JiNGLE NELLE, JiNGLE NELLE ~ By Absolutely*Kate of Harbinger*33

"COP A SEAT. I'LL BE RIGHT WITH YA."  ~  superb shadows ala emdot 

JiNGLE NELLE

JiNGLE NELLE

~ by Absolutely*Kate

You didn't just get an off-white vellum invitation with the fancy schmancy deckled edges to come deck the halls with the hoity toity high hats at Fortunato's Supper Club slipped under your doorway, y'know. I needed to be minglin' and jinglin' like I belonged at that ritzy bash on Tonawanda Street come Christmas Eve night or someone I didn't want to was gonna get hurt. Real bad hurt. The kind that don't leave no shadows no more.

So I had to call in all the markers on all the darb tricks I could trade of any hustled angle to be made. I'm Nelle, Nelle Callahan, gal gumshoe of some gumption, some say.  Me? I don't say as much as some do, but what I do do is work all the angles til their more prominent points stick sharp in my noggin. That's when a crime scene unfolds itself keen, and the coppers can pitch their pinch. Man oh man, this time though, I had to be slick. Slick and quick. Word warbled from the Canary last night, was a hit was coming down smack dab in the midnight rendition of "Oh Holy Night". Cripes. A Holy Nativity execution. Joseph, Mary and Jesus, what'll they think up next?

Doesn't take three wise guys with half a starring brain to figger the sacrilege a few extra Garbinos nosing around this gritty city without pity by the bay have stunk up lately. It all started at the Flamingo -- yeah, the Vegas dream, the cha-ching, cha-ching, but that's a long story and I only got a short span. Lemme make some calls. Cop a seat. I'll get back to you.

~ ~ ~   ~ ~ ~

"RING-A-DING-DING" pic ala Trace Meek

"Lena's the headliner? Really? You're not gaming my gam? That star siren is gonna croon "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?" during the last surf and turf seating? Yeah, sure Benny, I can do backup. I soitently can. Stuff your chucklin' Ben, I can do sultry, I can! You just haven't been in spiffy joints at the most fortuitous times to feel my sultry coming on. But it can. Oh, it does."

With a chuckle gone guffaw, "Well then dollface, you got yourself a gig. Be there at 7 square and you're in like Jake."

A jangled groan dangled the end of the phone. Benny imagined the shatter-clatter heard next to be Nelle's cup o'joe going saucer/cup over the edge. Shame if the dame marred up that old mahogany desk any more. That piece was heirloom, priceless. If the drawers could mumble. But that numbskull of an ex-partner Jake shook this dame bad tryin' to shake her down. Detectives shouldn't oughta get shook. Nope, not by a long shot in Benny's book. That's why he kept an extra eye or four peeled on the lookout for her. He'd promised her Pop in the old days at the precinct, and the old days were always somethin' to hold onto, somethin' to respect. "Whoa there Nelly girl. Sorry. Didn't mean to say his name. Shake it off kid," Benny gruffed, but not all that rough. "You ain't got no lollygagging time." 

~ ~ ~   ~ ~ ~

SWANKY TIME! ~ Pic ala JCarbaugh

Amazing what tinsel can do to a toddling town.  Up, down, all around ~  shiny, sparkly and jolly as promises waiting to jingle, the swanky ballroom at the Fortunato Supper Club was hollied to the hilt with silver and gilt. There was no guilt backstage where Nelle jiggled body parts to fit her bodice part where jingly rhinestones would shake their shimmy like Lena's sister Kate showed her. She'd sultry her part behind the songbird. Piece o'crumb cake. But now, here . . . silver shimmeries all adjusted, she had the advantage of  real solid vantage from stage door left. Heavens to Murgatroyd -- from behind gold fringe of the red velvet curtain she could eyeball the real floor show setting up now . . . Her mind met her suspects ~

There. That's Jack Rhinegold. Fresh and frisky outta San Quen. Hell on a pistol up close and personal, and rumour smirks it -- at fifty paces cold. Could be him leanin' his leer into that chorusline cutie's cleavage. Could be. Or the button could be the money guy. They always surmise where to bury the bodies so as not to mess up the manicure. Word had it the big cheese could be one of Lansky's boys. He'd surely have the means. Watch his eyes Nelle. Read his play-by-play. 'Member how Pop taught ya, "The eyes show their truths and spit their lies." Ain't it the truth. Best to keep my peepers on this creeper's.

