The Scarlet Web part One, a Sam Barton Mystery

Sam liked the sound that the tubes in his old radio made as they warmed. For a few seconds before the announcers voice came through the speaker the tubes made that reassuring bass hum combined with a high pitched whine. He thought that modern, solid state radios sounded soulless. Even though you could buy a radio today that had perfect high fidelity and distortion levels so low the human ear couldn’t hear them, Sam thought the music sounded lifeless. Those warm tubes were the heart of the radio, and without a heart well, nothing else worked.

It was late in the evening and Sam was finishing up another day of doing almost nothing. He hadn’t had a case to work on in over two weeks. It seemed crime was low in the city these days. Nothing much for a private eye to do. In a world of the internet and cell phones, Sam Barton was a throwback to a 1930’s movie. He called himself a “private eye” instead of a detective, wore a long trench coat and Fedora and carried a powerful pistol in a shoulder holster. And he smoked a pipe. He liked Jazz. An old girlfriend worked at the city’s only Jazz radio station and she was on the air late at night. Her name was Scarlet Lee and she was beautiful. She was thin, five foot eight and had flaming red hair and blue eyes. She and Sam had dated for a while but things hadn’t work out. Remaining friends, they saw each other from time to time and Sam still kept a key to her apartment, just in case he needed a place to stay. Mostly though, they met on the radio. Scarlet talking and Sam listening. He could listen to that sultry voice all night. Which he sometimes did.

Tonight however, a man’s voice came over the airwaves. The announcer said that due to Scarlet’s illness, he would be filling in on the night shift. Strange, Sam thought. He couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t on the radio on her usual nights. Sick or not, she was always there. Sam worried that something serious could be wrong but considering the late hour, and if she was really sick, he decided not to call her. With nothing else to do, Sam prepared for bed. He kept a cot in his office thereby keeping his expenses down. Taking off his shirt in the bathroom, Sam noticed a slight pudginess just above his belt line. Age and too much restaurant food was getting the best of him. According to his rental agreement there was no cooking allowed in his office. Considering that he hadn’t seen the landlord in over three years, maybe getting a hot plate and making his own meals wasn’t a bad idea. With that thought, Sam went to bed and dreamed of bacon and eggs.

The next day Sam was up early taking care of some business. He mailed a few letters, bills to clients mostly, and then thought he would swing past Scarlet’s place to see how she was doing. Leaving his car on the street, Sam walked up to the old house. Scarlet rented an apartment in a old Gothic Revival style house built around 1880. The owner had kept it up very nicely and made several apartments inside. Scarlet’s was on the second floor. At the top of the stairs Sam could see Scarlet’s door and knew immediately something was wrong. The door stood slightly ajar and wood splinters lay on the floor. Sam reached into his coat for his 357 magnum, a new one he’d bought after losing his old one during a recent case. Easing his way to the door, Sam crouched low and pushed the door open with his hand. Nothing. It had definitely been forced open. He moved into the apartment keeping low. Five feet in he could see into the living room and kitchen. Again, nothing. No sign of a struggle or anything out of place. A short hall led to the bathroom and bedroom. Both doors were standing open. Peeking into the bathroom first, he found no one there. The bedroom door was wide open and Sam could almost see the entire room. The blankets from the bed had been thrown onto the floor and Scarlet was gone.

After talking with others in the building Sam found that the lady in the apartment next to Scarlet’s had heard a loud noise last evening but thought nothing of it. No one else had heard a thing. Sam called the police on his seldom used flip phone. Scarlet had encouraged him to get a cell phone which he didn’t like using but because of her, he carried it with him. When the police arrived they searched the apartment, checked for fingerprints and took Sam’s story about what happened which wasn’t much as Sam knew almost nothing. They put crime scene tape across the door and told Sam to leave. Sam was considered a top detective in the city. It bothered him that he could find no evidence. As he drove away he decided he needed to go back. Swinging his fully restored 1941 BMW 327 Coupe around the block he slowed as the last police car left. Pulling up to the curb Sam shifted out of gear and sat for a moment with the engine running. The last time he spoke with Scarlet was a week ago and he could think of nothing she said that was out of place. He noticed that she had seemed a little distant when they talked but thought nothing of it at the time. Now he began to wonder. Was there something going on with her? Something she was reluctant to tell Sam. He supposed she had things in her life that she didn’t talk about, they were friends but not that close after their break up. Shutting off the car, Sam got out and headed toward the apartment. He had to find something he could use to help find Scarlet. What it was, he didn’t know.


