The Past was Yesterday

A/N: Sorry for the long delay in updating, but I had so much happening in my life recently that I just didn’t find the time to sit down and write.

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I woke up late in the day. It was the first time in weeks I’d gotten a long-needed full night’s sleep and I felt copacetic After I’d washed and dressed quickly I ventured out into the hallway. The ever-watchful Bessie was already waiting for me.

“Good morning Mr. Dudek. Please let me show you to the breakfast room.”

I followed her downstairs into a different room from last night. It was decorated with white wood paneling, matching white furniture and a bright burgundy Persian rug. Like all the other rooms in Trentini’s house, this one was real ritzy. He certainly had the bees for it. Disappointed but not surprised I noticed the white marble table was set for one person only. After I’d sat down Bessie carried plate after plate of steaming goodies from the buffet to my table: wheat muffins, hot rolls, broiled fish, potato puffs, grilled tomatoes and omelet.  Although I’d stuffed myself at last night’s dinner, all of it looked so good I dug right in. Bessie poured me an enticingly hot cup of java and then pulled out an envelope out of her apron pocket.

“Mr. Trentini told me to give you this,” she said as she handed me the envelope.

I waited until she’d left the room then tore open the envelope. Four crisp centuries fell onto the table. 400 dollar that was a lot of dough. Did Trentini give me that much money out of pity or did he really think I was worth it? The envelope also held a piece of cream paper. At the top of the paper, I noticed the letters B. O’D. followed by an address. Presumably the good doctor’s residential address. At the bottom of the page was a Chestnut Hill telephone number with the words ‘eight o’clock’ written next to it. That was obviously Trentini’s number and he expected me to phone him in the evening. I would rather see him person, but it couldn’t be helped, if he only wanted contact by telephone. However, I would follow Trentini’s suggestion and start my search at O’Donnell’s place. So after I simply could not eat anymore, Bessie returned, and I had thanked her profoundly for the delicious breakfast I got ready to leave the house.

I stepped outside looking for a trolley I could catch to take me to O’Donnell’s residence. I wondered if I should visit Steven first. Although we stopped being lovers quite a while ago, we’d remained friends. He lived with his widowed mother in a small apartment and while I couldn’t bunk there, when I got chucked out of my apartment, I’d stashed a suitcase with some clothes at his place. I wasn’t too happy to wear my creased suit, which I’d worn last night. I felt like a rag-a-muffin and contemplated changing into something more on a par with working for Trentini.

A car honk interrupted my musings and a blue Jordan roadster drove up beside me.

“Hullo, hullo, Cibor!”

At first, I didn’t recognize the dishy girl waving at me. Then I got it. It was Coco La Lunette. When I’d seen her last she was a spiffy looking Sheba, now she looked like Colleen Moore in Flaming Youth - a young flapper. Her previously long hair was cut short in the omnipresent bob and she wore something fluttering and bright green. I’d pegged her to be about Trentini’s age when I first met her, now she looked no older than 18.

“Coco, what a nice surprise.”

I walked over to the driver’s side.

“Nice bucket,” I said admiring the car.

Coco shrugged her shoulders. “Unfortunately it’s not mine. It belongs to a friend. He’s a real darb. Can I give you a lift to anyplace?”

Why look a gift horse in the mouth I thought as I got in. I read off the address of the paper I got from Trentini.

"Ah." Coco lifted one pencil thin eyebrow, but made no further comment as we breezed of.

After a short while, we stopped in a street with larger than average row houses. They looked brand new and I vaguely remembered that there'd been some hush-up about the development of the allotment that included the mayor and the mob. Maybe Trentini had his elegant hands in this mud pie as well. I looked at Coco. She was a pretty good driver for a woman and she'd managed to get us to O'Donnell's house without incident.

"Do you know the place?" I asked her.

"Of course I do. Brian O'Donnell lives here. Trent and I visited him a couple of times. Bri's such a babe. I can’t understand why he wants to marry that dumb Dora Amanda. She's so dull. But what Trent wants, Trent usually gets."

"Trent wants O'Donnell to marry Miss Preston?"

"Yes he does. He likes his men-friends to be well looked after and Amanda's folks are quite well off. I remember seeing the pictures of her as a deb a few years ago. Her parents died last year and set up a handsome trust-fund for her." Coco pointed at the house in front of us. "After the marriage he’ll be able to afford his own big house with a proper doctor’s office and wouldn't have to work in the hospital anymore. He loves working with children and thinks that they deserve a calming environment to be treated in."

As I got out, I was still digesting what Coco had told me. Trentini and O’Donnell obviously had an affair at one point. Why did that put such a bitter taste in my mouth?

"Thank you, Coco for driving me here."

"I'll wait for you. With that jealous scowl on your face. I can't wait to see what happens when you meet Brian." She looked at me with a conspirational grin. "Are you here to duel over Trent?"

