass to post it. While the characters are my own, bits of the plot belong to Steven Speilberg in "Young Sherlock Holmes." Please do not sue me as I have written this for my informal pleasure as well as for yours. I sincerely hope you enjoy my fic; and remember, reviews are constructive! And now, without further ado, I present…..
The Man in the Deerstalker Cap
"I don't know if I can do this, Officer."
"Well, son, try your best. We need to know what happened, and you're the only one that's in any shape at all to talk." He indicated my leg with a nod of his head. "Everyone else's injuries were much more serious."
"All right." I took a deep breath "It's been a long couple of days, and I guess it'll be best if I start from the beginning. If I pause, don't rush me, I'm just thinking..." As I began to reminisce, my voice cracked, making me sound older than my actual twenty-one years. I struggled to remember what had happened only two days before and my mind was numb as he held up a recorder to tape what I was going to say. "Please state your name for the record."
I thought for a while, and began my story. "My name is William Brown. It all began only two days ago when..."
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"Watson? Watson, wake up!" I grudgingly opened one eye to see the tall, thin form of my best friend looming over me.
"Randy, what the hell are you doing waking me up in the middle of the night?" I sat up, glaring at him.
"'Randy'? Who's 'Randy'? Never mind, there's no time! Hurry Watson, get dressed, the game is afoot!" He stood, and for the first time I noticed he had on his long, grey traveling coat and deerstalker cap. His long, thin face was bright with anticipation, and his steely grey eyes urged me to dress faster.
As I pulled on my clothes, a thought suddenly struck me. I began playing along with this fantasy of his. "So, what is Moriarty up to this time?" I hoped to glean some information from him.
I was right. "Oh, he's up to no good." Excitement gleamed in Randy's eyes as he begged me to hurry.
"Randy, he's always up to no good. What's so different this time?" I asked.
Obviously bored with my constant questions, he replied, "The usual. You know, robbery, forgery, a little murder. You know, common stuff."
During this last snippet of conversation, I had managed to finish dressing, and Randy grabbed my arm and dragged me into the street. I looked up at the building. "Damn, I left the light on." Randy quickly followed my glance up at my dorm room.
"Oh, well. It's too late to go back. Pray that someone doesn't notice." A grim smile played across his lips. While we walked briskly, I thought of our history together. I met Randy just three years ago, as freshmen at this fine university we attend in rural Pennsylvania. He is my best friend, Randolph Figueroy. He hates his name, so he either responds to Randy or Holmes.
Randy is something of a genius of sorts. He excels brilliantly at almost every subject he studies, especially chemistry, not unlike his fictional mentor, Sherlock Holmes. He even seems to have the fickle nature of his mentor. His marks at school are not what they should be; he finds school utterly boring and he refuses to do the work if it bores him. What he lacks in school, he more than makes up for in his spare time. Being such an avid follower of Sherlock Holmes, he often thinks up fantasies, stories, in which he is Sherlock Holmes (hence the name Holmes), and I am, inevitably, the studious Watson. Which is what he calls me.
That night was one of those fantasies of his, and I played along with him because I had no reason to upset him. If he thought that there was a criminal mind loose in Dalton, Pennsylvania, there was no reason why I should correct that.
This was one of my main concerns as we made our way through town. Randy had tried to "solve" a mystery a few months ago, but severe consequences had occurred, and I had appointed myself as his probation officer to see that he didn't get into any more serious trouble.
The path we were following led us around in what seemed like circles. Randy knew where he was going, though.
"How do you know where we are going?" I murmured.
"I've been trailing him for weeks now. This is the path he followed, I'm sure of it." He lapsed into silence and stopped, gathering his bearings, then pushing on, his head ducked against a cold blast of wind.
"Randy! There's a storm coming. We better make this quick or else we'll be missed!" I was worried; there were some huge, black clouds hovering overhead, ready to burst.
"Like I said before, my name is Holmes, not Randy. I know there's a storm coming. I predicted it a week ago. That's why I wanted to act tonight." He stopped again, this time because we neared an old, condemned building. My friend found a hole in the chain-link fence surrounding the building. He squeezed through, his slender frame barely fitting. I had more of a problem, my athletic build making the hole an even tighter fit. We crept closer to the building, making sure that we kept in the shadows to avoid being spotted by lookouts.
Randy grabbed my sleeve. "Over there," he whispered, "there's two of them." Sure enough, there were two good-sized men talking to each other under a street light.
