In the early days of modern detecting at the CCPD, Tannehill often had to rely on the press to assist in an investigation.
Sometimes it was through quid pro quo - (a) Give a reporter an exclusive insight into one case. (b) Wait a sufficient amount of time as etiquette dictated. (c) Drop by a spot that both the detective and reporter frequent. (d) Notice that the reporter has accidentally left information on a confidential source in the open. (e) Verify its the reporter's information by examining it. (f) Promptly return the information to the reporter.
Sometimes it was through subterfuge - (a) Leak erroneous information about a case during a press conference or via a confidential tip. (b) Allow the press to publish the information. (c) See which helpful citizen comes forward to correct the misinformation that only a suspect would know.
And sometimes it was just through (a) plain begging.
Tannehill stood now in front of the Capital City Daily Courier just shy of the city's habitual 9 AM start time and just blocks from the newly minted Emily Brunner's apartment flat. A tall, thin man with salt and pepper hair and an aquiline nose approached him. He wore no coat and his light brown button-down shirt was a size too big for his already gaunt frame. The thinness of his face matched his frame, but his dark brown eyes illuminated a deep intelligence that contrasted his otherwise harried and disorganized appearance.
"Hello, Phil."
"Hello, Tannehill. Surprised to see you downtown so early on this fine morning." Whisps of the morning's fog and a ten-second rain shower responded to Phil's greeting in agreement.
"Yup," Tannehill tilted his eyes toward the sky and scratched his chin, "my schedule's been a little off-kilter the last couple of days."
"You expecting the usual?"
"I am," Tannehill handed the previous day's roll of film over to Phil. "These photos are ones that you and I generally agree go in the 'sensitive' category."
Phil looked down at the roll, "another one of Snell's errands?"
"Uh-huh."
"OK, it'll probably be a couple of days. I've got a backlog and the glee with which people seem to be assaulting their fellow brethren these days will likely add to it."
"Yeah, about that. Can you rush it for later this afternoon?"
"Why," Phil looked up, "what's your angle?"
"You haven't heard?"
"No," now it was Phil's turn to rub his chin, "I don't suppose I have."
"Snell's dead."
Phil cocked an eyebrow wide in surprise. Even Phil's 20 years of experience as a crime beat reporter in one of the most corrupt and violent cities in America couldn't contain his reaction to Tannehill's flat demeanor in announcing the death of his partner.
"Yeah, someone got to him at my office last night?"
Phil knew that condolences for Tannehill's recently deceased partner were unnecessary. "So, homicide? Not some sexy party game gone awry?"
Tannehill chuckled."You know, er, knew him too well. But, yeah, homicide."
"And this is on the record? I can use you for a source when chatting with CCPD?"
Tannehill thought for a minute. "Yeah, no use in hiding where it's coming from. Everyone's gonna assume I know my partner's dead. But, do me a favor - get that film processed before following up on the story."
"Why, what's a roll of smut have to do with Snell?"
Tannehill smirked and Phil smirked back in realization at his own rhetorical question. "I have no basis for it, but I think the photos there may be linked to Snell's death. I'd like to see if I can get a jump on something before anyone gets too wise."
"Alright, I can have the photos done by 1 pm. Stop by then."
"Thanks, Phil." Tannehill turned to leave.
"Oh, and CH," Tannehill turned back, "no charge for this roll." Tannehill nodded and walked away. If Phil wasn't going to offer condolences or send flowers, he could do something to stave off his complete loss of humanity a bit longer.
---
Tannehill landed back at the World's Best Egg Sandwich Diner and sat down at the counter. He ordered a coffee, and OJ, and a bowl of oatmeal with a side of bacon.
He started reviewing the case. "What do I know?" Snell's dead. A simple fact, but a fact nonetheless. Given Snell's eagerness to get him out of the office the day before, could he infer that the apartment had something to do with his death? Or was the address just simply far enough away from the office to buy time for Snell and his moonlighting business?
But to reach the apartment at just the right moment to catch two people having sex? That certainly seemed like a Snellian touch. And most people drew their blinds during amorous moments - especially high-end professionals - if that's what the lovely Miss Brunner was - who had reputations (and arrest records) to keep intact. But, unless the two lovers were world-class marathoners with the self-control of saints, it would seem unreasonable that they'd been making love during Tannehill's entire sojourn downtown. Besides, the Uncle looked like he'd be short of breath scurrying to the store around the corner for another pack of cigarettes much less partaking in extended bedroom session.
If that were the case, then it meant they had to be tipped off to Tannehill's arrival, which meant someone had to tip them off. Snell would have no way to determine how long it would take for Tannehill to arrive, since traffic from the office to downtown was invariably predictable, which meant...? The Doorman. Tannehill smiled slightly at the thought of another round with his new nemesis.
His breakfast arrived. The coffee was a bit colder than he'd like, the oatmeal lumpy, and the bacon limp. The orange juice, however, was delicious.
