Post by Matt Knox on Feb 9, 2024 21:08:07 GMT -5
Corvid Combat Films…
In Association with Bongwater Productions…
Present….
Gumshoe 8
Jaws
◆I◆
Matthew Knox, known far and wide by the moniker "Gumshoe," was nestled in the quiet hum of his daughter's home, a stark contrast to the cacophony of his recent escapades. It was a modest building of brick and mortar like most of this older side of Chicago. The neighborhood was rough, but no one ever seemed that interested in bothering the blonde woman, her wiry husband or their young daughter all that much.
Hell, they’d all read the stories and heard the whispers of the things he’d done to his own cousin that’d threatened that child.
That was an older war though, this newer one with The Montuoris had left him more than bruised, a dance with death he narrowly escaped, thanks to "Red"—a woman who defied simple labels in his life. Friend, adversary, partner, she was all these things but never crossed the threshold of something more. Not that he’d ever push the line past where it was, nor her.
Besides, she was married to a man who had an appointment with a jail cell he oversaw. A man he’d once called a brother, and one of the few who’d ever left the Gumshoe defeated. Truly and utterly, with no silver lining.
For all that the Gumshoe hated that man….
…He’d never blame him.
His past was a quilt of such complexities, but tonight's present was simpler, more tender. His granddaughter's weeping stirred him from his restless slumber, a soft reminder of life's fragility and innocence. Evidence that for all the rot he’d wrought, there was some shine left to the portrait he’d painted upon the world’s canvas.
A soft groan escaped him as he rose from the couch he occupied, slipping his feet into an old pate of slippers and beginning his journey. With careful steps, he approached the crib and found her eyes, wide and searching, looking up at him.
Hope had been through her own ordeal, a different kind of battle that left its scars not on the body but the soul. The shame of what his absence had made her endure was a stain he’d never remove from his soul. Though not of his blood, she was his. His favorite. And in this hour of need, he was her steadfast protector, just as he should have been in countless other nights and days before.
"Go back to sleep, I got this," he whispered to Hope, a gentle offer to shoulder the night's duty.
“Are you sure?” came the exhausted response from beneath bleary eyes.
“Of course, go. Get your rest.” He repeated, demeanor an unrecognizable feather to the stone that it usually presented itself as. With a nod and a sigh, she receded into the shadows of her room, trusting her father with her most precious possession.
The child, still uncertain in the presence of this grizzled older man, searched his face for signs of safety. Matthew, with a practiced ease, began to shush her, a rhythmic comfort that promised security. “Easy, Camryn…’ his voice rumbled gently as he lifted her from the blankets, cradling the child close as he turned and began searching for a new perch. "Want to hear a story?" he asked, and though she remained silent, her calmness gave him consent.
He settled into the well-worn armchair beside her crib, the creaks of its wood a prelude to the tale he was about to weave. "My grandfather, your Great Great Grandfather, and the man I was named after, faced a real monster once," he began, his voice a soft velvety monotone, vaguely gravely from years of smoking that seemed to hug the darkness around them.
The child's eyes were wide with skepticism. "Monsters aren't real," she challenged, her toddler's logic already firm.
“Patience, little one….skeptic just like you ought to be. Now, See, Papaw was a Gunslinger..”
“Whats that?”
“Like…A policeman, like me but he works when and where he wants to.”
“Oh.”
“Well, see….while out there keepin’ the world safe, your papaw came across this little town on the outskirts o’....Oh, halfway to nowhere I think he said it was. And when he rolled into town, all any of ‘em talked ‘bout was this big, fiendish fiend of a monster that was terrorizin’ the countryside…”
“What it look like?” Camryn asked, small voice now a little more invested as the older man spun his web.
“Ah, see…that was the first problem..” he smiled down at her “Inquisitve mind…you’ll be a badge yet, kid.” a pale, bony digit poked the child’s midsection earning a small giggle before he continued “Problem was, though…No one could quite tell you what that monster looked like. See, some folk - folk smarter than your papaw or mine - think that the mind…it can affect how you see things.
Papaw thought it was just varying degrees of whiskey soak.”
“What’s Whiskey soak?”
“No more interrupting, this is supposed to be putting you to bed.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Why couldn’t perps be this simple?
“Now see….One set of folk, they swore this monster was a great big hulking thing made of metal much as it was made of flesh. Ten foot tall, swingin’ a chain and breathing fire at anyone who dared come near it.
Some others, they said it didn’t have a form, only the hatred it felt. Called it an Enigma, thought it best left such ‘dark forces’ for God to deal with.
Then there were those who were convinced it was just a dumb, oversized animal gone rabid. A livestock dog that broke its leash and tangled with a coyote that’d already been afflicted. Whatever it was though, the whole town was scared and had been scared for long before papaw showed up lookin’ to dry his throat.