I strained my ears to hear their conversation. The bigger man, obviously the muscle, had a broad nose and flattened ears. Randy leaned closer and whispered, "An ex-boxer. You watch him, but be careful, he's quicker than he looks." I glanced at the other man, however, I couldn't see his face clearly. He wore an expensive coat and hat, and his shoes were new. They were odd though, his shoes, like they came straight from an old mobster movie. They were brown and white saddle shoes. "He's the hired help. A professional forger from Paris they flew in to do the job. He's American, but his offices are in Europe, mainly France." I nodded in understanding.
They talked for twenty minutes about the weather. As my leg began to fall asleep from crouching, I shifted my weight to relieve it. They both whirled around and pointed their guns in our direction. Fortunately, a cat came out of the junk pile next to us, and the henchmen visibly relaxed.
"Damn cat!" I heard Ugly mutter. They talked for a little bit longer, louder than they did before.
"This place gives me the creeps." Saddleshoes commented.
"It's jus' your imagination." Ugly retorted. "Don't worry. We won't be doin' business here anyways. It's too open."
"So where will we do business?"
"In the place we met before, tomorrow." Ugly glanced around. "We're bein' watched. I can feel it."
"I'm leaving." Saddleshoes shuddered. "What time? The same?" Ugly nodded in acknowledgment, and moved off down a side street. Meanwhile, Saddleshoes retreated to a car parked in the distance. The engine roared to life and he flew in the other direction.
Randy looked at me, "Let's follow him since he's on foot." We took off, stealthily following Ugly. We saw him round a corner and keep walking. We turned that same corner and he had vanished! There were no alleys or crevices he could have ducked into. Suddenly, a dark shadow was thrown across us.
"What do you think you kids are doin'!" A blunt voice thundered behind us. We turned slowly, and found ourselves face to face with Ugly. "I said, what are you kids doin'!"
Randy stammered, "I...I...I was just, um, uh... looking for my cat!"
"Lookin' for your cat at midnight. Huh, uh. Sure." He smiled viciously. "I ate it. Which is what I'm goin' to do to you if you don't stop pokin' your nose where it don't belong." He growled, and we took that as our cue to run. We ran as fast as our legs could carry us the entire three miles back to the campus.
We arrived, out of breath, yet delirious from our flirt with danger. "Did you see the look on his face when I told him we were looking for my cat?" Randy exclaimed. "He thought we were spying on him!"
"Randy, we were spying on him." I pointed out.
"It's Holmes. And they're doing something illegal, so spying on them is okay." he debated.
"Rand... er... Holmes, you need to get some sleep. You have an exam tomorrow in history." I admonished him for forgetting.
"But I hate history. It's so boring! Besides, I have work to do!" he pleaded.
"No, I promised the dean that your grades would improve or else you'd get kicked out of school."
"All right. But only because you're sticking up for me with the authorities." he sighed. Randy paced for about ten minutes, deep in thought, then he retired for the night into his bedroom.
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I awoke, about five hours after our midnight fiasco, feeling tired, yet excited. I rose, showered and dressed rather hurriedly because I was running a little late. After my morning habit of glancing through the newspaper, I made my way downstairs to the cafeteria.
To my surprise, Randy, usually a late-riser, was sitting there, waiting for me, drinking a cup of coffee. Seated next to him was his girlfriend of three years, Elizabeth Roland. Everyone in school wished that he would just make up his damned mind and marry the poor girl. Well, she's not exactly poor. She comes from a well-to-do family, and she was beautiful. Her soft, blond, curly hair cascaded over her shoulders to her waist, and her skin was of the softness of silk, unblemished. Her vivid green eyes lay wide and deep, perfect with her petite nose, and soft, full, delicate lips. Hers was a beauty that never went unnoticed by anyone around her. She was such that nobody, not even the ugliest girl, was jealous of her, for her true beauty came from within. She never knew an enemy in her life, everyone she met was her friend.
No one knew what happened between Randy and Elizabeth that would make such a wondrous woman love a tall, gawky man like Randy. However, from the first, there had been something there, something so deep and intimate, that others around them, myself included, only wished that they could skim the surface. This intimacy could only be described as an inseparable bond they shared. They knew that, no matter what happened, they would always love each other and that their love would overcome all obstacles.
"Hey, Will!" Elizabeth's soothing voice floated across the room to me.