"That'll be 80 cents."
Tannehill sighed and dug into his pocket for a dollar bill. He could afford a bit more extravagance today since Phil decided to pick up the photo processing pro bono. "Keep the change," he replied to the surprised server, "it's worth every penny for your egg sandwiches. They're my favorite."
[Author's Note: Today's edition is 1020 words for a total of 8248 words in the story (Hey, it's like an official short story now!). I've got at least a couple of more chapters of exposition and one of history, so it looks like we've got at least another month together before writer's block threatens to strike. I've been happy with the way the story's taken shape so far. Some of the character development - and some of the future character development based on what I've written so far - is taking on a life of its own that I hadn't originally anticipated.]
Sunday, September 29, 2019
Sunday, September 22, 2019
Chapter 7 - Silence and the Model Employee
Tannehill met the rigorous requirements for employment as expressed by the Capital City Police Department - he was Irish and he was silent. Though his high level of education - he'd graduated from high school two years prior and had apprenticed briefly in law and architecture - set him apart as a risky candidate, CCPD department heads had invested in the idea of a new Model Community Officer prototype that didn't rely solely on brawn for policework duties and believed Tannehill could fit that mold.
After his intensive two-week CCPD training period, Tannehill's first opportunity to display the new MCO methods occurred when he joined his fellow officers to break up a large bar fight that threatened to spill over into the quiet areas of downtown. Using these new modern methods, he was able to reason with and subdue rowdy bar patrons by knocking out four teeth from four separate individuals and splitting a fifth's forehead so wide the patron's skull gleamed white.
When this particular patron consistently fretted immediately after the engagement how he was mere seconds from death due to the blood loss, Tannehill calmly took him aside and explained that forehead wounds could easily be repaired with a cauterized needle and thread and tended to look much worse than they actually were. Tannehill also mentioned that there may be some residual scarring if the operation was carried out by a non-medical professional. The patron, who's nose was broken in two places and had a few missing teeth of his own (not due to Tannehill's modern policing) shrugged off the cosmetic concern but thanked Tannehill for the advice. Thus was born Tannehill's first fruitful venture into community policing as both a newly minted officer - and newly minted citizen - of Capital City. From the standpoint of his employers, their investment in him looked as though it would pay strong dividends.
What Tannehill didn't relay to his employers prior during the interview process is that he'd had every intention of matriculating into one of the university engineering programs in downstate Illinois after high school. However, an ill-timed fire interceded and destroyed his family home just prior to his expected enrollment. Rather than leave his family without living arrangements, he used his meager savings to rebuild the family estate. Given the opportunity to continue working in a city with the perpetual stink of offal and recoup his savings or start afresh, he chose the latter. He bid the beef of Chicago and the cows of Urbana farewell and moved west for new scenery. Upon arriving in Capital City he didn't feel the need to the police department as part of an ethnic enclave or as a noble calling. He just needed a job.
After joining the force and completing his formal training for the CCPD, Tannehill spent his off-hours visiting libraries to further augment the courses thrown at him during his time at the police academy. Luckily, Capital City had grown large enough to be considered the preeminent metropolis of the West and, as such, was now center to several highly regarded academic institutions.
Though the university libraries often barred non-students from entry, a uniformed CCPD officer accessing a library could usually flout protocol with little resistance from the student or administrative staff. For the same reason, Tannehill was able to borrow books from the library without a student account, always being careful to return his borrowed volumes at the agreed-upon date.
And, though the libraries did provide information on legal codes throughout the city and state, much of the language within the formal literature proved to be overwhelming even for someone in possession of natural curiosity. Instead, he leveraged his ties with district and defense attorneys alike to compose a more practical view of the law.
For further target practice, he'd find farms south of the city to hone his craft with both revolver and rifle, befriending the farmers whose lands he used by assisting with manual labor and odd jobs.
He even learned some rudimentary Polish and Gaelic.
Though he enjoyed indulging his intellectual curiosities, he knew that his peers and employers would look on someone like him with suspicion and he had enough insight into his place and era to know that Lady Justice occasionally peeked out from under her blindfold. Bribes were the order of the day, even for beat cops. He knew enough to stay away from "can't miss" opportunities with high-level figureheads in case his "can't miss" opportunity involved an introduction to a very large, deep body of water in the area should rough edges need to be hewn.
The bribes he did receive would either go to an orphanage, the bank, or a steak dinner, depending on his mood. When called on for the department's traditional enforcement duties, he didn't shy away from his use of a truncheon but made sure his application of its usage was judicious.
Above all, though they may have disqualified him from the force had they learned about his academic ambitions, his employers' trust in his silence was rewarded. When he rode along for brothel raids, while his fellow officers tested the viability of the business before arresting prostitutes and johns, Tannehill stood silently in the parlor room while his co-workers accompanied new-found friends upstairs. Afterward, when asked, he'd be hard-pressed to remember what other officers were along for the raid, much less who'd done something inadvisable.