The Tarot Card Mystery part Seven

For those of you who have not followed this series, here are links to the first six episodes: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, and Part Six. Part Seven is the last episode.

Once again, the old red ship in the harbor was as black as night inside. Using his flashlight for just a moment to get his bearings, Sam started off down the corridor. He passed an open hallway to his right but dared not try the flashlight again. Just as he passed it Sam heard a flurry of movement behind him. He crouched and turned in a defensive move just in time to feel the weight of a man drop on him. A heavy man. The air was forced out of his lungs. Gasping and reaching for his pistol Sam felt a fist connect with the side of his head. It was a glancing blow which still hurt, but didn’t put him down. As Sam grabbed his pistol he pulled out the flashlight with his other hand. While the light momentarily blinded his attacker, Sam lashed out with his foot, striking the man in the gut. The attacker dropped to all fours. Sam used his pistol to smash the man in the back of the head, dropping him all the way to the floor. Not getting a good look at his pursuers the first time he was on the ship, Sam wasn’t sure who this was. Monty or Jerry was his guess. Suddenly hearing footsteps approaching, Sam lifted his gun and squeezed off a shot toward where his new assailant had appeared from around the corner.

“The next one goes right through your forehead pal,” Sam said. Shining the flashlight in his direction revealed the new guy to be Michael, Madame DuPree’s right hand man. “Nice to see you again, Michael,” Sam said, sarcastically. Michael stood without speaking. “Chatty as ever, I see,” Sam quipped. Behind the man, Sam could see light spilling from the same room he had rescued Christi from. “Alright Michael, this is how it’s going to go down. You’re going to grab your friend off the floor here,” Sam said, motioning to the first assailant. “You drag him into this room and then we”re all going to have a friendly little talk. Unless you’d rather not. Then I’ll just kill you. Either way works fine for me.” Michael, with just a moments hesitation, walked to the prone man on the floor, scooped him up under his arms and dragged him around the corner and into the lighted room. Sam followed. Inside the room Sam found a surprise waiting for him.

“Oh Sam mon! I’m so glad you are here. You’re saving me again!” Christi cried. Christi was once again tied to a chair. Beside her, also tied up was Madame DuPree. Behind the two women was another man. Probably Monty or Jerry, whichever one wasn’t being dragged in by Michael. The man began to raise the 45 in his hand, but Sam stopped him.

“You’ll die for trying buddy,” Sam said, holding his 44 at the heart level of the man. “Lay the gun on the floor and kick it my direction. It ain’t worth it pal, just do it.” The man looked at Michael and then back at Sam. He did as Sam told him. Picking the pistol off the floor Sam kept one on Michael and the other on Monty/Jerry. Suddenly Monty/Jerry lunged. Sam brought both pistols to bear on him but before he could get a shot off, Michael was on him. Michael’s arms wrapped tightly around Sam’s, keeping him from shooting behind him. Sam twisted in Michael’s grip just enough to bring his pistol up and squeezing off two quick shots, landed both bullets in Monty/Jerry’s abdomen. The man screamed and dropped to the floor. Michael reached out and grabbed the gun in Sam’s hand. Twisting it backward, Sam let go with a yell of pain. Michael’s grip had loosened on Sam however, and he twisted out of his arms. Backing up several steps, Sam pointed Monty/Jerry’s gun at Michael. Michael lunged at Sam.

Sam started shooting. Just as he did, several policemen came barging through the door. Behind them was Captain Amos. Everything came to a halt. Several guns came to bear on Michael even though Sam had shot him twice. The big man hadn’t even flinched when Sam’s bullets hit him. But with as many police as there was, his choice was either quit or get killed. He stood quiet as he was being handcuffed.

“You alright, Sam?” The Captain asked. “Good idea for you to wear that wire,” said Amos. “I think if we search this boat, we’ll find what these goons were up to.”

Everyone, except Sam was handcuffed and taken down town. Christi begged and pleaded with Sam and the police to set her free. Sam told her they needed to get everything sorted out and if she didn’t do anything wrong, she would eventually be let out. She was not happy. She screeched and cried all the way out of the ship.

A few days later, Sam sat at his desk. As the workman finished his new glass window he tried to recall how many of them he’d had replaced. “You know,” the man said to Sam. “You’re putting my kids through college with these window replacements. Not that I mind, but maybe you ought to think about a solid door.” Sam wrote him a check and sent him on his way. Just as he was thinking about Christi and hoping she would make out okay, the phone rang. It was Captain Amos.