WAIT! Holy Cow! Who's the dandy comin' down Fortunato's red and green spiffed staircase now? Arm in arm with a Sheba wannabe all winter-whited in fake fur and sparky zircon. Well, well, well, if it isn't my jerk Jake, bein' jostled by none other than the new thug in town. The youngest Garbino boy. Danny. Brains behind the operation if they'd only give him the chance. Danger lurking if he took it. A two-timer and a doubletimer. Hmmm, it was all addin' up.

"NELLE! D'ya hear me? We're ON!"

~ ~ ~   ~ ~ ~

Hangin' back with Lena's sister Kate, backslinging backup croons to holiday tunes, the view lookin' over the togged-to-the bricks hoofers was in the groove, swell. I scanned for my man, the mark of the hour. "All is calm, all is bright", I warbled tender, soft and mild. Then I saw him. The man I knew as a child. My brother. No other. State legislator Patrick R. Callahan gladhanding from the corner table, near the bar. Pat had parted ways with Pop when he'd gone too political. Groping fingers in too many pockets was bound to not get a guy the heartiest of handshakes. And that kinda reaching out irked a mob not fondly meddled into. This not-so-silent night was waitin' to happen.
 
What I didn't expect to happen was the single strap fall down  from Lena's knockout jet black gown. One note too high, one arm too flung and there her left breast barely hung. Jostling fellers in the front row to rich rubes three rows back rose to the unappreciation of their dates for eagle-eye ogling. Kate lost no bum's rush in elbowing the push to step me up to the open mike. You had to do these things in my line of undercover work. Tight spots come even under shining spots. Shows must go on. That's just how the biz is. 

Trixie, my silver derringer, was still pressed tight to my derriere. Amazing what a glitzy swathe of garland can do to protect a hip gal around her holidays. I nodded to Joey the jazzy bandleader, found the next note, carried on the tune. It was clearly comin' on midnight high and I wasn't yet sure how this scene was going to shake down, or who I'd have to take down. Best to keep my peepers peeled. Something would be revealed. Somethings usually are. 

THERE! His chair squeaked mean motion to sudden commotion, as he drew his heater right on our "dear saviour's" cue: "Long lay the world in sin and error pining". Yeah, it was Lansky's guy and I glared him in the eye, clutching the best weapon I already had in the clutch. The open mike's reverb revved as I screeched, "WATCH OUT BAD GUY! SANTA DON'T LIKE NO POLITICIANS BUMPED OFF IN MY ACT!"

The stunned shooter turned to the stage. God I could see his rage. So I turned up the volume and vamped, "YOU BETTER WATCH OUT ~ YOU BETTER NOT POUT ~ ~ " Joey caught my drift, winked and brought in the band with a whole new rift. Sammy backstage reangled his audience spot. What a mess. This was gonna be no clean getaway.   
 
In the center of the white damask round tables there arose such a clatter when Chief Gus Donovan knocked over Mrs D's chicken divan platter, standing up, the better to see what was the matter. Without hesitation, he signaled his boys in blue in back. My big brother meanwhile, shunned the courage he'd always lacked. He tabled his decision to stand tall and dove under his damask.

~ ~ ~   ~ ~ ~

The jig was up. I remember Joey, wrappin' the night with a wicked rendition of "Jingle Bell Rock". On a Fortunato matchbook, he slipped me his number, but heck, I already had Joey's number. I remember Jake, leavin' his Suzy starlet babe sputterin', comin' up and comin' on to me with that same simmer-steam to his old blue eyes, actin' surprised. "That really You Nelle? Silver shimmers curve you crazy Callahan. Y'know, I've been meaning to call and -- "

Jake was cut off for a hundred number of reasons I won't go into to keep the Christ in Christmas when the hand on my back turned me firmly around. And I remember Patrick, standing there -- tall, lean, but quaking much too much in his hotsy totsy white wingtips to appear any more, threatening or mean. "Uh, Sis, I owe you one."
 
