Chapter 48 - Honor Among Thieves

 "You, the aspiring Vaudeville actress, go in and turn on the light," Murphy motioned with his head in Vera's direction.  Vera, happy to put her arms down, complied as cheerfully as she could given the circumstances.  Murphy gestured for the other three to stand to the side of the door at a safe distance, so he could peer in at the inventory and keep an eye on his hostages.  

When the door opened, it swung inward into the storage space and to the left.  "Ok," he snapped at Vera, who answered his bark with a scowl, "go stand behind the door." She did as commanded.

"Now what?" her muffled voice retorted.

"Now come back so I can see you again."

"What was the point of that?"

"I just needed to be sure that no one was behind the door to ambush me." Murphy glanced over at Tannehill.  "I'm willing to bet you have more figured out than I'm giving you credit for, even though your clearance rate as a detective was pitiful, CH."  Tannehill creased his mouth and shrugged in an indication of lackadaisical acknowledgment.

"So, what's actually in the room?" Murphy addressed his question to the audience at large, causing everyone to remain quiet for an extended beat.

Vera broke the silence. "Several dozen priceless artifacts, German bonds, and a fairly sizeable chunk of US change."

"How much in cash and bonds?"

"About 2 million dollars, US currency," Emily responded curtly.  Murphy whistled, impressed with the haul.  "But," she continued, "we're willing to share, of course."

"You're willing to share?" A note of amused confusion crept into his voice.

"Certainly."

"And," he smacked his lips, "what makes you think I'm willing to share?" He swung the machine gun to face her directly.

Emily paused in shock at his response.  "Because," she stammered, "because you can't gun down four people and claim it was in self-defense."

Murphy cocked his eyes upward in a dramatic imitation of deep thought.  "You, know, you're right.  I can't gun down four people in self-defense, but," he let this last contraction linger in the air, "A reckless pair like yourself and Otto would certainly gun down two innocent people and then disappear with the most expedient goods, like a bundle of cash worth two million dollars.  When they don't find you, they'll just assume you've dashed away to some exotic local."

"So," Tannehill interjected, "has it always been your intention to gun down all of your associates, or was that just happenstance?"

Murphy jerked back in an exaggerated pantomime of shock, "I have a fairly strong sense of honor, CH.  I didn't plan to kill Snell.  He brought me into," he waved the gun in dramatic fashion toward the storage room, "this! And I was certainly grateful."

"He brought you in for protection?" It came out as a question but Tannehill intended it as a rhetorical one rather than an interrogative one.

"Of course," Murphy's tone matched Tannehill's in his own rhetorical response.  "It's easier to move this much merchandise knowing you've got someone to help handle the logistics.  He was going to give me a fairly substantial cut, even at the expense," he glanced over at Emily and Otto, "of our other partners."

"So why did you shoot him?"

"Because he decided to play me for a fool!"  Murphy's demeanor flashed to irritation immediately, recalling the night's events.

Tannehill was confused. "What do you mean?  What did he do to exacerbate any situation that would lead to his death?"

Murphy whined, irritation peaking.  "When I came to see him about visiting this room, he wouldn't respond to any of my questions in a coherent fashion.  He simply stopped cooperating and didn't have the decency to tell me why.  He simply played the role of an idiot and made me look foolish as a result."

"So you grew angry and shot him?"

"Yes!  He wasn't going to put one over on me in such a juvenile fashion.  He could've simply told me he had a change of heart and we could've negotiated.  Instead, he decided to act like a simpleton and pretend that he no idea what I was talking about."

Tannehill snorted derisively at this comment and glanced toward Otto, who was still trying to grasp the context around the confession.  He regained his composure and continued.  "Bellucci?"

"Well, Bellucci," Murphy grew pensive, "Bellucci just got a little too nervous.  He did the honorable thing and took the fall for Snell.  I promised him that I could arrange a lighter sentence for Snell's death - something along the lines of an accidental discharge of a firearm - and a larger cut of the goods for taking the fall, but he just got anxious.  He started worrying that others would ask too many questions and piece everything together and that we'd both end up at the end of a hangman's noose.  This after being an informant for the Capital City police department since prohibition.  When have we ever been unable to adjust a crime to fit the civic good?"