"Hi, Beth. Randy." I greeted them, grabbed a cup of coffee and sat across from them. She looked like an angel, her head resting on Randy's shoulder. I fought to clear my mind of these thoughts. This was my best friend's almost-fiancee that I was fantasizing about!
"Watson, I was talking to Beth about our encounter last night with Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum."
"It's perfectly awful the way he threatened you!" she exclaimed with the slightest hint of a drawl.
"Well, I've been thinking, and I know where they're going do business. And tonight, we'll intercept them!" he rubbed his hands together gleefully. I had never seen him so happy when he was tracking a criminal. I thought back to some of the cases he'd solved. They were just minor cases of petty theft. From the look on his face, I could tell that this was worse, much worse.
"We? What do you mean, we?" I asked incredulously.
"Shhhhh. We can't talk here. It's not safe." he glanced around. "We'll meet in twenty minutes at our usual place. Leave in staggered formation, Watson first." he hissed across the table.
I stood up and excused myself from the group and left. I glanced over my shoulder and noticed Randy kiss Beth good-bye and then leave. I looked straight ahead and kept walking. I did not stop until I had reached our destination. It was the back room of a small hole-in-the-wall bar that Randy had found. I waited in the room until they showed up.
"All right. Now, business." Randy's eyes glistened with excitement. "You all know of the two unidentified men they found in the river last week, right?"
Beth and I nodded. Two men had been fished out of the river last week, but neither body had been identified because they had been in the water for such a long time.
"Well, those deaths weren't from a boating accident. Those men were murdered. And I know which gang did it. I can't tell you the name of the leader yet because he's onto me. He's been cleaning up after himself very well. He's brilliant; I've nicknamed him Moriarty. I know that he's been running a counterfeit operation for a few years now. Only just recently has he been making mistakes, so I've got most of the evidence to put him and his men behind bars indefinitely. However, if I could prove them guilty of murder, then they would almost certainly get life. Are you with me so far?"
We nodded.
"So, tonight we are going to gather this evidence and put these criminals behind bars. Are you with me?"
Randy's excitement was infectious and both Beth and I were trembling. We nodded in assent.
"Good. Beth, Watson and I will come by and pick you up at ten tonight. All right?"
"Yeah Randy. It sounds good to me." she smiled.
We stood and left. The walk back to campus was a hurried one because we had all but missed our first class. The hallways were deserted and we broke into a run to get to our classes. Randy had his fingers on the handle to our class when a voice boomed out of nowhere, "Mr. Figueroy, Mr. Brown, and Miss Roland! Stop where you are and come with me!" It was the voice of Dr. Marcus Skinner, the dean. For some reason he didn't like Randy very much, but no one could figure out why.
He marched us back to his office. "Sit down, all of you!" he thundered. We sat. He began to pace. "How do I say this?" He leaned over Randy and sneered, "I've never liked you. You never had any respect for the faculty, you've made a mockery of the teaching concepts. I've always known that you were a fake! And now I have my proof." He threw a bundle of papers on the desk. "We did a random dorm search, and your dorm number came up! We found these papers under your bed. Look at them all you want, it won't change the truth!" he crowed triumphantly. I looked over Randy's shoulder at the papers he held. They were the answer keys to every test that Randy had ever taken.
Elizabeth gasped, "Randy is it true?"
"No, it's not true, someone else put them there to frame me!" Randy cried.
"Who would want to frame you? You and your damned Sherlock Holmes. No one wanted to frame you, you just can't handle the fact that I caught our most brilliant student cheating on his tests. No wonder your test grades are so good while you're failing the classes. Well the punishment for this offense is expulsion. So I expect you to be packed by six tonight. You'll leave on the seven o'clock train for New York. That is all. You can leave now."
Randy gritted his teeth. He didn't care that he got kicked out, he didn't want to leave Beth and his mystery. He opened his mouth to refute Skinner's argument, but Skinner beat him to it.
"Don't try to argue this. I've made up my mind. We can't afford to endorse a fraud and a cheat. Now, leave!" he pointed at the door. "And don't let the door hit you on your way out!" he turned to Beth and me and said, "You two get on to class now. And don't tell anyone about this or you'll end up the way Mr. Figueroy did. Expelled." With an abrupt thank you, he turned to other work, obviously not in the mood to argue. So we left.
We went up to my dorm room, and sure enough, there was Randy, packing.
"Randy, you've got to fight this! You have to! I don't want you to leave!" Beth sobbed.