“Yeah, Sam,” he began, “Looks like your girlfriend’s story checks out. We’re letting her go. She’ll need to stick around awhile to testify but for now, she’s free. Pretty much looks like what you told us. The old lady was selling drugs and the big guy was working for her and selling drugs in direct competition with her. They’re all going to plead not guilty of course so it looks like it could be a lengthy trial. Oh, and your girlfriend wants you to come pick her up. Now.”

“She’s not my girl….” Sam started to say, but Captain Amos had already hung up the phone. Sam was reluctant to pick her up. She was a material witness to the crimes and so was Sam. They were both heavily involved and any contact between them could be problematic. But the Chief sort of okayed Sam picking her up, so… Sam grabbed his coat and started to head for the door when something fell out of his pocket. He stared at the object on the floor. It was a Tarot card. The back was facing up and it had the same design as the deck Madame DuPree had used. Sam sighed heavily, bent down and picked it up. How the heck did that get in my coat, he thought. Turning the card over proved to be a bad idea. It was “The Lovers.”

The Tarot Card Mystery part Four

I started writing this story back in 2016. I wrote three parts and then life was interrupted by my wife’s illness. The story is a mystery involving my favorite detective, Sam Barton. Here are links to episodes one, two, and three. I’m now in the frame of mind to continue with the story. It’s been sitting, patiently waiting to be told. So here’s part four!

“She says you tried to rob her, Sam!” the police captain yelled. He had been doing this for about half an hour. Sam was driving around in his car trying to figure out what to do about this case when a squad car pulled him over. The police had went to Madame DuPree’s shop after Sam’s call and found the old woman tied up on the floor where he had left her. Taking her to the station, she claimed that Sam had come to the shop and tried to rob her. She said that she had never seen him before.

Pounding his hand on the Captain’s desk, Sam shouted back, “You can’t be serious! You know me Captain! You know who I am. You know I’d never do something like that. She hired me to find her niece. When I found more than she’d wanted, she had her gorilla knock me out and lock me in a storeroom. Look! She gave me this card.” Reaching into his pocket, Sam retrieved the Tarot card Madame DuPree gave him. Christi had tossed it into the back seat of his car after he rescued her and for reasons he couldn’t understand, he grabbed it and put it back into his pocket before the cops stopped him. “Why do you think I’d have something like this, Captain? Where do you think I’d get a Tarot card, if not from her?” Sam flipped the card over to show the Captain the face side, which had been the Death card except now it wasn’t. “What the hell…?” Sam said. “This, this isn’t the right card.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” the captain said. “You’re not that stupid Sam, and neither am I. Having a playing card in your hand doesn’t mean squat! Now I know you didn’t try to rob her but your explanation isn’t all that convincing. So why don’t we…Sam? Sam!

“Sam looked up from the card and said, “This isn’t the right card. She gave me the Death card, but this isn’t it.” The card Sam was holding was the Hermit card. It showed an old man standing alone on a mountain top holding a lantern in his out stretched hand. “There’s something wrong here Captain…”

“You bet yer ass there is,” the Captain interrupted.

“She only gave me one card, Captain. It was the Death card. This isn’t it. How, how could that happen?

Sam’s vision started to blur. He dropped the Hermit card on the desk and rubbed his eyes. He started feeling nauseous and dizzy. Looking at the Capatin and back at the Hermit card he saw the figure of the Hermit turn it’s head toward him. Sam thought he must be going crazy as the figure began to grow larger in his vision. The Hermit lifted his lantern to illuminate Sam’s face and said, “You’re alone. You’re all alone, with no one to help you! Death will come to you in it’s time but for now, You’re all alone.” Sam fell forward out of his chair, and remembered nothing more.

The Tarot Card Mystery part Three

Here you are folks, part three!

Dull pain from his right shoulder to his hips caused Sam to wake and with his eyes still closed he sensed light coming through the office window. When the Jamaican girl shifted beneath his left arm he realized why he was in pain. Two people sleeping on a cot made for one did not afford him the best night sleep he’d ever had. Rising slowly so as not to wake her, Sam massaged some life back into his arm. Looking down at Christi, her lustrous black hair and brown bare shoulders silently invited him back to bed but he knew he shouldn’t. He wasn’t a guy who worried over much about morals but at this moment he was certainly hoping she wasn’t younger than twenty. She never did say how old she was. After a quick shower and a change of clothes he left a note for her on the desk: “Taking care of some business, be back later.” Then he left the office.

Sam stopped at a local eatery for breakfast. One of the neighborhood cops was sitting at the counter when Sam went in. “Hey Sam,” he said. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah Charlie,” said Sam, “How’s the family?”