When fellow officers fortuitously found a four-inch blade on the dying person of a violent criminal representative of the city's minority population, Tannehill would be far enough away from the scuffle scouting for other evidence.
As a result of his detached demeanor coupled with his silence, he reached an unsaid agreement with the other officers in the department - "I won't partake in your shenanigans, but I won't rat you out either. I won't get greedy and demand my cut, nor will I be too righteous and demand real justice for yourself or others. Therefore, there's no reason to shoot me in the back and decorate me after the fact as a fallen hero of the department."
It was this agreement that allowed Tannehill to build a solid, if unspectacular career, in his time at the CCPD.
[Author's Note: It looks like I'm back on track with my publishing schedule. Today's edition is 1031 words for a total so far of 7228.]
After his intensive two-week CCPD training period, Tannehill's first opportunity to display the new MCO methods occurred when he joined his fellow officers to break up a large bar fight that threatened to spill over into the quiet areas of downtown. Using these new modern methods, he was able to reason with and subdue rowdy bar patrons by knocking out four teeth from four separate individuals and splitting a fifth's forehead so wide the patron's skull gleamed white.
When this particular patron consistently fretted immediately after the engagement how he was mere seconds from death due to the blood loss, Tannehill calmly took him aside and explained that forehead wounds could easily be repaired with a cauterized needle and thread and tended to look much worse than they actually were. Tannehill also mentioned that there may be some residual scarring if the operation was carried out by a non-medical professional. The patron, who's nose was broken in two places and had a few missing teeth of his own (not due to Tannehill's modern policing) shrugged off the cosmetic concern but thanked Tannehill for the advice. Thus was born Tannehill's first fruitful venture into community policing as both a newly minted officer - and newly minted citizen - of Capital City. From the standpoint of his employers, their investment in him looked as though it would pay strong dividends.
What Tannehill didn't relay to his employers prior during the interview process is that he'd had every intention of matriculating into one of the university engineering programs in downstate Illinois after high school. However, an ill-timed fire interceded and destroyed his family home just prior to his expected enrollment. Rather than leave his family without living arrangements, he used his meager savings to rebuild the family estate. Given the opportunity to continue working in a city with the perpetual stink of offal and recoup his savings or start afresh, he chose the latter. He bid the beef of Chicago and the cows of Urbana farewell and moved west for new scenery. Upon arriving in Capital City he didn't feel the need to the police department as part of an ethnic enclave or as a noble calling. He just needed a job.
After joining the force and completing his formal training for the CCPD, Tannehill spent his off-hours visiting libraries to further augment the courses thrown at him during his time at the police academy. Luckily, Capital City had grown large enough to be considered the preeminent metropolis of the West and, as such, was now center to several highly regarded academic institutions.
Though the university libraries often barred non-students from entry, a uniformed CCPD officer accessing a library could usually flout protocol with little resistance from the student or administrative staff. For the same reason, Tannehill was able to borrow books from the library without a student account, always being careful to return his borrowed volumes at the agreed-upon date.
And, though the libraries did provide information on legal codes throughout the city and state, much of the language within the formal literature proved to be overwhelming even for someone in possession of natural curiosity. Instead, he leveraged his ties with district and defense attorneys alike to compose a more practical view of the law.
For further target practice, he'd find farms south of the city to hone his craft with both revolver and rifle, befriending the farmers whose lands he used by assisting with manual labor and odd jobs.
He even learned some rudimentary Polish and Gaelic.
Though he enjoyed indulging his intellectual curiosities, he knew that his peers and employers would look on someone like him with suspicion and he had enough insight into his place and era to know that Lady Justice occasionally peeked out from under her blindfold. Bribes were the order of the day, even for beat cops. He knew enough to stay away from "can't miss" opportunities with high-level figureheads in case his "can't miss" opportunity involved an introduction to a very large, deep body of water in the area should rough edges need to be hewn.
The bribes he did receive would either go to an orphanage, the bank, or a steak dinner, depending on his mood. When called on for the department's traditional enforcement duties, he didn't shy away from his use of a truncheon but made sure his application of its usage was judicious.
Above all, though they may have disqualified him from the force had they learned about his academic ambitions, his employers' trust in his silence was rewarded. When he rode along for brothel raids, while his fellow officers tested the viability of the business before arresting prostitutes and johns, Tannehill stood silently in the parlor room while his co-workers accompanied new-found friends upstairs. Afterward, when asked, he'd be hard-pressed to remember what other officers were along for the raid, much less who'd done something inadvisable.
When fellow officers fortuitously found a four-inch blade on the dying person of a violent criminal representative of the city's minority population, Tannehill would be far enough away from the scuffle scouting for other evidence.
As a result of his detached demeanor coupled with his silence, he reached an unsaid agreement with the other officers in the department - "I won't partake in your shenanigans, but I won't rat you out either. I won't get greedy and demand my cut, nor will I be too righteous and demand real justice for yourself or others. Therefore, there's no reason to shoot me in the back and decorate me after the fact as a fallen hero of the department."