"Not too often," Tannehill mumbled in reply.

"And yet," Murphy continued without breaking stride, "he still wondered aloud - aloud and in direct conversation with me - if it were better to come clean and take whatever retribution was due.  So," he shrugged awkwardly, machine gun still in hand, in a what-can-you-do-but-strangle-someone-in-their-cell-and-blame-it-on-suicide type of gesture.

"That's the second time you've mentioned 'honor' and, in both cases, your confederates came away dead.  Seems like there's not a whole lot of pay-off in an honorable agreement with you."

"Frankly, CH, I'm a bit insulted at such a slight, but I can't argue that you have point." He stepped back leveling the gun.  Tannehill, who was in front of the others, including Vera, who'd exited the room to gather with the other hostages, stepped back a foot and motioned for those behind him to follow suit.

"A foot here or there isn't going to make a bit of difference, Tannehill.  Hell, even your noble efforts to shield the others won't do much either.  But, at least, we can both agree that, for once in your life, even if it's at the very end of it, you're doing something honorable."

"Oh, I agree nothing I'm doing will make much difference to your tommy gun," Tannehill continued backing his hapless group away from their would-be assassin inch by inch, "but it will give the sniper a much cleaner shot."

[Author's Note: Well, well, it looks like we may not be too far from wrapping this case up, in one blood-soaked fashion or another.  Today's chapter is 1074 words.  The novel continues to chug along at 51781 words.]

Chapter 47 - Say Hello To My Little Friend

 "I'm still unclear why we needed to wait until morning to show up at Loving's." Vera's voice was hoarse with three martinis and a shot of whisky.  The unaccommodating bumps in the road made her misery that much more acute.

"I'll explain it all in a bit."  Tannehill, aware that his plan could easily fall apart if he'd consumed too many martinis over the course of the night, prudently stopped at one.  Otto, who was driving, and Emily, seated next to him in the passenger's seat, hadn't and seemed to feel the bumps as viscerally as Vera.

"I also don't understand why Spinoza left this morning."

"I'll explain..."

"...it all in a bit.  Yeah, I've memorized that line already," Vera hiccupped.

Before leaving Emily's apartment, Tannehill had phoned ahead to the precinct, telling Lieutenant Murphy to bring a squad to the bakery to inventory and secure the stolen goods and arrest Snell's and Bellucci's murderers.

At 9 AM, the disheveled and groggy group arrived improbably, but exactly, on time, coming to rest in one of the many shallow potholes filled with the previous day's rainwater that dotted the building's crushed gravel driveway.

20 yards ahead, just in front of the entrance was a single, dark, unmarked government vehicle.  Lieutenant Murphy's head peering over the roof from behind the car at the approaching party in keen interest.

Tannehill watched carefully as Emily, Otto, and Vera exited in succession from their own vehicle and then followed slowly.  He'd drawn his revolver - which had been holstered for most of the trip over - before closing the door.  Upon seeing the lieutenant, he prominently indicated that he was securing his own weapon in his shoulder holster and posed no threat.  

"Mornin' Murph."

"Mornin' CH."

Tannehill glanced around in dramatic fashion at the lack of a police presence.  "Your back up's a little light.   Been paying too much overtime to the crew lately?"

Murphy chuckled mirthlessly and reached through the driver's side window before moving over to the hood of the car.  He leveled a Thompson submachine gun at the four hapless pedestrians.  "I think I can handle this on my own.  "If you don't mind, CH, stop where you're at and raise your hands and keep them where I can see them.  You've gone far enough."

Though the response was directed at CH, everyone stopped suddenly and did as commanded.  That is, with the exception of Emily, who doubled over briefly and, with a deftness and violence that surprised her, vomited. The act was due less to the shock of what was unfolding in front of them than from the gin heavy martinis she'd been guzzling since the previous afternoon and the sudden change in equilibrium from exiting the moving vehicle.  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.  "Excuse me," she belched quietly before staring back at the weapon pointed at her and raising her arms belatedly.

"I agree, Murph," Tannehill continued, ignoring Emily's act of social transgression, "don't want to go too far."

Vera looked down at the splattered expectorant on the crushed gravel and then back at the tall man pointing a machine gun at them, "if this is a performance art piece, I don't get it."