See, they knew who my Papaw was and they offered him everything in the city bank if he’d go out there and deal with it. Now, see…he had a suspicious mind, my papaw. Just like you, thought to himself ‘Monsters aren’t real.’ but…work is work, and so he agreed.”
“So he went after the monster?”
“He did. For thirty days and thirty nights he tracked that monster, listenin’ to stories of those that’d run in with it and followin’ trails he’d never seen before. He knew it was dangerous, but he knew that he couldn’t leave them folk to fend for themselves against whatever this creature was.
And then…on that thirty-first day, right at dawn…he come across it. Got real low, snuck up on it like you gotta - couldn’t be eaten by the monster he came to kill…
So he lined up his shot….took a breath….said a prayer….
BANG
One shot ,and your papaw saved that wh–”
His own enthusiasm choked into an absolute silence as the child's breaths had grown deep and even, the tendrils of sleep claiming her once more. A tender smile graced his face, a rare moment of softness from a man carved from life's harsh edges. Carefully, he lifted her into her bed, tucking her in with a loving hand.
As he stood there, watching her sleep, memories unbidden flowed through his mind. His grandfather, in a rare moment of vulnerability, had once confessed the truth behind the tale. Swirling whiskey and slurred words painted a different picture—the fearsome beast was but “A mangy black bear, its head trapped in a rusted bucket, ensnared by wire and chains. It was a pitiful sight, all noise and bluster, but no true danger.”
“So…You ain’t Shoot it?” he remembered asking, freshly a teenager and ready for further disillusionment.
“No, I ain’t…Lied, and said I did..” The older man had slurred, the clink of glass on glass ringing in the younger man’s ears just as vividly as they now did the old man’s. “Got out, eventually…long after I took the money and headed off to Thunderhead. Got called a coward for it, mocked endlessly….made to shoot a man or two..” he snorted before downing the glass.
The younger Matthew’s face scrunched up, eyes peering at the weathered elder Matthew’s with a deep inquisitive nature that’d shape the rest of his life “Why didn’t you?”
“Didn’t I what?” the old man hissed around the burn of the whiskey.
“Why didn’t you shoot it, the bear?” he had inquired, further pressing “It was still a bear, still probably could kill somethin’”
The old man’s eyes closed then, already having been half lidded as he breathed a whiskey soaked breathed around a bushy mustache “‘Cause, boy…” he muttered, half claimed by the darkness that usually follows the drink “Some beasts ain’t worth the space their head’d take on the wall…”
In the stillness of the room, Matthew Knox, the Gumshoe, stood—a man shaped by legends and lies, love and loss. And as he quietly exited the room, he carried with him the legacy of his grandfather, the skewed lessons of life's true monsters, and the hope that the child he cherished would never have to face monsters of her own.
Along with the promise that as long as he kept waking up, she’d never have to.
◆II◆
She sat at his desk, legs crossed, a picture of nonchalant elegance in a world of order and discipline. The scattered files and warrants, usually a testament to Knox's methodical nature, were playthings beneath her fingertips. He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, a silent question hanging between them.
“You still haven’t caught this bum?” She questioned holding up a random mugshot with an arched eyebrow, piercing gaze full of a mirthful judgement as she blew a brief raspberry before discarding it back into the abyss of the scattered mess she’d made ‘I’ve ripped him off twice since we got into town…”
"Red," he began, his voice low and steady, "I do recall putting cuffs on you." His reminder was as much a warning as it was a statement of fact.
“And I don’t remember giving a damn…” she continued, her gaze already back to its symphony of judgment, flipping through the posters with a measured disinterest, “Don’t quite feel like shaking all the tails you’ll try to put on me when I decide to leave yet either so, here I am…”
“There you are.” He repeated, opting to take the seat across from is own usually reserved for witnesses and coworkers. He reached for a file she’d left unmolested and opened it, squinting at the pages for a moment before grumbling and producing a pair of spectacles from his breast pocket. As he placed them upon his face his eyes darted up to the half-stifled chuckle.
“My lord….the state of you.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“And youthful.”
“For now.”
Another mocking chuckle as she lifted another photo. The man within was closer looking to a bear in mass, and his face had near as much fur. The Gumshoe felt his stomach lurch at the hateful gaze in the man’s eyes “This one…this is the one you ran from, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t run.”
“Didn’t show up either…”
“And I serve at his beckoned call then, I suppose?”
“Well, you did promise Smash..”
“And I made up for welching on that promise.”