"No Paddie, we're square. That one was to remember Pop. You have yourself a merry little Christmas. Hear?"
 
And I heard him exclaim, as I sashayed outta sight, "You haven't heard the last of me Nelle -- No, no, not tonight!"

~ ~ ~   ~ ~ ~

 T O   B E   C O N T I N U E D   ?

Well ain't that the way crime goes? Some folks win, some have woes. Some shadowy street not named Desire, I'm imaginin' you and me are gonna meet up again. We'll see how that goes. Til then, I'm Nelle, Nelle Callahan, wishin' you a merry little Christmas too.

(c) 2010 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate

Damp Fedora classic pic ala Bryan Costin 
 

 MORE NELLE,

as she whispers

to Absolutely*Kate

@ 

The Damp Fedora

  

The Will's The Way

The Chocolate Pearl
 

Turkish Delight Gone Sour 

  

 

Absolutely*Kate is writer, designer and promoter/publisher of the to be sailing HARBINGER*33, and creates theatre for the mind AT THE BIJOU ~ where writers' raves become readers' faves. She believes in believers, the magic 'neath the shadows of noir and moxie. 

The world needs more moxie.

* * *

THE GREAT-8 CRIME FOLKS OVER AT DO SOME DAMAGE CHALLENGED ~ CRIME NOIR ON CHRISTMAS. THEY GOT REAL GOOD SHADOWING DANGEROUS TOUGH STUFF GOIN' ON OVER THERE -- CHECK 'EM OUT WILL YA?

THIS, WAS MY HUMBLE OFFERING . . . WELL, NELLE DID ALL THE TOUGH WORK. I JUST LISTENED. HAPPY*CHRISTMAS EVERYONE ~ *JOY* BE YOU.

~ Absolutely*Kate

 

TURKISH DELIGHT GONE SOUR ~ By Absolutely*Kate of Harbinger*33 {#Flash Fiction Noir}

TURKISH DELIGHT GONE SOUR

~ By Absolutely*Kate

As gleaned from the files of
Detective Nelle Callahan

Our tale of two trenches counter the origins of a rare gem at the battered cream counter of Magrudy's Hill o'Beans. Best cup o'joe a dark rainy night can brew. You can sip along with the links below ... but steer clear when the action heats up. You wouldn't want to get in the way. I've warned you.

The ring seems to be the thing in ~

"THE CHOCOLATE PEARL"

Off mean streets to a good cup o'joe saunters Nelle & Harry ~ 

"THE WILL'S THE WAY"

 

A pounding rain washed in a Tom, Dick or Harry with  ~ 

"THE DAMP FEDORA"

 

Earlier Intro to NELLE skims silver shadows in ~

"GOT NOIR"? 

      

"The Chocolate Pearl is RARE Nelle! That's why you've never heard of it."

"Sure, sure Harry-today. That's what they all say. One in a million. Ain't none like it nowhere else, hunh?"

"Good deducing, Lady Gumshoe. And what's this Harry-today rubbish?"

 

"C'mon.You on the up and up with all this? A sultan and a bequest and a heisted carved chest on the swisheroo in the Silk Market? All to get to your missing mother's missing ring. Sounds pretty chic sheik to me Ali Baba Boy. And who knows who you really are. I'm bettin' the pie and coffee tab you pulled Harry outta your hat, Fedora Man."

 

"Nelle doggone it ~ hear me out and take it in. You'll see. I'm telling you -- you'll see."

"That's what concerns me Big Boy. The way your spiel spills. It's sloppy. You got gaps a Duesenberg could drive circles through."

