My dreams of producing a fully-fledged Joe Chicago novella may never come to pass, but I will always return to him; even if just to touch-up the scant few scenes that I have thus far devised.<\/p>\n
I decided one day last year to polish up the\u00a0Joe Chicago in the Angels Brothel<\/a><\/em>\u00a0piece that I wrote for my old Creative Writing group. I made it about three times as long (not saying much, sadly) and tried to better connect it to the other existing chapter of this loose narrative,\u00a0Joe Chicago and the Case of the Fallen Angel<\/a><\/em>, which shall in turn one day be completely re-written in a bout of dissatisfaction. But that’s for another time.<\/p>\n Shout out to the aforementioned writing group, who gifted me with their own collection of Joe-related stories, which may one day also grace the cobwebbed crannies of this website.<\/p>\n For now, please enjoy,\u00a0Joe Chicago in Flight<\/em>…<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n The handle on the entrance was a decorative wing.<\/span><\/p>\n Cute<\/span><\/i>.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201c<\/span>Welcome to Flight – a Heaven on Earth<\/span><\/i>!\u201d The well-rehearsed chorus rang out, as bright and blue as the vinyl sky-scape that wrapped around the oval antechamber, dazzling Chicago\u2019s eyes, which were happily accustomed to the city-poisoned dim of the night outside.<\/span><\/p>\n Joe made a forceful point of not acknowledging the welcome-wagon of tuxedoed heavies and perfumed girls; instead shouldering through them and over to the unmanned reception desk of the syrup-sweet foyer. Eyes shooting up to clock a camera, he continued behind the lift-flap barrier, intent on going through the access door marked \u2018Flight Personnel Only\u2019.<\/span><\/p>\n Prob\u2019bly tore it off an airport bathroom.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n The crowd of employees jumped at Joe\u2019s evident course; the girls gasping audibly, and the fellers tripping over to themselves and the desk to stop him. \u201cSir, you can\u2019t go that way. Sir!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYeah? Why not? What\u2019s this way so special I can\u2019t see, huh?\u201d Joe made a grab for a handle, but his hand fell on nothing but door.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n What on-<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u00a0There was no handle. A digital keypad glowed tauntingly just to the side; a grid of bright glowing numbers.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Superb.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n The tallest heavy of the bunch reached the reception desk and landed a paw on Joe\u2019s shoulder, intent on turning the detective around. He was successful in his endeavour inasmuch as Joe spun quick on his heels; unfortunately, this was to deliver an instinctual left-hook square to the lackey\u2019s jaw, knocking him down.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cAnybody else?\u201d Joe grunted to the room.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Joe stood over the fallen man, fist still balled. The startled employees seemed too frightened to move any closer; twitching in their hesitance to stay still or help their downed colleague.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cThought not.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ve damaged enough china, thank you, Officer Chicago.\u201d a familiar voice clipped from the personnel door. Joe turned back to see it wide open, the gaunt proprietor, Francis Nathair, displayed in its frame as though he\u2019d been watching through it the whole time. Eyes everywhere. The room beyond the door was no clearer, however, as the lights seemed to be off, and none of the foyer\u2019s light spilled into it.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s \u2018Inspector\u2019 Chicago, Francis.\u201d Joe insisted, unclenching his fist and correcting the front of his coat, \u201cWe need to talk.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cCertainly, <\/span>Inspector<\/span><\/i>. One must always find time to listen to the wisdom of one\u2019s <\/span>elders<\/span><\/i>, eh? Had I <\/span>known<\/span><\/i> you were coming, I\u2019d have prepared a slightly more\u2026 <\/span>accommodating<\/span><\/i> reception.\u201d he replied, swinging a well-tailored arm toward the body of employees that had hurriedly returned to their default positions, broken jaw and all. \u201cAs it turns out, I have just cleared my schedule, actually. You <\/span>got<\/span><\/i> me, Joe. I\u2019m all ears. But! Prior to politics, pleasure\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Francis slinked backwards into the private room, disappearing through the darkness. Joe gave the onlookers a final glance to make certain he wouldn\u2019t be impeded again, then followed.<\/span><\/p>\n Within a second of passing the threshold, the foyer\u2019s flooding luminescence was cut suddenly off as the electronic personnel door snapped shut behind him, leaving the room in absolute black. No sign of Francis. No light at all. Nothing. The lonely tickle of anxiety began to prick the deepest parts of Joe\u2019s intestines.<\/span><\/p>\n Damn. Keep it together, old man. Now\u2019s not the time.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n The benefit of the pitch surroundings was that Joe couldn\u2019t see how dizzy he was getting – no blurring lines, spinning lights or loud colours. Even without the visual cue, his tired knees wavered a moment, sending him staggering just one step forward.