It was this agreement that allowed Tannehill to build a solid, if unspectacular career, in his time at the CCPD.
[Author's Note: It looks like I'm back on track with my publishing schedule. Today's edition is 1031 words for a total so far of 7228.]
Sunday, September 15, 2019
Chapter 6 - Let's Meet the Neighbors
True to his word in the diner, Tannehill didn't manage to sleep until 3:00 AM. He passed out fully clothed on a still-made bed. He awoke two hours later feeling even more exhausted. The day before had started out as a simple annoyance advancing into the promise of a meager paycheck and ended in a full-blown disaster.
From yesterday's perspective, no leads meant that Snell would have been left to connect the dots or that Tannehill was led by his partner on an extended snipe hunt. From today's perspective, no leads meant that a murderer would walk free. And still, he had no leads.
"Was yesterday's job connected to his murder?" Tannehill reviewed the little knowledge he had at hand. Snell definitely wanted Tannehill out of the office. The timing of Tannehill's adventure was fortuitous as well. "What are the chances that I arrive at the building the exact same time the subject was having sex? Then again Snell knew enough high-class callgirls that this may have just been the first appointment of the early evening."
With no other starting point, this was the avenue Tannehill had to pursue however tenuous the thread. He briefly thought about leaving CCPD to their own devices and simply moving on to the next small-time con or jilted lover. But. But, he was a licensed PI. And a former policeman. And partner to a murdered man, however repulsive that man was. He needed to do something, even if it meant tossing a few leads into the mix for his former colleagues.
He arose from semi-rumpled bedclothes, smoothed them, washed his face, affixed his fedora, and left his apartment.
He was firmly planted on the bench across from 513 Highwater street at 7:45 AM, ready for a long day of tedium as the residents of downtown prepared for a typical weekday. He wanted to spot the Blonde, the Uncle, the Doorman - anyone who may be able to give him just a little bit more thread to pull. He also prayed for clear skies and an empty bladder, so his surveillance could continue unabated.
At 8:13 AM his luck held. He saw Impatient Gray Suit from the night before exit the building - this time adorned in a blue double-breasted outfit two sizes too big.
"Excuse me! Sir!" Tannehill quickly crossed the street to intercept the man. He flashed his PI license as the man glanced toward him.
"Yes, officer?" Good, the man's response to a badge was what Tannehill was counting on.
"It's detective, actually." Technically, it wasn't a lie. Tannehill was a detective, just not one employed by the taxpayers of Capital City.
¨Do you live in this building?"
¨Yes, yes I do."
¨I see. First, I want to assure you there's no cause for alarm." Tannehill rested his hand on the man's shoulder. The man gaped at Tannehill open-mouthed and wide-eyed - less in terror than astonishment.
The man nodded in response, still open-mouthed.
"However, we need to check up on someone in your building who took a child in for social services. Normally, I'd simply ask the doorman, but they can be a bit thick and may call up to the unit first. Given the sensitive nature of the visit, I'd like to make sure we're not giving anyone too much on advantage. Understand?"
Open-mouth nod. No questions asked. "Good," thought Tannehill.
"OK, I just need you to get me to the elevator bank in your building and I can take it from there. If the doorman asks, just say your friend Bob needed to pop by to borrow some papers from you."
Open-mouth nod.
"Alright," Tannehill extended his hand, "after you." He had the expectation that he could lead the man in front of a bus and his new friend would oblige without complaint.
"Hi Chuck," the man called to doorman - luckily not his perceptive nemesis from the night before - "this is my friend, Bob. I need to let him up to my place and then I'll be back on my way."
"Sure thing, Mr. Sugarbaker," the doorman called back.
"OK, here you are." They cruised past the front desk to the elevators." Sorry, off- er, detective, I've got to go. I've got an important meeting to start the day." Sugarbaker turned on his heels and exited the building promptly.
Tannehill gave a flagging wave and ducked in the alcove behind the elevator bank into the residents' mailroom.
"650, 750, 799, 800, 801, 802" E. Brunner. "Is that her name? Or someone else in the household? Does she even live here?"
Tannehill returned to the elevator bank and pressed the button for the next car. He walked directly to 802 upon alighting from the elevator and stopped abruptly.
"What now?" He pressed his ear against the door listening for signs of life inside. All he could hear was the rush of blood coursing through his ears.
Shrugging, he knocked and waited. Nothing. Knocked again. Nothing. No one home.
He heard signs of life from his new friend's apartment in 800 and decided to wait in the hall. After another ten minutes passed, the tall brunette he'd spotted through the window the evening before - Sugarbaker's wife, he guessed - emerged from the unit.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Sugarbaker?"
"Yes?" His improvisation was paying off much better this morning than the evening before. He'd need to deprive himself of sleep more often.