I just shook my head and smiled back at her. She was a crazy girl, but I liked her nonetheless. I could see why Trentini kept her around. She was a looker with a quirky sense of humor. I wouldn’t have minded dating her, but I had the feeling that she would decline out of respect for Trentini. 'What Trent wants he gets.' Against my own better judgment, I still hoped he wanted me.

I walked up to the house and rang the bell. No answer. I tried the doorknob and the door just opened. Inside the hall was dimly lit. It smelled strongly of floor-polish. There were two doors to the right and one door on the left. At the end of the hallway opposite the second door was a steep staircase that led to the upper floor. I tried the first door on the right. It opened to a lounge. Stiff looking chintz chairs, a sofa and a few faux Luis XIV tables. A fireplace in one corner, a modern cabinet gramophone in the other. This was clearly the good room. I went back into the hallway and checked the second door. Not surprisingly, it was the kitchen with a door leading into the back garden.

I tried the door on the left and could just stare at the sight in front of me gob smacked. It was clearly O’Donnell’s study, but now it looked like the tri-state tornado had been through. Books and papers were scattered all over the floor. Two chairs had been toppled over. The huge oak desk in the middle of the room was wiped clean and all its contents strewn on the floor. This must've happened recently, because O'Donnell's housekeeper would've mentioned something like this and Trentini would've consequently told me about it. I picked up a few things, but I wasn't sure what I was looking for. Suddenly I heard a thumping sound close by. Somebody was in the house with me and by the sound of it coming down the stairs. I looked around and the only thing I could find to use as a weapon was a small, sharp looking letter opener lying next to the desk. I picked it up. If it was the housekeeper, I'd look rather stupid standing there in a fighting stance with a dainty letter opener in my hand. But better safe than sorry.

It wasn't the housekeeper though. Two heavyset men came barging through the door. They stopped dead in their tracks. We stared at each other until one of the brunos pulled out a nasty looking revolver and pointed it at me.

"What do we 'ave 'ere?" He walked slowly towards me while the other mug stayed by the door.

"Who are you? What are you doing in Mr. O'Donnell's house?" I tried to sound authoritive rather than scared shitless. I didn’t wear any iron and wouldn’t be able to defend myself against a gun. Added to that there were two of them.

The guy stood right next to me now. His gun inches away from my head, his fat ugly mush contorted into a smirk. He knew he had the upper hand. He had the gun I did not.

I still held on to the little paper opener, but I knew that it wasn't going to help me any.

"Who ya working for punk? " he asked.

"None of your business."

"Listen kid, ya better spill or ya get a slug …”

I didn't bother with an answer. I had none.

Suddenly the goon standing by the door spoke up.

"C’mon off ‘im and let’s fade," he said.

Pudding face’s reaction came promptly. The last thing I saw before I passed out was his upraised hand with the butt end of the gun aiming at my face.

********

I wasn't dead, but the pain in my head made me wish I were. Hundreds of tiny jackhammers were dancing Charleston in my head. I opened my eyes and slowly sat up. I had to wait a few minutes before the room stopped spinning. I touched the side of my head that hurt the most and my left hand came away bloodied. Apart from that, I seemed uninjured. I stared at the revolver in my right hand. Somebody had put it there and made the effort to carefully wrap my fingers around it. Why? I wondered. The two goons were gone and the study looked the same mess as before.

Carefully I got up. Then I saw her. She was lying on the other side of the desk on the floor on her front. I crouched down next to her and turned her on her back. The vacant, lifeless eyes of Coco La Lunette stared up at me. She was dead. One bullet right through her forehead. The revolver in my hand made sense now. Those assholes tried to frame me.

But why would anybody want to kill Coco? And how did they manage to shoot her in a quiet residential street without anybody noticing? Then I realized that it really was quiet. No sirens, no police storming the house. I got out a handkerchief and wiped the revolver clean as best as I could to erase my fingerprints. I’d been a fall guy once, it wouldn’t happen a second time. I put the gun on the desk and was just about to leave when I heard some commotion from outside. Were Nan and Bert coming back, to finish what they’d started? To my utter surprise it was Trentini walking in. He was on his own and had his gun drawn. He stared at me then down at La Lunette.

"What did you do?" he finally asked.

I held up both hands. "Nothing, I swear. I don't know what happened."

"Now why should I believe you?" He kept staring at me. His face inscrutable.

"I'd have no reason to kill her. I hardly knew her."

"Somebody might've paid you. You approached me for a job after all. First Brian, now Coco."

"Trent, please trust me. I'd never do anything like that to you."

I didn't know whether he’d believe me or not when I heard somebody shouting from down the hall. So Trentini didn't come here on his own after all.

"Boss, there's somebody to see you."

"Let him in."

Trentini and I looked at the door. I immediately recognized the young man who entered the room. I'd never met him before, but I'd seen his picture. Brian O'Donnell walked in.

Trentini's face lit up as he went over to O'Donnell, "Bri, baby, where on earth have you been?"