"You don't look too surprised at this turn of events that we're facing on this fine morning, CH."

Tannehill shrugged, "I suppose it's not out of the question that someone on the force decides to participate in extracurricular activities.  In my experience, it's better to follow orders and keep your head down in hopes of getting out alive.  But, no, I didn't expect you'd be pointing a machine gun at me."

Due to the distance between the two men, they had to shout in order to make themselves heard, but there was no danger of anyone hearing their conversation.  The area was equally as deserted at the start of the workday as it had been on the previous visits.  Only the rats were aware of the ignominious acts now occurring.

Murphy clucked his tongue and yelled back, "that's good advice to follow, CH." 

"Yup," Tannehill drawled.

"Then I suggest we don't waste time and get started.  You'll have to excuse me.  While I'm aware of what we're looking for, I'm not quite sure where it is, so you'll have to lead the way."

"We're headed to the storage rooms behind the building."

"Fine by me," Murphy motioned with the weapon for everyone to walk in front of him.  "Though I don't believe that it bears a reminder, I'll say it anyway - no sudden moves, or I fear that the last meal Miss Brunner ejected will have been her - and your - last."

Vera briefly considered pointing out that the group of them hadn't previously dined on Emily's vomit collectively, but thought better of it, given the serious expression on everyone's faces.

"Who is this man and how does he know Miss Brunner's name?" Otto whispered over the crunching gravel beneath their feet.

"He's your silent partner." Tannehill made no effort to lower his volume in response.

Murphy chuckled when he overheard Tannehill's quip, aware of what the German had likely asked and why he was also confused by the situation.  He decided to play along.

"You see, Otto...  It's Otto, right?" 

Otto stopped and turned, answering slowly in a steady state of confusion, "Yes." 

Murphy motioned with the Thompson to keep moving.  Otto complied.  "You see Otto, when you move the amount of, umm, merchandise," Murphy grinned widely though none of them could see it with their backs facing him, "that you have through our fair city here without notifying the proper authorities of its value, we tend to get a little agitated."

Murphy's sarcasm was lost on Otto.  "Why would I notify the police about stolen goods from Germany?"

Murphy continued without breaking character.  "The police department in Capital City functions a little differently than what you'd expect." He stopped and stood thoughtfully before resuming.  "Then again, where you're from, it shouldn't be all that unexpected," and guffawed at his own joke.

When they reached the storage lockers, Tannehill asked Vera which of the lockers was the one they were seeking.  She paused briefly, debating whether or not she should indicate the literal rats' nest as a decoy in hopes of finding a seam for bursting their current execrable situation open.  Tannehill caught the deliberation behind her pause and shook his head slowly and subtly to dissuade her from any heroics.  She stuck her arm out hesitantly and pointed toward the locked treasure trove she and Spinoza had uncovered days before.  The group shuffled across the rain-soaked courtyard, climbed the stairs to the entrance, and stopped.

"I'm going to reach slowly into my pants pocket and pull out the key, Murph.  I don't intend any funny business, but I can let you perform the honors if you'd prefer."

"It seems to me, CH, it'd be funnier business if I reached my own hand into your pants pocket rather than let you handle it." Feeling relaxed at reaching his goal, Murphy chortled again at his own unintended double entendre.  "Just make sure everything moves nice and slow."

Tannehill did as instructed and pulled the key from his pocket.  He inserted it and slowly turned the knob to open the door.

As the door began to swing open, Murphy continued, "See, the problem is CH, that you've been friendless for so long that, when given the opportunity to choose new friends, you chose poorly."  He paused for effect.  "With different choices, you could've been a very rich man."

Tannehill muttered lugubriously over the creaking door, "don't I know it."

