Private Investigator – Chapter 15
Frank Francis is a private detective. A private eye. A private dick.
Chapter 15 – I’ll Never Be The Same
Albert & I were speeding toward St. Charles Memorial Hospital. Albert was driving and glaring at me at every red light.
“She wouldn’t be in the hospital if it wasn’t for you.”
“That remains to be seen.”
Olivia St. John, head of the Dorsey Gang, had been run off the road by the Jewish mafia after I sort of maybe told mob head Yusev Schmiel that she was to blame for their poisoned race horses and substantial loss of business. Some say I fabricated completely, but I like to think I merely bent the truth. Like a truth banana.
“I didn’t even know you still felt for the dame, Al,” I wheezed, as we raced through the darkened halls toward her room. Hospital shoulda paid its electricity bill.
“It’s possible to care for human life, even if you don’t necessarily care for the person, boss.”
“Well, you’re a better man than I, Al.”
“Yes, I know I am. Thank you.”
“You could at least feign a little humility.”
Albert stopped me short as the last light at the end of the hall went out. I thought he was trying to cop a feel of my bosom. Couldn’t blame the guy. Over the holidays, I’d let myself go a bit and I was noticeably more buxom than usual.
“The Jewish mob is here. They cut the power.”
We rushed into Olivia’s room and had a shotgun shoved in our fat gobs until we hit the ground in cowering fear (maybe that was just me) and heard Olivia weakly mutter, “Friends, Waluigi. Friends.”
St. John’s Italian-Bulgarian henchman Waluigi Bogostoni lowered his cannon and eyed us cagily. Olivia was slung up with her arm in a cast, one leg in a splint and a dark black eye. “Did you do this, Detective?”
I took my hat off and gripped it sheepishly, staring at the linoleum floor. “I believe that was the Schmiels’ handiwork, Ms. St. John.”
“But you pointed them in my direction.”
“Well, I–” I trailed off here, hoping someone would interrupt me or change the subject. Something about the weather or those goofballs in Congress. Finally Albert spoke up; but not after letting my stewing silence hang in the air like a stale wet fart, which I had also emitted during the aforementioned silence, adding to the general awkwardness of the whole situation.
“The Schmiels cut the power. They’re here to finish the job.”
“Go talk to them,” Olivia ordered me. “Tell them I’m not out to get them.”
“But you are, kinda.”
Albert pulled a pistol out of the back of his pants. “I don’t really think they’re in a talking mood anymore, Liv.”
Albert & Waluigi nodded and headed out into the hallway for a firefight. I sat down next to Olivia’s hospital bed and she scowled at me. “Aren’t you going to help your friend?”
“We’re not friends.”
“Not me, you idiot. Albert.”
I heard an eruption of gunfire and screaming erupt outside the door. “I think he’s got a hold of it.”
A Schmiel henchman burst through the door, showered in blood and reached a hand up toward us before collapsing and bleeding out. I averted my eyes and cleared my throat, “So, how about those goofballs in Congress?”
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