City by the Bay: Approximately Dead

By John B. Miller Jr.

Oftentimes, the intentions of honest and law-abiding people are subjugated by the elements of the occupations that they pursue. Why would a skilled precision machinist want to give up on that life track to pursue a career of violence and danger in the slimy and violent world of the criminal underbelly of a large metropolitan city? Seeking out the answers to questions that many would rather leave unanswered is a skill learned the hard way for a new private eye. Without the tools of a skilled assassin, the strength of a professional leg breaker, or the general pugilistic abilities of a common street thug, Rex Bonner charts his way through the streets and alleys of his town to locate the center of the crux of his case and bring it to a client’s approval, dodging hurdles and parrying threats along the way as others get the chance to pay the piper for the life they chose and the horror that fills it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781546278665

John B. Miller Jr.

The author is a retired army pilot with many years of service and many adventures in the aviation business. Some that took him to countries throughout Europe, Asia, and throughout the United States, with periodic stops along the South American Borders and the Islands in the vicinity. The passengers vary from non-descript personnel with questionable backgrounds and motives, other various and nefarious personnel in combat situations, to high ranking government office holders and military brass. After a forty year career with the military, he now resides with his artist wife in Florida.

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© 2019 John B. Miller, Jr. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/08/2019

ISBN: 978-1-5462-7867-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-7866-5 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

List of Characters

Introduction

Chapter 1 Assassin

Chapter 2 Investigation

Chapter 3 Client Number One

Chapter 4 Weather Outlook

Chapter 5 Herbies Café Experience

Chapter 6 Gianni Joseph Rissotti, AKA: Jo-Jo

Chapter 7 Reunion at The Pink Pussy Kat

Chapter 8 Return to Herbies’ Café

Chapter 9 Nicaragua 1952

Chapter 10 Switcheroo

Chapter 11 Bosom Buddies/Friends Too the End

Chapter 12 Ballistics 101

Chapter 13 Eileen, Evelyn and Steve

Chapter 14 Ballistics Laboratory

Chapter 15 Retrospective

Chapter 16 Under New Management

Chapter 17 Update

Chapter 18 Adventures of Vinny Carter

Chapter 19 More Detective Stuff

Chapter 20 Return to Herbies’

Chapter 21 Office Work

Chapter 22 The Message

Chapter 23 The Wall at The End of The Tunnel

Chapter 24 The Lightning Bolt

Epilogue

Dedicated to my Artist wife,

Pammy

LIST OF CHARACTERS

APPROXIMATELY DEAD

INTRODUCTION

N o body really knows why some people do the things they do. Why would anyone, well employed in a highly skilled area of precision engineering, want to give up that career for one of crime detection, danger, and financial insecurity. The answer is simple. A young man who has interests in another endeavor. At 28 years of age, it was time for a change. Rex Bonner had done his last precision metal work and was now looking forward to the career of a Private Investigator. He had jumped through all the hoops required by the state and now as a card-carrying Investigator, he was ready for his first case.

Leaving the machine shop the night of his certification, he stumbled upon the body of a local bookie lying in the street, on the way to his car. From that moment on his life took a sharp turn as the events that unfolded dragged him into a mystery that would come close to ending his career very shortly after it began.

It was not a simple case of who shot who, so much as it was about why. Suddenly the uncommonly complicated life and death of one man began to have a hold on Rex like nothing else. His first break and actual introduction came the next morning when the widow of the dead man stopped by for a visit. From that point on the case was in high gear. He would chase as many phantoms as he would innuendo’s in pursuit of answers that eluded his best efforts. During which time he would make a few friends and some very bad enemies. The pathway to a solution as to who did the dirty work, was as complex and confusing as the crime itself. But, as he was told in his investigator training class, there is always an answer, somewhere. You just have to find it.

1

ASSASSIN

I t was 6:58 pm Wednesday the 5 th of April, 1961, when the final steps of preparation were completed. The wardrobe included a dark green gabardine overcoat, a black knit watch cap, a pair of dark brown kid leather gloves, a weapon and a shot glass of cognac. The last steps were now complete. The mission was about to begin. The last item before leaving the house was the cognac. To be imbibed as a tribute, not as a bracer, that was secured a long time ago.

