in Blog, Lit, Serial Fiction 12:24 am Monday, October 15th, 2007

“Death On The Breeze”
A Danny Stark Mystery
by James Walling

 

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11

Danny hefted the phone into the air as if to smash it to bits against the doorframe, but thought better of it. He froze in mid-swing, collected himself, and replaced the receiver into the cradle on the off chance that the mysterious woman decided to call back.

An hour later, at the sheriff’s office, an obscenely overweight Officer José Poveda explained to Danny and Jillian in a voice full of unconcern that 24 hours would have to elapse before they could file a missing persons report.

Danny snorted in disgust at the news.

“What’s that, Stark?” Poveda asked from behind his battered desk. He’d never liked Danny, having always suspected that he was living on the wrong side of the law somehow. They ignored him and pushed through the doors at the end of the hall.

“Protect and serve…” Danny muttered under his breath as he and Jillian stalked toward the exit.

“Never mind extenuating circumstances,” Danny said angrily as they reached the truck. “And the fact that he’s been missing since yesterday afternoon.”

Jillian unlocked the doors. “Fella didn’t seem too anxious to help,” she said as she climbed into the cab.

“You know, you might have something there.”

Danny hadn’t expected much from Clark County’s finest. Running to the cops had been Jillian’s idea. Without speaking on it further, they headed back to the garage, where Angie had stationed herself by the phone, just in case.

It was close to midnight when they arrived. “There’s no news,” Danny said wearily to Angie as they entered the apartment. “You might as well head home.”

“Yeah, right,” Angie spit in response. “Besides, I brought the price of admission.” She pulled her father’s CB radio from an old sack at her feet and held it aloft.

Danny, who was as yet unenlightened by the nonverbal gesture, frowned skeptically.

“Calling all cars, calling all cars,” Angie barked, holding the dead receiver up to her mouth.

Now Danny understood, though it took all his patience not to belittle her sense of humor.

“I pulled it off Daddy’s truck,” she said. “It’s broke anyways. But if you want to take a crack at mending it, we could scan the emergency frequencies for news.”

Danny nodded. At least it will give us something to do, he thought to himself. He led the way into the main shop, pausing briefly to switch on the overhead lights for the girls’ convenience.

Danny found a soldering kit, an old boom box, a roll of electrical wire and a small tool kit. As he futzed with the radio, the girls chatted.

Jillian and Angie knew each other’s families, but in all the chaos of Bean’s disappearance, they hadn’t yet been properly introduced.

“So, you Danny’s latest flame?” Angie asked boldly, after some obligatory small talk.

Jillian was nonplussed. Hey eyes widened and she stepped toward the younger girl. “He have a lot of those?” she asked incredulously. “Flames, I mean? You make it sound about as unusual as a cloudy day in May.”

“Behave yourself, Angie,” Danny growled, pausing in the middle of a delicate action with a small torch.

Angie smiled broadly at Jillian. “I’m teasing,” she said warmly. “Not too many decent women around here for good ol’ Danny to choose from.” She looked over at where Danny was stripping the end of a wire with a pair of pliers and then glanced back at Jillian with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Seems like a waste, don’t it?” she said with a wink.

“And what does that make you,” Jillian queried, acidly, “good ol’ Danny’s Gal Friday?”

Angie didn’t answer.

Danny broke the tension by switching on the radio and flooding the garage with static. “That’s better,” he said in a tone of mingled sarcasm and satisfaction. “Let’s see if we can pick anything up.”

After twisting the dial clockwise for several turns they picked up a trucker’s call sign, and Angie hurried over to the receiver so she could display her mastery of the lingo. Danny cut her off quickly, and they carried the repaired receiver back into the apartment.

They twisted the dial until they caught what sounded like a police dispatch in contact with a patrol car somewhere in Amboy. Excitedly, the three of them settled in before the fire and listened to the periodic smattering of orders and requests.

Pretty soon, the novelty wore off and the futility of the situation began to set in. Danny stoked the fire and made up a makeshift bed on the couch for Angie. Jillian made a supreme effort to stay up with Danny as he paced the floor, listening intently for anything of interest, but before long she was yawning and sighing and finally snoozing away on top of the covers on the bed. Danny covered her with a shawl and fixed himself a scotch.

A snatch of poetry came to mind as he took a slow swallow of Talisker. He padded over to a bookshelf and pulled out a thin volume of Emily Dickinson. He ran his fingers lovingly over the Braille and read,

After great pain, a formal feeling comes—
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs—
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?
The Feet, mechanical, go round—
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought—
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone—

This is the Hour of Lead—
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow—
First—Chill—then Stupor—then the letting go—

He hoped there wouldn’t be any “great pain” tonight. He’d lost one friend already, and he knew that if he lost another one, a friend he had thrown into harm’s way by behaving recklessly… well, he thought to himself bitterly, that might bring on something more than “a formal feeling.”

The night wore on. Danny passed the time drinking scotch and listening to the CB. The snippets of talk became less and less frequent, until finally there was nothing to listen to but the breaking waves of quite static. He switched to water and found a crusty end of bread to gnaw on.

He stepped to the window and felt the light of dawn on his face. Angie stirred on the couch and he turned to hush her. She rubbed her eyes and whispered, “Any news?”

Danny shook his head.

Angie shuffled off to the bathroom and then came back in to take her leave.

“I better check in with Daddy,” she said. “Should I take the truck?”

“You do that,” Danny said. “We’ve got Jillian’s car. If anything turns up, I’ll call.”

She pecked Danny on the cheek and headed out toward the front of the shop.

Danny paused to soak in the morning sunlight and then made his way over to add more wood to the fire. He heard Angie close the front door and lock it behind her. And then he heard a full-throated scream.

“Daaanny!” Angie wailed in an unrecognizable voice.

He leapt to his feet and sprinted for the door. Jillian sat up with a start.

“What the—“ she began, but Danny was gone.

He burst through the door and focused all his attention on listening.

“Bean,” Angie muttered in a shaky voice a few feet away, “Bean, can you hear me?”

Danny vaulted to where Angie lay kneeled over Bean’s crumpled body. He laid his hand on Bean’s midriff and felt his chest rise slowly and steadily. He let out a sigh of relief and scooped the boy up in his arms. He seemed to be unconscious, but at least he was alive.

Jillian came through the door at a rush and held it open for Danny, who seemed about to run back inside with Bean’s inert body. Coming to his senses, he stopped at the threshold and whirled around.

“Jillian,” he said firmly, “get your car keys and a blanket. Hurry!”

Jillian was back in seconds unlocking the back door to her Volvo wagon and holding it open. Danny and Angie muscled Bean into the back seat and covered him up to the chin with the blanket.

Jillian fired up the engine, and Danny jumped into the back with Bean. Angie was rushing around to the passenger door, but Danny stopped her.

“Get back inside,” he cried frantically. “Call 911 and let them know we’re coming. And Angie,” he shouted, so that he was sure that she heard him, “lock the fucking door behind you!”