Chapter 7

Written by: Timbo

Half hour after The White Dolphin had opened for the day, three cars pulled up outside, the limo in the middle riding low, heavy with armor plate. Dark suited men emerged and scanned the pier. One spoke into his sleeve and the limo cracked open a door  to discharge a heavy set man, hair a white powder puff of careful trumpery, legs spindly beneath the tailored drape of his jacket as his bodyguards ushered him across the sidewalk and through the restaurant’s front door.

Inside, the experienced head waiter, indicating a circular table set with linen in the furthest corner said: “Welcome, Don Sciatazzi - all is prepared as instructed.”

”Good,” The other grunted as he lowered his bulk into a chair, his back to the wall. ”I am expecting a guest. Bring coffee for two.”

Coffee poured, the street door opened and a tall silver haired man stepped across the threshold. Sciatazzi got slowly to his feet and held out a hand. “Commissioner, “he said, “Good to see you again.”

“Benito,” the tall man took the offered hand between his, “It’s been too long. We need to talk.”

“Sit, have a coffee - it’s good.” Pouring from the coffee pot as the other man folded himself into the chair opposite, took the cup and reached across the table for the sugar. “Still got that sweet tooth? Be the death of you. Now - what’s the problem?”

The Commissioner of Police reached carefully inside his suit and withdrew a clear glassine baggie. “This turned up yesterday evening - I believe it’s yours.”

Sciatazzi peered at the evidence bag. “Looks like my grandfather’s ring - the one some scumbag stole outta my desk last year. How’d you get that? Police work? Be a first.”

The commissioner smiled bleakly. “Punk name of Hugo Stackpole claimed it was his. Two of my officers took him in yesterday evening after they found him wandering on the street - he claimed he’d been kidnapped, but he was high as a kite and my men couldn't’t make his story stand up so they put him in a holding cell while they checked him out. Turns out he has a sheet - burglary and aggravated assault.  One other thing...”

Sciatazzi moved his gaze reluctantly from the bagged ring and looked up at the other man. “Go on, “he said, “Surprise me.”

“Stackpole claims he works here.”

“This Stackpole,” Sciatazzi said, “He kind of a weak lookin’ mama’s boy with a blond quiff? - God’s gift to women? Not too bright?”

“That sounds like him. You know him?”

“No, but my ex does - intimately so I’m informed - and here she is now, Madame proprietress with her lovely daughter, so why don’t you ask her?”

 At the entrance stood two women, one the mirror image of the other, darkly yet fashionably dressed. The younger stepped forward towards the table, peering out through a tumble of stranded black hair.

“Daddy?” she said, “What’s going on?”

Timothy Booth (IRL)


A cracking chapter. The plot thickens and everything and everyone within the story are brought together. "Hair a white powder puff of careful trumpery..." is a great phrase and one all writers (including me) will wish they thought of first. Reminds me of Dickens. Nice work Tim.
Thank you. Grist to the mill.
Thank you. Grist to the mill. thank you went in twice, so that makes it a double thank you....
Nicely written chapter! Personally I think the "powder puff" is a little over the top. but each to his own.
Just let this story get dirtier. The deeper it gets in intrigue the better.
This chapter, aside from entertaining word choice and interesting story, is stitched together in a way that flows smoothly on a ride devoid of speed bumps along the way. Very nice writing style.