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THE REAL ADVENTURES OF JONNY QUEST

"The Big Goodbye"

by Eric R. Umali

Synopsis: Back in time, things take an interesting turn.

Categories: E, F, ALT?

"The Big Goodbye" - Chapter 8

by Eric R. Umali

"'Shotgun' Jimmy"

Detective Michaels nodded to the waitress as she set down the wide, thick slice of apple pie and gave him his third cup of strong black coffee.  Glancing around him, the few other patrons in the diner paid little attention to anything or anyone but themselves.  Michaels glanced at his watch.  Five o'clock exactly.  The dinner rush had yet to arrive, and so he figured he'd have at least thirty good minutes for this interview.  If he could get her to talk for that long.

The diner door swung open, and she walked in.  Even with her hair tucked up under a broad hat, shading most of her face, she was gorgeous.  The eyes of every man in the place latched onto her instantly, though her sharp strides and stern expression made them turn away just as quickly.  One man she passed actually shivered as she walked by.

Jennifer Montrose's high heels clicked across the linoleum as she crossed the few yards between her and Michaels.  The detective reached under the table, miming a scratch of his leg.  He switched on the tape recorder hidden in the briefcase at his feet.

Jennifer stopped in front of him, standing with her arms crossed.

"Please, Miss Montrose, sit."

"I don't plan on this exchange lasting that long, Detective Michaels."  She tossed an opened envelope on the table in front of him.  "I also don't appreciate the tone of this letter."

Michaels leaned back.  "I'm afraid I don't understand, Miss Montrose.  And I suggest you sit down before you start attracting any more attention."  Reluctantly, Jennifer sat across from him.  "Let me get you something.  This place has the best apple pie in Manhattan."

"No thanks, Detective," she replied icily.  After a few moments of silence in which Michaels stared back at her blankly, Jennifer lost some of her patience.

"Just what is it you want with me?  We've been through this before.  Even if Mr. Z is involved in anything illegal- which I'm sure he's not, since you can't seem to prove it-" she was rewarded by a quick wince from the detective.  "I wouldn't know anything about it."  She took the letter and held it up.  "So you can save your threats."

Annoyed, Michaels leaned forward.  "That's no threat, Miss Montrose.  A New York City building inspector can enter any domicile he wishes at any time.  I just wanted to give you a little advance notice."

"Please don't insult my intelligence, Detective Michaels."

"You want it straight up?  Fine with me."  His voice lowered.  "I'm not interested in you or what you know, sister.  Not in the least.  It's your boyfriend I want to talk to."

Surprise flickered across Jennifer's face before she calmed again.  "Boyfriend?"

"That's right- 'Shotgun' DiSantis."

"I'm afraid I don't know anyone by the name of... 'Shotgun,' was it?"

"That's enough playing dumb.  I want Jimmy DiSantis."

"Then why don't you talk to Jimmy yourself?"

"Because I don't want to end up on the wrong end of his nickname."

Jennifer started to get up.  "This is ridiculous.  I'm leaving."

"Has he ever told you why they call him 'Shotgun'?"

She shook her head.  "Good evening, Detective Michaels."  Jennifer walked out, nearly knocking over a waitress in her way.

Michaels scowled.  He switched off the tape recorder and reached for the silver flask in his pocket, pouring a slug of amber liquid into his coffee.  He drank it down, wincing a bit at the whiskey's bite.

"Broads," he mused, before starting in on his pie.

**********

Hours later, Jimmy and Jennifer were walking back towards her apartment as usual.  Though neither spoke as they walked, her hand was tightly held in his, and they walked slowly.  Both of them loved this time of night, when the usually bustling city seemed almost deserted, and the pavement, wet by the street sweepers, glistened under the bright streetlamps.

Jennifer let out the breath she felt she'd been holding since that afternoon.

"Jimmy?"

"Yeah?"

"Why 'Shotgun'?"

Jimmy stopped and turned towards her.  His mouth opened as if to speak, then closed.  He sighed.  "Do you want to hear the story about how I was the starting pitcher on my high school baseball team?  Or the one where I was an all-state track star with a great shot put arm?"

"How about the truth?"

He turned back down the street.  "Let's get a cup of coffee, Doll."

"Then we'll talk?"

"Yeah, then we'll talk."

It was twenty more minutes before they sat across from each other in a corner booth in a nearly deserted all-night automat.  Jimmy came back from the chrome and glass vendor windows taking up one huge wall of the place, carrying a steaming cup of coffee on one hand and a mug of hot chocolate in the other.

He placed the mug in front of Jennifer as he sat.  Jennifer sipped, but Jimmy cupped his coffee in both hands, staring into it.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she said softly.

"No, I, uh..." he began, "I _do_ want to."  He took a long sip, and sighed.  "I grew up just a few blocks from the Slipper.  I gotta tell you, being a kid of the family is a pretty sweet deal.  You could walk a dozen blocks, up or down from your house, and the folks at every fruit stand, every green grocer, candy shop, whatever, knew your name.  All the grownups took care of you, gave you stuff for free, other kids gave you plenty of respect."

"It sounds nice."

"It was.  Thing is, none of me or my friends who were in knew what it was all about.  We knew our dads were 'made'- important, respected," he explained.  "We just didn't know what they did to deserve it."

Jimmy's finger drummed against the tabletop nervously.  "Would you believe I was running numbers by the time I was eleven?  I was.  My pop, he was pretty high up in Old Z's crew- that's Mr. Z's old man, he was running things back then.  So, when I'd done a good job for a couple of years, he brought me on to do stuff.  At first, they were the kind of odd jobs any kid would get from his dad's boss: runnin' for coffee or cigs or the paper, sweepin' up the office, that kinda stuff."  He finished his coffee and stared into the empty cup for a few seconds, quiet.

"And then it changed?" Jennifer offered.

He nodded.  "I'll save you the gory details, Doll.  But for the next few years, I guess you could say I climbed the corporate ladder pretty quickly.  The younger Z kept an eye on me the whole time, and when he came up, he made me his number two."

Jimmy got up, leaving Jennifer to think as he got a new cup.  A minute later, he came back and sat down.  As he kept his head bent over the coffee, Jennifer realized that since they'd first arrived, Jimmy hadn't met her eyes with his own once.

"You still haven't answered my question, Jimmy," she said.

He looked up.  "Are you really telling me you can't figure it out?  Or don't you really want to know?"

It was her turn to look away.  "I suppose I was hoping... I don't know what I was hoping."  She took a sip from her long-forgotten mug, only to find the drink had gone cold.  She really didn't notice.  "Why?  Jimmy, I like to think I know you pretty well.  Why do you do it?"

"It's all I know, Doll.  I ain't smart.  I've been around twenty-five years, made it all the way through high school- and not every guy like me can say that- but in all that time, I only learned one thing.  That if you're gonna live the good life, you gotta be a made man."

"And is life really that good?"

Jimmy seemed surprised, and a sardonic little smile emerged.  "Right to the point, huh?"

"I don't believe in wasting time."

"You've wasted plenty of time with me every night I walk you home from the club."

"You think that's wasting time?"

"Doll, it's a twenty minute walk.  Not countin' the two hours we usually spend at this place, the walk alone takes us another hour."

She smiled.  "Jimmy, I don't consider that time wasted.  Not a second of the time I spend with you is wasted."

"I used to think I was living the good life.  Swank apartment, nice clothes, brand new Packard-"

"And a dame or two, as I hear it."

They both laughed a little.  "And a dame or two," he agreed.  "Yeah, things seemed pretty good."

"So what happened?"

Jimmy reached across the table and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently.

"You happened."

TO BE CONTINUED...