"Yeah, Randy. That's an unfair blow below the belt. You don't cheat and we know it." I cried.
"I know it, and you know it, and Skinner knows it, but he just wants me gone because I made a mockery of his university and he's afraid to admit it. I'm not going to fight because he's in charge and I'm not." he smiled unconvincingly. Beth began crying. Randy gathered her up in his arms and cradled her head against his shoulder. "Shhh. Don't cry. It breaks my heart to see you cry. I'll be back before you know it. You watch. Besides, I don't plan on leaving my mystery unsolved." He wiped a tear from her cheek. "I love you. I always have and I always will, no matter what happens, you will always be mine." Out of the corner of my eye I noticed as Randy held her in a tender embrace and claimed her mouth with the same mastery he portrayed at everything. He held her a while longer, and I left to give them some privacy.
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Later that night, Randy, Beth and I chose inconspicuous hiding places outside the warehouse. It was a full two hours before they were supposed to meet, but we didn't want to leave anything to chance. We sat in the shadow of a pile of boxes, whispering. I noticed that Beth and Randy stared at each other with an intense passion I was sure wasn't there earlier. Perhaps I shouldn't have left them alone.
"Watson, did you bring your revolver?" Randy whispered.
"Randy, you know I don't own a gun. Why do you keep asking?"
He sighed, "Because, Watson is supposed to bring the armaments in sticky situations."
"Sorry. I didn't know." I snapped.
"Hey guys! We've got a long wait ahead of us, it wouldn't do to lose our tempers now." Beth said calmly. With that we settled in quietly for the rest of our wait. The two hours passed slowly and with each passing minute it turned colder and colder. Randy draped his coat over Beth's shivering body.
"It's going to snow." I muttered. Just then Randy's hand clapped over my mouth, "Shhhhhhhhh. I hear something."
Sure enough, the sound of footfalls on the pavement became clearer as a figure approached. It was Ugly. A few minutes later, a car pulled up and Saddleshoes jumped out with a heavy box. "Is the coast clear?" he asked. Ugly just nodded. Silently they both went inside.
"Should we follow them?" I mouthed to Randy. He nodded and pointed at a fire escape leading up the other side of the building. One by one, we scaled it, scarcely breathing lest we make a noise. We made it up to the second floor without incident. Randy forced open a window and we climbed inside onto a catwalk, just as the snow began to fall.
The warm air inside was a shock compared to the freezing cold outside. We scuttled across the catwalk, one at a time, until we were all concealed by some boxes. Beth shifted and suddenly let out a muffled gasp. We looked to see what was wrong, and we saw a big, ugly rat sitting next to her foot. I shooed it away, but more came to take it's place. Beth tried her hardest not to scream, but I succeeded in stepping on a huge rat. It let out a loud squeak and we froze as we heard the sound of a gun being cocked in our direction.
"Relax. It's just the rats. You're nervous." We could hear Ugly down below us. We waited until the voices moved away from us before we moved so we could see what was happening. We settled in where we could see everything that happened.
"All we gotta do now is wait for the boss." Ugly reassured Saddleshoes. Randy smiled as the scene unfolded below us, exactly as he had planned. We waited twenty more minutes before we heard the sound of a door being slammed in the back. More footsteps and then the boss stepped into the room with three thugs.
"Why is it so urgent that we meet so secretly?" the boss' voice rasped.
"I told you about that kid snoopin' around last night. Well he just kinda spooked me." Ugly sounded worried.
"I got rid of him and you're still spooked? He's in New York by now gettin' spanked by his parents."
"Well, how'd you get rid of him?" Ugly asked.
"I got rid of him. That's all you need to know." Boss replied. "Get to work!"
The thugs immediately went to work moving boxes around in one corner of the room while Saddleshoes started unpacking his cases. He pulled out what could only have been counterfeiting plates as the men uncovered a hydraulic press. Saddleshoes placed the plates in the press and began counterfeiting money. The men disappeared.
Randy and I jumped when Beth sneezed. It was a tiny muffled one, but enough to alert their attention. We froze. I almost wet myself when I felt cold metal behind my left ear. I turned only to look down the barrel of a gun. Several gunmen covered us as we slowly stood and they searched us for weapons. Then a nasty guy in front motioned with his gun that we were to descend to the lower level.
"Hey boss! Look what we found!" Nasty called as we approached the press.