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNot looking so hot, Joe.\u201d carried Francis\u2019 voice from nowhere, \u201cTell me, what brings you to my sector? To my home, no less.\u201d Eyes <\/span>everywhere<\/span><\/i>.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cTootsy.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cAh… The Angel of Ann Arbor.\u201d Joe winced at the moniker. \u201cSorry, Joe, she was a no-show last night. My Cherubim and Seraphim have seen neither head nor\u2026 <\/span>tail\u2026<\/span><\/i> of her since.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Without so much as a tell-tale thud, Joe felt a weight shift near the floor; something heavy slid from atop his boot, as though it had been resting there a while. He flinched his leg up suddenly, which almost sent him toppling. When his foot landed again, he stamped around inquisitively, but hit nothing.<\/span><\/p>\n The hell?<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n \u201cBut why waste all this ink on yesterday\u2019s news? Tootsy\u2019s not drawn crowds for a long time now. Just\u2026 didn\u2019t put her heart into her work any more, know what I mean, Joe?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThat why you k-?\u201d There it was again, now sliding wetly down off the back of his calf, though Joe had not noticed it land to begin with. His soles planted solid, he half-turned and slapped at his calves and the hem of his coat, but again found nothing. There <\/span>was<\/span><\/i> something there, for sure; something was toying with him.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOh no, no, Joe. Let us not start pointing fingers here. If accusations were bullets, I know who would be left standing after this wee <\/span>t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate<\/span><\/i>, oh yesssss. You\u2019ve come here for <\/span>answers<\/span><\/i>, of course, but unfortunately you are going to have to settle with a little <\/span>demonstration<\/span><\/i>– a <\/span>debut<\/span><\/i>, if you like. My greatest <\/span>plaything<\/span><\/i>. Mon <\/span>C\u00e9phalopode M\u00e9canique<\/span><\/i>. <\/span>Inssssss<\/span><\/i>pector Chicago, it is my pleasure to introduce you to our newest <\/span>thrill<\/span><\/i> – the Almighty <\/span>Hafgufa<\/span><\/i>!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Haf-<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Before a full syllable could leave his mouth, Joe felt his leg propel forward a few meters; the rest of his body followed as he flew horizontally into the darkness. His back hit the floor with a soft crack.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201c-God fuckin\u2019 damn!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Joe reached out through the black to feel at his leg, make sure it was all still there.<\/span><\/p>\n Thank Chris\u2019 – what the hell grabbed at you, old man? Least it\u2019s too dark for anyone to-<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n With an echoing clunk, the lights came on. A pause of blinding brightness calmed itself to reveal the room in detail. The painful blow from the floor meeting the back of his head was good alternative for a slap to the face, and Joe\u2019s discombobulation seemed momentarily gone.<\/span><\/p>\n The room wasn\u2019t too wide but went on for a while. A corridor. The half dozen or so doors on either side, spaced generously apart, were well lit by the bare factory lights dangling above. Joe noted that the doors were all ajar, and one in particular was narrowing negligibly, suggesting that something recently passed through it. Francis\u2019 absence was also noted.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhat in the <\/span>heavens<\/span><\/i> was that, eh, Joe?\u201d the clipped voice <\/span>was <\/span><\/i>still present, however.<\/span><\/p>\n Joe took a few seconds to get off the floor and stand straight, palms to his lower back and pushing hard as he stretched to re-align whatever clicked out of place during the fall. A satisfying crunch later, and Joe turned around.<\/span><\/p>\n The door he\u2019d just come through was the only one without a handle, and the only one closed tight, it seemed. Above it was a thin black bar.<\/span><\/p>\n Speakerphone. A\u2019course.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n The black bar continued, \u201cSorry for the theatrics, my good man. It seems my pretty little pet just wanted to play. But, oh dear, now she\u2019s shy! Perhaps we should turn out the lights and see if she\u2019ll grace us with-\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNo more bullshit, Francis. Open the door and meet me outside. I\u2019m in no mood to play hide-and-go-fuck-yourself.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n There was no answer.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201c…Well?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Another clunk reverberated through the brickwork as the lights went out. Without a second to waste, Joe pulled his glock and turned in the direction of the door that he saw moving a few moments earlier.<\/span><\/p>\n Fuck this.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n Aiming for the crack that he could only see in his mind\u2019s eye, Joe spent three rounds. Breathing in the gun\u2019s smoke and bracing his legs in anticipation of another grab, he waited. After a few counts, the lights clunked back on.