[Author's Note: Today's post brings us across the finish line for the original goal. So, I'll pause for a few musings.  I never actually thought that I'd get very far, given my previous history of maintaining a blog for any consistent amount of time.  Although, to be honest with blogs, it's always a matter of wavering between a consistent topic and simply writing about what I fancy.  The former has a higher probability of making me money, whereas the latter is my desired state, so I tend to waffle and then neglect my writing.  But not in this case!  Currently, in standard font, this novel would come in at about 200 pages - short by novel standards, but certainly the longest-running piece - personal, academic, professional - that I've ever written.  And, I'm still not finished!  Not only am I amazed that I've hit my goal, I'm amazed that I did it in nearly the time allotted (1 year).  Technically, it's about 50% over estimate at 1 year and 5 months, but that's no different (and far better) than any major software project estimate.  I had no expectations to go back and edit the work in its entirety, but as I come closer to wrapping up, it seems like turning this into a polished work begins to make more sense, now that I've seen the characters take on their arcs.  But, first I've got to finish the rest of it.  Today's edition is 1274 words.  The running total is...50,707 words!]

Chapter 46 - The End

 All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.

All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.

All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.

All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.

All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.

All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.

All work and no play make Jack

[Author's Note: Kidding!  Though this gets me to 50000 words.  There are at least another 3 chapters to go (one of which I just finished the first draft of and will publish after my usual editing pass).]

Chapter 45 - We Didn't Have Enough Room for A Wrestling Ring

 "Are you OK, Vera?"  Tannehill could see his friend standing a few feet behind Emily Brunner, Vera's hands casually draped at her sides.  Behind her, Otto was stooped, dusting his suit off over what looked like a pile of broken furniture.  Though the composition of the picture in front of him was perfectly framed - each subject occupied a vertical third of his vision - the subject matter of what he was seeing bordered on the surreal or the chaotic.

"Well, did you bring any dry vermouth?"

"No." He was hesitant, as though the question was a previously agreed code phrase to indicate that real danger was still present but had not yet made itself known.

"Then I've been better." She shoved Emily abruptly, causing the latter woman to lose her balance and stumble to her right.  Vera took advantage of the opening to move past her and stop in front of Tannehill.  "Hi," she exhaled in a friendly, familiar grin.

He pointed the revolver toward the ground, still eminently confused.  Was she expecting a hug?  A grand, sweeping gesture?  "Hi."

She stuck her hand out toward him and flicked it swiftly to the right twice. After a brief pause, recognition filled his eyes and he moved aside, ready to act as a human shield on her behalf from her two attackers.  She exited the door and looked right, exclaiming "Hiya Phil!" to the figure obscured by the exterior wall of the apartment.  With the exception of Vera, all of the other players in the afternoon's drama remained motionless. The two outside the apartment were frozen in confusion.  The two inside, with a mild exception to be made in Otto's case - who continued to bat at the dust on his suit, were frozen in exasperation.

She moved to the next unit down the hall and knocked discreetly on the door.  After a brief exchange with a figure in the doorway, she returned to Emily's unit and squeezed politely past Tannehill again to move into the kitchen.  She was holding a bottle of dry vermouth.

"Who wants a martini?" She held up the bottle in triumph.  Otto looked up at her from his suit and raised a finger in eager acknowledgment.   Emily smirked in resigned disgust but signaled with her own weary digit.

"Are you drunk?" Tannehill stepped through the doorway into the apartment.  Spinoza followed, holstering his pistol in the process after determining there was no longer any immediate threat. 

"Not yet," Vera reached for the gin on the counter and began pulling cabinets open to find martini glasses.  Once she located them, she set them down neatly at equal spacing on the cramped kitchen counter.

Spinoza looked around at the wreckage of the room and quipped in Tannehill's direction, "you still concerned that she can't take care of herself?"  Tannehill looked askance back at his friend with equal parts confusion, amazement, and annoyance.  "What happened here?" Spinoza continued.

"We were trying to clear room for the bandstand, but things got out of hand," Vera had commandeered an ice pick and was chipping shards into a silver cocktail shaker.  Otto and Emily did nothing to confirm or deny her account.  They simply looked in Vera's direction in anticipation of a drink they each felt they deserved.

Following Spinoza's lead, Tannehill secured his own weapon in a shoulder holster, cocked his fedora back and wiped the remaining sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.  For a brief moment, only the sound of the shaker in Vera's hands was audible.  "You made a poor choice in abducting my friend.  Whatever bargaining power you have is now gone, and I'd just as soon as see you arrested for kidnapping as for murder, grand theft, and whatever charges accompany moving stolen goods across international boundaries."

