The Case Of The Token Stiff, A Blaine Stamren Noir Murder Mystery
The stiff had been plugged and planted a fortnight.
It was going on two AM when I stood over the polly's final resting place, with a shovel, feeling like a sap. This is no way to make a living. But the dame I was working for (why was it always a dame?) insisted I'd pipe a Chinese angle if I did.
"There's gotta be something there," she said over the horn, "I just know it."
That was it. A no-name dame with a hunch who didn't even have the decency to come to my office, and here I was, chasing ghosts. Okay, I'm not that big a yuck. She'd fronted three G's (who had that kind of cabbage just lying around?) by courier with the promise of another two if I solved the case. I normally collected half that working four jobs, so I figured I could oblige her, even if she did renege on the rest.
The questions—gnawing at the back of my mind like a tick on a time bomb—was why? What was in it for her? Why dig up the dead? Who was this quiff, and what was she to the stiff?
Getting no answers, I started turning dirt. It was still loose, which was good, since I wasn't expecting to be around come daylight. I made quick work of it. Didn't even break a sweat. Inside of thirty minutes, I was standing on the walnut casket. Obviously, no expense had been spared.
Which made sense. The not-so-dearly departed had been a city councilman, as dirty as they get, with rumored ties to the mob. He'd stashed some real dough in the thirteen years he served. "Investments," he called them. Blood money's more like it.
Normally this was a two man job, but the casket lid was split, so I could stand on one end while I opened the other. "Nothing personal," I muttered, as I pulled the handle.
I was expecting to see the top half of the guy, but instead, it was the rest. I was also expecting some kind of decomposition, but the corpse was holding firm like Aunt Mary's fruitcake. Quickly, I patted down the pant legs. Finding nothing, I removed the wingtips. Nothing. I took off the socks. Still nothing. Nicely manicured feet, though. Just a hint of the toe nails growing.
That was enough. I put the socks and shoes back on as fast as I could and rummaged around the inside of the coffin, searching for slits or seams. All the buttons were solid and still polished. I shut the lid and moving onto it, opened up the other side.
I jumped like a cat in a doghouse. What I saw sent a feverish shiver up my neck, the kind that switchbacks relentlessly, sprouting goose pimples along its path. It wasn't the stiff. He actually looked pretty good. It was the coins placed over the eyes that through me for a loop. Was that still a thing?
I sucked in some air and rubbed my forehead. I might need the loony bin after this. Was this worth 3 G's? Yeah, probably. Telling myself to get a grip, I reached down and removed one of the coins. Thankfully, the stiff's eye was shut.
As my peepers settled on the metal disc, I could tell immediately that something didn't add up. First off, it wasn't a coin. It was a token, the kind used for public transportation. Second, it was from the Seattle Transit System. This was the Los Angeles metro area. The tokens were worthless here.
Was this what the ferryman was taking for payment nowadays to cross the River Styx?
I shook my head. Too much pulp fiction as a kid. Whoever had placed the tokens meant them as a clue, perhaps to who the bang-man was? I knew from various newspaper and radio accounts that the red-hot was still at large. That was due mostly to the polly's family. They wanted it over, so they could grieve. That meant the whole thing was a rush job, from the autopsy, to the parade-like procession, to the funeral.
The cops had tried since to get a search warrant to dig up the grave. No judge would touch it. So here I was, standing on the coffin, feeling like a mick, wondering if I had just been played for a patsy. I got an answer rather unexpectedly.
"You can hand that over now," a sultry voice said, "Get the other one, too."
It wasn't as tinny or muffled as it had been on the blower, but I recognized the voice immediately. It was the frail, my client. I turned to see her a few feet from the hole I'd dug, enough of her above the edge to see she was packing heat. A black veil covered her face and she had a hat covering her hair.
I did as I was told. I might have tried something, but I'd left my piece in the glove box. Figured I wouldn't need it in the bone-orchard. Stiffs were past being allergic to slugs anyway. Who knew I'd need it against my own hire?