<\/span><\/p>\n Joe was still standing, his eyes drawn to the victim of his blind target practice: a foot-long worm of brown and black, silently writhing in a velvet-blue puddle.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201c<\/span>What<\/span><\/i>?!\u201d Francis\u2019 disembodied voice responded with a shriek, \u201cWhat did you do?!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Joe turned to the black bar.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhoops?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou bastard! Do you have any idea how much that-\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Francis\u2019 voice petered out until the speaker went dead. Joe figured he\u2019d gotten up from his monitors and was on the move. No eyes.<\/span><\/p>\n Joe leapt paces through the corridor towards the strange worm and grabbed it up.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Ain\u2019t wriggling no more<\/span><\/i>.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Holding it tight to his coat to make sure that none of the blue fluid dripped breadcrumbs, he made a final dash to one of the open doorways on the opposite side of the corridor. He entered, turned, and closed the gap enough to make it seem uniform with the rest.<\/span><\/p>\n Rapid footsteps approached as Francis audibly crashed in through one of the other myriad entrances; Joe couldn\u2019t make out which one though, as the crack in his chosen hidey-hole only gave him view of the puddle where the worm had been.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Silence pulled itself taught over the corridor for a breathless half minute, until Joe clocked the minute sound of a pistol cocking. Francis must\u2019ve known Joe\u2019d hear it, as his thin voice then carried through the air in song.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOh, no, where are you Joe?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n A gentle creak, and the scuff of a heel turning.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThe clock is a-ticking, it\u2019s soon time to go\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Another creak, but nearer.<\/span><\/p>\n Getting close.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n \u201cOh, no, here comes the tide-\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n A creak from the next door over, and Francis\u2019 shadow in view.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201c-the water approaches, there\u2019s nowhere to-\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Joe could hear his heartbeat.<\/span><\/p>\n Go<\/span><\/i>.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cLimey limp-dick fuck!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n From his hiding place, Joe had waited until he could taste Francis\u2019 cologne on his tongue, judging then that the lanky foe would be right up against the other side of the ajar door.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Joe\u2019s sudden yell put Francis on an awkward footing so, as the burly detective\u2019s weight struck the door, poor Francis on the other side did not stand a chance.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Francis fell back -an explosion of nasal blood decorating his face- and landed sprawling on the cold floor, his gun flying a good twelve feet further up the corridor, and skidding like a skater in the ice-capades. Joe ran in the direction of the gun, which was opposite to the way he\u2019d come in. He\u2019d kept pace with the sliding pistol and scooped it up with his free hand, just before it could come to a stop.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The old man didn\u2019t try entering any of the other doors, lest he end up in a broom closet, or free-falling down a ventilation tube, or coming face-to-face with the owner of the metal worm he held tight to his left-hand breast. Instead, he ran toward the poorly-lit far end of the corridor, and right up to a-<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Ah, shit<\/span><\/i>.<\/span> Dead end.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n <\/p>\n He turned to see that Francis had just stood back up, the blood from his smashed-up nose dribbling down his pristine white shirt. Joe grinned despite his predicament, then looked down at the measly firearm in his hand.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n A kid\u2019s gun. What a mook.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n <\/p>\n He dispatched the tiny clip from the newly-acquired weapon, removing all but the one bullet that was still cocked within the chamber. Then a few hairs on the back of his leathery neck bristled, sending a cool wave down his body. His first reaction was that his acute claustrophobia was returning, and maybe the meds were wearing off, but if that were true, how come he wasn\u2019t feeling dizzy?<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n A breeze!<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Without turning, he clonked the butt of the pistol against the wall behind him; the hollow tap confirmed his suspicion that dead-end \u2018wall\u2019 was little more than thin plaster or balsa wood, covering what was probably a window.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Probably\u2019s the best chance you got, old man.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n
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