"I'm a friend of Ms. Brunner's," fingers crossed he was guessing residency correctly, "and she told me to meet her at her door this morning to help her with some items. You don't happen to know if she's home, do you?"
"Emily?" Paydirt. "We don't really chat too much. She just moved in about a month ago. How did you know my name?"
"Emily," the name rolled off Tannehill's tongue with newfound confidence "talks about you and your husband all the time. She always mentions what pleasant neighbors you are."
Mrs. Sugarbaker perked up at this response. "Really? That's odd, we've never exchanged more than a couple of words in passing. I listen to her play jazz records through the wall, and I've always been keen to learn more about jazz but haven't found the nerve to ask her. I really never expected she thought anything of us."
"Well, something you said made an impression."
Mrs. Sugarbaker smiled. "I'm sorry, Mr.?..."
"Roberts."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Roberts, but you'll have to forgive me. I'm running a bit late for an appointment otherwise I'd offer you a cup of coffee. I'm sure she'll return shortly."
"Thanks for the offer, but I understand." Tannehill sucked his teeth in mock exasperation, "With Em you never can tell. She's a bit flighty from time to time. Nice to meet you, though."
"Pleasure to meet you as well." She walked past him to the elevator. Tannehill remained in place to reflect on his morning's work a moment longer. Emily Brunner, jazz lover.
[Author's Note: I'm back. This edition was 1158 words for a running total of 6197. I should be back on my normal weekly Sunday schedule until my next trip...]
From yesterday's perspective, no leads meant that Snell would have been left to connect the dots or that Tannehill was led by his partner on an extended snipe hunt. From today's perspective, no leads meant that a murderer would walk free. And still, he had no leads.
"Was yesterday's job connected to his murder?" Tannehill reviewed the little knowledge he had at hand. Snell definitely wanted Tannehill out of the office. The timing of Tannehill's adventure was fortuitous as well. "What are the chances that I arrive at the building the exact same time the subject was having sex? Then again Snell knew enough high-class callgirls that this may have just been the first appointment of the early evening."
With no other starting point, this was the avenue Tannehill had to pursue however tenuous the thread. He briefly thought about leaving CCPD to their own devices and simply moving on to the next small-time con or jilted lover. But. But, he was a licensed PI. And a former policeman. And partner to a murdered man, however repulsive that man was. He needed to do something, even if it meant tossing a few leads into the mix for his former colleagues.
He arose from semi-rumpled bedclothes, smoothed them, washed his face, affixed his fedora, and left his apartment.
He was firmly planted on the bench across from 513 Highwater street at 7:45 AM, ready for a long day of tedium as the residents of downtown prepared for a typical weekday. He wanted to spot the Blonde, the Uncle, the Doorman - anyone who may be able to give him just a little bit more thread to pull. He also prayed for clear skies and an empty bladder, so his surveillance could continue unabated.
At 8:13 AM his luck held. He saw Impatient Gray Suit from the night before exit the building - this time adorned in a blue double-breasted outfit two sizes too big.
"Excuse me! Sir!" Tannehill quickly crossed the street to intercept the man. He flashed his PI license as the man glanced toward him.
"Yes, officer?" Good, the man's response to a badge was what Tannehill was counting on.
"It's detective, actually." Technically, it wasn't a lie. Tannehill was a detective, just not one employed by the taxpayers of Capital City.
¨Do you live in this building?"
¨Yes, yes I do."
¨I see. First, I want to assure you there's no cause for alarm." Tannehill rested his hand on the man's shoulder. The man gaped at Tannehill open-mouthed and wide-eyed - less in terror than astonishment.
The man nodded in response, still open-mouthed.
"However, we need to check up on someone in your building who took a child in for social services. Normally, I'd simply ask the doorman, but they can be a bit thick and may call up to the unit first. Given the sensitive nature of the visit, I'd like to make sure we're not giving anyone too much on advantage. Understand?"
Open-mouth nod. No questions asked. "Good," thought Tannehill.
"OK, I just need you to get me to the elevator bank in your building and I can take it from there. If the doorman asks, just say your friend Bob needed to pop by to borrow some papers from you."
Open-mouth nod.
"Alright," Tannehill extended his hand, "after you." He had the expectation that he could lead the man in front of a bus and his new friend would oblige without complaint.
"Hi Chuck," the man called to doorman - luckily not his perceptive nemesis from the night before - "this is my friend, Bob. I need to let him up to my place and then I'll be back on my way."
"Sure thing, Mr. Sugarbaker," the doorman called back.
"OK, here you are." They cruised past the front desk to the elevators." Sorry, off- er, detective, I've got to go. I've got an important meeting to start the day." Sugarbaker turned on his heels and exited the building promptly.
Tannehill gave a flagging wave and ducked in the alcove behind the elevator bank into the residents' mailroom.
"650, 750, 799, 800, 801, 802" E. Brunner. "Is that her name? Or someone else in the household? Does she even live here?"
