Ford-Lincolns and Fur Coats
January 1931, 9:03 a.m.
Somewhere in Chicago
The blond woman went quite unnoticed as she strolled
down the bustling avenue, her fur coat wrapped tightly around her slim
shoulders. Folks around her walked quickly, the bitter cold freezing the
dilly-dallies straight out of them. Men in tweed suits strode purposefully,
briefcases in hand. Women walked briskly, some pulling small children behind
them others pushing covered strollers. Merchants set up shops as newspaper boys
cried the latest from every corner. As a traffic light blinked from yellow to
red, a small van labelled “Warner Bros” nearly collided with a shiny green
Buick. Just another busy morning to the rushing Chicagoans.
As the woman neared the corner, her blond head turned
slightly, as if checking for something before making a sharp left. She
continued in this discreet fashion until she reached 23rd and Balto.
There stood a brick building of notable size; timeworn yet charming. The woman
made her way up the stairs and pushed the buzzer on the intercom.
“Hello?” asked a pinched female voice.
“Hi Cindy, it’s me,” answered the woman, “let me in,
it’s freezing out here!”
“Sure thing mam” replied the voice.
The door buzzed open. The woman glanced around once
more before slipping into the shadows.
15 minutes earlier, same day.
The black Ford-Lincoln was parked in front of ‘Mme.
Maxine’s Shoe-Wear for Fashionable Ladies’. Simon Hobbs sighed and leaned back
into the soft leather of the seat. He’d been roaming the busy avenue since 5:00
a.m., yet there was no sign of the suspect. The phone rang, breaking the
silence and startling Hobbs out of his daze. Taking a deep breath, he picked up
the jingling receiver. Before he could say a word, the rough voice of Captain
Julian Cross boomed uncomfortably loud.
“No news yet Hobbs? I’ve been waiting for hours!” said
Cross.
‘So have I’ thought Hobbs. “Yes sir, I mean no sir.
Nothing in sight.”
“Don’t keep me waiting boy, your father’s a good man,
but my patience only goes so far”.
“I’m sure something will turn up soon, don’t worry
sir” replied Hobbs.
“I’m not the one who should be worried” retorted the
Captain. “So hurry up. I want something by tonight. And you better take good
care of that car unless you’ve got seven grand handy.”
The dial tone went dead before Hobbs could answer.
“Damn it” he sighed, his frustration mounting. “I’m
not fit for this kind of detective work. I’d be better off tucked away in some
bookstore, not chasing around the girls of Chicago gangsters.”
Hobbs lit a cigarette to calm his nerves and opened
the yellow envelope for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He stared
at the words on the page as if they would enlighten him in some way.
Suspect A20C3
Gender: Female
Age: 20-25
Height: 5’1”
Description: lean, blond, pale,
blue eyes.
‘This
is ridiculous,’ thought Hobbs, ‘a quarter of the female population has blond
hair these days. Apparently it’s chique.’
Tossing
the envelope aside he opened the car door. He walked hurriedly up the avenue,
rubbing his hands together in an attempt to warm them. Spotting a café, he dropped
his cigarette and stepped on it absentmindedly. As he neared the shop, a lovely
young woman passed him, nearly grazing his shoulder with her heavy fur coat. Her platinum blond hair was pulled back into
curls under a dark hat, giving her an elegant bravura. Despite this
sophistication, her large blue eyes darted about uneasily. She seemed nervous.
It took Hobbs a moment to register this information. He stopped dead in his
tracks and spun on his heels. The woman continued to walk purposefully,
glancing about every so often. Hobbs sprinted to the car without a second
thought. The engine roved to life as Hobbs’ heart skipped a beat. ‘This is it,’
he thought, ‘this is it’!
17 minutes later
As
soon as the woman entered the building, Hobbs stepped on the gas and
practically flew to the back. He spotted a few men talking around a white
truck. One held a clipboard and frantically gestured what seemed to be
instructions to the other three. Soon enough, they clambered into the vehicle
and drove off.
Hobbs
studied the back of the building. There was a small backdoor to the far right,
but that entrance was out of the question. Higher up was a spatter of windows,
each with its own balcony. Hobbs noticed that one of the windows was open on
the third floor. ‘It’s so damn cold,’ he thought, ‘why would the window be
open?’ He waited a few minutes, brooding over the possibilities. His best shot would be to climb from one
balcony to the next and enter through the open window. The parking lot was
empty, now was his chance.
5 minutes later
Hobbs
grabbed onto the railing and lifted himself up onto the balcony. His muscles
burned form the strenuous effort but there was no time to catch his breath. The
window was still open. He crawled up to it and poked his head in. No one was
there. He crawled through the window, landing on the floor with a heavy thud. The
smell of perfume filled his nostrils. ‘Women,’ he thought, ‘can’t they just
wash instead of drenching themselves in expensive yet nauseating liquid?’ Inside
was a small room with a large wooden vanity pilled with boxes of powder and
tubes of lipstick. A wooden screen was set up at the back with a flowery robe
thrown over one side. On a low couch was a pile of neatly stacked papers. Footsteps
echoed down the hall, followed by voices. Hobbs froze. He glanced around,
terrified. Spotting the screen, he dove behind it just in time. Peering through
a crack in the wooden paneling, Hobbs saw two women enter the room. The first
he recognized as the blond woman he had been following. The next was a plump
middle aged woman with dark hair. She held a box under one arm.
The blond
woman sat down at the vanity and began powdering her face while the other
brushed her hair. ‘It’s a bit early to get ready for dinner’ thought Hobbs.
“Are
you ready dear?” asked the shorter woman.
“Oh
Cindy, I don’t know,” answered the blond one, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to do
it.” She seemed worried, her brow was furrowed and her hand shook slightly.
Cindy
smiled. “Don’t worry Jean my dear; you’ll feel a thousand times better when
it’s over and done with.” She patted Jean on the head and handed her the box. “You’re a
natural. Aim and fire, just like in the westerns!”
“Your
right,” replied Jean, now she was smiling too, “if Al Capone can do it, so can
I!” She opened the box and turned it upside down. A small handgun fell into her
hand. Hobbs stopped breathing.
Cindy
glanced at her watch. “Time to go doll”.
Jean
took a deep breath, looked herself up and down in the mirror, and then walked
out the door, Cindy shuffling behind her. Once they were out, Hobbs let out the
breath he’d been holding. He sat, rooted to the spot, incapable of organizing
the torrent of thoughts rushing through his head. ‘Should
I
follow them, or run to the car and call the cops, or call Captain Cross, or...’
Hobbs was uncertain. He hesitated; the possible outcomes of his actions could
be disastrous. ‘Why oh why did I take this job’ he thought; exasperated. He’d
wasted enough time. Leaving the safety of his hiding place, he crept to the
door and opened it a crack. No one was in the darkened hallway. He tiptoed down
the hall, unsure of which direction the women had taken. He passed door after
door before arriving at a winding staircase.
He
rushed down the stairs, his heart racing. A large blue door was ajar. As he
crept closer he noticed a woman, the woman, firmly clasping the gun. Hobbs
heard a man’s voice coming from inside. The woman rushed forwards. He pelted
after her, slamming the door open and dove onto the woman, throwing her to the
floor. She shrieked and fought form underneath him. He grabbed the gun form her
clenched fist and threw it across the floor. It skidded to a halt in front of a
pair of worn leather boots.
Hobbs
looked up. Around him stood fifty, sixty people all with a surprised look on
their faces. Lights and cameras were scattered around the room, wires snaked
across the floor and everyone was staring at him. Hobbs got up slowly and
grabbed the clipboard from the man standing nearest him. Studio A32: The Public Enemy was
written in bold lettering at the top of the page. Hobbs did a three sixty
before noticing the woman on the floor. He rushed towards her and helped her
up. She glared at him, confused. It hit him. Jean… Jean Harlow… the actress. He
had just knocked over Jean Harlow in front of the entire cast and crew of the
biggest picture of the year. Of course she had looked nervous; the paparazzi
could create the most dreadful commotions. She’s simply been avoiding
them!
“Sorry for the interruption,” gushed Hobbs,
turning as red as the lipstick Jean was wearing, “please resume.” He nodded
politely before turning and running full tilt out the open door.