 

KAGoldberg photo

Chuckling into a low rumble gaining high steam, one eye peeled towards a potential peal from the little silver bell above the oak framed door, Albert DeFonse Magrudy topped off their white porcelain mugs with more strong joe and more soft thoughtfulness than he usually poured. No saucer splash. No side dribble slosh. "Either of you ever hear of the Spoonmaker's Diamond?"

 

"Jeepers creepers! Is everyone dishin' exotic sparkle-tales today? Go ahead Albie, spin your fine fable -- and then will you tell me why you're heating up that greasy ol' frying pan so much? You got the jitters or d'you forget what goes into a new recipe you wanta try out for the ritzy swanks? Ain't any ham and egg orders around here. No takers on the stools but us and Newspaper Guy over there, still rattling his attitude back in the booth. He's sippin', he's thinkin', but he ain't chompin' on nuttin' far as I can tell."

 

"Settle down Nelle will ya? I'm the client here. You're the one whose role is to be eager to hear. Now I'd like to hear what our fine purveyor of excellent percolation has to say. I'll wager HE believes my story."

 

Albert visibly preened.

Nelle audibly groaned. "Sheeeesh. Boys will be boys will be boys. You'd think testosterone would get tangled the way you menfolk trip over seconding each other's motions. Alright, alright already! Both you wisecracking bums stir me up the Diamond Spoon story and then bring on the Chocolate Pearl chaser and we'll either have dessert or the fundamentals of a trail to finally follow."

 

 Timely appliance photo ala Jason Kolodny

The battered yellow Philco which gave valour to the kitchen ledge at The Hill of Beans for the last seventeen years kicked in: "Somewhere there's music. How faint the tune. Somewhere there's heaven. How high the moon. There is no moon about when love is far away too." 

 

Albie kicked in. Harry-today leaned his elbows in on the cream counter tiles, without a concern for the meringue mess that had missed his pie hole earlier.

"His love was far away  . . . She was beautiful, in the eyes of his heart, in the roaming eyes of Istanbul. The young maiden Ozel had been taken away with her merchant family when the silk caravan made its usual route along the Meander River into Pamukkale. He knew she'd be back. Sugar, spice and everything nice was for far more than just a cup of chai. He had to catch her eye, show his worth when she returned."

Nelle realized she was succumbing as well to the web of the weave Uncle Albie's tapestries of facted fiction usually told. Sighing, easing into what a good mesmerization does for mood and moment, she lingered a look beneath Maybellined lashes on this Clyde dubbing himself a Harry. Good gosh, he's eating this up. A tough guy for soft tales. Maybe the mother ring rings true. Chocolate pearl, huh? Mystery, history and missing once again. Guess I really am gonna have to look into this.


Albert knew how to hold an audience without even clenching a weathered palm, the same way he understood the grounds of the secret for concocting the best cup of joe a dark rainy night could brew. And Albert knew when trouble was struttin' its stuff up a dark rainy street too. But for now, there were these two. A guy with a mug vaguely familiar needing his niece with a nose for what was on the up and up and how to shake the shadows to find out. The clock on the wall was ticking, but a story is a story is a story and this one was on the tell ~
 

"His name, Harry? Coskun. It meant 'enthusiasm', and a poor man with a beautiful woman on the brain certainly has it, doesn't he? He let his spirit manifest his desire. Walking by the rubbish heap of Egrikapi a glimmer caught our canny Coskun's eye. He reached in, dug around and pulled out a large pretty stone. A very pretty stone indeed. One that rendered the deal of the day. Coskun bartered one of the most magnificent diamonds Turkey or the world had ever seen through all of antiquity, to the local spoonmaker for three of his most finely crafted wooden spoons."
 
"That's it? Three lousy spoons? How's a guy gonna charm a dame he has the hots for with spoons?"
 
