December 2nd , 1940.
The promise of good fortune always brought out the high class play and drew the big wheels of finance to the neon lit strip of Bay City called Laurel Blvd. Where the liquor flowed freely, and the high class dames draped over the arms of two bit glad rag wearing wise guys would come in droves tappin their toes to those cool big band sounds. Life was good inside the neon play pin, where everything was up for grabs, and open to discussion, but only if you had the cabbage. It wasn’t until you traveled to the outer fringes of Bay City, that’s where you felt the eyes upon you, casting suspicious stares upon anything shiny and new. A day in the life of Rush St, was much different than the business as usual perfect image of Laurel Blvd. On Rush St, you had the pro skirts strutting the sidewalks, and every cheap dime store hood and grifter of every size, shape, sex and color within a ten mile radius would roll in to work the angles here, here people didn’t live, people survived. Welcome to the warehouse district, the riverfront, Rush St, The dregs of Fat City.
When rumors would roll in here, they stood out like a cool breeze on a hot summer day, and everybody working the street knew about it long before any plain clothes flatfoot trying to blend in would. But this breeze that they were feeling on Rush St now, this was different. Word was out that some big money muscle from back east, was prowling the district sizing up the local real estate market. Lots of flashy cars, lots of new faces- hoods mostly, popping up here and there, asking questions, trying to look all innocent. Even though they mostly rolled out at night, the locals, they knew better, something was hinky on Rush St. And on the night of December 2nd it would all take a turn for the worse. It was just after 6:00 PM, when the 36’ Desoto slipped in behind the vacated waterfront warehouse called: 332. Four large men got out, one had a chopper, one broke into the warehouse while a third opened the trunk and pulled out the gas can. The forth though, tall, dark and gruesome, you could just tell that this guy was the one pulling the strings.
He lit his cigarette and stood there calmly looking up and down the alley behind warehouse 332. Nothing moved and as soon as the first billows of smoke came out from under the door, the firebug cleared the threshold and stopped to look at him. He flashed him a big smile.
“Hey Derek.. You wanna watch it burn?” He giggled.
Derek Motley turned to face him. The disgust was growing in his eye’s.
“Do I look like I wanna fucking watch Chappy? Get in the fucking car you stupid mutt before I whack you myself.” He growled.
Derek Motley tossed the cigarette on the ground and all four men got back into the Desoto. The driver waited until they were well clear of the alley before he turned the headlights back on. He looked in the rear view mirror and watched the night sky light up as the warehouse went up in flames.
He pulled back onto Rush St, and headed east until he hit Bankhead Avenue, then drove west.
“Where to now Derek?” The driver inquired.
“Head back to the dive on Driscol. Now we wait to hear from that boob Brender. Now hit the gas and shut your yap.”
Ernest Lively had been away on business, and he didn’t find out about his warehouse until four days after it burnt down. And as soon as he hit the city limits he made a beeline right for it. When he pulled up in front of the burnt remains he almost wanted to cry. All of the plans he had for it, now up in smoke.
He was walking the remains of the concrete floor when the black Lincoln Zephyr stopped across the street. The tall, thin, balding man in the gray suit stumbled toward him. He stood at the edge of the property line and waited for Ernest Lively to come closer. He called out to him.
“Ernest Lively! If you would- a moment of your time sir.”
He approached him cautiously, his hand was fully extended, between his thumb and forefinger he presented a business card that read: “Theodore Brender and Associates: Real Estate Brokerage.”
“It’s a terrible shame what happened to your property here Mr. Lively. I have been fully authorized by my clients to offer you a fair price if your ready to sell. But it’s a limited time offer, I will wait for you answer- I can be reached at that number on the back of the card.”
Ernest Lively looked at the card and then up at Theodore Brender. He looked slowly around at the other buildings and businesses on Rush St before handing the card back to him.
“Oh. So. You gonna stand there you wet suit mutt and try to sell me on the story that this was an accident? You people came around here trying to scam me out this property a month ago, the answer was no then and the answer is no now.” he threw the card at Theodore Brender and stormed past him.
“I’m very sorry we couldn’t do business Mr. Lively. I’m certain my client will be very disappointed.”
He stopped in his tracks and turned and walked back up to Brender. The anger in his eyes became even more apparent than before.
“You can tell your client from me to him he can go spit.” Lively said.
He turned and walked to the side walk raising his arm to hail a cab. When the yellow taxi pulled up to the curb he gave one more quick glance back at Brender.
“Bum.” He said under his breath.
“Most. Unfortunate indeed.” Brender walked back to the Zephyr.
It wasn’t until two days later when Ernest Lively began to suspect that he was being followed, even though he quit the force years ago, he had been a cop long enough to know when he was being tailed.
He walked up the stone staircase leading to the front door of his residence on Canal St when he saw the 36’ Desoto stop just down the block.
The same Desoto that he saw behind him on Spring St. the same Desoto that he saw behind him on Bankhead Avenue. But it wasn’t until he stepped through the door that he realized that someone was already in the house, and when the large mug came out from behind the door and whacked him on the back of the head, everything went black. When he came to- he saw that he was directly across from his younger brother Max who was tied and gagged to a chair. Ernest Lively’s own hands were tied behind him as well. Pacing back and forth in front of them was Derek Motley.
“You know Lively- You’re a hard ass mutt to convince. So I tell you what I’m gonna do. See we did a little digging around and we found out that if anything should happen to you this piece of property of yours automatically goes to your little brother here. Now, I believe you remember MR. Brender, well.. Mr. Brender has some nice and legal papers for you to sign, and when you do- and you WILL sign them, the property will belong to our client, and you will both live. Got it?”
He motioned to Chappy and nodded towards Maxwell Lively, Chappy put on the leather gloves and stepped in front of him and belted him a good one right in the teeth. Derek Motley for the first time smiled. He leaned forward and looked up behind him.
“By the way.. Have you met my pal Terrence?”
Ernest Lively could hear the gun cocking behind his head. He drew a deep breath and looked at Max who was once again unconscious.
“A.A.Alright. Don’t hit him anymore. I. I’ll sign your papers.”
Derek Motley leaned towards him once again.
“We untie your hands. You sign. Make one false move and Terrence here will redecorate this desk with your brains. Got it?”
Brender appeared in front of the desk and lay the papers out in front of him, Terrence cocked the gun and Chappy untied his hands. Carefully Lively picked up the pen and signed his name to the documents. Brender returned them to his briefcase. Chappy retied his hands.
“Nice doing business with you Mr. Lively.”
Terrence moved and Derek Motley fired one round from his .38 right into Ernest Lively’s skull.
“Untie his hands and put them on the desk.” He looked over at Max.” And pull the car around back
And throw that mutt in the trunk. We’ll deal with him later.”
He looked down at Ernest Lively’s corpse.
“Merry Fucking Christmas Lively.”
~Scratch.. A.B.T. Copyright © 2011~
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