Tonight, the opening scene of the last act would occur about 8:03 pm. The sky was dark and moist from a light drizzle that had been falling for the last two hours. Footsteps crunched across the drive way of crushed rock, hard frozen dirt and pebbles as a darkened figure quietly opened the door to the black, 1956 Ford sedan and in one gliding motion slid into the drivers’ seat, closed the door and started the engine. The car pulled slowly out of the driveway as the headlights reflected off the moisture in the air casting a subdued glow on the forward path. Moments later the car and its sole occupant disappeared into the quiet and misty shades of darkness.

Twelve minutes later the black Ford reappeared out of the foggy evening coolness, turning left onto Gardena Street while shutting off the headlights and stopping in front of the old Gracie theatre. The car then backed up smoothly into the driveway on the theaters south side. A location that no one has parked in for many years. The driver checked with Timex; it was 7:52 pm.

At the Banner Avenue Cafe, on the southwest corner by the intersection of less than scenic Caspian Way, Sonny rose from his seat in the booth along the west wall and moved towards the door as he had at least a hundred times before. He rechecked his pockets for the necessary items of his trade which he always made sure they were with him. There were two rules he lived by, never leave anything to chance and never leave anything on the table when you leave. Mick opened the front door as Sonny approached and watched as he carefully descended the three steps to the street. He closed the door as Sonny walked off to the east, into the light mist and fog that had taken up residence on Banner Ave. and the surrounding environs.

The walk was a journey of 185 paces to the destination provided by Ma Bell. He arrived, opened the door, sat down on the uncomfortable seat provided at no extra cost, closed the door as a dull overhead light came on. He put his dime into the slot. When the tone sounded, he dialed the digits ingrained in his mind and waited for the response on the other end. After two rings a voice answered uttering a single word: Ya, followed by Go.

Minutes before Sonny Scalise made his latest trip to the booth a darkened figure had taken up a temporary position in a shadowy corner of the old theatre’s entry and waited. As if on schedule the overhead light in the phone booth came on as the door closed behind the caller casting a pale and sallow glow over the interior of the kiosk’s limited space.

Sonny responded with: 1-1-2-5. The voice said, Numbers Sonny returned with, 355-28T1

Then put the phone back on the cradle, got up and exited the booth. He walked up the street, crossing at the northwest corner of Gardena and Banner. He had almost reached the far curb when the first shot hit him from behind in the mid-thoracic area, one inch right of the spine. In the split second between the force of impact and the body’s reaction the second bullet tore through him in the same general area, two inches left of the first. Sonny collapsed while instinctively bringing his arms to break the fall. It was the last-ditch effort that yielded a poor crop. The impact was slowed only by the brim of Sonny’s hat, which provided very little deceleration factor. Sonny fell face first into the southern gutter on Banner Ave.

A place he had spent so much of his time during his working days was now the last place of occupation for the late, and possibly great, Joseph Anthony Scalise.

The figure retreated from their standing room only location and walked quickly up the street to the drive where the car was parked. There was an odd irony as the theatre never enjoyed a full house and usually only filled the first two rows on any occasion including the grand opening in 1902.

Entering quickly and starting the engine and exiting left onto Gardena. Driving slowly so as not to attract attention, the driver turned on the headlights just prior to making the right turn onto Harbon Road and drifting back into the drizzling darkness from whence the assassin came.

The deed was done. At least someone had written the final chapter in the life of a miserable and worthless piece of trash like him. The vile filth that emanates from this end of town is a testament to the low level some people can sink too during the process of trying to find something of common value in the trenches of debauchery and sleaze. They scratch their matrix of pathways from one end of the district to the other.

Nothing of greatness has taken place in this area in many a year, save for the drinking, gambling and whoring of even the most unsuspecting and prominent people who have lent their presence to the common core of disgust that has tainted every curb, back alley and gutter of this old theatre district.

The crumbling exterior of the four sisters, as they were once known, that had heralded the heart of the garish and thriving entertainment district now cower as shadowy characters pathetically acting out roles on a blighted stage of despair and failure. This gradual demise has left an indelible stain that only time or a wrecking ball could erase.

