Dark
(To be read a la’ Bogart) It was a dark and sultry night. Typical in the gumshoe game, I was working late wrapping up a case. Soft jazz was playing from a nameless, nearby cafe when suddenly I heard shuffling, cloven-hoofed footsteps echoing off the creaking wooden staircase that led to my floor, until finally a shadowy figure stopped at my office. A gnarled hand tapped on my door as a raspy voice croaked, “I’ve come to… talk.”
I straightened my tie, my seasoned hawkshaw senses screaming that serious trouble was waiting on the other side of the door. Instinctively, I put my weapon under my arm, adjusted my crumpled jacket, downed my last drop of chamomile tea – I had quit drinking booze – and I answered the door. “Yeah. Who is it?”
It weren’t no dame. The stifling haze of the night seemed to follow my curious visitor, trailing him like vapor. He was dressed like an undertaker; his face shrouded in shadow with dark, shark-like eyes that spoke of knowing too many sinister secrets. He stepped in from the hall, removed his hat, and stared at me for the longest moment as if to weigh me. My face was expressionless as I nodded a curt greeting.
At last he spoke. “I have a case for you. A missing person I am trying to reclaim. I’ll pay anything for his return. Just name your price.”
I motioned for him to sit down as I returned to my worn leather chair on the opposite side of my desk. Reclaim? This would be rich. Though I knew we were strangers, still, there was something oddly familiar about this late night caller.
“Got a photo? Give me the particulars and let’s see what I can do.” Businesslike, I pulled out my ever-present Palm Pilot and hit Start has his withered hand pushed a weathered manila envelope purposefully across my desk.
I flipped opened the dog-eared file and started. It was an old photo of me! “Wha….?”
He interrupted me with a wave of his hand. “That’s right. I’m looking for you, the old you. Your defection to the enemy got me in trouble… big trouble with the Boss. Just name your price and we’ll pay it. Come back to us.”
Of all the detective joints in all the towns in all the world, he walks into mine. My eyes narrowed trying to place him.
“Still don’t recognize me, eh? Com’on. I was there when you stole that baseball glove from the dime store as a kid.”
I objected, “But… but nobody saw me do that!”
“Tut, tut, Mr. Detective. I am the one who whispered the suggestion to you.” He paused. “And to think you never even played ball with it. OK, how about that little romp with your best friend’s girlfriend while he was away playing soldier for the weekend? I saw that, too. Again, my idea.”
“If this is some kind of blackmail scam, pal, you’ve made a critical mistake. I’m calling the authorities.” I reached for the phone controlling my trembling hand.
He reached over and put his clammy hand atop mine to stop me from dialing. “Come now, still don’t know me? I was there at your beck and call, guiding you, leading you, showing you the sweetness of revenge, teaching you to yield to your inner desires no matter the cost. I was your constant companion, your familiar… friend,” the words slithering off his serpentine tongue.
I said, “You’re familiar, all right, but I still can’t place you. And with an ugly mug like that, I know I would remember you. You’re no friend of mine. Now get out!” I thumbed towards the door.
“But we were friends. Once. I’ve decided to forgive you, to accept you back, no strings attached. I know where the women are, where the best bourbon burns, a place where you can forget your miseries, silence your nagging conscience, and be free again.” He leaned forward and grimaced a ghastly smile. Emphasizing each syllable, he croaked, “Just - name – your - price!”
Like squad car lights suddenly coming to life in the hidden shadows of an alleyway, I snapped my fingers in recognition. ”I did know you!”
He leaned right over the desk, his pallored skin glistening sickly in the pale afterglow of my desk light, and intoned seductively, “Come back to us. All will be well. We did have a deal!”
Like any seasoned gumshoe, my weapon was my best friend. I whipped my concealed standard issue NIV out of its holster and began to quote furiously, “Worship the Lord your God, and serve Him only! Now, in the name of Jesus, be gone, you foul thing!”
The authority of speaking in That Name sparked the Sword of the Spirit to Life! Zap, and my visitor was instantly gone, vanquished from my presence in a dissipating sulfuric puff. I raised my shaking hands in surrender and worship to my newly found Savior basking in the sweetness of his presence, and, after a time, carefully placed my weapon back in its holster, cocked and loaded for any emergency. It’s a dangerous world and tonight just proved again that we all need to be armed and ready for action when and in case the enemy rears his ugly head.
Though it was a dark and sultry night, I knew that the Price had already been paid. I dimmed my desk lamp, walked into the hall, locked the door, and headed down the creaking stairs, emerging into the streetlights and headed home while soft jazz filled the air.
And I thought to myself, “You know, every gumshoe ought to investigate knowing Jesus.”
Bryan Hupperts © 2006 - 2009
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