Dead Sure?: A Paranormal Mystery (13 page)

Cautiously, he proceeded up the stairs. The array of windows illuminated the room from three sides. Upon arriving at the top of the stairs, he looked around the room suspiciously. There was old junk everywhere…antique steamer trunks, dressers, ancient bedsprings, old this and old that, old everything. Jack was not really an antique fan, and this place was literally crammed with them. It appeared that the Bogons never got rid of anything. When they were done with it, they just moved it to the third floor attic. Jack tried to guess how much of this shit was theirs, and how much of it just came with the place; probably under the guise of “what a deal, no extra charge.”

He wandered around the room taking it all in, and shaking his head in amazement. Almost everything he had ever accumulated would fit in his car.
Why did I even rent this old place, instead of some new fancy apartment? Rene sure seemed thrilled with it. When she showed it to me, it took on a whole different light. Since when am I such a sap?
Women to Jack were a dime a dozen, at least that’s how he used to think. Now, he wasn’t so sure, there was something special about Rene.

After finding nothing in the main room, he tried the door on the side of the room with no windows. It was locked, and with all the dusty things piled in front of it gave the appearance that no one had used it in an exceptionally long time.

Jack turned and headed back downstairs, walking to the back stairwell, which not only went down and out, but up to the third floor servant’s quarters. He marched up the stairs and into the third floor hallway. Everything was quiet as he kind of expected. He briefly walked the length of the hall, looking into the rooms as he passed by. Each room appeared to be crammed with old junk. “Not surprising,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head in disgust.

Coming to the end of the hall, he stood on the opposite side of the locked door which led to the turret room. The entry looked just as dusty and unused from this vantage point, as well. Turning to walk away, he heard the faint sound of footsteps coming from the other side.

“Who’s there?” he yelled out, his nerves getting the better of him. There was no response, only the sound of fleeting footsteps growing fainter, and then nothing else. He turned, sprinting down the hall, down the stairs, and into the second floor hallway. Upon seeing nothing, he ran to the turret room stairs, flying up them, two at a time. He was breathing heavily as he ascended into the room, head spinning from right to left and back again. To his frustration, he saw nothing that could explain the footsteps.

Chapter 14
September 15
th
, 1929

September 15
th
, 1929

Angela could see the park dead ahead, its presence a living growing sanctuary amidst all the urban sprawl. The breeze was blowing in her direction, wiping away some of the grimy city smells, and covering them up with a hint of floral elegance. The closer she got, the more relaxed she began to feel. Her worries started to drop off, one by one, as she drew nearer and nearer to this peaceful place.

Now she was walking on the park trail, taking in all the late summer beauty: the flowers, the foliage, and the birds chirping merrily. She had been transported to a different world, no longer Angela the Boss Torrelli, at least for the moment. She was Angie, the little girl in her favorite dress, playing in the park. It was a spectacular carefree feeling.

*    *    *

Tim grew more and more frustrated with each passing second, as he squeezed the coin harder and harder, wishing to be back where he belonged. Finally, in an uncharacteristic moment of rage, he spun and threw the coin as hard as he could. He was aiming at nothing in particular, the throw was a simple act of built up tension.  The coin sailed through the air, before striking Angela in the arm, bouncing off and rolling into the bushes, as if it had a mind of its own.

Angela’s first instinct, based on the stinging sensation in her arm, was to believe she had been shot. Yet, she had heard no report of a gun. Instantly, she dashed to the side of the path, pulling a revolver from her purse as she moved for cover.

A man with thick, curly blonde hair came running towards her. Her first instinct was to fight, but as the initial adrenaline rush wore off, she realized she had not been shot.  In fact, the man running at her was rather comical looking. His clothes were strange. He had on what appeared to be a bright red undershirt. His pants were short like a bathing suit, and appeared to be made out of denim, and, oh, wow, those shoes. They were bright white with a large red stripe on them, and made out of fabric, not leather.

Gasping for breath, Tim began to bleat out an apology. “I am so sorry, miss. I wasn’t trying to hit anyone when I threw that coin. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Angela smoothly slid the revolver behind her back. Striking up a conversation, she replied, batting her eyes, “I will be all right. I was just a little shaken, I guess.” Without losing a beat or breaking eye contact, she slid her other hand holding the purse behind her back, hastily placing the gun back in the bag.

“I’m just a little confused at the moment, miss. Forgive me for not introducing myself, my name is Tim ammm,” and here he hesitated for a moment, giving his real last name just felt wrong for some reason. “Bartington,” he completed with conviction.

Angela noticed the pause in his introduction, but wasn’t sure if it reflected a nervousness or a lie. Her calm mood was gone now, and she was back to an observant game player. She stuck out her now empty right hand in greeting. “Well, Tim, my name is Angela Torrelli, and I guess I am pleased to meet you. Although, I don’t think my left arm shares the sentiment.” A small circular welt was beginning to appear, just below the short sleeve of her red dress.

“Look, Miss Torrelli, I am very, very, sorry about that. I am feeling rather confused at the moment. Please, don’t think this crazy, but what day is it?”

Angela sensed in his apology a sincerity that she wasn’t used to. The apology wasn’t just meant to placate her, but came from the man’s heart. She looked him up and down with a quick movement of her eyes to take in his measure. He was a short, trim man, maybe about five foot-eight or nine in height. His presence was not commanding, but rather more of a thoughtful friend. His face had a kind look to it, with only a few wrinkles that appeared to be from happy times, and not haggard from nights of drinking. His handshake was warm and firm. “Tim, you’re asking an odd question, for someone that doesn’t look like they have been hitting the hooch. Today is Sunday.”

“That’s not what I meant. What is the exact date, including the year?” he said earnestly.

