How Bizarre

A mystery set in the 1930s.

Beverly, Joseph and I cavorted down the street that balmy summer evening in Boston, quoting lines that Clark Gable spoke in the movie we just walked out of. We shouted lines back and forth at each other, laughing all the while and probably looked like a bunch of obnoxious fools to the people we passed by. We never took any notice of them; three young friends in the prime of our lives. Beverly pretended to be Claudette Colbert, though she didn’t look or sound a thing like her. She batted her eyelashes at us as we swooned and whistled, though I honestly had no interest in anything she had to offer other than her friendship perhaps, and even that was questionable.

We arrived at the steps of Beverly’s apartment, as we had every night during the last week. “If she invites us up,” Joseph had told me earlier, “you just say that you’ve had enough fun for one night and you’ll call a cab.” Joseph wasted no time when it came to women. With this particular woman, I didn’t mind. I found Beverly to be irritating.

“Look at that large man walking such a tiny poodle,” I said giving Joseph a nudge.

“How bizarre,” said Beverly trying to chime in with us.

This was the most irritating thing about her. Every time Beverly found something to be strange she would say, “How bizarre.” It would come right on cue anytime Joseph or I pointed at something even slightly out of the ordinary, and it drove me bananas.

“Bizarre?” said Joseph. “I would hardly call that bizarre. Good for a laugh, but certainly not bizarre” Beverly only looked at him blankly for a moment.

“I’ve had a wonderful time this evening. Shall we meet again tomorrow?” she said, ignoring Joseph.

“The fun doesn’t have to stop yet,” he said. “Perhaps we could come up and join you for a drink? A slug of bourbon, or...?”

“Oh I couldn’t possibly imagine it,” she said. “It’s such a terrible mess up there; I simply could not abide.”

“Why it’s no trouble at all,” said Joseph, speaking with his hands. “You should take a gander at my own place. Why I -”

“I’m sorry, no. I can’t,” she retorted. “Perhaps some other time. I promise to phone you tomorrow.”

“Suit yourself kid. Have a good night. Let’s blow,” he said turning to me.

I smiled at Beverly, gave her a wink, and turned to follow Joseph who had already walked away to find the nearest pay phone.

“He isn’t upset with me, is he?” Beverly asked, grabbing my arm.

“Oh, Joseph?” I said. “No, he’ll be fine in the morning. Give him a ring tomorrow, you’ll see. But, uh-” I paused, considering whether or not I should confront her annoying habit.

I knew Joseph had noticed it too, though we had never spoken explicitly about it. “Well, good night,” I said, changing my mind. I shook Beverly’s grip from my arm, turned, and ran to catch up to Joseph who was already a block away.

“Hold up there a minute Joe,” I said, still trailing him. He was walking briskly with his head down and his hands in his pockets. I always knew when he was feeling sore about something.

“Whatsa matter with that dame anyway?” he said.

“Aw, give her a break. She’s only known us a week. She’ll come around, you’ll see,” I said, trying to reassure him. “Why, I wouldn’t even give it a second thought if she called you later tonight to come back over. Maybe she just wanted to wait till I was out of the picture.”
Joseph slowed his stride down to a saunter. His shoulders relaxed and his head came up slightly. He took his hands out of his pockets and folded his arms. I caught up and walked along side him. He was watching his feet, putting one foot almost directly in front of the other as he strolled down the sidewalk.

The city seemed dim that night. The street lamps were on and burning bright spots on to the street, but the moon was covered by deep clouds, shrouding the unlit parts of the street in utter darkness. The orange glow of the street lamps lit Joseph’s face every time he passed under them, turning his skin blood red.

“We calling a cab?” I said.

“Think I’ll walk.”

“Suit yourself then.” I turned the corner and hailed a cab.

* * *

Joseph and I first met Beverly at Smitty’s, our favorite restaurant. It was a semi-fancy joint where a lot of the more well-to-do spent their time. We were far from that status, but we always pretended like we could throw money around with the best of them. Beverly was eating alone; a small, poor postured girl with dark, beady eyes. Her curly brown hair was tucked under a mauve hat with a flower pinned to it. She was wearing a matching skirt and a white blouse with a sweater draped over her shoulders. Naturally we asked if she wanted to join us. The moment the invitation crossed Joseph's lips, she froze and stared at us for a moment, holding the food she was chewing in the side of her mouth, her cheek bulging like a chipmunk; her fork in one hand, knife in the other, elevated between her lips and the tablecloth. She was eerily statuesque, with a deep loneliness streaked across her face; her eyes wide, like a cat’s when something has scared it. I could she that she was breathing heavily, her blouse rising and falling quickly. I half expected her to faint on the spot. She swallowed and said quietly, “Sure.”
It took us about an hour to get her to warm up to us. We were making wise cracks and carrying on about this and that. Joseph kept giving her an elbow, saying, “That’s a joke kid.” At first she would barely crack a smile and look shyly into her lap, but eventually she started showing her teeth and laughing with us.

