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From: Desdmona22@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} Rough Cut: Chap 11 by Desdmona (Hard-Boiled Mystery)
Lines: 457
Date: Tue, 16 Mar 2004 22:10:06 -0500
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The following story contains sex scenes that may be offensive to some. Read 
at your own peril. (This chapter contains no sex)

The year is 1940. Tailing Kitty Winslow was supposed to be an easy gig. 
Cincinnati dick, Moe Gafferson, finds out that nothing is ever easy.

**************************************
Rough Cut - A Moe Gafferson Mystery
Written by Desdmona
Edited by Poison Ivan


Chapter 11



Cigarette burns pockmarked the yellow surface of the long,
oak table sitting in the center of the room. A single,
overcrowded ashtray sat lonely on the table's top. Stale
smoke hung in the air and, judging from its lack of
movement, could have been hanging there for years. The only
window, placed too high on the wall to offer any real
illumination, had wire covering its stippled glass. Officer
Murphy guarded the door like a centurion - one who had just
won a major battle. Sitting across from Moe, leaning back on
two legs of a chair, was Detective Jansen, known as Janney
to his detective buddies, and pain-in-the-ass to Moe.

Back at Moe's house, Murphy had had the decency to allow
Mona some privacy while she dressed and he never cuffed her.
Moe didn't get the same courtesy. Murphy and his goons
watched Moe dress from his socks to his tie.

"Eyeing my wanger might lead me to believe you got other
designs, Murphy. Maybe I should be blushing."

"Shut the fuck up, Gafferson, and get a move on. We got a
cell with your name on it."

"Then there's no reason to make Mona come along."

"Ain't my call about your moll. For now she goes."

He slapped the cuffs on Moe and then carted him and Mona
into the police station. All three policemen had refused to
answer Moe's questions about Metzger's murder.  At the
station house, Mona had been escorted to a side desk and
offered coffee while Moe had been presented to Detective
Jansen.

Moe and Jansen hadn't become friends or planned any cocktail
parties. Twenty minutes had passed since Moe was dragged
into the interrogation room. His wrists were still
handcuffed, and nothing but the p's and q's of Moe's
detective license had been discussed, with Jansen
begrudgingly admitting the license was on the level.

Jansen was old for a cop, knocking on the back door of
fifty. Too many beers or someone's home cooking had given
him a nice sized paunch. The two thin chair legs seemed to
bow under his weight. He looked at Moe through low-lidded
eyes. "Why'd you kill him, Gafferson?"

Moe considered not answering, but a murder charge hanging
over his head had him feeling a little more cooperative.
"Metzger didn't deserve to live, but it wasn't me that
sought the resolution," said Moe.

"Murphy tells me the guy cut you up pretty bad."

Moe cast a glance at Murphy. The flatfoot was wearing a shit-
eating grin and leaning casually against the door. Moe
didn't mind pushing a couple of Murphy's buttons, if for no
other reason than to wipe the smile off the copper's face.
"If Murphy knew Metzger committed a crime, why didn't he get
the bum off the street like a good cop would?"

Murphy's fists clenched, and the grin evaporated. A buck
said an audience was the only thing that kept Murphy from
using his clenched fists on Moe. It was Moe's turn to smile.
Murphy reacted with a growl and took a step away from the
doorjamb he was making love to.  Jansen must have sensed an
impending scuffle. With a thud, the head detective pushed
the front two legs of his chair down to the floor and used
his bulk to shove the table toward Moe.

"Listen, Gafferson, we know Metzger had a good hand with a
blade. And we know you made a trip to Appollonia's asking
after him - a little tail named Lily Mae gave you up. It's
pretty easy to put two-and-two together."

"Sorry, Mac. You're coming up with five. There must be a
hundred members in the Sliced-by-Metzger club. Ask Lily Mae,
she's one of them.  A peep show with her as the main
attraction would reveal some of Metzger's handiwork on her
left tit - whacked off at the nub."

Moe could almost hear Jansen's brain ticking as the
detective made a mental note about Lily Mae. And then his
eyes focused again on Moe. "None of the other ninety-nine
were seen fighting with Metzger on the street only hours
before he was found dead. That honor belongs to you."

Moe shrugged. "If I wanted to kill him, I would have done it
then. I had him down on the street. Didn't any of your eye
witnesses tell you that?"

Jansen tilted back in the chair again, folding his arms
across his chest and resting them on his gut. The bottom
button of his shirt tried not to pop. "Nah, I think you're
stupid, but I don't figure you to be _that_ stupid. You
wouldn't kill a man with so many witnesses screening the
action. Where were you last night around midnight,
Gafferson?"

A knock on the door stopped Moe from answering. Without
waiting for a response, a blue-gray haired woman bustled
into the room. Her robust stature forced the seams of her
uniform to perform a Herculean feat. She marched over to
Jansen, whispered in his ear, and then turned to walk out.
Whatever she said didn't sit well with Jansen. He grumbled
under his breath, and he and Murphy followed Mrs. Blue Hair
out the door like the Three Stooges mimicking a train.

Moe shifted irritably in his chair. The being-alone-part was
fine, but the still-cuffed-part was grating on him. His
shoulder cramped and an itch in his armpit, where he
couldn't reach, was annoying the hell out of him. He was
tired. Plain and simple. The past week had been rougher than
most. He hadn't slept much and his gut still ached - not the
sharp, burning pain of a few days ago, but a dull ache that
never subsided. Red embers, like blistering fireflies,
burned the back of his eyes. He wanted to snooze for a week.
Maybe wake-up a time or two for a tumble with Mona.

Fuck. Mona. What the hell had Moe gotten her in involved in?
He knew better than to get cozy with a dame when he was
working, _especially_ a dame like Mona. It never worked out.
Dames got in the way, screwed up your thinking, reminded a
man he's a man and has a role to protect the weaker sex.

But as a protector, Moe had come up short. The sight of Mona
bound and gagged when he'd come home last night, and the
look of panic in her eyes, was etched in his brain. If
Metzger had still been loitering at Moe's house at _that_
moment, the police would have had a _real_ reason to haul Moe
in. Blazing anger still simmered in his bones. He hoped
whoever had offed the louse had made him suffer.

Moe hadn't been able to keep Metzger's evil from touching
Mona, but he'd be damned if he'd let her get dragged into
this any further. Maybe when this was all over, Moe would
take her in his arms, squeeze her delicious body close, and
the two of them could mull over the cards they'd been dealt.
But for now, he was determined to keep her out of trouble.

The stooges returned sans Mrs. Blue Hair and took up their
same positions: Murphy at the door and Jansen in the chair
opposite Moe. Jansen slipped off his suit jacket and slung
it over the back of a nearby chair. As hefty evidence there
was no _Mrs._ Jansen: the wrinkles only slightly outnumbered
the stains on Jansen's dingy dress shirt.

The detective wasted no time getting back to the grilling.
"Let's set the record straight, Gafferson. We know you were
Over the Rhine. Schmidt was killed and you got cut up real
good. What we don't know is who Schmidt's party favor was.
And since you _do_ know, we'd be obliged if you'd tell us."

"I can't help you."

"Maybe it was Miss Mona Dale."

"Keep her out of this. She's got nothing to do with
anything. She's a nurse I met at the hospital. That's it!"

"A nurse you've gotten pretty friendly with."

"Drop it, Jansen. You're barking up the wrong tree."

Jansen folded his arms across his body and settled them once
again on the bulk of his belly. Obviously, his favorite
position. "Funny thing, Miss Dale was defensive about you
too. Right up until Murphy here told her why we hauled you
in and how Lily Mae had a hand in it all."

Moe jerked around to see a smug Murphy. While Moe and Mona
had never discussed dating one-on-one, Moe knew the red-
headed nurse would not look too kindly on him bedding a
whore - business or not. "You're a bastard, Murphy."

Murphy's smile nearly broke his face. "According to Miss
Dale, we both are."

"Where is she?"

"She seemed in a hurry to leave, and seeing we had no real
cause to keep her, she left."

Moe slowly turned back toward Jansen. He could only imagine
what Mona was thinking about him at that moment. Moe was a
low life. Maybe no better than Metzger. Sure, Metzger was
rougher, but no doubt Moe had hurt her, too. And got her
mixed up in the seediness of his world.

Shit.