The grand thesis never changed as they say. One less crook in the city by the bay.

2

INVESTIGATION

DAY 1: WEDNESDAY APRIL 5, 1961

I t had been a rather busy day. First came the sunrise, followed by the daily trip to the shop, the arrival of the mail which included my official certification and license from the city as a Private Investigator, followed close at hand by my discovery of a body lying in the gutter on the far curb in front of the shop.

The latter I encountered only after a full day when I shut off the lights, and locked up the shop for the night, it was 9:28 pm. At first, I thought it was a canvas drop cloth left by some city worker that had been scurrying around earlier in the morning trying to mislead the general public into thinking that he and his subordinate were in pursuit of some important utilitarian goal. The scheduled inspection of municipal water valves, although menial, was absolutely necessary for the free flow of H20.

My first professional assumption was incorrect. It was not a drop cloth. It was a body.

I approached cautiously relying on my newly acquired skills to lead me down the correct path, which was not going to fill the bill tonight. The person was lying face down in the south gutter of Banner Avenue, so with due care I rolled him over to discover it was the local bookie. Just to make sure of this field expedient form of identification I searched his pockets for a wallet and found a small notebook in the left breast pocket of his overcoat. No ID, so I continued my search. Then I discovered the wallet in his rear left pocket. The notebook, I absent mindedly put in my jacket pocket during the search. The wallet indicated that the holder was a licensed driver by the name of Joseph Anthony Scalise. After determining the identification of the gentleman, I returned the wallet to its original hiding place.

My second assumption was correct. It was the local bookie.

My next move was to ask the obvious question; Are you okay? To which I was not expecting a response but there was a slight attempt from Mr. Scalise to say something. It sounded more like wheezing but it was a sign of life.

As fast as I could move I ran back to the shop, unlocked the front door and ran to the phone.

Operator, I need an ambulance and the police at 120 Banner Ave. as soon as possible.

This is the operator; what number are you calling from sir?

Prospect 6-1694, operator.

Thank you, sir the police and medical team are on their way. Is there anything else 1 can help you with?

No, that’s it, thanks operator. She sounded concerned and rather pleasant. The conversation was brief, but meaningful.

As quickly as I could I ran back to see if I could assist Mr. Scalise. The sound of the sirens drowned out any other sound in the vicinity. Moments later I could see headlights.

The ambulance arrived about the same time as the police pulled up to the scene. Within moments Lights were flashing and people hustling around the area all trying to give aid and figure out what happened. The first officer on the scene was a gentleman named Patrol Officer Barton.

‘’Who was the first person to find the victim?"

That would be me. Officer. I’m Rex Bonner, part owner of the Machine Shop across the street, and the City’s newest Private Investigator.

Officer Barton asked me the basic stuff. You were you the first person to find victim?

Yes, that is correct, as far as I know.

Is there a chance that someone else could have found the victim before you?

I imagine that is a possibility. Perhaps someone walking back from the Cafe, noticing someone in the gutter and passing it off as some bum sleeping off the effects of too much alcoholic beverage. Yes, Officer, that is a possibility.

"Does that sort of thing happen a round here often?

I don’t remember ever seeing something like that in the past.

How did you come to find this person in the street?

I was leaving the shop for the night and heading home when I saw what looked like someone lying in the street.

And what did you do then?

I went over to investigate. When I realized, it was a person I wanted to see if it was someone needing help or whether he was beyond help. I checked his pockets for a wallet and any form of identification. I located his wallet in his rear left pocket with a driver’s license indicating his name is Joseph Anthony Scalise.

And what did you decide based on that?

He was the local bookie, and he looked like he was in a serious situation. As I was returning his wallet to its original location, he started wheezing. He appeared to be alive as he was making sounds so I ran back to the shop to call for help.

Then what did you do?

I rang the operator and called for help with her assistance. I requested medical help as the person of interest appeared to be in a troubled way. I also asked for police assistance as I thought knowing the person’s vocation and present location there was a possibility that an assassination attempt may have been made on his fife. Of course, that is just an observation.

