Story 488: Dramatic Irony in Action

[Scene: A private detective’s office, 1930s New York City.  The lone detective sits at his desk, staring at the cityscape out the window and sucking on a candy cigarette]

Detective: (Voiceover) <Nighttime in The Big City.  How I loathe this cesspool of crime, this limbo of lost souls, this… (Rubs an arm across the pane of the partially open window) factory of filthy windows.  The only thing that keeps me here in perpetual perdition is my innate, unerring, unceasing sense of justice.  How I loathe that, too.>

(A silhouette rushes up to the office door’s mostly opaque pane of glass; Detective turns around sharply as the figure in the hallway rapidly bangs on the door)

Detective: (Voiceover) <A knock on the door, after hours.  Can only mean one thing: Trouble, with a capital “T”.  And a capital “R”, “O”, “U” – >

Reader: Hello?!

Detective: (Voiceover) <Come in, Danger.>

Reader: I know you’re in there; can I come in, please?!

Detective: (Voiceover) <Guess I forgot to say that first bit out loud.> (Takes out the candy cigarette to yell) Come in!  (Voiceover) <Danger.>

Reader: (Rattles the doorknob) The door’s locked!

Detective: (Voiceover) <Right: I’d locked that to keep out Danger.>  (Walks wearily to the door, unlocks it, and lets in Reader who collapses onto a chair, out of breath) So, what brings you to my humble rat hole, Factory Worker?

Reader: Huh? (Looks down at outfit of sweater and jeans) Oh yeah, guess I don’t look like your typical Dame in Distress.  Or is it Broad?

Detective: (Locks the door again and resumes sucking on the candy cigarette) Whatever pleases you.  I don’t judge who comes through my door, long as they’ve got a cause to tug at the heartstrings and the dough to back it up.

Reader: (Stands) Right, so: not here about that –

Detective: Then you have five seconds to convince me not to throw you out this window.

Reader: We’re on the ground floor, so I’m not too concerned.

Detective: Corrupt landlord of a corrupt system: I specifically requested digs with a view of the tops of the more modest skyscrapers for me to brood upon life’s miseries, and instead I get horn-blaring taxicabs and littering pedestrians.  It’s a wonder I close cases at all in this milieu.

Reader: Can’t help that, but I’m actually here to do you a favor.

Detective: (Voiceover) < Favors don’t come cheap, and this scrappy ne’er-do-well looks to be driving a hard bargain; only question is, how much of my soul am I willing to sell – >

Reader: Since you’re now staring off into space I assume you’re in the middle of a rambling internal monologue that ultimately leads nowhere.

Detective: …You assume rightly.

Reader: Well knock it off: I came here to warn you that you’re in incredible danger!

Detective: Just a moment, please.  (Places the candy cigarette in an ashtray and turns up blaring saxophone music) Need to set the mood – you were saying?  (Perches casually on the edge of the desk)

Reader: (Shouting over the music) I was saying that your life is in danger!

Detective: Life is danger –

Reader: What?!

Detective: Fine.  (Turns off the music) I said, life is danger: it’s the deal we sign up for when we’re thrust literally screaming into this harsh, brutal world.  Unwillingly, I might add.

Reader: Yeah, well, this is a little more specific danger right now: you remember the gangster-you’ve-been-trying-to-outwit-forever’s second-in-command’s cousin’s drinking buddy who you tossed into a dumpster during the alley fight four chapters – I mean, two days ago?

Detective: (Thinks for a few moments) Oh, that little pipsqueak?  Had a fresh mouth, matched only by a pretty sharp toothpick?  Sure I remember tossing his keister out of my way in that brawl for the truth; why?

Reader: Let’s just say I have it on good authority that the pipsqueak’s got it in for you, so you’d better, you know, watch your 6:00.

Detective: (Checks watch) No, it’s 11:45.

Reader: Pipsqueak’s literally gunning for you, dude!  Any minute now, he’s gonna burst in here and give you the what for!

Detective: Not quite following your lingo, but sounds like Pipsqueak’s got my number and wants to cash in my chips for me the hard way.

Reader: Yes!  That!  (Collapses back onto the chair)

Detective: And how, exactly, did you come by this useful information?  Maybe Pipsqueak sent you here as a double-bluff, I wonder!