She snorted at the response “And got yourself into a feud with the Montuoris for it….doing a favor for my husband…” the mentioned brought a lurch to his stomach, but she moved on before he could try and steer from it, “I don’t blame you for running. Old as you’re getting, bringing in this one? The fight he’d put up to stay free?” she whistled
“You Will Know….” he grumbled.
“Excuse me?”
“Some nonsense he leaves written at every crime scene. Every house he paints, be it pleasure or to pay for that sweet wife and baby it's there. If we’re lucky, its in ink…” he paused “One time, left it spelled out in limbs.”
“Handsome and creative…”
“Nowadays, I suppose..”
“Nowadays?”
He shifted in his seat, bringing one leg over the other and plucking the file he’d been skimming while talking with her “When I first crossed paths with him, out in Reno- you were there, don’t you recall how he was?”
“I try not to dwell in the past. You should, too.”
“Soon as the present becomes more interesting….but I digress. Yeah he was there, working for that spawn of Spiral. Painted up goon, usually more of a meat shield than anything. Had that partner for a long time that got hauled off to the can and since then, he’s flourished.”
“Well that’s not suspicious.”
“Can’t prove a thing. It tracks though…couple years inside, not even a single visit. You’d think it was sweet, doing all this for the family but..” the Gumshoe shook his head, clicking his tongue “Can’t get behind providing for your family through violence like this….at least, not without a badge.”
“Self awareness? I’m surprised.”
“I’m trying to grow up, in my old age.”
“That why you’re going to try to run right at him this time, then?” She tilted her head, one eyebrow arching “You know that dying now will make you just as dead as what you were trying to evade then, don’t you?”
“Don’t plan on Dying…and besides, he’s tied in with another case.”
“My Husband’s, right?”
The air crackled with tension as they circled each other, verbal sparring partners in a dance as old as their shared history. "Are you really planning on going after him, again?” she asked, her voice tinged with amusement and something darker, more dangerous.
Knox met her gaze, unflinching. His pursuit of Macentyre Bane was not a matter of personal vendetta but a quest for justice. “There’s no plan, Red. He’s done enough to end up on our radar and it’s my job to bring people like him in to face what they’ve done.”
“And what, pray tell, has he done to end up on that radar?”
“I suppose we could ask Cholo, or would the direct path be counterintuitive to all the clock you’re chewing up?” he held out a hand which after a moment of trying to immolate him with her gaze, Red placed her husbands file within, “Besides, I'm sure this is full of plenty of open assault cases and bullshit rulings by idiot judges painting him in a more favorable light.”
“Opinions are easily influenced.”
“Oh of course. And he is a charismatic man. Of all the ways I've seen your husband, its never been alone…Never without help, without a friend…” he looked up from the file then, recalling a memory “Hell…the man whose hide got me this job once helped Macentyre remove me from an equation…if I recall.”
“Wouldn’t know..” Red’s words dripped like honey but burned like battery acid “Was half dead at the time, if you recall…”
A beat of tense silence, his guts twisted in on themselves at the memory and the guilt that lingered. He’d overstepped, underestimated and lost himself while damn near getting himself killed. Then Macentyre took it a step further and left him ready for a pine box.
He still wasn’t sure why the Lord had let him endure further.
“Like I said….he’s wanted, its my job. And that's where it ends.” he stated finally, with a tone nowhere near as resolute as he had in his head while formulating the words.
Her laughter was a bitter symphony, eyes alight with mocking fire. "You really think I care about why?" Red leaned in, her words a venomous whisper. "You think I enjoy this, beyond watching you squirm?"
They stood locked in a moment of raw honesty—the facade dropped, truths laid bare. Yet they both knew the disdain she professed was as much a facade as any pretense of indifference he might show. The precinct might as well have been empty for all the attention they paid to the world around them.
“I think that you need to stick to why I’m keeping you out of a cell, and let me do my job.”
“And I think you need to listen to me when I tell you, Matt…” she squared herself to him, shoulders set and gaze deadly serious “Let this one go. You’ll only get bloody.”
He let out a heavy sigh weighted in frustration, his throat cleared but before he could respond their standoff was interrupted by the brisk entrance of a sergeant, his face etched with urgency.
"Knox, we've got a sighting. Macentyre Bane."
Knox's focus shifted instantly, the lawman within him springing to life. Red's hand shot out, gripping his arm with surprising force. "Don't do this," she urged again, her eyes flickering with an emotion she rarely allowed herself to show. "Don't go after him."
But Matthew Knox was already stepping away, his resolve as steadfast as ever. He offered her no promises, no words to soothe the tempest he left in his wake, even as he remained ignorant to the flash of lightning in her eyes. The sergeant led him away, the hunt for The Texan beckoning, and with each step, Knox carried the weight of the unspoken bond between him and the woman who was his most maddening enigma.