Is there anything else that you can think of that might relate to the situation?

Nothing that comes to mind.

Tomorrow, probably in the morning a detective will stop by and take a more formal statement. What is your normal arrival time?

I usually arrive between 07:30am and 08:00 am, but I can be here earlier if need be

I’m sure that will be fine. Thank you for your time and observations and associated speculations.

Glad to be of assistance Officer, always happy to assist the police.

Officer Barton finished his questions and left to coordinate the removal of Mr. Scalise with the ambulance crew. It was 09:55 pm on the wall clock as I left the shop for the third time. Everything important was off or locked or both. As I stepped out onto the sidewalk the police car was making a right turn up Gardena Ave. and the ambulance was right behind him making a left turn down Gardena heading for the hospital. He turned on his light and siren as he slid off into the darkness of the downhill run.

If I played my cards right, I could make it to the liquor store before closing but Mom was going to have to wait till morning for the big bread and milk extravaganza at the corner variety store.

After reaching the safe harbor of my living room, I relaxed with a beer, watched the evening news, which did not contain anything about the happenings outside the office. I decided there had been enough excitement for one day, and it was time to hit the sack.

Besides, I will have to explain to Mom why we are two loaves short of an issue and two quarts short of the milk level.

Imagine if you will, a 28-year-old man worrying about explaining to his mother that you forgot to pick up the bread and milk after coming home from a long day at work that ended up with the local bookie getting blown away right in front of the shop. I’m sure she would accept that as a good excuse for not resupplying the larder, maybe not.

Day 2: Thursday April 6, 1961

I am not sure what reached me first, the melodious sound of Mom yelling down the stairs that breakfast would soon be ready, the dog licking my face to alert me that it was time to feed him, or that little voice inside me that automatically threw me into first gear whether I was ready or not.

Moments later I found myself in an upright position with my clothes on and responding to the voice known as Mom.

Yes, I will be there in a moment and does the invitation extend to Max?’ Don’t bring that filthy mutt up here! I don’t want him scaring fluffy."

Don’t worry Mom I was only fooling.

"By the way did you happen to see the AM news yet?’

Your father is watching it right know.

"Did you get the bread and milk?’

Holy cats, did you see this Rex?

I was there Dad.

You were, well what was going on?

I was leaving the shop when I found someone lying in the street. I checked him for signs of life and an ID. It turned out to be Sonny Scalise and he was still breathing. I ran back to the shop and called the operator for police and an ambulance. They showed up quickly and took over the scene. After answering all their questions, I was told I could go. So here I am.

Well that explains the milk mystery and the bread dilemma.

That’s all I can tell at the moment. I am sure I will be having a fuller exchange of info when I get to the shop. The police officer I spoke to last night said some detective would be coming by in the AM to interview me. So, I guess I will be looking forward to that and planning my answers.

Don’t worry about the milk and bread. I’M pick it up later after I drop your father off at the shop.

Oh, gee Mom, that’s really swell of you.

Watch it wise guy.

And don’t forget dad’s beer.

I told you; your father doesn’t need any more beer.

Right you are Mum. I forgot you were monitoring him in that department.

Well anyways, I will see you when I get home and if you can think of anything you need at the store, just give me a ring at the shop. Actually, I mean my office.

I arrived at the shop/office at 8:15 am. The place was crawling with police, cops, flat footers whatever you want to call them doing what you expect considering a shooting had taken place in the street the previous evening. Actually, it was a murder from what the news had to say this morning. No one seemed to take notice of me walking down the street and opening the front door of the shop. I tried not to do anything sudden, or give the idea that l was reaching for anything more lethal than a door knob.

As I walked in I could tell from the sound of the machines coming from the back that everyone was here and it was business as usual, except out on the street it looked more like confusion as usual, I pulled out my chair and assumed the position of a busy detective just showing up for another day of crime busting, when I happened to notice something odd in my left coat pocket. On further inspection, I determined that the item was something I had acquired the previous evening when I was trying to determine the identity of the man lying in the street. It was Sonny’s note book that I absently, and without malice of forethought, put in my pocket during my search of Sonny’s pockets to determine his identity.

