Part 2 of 5
By Dan Leicht
Charles Splints finished his second glass of scotch and nodded to the young barkeep. The whiskey-slinger paid no mind as the detective headed for the door. Splints was hoping to spark a conversation, but it was made clear fairly quickly that whatever was upstairs wasn’t meant to be discussed with strangers.
Splints walked around to the back of the building, the night grabbing hold of the streets, the blue tint in the sky swallowed by shadows. Behind Tappers was a dumpster pressed up against the side of the building, empty whiskey and vodka bottles stood in rows beside the backdoor. If Splints climbed atop the dumpster he might get his hand on the railing of the balcony – if he was a couple feet taller and twenty years younger. There’s something up there he needs to see, the reason he was lead here.
The sound of a bottle tipping behind him caused him to turn and catch sight of a young boy making a run for it. The pace of the footsteps reminded him of the delivery boy for the note under his door.
“Hey, kid!” He shouted. But the child was already gone into the night. Chasing after him would be futile. Trying to climb up to the apartment would be too. Splints pulled his collar up as a chill crept through the air. Another tipped bottle and Splints new he wasn’t alone. Louder footsteps this time, the kid didn’t run because of Splints, he ran because of someone else.
The alleyway leading to Alexander St., he could see a cloaked figure making a run for it. His stride not as nimble as the boy’s. Splints knew he had a chance at catching him.
He started to run, but noticed the man take a left once escaping the alley. Splints new the man would head onto East, probably jump into the first taxi he saw. So Splints ran back to the front of Tappers and waited at the front door. Soon enough the man came running from around the corner, but didn’t notice the man waiting in the doorway of the old bar. A taxi was right in front of Splints, but the cloaked sprinter never made it inside. Splints grabbed him before his hand could touch the handle, threw him to the ground.
He’d just found his first clue.
— #CharlesSplints (@CharlesSplints) August 3, 2015