But maybe it was better this way. Wasn't he just thinking
how much trouble a dame could be when he was working? And
Mona hating him was a lot easier to think about than Mona in
harm's way. She was a damn fine woman who deserved better
than Moe could give her. At least now she would be safe.

"Like I said, she's got nothing to do with this."

Jansen sighed and rubbed his face. "I'm inclined to believe
you Gafferson. Miss Dale seems like an upstanding citizen,
someone most men would treat like a lady."

Moe ignored the dig. It was none of Jansen's business what
had passed between Mona and Moe. And anyway, Moe wasn't sure
he could define it. She was special. That was enough. Moe
changed the subject.

"How about removing these bracelets?"

Jansen nodded and waited while Murphy undid the lock on the
cuffs. Moe massaged his wrists and stretched his fingers.
Like a Hop-a-Long Cassidy twirling his gun, Murphy swung the
handcuffs and stuffed them in his pocket and then sauntered
back toward the door, his cocky grin still in place. Moe
would have liked the chance to connect his fist to Murphy's
chin, just once for good measure. Maybe another time,
another place. It was bound to happen. Even in a big city
like Cincinnati, Murphy's and Moe's paths were always
crossing.

"So if Miss Dale wasn't your client, who was it? Or maybe
you didn't have a client. Maybe you were a partner. Maybe
you, Metzger, and Schmidt had a racket going. What happened?
Metzger and Schmidt get too greedy?"

"You sit up all night coming up with sham theories like
that, Jansen?"

Jansen pointed a beefy finger at Moe and glared at him
through steely eyes. "Watch your mouth, Gafferson unless you
want to add a busted lip to your list of injuries for the
week." Cincinnati's finest wasn't above using a little
muscle whenever they saw fit. And in Moe's experience, they
saw fit a lot. Moe kept his mouth shut and let Jansen keep
on talking.

"We know Metzger was using Appollonia's as a clip joint -
slipping in hidden doors, shaking down patrons, blackmailing
big wigs who have wives or aspirations. What we don't know
is, where do you fit in?"

Moe ran a hand over the back of his neck, working out the
kinks that had taken up residence there. If he ever wanted
to get out of this hell hole, he was going to have to
cooperate. Now seemed as good a time as any. "Lily Mae
summed up my one visit to Appollonia's. Anything else going
on there I wouldn't know about." It wasn't much, but it was
all Moe had.

Jansen wasn't convinced. "Metzger did the grunt work.
Schmidt put on the air of respectability. What were you?"

Moe sighed. Maybe it just wasn't in the cards for Moe and
Jansen to get along. "Conjecture some sort of game for you,
Detective?"

"Indulge me," said Jansen. "I'm an old man with so few
chances to play games."

Moe leaned back in his chair and crossed an ankle over his
leg.  He took his time fingering the cuff of his trouser.
Something told him Jansen was just on a fishing trip now,
hoping to reel in a little information. The truth was an
easy thing to give up. "I'd never seen Schmidt before in my
life prior to the night he was killed," said Moe.

It appeared Jansen hadn't caught his forty winks lately
either.  The disheveled detective scratched his belly and
stifled a yawn. But he didn't give up. "That leads us back
to the unknown player in our little chess match, don't it
Gafferson? The dame that hosted Schmidt's erection?"

Moe kept silent, still playing with the cuff on his pant
like he'd suddenly taken up tailoring. Kitty Winslow was
most likely just a woman looking for love in the wrong
place. Moe was nearly certain of that now. Unless there was
something more to link her to Metzger and Schmidt, he would
keep her name out of this. "That's none of your business,"
he said.

Jansen pounded his fist on the table, sending cigarette
ashes flying across the room. "Who sent you there to take
pictures that night?" he demanded.

Moe figured an angry cop was a cop who didn't have nothing.
He suddenly felt a lot more comfortable. "Sorry can't help
you, boys."

Jansen took a different tactic and relaxed against his
chair. "I admire your loyalty to your client, Gafferson. Too
bad it could get you a cell block for life."

"I'll have to take my chances. My client couldn't vouch for
my whereabouts when Metzger was iced."

"Where were you last night?"

"Home."

"Got any proof?"

Yeah, he had proof - wrapped up in a pretty nurse's package,
but Moe had already made the decision to keep Mona out of
this mess. He stayed mute, again.