Nelle laughed. "Maybe he'll open a kebab restaurant Har. Serve the sultan something bold beyond the pale and be pulled into cozy cuisine duty at Topkapi Palace. He'll get the girl along the way since this magic carpet rides to delicious success. Imagine that hue of  happily-ever-after with sunrises over the Bosporous. Pretty heady stuff. Next thing you know, they up the ante and go into caravan cahoots to smuggle chocolate pearl rings -- " 
 
"Put a lid on it Nelle. I want to hear the rest of the story. Mr Magrudy, pay no attention to my tin pan alley detective making up the tangle of her own mazes. Will you kindly continue?"  
 
He glared.
She winked. Slow. She hoped it drove him a little crazy. He was gettin' to her and she needed to stay sharp. Somethin' didn't seem on the up and up all of a sudden --
 
The bell didn't ring twice or even once when the Hill of Bean's door splinter-smashed open. It didn't have a chance. The hoodlum with a hand on the handle meant business. And from the huff to his hustle, he meant it quick. Real quick. Danger in the gut quick. The feller in the back booth with the newspaper about the baseball player done in by a deranged female fan? Hell, he headed for the men's room in nothing flat. Albert's Turkish delight tale had lost its tempo and its timing. The hour had gone sour. 
 
Making his way straight away to the little man behind the big counter, Tough Guy patted his chest and rasped a chuckle the way diabolical sounds when it thinks its holdin' all the cards in a loaded deck, "Got a message to deliver Alb. You stir the street up against payin' protection like everyone is s'posed to 'round here, youse gotta pay anudder price. A higher price. A learn-a-lesson price. So how you want it? Out here in front of the local joe and pie loiterers or do we take our business out back?" 
 
Harry wasn't a man who liked a story interrupted. Especially a story that he could tell was going to substantiate his story. Well sure, he figured Albert was doling liberties with his delivery, but he fully expected the further story of the Spoonmaker's Diamond to wend its way back to his own Chocolate Pearl's mystery of history.This dope duping the coffee man was in the way. He reached for his pocket bulge.
 
Tough Guy had absolutely no time for pocket graspers slowing the purpose of his purpose. One sharp retort from an instinctive knack with a flair-handled Python knocked the dripping trench's snub nosed pistol clean and spinning dizzy on the floorboards with powder burns and epithets stinking up the air. He kicked the gun clear and bonked the bent-over bozo on the back of the noggin. Hard.   


Nelle nailed the shooter deftly with her Colt DS, Detective's Special. "Right in the jewels. Story that gem boys," she smirked, as Albert let the sizzling grease of his fry pan plan fly. Welts and wails, wails and welts indicated the cringing mass of hired gun was now a seriously marked man. "This one's not so hard-boiled anymore, is he Albie? We're gonna have to put the skids under him though."

Leaning over the other sprawl on the floor, the one with a dampened fedora, a crushed spirit and an inherited treasure to refind, the one going by the moniker of Harry on a cold rainy night, she hissed into a whisper, softened by her eyes "Don't ever pull out your heater unless you're prepared to use your heater. You got that?"

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

 Stay Tuned. 

There'll be more.

 

There's always more
brewing than a Hill o'Beans  

when trouble's on the scene

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

I'm Detective Nelle Callahan.

I've met some of you before and no doubt I'll run a once-over on some of youse when we meet up on some dark rendezvous that spooks or sparks a soul. But for now I gotta case -- and a dead guy and a welted guy and something to find, as well as finding out why I should be finding it. I'll keep you posted ... You take care now. Don't take any wooden nickels, hear?

(c) 2010 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate

Earlier Intro to NELLE appears in "GOT NOIR"? 

This case started off with  ~ "THE DAMP FEDORA"

Off mean streets sauntered Nelle & Harry ~
"THE WILL'S THE WAY"

What's the man who may be Harry after?

"THE CHOCOLATE PEARL"

 

 

*AT THE BIJOU* 

WRITERS' RAVES FOR READERS' FAVES

 

THE CHOCOLATE PEARL ~ By Absolutely*Kate (channelling Nelle) ... { #Flash Fiction au Noir }

THE CHOCOLATE PEARL

~ By Absolutely*Kate

as gleaned from Detective Nelle Callahan

Our tale of two trenches counter what they came for (or what they're after) at the battered cream counter of Magrudy's Hill o'Beans. Best cup o'joe a dark rainy night can brew. Sip that one with the link below ... but then run, skip or jump back  into your swivel stool. This is gettin' good. The guy's about to spill the beans what he's all about. Should we believe him?

