Cutting Clean Through My Heart
On November 17, my latest short story ‘Under The Purple Sky’ will be released. This will be the first in a series of tales involving Detective Alan Lomax, who solves mysteries within popular songs. A simple internet search will reveal the song that ‘Under The Purple Sky’ is based on but I suggest you don’t spoil it for yourself.
I say this is the first in the series, but Det. Lomax appeared in one of the (very) short stories that made up my last book ‘They Can All Be Wieners’. This story is set within a song called ‘Rogers Park’ by Justin Townes Earle. Whilst not a mystery per se, it does convey Lomax’s dedication and humanity. So, in anticipation of the release of ‘Under The Purple Sky’, I present to you the (very) short story Cutting Clean Through My Heart.
Chicago may be someone’s kind of town, but not mine. Especially in January.
I try to make it a habit of avoiding the North this time of year, but sometimes a higher duty outranks creature comforts. That being a promise to a friend.
I promised him that if I ever found my way to the Windy City, that I would check in on his boy. My friend never shied away from the fact that he had been a terrible father. The last thing he wanted was for his son to covet his sins.
A kid with a penchant for drugs living alone in Chicago? I didn’t like his odds for survival.
The snow blowing in off Lake Michigan slapped me right in the face as soon as I stepped off the Red Line.
Welcome to Rogers Park.
As I wandered south towards Touhy and Greenview, and the boy’s apartment, I could sense the loneliness of the place.
But I wasn’t alone.
The corner girls were selling themselves and the shadow boys were selling an even more thrilling experience. If I were on the clock, I would run them all in.
To what end? I thought.
There ain’t no hoping in healing them.
Perhaps there was enough hope left to save the boy.
I saw him before he saw me.
Up on the third floor, an open window revealed a glowing red dot that I took to be a cigarette. The puff of smoke emanating from it confirmed my suspicions.
Once a detective…
The boy leaned slightly out the window, the full moon shimmering diamonds across his face. If he was pleased to see me, he certainly didn’t show it. There was a fair chance he was so high, that he didn’t even recognise me.
The building was a walk up, allowing me ample to time figure out my opening gambit. I guessed that “Hey kid, your dad wants you to get off the junk” wasn’t going to work.
Along with the absence of an elevator was the lack of a doorbell. It was as if Rogers Park was built for the lapsed Amish.
A knock on the door was met with an incomprehensible murmur.
Twenty long seconds went by before the door opened, and a scrawny figure appeared behind the security chain. His dinner plate eyes were taking me in, sending jittery signals to the brain like it was the ‘405' during rush hour. His emaciated face was so vampiric, that I doubt he would cast a reflection in the mirror.
“Hello Justin,” I offered.
“Do you remember me? I’m a friend of your father.”
A flash of recognition.
“Detective.”
I shook my head.
“Please, this is a social call. Call me Alan.”
He didn’t seem convinced, so I lifted my jacket. No badge. No gun.
“See?”
He sucked air through his yellowing teeth, as if trying to dislodge a piece of food that he had eaten a decade ago.
“Cool disguise.”
I would let that one slide.
There was a draft in the hallway, but I ventured it wouldn’t be much better in his apartment.
“Listen kid. Your old man is really worried about you. I was passing through town and I promised that I would check in on you. How about I take you out to a bar and throw a steak down your throat?”
Justin started scratching his upper arm.
“I don’t eat meat.”
He was hungry but not for food. Damned if I was going to just give him money for a fix.
“Well, you can nurse a beer and a bowl of pretzels and watch me eat a steak.”
I could tell what he really needed was a month of sleep in clean sheets, but the pleasure of my company would have to do.
“C’mon, get your coat and you can tell me all about how you are getting out of this fucking town.”
A look of defeat appeared.
“Man, just send me back to the pines.”
I shook my head. He wasn’t going out on my watch.
“We’ve still got time.”
If you have never had the pleasure, please enjoy ‘Rogers Park’ by the late great Justin Townes Earle:
