Adventures into the Unknown

Shoeless Moe

Shoeless Moe

The day she called me I sat at my cigarette scarred desk in the dimly lit newsroom with nothing to write about. The city editor had just killed my series about the mob’s control of the unions. The editor said they were poorly written pieces. But I knew the real reason was he was getting pressure from the boy’s downtown. The mob was throwing a lot of green around these days, and the politico types had become the mob’s lap dogs.

She told me her name was Old Woman and that she lost a shoe, a really big shoe. Old Woman claimed she lived in the shoe with so many kids she didn’t know what to do.

A fact that would lead to her death, and my arrest for her murder.

My name’s Rumplestiltskin. I’m a reporter for Big City Bugle newspaper, and my beat is the night desk.

Like every dame in Big City I knew right away she was working an angle. Red headed dames are the trickiest ones. I called up her picture up on the worldwide web as we talked. I saw a woman with hair the color of carrots, so her intentions were immediately clear. And I’m a confirmed blonde man, but redheads and brunettes are okay by me.

From the moment I heard her sweet talk a sour feeling grew deep in my gut. But my weakness for the fairer s*x too often gets me in deep.

We agreed to meet on the wrong side of the tracks, out near the Moldy Projects, named after Rusk Moldy, the crooked developer. As it usually does in Big City it was raining hard by the time I got there.

I had the collar of my trench coat pulled up tight around my pointed ears, and shivered when a cold raindrop fell off the brim of my grey felt fedora to run down my neck. That was when I spotted her standing in the yellow light of a street lamp smoking a long cigarette. I licked my lips, and for the millionth time this week, suppressed the urge to bum a smoke. I always pick the lousiest times to give up a perfectly good vice.

Tall and willowy, her makeup heavy, so thick in fact it looked like it had been applied with a pallet knife. Her full lips were painted red, and her pea green eye shadow emphasized her almond shaped eyes. As I got closer I realized she was much older than she looked from a distance. But then I’m a four hundred year old troll so who am I to call the witches cauldron black?

As I stepped from the thick shadows into the pale light of the street lamp her emerald eyes smiled at the same time as her sensual mouth. Good thing. If I had thought this was a trap I would have used the .38 I kept in the shoulder holster hidden beneath my gray trench coat. The one the cops don’t know about.

I hadn’t shaved in a coupla days, and my breath probably reeked of the shot of cheap whisky I drank before leaving the office, but hey in my line of work I’m what’s referred to as the diamond-in-the-rough.

When Mrs. Woman telephoned she told me her giant shoe had disappeared. When I asked her what she meant by disappeared she explained she’d been on a date with a man and when she came back it wasn’t where she left it.

Now in Big City a missing shoe isn’t news, unless it’s five stories high, and her date is with Milo Grimm, Capo for the Grimm Brothers mob. This dame had gotten my attention.

The Grimm’s control the rackets on the west aide. Every speakeasy, gin joint, pimp, and gambling den pays the Grimm’s protection money. Any who refuse disappear into Never Never Land. I’ve known a few city editors who I often wished would double cross the Grimm’s so they’d disappear, but then who’d be stupid enough to cross the Grimm’s?

My well-tuned reporter seventh sense told me the dame was gonna make one heck of a story, and I wanted in on the ground floor.

“Hey, doll,” I kept my tone light. My let’s-be-friends mode was set on charming.

She regarded me coolly as I watched rain drip off the edge of her wide brimmed hat. One perfectly plucked eyebrow arched on her pale forehead. Under her gaze I felt the familiar twinge in that nice-ta-meet-ya place.

“You Rumplestiltskin?” Naturally she already knew who I was, or she wouldn’t have been standing under this street lamp. Playing dumb was a way of life in the underbelly of the Big City. Always force the other guy to show his hole card first. She is a clever gal this one.

“Yes, ma’am.” I grinned.

Her eyes narrowed and she took a drag on her cigarette, held it for a second or two, then blew the smoke in my face. I blinked and coughed. “Want one?” Evidently she recognized a reformed nicotine addict when she saw one.

“No. Thanks.” I wiped the tear from my left eye with the back of one hand.

Her voice was husky with an extra layer of sexy. “So, Mr. Rumplestiltskin, can you help me find my lost shoe?”

“Sure,” I nodded, “I know a few people in this town. I’m pretty certain someone’ll know who stole a size way-too-big-for-us-normals shoe.” I shrugged. “I mean who wants a giant shoe?

Her pencil thin eyebrows shot up. “A woman with too many children, perhaps?” There was an amused edge in her tone.

I nodded and stuffed my hands in the pockets of my trench coat. “Yeah. I know a little about rug rats.”

“Really? You don’t look like the child-friendly type to me.”