Off mean streets to a good cup o'joe saunters Nelle & Harry ~ 

"THE WILL'S THE WAY"

 

A pounding rain washed in a Tom, Dick or Harry with   ~ 

"THE DAMP FEDORA"

 

Earlier Intro to NELLE skims silver shadows in ~ "GOT NOIR"? 

I watched him closer than it looked like I was watching him. Of course one eye darted over to Newspaper Guy in the back booth every now and then. He was still awfully mesmerized in the story about the dead baseball player. Eddie Waitkus of the Phillies shot in Chicago by a deranged lady fan. He won't round third no more. You could hear this guy's pages rattle. Unless that was his noives. And then there was Uncle Albie shaking his large black fry pan over his back burners so profusely. With no bacon and eggs orders up, this was grilling me a little around the edges too. But I listened. I listened to this guy with the damp fedora who claimed (for now) he was no Tom or Dick but preferred to be monikered as a Harry, and claimed he had a beef about a will. A will he and his dead lawyer couldn't readily get their hands on to handle. Paperwork's a bitch I tell ya. Yeah, I listened. And I watched.

Wonder if anyone ever told him what a tell that left eyebrow quirk is. Brown eyes, the kind that go way back deep. He clenches too. Almost imperceptible around the jaw but I percepted it. It's whenever he mentions . . . her ~

"My mother was not a normal mother as mothers go. We saw her come and we saw her go."

"Dances? Parties? That sort of fling?"

"Heavier on the fling." He pulled a deck of Luckies out of his inside front pocket. I saw what else was in there. This guy thought he was full of surprises or wanted me to think I thought so. Not that easy Bub, not that easy. He offered me one but I still had a good cup o'joe to be loyal to. I declined. Kept interrogation goin' friendly like though. After all, this guy had more than lemon pie to chew.
 
"So, to your Pop - she  wasn't always true?"
 
"My father could've been her father. I imagine she wanted more of a life than settling in to what cushes a pampered wife."
 
"Vibrant is as vibrant does. You talk about it much? You have brothers? Sisters? And what's this got to do with a bumped off family retainer and accepting your inheritance, Har? I can call you Har, right?" 

I was right. Humpty Dumpty had to put his face back together quick when he forgot to respond to what his claim to name was.  And here I was thinkin' this fella had it on the ball. What's his story? Everyone has a story. That's why I'm listening. Even over Albie's smoke screen. Something's up. Something always is. 


I'm Nelle Callahan and I sense trouble before it has a chance to follow me through a darkened doorway. That's how I knew about my former squeeze yet current business partner Jake, that bum. Last month at Hooligans, he chatted up a chirpy with less in the noggin' than a bird brain and let the feathers fly. Something too forward about how she fluttered cleavage up against his chest for an extra half hour gave her jig away. It wasn't too pretty how I responded. Jake came back with my bourbon and rye. I got up, socked him in the eye and sat back down. Life's tough enough then to go wasting the best swigs of a good drink. Besides I had to think. Wasn't easy over Jake's muttering and sputtering. Protestations are seldom quiet things when you're the one holding the keys to all our client files. But enough about that. This supposed Harry is still flapping his jaw. 

"So I said to the guy, What's the grift? There was something hinky in how he spilled his spiel. "

"Wait -- what guy?"

"I'm paying you to pay attention Callahan. The guy who called and said he had my mother's ring. The Chocolate Pearl."

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

 Stay Tuned. 

There'll be more.

 

There's always more
brewing than a Hill o'Beans 

when trouble's on the scene

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

I'm Detective Nelle Callahan.