"We didn't kidnap her.  It was simply a mix-up among well-meaning individuals.  She's obviously fine.  She's making martinis!" Emily sniffed indignantly as if to prove her case.

Vera briefly stopped shaking and glared at her.  "You're getting the martini with the bruised gin."  She resumed.

"Just because you botched the effort, doesn't mean it wasn't a kidnapping," Tannehill continued.  "The crime is in the intent not in the effectiveness.  Otherwise, the two of you wouldn't have to be concerned about serving a day of jail time."

"We'll share the proceeds of the Jewish items in the storage locker if you're willing to forget this little," Emily gestured around the room, the folds of her skirt following behind assertively, "incident."

Tannehill was silent again - as his plan was quickly becoming extraneous - and he had to adjust to absorb the information he was receiving.  Much of the plan had involved bargaining with Emily and Otto to keep Vera safe and convincing them that he and Spinoza could be bought with a cut of the proceeds from their allegedly stolen treasure.  Once they admitted they'd stolen the items, it was a matter - not necessarily foolproof - for them to admit that they'd murdered their two other accomplices.  With Emily admitting that she knew of the stolen items and attempting to bribe him them, and with the two of them caught in the act of kidnapping Vera, he decided to go for broke on the final crime.  "Why did you kill Snell and Bellucci?"

Otto's face reddened instantly to the same degree Emily's went pale.  He was about to unleash his pent up indignation in the form of a vehement denial before Vera interrupted - "They're not murderers." She strained her cloudy, chilled concoction of booze into each of the glasses.

Tannehill whipped around to face her, "how are you so sure?"  He didn't mean to sound accusatory, but the shock of her statement and his still heightened stress levels removed any sense of decorum from his thought.

Vera was unflappable as she moved between the three glasses, pouring equal measures into each.  Finally, she took a large chip of ice and plunked it into the middle glass, spilling a quarter of its contents onto the counter.  "That's yours." She glanced at Emily.  Then she turned toward Tannehill.  "Look at how this delightful," she paused, "afternoon has turned out.  I'm an ostensible kidnap victim making martinis for my abductors.  The only weapon I've seen them use is a novelty lighter.  Its greatest danger is that its flame may burn a little too impure.  As you just mentioned, these two seem to be incapable of carrying out anything more than a botched stick-up of a child's lemonade stand."

Both Otto and Emily nodded eagerly, attempting to confirm that yes, in fact, they were too incompetent to carry out such a nefarious plot.

"Besides," Otto chimed in helpfully, "it would have been impossible to have murdered Bellucci when he was in police custody.  He was their friend.  A - what is it - an irritant."

"Informant," Emily muttered out of the side of her mouth.

"Informant," Otto continued.  

Tannehill drew back, startled.  "Bellucci was an informant?"

"Yes.  Snell believed those connections with the police would prove useful during our little...adventure."  Otto capped his statement with a wry smile, proud of imparting new information that Tannehill hadn't been aware of previously.

Tannehill scratched his chin in thought and motioned Spinoza over toward the door.  The two of them whispered excitedly before realizing they could continue the conversation in the hallway without endangering Vera's safety or their plan to entrap their Nazi suspects.  As they moved toward the hallway, Vera pushed the martinis across the breakfast bar to her once-and-would-be captors, "Cheers!" She hoisted her glass, as they did the same.

A handful of minutes later, Tannehill re-entered the apartment without Spinoza.

"Where's Phil?" Vera took another swig of her martini.

"On an errand.  He'll be back in an hour or two."

"In an hour or two?  How long are we planning on staying here?"

"All night.  We'll be heading to Loving's tomorrow at 9 AM.  For now though, we'll need to sit tight and make sure no one's," he glanced over at Emily and Otto, "up to any funny business.  Spinoza will come back to help make sure no one gets any ideas about leaving before then.  So we can all settle in for one long, slumber party."

Vera accepted the abrupt and unannounced plan with good cheer.  She had suddenly moved from captive to captor.  "Well then.  Martini?"

Tannehill nodded in acceptance.

[Author's Note: Hopefully the characters won't be too drunk for the denouement.  Today's edition is 1394 words.  The running total is 49433 (so close!).]