Reader: No, nothing here’s ever that convoluted: let’s just say I… know things.

Detective: Do you indeed.

Reader: Yes, and I know that Pipsqueak’s planning to come here tonight, at exactly midnight, and literally remove you from the scene in revenge for the humiliating dumpster dive!

Detective: Is that so?  You seem to know an awful lot about it for someone claiming not to be in league with that nobody.

Reader: I know enough that you should get out of here in… (Leans over to peer at Detective’s watch) less than five minutes.  If you value your life.

Detective: I do, but that’s beside the point right now.  (Reaches into a desk drawer and takes out a peashooter to train on Reader) Right now, I feel like I’m being served a load of flimflam that I want to return to the chef, and maybe I really should consider you the threat, instead of little Mr. Featherweight.

Reader: (Stands slowly with hands slightly raised) Listen, I’m trying to prevent a tragedy here – you had no idea this guy was coming for you until I showed up, and now you do, so you need to get your caboose in gear and split!

Detective: (Also stands) Well, I think that this is all a bunch of hooey you made up just so you could get to my mother’s pearls!

Reader: What?

Detective: What?

Reader: I don’t care about those, I’m trying to save your life!

Detective: Aha!  So you admit you know about them!

Reader: No – well I do, but –

Detective AH!  HA!

Reader: Listen, I know everything about your weird little life, OK!  I know about your childhood in the surprisingly comfortable orphanage; I know about your one summer as a carnie barker; I know about your tragic coming-of-age in the trenches of World War I –

Detective: (Gasps) ONE?!  There’s gonna be more?!

Reader: – I know about your heartbreak when the one true love of your life ran off with the one true best friend of your life; I know about your only really solving one case with the others being lost to moral ambiguity; I know about it all.

Detective: (Chews on lip while pondering this) Are you an actual witch?  Because it’s all right now: you’d only get prison time instead of the stake.

Reader: No!  I can only say… your life is an open book to me.

Detective: Ha!  I’m read by no one!

Reader: Wanna bet?

(The door bursts open with Pipsqueak’s arrival, another peashooter at the ready)

Pipsqueak: Gotcha!  You – oh sorry, didn’t realize you had a guest.

Reader: Ah, fiddlesticks.

Detective: Pipsqueak?!

Pipsqueak: What in the – ?  No, my name is Charles, and I’m calling you out!

Detective: Fine, go ahead!

Pipsqueak: I just – I just did.

Reader: Get outta here, man, you’re ruining everything!

Pipsqueak: Absolutely not!  Not after what this busybody-with-airs did to me!  I’ll never get that dumpster smell out of my hair and skin, never!

Reader: Yeah, you’re right: it’s pretty bad.

Detective: You had it coming!  But you’ll never catch me alive, do you hear me?!  No one will ever catch me alive, ahahahahaha!  (Turns around and jumps out the window)

Pipsqueak: (Falls to his knees and tilts head back to face the ceiling) NOOOOOOOOOOOO – !

Reader: Easy there, buddy – he just hailed a cab and drove off.

Pipsqueak: (Tilts head back forward) Oh right; forgot I didn’t climb any stairs to get here.  This place really is a dump, isn’t it?

Reader: You’re telling me.

Pipsqueak: (Stands and brushes off pants) Well, guess there’s no point in continuing my revenge spree if he’s just gonna keep jumping out windows every time I show up; I’m going back to the poker game I was losing to go do this.  (Leaves)

Reader: Yes!  Success!  (Looks around the empty office) Wait a minute: there’s still 150 pages left in this thing.

Story 251: Repair Work Creates More Problems

            (Tenant, wearing pajamas and a robe, opens the front door to Contractor)

            Contractor: Hi there, the Landlord sent me over – you got a leak from the upstairs apartment that’s destroyed your bathroom ceiling?

           Tenant: (Sniffles) Yeah, thanks, come on in.  (Coughs very productively as they head over there) Sorry, I came home from work with the flu, and when I came in here to drown my head in the sink, I saw this.  (Flips on the bathroom light and points to the ceiling, which is sagging almost completely off the beams and has transformed to an unnatural shade of black)

            Contractor: Whoa.