I've met some of you before and no doubt I'll run a lookover on some of youse when we meet up some dark rendezvous that spooks or sparks a soul. But for now I gotta case -- and a dead guy and something to find, as well as finding out why I should be finding it. I'll keep you posted ... You take care now. Don't take any wooden nickels, hear?

(c) 2010 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate

graced by Laobing, KAGoldberg and Joel Emberson photos

Earlier Intro to NELLE appears in "GOT NOIR"? 

This case started off with  ~ "THE DAMP FEDORA"

Off mean streets sauntered Nelle & Harry ~
"THE WILL'S THE WAY"

 

*AT THE BIJOU* 

WRITERS' RAVES FOR READERS' FAVES

Happy Hot Birthday

Raymond Chandler!

 ~ Love,

Absolutely*Kate

and Nelle

 

THE WILL'S THE WAY ~ #Fiction on the Flash

THE WILL'S THE WAY

~ By Absolutely*Kate,

as gleaned from Detective Nelle Callahan

As we look back into our tale of two trenches trudging a tough night, the rain-washed streets are easing some pain-washed minds. So it seems, well, so it seems. It's not always as it seems, as they say. But it seems so here, on this street . . . on this night, doesn't it?

We left off with the telling of  ~ "THE DAMP FEDORA"

Earlier Intro to NELLE appears in ~ "GOT NOIR"? 

 

"Mean streets, Callahan? But aren't mean streets just yesterday's versions of chivalric forests? We all have to travel them. Immerse oneself in the destructive elements and become tougher, finer, more aware of what the world is handing out, dealing down. Sometimes the dealing's dirty. Sometimes it's aces up.  We travel them, the mean streets and bewildering forests to find where we're headed ourselves," reflectively sighed the tall man under a dampened fedora, pausing the tower of his shadow in what light flickered beneath an aging grey lamp post, to pull his deck, light his Lucky. His gaze took all the perimeters in. This was not a streetcorner of optimum desire. "Uh, it is Miss Callahan?"

 
"Interesting take there Mr Harry. You're a tough guy with a lotta learnin' under that soggy fedora. And yes. No miss on Miss. Proud of skirting some slippery slides down some pitfalls in matrimonial affairs. There are collisions that stop your heart and there are long lonesome highway crashes of the bad road variety. Why am I telling you this Buster? You're a guy who's been around, seen his way through forests and mean streets, and seems to be able to string together words with more than two syllables. There are days that's actually remarkable to come across in my line of work. Now, about this finding something you're looking for -- "
 
The 1949 dark DeSoto skidded in the puddle off the curb of the confab of the detective and her new client, a tall man itching, but quietly so, with something to tell, who preferred to be hailed by the moniker of Harry for the time being. No tellin' yet who he really was, how close he carried his story. No time to read those pages right now. An arm which meant business took a shot in the dark to stage a near miss near the Miss. No mistaking that miss. Warnings seldom are. Nelle stepped into the street, stooped low and plucked a slug from a 45 still spinning against the curb as the car spun speedy its getaway. No plates. She'd bet a berry it was a bent car on the lam. Looked like three goons with all the shoulders attached within.

"Friends of yours Callahan?"

"I've made a few along my way. Howzabout you? Anyone know of all the dick joints on all the streets in all the world you were gonna walk into mine tonight?"

"I was possibly pondering that point myself Nelle. I can call you Nelle now, right? We've just had our first share of lead squirt our way. In places like Bolivia that's as bonding as riffling romance. And, could this be our coffee shop?"

"Sure, sure, you got the right to call me Nelle, Wise Guy. Yep. This is it, Hill o'Beans. Best cup o'joe a dark rainy night can brew. You'll see. I like my coffee. Gives me pause to ruminate. You ruminate a lot instead of just bumping gums, don't you Harry?"
 
Albert DeFonse Magrudy heard the little silver bell tinkle yet again above the doorway where he brewed the best beans this town had ever sipped. Despite the drench of trenches creating new rivulets in his tired linoleum under the Hill o'Beans'  coat tree, he smiled up large when he realized it was Nelle. Never a dull encounter when Nelle was at the counter. This fellow with her though - some little tick at the back of his mind told him he'd seen him before. Couldn't place where. Couldn't place when. It'd come to him though. It always did. He ambled over, spiffing up the pale blue apron he favoured as the couple settled into their swivel stools.
  