It was not apparent to me at the time. But whatever it was or why, I had, without realizing it, broken the first rule of crime scene etiquette, Don’t touch anything, How I could be so careless was beyond me at the moment and I decided to put the book in the desk drawer without even looking at the first page. And it was a smart decision that I came to realize, very quickly. As the drawer closed the front door opened and in walked a person describing himself as Homicide Detective, Walt Flannery. I rose to greet my first guest of the day.

Good morning Detective Flannery, I offered, and reached out my hand as is customary. I’m Rex Bonner part owner of the shop and one of the city’s newest private eyes."

Weil how do you do, I understand you were the first to find Mr. Scalise laying in the street last night, is that correct.

As far as I know, I was the first. I came back to the shop as quickly as I could and made the call to the operator for assistance. She got the police and the ambulance.

About what time was that?

it was 9:35 PM.

Are you sure of that?

Absolutely, you can get a check on that from the phone company. They keep very accurate records, and I noticed the clock on the wall when I dialed the operator.

Did Mr. Scalise say anything too you while you were near him on the street?

He did attempt to say something but it was inaudible, just some sounds.

Would you venture a guess at what he might be trying to say?

I have no idea, sounded like wheezing and gurgling.

Is there anything else you can remember about the incident, anything at all? "There was something I thought a little odd. While Sonny was lying on his back, he kept trying to reach out for something. I have no idea what that might have meant, the whole incident lasted only a few seconds.

The ambulance arrived about the same time as the police pulled up in front of the shop, I found him, Mr. Scalise, about 9:28 pm, I came back here and made the call to the operator, went back outside to see if I could be of any assistance to Mr. Scalise, which I decided I couldn’t. Within a minute or so I heard the siren in the distance that turned out to be the ambulance that was followed shortly by the police."

"Did the police that arrived ask you any questions?’

Yes, but mostly the same things you asked me.

Well, I guess that finishes that, I thank you for your time Mr. Bonner.

I’m glad to be of assistance. By the way, how is Mr. Scalise?

Dead, from what I hear, but that’s unofficial.

Flannery was out the door a moment later. Probably comparing notes with the police outside who were scouring the crime scene for whatever bits of evidence they could find, if any at all. I sat back down and picked up my coffee cup, the contents of which had long gone cold. I got up to refresh the morning ritual when I noticed the police officers had taken off. It seemed I had only taken my eyes off them for a moment and they were gone. Cleared out, blew town, hit the road. I guess they got what they came for. A whole lot of nothing from what I could tell.

I filled up my cup, sat down at my desk and pulled open the center drawer and took out Sonny’s notebook and flipped it open. That’s when the next surprise of the morning came popping up into my investigation. The notebook was full from front to back with nothing but a bunch of strange signs and figures that resembled a book of gibberish. I studied it for several minutes all the while flipping from front to back and stopping occasionally in the middle to see if there was even the slightest issue I could make out of it.

After giving the notebook as thorough a going over as I was capable of considering I had no idea what I was looking at, I flipped it to the back cover. Someone had spent some time trying to peel off the end paper on the back cover. It appeared to be modified slightly to conceal a strange looking key imbedded into the rear cover which itself had been modified for the purpose of concealing the key.

The key was an unusual item with a large and substantial head with the letters PSBT stamped into both sides. Its unique design indicated it was ready for a lot of wear and tear. After giving it the normal overall study, I returned it to its pseudo hiding place in the west end of the notebook.

Moments later, as I was pondering the events of the previous evening, I greeted my second visitor of the day, as none other than Vinny Carter, (Retired policeman and family friend) came busting through the front door, and he was excited, almost as though he had gotten a call from the department asking him to go back on the force for a stint to help solve some major crime wave and its attending incidents. Which I’m sure was not in his future, and l am sure he knew it also.

Well, Mr. Bonner, I understand you are one of the city’s newest Pi’s, do I have that, right?

You certainly do, I have the certificate right here along with the wallet ID card.

Great now how about showing me where all the activity took place last night. I’m just itching to see it.

"Good morning to you Vinny; would you care for a cup of coffee? I don’t