“Oh everyone’s good. You know Martha,” he said, rubbing his large belly, “Always baking something for me.”

“Having a good woman in your life can be hazardous to your health Charlie. Better be careful,” Sam said as he sat down.

“Say, Sam, you haven’t heard any rumblings in the area about drugs have you?” The hairs on the back of Sam’s neck prickled.

“I don’t know what you mean, Charlie.”

“Well it seems Downtown has been getting some unofficial reports about a drug war taking shape around here. Two rival factions maybe. Just wondered if you’d heard anything.”

“Not me,” Sam said. “I try to keep my nose out of that kind of business.”

“Yeah I figured as much.” Charlie got up to leave. “If you hear anything you let me know, yeah?”

“You got it Charlie. See you ‘round.” Sam ate his breakfast in silence wondering again, just what he got himself into.

Finished with his breakfast, Sam went to see Madame DuPree. She was sitting quietly behind the counter when Sam opened the shop door. “So you found my niece. That was quick work Mr. Barton. Most impressive. But you did not bring her to me. Unfortunate.”

“She’s safe.”

“In your office. I sent Michael to collect her there.”

Sam was beginning to wonder if this old lady wasn’t psychic after all. “Well the office door is locked and…”

“Michael does not worry about locked doors, Mr. Barton. You may remember that I told you it would be most unfortunate if there were any entanglements between my niece and yourself. You should have heeded my advice.” Sam imagined the third frosted glass window of his office door in as many weeks smashed all over the floor and wondered just how the hell this lady knew what happened last night. Time to change the balance of the conversation.

“Look, here’s the situation. You asked me to find your niece. I found her, and got shot at and chased in the process. I intended to bring her to you but she insisted that she wasn’t going to come. I also learned a few things last night that you neglected to say. Christiana tells me you’re involved with drugs. She…”

“The girl lies.”

“That may be. However a couple things her captors said last night while they were trying to kill us suggest that she may be telling the truth. Now personally I don’t care what you’re into but when you withhold information that can get me killed I resent that. I did what you asked so if you don’t mind I’ll just take my check and our business will be concluded.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, Mr. Barton. I told you to simply bring back my niece and not get involved with her. You also know more now than you should. I’m afraid I can’t have you walking out of here and telling what you know. Your fat police friend would love to hear this tale, would he not?” Sam heard a noise and turned to find all six foot four inches of Michael standing right behind him. Michael reached out with his right hand and grabbed Sam by his coat. Sam took hold of Michael’s middle finger and bent it backward. It had no effect. He bent it further back until he heard it snap. Michael still held Sam firmly paying no attention to his broken finger as he pulled back his left arm and punched Sam square in the face. As Sam’s knees buckled under him, the lights dimmed and went out.

Sam woke lying on the floor with a massive headache and a swollen, possibly broken nose. At first he didn’t understand what had happened. He remembered talking to Madame DuPree and nothing more. Slowly, the big man standing behind him swam into his mind and then it all came back. Why didn’t they kill him, he wondered? Sitting up with his back to a wall, he surveyed his surroundings. He was in what looked to be a store room. Boxes and crates stacked haphazardly here and there filled most of the room. There were no windows that he could see through his blurred vision and only one door. Thinking of how he could get out of the room gave him an idea. He located a large crate with the lid sitting off to one side. Looking inside it he found packing material. Sam climbed in to the crate and pulled the lid back on top. Inside he pulled the packing material over him and settled in to wait.

While he lay concealed in the crate he thought about everything that happened. Something was bothering him. He was missing something he couldn’t quite get. Something someone had said. Everything Madame DuPree had said was pretty straight forward except the mumbo jumbo about tarot cards, so that wasn’t it. The same with Christi. Michael didn’t talk, so that wasn’t it. He hadn’t talked to anyone else involved with this thing. Sam thought about the two guys on the ship. What did they say? He thought about what he had heard and then it hit him. It was Jerry. What did he say? He was complaining about losing the girl. Yeah, that was it. He said, “The big man’s going to be pissed.” The big man. What did he mean? Who was the big man? Michael, of course was a big man. Could he mean… That didn’t make sense. Michael was a big dumb oaf who worked for Madame DuPree. And didn’t talk, unless the need arose, as DuPree had said. Could he, do you suppose… The thinking was making his head hurt worse so he tried to calm his mind. The crate was cramped and Sam felt like he was getting a charlie horse when he heard the door being unlocked.