◆III◆
The remote warehouse loomed like a monolith in the desolate landscape, a silent sentinel to the clandestine activities within. Gumshoe and his deputy had settled in for the stakeout, the tension of anticipation thick in the air. Reinforcements were on their way, but time stretched and frayed at the edges of patience.
Inside the unmarked police car, the steady rhythm of his deputy's breathing was a sharp contrast to the erratic pounding of Knox's heart. He leaned his head against the cool window, the weight of exhaustion pulling him down into a restless slumber. It was there, in the clutches of sleep, that the beast from his grandfather's story found him—a monstrous vision, all snarling maw and flailing chains. Half bone and blade, half gears and oil. A Mechanical Chimera and a physical manifestation of fear itself.
Knox's pistol bucked in his hand as he fired round after round into the oncoming nightmare. Yet with each shot, it grew, feeding on his deepest insecurities and failures. It was a relentless tide of terror, threatening to swallow him whole, and Knox felt the fight draining out of him.
The iron dropped to his side, his knees buckled and he awaited for the teeth to gnash him to nothing. When the pain didn’t come he looked up, only to find the monster replaced by the spectre of a cowboy in a white continental suit.
The Texan himself.
“You….” he felt the words slip past his lips “You again….God, they’d really send the same guy twice? I should feel insulted but…I guess its what I Deserve, eh?”
Only stony silence met him.
“Wow...not even worth a conversation or a threat. I get it though….if anyone has the right to be the one to break me into a million pieces a second time? It’s you, Macentyre. Facts taken off the table, the public sure does think I have a thing for Mrs. Bane don’t they?
Must kill you, seeing us work together these past couple months. I wonder, do you sniff her blouse to check for vanilla? Or a kind of cigarette you don’t smoke? I mean, it tracks…insecure fella like yourself.
Never alone, because thats the one place you’ll have to face the real source of all the problems you try to project onto men like me, men like Cholo, like Joe Montuori…anyone that isn’t you. Because the second you take a look at the face you’ve allowed to become your own you’ll be forced to realize that you stand for everything you ever spoke against..”
He laughed now, a lifeless and humorless sound as the felt the icey grip of a hand that wasn’t there tighten around his throat.
“Corrupt….Bought and paid for….Propped up because his own two legs could never bear the weight of his own hypocrisy. What is it this week, Mac? The Saviors? Mecca? CCPE? Unst–wait, no. That’s not communal property, is it? You’d think as much as I’ve failed at that I’d know the laws better by now…
You do think about my failures, don’t you Macentyre? Love rubbing them in my face. And they do sting, and the stink is damn near unbearable…” he spit, choking the words out as the life began to leave him along with the fight to keep it “At least that sting…that stink….they’re all from my own makin’’
Stood…
On my own…..
Two…
Fee–”
But before the darkness could claim him, a sharp knock shattered the dream. His eyes flew open to the sight of Red, her presence at the window as unexpected as it was unwelcome. "What the hell are you doing here?" he snapped, the remnants of the nightmare making his voice harsher than intended.
"I told you not to go after him," she said, her tone an odd mixture of anger and concern. He tried to dismiss her, to maintain the barrier between them, but she was immovable, a force unto herself. "Those guns in there aren't pointed at me, Matt," she reminded him, and he could hear the truth in her words.
Frustration and an aching need for closure gnawed at him. "Take her away," he ordered his deputy, the words tasting like defeat.
“No.”
“This isn’t up for discussion, Red.” He snapped, still looking toward the deputy who approached now, fumbling to retrieve his cuffs “Take her away, N-”
Red's eyes met his, a silent plea, or perhaps a warning. Before he could decipher it, chaos erupted.
The sharp crack of a gunshot tore through the stillness, and the deputy crumpled to the ground, a look of shock frozen on his face. Red stood, gun in hand, her gaze locked with Knox's. The world narrowed to the space between their eyes, the air thick with betrayal and unspoken history.
“And neither is this one,” she hissed through the crackle in his ears in the wake of the thunderous kick of her pistol "I did try to warn you," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor that ran through her hand.
Knox's heart hammered against his ribcage, a wild thing caged by bone and sinew. He met her stare, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and drew his pistol with deliberate slowness. Turning his back on her, he faced the direction he had always been meant to go—towards the Texan, towards justice.
"You'll never pull the trigger," he called over his shoulder, his words a challenge, a truth, or perhaps a final plea. The air hung heavy with the weight of their shared past, and as he stepped away, the echo of the gun that had felled the deputy was a ghost in his ears, a harbinger of the reckoning to come.
And so,he leapt from where once he ran.
Into the jaws of that great beast.