I grinned. “I wasn’t always a Big City byline ya know.” Her sensuous mouth broke into a pleasant smile then she laughed brightly.

How do ya like that? I made a funny, even though I didn’t mean to be funny. Now boyo, I cautioned myself, don’t let her flattery cause your head to swell to the size of your ego. You’re not that funny. I looked around. “So where was this shoe when it went missing?”

She shook her head. “I said it disappeared, remember?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Is there a difference?”

She ignored my question. “Follow me.” She wiggled an index finger to beckon me to walk with her out of the protection of the street lamp and into the inky darkness.

When I followed her into the blackness outside the circle of light of the street lamp it was as if I’d suddenly gone blind. I couldn’t see even my hand, or anything else, in front of my face. The world disappeared in black ink. She instructed me to look straight ahead and avoid looking back at the light, so my eyes would adjust to the darkness. Old said she wanted me to see something. Something important.

As we stood side-by-side I heard her breathing and smelled her cheesecake-scented perfume. I’ve never enjoyed sweet desserts, even feminine ones. They rot your teeth and your mind at the same time, and usually they steal your wallet before you wake up in the morning.

After about five minutes of silence, the only sound the pounding of rain off the cracked and oily pavement; my eyesight had adjusted enough so I could make out two abandoned brick walkups. Between them was a large gap. Could this be where the giant shoe once stood?

If it was then this thing had left one colossal footprint. I would hate to meet the owner of a shoe that big. I frowned. If she lived in one giant sized shoe I wondered where the other half of the pair was.

My answer was a sharp blow to the back of the head and the world disappeared.

When I woke it was morning. I opened my eyes looking into a face only a bulldog would love. Lieutenant Manny “Mother” Goose of Big City PD's Homicide Division glowered at me from under the brim of his chocolate brown fedora. He gnawed at his unlit cigar that hung from the side of the s***h in the middle of his jowly mug; I loosely refer to as a mouth. Mother and I gave up smoking on the same day. It wasn’t a good day. I hoped today would be better, but somehow I doubted it.

“Rump, you alive?”

“Unless you’re the devil welcoming me to hell, yeah I’m alive.” My voice sounded like sandpaper. When his expression didn’t change I added, “What happened?”

I groaned when I tried to raise my head and pain shot across my forehead and my guts twisted. I was going to vomit for sure. I eased my head back to the ground and closed my eyes and waited for the nausea to pass.

“Somebody knocked your noodle into next week,” said Mother.

My eyes fluttered open and I blinked to clear the fog in my head. “Now I know why you’re the detective and I’m the lowly reporter.”

As my vision cleared I saw the sky above was gray with billowing, angry clouds, but at least it wasn’t raining. Yet.

I managed to raise to myself to my elbows as Mother stepped back, his thumbs hooked off the pockets of the vest under his cheap wool suit jacket. He turned his back to me to face the abandoned buildings.

My eyes narrowed as I studied my surroundings. The two abandoned brick walkups were still there, rust-colored bricks covered with black mold. Between them was the largest footprint I’d ever seen. Old Woman clearly wasn’t exaggerating. The shoe had to be at least a size four hundred, triple E.

“Where’s the dame?” I asked.

Mother glanced over his shoulder at me and nodded to a spot beside me surrounded by banana-yellow caution tape. In the middle of the tape was a puddle of goo. “That’s what’s left,” he said casually.

My eyes went wide and I froze. “What happened?”

“Somebody slimed her,” he said simply.

“I can see that, Mother, but who and why?”

“We’re not sure why yet, but we suspect it was a lovers spat, or maybe an attempted rape.” He paused and swung round to face me.

“You and I’ve known each other a long time, eh Rump?”

I nodded slowly. I didn’t like where he was going with this line of questioning. “Yeah. Sure, Mother you and I go way back. We had some good times and a few giggles.”

Mother shrugged and sighed. “Yeah. Good times.” His words trailed off. Suddenly his eyes locked on mine. “Listen, Rump I have my orders. People farther up the food chain smell blood. I’m sure you understand.”

My mouth twisted in a sardonic grin. “I’m under arrest, right?”

Mother winced like he’d sucked on a lemon and nodded.

I sat up feeling suddenly better. My headache was nearly gone and the knot in my stomach had eased. It all made sense. A for-show arrest, then Mother would vouch for me, and I’d be back at my desk before noon writing the story of the missing giant shoe, the mobster romance gone sour, and the cheesecake scented puddle of goo. What a story this was gonna be.

“I know what you’re thinkin’, Rump but it’s not gonna be that simple,” Mother’s mouth became a grim line.

I looked at him and frowned. “What do you mean? It’s ridiculous to think I’d kill a dame I just met.” I walked toward the gap where the giant shoe print was clearly visible in the light brown soil and waved my arm at it to emphasize my point. “I wouldn’t kill a woman I hated, never mind some gal I just met. And I only met her because she called me and asked me to meet her here.” I scowled at him. Now I was plain old mad. This was the biggest injustice since that i***t baked blackbirds in a pie.