“Well Mr. Bart…” Madame DuPree began and then stopped. “Michael! Get in here!” Michael stepped into the room. “Where is he Michael? Where did he go?” Sam heard the noise of boxes being moved. Shuffling feet told him the room was being searched. “It is impossible for him to have gotten out of here! He cannot have left.”

Suddenly Michael spoke. “I don’t know, Madame. He’s not here.”

“Then where is he!?” she yelled in her scraggly voice.

“I don’t know Madame. There are no windows and the door was locked.”

“Well he’s gone! This is bad Michael. We need to find him. And with Christiana gone also, it is doubly bad.”

“I’m sorry Madame. I went to his office like you told me. She wasn’t there. The note said he would be back. He was expecting her to be there, but she left.”

“We need to find them both. Use your resources Michael. Go! But keep in touch. Find them!”

“I will Madame. I will.” Sam heard them leave, and shut the door. They didn’t lock it. So much for her psychic abilities, he thought. He waited for a good ten minutes before sliding off the crate lid as quietly as he could. Climbing out of the box, Sam made his way to the door. Opening it and looking out he found he was in the same hallway in the back of the store as before but at the far end. There was no back door. He crept up the hallway and through the curtain saw Madame DuPree sitting behind the counter where she had been before. No sign of Michael. There was only one way out, nothing more he could do. Sam strode through the curtain, turned to look at the old lady and said, “Madame,” and kept walking for the door.

A screech came from behind him and she was on his back. She was light weight but seemed powerful. Her long red nails dug into Sam’s neck as she bit him in the back of the head. He swirled around hearing the jangle of her bracelets and smashed her into the shelves full of merchandise. Her products flew everywhere and the shelves collapsed. She hung on. Screeching and digging with her nails, Sam could feel blood running down his neck. He turned and ran backward as fast as he could, smashing her into the wall. She lost her grip and fell to the floor. As she attempted to get up, Sam punched her hard on the side of her head. Her head went back, banging into the floor and she lay still. He stood over her catching his breath. Reaching over and grabbing a lamp off the counter, Sam ripped out the electric cord. Flipping Madame DuPree onto her stomach he tied her hands behind her back and then tied her hands to her feet. Sam looked behind the counter and found a roll of paper towels which he used to stop the bleeding. As he left the store he pulled out the cell phone he rarely used and called the police. Telling them what had happened there, but nothing more, Sam quickly faded into the night. For night it was. He must have lain in that room for several hours.

Now he had to find Christi. If she had stayed in his office, Michael would have found her but she was gone. Unless. Unless Michael did find her there. Which would mean that Michael was not who he seemed to be. One way to find out. Sam’s office was on the second floor of an old building not far from DuPree’s shop. He went up the back stairs and peeked through the door. No one in the hall way. Sam reached for his 45 and realized that it was gone. Dammit, he liked that pistol. He could see glass on the floor at his door from his position by the back door. He heard no noise so he went in. The glass had been smashed out of the window and his office was wrecked. Most importantly though, Christi’s clothes and shoes were still there, telling him that Michael did find her there but did not tell Madame DuPree. Which meant that Michael was probably ‘the big man’ that Jerry the sailor had mentioned and was playing each side against the other in some kind of drug war.

Sam quickly pulled off his shirt and put on his Kevlar vest. Finding his 357 in the desk drawer, he put that in his coat pocket along with a hand full of extra bullets. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like hell. Holes in his neck with blood trickling from them, two black eyes and a broken nose. And the back of his head burned from the bite Madame DuPree had given him. “That’s it,” he said to his reflection. “Now I’m pissed. Time to go shoot some people.”

The Tarot Card Mystery part One


As I get older I find myself interested in things I’ve never considered before. I’ve decided to learn tarot reading. I’ve started to do some studying and found some fascinating things. A lot of people believe tarot is just fortune telling but I’ve found different. Each of the cards in the deck have meaning for the one being read for. Giving insight to the past, present and future they help one see how things have been, how they are, and with changes, how they could be better. I’ll write about it more when I know more. In the mean time, I’ve started a new Sam Barton Private Eye story. Enjoy!


Sam Barton in, The Tarot Card Mystery part One

As Sam entered the dimly lit shop the first thing he noticed was the incense. A dark smell that conveyed mystery and went well with the candle lit atmosphere. Pushing open the door triggered a bell somewhere in the further reaches of the store. The shop of Madame DuPree, a local psychic, had been in the neighborhood for as long as he could remember. Never having met her however, there was always talk. A mysterious woman, Madame DuPree was rumored to be very old and only half baked. She read fortunes with a crystal ball or tarot cards, sold incense and other esoteric things used for who knew what. No one could remember ever seeing her outside the shop. While waiting for someone to appear Sam looked around. Stepping up to a shelf along one wall he found plastic packages of dried chicken’s feet. He was about to turn and walk out when a man entered through a curtain on the back wall.

The man was large. About six feet four wearing a tight black shirt that showed a lot of rippling muscle underneath. With clean shaven large jowls and short stubby fingers, the man wore a bowler hat. He stood and stared at Sam. After about thirty seconds of this Sam finally said, “I’m here to see Madame DuPree.” The man turned slowly and went back through the curtain. After leaving Sam alone in the shop again he started to wonder what he was getting himself into. Sam wondered that a lot. Shortly the big man returned and held the curtain open. Pressing his arm to his left side Sam felt the reassuring pressure of his 45 in its shoulder holster. Ducking and walking through the curtain he found himself in a hallway. Mr. Bowler passed him and walked to a door a few steps along. Opening the door he gestured for Sam to enter. The big man did not seem menacing but his not speaking was unnerving. Sam entered the room.

It was small, about ten by ten, lit by candles with oriental carpets hanging from the walls. Opposite the door was a woman seated at a small table, presumably Madame DuPree. Between her teeth she held a stubby tobacco pipe which she puffed enthusiastically. In her hand was a pack of tarot cards with three of them on the table, face down. With her back to the wall there was an empty chair opposite her. “Sit,” she said. Uncomfortable with sitting with his back to the door, Sam hesitated. “You need not worry,” she said. “You are safe here. Michael will let no one enter.”

“What about Michael?” Sam asked.

“He will not enter unless I am in distress.”

“Your weapon is of little use here. As I said, you are safe.” She could have guessed about the 45 and about Sam’s unwillingness to sit with his back to the door or she could be psychic. Sam thought she guessed.

After sitting down Sam said, “I got your message. You wanted to see me about a problem?” He couldn’t tell how old she was. She seemed ancient and at the same time she appeared not so old. Her skin was very dark and her eyes shown with extreme clarity. She wore a loose fitting blouse gathered at the neckline and what appeared to be about twenty pounds of necklaces and bracelets on both arms. They jingled and flashed in the candle light. Long, red painted fingernails and thin bony fingers held the tarot deck. Her other hand played across the cards lying on the table.

Motioning to the cards on the table she asked, “Would you like a reading? These are for you after all. Just a simple three card read.”

“No offense Madame, but I really don’t believe in this.”

“Belief means nothing,” she quipped, her voice thin and ragged. “A man may choose to believe or disbelieve anything. It does not make a thing so or not so. Shall we start?”

Tapping the card to Sam’s right she flipped it over. “This card represents your past. It is the High Priestess. It can symbolize virginity, which by no means applies to you.” She looked at him over the rims of her wire framed glasses. “It can show a strong feminine influence for a man or represent a very important women in your life. Perhaps one you lost?” Sam’s thoughts drifted to Scarlet. He sometimes wished they had still been together. “It also shows that you should rely on your instincts.” Flipping over the middle card she smiled slightly. “This represents the present. The Three of Cups. Celebration, happiness. Chance meetings, love affairs and flirtations. Kind of follows the first card eh?”

Puffing strongly on her pipe and tapping the last card she said, “And the future.” Turning over card she said almost under her breath, “Death. I wasn’t expecting that.” Looking up at him she said, “Oh it can mean death, that is for certain. But in your case, hmm, I think not. Getting rid of the old, as in the death of bad habits or old ways making room for something new. It can mean a harsh fate, not necessarily death but something equally hard to deal with. Most certainly a major change.” Sam sat back in his chair. He didn’t believe in this mumbo jumbo but he wasn’t happy about the death card all the same.

“So, you are wondering why I sent you a message.” It was a statement, not a question. “I am in need of the services of a private investigator. I do not want police or media attention. Bad for business, you understand.” She hesitated. “I have a niece. A strong willed girl, my late brother’s daughter. He asked me to look after her when he passed. She is, how should I say, promiscuous. She likes the drink, she likes parties. Hollywood would suit her better but she is here, with me. She is missing. Three days now, I have not seen her. I am worried, you understand. With her, loose ways I am afraid she could be in trouble. I would like her to be found before something bad happens.”

“No offense Madame,” Sam said as he took out his pipe and began to fill it, “But you’re the psychic. Can’t you find her?”