After dinner Joseph said we would be obliged to accompany her to her residence. She accepted and we began our first evening stroll to her apartment building.

“Lived here long?” asked Joseph.

“Oh no, just a bit over a month.”

“Well then, you’ve met just the gentlemen to give you a tour of the city,” he said.

“Oh, that’s very kind, but I couldn’t ask that of you,” said Beverly.

“It wouldn’t be any trouble at all,” I said. “Where’d you come from anyhow?”

“Kansas City.”

Joseph and I whistled in unison. “What’dya wanna move out here for?” Joseph asked.

“Change of scenery I guess; do you find it bizarre?” said Beverly staring off into the night sky.

Joseph and I looked at each other perplexed. There was something about the way her eyes were glued to the black void above us that sent a shiver up my spine. She seemed so distant; like I was watching her on the silver screen, thirty feet tall, unaware of a theater full of people hanging on her every word.

“I’m not sure whatcha mean kid. I don’t find it bizarre at all; people move,” said Joseph. The ding of the passing trolly snapped Beverly back to reality.

“My apartment building is just ahead,” she said.

We arrived at the steps of her apartment, still confused by her behavior. “Whom shall I telephone tomorrow for my complimentary tour?” she asked.

“Why the master tour guide of course,” said Joseph.

“You’ll come too?” she asked me, her eyes hopeful. There was something about her that didn’t sit right with me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I shot Joseph a glance but all he did was clear his throat and nod toward her.

“I wouldn’t miss the master tour guide’s grand tour of our fair city for the world,” I said.

Joseph and I did everything together anyway. We had also met at Smitty’s a few years back. Since then we had spent most of our free time together. It wasn’t anything I had ever thought about; at the time we were both new to the city, starting our freshman year at different colleges. We were the best of friends after just a few weeks, hardly going a day without seeing each other.

Joseph had just finished studying law at Harvard at the beginning of the summer;
something he was not the least bit interested in. His father was however, and so Joseph quietly obeyed. “What now?” I asked him after the graduation ceremony. “I couldn’t care less,” he said. “I think I’ll take the year off. Maybe take up tap dancing like Fred Astaire.”

I had graduated from Boston College the year before from the theater department. I knew
it wasn’t a very respectable or practical profession, but I had a passion for acting and was trying to save as much money as I could to move to Hollywood. Everyone I knew thought it to be a preposterous idea. Even Joseph at times would question whether or not it was really worth the risk. I knew that he didn’t want me to go because he would miss my company.
I dreamed of the Hollywood Hills just about every night. Rolling green with luxurious mansions neatly placed in her folds. At her feet, glimmering lights day and night. Tinsel Town is what they called it in the news reels. And me in the middle of it all; my name in lights, starring in the new Paramount picture; a smash hit. Lights all around me.

* * *

The following morning I woke to find that the day had been going on without me for quite sometime. I picked up my trousers from off the back of my armchair and slipped them on. I reached for the receiver to phone Joseph. I hoped he wasn’t still sore about Beverly. Most girls we knew jumped at the chance to be with him. He wasn’t used to rejection.

“Hello, Operator? Get me four seven zero five.”

“Just a moment please,” said the operator. The line rang, but he didn’t answer.

“Lazy bum,” I said aloud, putting the telephone back on it’s stand. I quickly finished dressing, and walked out the door.

The noonday sun was unusually mild. Billowy, white clouds drifted across it, casting deep blue shadows on to the city. I strolled down the street, enjoying the break from the summer heat. California will be so nice I thought. No snow. I’ll bet the weather is like this all year long. I stood outside of Joseph’s apartment building and yelled up to him.

“Joe! Come on, ya bum!”

Nothing. I walked up the stairs to his floor and found his apartment. I knocked impatiently, tired of his lazy demeanor as of late. An unsettling thought crept into my head. He had seemed rather upset the night before, and I wondered if he even made it home. I turned the doorknob, and to my surprise, the door floated open. He always locks his door. I stepped inside.

“You here Joe?” I said.

His bed was made and his desk was in order; papers and books scattered everywhere. Joseph, however, was no where to be found. I left, closing the door behind me, and walked to the door at the end of the hall. Painted hastily on it were the letters W.C. I knocked, but no one answered. I creaked it open and poked my head in. Inside was one of the smallest washrooms I had ever seen. A disgusting toilet sat in the corner facing a rusted metal wash bin with a gaudy swan-shaped faucet rising over the top of it. In the corner across from the wash bin was a bathtub squatting on little brass feet. It seemed so quiet for being midday. Everyone must be out enjoying the weather. I stepped out onto the street and hailed a cab.

“58 North Chestnut Street,” I said. It wasn’t like Joseph be gone without giving me a ring first. Maybe Beverly did call him last night. That dog. I chuckled to myself. The cab ride from Joseph’s to Beverly’s was only a few minutes. I paid the cabbie and turned toward Beverly’s five story apartment building.

“Hey Bev! You home?” I called out. A window on the third floor opened and Beverly poked her head out.

“Hello,” she said surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Enjoying the scenery,” I said, giving her a wink.

“Oh you!”

“Is Joseph up there?”

“Why no,” she said curiously. Her voice cracked and she let out a small, weak cough. “He went home with you, remember?”

“I know, but we split up about half way ‘cause he wanted to walk. I said, ‘Suit yourself,’ and called a cab.”

“Oh my, well he hasn’t phoned me yet.”

“Well, I headed over to his place this morning, because he wasn’t answering when I gave him
a ring, but he was gone.”

“How bizarre,” said Beverly. I was suddenly infuriated. I didn’t like the idea of equating Joseph’s unknown whereabouts with a fat man walking a small dog or a cloud shaped like a car or any of the other things she found to be bizarre. My face became hot and my hands made fists that clenched tight enough to crack my knuckles. I must have been bright red because I could see Beverly’s eyes widen just as they did the night we met.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Listen you. I don’t like all this ‘bizarre’ business, so just knock it off. This is no time to be talkin’ that mumbo jumbo so cool it, understand? My friend is missing and all you can do is say that it’s bizarre? Well I’ve had enough.”

Beverly looked down at me with that same blank expression. I didn’t know if she was going to shout back at me, cry, or even laugh. She pulled her head back in the window and closed it.

What is it with these crazy broads? I thought.

I hailed another cab and had the driver take me to our local rendezvous points, finishing the search at Smitty’s. It was packed with the late lunch crowd. I pushed my way through and
sat at the bar.

“Scotch on the rocks, Jimmy,” I said to the bartender. I knew the drink was cliché, but I had always thought it sounded good when I said it. It’s what they ordered in the movies anyway. I spun around on the stool and leaned against the bar, scanning the room for Joseph, instantly recognizing many of the regulars; professors and intellectuals mostly, discussing the news of the day. I never understood those bookworm types. Joseph was one of them, though he hated to admit it. Too smart for his own good I always thought. I passed over the crowd with my eyes many times, but he was no where to be found.

At a loss for what to do next, I strolled down the street aimlessly. It had been a while since
a day where I didn’t see Joseph, even for just a few minutes. My eyes wandered around the street in front of me. A group of boys were playing baseball at the park on the corner just ahead of me.

The pitch - Crack - A home run flew across the street, bounced off the sidewalk and landed on concrete steps. I trotted over, squatted down and examined the ball for a moment. I felt the mark where the bat had just connected to hit the ball this far. Whoever had the hit, dented the ball slightly.

“Hey Mista, can ya throw us da boll back?” shouted an outfielder.

I rose, eyes still on the ball. I lifted my head and began to turn to throw it back, when I noticed what building I was standing in front of. It was an old building, fifty years or more. Above the massive glass doors were steel letters that read, Boston Police Dept. No. 4. I stood there staring at the sign, my arm still raised with the ball firmly gripped in my hand.
“Hey,” yelled the same impatient outfielder, “you gonna throw us the damn boll or what?” Appalled by his language I turned and gave my best throw, which embarrassingly hit the sidewalk twenty feet in front of him.

“Nice throw, asehole.”