"That's it, nice and easy," she said, as I glommed the second token and moved to the side of the grave where she stood. "I want you to gently throw them to me before you climb all the way out of there."
Her words didn't track. She wasn't about to let me live. It was obvious what I would be thinking, that she was the killer. I needed a ruse and I needed it fast.
"Never been to Seattle," I said, grabbing ahold of the rope ladder. Sticking a foot onto the lowest rung, I asked, "You meet your husband there? On a trolleybus?"
"Slower," the dame said. If I'd rattled her with my guesswork, she wasn't showing it. "No tricks."
I rose a rung. "These weren't used, though, so you didn't make the return trip. Walk back, maybe, talking, getting to know each other?"
"That's it," she said. "One more."
"He didn't get these from the undertaker. Who else knows you knocked him off?" As I stepped onto the third rung, my chin came flush with the ground. She was still out of reach, though. Patient. Cold. "Or should I say who knew?"
"Take one and toss it to me."
For a fraction of a second, I considered my options. Then, settling on a baby hook, I arched my right arm back and launched the first token at a high arc. "Here it comes," I said.
The token came up and away from the grave several feet above the ground, angling toward her but then it began to fall straight down. She would need to reach for it. As she did, a shiny piece of metal clattered on the coffin.
"Oh, for the love of..." As I dropped down, I caught a glimpse of her hat and the hand she'd caught the token with leaning forward as both cleared the side of the hole. Her momentum had brought her within half a foot of the edge. Still clinging to the ladder, I stood back up and before she could react, I grabbed the business end of her barker. She didn't let go as I pulled. Instead, like a rag doll she flopped over and crashed head first into the casket.
I heard her groan as I scrambled the rest of the way up. Then I bent down and removed the ladder. As I did, I played the bird with the long neck. She was sprawled sideways on her stomach, arms and legs spreadeagled, her iron glinting in the clear moonlight a few feet from her right hand, the side of her left boot flat on the face of the stiff. Her hat must have been underneath her as her dark tresses flowed away from her head. She stirred, but then fell quiet.
I figured she'd live. More than I could say for the polly or the would be snitch she must have offed, too. I was just glad to still be upright myself. I wasn't ready to be pushing up daisies yet.
All's well that ends well.
From my left glove, I removed the bronze transit token I'd palmed when on the ladder. The plug nickel I carried around for luck was somewhere down with the two lovebirds.
Flipping it over in my hand, I decided I keep the token. The tin badges would only need one. I'd claim it got lost somewhere with the stiff. I doubted they'd even look for it.
If they don't believe me, I'll give it to my younger brother. He can give it to his son, or something, when he gets around to having one.
Time to phone this one in. Too bad I don't have the nickel. Do they take tokens?
American Underworld Slang Vocabulary
Stiff—a corpse
Plugged and Planted—Shot and buried
Fortnight—two weeks
Polly—politician
Sap—foolish, gullible person
Dame—a woman
Pipe—see
Chinese angle—unexpected or innovative perspective
horn—telephone
Yuck—dumb person
Quiff—woman
G—a grand, or a thousand
Cabbage—money, cash
Dough—money, cash
Loony bin—insane asylum, mental health facility
Peepers—eyes
Bang-man—gunman
Red-hot—hired killer
Mick—convict
Patsy—a fool
Frail—woman
Heat—gun
Piece—pistol, gun
Bone-orchard—cemetery, graveyard
Allergic to slugs—dying from bullet wounds
Glommed—grabbed, picked up
Business end—where damage can occur
Barker—pistol
Played the bird with the long neck—stretched out to see something
Iron—gun
Snitch—witness, informant
Pushing up daisies—dead
Tin badges—police officers
About This Post
This murder mystery mini-story was inspired by a post made by @themanwithnoname about a Seattle Transit System token he has in his collection. He didn't know how it got there. Now he does.
Images from Pixabay, Unsplash and numista.com.
That's great! Thanks for doing all the research to let me know how I got the token. I didn't realize that it had such a sordid past. At least now I know. I do wish I knew if the woman was caught and convicted. You never know when those types of grudges can pop back up.
Some of the old time language was a little difficult for me to sort out as I haven't watched a lot of noir films, but it was a really good story.
I liked that part. I could almost hear the indignation and exasperation in his thoughts. Ha ha.
Too bad about the plug nickel though. If it has any markings on it, it could be used to track a person down. Maybe there are more installments in this series.
Well, I guess never say never. It's possible there may be more story, but it's more likely that Blaine Stamren, PI, will make other appearances as time goes by.
I did go ahead and add a vocabulary list for the words that were harder to decipher. It took forever to match up those words, but I had fun looking them up.
I haven't watched a whole lot of noir films, either. Within the last few years, though, I've gotten into more of the hard boiled detective type of stories—writing, not reading, though I have read a few in my lifetime. They're fun.
I also added a sentence or two more to the story to give the idea that yes, the police were called and I would say it's safe to assume that justice was carried out from there.
re: sordid past
Well, see, that's just it about tokens and coins: they could go anywhere and be part of anyone's life for a period of time. They don't really have a choice in the matter, the coins or tokens I mean, so they're pretty much at the mercy of whoever finds or receives them. Some are going to be nice, others, not so nice. It's the law of averages.
I suppose I could have gone all factual, more of a documentary than a fictitious portrayal, but I did try to stay true to the time and genre as much as I could. I'm not that well-versed yet in either, but I would be if I ever decided to spend some real time with it. Too many interests at the moment to do that.
Thanks for adding the vocabulary list. It cleared a few things up for me. I was surprised at how many of them I didn't know.
I liked the line you added at the end. That was clever.
Don't worry about spending more time on this. I know you have a lot of interests and that you're spending a lot of time on other stuff. Thanks for writing this! It was a lot of fun to read, and to imagine that it was this token that I have.
Well, good. I'm glad you liked it, and until the real official story comes along, this is the unofficial real story.
In some cases, the way some of those people talked back then was almost like an entirely new language. It's amazing how words can be rearranged or used together in ways you haven't seen before, or taken to mean something totally and completely different.
I know that still happens with modern slang. I just happen to find the 1940s slang more appealing. :)
It really is like another language. It makes sense why Shakespeare isn't so easy to read for most people who are used to modern English. And then there's the slang, like you said. It gets so confusing sometimes. Plus we started using LOLs IKR, and the like. Who can keep up? I miss when words were words, not acronyms.
I guess I'm just old though. Stuck in between the OMGs of the youth of today and the Loony Bins and Yucks of yesteryear. Such is life.
I think it's just a lack of reading in general for a lot of people. It's easier for me to understand words and context if I'm reading it than it is through the course of a conversation. I'm able to re-read the words and the paragraph, whereas if it's happening on television or in a group, it's tough to just go and rewind it two or three times so I get it.
I keep telling people English is devolving. Soon, we won't talk to each other at all but will communicate through a series of grunts and pointless hand gestures. And thus, our journey around the evolutionary wheel will be complete.
But we're enlightened man!
Oh, acronyms. We've got to love acronyms, because YOLO IMHO. :)
I was able to get most of them through the context. I remember a class in school where we were given words we likely wouldn't know so we could practice deducing the meaning from the context. It was actually really helpful.
Yep, that's basically where we're headed. The state of the English language is in peril. Especially when teenage popstars on Twitter are the ones who are creating the way words are used for a majority of the population... or at least the future generations.
OMG BBQ!
haha! I LIKE this guy, this old gumshoe! I suppose you know all that terminology? and from what? I didn't know quiff, frail, pipe or mick. great story I sure hope that guy shows up again man, that was too cool. I could just sit there all day and read his thoughts, rough old PI. ha!
I knew very few, mostly related to the pistol or gun. Amazing how many different names they had for that. :)
The rest of it, I was looking up the entire time trying to find vocabulary alternatives for words and phrases. There are a couple of websites where I started out, but then I came across a book that was written by a guy who was a detective of some kind, called Dictionary of American underworld lingo. I haven't looked yet to see if they have a Kindle version available, but they are selling it on Amazon. I was able to get into the book for free since it's available as a reference book.
All kinds of words and phrases. Problem is, most people wouldn't understand the stories if I went full 1940s mob lingo.
I like old, Blaine, too. I originally created him while I was in school this last time around. It's funny, but he came to be because we'd had a photo and video shoot during our class the night before and the day after, people were posting photos in our class's group page on Facebook. I stumbled upon a photo where everyone who had a camera the previous night was in it, which meant there was another camera I didn't know about. So, Blaine was created to figure out where the other camera came from.
It was pretty fun, because then the rest of the class began to answer back in character, and started commenting amongst themselves as if they were the culprit or the innocent. It was quite entertaining. I then finished up the story based on the information gleaned through their interactions, and proof of who had the camera surfaced in the the group feed, too!
haha! that's pretty amazing! I love that kind of talk from the 40s, that rough, inner big city scruffy private eye like a couple of characters on tv movies that I can't recall, well I know Humphrey Bogart played a couple.
I think it's a great genre to get into because no one else is doing it as far as I know.
I would say it's not in vogue. There might be one who's doing it like they're in the future, so it's kind of anachronistic in nature. I ran across something like that a few years ago, but I can't remember now if it was a book or a movie. I'm thinking it was a book, but I don't even know if I could find it again.
I need to sit down and watch The Maltese Falcon and Casablanca. I've only seen parts of those shows. I think there were a series of Sam Spade movies made, too, but I haven't seen them or read the books. I'm not remembering right now the names of the ones I have read.
Those writers had to write fast and dirty and keep within the limits of sensibilities. So, all kinds of things could be happening, but it had to be within the confines of what society would allow. So, they had to be more creative about how they approached certain topics and the words they used. Nowadays, people just blow through all of that and basically push it in your face. Personally, when there's not a lot left to the imagination, it's not nearly as good.
yes sir that was it, Sam Spade and I think there are a series of Sam Spade novels maybe?
well I think it's a great sign if no one else is doing it, or does that work in books?
Generally, like any other thing, you want to get in before the wave forms, because otherwise, you miss the wave. But paddle too early and you may never catch anything. The hard part is knowing when the wave is going to form.
It would be great to see trends before they've completely formed, but where there's enough interest out there to make some money, and have something ready to jump right in with. Unfortunately, that's not really easy to do. There are some authors that actually create the trend, or renew it, or revamp and revigorate it, but for the most part, they're tapping into something that already exists, not starting something new.
I'm not sure that hard boiled mysteries have ever been mainstream, let alone a sci-fi version of it. If you wanted to marry two things, it would probably be action and romance. I haven't thought much about that before, but there's an idea. You get the right balance, you could grab both sexes. Guys don't do a lot of reading, though, at least not novels. They might read more non-fiction, depending on what it is. They're more apt to watch a video or a movie and play video games, while women tend to still like to use their imaginations. I think it may be because they spend so much time thinking about things and staying inside their own heads that they don't like to come out much. :)
they stay in their own heads and don't like to come out much! lol, that is sure true, they like to lose themselves in romance novels.
but it would be nice if you could START the wave.
That would pretty much mean I have to be able to write romance. I know I can write action. Romance is a different deal, especially done right, which doesn't really happen as much as it should. I get a little suspicious of what's behind romance novel reading anyway. Are they saying they don't have enough romance in their lives, they need to read about some fictional characters' love life, too? They have to watch reality TV, they have to watch Hallmark and Lifetime channels? They have to watch romantic comedies?
I mean, put that imagination to work and be a spark in the real relationship you have. Don't go fantasizing about relationships that aren't real and therefore will never happen.
I like explosions and car chases and gun battles and wars in outer space, but that's not real life and I'm not trying to make it be or wishing it was. Okay, maybe the explosions if I get to walk away in slow motion. :)