“There are dark forces at work here,” she said gravely. “Even to one such as myself, not everything is revealed. Something is blocking my sight. This has never happened before. I am afraid.” Her hands fidgeted on the table and she suddenly dropped them into her lap. She hung her head and sobbed. Pulling a kerchief from her sleeve she wiped her eyes. “Will you help me? I can give you some assistance. There are some things I have seen. And Michael will be at your disposal.”

“Yeah, about Michael, does he talk?” Sam asked as he lit his pipe.

“When the need arises.”

Sam sighed. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll look around, see what I can find. There are people I can talk to. People that know things. Why don’t you tell me what you know and I’ll get started. And I don’t think I’ll be needing Michael.”

“You may be surprised at what you will need,” she said.

When Sam left the shop it was late. Walking back to his office his shoes were loud on the hard pavement. This was his world, the city at night. He’d always been the most comfortable at night and alone. And sometimes, with a little company. Before he left her, Madame DuPree told him that she had a vision of a ship in the harbor. An old ship, maybe painted red that could be connected with her niece. She warned him to be careful. There was something about the ship she said, that could be dangerous. As he was about to leave she said, “Take this with you.” She handed him the Death card. “To remind you to be careful, and for luck. My niece’s name is Christiana Maria DuPree. As I told you, she is, loose. And very beautiful. From your reading I gather what kind of man you must be. I do not disapprove but it would be most unfortunate if there were any how should I say, entanglements between Christiana and yourself. You understand? Unfortunate.”

The kind of man I am? he thought. What did she mean by that?

Stay tuned for part two of the exciting new Sam Barton mystery!

The Case Of The Missing Pipe part Five

Okay folks, this is the last episode of “The Case Of The Missing Pipe.” This was first published last year on the “Pipesmagazine” website. Enjoy!
private detective

The Case Of The Missing Pipe Part Five

“Hey Cap’n, we got a live one here!”

Police captain James Richards had responded to a ‘shots fired’ call at the Gialone estate around midnight. Since Sylvester Gialone’s death the estate had been quiet. It seemed Mary, his widow, had just wanted to live a life out of the spotlight. So when the call came in, it peaked his interest. He stepped over one of the two dead bodies they had found and approached his Sargent, who was kneeling over a third. “Well, look who it is,” he said. “Sam Barton. I wonder what got him mixed up in this business?”

“Took a shot to the chest, Cap’n. Won’t be good,” said the Sargent as he pulled open the buttons on Sam’s shirt. “Well looky there! He’s wearin’ a vest.” When Sam had changed his clothes before coming to the estate with Mary, he put on his Kevlar vest, beliving he may need it. He wasn’t completely anti-technology. “Only reason he’s still breathin’.”

“Alright Sarg, let’s get him over to General, let the Doc’s look him over. And post a guard on his door. Nobody in or out. Maybe he’ll have some answers for us.”

Two weeks later, suffering from the pain of two broken ribs, Sam sat at the counter of his favorite tobacconist sipping his pipe. Slowly rolling smoke around his mouth, he blew it out through his nose. Savoring the after taste, he said to Smitty, who was waiting anxiously, “Well Smitty, you’ve done it again. This is a great English. Can you wrap up two ounces of this for me?” A giant smile worked it’s way across Smitty’s homely face. He liked nothing better than a satisfied customer.

As Smitty went to get the tobacco, Sam thought about the fiasco with Mary Gialone. The microfilm that Sam found in Sylvester’s pipe contained a list of all the mob families names he had been involved with and the crimes they committed over the last several years. When he had felt up to it, Sam gave his statement to the cops and Vincent Brugglio and all his cronies had been rounded up and charged with multiple crimes. He told them about Mary and all that had happened since she first came to his office. It didn’t take the police long to start making arrests and the papers were full of headlines making Sam out to be the hero for bringing down the mob. One little problem that still needed to be solved was that Mary had not been found. Somehow she had slipped away and the police were still looking for her. Which meant to Sam, that he, was still involved.

Sam had a feeling that Mary would try to contact him again, and he was seldom wrong about his feelings. Without any mob friends left or the ability to go home, Sam figured she had few options. The police had raided the building the thugs had taken he and Mary to and many others. However, Mary was still out there so someone was helping her.

