Dieselpunk ePulp Showcase 2 (Anthology)

Johnny Grant Private Eye: The Maltese Spectrum

JOHNNY GRANT PRIVATE EYE: THE MALTESE SPECTRUM

Created by Rick “Paladin” Pratt

The first time I met Mr. Richard Devon was when my secretary showed him into my office. He was a man of middling height in a plain but meticulously cut gray suit. His stiff formal posture made him seem taller than he was, and with his short well-coiffed gray hair and stern dark-eyed visage, he exuded the air of a successful, confident man of business.

I rose to meet him with an extended hand, which he took in a firm but not overly strong grip.

“You are Mr. Grant?” He asked.

“So they tell me,” I said, straight faced.

A slight look of consternation crossed his countenance.

Oh well, I guess big shot business men can’t afford a sense of humor to go along with their expensive suits and chauffeured cars. One of these days my sarcasm was going to get me in a real jam.

I gestured to the chair facing my desk.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Devon, and tell me what I can do for you.”

He hesitated for a moment then seated himself. From his breast pocket he removed a gold cigarette case and a telescoping cigarette holder. Placing a cigarette in the holder he lit it with a lighter that looked like a gold nugget.

I had already dropped into my chair. I shook a Lucky Strike out of a deck and struck a match on my desktop to light it. Looking at him through the smoke, I waited for him to begin.

“I want you to find my daughter.”

Straight to the point, I like that in a client.

“I am a widower, Mr. Grant. My daughter Cynthia is my only child, and I have perhaps been over indulgent with her whims as a result. She has become a headstrong and willful young woman, and I have sometimes been at my wit’s end attempting to cope with her fiery nature.”

“I own a house on the north shore of Long Island,” He continued. “While staying there this summer, my daughter became involved with a man much older than she. It began one night, when we attending a garden party at the estate of a business associate. It was then that we made the acquaintance of a Mr. Gerald Osbourne. Mr. Osbourne struck me as a man who was, ahem, new to his wealth. He had not the manners of a proper gentleman. In fact, I would go so far as to say that he gave the impression of having made his money by dubious means.”

“You mean he’s a gangster?” I asked.

“Perhaps,” He answered, “perhaps so. In any event, my daughter was apparently charmed by his common, uncouth behavior. She spent a great deal of time speaking with him, far too much time. It was completely improper. I attempted to take her aside to discuss her behavior, but she became enraged and threatened to make a scene. I managed to remove her from the party, and we returned home. I had hoped that within a few days the matter would be behind us, but it was not to be.

Cynthia refused to speak with me. She locked herself in her rooms and would only venture forth to take her meals. I was somewhat angered by her behavior and I attempted to confine her to the house, but she apparently found means to sneak out without my knowledge.”

“I eventually became aware that she was meeting with this scoundrel; they had been observed together in town by my driver. I attempted to put a stop to it at once. I forbade her to have any further contact with the rogue, and I sent a man of my employ around to dissuade him from attempting to contact her again.”

“I guess your man wasn’t quite persuasive enough, or you wouldn’t be here talking to me now,” I interjected.

“Quite right,” he said. “The villain absconded with her. I’ve been able to learn that they traveled here to Manhattan, but I have been unable to discover their whereabouts in the city.”