“I think you better hold on, Rump and stop talking. I have to read you your rights so you shouldn’t say nothin’ without a legal eagle present.”

I stared at Mother and realized he was serious. I felt my face grow flush with anger. “You can’t be serious about charging me?”

Ignoring me, as if I were a common criminal, Mother pulled back one side of my suit jacket and pulled my .38 from my shoulder holster as he began to recite my rights. “Rumplestiltskin, you have the right…”

I didn’t listen to the rest. I knew it by heart anyway. Working the night beat you see a lot of arrests. I could never figure out why criminals always seem to work at night. Especially murderers. What’s wrong with murdering someone in the afternoon, or before lunch? At least then you’d have the rest of the day to do what you want.

But nope, not in Big City. In Big City murders happen after sunset.

I glanced at the goo. She may have been old, but she was a looker. Mother was right about two things; I just met the Old Woman who lived in a shoe, and I was gonna miss her.

I narrowed my eyes to slits. There was something very wrong with all this.

“Do you understand these rights as I have explained them?” finished Mother in the familiar bland monotone he used for all his arrests.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. But, Mother explain this to me, how do you know this goo is her goo?” I indicated the gelatinous substance behind the yellow tape with a slight nod of my head. I sniffed the air. “And I smell Cinnamon not cheesecake.” I felt a growing sense of excitement. I was onto something and my reporter instincts were in high gear.

Mother looked at me as if I’d grown two heads. The cheesecake part is probably a little over the top.

“The lab boys ran some tests,” Mother shrugged his wide shoulders. He pulled his handcuffs from the leather holder on his belt and came toward me. “Put both hands on your head, then place one hand behind your back.”

When Mother came up behind me to snap the handcuffs round my wrists I smelled his warm garlic breath then I heard him whisper, “Run.”

I had a split second to decide if I should. Naturally, I always follow whispered instructions so I elbowed Mother in the gut. He grunted and I took off running across the gap between the buildings.

I’ve never been a runner so before I went fifty feet I was breathing hard and sweat poured down my leathery face. My mouth felt like it was crammed full of cotton balls.

I heard a voice behind me that wasn’t Mother’s yell for me to stop or he’d shoot. I didn’t stop and I didn’t look back. What I did do was will my rubbery legs to carry me faster and faster.

The distinct sound of a pistol hammer being c****d echoed off the buildings on either side of me. I knew I was seconds away from death by .38 police special. I kept my feet moving. But it was like I was running underwater, because I seemed to be going slower and slower.

I almost made it to the far edge of the buildings, where I’d be able to take cover, when a shot rang out. I tripped and fell face first hard into the mud.

I thought at first I was hit, but there wasn’t any pain so I knew he’d missed.

“Rump! Move your butt!” I raised my head and wiped away the mud from my eyes. When I was able to see again I looked back and saw Mother had his gun out and was urging me on with it. I froze when I saw the trial of smoke coming from the barrel and the unmoving uniformed cop lying face down in front of him.

I realized Mother had set me up as a cop killer. Now every cop in Big City would be gunning for me. I wasn’t wanted dead or alive, I was wanted sooo dead. Et tu, Mother?

Someone had bought off the locals to make sure I was edited out of the picture. But why kill the girl? And why steal a big shoe? This wasn’t making a lot of sense.

I ran up the steps of the brownstone tenement building of the Van Allen Belt working class neighborhood taking two stairs at a time. I was breathing hard as I stood outside apartment 4C.

Along the way here I had stopped in City Park to wash the mud off as best I could in the public restroom. Three junkies slept peacefully in the stalls when I was running water in the sink. The towel dispenser had stood empty for over twenty years so I was forced to cup water in my palms and scoop it to wash the mud off my clothes and face. The water reeked of rust and decay. Like everything else in this rot infested town the water had even turned on me.

My only hope now was to get out of Big City. And my secretary Cindy Charming was the only hole card left to play. After all she owed me.

I helped her escape the Prince’s castle in the bad old days, when the heavy drinking prince had threatened to murder her, and brought her to Big City.

I rapped on the door. The sound echoed down the long hallway. In less than a minute the door opened a crack. The steel chain was visible across the opening. One inquisitive azure eye peered at me.

“Mr. Rumplestiltskin is that you?” Cindy stepped back and the chain rattled against the doorframe then the door swung open. Cindy wore a slip-over-your-head, floor-length powder blue housecoat that accented her honey blonde hair. The housecoat was closed up to her slender neck.