Tannehill returned to the elevator bank and pressed the button for the next car. He walked directly to 802 upon alighting from the elevator and stopped abruptly.
"What now?" He pressed his ear against the door listening for signs of life inside. All he could hear was the rush of blood coursing through his ears.
Shrugging, he knocked and waited. Nothing. Knocked again. Nothing. No one home.
He heard signs of life from his new friend's apartment in 800 and decided to wait in the hall. After another ten minutes passed, the tall brunette he'd spotted through the window the evening before - Sugarbaker's wife, he guessed - emerged from the unit.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Sugarbaker?"
"Yes?" His improvisation was paying off much better this morning than the evening before. He'd need to deprive himself of sleep more often.
"I'm a friend of Ms. Brunner's," fingers crossed he was guessing residency correctly, "and she told me to meet her at her door this morning to help her with some items. You don't happen to know if she's home, do you?"
"Emily?" Paydirt. "We don't really chat too much. She just moved in about a month ago. How did you know my name?"
"Emily," the name rolled off Tannehill's tongue with newfound confidence "talks about you and your husband all the time. She always mentions what pleasant neighbors you are."
Mrs. Sugarbaker perked up at this response. "Really? That's odd, we've never exchanged more than a couple of words in passing. I listen to her play jazz records through the wall, and I've always been keen to learn more about jazz but haven't found the nerve to ask her. I really never expected she thought anything of us."
"Well, something you said made an impression."
Mrs. Sugarbaker smiled. "I'm sorry, Mr.?..."
"Roberts."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Roberts, but you'll have to forgive me. I'm running a bit late for an appointment otherwise I'd offer you a cup of coffee. I'm sure she'll return shortly."
"Thanks for the offer, but I understand." Tannehill sucked his teeth in mock exasperation, "With Em you never can tell. She's a bit flighty from time to time. Nice to meet you, though."
"Pleasure to meet you as well." She walked past him to the elevator. Tannehill remained in place to reflect on his morning's work a moment longer. Emily Brunner, jazz lover.
[Author's Note: I'm back. This edition was 1158 words for a running total of 6197. I should be back on my normal weekly Sunday schedule until my next trip...]
Tuesday, September 10, 2019
Quick Note on the Novel
[Author's Note: I'm at a conference in NYC this week. I've finished my first draft of the next chapter, but need to go through one more round of revision before publishing. I'll try and get the revisions done before Sunday, but you may have to sit tight. If luck holds, I'll publish two chapters this week, but my schedule is a little askew at the moment. Also, if you're ever in New York, visit the Highline. it's free and a very pleasant, reasonable walk.]
Monday, September 2, 2019
Our First Steps on the Chicago Outerbelt Trail
I recently stumbled across this Thrillist post introducing me to something called the Chicago Outerbelt - a 210-mile trail traversing Chicago and its surrounding suburbs that was recently discovered a couple of years ago.
Why do I say discovered? Apparently, much of the trail has been in place for years or decades but has been hiding in plain sight to everyone living in the city or hiking near it until a few hikers decided to see if they could link the varying state parks, city parks, and forest preserves into one continuous trail. Turns out they could.
I won't go into too much detail on the trail since the article above - and the articles it subsequently links to - go into much greater depth (although a comprehensive map and markers for sites is still in its very nascent stages). But I can appreciate the immensity of both the find and the trail length.
The Outerbelt is listed as a thru-hike, meaning, for intrepid adventurers, one could traverse the trail as though traversing the Appalachian Trail - stopping to camp every night after hiking about 15 miles every day. At this pace, it'd still take a backpacker two weeks(!) to get through the trail. The nowhere near as long as the Appalachian Trail, it's still one-tenth as long, which is amazing considering it was unknown three years ago. It spans the length of the city, touches the border of Wisconsin, juts out into the western suburbs, snakes down near the Indiana border and returns to the Loop (its defacto starting point is apparently Buckingham Fountain).
I have no desire to thru-hike the route (I have a desire to spend one peaceful night in a tent at some point somewhere but the idea of pooping in the woods for days on end doesn't really appeal to me), but I do want to bite it off in chunks. Realistically speaking I can probably cover three to five miles per trip, which means I'll need 42-70 trips (or weekends) to run the whole route.
It's not so daunting though. It provides a goal that I never thought possible in the Chicago area that could take a couple of years to accomplish (miles and miles of hiking trails!). Today, my wife and I finally took our first steps on the trail - winding our way from 18th Street and the lake through Maggie Daley Park.
Why do I say discovered? Apparently, much of the trail has been in place for years or decades but has been hiding in plain sight to everyone living in the city or hiking near it until a few hikers decided to see if they could link the varying state parks, city parks, and forest preserves into one continuous trail. Turns out they could.
I won't go into too much detail on the trail since the article above - and the articles it subsequently links to - go into much greater depth (although a comprehensive map and markers for sites is still in its very nascent stages). But I can appreciate the immensity of both the find and the trail length.