Back at his office later that night with a new frosted glass window pane in the door, Sam loaded up his pipe with the new English tobacco. Smitty was a hell of a blender and seemed to always know just what Sam would like. Switching on the radio to his favorite Jazz station he sipped a 20 year old Jameson and sat back and lit up. The smoke rolled around his head as his friend Scarlet’s voice came over the air waves. “As many of my listeners know, I have a good friend whose name is Sam. This next group is one of his favorites. So while you listen to this, ‘Take Five’ and think about all that’s happened Sam ’cause, it ain’t over yet.” And with that, the Dave Brubeck Quartet came on with ‘Take Five’, his favorite tune. Sam always had an appreciation for the disjointed feel of the 5/4 time signature of the song. Puffing slowly on his Billiard, he thought about what Scarlet said. Her words reinforced his feeling that Mary would turn up somehow. After his smoke he laid down on his cot and enjoyed a dreamless sleep.

The next morning after he was dressed and had the coffee on, the telephone rang. “Sam Barton here,” he said into the receiver.

“Sam, it’s Mary.”

“I wondered when you’d call,” Sam said. “You know the cops are looking for you.”

“I know Sam. We’ve got to talk. Can I come to your office?”

“Kind of risky, don’t you think? What makes you think I won’t turn you in?”

“Sam, you’ve got to understand, I was forced to do what I did. They threatened to kill me. I, I’m sorry Sam. I didn’t mean for all this to happen to you,” Mary sobbed into the phone. “Please Sam, I’m so scared. I’m in the alley behind your office. I don’t have anyone I can trust Sam, please?”

“Sure Mary,” Sam said. “C’mon up.”

Sam smelled the cigarette smoke as soon as Mary started up the stairs. God he hated cigarettes. She opened the door to his office without knocking and closed it again quickly. Stubbing out her smoke in the ash tray, she paced as she talked. “Sam it was all an act. I had to do it. They needed the information that my husband kept on all of them and they used me to get it. You must understand.” Coming around to where Sam was seated she lifted herself up, and sat on the desk. Crossing her legs caused her skirt to shift slightly. Reaching out she took Sam’s hand, and rested it on her leg as she toyed with his fingers. She didn’t notice the newly installed camera in a darkened corner of the office.

“We could run away Sam. My husband had off shore bank accounts. There’s millions, Sam. With your help we could have access to them. We could go live on the beach, just you and me. I felt something between us Sam, I did. Didn’t you feel it? We could…..” At that moment Captain Richards and his Sargent came through the door, Mary turned on Sam. “You called the cops?!” Mary took a swing at Sam as he backed up his chair.

“No Mary, I didn’t call them. They’re in the next office with a bug on my phone and they’ve been watching you on that camera ever since you came in,” he said pointing at the corner.

“You bastard! I trusted you!”Mary screamed.

“Yeah, well I trusted you too. Seems we were both wrong.”

Mary lunged off the desk at the Sargent who was approaching her. Pushing her shoulder into his chest she grabbed his gun from his holster as he fell backward and started pulling the trigger. Bullets were flying everywhere. Sam came out of his chair and grabbed her with both arms in a bear hug, swung her around and slammed her into the wall. As Sam grabbed the gun in her hand she squeezed off one more shot. The bullet went right through his new frosted glass window. Pulling the gun from her hand as glass rained to the floor, Sam pushed her against the wall and held her there. The Sargent and Captain Richards handcuffed her.

“We could have it all Sam! There’s millions!”

“Yeah well, not anymore honey,” said the Sarg. “You’re goin’ to jail.”

“Shut up you dim witted freak! Sam please. Tell them! It was all an act! I was forced into it. Sam!!”

“Get her out of here Sarg. And keep a hold of your gun.” Captain Richards said, handing it back to him.

“Let go of me, dammit! Sam you bastard! I’ll get you for this. You can’t do this to me. Sam!!!

As the Sargent pulled her from the office, Sam sat back in his chair. His ribs hurt from the exertion of wrestling with Mary. The Captain looked around at the bullet holes and broken glass. “Sorry about your office Sam. I guess I need to have a talk with my Sargent. What did she mean by, ‘there’s millions?’ I didn’t hear that on camera.

“She asked me to help her get access to her husbands off shore bank accounts. Said we could run away. Guess that’s what I get messing around with a dame.”

“Geez Sam, who calls a women a ‘Dame’ anymore?”

“I don’t know Captain. Who says ‘Geez’ anymore?”

The Captain laughed as he left. “I’ll be in touch, Sam.”

Sam reached for his pipe. Filling the bowl he lit it up and puffed clouds of smoke into the air. As he smoked the phone rang. Picking it up he said, “Sam Barton here.”

“Mr Barton, you’re a private investigator right?” said a female voice. “My name is Andrea Smith, Mr Barton and I’m in trouble. I think I need….” Sam hung up the phone.