I turned back to the police station, contemplating the opportunity in front of me. I had never spoken to a police officer, let alone step foot inside a police station. I had no idea if they could even help me at all. It’s worth a try I suppose, I thought. I gathered my thoughts, trying to figure out the exact words I needed to use. I walked up the steep steps to the door. On either side of the sign were two large glass bulbs that lit up the entrance at night. I never realized how dull lamps looked in the afternoon.

I entered and crossed the high gloss tile floor to the front desk where a frumpy middle-aged man with bright orange hair was sitting filling out paperwork. The top of his head was completely bald and shined brightly in the soft light of the lamps that sat on either side of his desk. You probably can’t tell when he wears his hat, I thought. I wanted to be as polite and cordial as possible so that he might help me without too much trouble. I didn’t want to interrupt his work, so I stood there until he felt my presence.

He looked up from what he was doing and said, “Hullo there boy-o. What can I do ye for?” I took a step closer and rested my wrists on his desk, which came up to the middle of my chest.
“My friend is missing,” I said instantly realizing that it must have sounded very childish and silly.

“Oh is he now,” responded the officer cracking a little smile. I lowered my head, searching for what to say next, my eyes wandering down to his badge. Van der Waal it read. What an odd name for an Irishman, I thought. I continued down to his desk and saw what he had been working on. He had a number of blank sheets of paper and was drawing pictures of naked women on them. My eyes shot away, hoping that he wouldn’t notice that I had seen the work that he had been so fervently engaged in. I tried to answer him quickly.

“Yes...he is...” I said, but I couldn’t help it. I let a little giggle out and quickly covered my mouth trying to hold in the rest of the laughter that was begging to exit. My eyes began to tear up as I watched Officer Van der Waal’s face turn red as a tomato. He looked down at his papers, then back at me, grabbed the whole collection, tore them up and threw them in the waste basket. If only Joseph could have seen that. Joseph!

“Excuse me,” I said, becoming serious. “Yes my friend is missing. I phoned him today
and he didn’t answer, so I took a cab over to his place, but he wasn’t home. I searched all over the city - look Mac, I’ve never spoken with an officer before; I don’t know if there’s even anything you can do. I was just passing by when I saw the station, and thought, Why not?”
“Well son, there’s not much I can do unfortunately. Missing persons reports can only be filed after someone’s been gone for more than forty-eight hours. Can’t have the whole force out lookin’ for people that are only gonna show up a few hours later anyway.”

“Forty-eight hours huh? I understand, I’m sure he’ll return in a few hours anyway. If he doesn’t show up in a couple days, I’ll be back,” I said. I turned and walked to the door. As I pushed it open, I began to giggle again. “You’re an excellent artist by-the-way,” I said to him and walked out, exploding with laughter at the thought of his art work. It was the first time in a week that I had been able to laugh at something without Beverly saying how bizarre it was.

Now I couldn’t get Beverly’s face out of my mind. I kept running over all the memories of the last week and realized that she was the one who was bizarre. What if she lied to me about Joseph not being there last night? That was the only logical explanation.

My apartment was only a few blocks west of the station, so I walked back, threw open my door, flipped on my radio and collapsed in my armchair. The officer is right. I thought. Joseph’s a smart kid. He’ll probably turn up any minute now. I don’t know why I let myself get so worked up over it. That dame Beverly sure got me going. Just then the telephone rang.

“Hello? Yes operator put her through.” Speak of the devil, I thought. “What do you want?”

“I found him,” said Beverly.

“Oh really, where’d he turn up?”

“He came here,” she said. It occurred to me that she could possibly be telling the truth.

“And you let him upstairs?”

“Well of course, I’m not cold-hearted you know.”

“Now that’s debatable,” I said, only half kidding.

“Well, we were worried about him, weren’t we? I couldn’t just let him sit outside.” We? I thought. But I stopped myself from balling her out again. Joseph was okay. Even if she was lying to me about where he had been, he would tell me all about it later, and I would find out.

“Are you going to let me come up to see him?”

“I think I can manage,” she said laughing. “He’s asleep now though. I think he had quite a rough one last night.”

“Did he say what happened?” I said.

“No, just that he needed to sleep,” said Beverly.

“Sleep? I sure am curious about what he was up to,” I said trying to see if Beverly would come clean. There was silence on the other line. I couldn’t even hear her breath.

“Well, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“No need to rush, take your time. He’s not going anywhere,” she said.