Angela laughed, and answered, “I guess, I was wrong about the alcohol thing. Today’s exact date is Sunday, September 15
th
, 1929.”

Tim let out a gasp, his already pale complexion turning even whiter. “It can’t be. It just can’t be,” he uttered in disbelief. “How could this have happened, how?” He was beginning to shake a little.

Angela looked at the poor man. He seemed really confused. “Look, it’s none of my business, but, if you need some help or a place to stay, let me know. I’m sure we can work something out.” She reached into her purse and pulled out her card. “Come see me anytime.”

Tim took the card instinctively, continuing to stand there in a confused stupor. Angela turned and began to walk away. She had only gone a few yards when Tim came hurrying up alongside her. “Excuse me, I’m not sure what to do, and I could use some help.”

Ah, she had him, he needed her. She loved it when people needed her. Finding someone in need was always a good way to get more recruits for the gang. People didn’t usually forget a helping hand that came along when the chips were down. “Walk with me, Tim. I need to get back to my office.” The pair began to walk along the trail leading out of the park. “First, I am guessing you need a place to stay. Second, and here I am not guessing, you need some decent clothes. You look like you escaped from a circus,” she laughed warmly at this last statement.

Tim noticed, as they left the park and headed up the street, that he was getting a lot of funny looks. Nobody seemed to be wearing denim shorts and tennis shoes like his. Continuing up the street, he was staring around with wide eyed amazement. The funky old cars, the buildings, and the people, everything looked so different.
It is like being on another world or in another time.  Well, of course it is like being in another time, because I am. I can’t believe it but,
“I am!”

“I am what?” said Angela taken aback by his loud statement.

“…just really confused,” he replied softly.

Angela could tell that he knew more than he was saying, but she appreciated the fact that he wasn’t making up some elaborate lie. This man had a very interesting story, she felt sure of it, and she was going to learn it. “In a couple more blocks we’ll be back to my office. Some of the gentlemen that work for me will help get you settled. After that, they’ll take you to a boarding house I own, and set you up with a room. How does that sound?”

He was beginning to regain his composure, and replied, “That sounds great. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your kindness.”

“How about you start by having dinner with me this evening? I will change my plans, and introduce you to some friends of mine.”

“Sure, I would like that very much.”

Just then two men in suits hurried up to Angela briskly. “Boss, we gotta talks to youse,” said the taller of the two.

“Tim, you will have to excuse me for a minute.” She motioned for Tim to stay put, and walked ahead with the two men. “What have you found out, Tony?”

“We’ve located Max’s car parked over in Scarafini territory. There’s no sign of Max though,” he boomed in his deep voiced Italian accent.

“I need to see it for myself. Tony, you and I will go check things out, and Reggie, you take care of my new friend here. Set him up with the works, and make sure he is at Sharky’s by eight for dinner.”

“If you don’t mind me sayin’, he don’t look much like the gangster type,” retorted Reggie.

“You let me worry about that.  Just do what I tell you,” she said in a tone that left no doubt the conversation was over.
Not the gangster type, that’s just what I like about him. Maybe he isn’t a lying sack of shit, like the rest of you.

*    *    *

Twenty minutes later, Angela and Tony pulled up next to Max’s car. It was legally parked on a quiet side street, in an area that her gang knew to avoid. Angela got out of her car without hesitation, and walked over to it. Nothing appeared to be broken or damaged. Upon opening the door, she found the keys were still in the ignition. Grabbing the keys, she turned and looked into the back of the car. She expected to see a body on the floor, but there was nothing there.

“Tony, get some gas and start dousing this car, and be quick about it,” she snapped. Angela opened the back door and leaned in to inspect things closer. There was a small blood spot no bigger than a dime on the passenger side of the backseat. Sticking her finger in it, she found it to still be a little tacky.

Tony had just finished putting the gasoline can away as a big black Mercedes SSK came screeching up to halt next to them. Out jumped three thugs holding Tommy guns. Slowly a fourth man of considerable girth exited the car.

“Angela, darling, it’s always a pleasure to see you.” The man speaking was Nico Scarafini.

“Nico, I’ll let you know if I think it’s a pleasure,” replied Angela. She looked very calm and cool, considering the situation she now found herself in. Tony on the other hand was feeling very nervous. Beads of sweat began to form on his temples.

“Angela, you do know that you are on my turf. You really ought to consider joining me. Then we wouldn’t have to worry about these little details. I could use a good woman like you, instead of all these ugly mugs.” His voice was smooth and slippery like an eel.

“Let me get right to the point, Nico. Did your gang open fire on a couple of my boys yesterday?” she demanded.

“You are in no position to get tough with me. However, because I’m not about to start a war over something that didn’t happen, the answer is no. Now, I would suggest while I’m still feeling hospitable that you and your friend there get the hell off my turf, and leave that car.  It’s mine now.”

Angela slowly pulled a long slim cigar from her purse, “Nico, you got a light?”

Reaching into his pocket, he fished out a beautiful gold lighter, and lit her cigar. After taking a couple of puffs and staring hard at Nico, she casually threw the cigar over her shoulder. The cigar hit Max’s car, instantly igniting the gasoline Tony had poured on it only a few minutes earlier.

“It’s all yours, Nico darling,” she laughed, an insane kind of laugh, as she proceeded to her car, motioning for Tony, who was too dumbstruck to follow.

Tony expected at any moment that the Scarafini gang would open fire, turning them into Swiss cheese as they sped away. But the guns remained silent.

“Yous unbelievable, yous fearless, it’s no wonder yous the boss. Nobodies has the balls to challenge ya,” Tony uttered in his thick Italian accent. He was shaking his head in disbelief that they had survived the confrontation. 

Oh Tony darling, you sweet fool, if only that were true.