I never had romantic designs on Cindy. She was young when I brought her here and I considered her my little sister. When we first arrived in Big City I worried her innocence might be corrupted by the dirt and squalor all around us. But she remained the one good person I knew in this town.

I walked in the apartment and closed the door behind me with a thump.

Cindy’s apartment matched her personality. A pink throw rug sat under a pine coffee table in front of a pure white sofa. Mustard yellow curtains framed the windows overlooking the street below. A dozen red roses rested in a crystal vase on an end table to the left of the sofa. Their fragrance filled the room.

I looked down at my clothes and hands and realized I better stay right here by the door. There was no way I was going to track mud on her perfect domestic tranquility.

“Mr. Rumplestiltskin what’s happened to you?” Cindy left the room momentarily and came back with a towel.

I thanked her and began to dry my face, hands and hair. “We have to get out of town.” Her eyes were wide. “Today, Cindy. We have to leave.”

She looked at me dumbfounded as if I were speaking a foreign language. “Cindy, if we don’t leave today I will die. Do you understand?”

She nodded and her brow furrowed. “Yes, I do but I’m not leaving.”

My jaw dropped and I gapped at her. “What are you talking about? Didn’t you hear what I said?”

Cindy nodded grimly. “Yes, as I said already I understand but you’re on your own. I’m staying.” The determination in her tone made me wonder what happened to Cindy Charming, my little sister, and who was this woman standing before me.

“Cindy, what’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing. I have a benefactor. He takes care of me.”

A benefactor? My gut twisted. Someone had taken advantage of this sweet young girl and corrupted her. ‘Who is it?” I asked between gritted teeth.

“Milo Grimm,” she said confidently. She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her back on me. “He told me he was going to set you up for a murder rap because he was hurt by the lies you wrote in the newspaper about his business.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “But, Cindy Milo Grimm is a mobster, a criminal. He’s using you.”

She sniffed. “He said you’d say that.” Cindy whirled to face me; her normally gentle features were marred by a scowl. “Just because someone’s in the bar business everyone assumes they’re mobbed up.

“Milo thought about paying you off, but I told him not to. I know you too well. You’re a troll with principals.” She scoffed. “Principals that’ll land you in the gas chamber.”

I let out an exasperated grunt like I’d just been punched in the gut. “Cindy, I thought we loved each other.”

Someone pounded on the door interrupting us. We looked at each other. “Are you expecting someone else?” She shook her head.

“See who it is and I’ll hide in the bathroom.” I hurried to the bathroom and closed the door behind me. I climbed into the bathtub and pulled the shower curtain across. Unlike my bathroom that hadn’t been cleaned in five months hers smelled of lavender and Ivory soap.

I listened intently. I heard her soft tone speaking, not the exact words just a murmur. Then suddenly there were angry words and the thump, thump of pounding feet then the bathroom flew open and thudded against the wall cracking the plaster.

“Rump? It’s Mother. You can come out now. It’s all over.”

I slid the shower curtain aside and saw Mother in his protective vest with his gun in his right hand. He wore a silly grin on his face.

“Did you get him?”

“Yeah,” Mother nodded. “Found Milo hiding in a secret passageway in the lady’s bedroom.” He stuffed his gun back in his shoulder holster then accompanied me to the living room.

Upon entering the room I discovered Cindy and Milo seated side by side on the sofa glaring at the two uniforms standing over them. They weren’t going to say anything more, at least not until they met with their lawyer, and probably not even then. We had plenty of Cindy on tape to convict them both for racketeering and conspiracy. It was enough to send them both up the river for long stretches.

I frowned. “Something I don’t get, Mother. How do Old Woman and the disappearing giant shoe fit into this?”

Mother laughed. “They don’t. We found Old Woman’s husband. The shoe is his. When he left town some year’s back, he left one shoe behind for good luck. Old woman who has so many children knew exactly what to do, she moved her kids into it.”

“So who’s her husband?”

Mother grinned. “He plays baseball for the Neverland Giants. They call him Shoeless Moe. His real name is Moe Fofum.”

I shook my head and chuckled. “I get it. Moe’s a giant.”

Mother nodded. “Yup, ‘bout as big as they get. His nickname’s shoeless because he only wears one shoe when he plays. He came home to retrieve the other one. He told me the kids moved out of the shoe years ago, but his wife loved living in it. A lot more room in a giant shoe that a one bedroom apartment these days.”

“You spoke to him?”

Mother nodded. “Yeah. Heck of a nice guy for a giant.”

“And I assume Old Woman’s not dead,” I paused, “but what about the goo?”

He shook his head. “Hair gel. Moe wears the stuff his sponsor gives him. Practically bathes in it.”

I chuckled and nodded then glanced at Cindy. She avoided looking at me.

I may never write the story about all this. There is just so much pain and heartbreak one reporter can take after another day on the night beat —

— the night beat in Big City.