The Outerbelt is listed as a thru-hike, meaning, for intrepid adventurers, one could traverse the trail as though traversing the Appalachian Trail - stopping to camp every night after hiking about 15 miles every day. At this pace, it'd still take a backpacker two weeks(!) to get through the trail. The nowhere near as long as the Appalachian Trail, it's still one-tenth as long, which is amazing considering it was unknown three years ago. It spans the length of the city, touches the border of Wisconsin, juts out into the western suburbs, snakes down near the Indiana border and returns to the Loop (its defacto starting point is apparently Buckingham Fountain).
I have no desire to thru-hike the route (I have a desire to spend one peaceful night in a tent at some point somewhere but the idea of pooping in the woods for days on end doesn't really appeal to me), but I do want to bite it off in chunks. Realistically speaking I can probably cover three to five miles per trip, which means I'll need 42-70 trips (or weekends) to run the whole route.
It's not so daunting though. It provides a goal that I never thought possible in the Chicago area that could take a couple of years to accomplish (miles and miles of hiking trails!). Today, my wife and I finally took our first steps on the trail - winding our way from 18th Street and the lake through Maggie Daley Park.
- Here's our first three-mile leg.
- Here's a view from the Police Memorial Park.
- Here's a view from the Shedd Aquarium.
- Here's Buckingham Fountain.
- Finally, here's a mix of prairie and city at Maggie Daley Park.
Chapter 5 - Lessons in Civic Pride
The history of the Capital City Police Department has a lot in common with the histories of other police departments throughout the US.
The department officially formed in 1850 during The Great Western Gold Rush, shortly after the city, with an official population of 873 at the time, incorporated. Its primary purpose wasn't so much to keep the peace of the newly incorporated city and serve and protect its citizens as it was to corral the bedlam that resulted in having 50,000 people stream westward in search of easy fortune.
Even at this early stage in its development, politics had a prominent role in Capital City. The city fathers realized that with such a sundry, condensed, and driven population murders would occur - and they did, at a steady rate of one per day during the height of the gold rush. But, as long as the primary tax paid for any claim was paid promptly or, more importantly, the supplemental tax that could be paid directly to the politician to reduce the burden of the primary tax was paid at an even more expedient rate, the city would have a greater chance to reach its growth potential despite the sacrifices.
Should a fair citizen of Capital City and its environs be discovered not to have contributed to the appropriate government or extra-government payment, the CCPD would step in to enforce swift civil justice in the name of city pride.
As time passed, the gold claims began to dry up, but the population continued to swell - both due to prospectors still convinced that a hidden vein was yet to be discovered and by those who realized it was easier to make money from the prospectors than from the gold. Capital City officials recognized these same revenue opportunities and began to institute the appropriate taxes independent of gold claims to support the citizenry and their humble public servants. These taxes included a city entry fee, several variations of lodging fees, and exit fees - whether of the emigrant's own accord or that of a friendly undertaker's.
Capital City was able to levy such onerous taxes with little protest due to its prime real estate surrounding the calm waters of the bay. Those who attempted to circumvent civic justice by incorporating outside of the established city limits and promising "fairer" tax structures were visited by expeditionary arms of the CCPD who were readily able to convince the new town's founders that it was in their best interest to return to the city proper as the locations of the new towns were often subject to even higher rates of violence that coincidentally occurred just prior to the arrival of the expeditionary force.
CCPD staffing followed similar trends of other US police departments. Irish immigrants came west along with everyone else at the mention of gold and faced the same derision and scorn every step of the way as they had back east. Due to their ostracism in the community, they were often left out of larger excavation parties into the gold-rich areas outside of the city and denied employment within it.
Capital City politicians took note that the Irish were sitting idle and, literally, hungry in the city and decided to provide them opportunities to shape civil justice within the city at a reasonable wage.
During the same period, Polish immigrants, who'd interacted with well-traveled Russians reaching Capital City by way of Canada and heard about great opportunities, also began to appear. Though they didn't face ostracism for the same reason as the Irish, they were often excluded from excursions and jobs due to their rough sounding language and inscrutable alphabet. The politicians again noticed a ready supply of recruits for the newly formed CCPD and extended the appropriate job offers.
After successfully instilling a sense of civic pride in the residents in and around Capital City, the city fathers realized that further use of the police force in its current form would reflect undeservedly on the city's reputation for potential settlers. As a result, Capital City hired its first police commissioner - William Ignatius Barnes, referred to colloquially as "the Professor."
Barnes, who reputedly held PhDs from several institutions on or near the East Coast, was a practitioner of modern methods and science well-positioned to lead the police department in its next incarnation. He applied these modern methods in organizing the police force by taking advantage of the steady stream of settlers that continued to head toward Capital City in conjunction with the construction of the transcontinental railroads. Using his expertise in phrenology - and building on the cultural ties of the current population of CCPD - he was able to determine that the Irish railroad laborers would continue to serve as fine specimens for the police force while the equally abundant and hard-working Chinese laborers would be unable to comprehend the complexities of modern police work.