            Tenant: (Sneezes) Yeah.  You think it’s mold?

            Contractor: I think it’s everything, but I can’t tell how much or how far it’s spread until I’ve done exploratory surgery on it.  Did they stop the leak upstairs?

            Tenant: Think so – they said they fixed it and I don’t hear water running 24/7 anymore, so that part should be all right.  You need anything from me right now to check it out?

            Contractor: Nope.  (Whips out a ladder and a tool chest) All set for the demolition; best not to come in here for the next half hour at least.

            Tenant: Good; I’m gonna go pass out in my room for a bit.

            Contractor: Sure thing, but it’ll get real noisy in here in a minute.

            Tenant: I’ll be dead to the world in 30 seconds.

            (Fifteen minutes later)

            Contractor: (Knocking on the bedroom door) Yoo-hoo!  Still alive in there?

            Tenant: (Slowly opens the door, looking even worse than before) Yup?

            Contractor: Hi there, can I show you something?

            Tenant: If it’s the bill, send it upstairs; I’m not paying a dime.

            Contractor: Ahahahahahaha – no, it’s something… unusual.

            Tenant: Don’t tell me there’s a family of cats or rats or bats up there?

            Contractor: Not exactly.

            (They climb the ladder and stick their heads through the gaping hole in the ceiling; Contractor shines a flashlight onto a spot in the corner)

            Tenant: (Squints) Those look like the Crown Jewels.

            Contractor: Yeppers.

          Tenant: Am I hallucinating?  I think that’s one of the side effects listed on the meds I was given.

            Contractor: Well I’m not taking them and I, too, see expensive-looking items there.  You don’t happen to remember stashing any loot up here, do you?

            Tenant: If I had stuff like that, I wouldn’t be living here.

           (The Upstairs Tenant is called to see the loot.  After descending the ladder, all three stare at the now-exposed ceiling)

           Upstairs Tenant: I think it’s obvious: since they were left under my floor, that clearly means they belong to me.

           Tenant: (Chokes for a few moments) Nah-uh!  They’re in my ceiling, so that clearly means they belong to me!  Not to mention your leak destroyed my ceiling in the first place, ergo they’re mine twice over!

            Upstairs Tenant: Actually, since it was my leak as you remind me every day, you would never have found these things if it wasn’t for me, ergo they’re mine twice over!  Plus I need some compensation for the inflated bill I’ll no doubt be sent.

          Tenant: What about the mold I’m breathing in that probably gave me the flu and is possibly now killing me as we speak?!

            Contractor: Oh, the mold’s contained; shouldn’t be an issue once I dump all this garbage.

            Tenant: But it could have been an issue!

           Upstairs Tenant: Any mold after you moved in here is yours, just as any valuables stashed in the space below my floor and above your ceiling are mine.

            Contractor: Guys, guys, let’s be reasonable.  Since I’m the one who the opened the ceiling and found these things in the first place, clearly they belong to me.

            Upstairs Tenant: In a pig’s eye!  They’re in my floor!

            Tenant: No they’re not, they’re in my ceiling!

            Contractor: Yeah, I think I’ll just take them; finders keepers and all that.  (Starts to ascend the ladder)

            Tenants: No!  (There is a scrum at the ladder as all three try to climb it simultaneously)

           Tenant: (Sneezing) There!  May you both get infected and only have last’s year vaccine, you thieves!

           (The front door slams open; the three freeze as an imposing figure enters the apartment and stops at the bathroom doorway)

            Landlord: Well, well, well.  Seems like I’ve got a tenant dispute on my hands.

            Upstairs Tenant: Back off, M’Lord, this is none of your concern!

          Landlord: Actually, since neither you own a square inch of this property and, heh, I do, anything found above, below, around, under, and in-between is mine.  (Effortlessly passes through the group, climbs the ladder, removes the jewels, and climbs back down) On an unrelated note, rent’s going up 25% next month.  (Hums tunelessly out the door)

            Tenant: (To Upstairs Tenant) You’re still paying for all this.  (Hacks up a lung)

            Upstairs Tenant: As long as you pay for the hospital bills I’m seeing in my future.