Ugly spoke up, "Hey, isn't that the kid you were s'pposed to get rid of?" The boss pointed his gun at Ugly's head and threatened him.
"Mr. Figueroy, why aren't you in New York like I told you." Skinner asked.
"Because you told me to, that's why." Randy snapped. "You're the one who put the tests in my room, to get rid of me. I thought it was you. You seemed awfully anxious to have me gone." My friend smiled as if he knew that it was the dean all along. Skinner glared at Randy and then backhanded him.
"Watch them. Oh, and to see that you don't try anything funny, I'm going to watch your girl here personally." he sneered at Randy. "Tie her up to that post over there." he ordered one of the gunmen. They tied Randy and I up also.
"Tell me, Mr. Figueroy. Do you love this girl here? The truth!" Skinner stared at Randy.
"Yes." Randy stated the truth.
"Are you familiar with a form of gambling called 'Russian Roulette'?" he toyed with his gun.
"Yes." Randy clenched his jaw and glared at Skinner with his steely grey eyes.
"Okay. We'll play a little game then." he emptied all of the bullets out of his gun and loaded one back in. "I'll ask you a question. If I think you answered falsely, then I'll spin the chamber and shoot at your girlfriend. If she lives, you win. If she dies, I win." After that I lost track of the conversation. I was only aware that he fired at her several times, but, thank God, nothing happened. I was focused on the fact that she was using her nails to claw through the thin rope binding her hands. Unlike us, she was just bound by her hands.
She was making headway. I could see this partly because of the direction I was facing and the fact that I wasn't paying attention to the deadly game that Skinner was playing with my friend. It shattered Randy's nerves of steel and he began pleading for her life.
Just as she was almost free, I suddenly remembered what Randy had told me before we came. If only I could reach my pocket... Beth screamed, Skinner had fired the gun again. So far, Randy's luck was holding out. I began wriggling my way free, fortunately the gunmen were watching Skinner so it was easy. My ropes fell loose just as Beth's did. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a whistle and began blowing it as hard as I could. The gunmen didn't know what to do, pursue Beth or shut up my obvious signal.
What happened next was a blur, I can't remember all that happened, either I can't remember, or my mind doesn't want to remember. I don't know. I remember Skinner grabbing a fully loaded gun from one of his henchmen, and firing at Beth. I remember Randy's heart- wrenching, yet blood-curdling screams. Then he worked his way free and ran in her direction, picking up a gun as he went. Then I collapsed; one of the gunmen had shot me in the leg. I almost passed out from the pain. There were screams from all around as the police unit, that had been hiding in the alleys outside, stormed the warehouse, responding to my whistles.
Everything went dark for a while... (I'm sorry, my scars are still healing, physically and mentally.)
Everything went dark for a while, I don't know how long. When I came to, the firefight between the gunmen and the police was still going on. I gritted my teeth and dragged myself in the direction I thought that Beth and Randy were... (I'm sorry.) When I reached them, Randy was cradling Beth's poor, broken body in his arms. The snow beneath Beth's body was stained bright red. Her lips were close to Randy's ear and I heard her whisper, "I will always love you." and she fell limp. That was the first and last time I saw my friend cry. A single tear froze on his cheek as silent sobs racked his thin body.
He picked up the gun, and out of sheer rage, ran inside the warehouse and emptied the almost the entire gun into Skinner, while screaming Beth's name. (I'm sorry, it still hurts to talk about this.) He walked back slowly, his head hung dejectedly and his feet dragging. As he knelt by his love, his chest stopped heaving, and he looked at me with a sheer, determined look in his eyes. He leaned down, kissed her, raised the gun to his head, and joined his only true love in their final mystery.
I opened my eyes ever so slowly, and leaned over to shut off the tape player. I had thought that listening to this entire interview would make me feel better about the deaths of my two best friends. Instead, it opened old wounds which I thought had been buried years ago. I had the pleasure of knowing perhaps the greatest man in the world, a genius who sought only one thing in life, love. A genius, killed by the very love that made up part of who he was. He was just beginning his life; who knows, he could have been the next Sherlock Holmes. I don't blame Beth for the death of my best friend. Hell, you can't blame dead people. I don't go to church, so I don't believe that Holmes would go to Hell for committing suicide, all I know is that he knew a love so great that he couldn't live without it. Ironically, I envy him, I wish I could know that kind of love. To Randy and Beth, wherever you are, I want you to know, that I loved you both, and that your memories will exist always in the depths of my heart.