Grit on the Gumshoe's Heel III
Friday 2 December 40 PY
Dear Diary,
Jennings warmly invited me to follow him. My cover was blown, but I refused to quit my case. I followed, though I was still suspicious.
His step had an exaggerated bounce for the first few blocks, but each step slowed. He leaned forward as if fighting against the wind. The mocking smile on his face slipped into a flat and tight lipped grimace. Aunt Fannie looped her arm through mine. She tried to make some small talk, but fell silent.
About ten minutes later, we reached at a brick department store. A liveried doorman was ready to lock the store. The doorman tipped his hat to Jennings and let him in. Jennings hastily thanked him before rushing in, ignoring the shouts from several saleswomen. I excused myself from Fannie to pursue. He rushed up eight flights of stairs to the top of the building. He was oblivious to my following. He stumbled through the doors of the top floor. A single light remained lit behind a glass wall.
Jennings tapped at the clear door filled with relief. A pretty brunette gave him a severe look as she unlocked the door. We walked into a clouded greenhouse. There dozens of types of flowers and houseplants; it was an upscale shop. Jennings turned on his 150 watt smile, which deflected woman's glare to me.
"I'm sorry, but we're closed,"the woman said with exasperation. She carried her shoes in a bag and wore grungy sneakers.
"It's okay, she's with me," Jennings said. "A dozen, no, two dozen roses."
"At this time of night?" she asked even as she headed to a display case. "You're going to owe me. A dinner, at least."
"I'll pay you back, this is the last time that I'm going bother you. I really mean the last."
"I see," the woman said somberly. All traces of her anger faded. "I wish that you had told me earlier."
"Thank you for everything."
She stripped two dozen red and yellow roses in record time. She gnawed her lower lip. I felt like a voyeur as she handed him the radiant bouquet. He wildly overpaid with a pair of C-notes. The woman did not glance at the money as Jennings tipped his hat and left. She leaned against the front counter, clicking her scarlet fingernails against the glass. She paid no attention as I left.
I made a mental note of the brunette, but she was not Jennings's main accomplice.
The store was completely dark when we descended. Fannie was still waiting in the lobby. Jennings tipped the doorman generously and exchanged a few bright words. All that brightness dimmed as we exited. Jennings and Fannie turned up their collars against the cold, and Jennings awkwardly tried to shield his over-sized bouquet against the wind.
Our destination was the twenty-story tall Central Dome General Hospital. The tower was visible from a distance. A concrete nautiloid of a parking garage curled against the hospital. Jennings conferred with a male orderly at the front desk who said that Doctor Silbane was waiting for him. Jennings and Fanny used the elevator. I waited for the elevator to start moving before I sprinted up the stairs. At each floor, I beat the elevator and waited for it to rise a quarter of the way up before taking off again. It was the best that I could do to ensure that they did not stop the elevator and ditch me. I met them as they exited the elevator.
Dr. Silbane had a cramped office on the fifth floor. He was a large, bearded man who wore wire-frame spectacles. He looked grave, and asked Jennings if he were sure. Jennings confirmed that he was sure. Silbane led us down to the oncology ward. A nurse let us pass without comment.
One room looked like another. Dr. Silbane stopped at a door that read R. Rorschach. A body lay motionless in the middle of a vast white bed. Body was a generous term, there were skin and bones and little wasted flesh left. I could not tell her gender until I saw that her chart. An IV drip hung beside her head, and an EKG beeped placidly beside the bed. Other machines worked away, sustaining her life.
Silbane stood aside. Jennings gave her a shy smile that seemed foreign to his face. He unwrapped the shroud of tissue from the flowers and displayed the bouquet. He spoke to her in a low voice with the pygmy smile fixed in place. For the first time since I began my observation, I felt wrong.
Fanny's breath caught in her throat. Her eyes were wet. She stumbled away from the room. I let her lean against me. We waited in the hallway beneath a flickering light. Long minutes later, the EKG began to shrilly whine and then went silent. Aunt Fanny wiped her moist eyes with her hand. I gave her my handkerchief.
"Was she your niece?" I asked. Fanny nodded. "I'm sorry," I said. I awkwardly patted the woman on the shoulder. Though it seemed empty, it seemed to help slightly. But I'm not sure who it helped.
Silbane appeared at the door to tell us that Jennings wanted to see us. Fanny stumbled blindly into the room. She knelt by the bedside and began to alternate between praying and crying. I gave her some space. Jennings stared blankly out the window. I joined him instead. He unexpectedly pulled an envelope from his pocket.
"What is this?" I asked.
"A signed confession and apology to Mz. Rocko," he said.
I opened it and scanned it. He was telling the truth. A business card fell out. As I bent to pick it up, I heard a loud shatter. Shining shrapnel showered over my head and shoulders as a chill wind rushed into the room. I looked up to see Jennings put his other fist through the remnants of the pane. His entire face had gone taut. In the pale light, it looked more like plastic than skin. He began to claw at his face with his fingers as if he wanted to tear it away. His bloodied hands seized a jagged shard from the windowsill. I arrested his wrist and hauled him away from the broken glass.
I was the only one coherent enough to explain that Mr. Jennings had snapped after euthanatizing his fiancée. The burly orderlies let us go after Silbane intervened. Jennings was probably a well paying customer.
I found us a pair of rooms for the night at a nearby motel. Neither Fanny nor Jennings were in any shape to go anywhere. I also felt weighed down, though it was only second-hand grief.
R. Dorothy Wayneright