"What's it all about Albie? World treating you jake?" As soon as she'd shot her customary greeting  to her customary coffee guy, Nelle winced at the stab even saying 'jake' still jabbed. The tall man who'd kept his damp fedora in place noticed. The coffee man with the twinkle to his eye and the jut to his chin noticed the notice.
  
"Same new same new Miss Nelle. Life be what you brew. And you?", with a glance to the fellow still giving him the once over under the soppy brim, "What's it for you Bub?"
  
"Cup o'your strongest and a piece of lemon pie. I like my pie when I take my time to talk to a delicious dame."

Nelle tugged a few tangles of damp tresses out of the back of her collar and mocked a Get-this-guy glance with ol' Albert. Swiveling into the now smug smile of the man still going by the moniker of Harry, she visibly relaxed into the familiar aromas of a fresh brew and an old strain -- Frankie Lane's Mule Train finishing up on the yellow Philco behind the battered counter. A good place to start in ~

"Why the smug smile? What d'you need me to find that a smart fellow like you can't find, that the cops can't find? Huh Harry?"

"Smile's cause I like your style. You don't flinch much. Knowing that comes in handy should I ever need a clear-thinker in a tight spot. You've known tight spots Callahan. You've come through."

"Fair enough. Now, what is it that you've lost or misplaced or cheesed in the wrong nook of the wrong cupboard?"
 

Strong black coffee in white porcelain mugs with a pungent piece of lemon pie on a chipped blue plate slid before the two main attractions at the battered cream counter. Only other customer was that guy in the back booth with the newspaper who'd come in just before these two. Albert slipped back to some sorting of spoons and rattling of forks while he took the jib jab jive of their conversation in. No grifter or button man was going to pull a flimflam on his niece, and that's what this slick bruno seemed. Unless he proved otherwise.

"I didn't lose it. I just can't find it."

"Is it there? Does it exist?"

"I wouldn't have come rapping on your door, Miss Goody Gumshoe and be gulping black coffee with you now -- HEY, THIS IS GOOD -- if I didn't know it was indeed there -- real, true, solid."

"You gonna tell me what it is so's I can find it all the better?" Nelle sipped, watching his eyes. There was something about his eyes. She'd never seen them stay in one place for too long.

"It's a will."

"Will? Duck soup Harry. Eggs in the coffee. No offense Albie. Easy solution to your convolution. You just need to find a lawyer's door for your rapping,  not a detective's."

"I did."

"Why d'you need me then Harry?"

"I went to his office. I found him behind his desk. A Mr Gerald Dunnigan, Esquire. With two holes plugged where his Esquire used to be his yap was closed. This mouthpiece just wasn't talkin' Callahan."

Across the Hill o'Beans Coffee Shoppe, way back in the corner booth, sports pages rustled more than just the news that Philadelphia Phillies first baseman Eddie Waitkus was shot in Chicago by deranged fan Ruth Ann Steinhagen.

The radio switched to a new tune, Evelyn Knight warbling "A Little Bird Told Me" . . . 

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

 Stay Tuned. 

There'll be more.

 

There's always more
brewing than a Hill o'Beans 

when trouble's on the scene

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

I'm Detective Nelle Callahan.

I've met some of you before and no doubt I'll run a lookover on some of youse when we meet up some dark rendezvous that spooks or sparks a soul. But for now I gotta case -- and a dead guy and something to find, as well as finding out why I should be finding it. I'll keep you posted ... You take care now. Don't take any wooden nickels, hear?

(c) 2010 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate

graced by HippyDream, KAGoldberg and Joel Emberson photos

Earlier Intro to NELLE appears in "GOT NOIR"? 

This case started off with  ~ "THE DAMP FEDORA"

*AT THE BIJOU* 

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