Jansen barged ahead without waiting for answers. "You own a
gun, Gafferson? Maybe one of those new Smith & Wesson .357
Magnums?"

The Magnum was mostly used by cops in big cities. Moe
thought they were overkill. Murphy had one hanging from his
shoulder holster. "I'm partial to my Roscoe. Only a man with
no aim needs a gun like a Magnum." Moe didn't look back at
Murphy. He didn't have to. The sound of the copper's
shuffling feet was enough to make Moe smirk.

"Does your client own a gun?" continued Jansen.

"I don't ask about firearms when I sign on to a case."

"Seems risky."

"I'm a guy who likes to take chances."

"Covering for your client might be too big a risk,
Gafferson."

Jansen was pushing hard for the name of Moe's client. Moe
had to wonder why. There was no way the police could have
found out Moe was working for Dutch that night, or that now
Moe was working for Kitty. Not unless Mr. and Mrs. Winslow
had offered up the information. And that didn't seem too
likely. Especially since up until now, their names had never
entered the picture. Something was missing. Did Kitty have
more to do with Metzger and Schmidt besides being the bull's-
eye for Schmidt's arrow? Moe figured it was time for a
little give and take. "What if there was a woman who got
mixed up with the wrong guy without her knowing?"

Jansen leaned forward, salivating at getting somewhere in
the interrogation. "Why do you suppose she got out of this
situation without a scratch? Schmidt was killed. You were
meant to be. What protected her?"

"Luck?"

"Luck, my lily white ass. The broad had something -
something that meant a lot to somebody. Enough that it kept
her alive."

Moe had to admit the idea didn't stink, but he wasn't
completely sold. Kitty was weak and love struck. She wasn't
a leader, only a follower. Knowing that didn't make the game
any easier to orchestrate. The players in this high stakes
hullabaloo were folding all around him, and Moe didn't like
thinking he may have underestimated a friend.

"Come on, Gafferson. No tail is worth spending your life
behind bars."

"I didn't kill Metzger," Moe said.

"You're in this up to your neck, and as soon as we piece it
together, we'll be pulling the noose tighter."

Now Moe knew Jansen was bluffing. "Book me or let me go. I'm
done."

Jansen's eyes narrowed to slits and the tiny muscle in his
jaw clenched. He pushed back the chair and stood. The waist
of his pants was wedged well below his gut, but he didn't
bother to adjust it. He suddenly loomed larger than his
girth. In a tone full of menace, he said, "_I'll_ say when
we're done, Gafferson."

For the first time all morning, Moe understood how Jansen
had become lead detective and why Murphy had played second
fiddle out of the limelight. Jansen knew how and when to use
his authority. Moe felt a grudging respect. But he wasn't
about to give up Kitty's name. At least not until he had a
chance to check her out again for himself.

Jansen grabbed the suit jacket he'd draped over a chair and
struggled into it. It did a good job of hiding the yellow
sweat stains in the armpits of his white shirt. When he
looked at Moe, most of the purple had left his face, and he
looked like just another fat cop again. "Today's your lucky
day, Gafferson. I've got an appointment, and you've got an
alibi."

"An alibi?"

"It seems your little chippy vouched for your whereabouts
all night last night. And lucky for you, Murphy was a
witness this morning."

Moe glanced at Murphy. The scumbag was grinning his little
voyeur grin.

"You really are a bunch of bastards parading as do-gooders
around here, aren't you?" said Moe.

Jansen was on him in a heartbeat. He grabbed Moe by the
lapels, lifting him out of his chair. His breath smelled of
onions and rotten meat. "We don't owe you _anything,_
Gafferson. Not one goddamn thing."

Moe's fists balled up in self-defense, but he held them
tight at his side. The last thing he needed was a night in
the hoosegow for slugging a detective.

"We're letting you go because we got nothing to hold you."
Jansen let loose of Moe's lapels, and Moe slumped back into
the chair. "But we're still looking, and when we find it,
your ass is ours."

"You say the sweetest things, Jansen. A guy could get mushy
for being wanted so much."

Jansen turned his back to Moe and bellowed at Murphy, "Get
him out of my fucking sight."


to be continued...

***************************************
This story was originally posted and illustrated at 
http://www.ruthiesclub.com. 
My eternal gratitude goes to Alexey for bringing Moe to life.
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