Polish laborers, who now began expanding their sphere of influence into the city's docks, were deemed adequate for the police department's requirements and permitted further employment.
Barnes added further concepts to the police force such as the para-military hierarchy present in other departments, a division of beats to better patrol the city and engage in community policing, and a rigorous two-week training course including, but not limited to the following:
The department officially formed in 1850 during The Great Western Gold Rush, shortly after the city, with an official population of 873 at the time, incorporated. Its primary purpose wasn't so much to keep the peace of the newly incorporated city and serve and protect its citizens as it was to corral the bedlam that resulted in having 50,000 people stream westward in search of easy fortune.
Even at this early stage in its development, politics had a prominent role in Capital City. The city fathers realized that with such a sundry, condensed, and driven population murders would occur - and they did, at a steady rate of one per day during the height of the gold rush. But, as long as the primary tax paid for any claim was paid promptly or, more importantly, the supplemental tax that could be paid directly to the politician to reduce the burden of the primary tax was paid at an even more expedient rate, the city would have a greater chance to reach its growth potential despite the sacrifices.
Should a fair citizen of Capital City and its environs be discovered not to have contributed to the appropriate government or extra-government payment, the CCPD would step in to enforce swift civil justice in the name of city pride.
As time passed, the gold claims began to dry up, but the population continued to swell - both due to prospectors still convinced that a hidden vein was yet to be discovered and by those who realized it was easier to make money from the prospectors than from the gold. Capital City officials recognized these same revenue opportunities and began to institute the appropriate taxes independent of gold claims to support the citizenry and their humble public servants. These taxes included a city entry fee, several variations of lodging fees, and exit fees - whether of the emigrant's own accord or that of a friendly undertaker's.
Capital City was able to levy such onerous taxes with little protest due to its prime real estate surrounding the calm waters of the bay. Those who attempted to circumvent civic justice by incorporating outside of the established city limits and promising "fairer" tax structures were visited by expeditionary arms of the CCPD who were readily able to convince the new town's founders that it was in their best interest to return to the city proper as the locations of the new towns were often subject to even higher rates of violence that coincidentally occurred just prior to the arrival of the expeditionary force.
CCPD staffing followed similar trends of other US police departments. Irish immigrants came west along with everyone else at the mention of gold and faced the same derision and scorn every step of the way as they had back east. Due to their ostracism in the community, they were often left out of larger excavation parties into the gold-rich areas outside of the city and denied employment within it.
Capital City politicians took note that the Irish were sitting idle and, literally, hungry in the city and decided to provide them opportunities to shape civil justice within the city at a reasonable wage.
During the same period, Polish immigrants, who'd interacted with well-traveled Russians reaching Capital City by way of Canada and heard about great opportunities, also began to appear. Though they didn't face ostracism for the same reason as the Irish, they were often excluded from excursions and jobs due to their rough sounding language and inscrutable alphabet. The politicians again noticed a ready supply of recruits for the newly formed CCPD and extended the appropriate job offers.
After successfully instilling a sense of civic pride in the residents in and around Capital City, the city fathers realized that further use of the police force in its current form would reflect undeservedly on the city's reputation for potential settlers. As a result, Capital City hired its first police commissioner - William Ignatius Barnes, referred to colloquially as "the Professor."
Barnes, who reputedly held PhDs from several institutions on or near the East Coast, was a practitioner of modern methods and science well-positioned to lead the police department in its next incarnation. He applied these modern methods in organizing the police force by taking advantage of the steady stream of settlers that continued to head toward Capital City in conjunction with the construction of the transcontinental railroads. Using his expertise in phrenology - and building on the cultural ties of the current population of CCPD - he was able to determine that the Irish railroad laborers would continue to serve as fine specimens for the police force while the equally abundant and hard-working Chinese laborers would be unable to comprehend the complexities of modern police work.
Polish laborers, who now began expanding their sphere of influence into the city's docks, were deemed adequate for the police department's requirements and permitted further employment.
Barnes added further concepts to the police force such as the para-military hierarchy present in other departments, a division of beats to better patrol the city and engage in community policing, and a rigorous two-week training course including, but not limited to the following:
- a comprehensive introduction to the Capital City and state penal codes
- intensive firearms training
- crowd control
- public relations
- an introduction to liberal arts topics to better round out the policeman's mind including literature, music, and physics
- the fundamentals of medicine
- modern investigative and police methods
- political science
It was during this continued Golden Age of Capital City Policing that Charles Henry Tannehill, a grandson of Scottish and Irish immigrants, moved west from Chicago and joined the Capital City Police Department in Anno Domini 1913.
[Author's Note: Oops, it's Labor Day Weekend here in the US, so I'm a day late (but it's early Monday). This week's chapter is 963 words for a running total over five weeks of - Ta Da! - 5039 words.]
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)