I thought about dressing up a bit. I worked up quite a sweat from running around all day, and could’ve used a nice bath. I was sure after a good nap and a glass of brandy, Joseph would
be ready for a night on the town; the three of us together again. I couldn’t be upset with Beverly. After all, she was a shy, reserved girl, and if they had spent the night together, she wasn’t going to be jumping to tell anyone about it. I guess she’s not so bad after all, I thought, forgetting all about what I had said earlier that afternoon.

I cleaned myself up and put on my best trousers and sweater for the evening’s activities. I skipped down the stairs of my building and took a deep breath of the fresh summer afternoon air. I pulled out my pocket watch. Only a couple more hours until sundown. I was in such a good mood, I decided to walk over to Beverly’s building. I couldn’t explain it, but I was flying higher than I had in a long time. As I walked along, I whistled some made-up song to myself. When her place was in sight, I ran over and shouted up.

“Hey Bev, you gonna leave me out here all night?” The window on the third floor opened and Beverly poked her head out, just as she had earlier that day, this time with a big smile on her face.

“Course not, come on up,” she said.

I was glad to see her so happy. I wanted to put this whole messy day behind us. I ran up to the third floor, skipping two stairs at a time. Beverly was waiting for me at the top. She wore a pretty white dress with small flowers on it and a coat resting on her shoulders, sleeves empty.

“You cold?” I asked, pointing at the coat.

“Oh, I get cold so easily.”

“So where is the old boy?” I said.

“He’s inside sleeping. I thought that we would let him alone for a little longer, then we can all go out together. Forget this whole day ever happened,” she said

“Fine by me,” I said, relieved that she felt the same way.

I followed her down the hall to her apartment door. Apartment 3B. I had run up the stairs so quickly that I hadn’t taken the time to look around at the inside of this building that had been such a mystery before. The walls were cream, patched with gray and cracking everywhere. The floor was black and white checkered tiles. Dim lamps hung from the high ceiling, evenly spaced between the apartment doors.

Beverly stood at her door, fumbling with her key for a moment before finally opening it. She held the door open, and I entered, eyes closed for a moment, trying to draw in my head what I had imagined her apartment to look like. I took a deep breath, opened my eyes, and let out all the air, not sure what to make of what I saw.

The floor was smooth, dark wood, so worn you could hardly see the lines between the planks. The walls were painted a brilliant white, but were mostly covered by bookshelves that were empty save a few thick books lying flat on a solitary shelf. In the center of the living room were two neatly placed armchairs, with a small, round table between them. The chairs faced a large radio that was distanced from the wall, and not connected to the outlet. The kitchen was in pristine condition. From where I stood, I couldn’t see a single blemish, but it was the back wall of the living room that captured my interest.

Above a writing desk and next to the window were pinned dozens of newspaper clippings. I stepped toward the wall to satisfy my curiosity, but her open bedroom door caught the corner of my eye. It was only cracked slightly, but enough for me to see a small portion of her bed. I could tell it was unmade, but I assumed it was where Joseph was sleeping. Her sheets matched the bright white of the walls except for what looked like brown pokadots of all different sizes scattered randomly across the fabric; a fashion I’d not seen before. I leaned forward slowly and took a single step forward, my eyes fixed on the dots. As I focused on them I realized that they were not round dots, but splatters, as if someone had taken a brush and spattered paint all over the material. And they weren’t brown, but a deep red color, like the bricks of Beverly’s apartment building. I took a step towards the room to peek in at Joseph, but remembered what I had been looking at in the first place, and decided it would be better to let him get as much rest as possible.

I walked to the back wall and studied the clippings carefully. My initial thoughts were on how disorganized they were. I couldn’t tell if they were in chronological order, in order of significance, or if they were just haphazardly scattered across the wall. The only organizing element was the theme of each headline.

Man Found Dead in
San Francisco Apartment

Murder Mystery Baffles

Houston Police

Two Dead in Apartment Rampage;

Detroit Police Search For Killer

Kansas City Murder; Three Dead

All at once the truth congealed. There were dozens more pinned, but I did not need to read them to conclude what had happened to Joseph, and what was about to befall me. Surprisingly, my heartbeat did not quicken, nor my breathing. My mouth, however, went dry as desert sand; my throat burned and my eyes watered. I turned to Beverly who was still standing at the open door. The setting sun blazed through her window, and reflected off what she held in her hand into my eyes; a blinding white.

“How bizarre,” I whispered as she shut the door gently behind her.