         Contractor: (Looking at phone) While you two sort it all out, I’ve had five other jobs that popped up and since we’re neither profiting off of found treasure or solving the mystery of how they even got up there, I’m off to make some real money.  (Leaves)

         Tenant: Hey!  There’s still a hole in my ceiling!  I don’t want to hear this one (Points to Upstairs Tenant) every time they’re in there!

           Upstairs Tenant: How did that stuff get up there, anyway?

           Tenant: I’m thinking the less we know, the better.  What if whoever put them there comes back looking for them?

           

           [Reader Participation: Leave a comment below or post to @JenPergola on Twitter suggesting an idea on how the jewels got there – I will pick one and write a story around it!]

Story 202: You Shouldn’t Have Thrown That Thing Out

            After finally moving into his new home, he saw that the previous owner had left behind a lot of garbage.  He knew that it was all garbage because the items were tucked in back of pieces of furniture and had layers of dust on them, so he had absolutely no qualms in renting a dumpster and tossing out the whole kit and caboodle.

            He only paused when he found one item on a shelf in the laundry room: it was an oddly shaped piece of plastic with several slots, and he could not for the life of him figure out what it possibly could be for.  Did it fall off the washing machine?  Was it once part of the gutters?  He did not feel like searching for images of it online so he tossed it into the dumpster with the rest of the remnants and thought no more about it until….

ONE MONTH LATER

            He opened his front door to see the previous owner was the one who had been knocking.  “What’s up?” he asked, territorially learning on what was now his door.

            “Hi, sorry to bother you,” the previous owner said with nervous sweat on his brow, “I just wanted to check: after you moved in, did you happen to notice an oddly shaped piece of plastic left behind?  It would have been in the laundry room.”

            “Nope.”

            “You sure?  It wasn’t that big, and it had several slots in it.”

            “Didn’t see anything like that.  There was a lot of junk left here, you know.”

            “Oh, OK.  Well, if you do see it, here’s my number – ” the previous owner handed him a slip of paper, “you can call me at any time.  I’m serious: any time.”

            He snatched the paper a bit roughly.  “Sure, fine, whatever.”

            The previous owner sweated a bit more.  “It’s just that, it’s a bit important – it’s possible that someone else may come by here asking about it – ”

           “Sure, OK, bye!”  He almost slammed the door in the previous owner’s face before tossing the piece of paper into the garbage: that guy was such a creep at closing, why was he still not out of his life yet?

ONE WEEK LATER

            He opened his front door to see three strangers were the ones who had been knocking.

            Oh boy, my first solicitors, he thought when he saw them.

           All three were smiling as the one in the middle spoke.  “Hello.  We understand you moved in recently.”

            “Who wants to know?”  He territorially leaned again.

            “We do know,” the leader said.  “We also know that there is a piece of plastic that the previous owner of this residence had left behind.”

            “Ugh, that again?”  He was getting very irritated with all this – what was everyone going on about all the time?  “I told him and I’ll tell you: I didn’t see it, and bye.”  He started to almost slam the door in their faces but the leader stuck her foot in the doorway to stop it.

            “I certainly hope you haven’t thrown that item out.  It was oddly shaped and had several slots in it.”  The smiles were becoming very strained.

            “I didn’t – oh.”  He finally remembered the thing.

            “Please tell us that you didn’t throw it out.”  The leader now was starting the nervous sweat.

            He ran through his options and decided that the best was to stick with his story: “Didn’t see it, bye!”  He managed to push her foot away so he could slam and lock the door, throwing his back against it.

            He could hear the leader wail and bang the door with her fists: “You fool!  You’ve doomed us all!”

            He peeped through the peephole – making a mental note to get a screen door to avoid these situations in the future – and saw the three dejectedly walk to their waiting taxi.  In the rain.

           He checked the news over the next few weeks for mention of the previous owner and/or three suspicious people, but nothing.  The last he ever saw about the issue was a note tucked into his front door that read: “YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE THROWN THAT ITEM AWAY, INHABITANT.”

          Since his own life going forward seemingly was unaffected by all this, he concluded that some momentous conspiracies are best left unknown and unsolved.