Julius Rosenthal will make candy no more and other short stories by Nicholas Russell (young adult books to read .txt) 📗

and called for help. Jack had forgotten the man’s name. They had exchanged letters or a few years, but as Jack grew older and his questions more pressing the letters stopped coming.

Standing here now with blood on his gloved hands Jack tried to remember the man’s name. He knew it started with an R, or maybe an M. Looking out the window Jack watched as the red and blue lights danced across the walls of the building opposite. Turning back to the body at his feet Jack refocused his attention. The man was young, young enough that Jack questioned calling him a man. Switching his gloves out for a fresh pair Jack knelt down to examine the body. The coroner had cleared the body and the Tech’s had been given their time to pick it clean. There was little for Jack to do here really but it was a habit he had never broken.

A light knock at the door got through to Jack. Standing in the opening was a patrol officer. Jack missed his time walking the streets as the patrol officer was one of the few real cops left in the city. She was petite, but held an imposing visage armored up and with a pistol strapped to both hips. One was the bright yellow of a stun gun, while the other was a standard issue 9mm. “Are you done in here Detective?”

When she spoke Jack was surprised by the deep bass of her voice. It didn’t quite fit the woman and Jack wondered if she had had it altered surgically. Unconsciously Jack lowered his own voice. “Has a scan been taken?”

“Yes sir. Three to be exact.” She took a half back and looked down the hall. “We can take another, but the building’s owner would like to move in the new tenant.”

Jack stood and peeled the gloves from his hands with a snap. Giving the room one last visual sweep Jack shook his head. A boy gets shot dead and all anyone can say is please move the body. Jack looked to the Patrol Woman and nodded his head as he spoke “Make sure the cleaners ship everything to the precinct. Then you can release it.”

The subway hummed and shivered with motion as Jack took his seat. He was heading back to the station from the victim’s, Thomas Moore, next of kin. His only surviving relative was a grey haired old man, whose mind had gone with his hearing. Jack had to break the news to him three times and each time was as devastating as the first. A nurse arrived a short while after Jack, she took the news with indifference and gave Jack his leave.

The city had instituted quiet cars on the subway, with three cares on the C line being converted. Jack tried to give them a shot, but the quiet always got to him no matter what he did. He tried reading and music, he even spent a nearly a month’s salary buying a portable video game system but nothing worked. Every time he sat in one of those cars he was bombarded with the sound of his father’s gun.

The trains were busy today and the constant thump of his fellow riders kept Jack at ease. Pulling to a stop the doors chimed and slid open. Jack hopped from his seat and managed to be one of the first passengers off. As packed as the trains were Jack was surprised to find the platform almost empty. The few riders that had gotten off with him cleared out quickly leaving Jack and his slow pace alone with a janitor. Jack looked up at the man and realized he was no more a man then Thomas Moore had been. Though he looked to have had little bit of a rougher childhood. Jack could see the markings on his right hand from Juvenile Hall. The markings were supposed to fade within a few days so Jack guessed that the young man was probably on work release. When he saw the boys head phones Jack changed his mind, they were to nice to have survived on the inside. The music blaring from them was loud enough that Jack could hear it clear across the platform. The boy was pushing a wet mop across the floor roughly in time with the music. Jack got caught up watching him work and stayed long enough to see that he never once picked the mop up from the floor.

As he reached the stairs leading up to Fifth Avenue North, the janitor called out. The noise coming from his headphones grew louder as he pulled them from his head. “Hey Geez, I just mopped that.”

Jack moved his over coat aside his brass badge flashing in the florescent light.

“I mean have a nice night, Constable.” The young man fumbled with a music player at his waist before shuffling away.

Jack smirked as he turned and started up the stairs. The bright lights of the subway platform faded by the time he reached street level. The city had taken a hefty bribe to allow a chemical plant to open along the river. The city used the money for a beautification project. Schools might have been a better use of the money since over thirty percent of the city’s population was listed as functionally illiterate.

Embracing the dark but still beautiful streets of his small piece of the city, Jack shrugged the politicians from his mind. Besides he reminded himself, they are another precincts problem. Surprised at the heavy traffic Jack checks his watch. The notification took longer than he had expected, so Jack quickened his pace and darted through traffic. As he stepped onto the opposite sidewalk, the small computer at Jack’s waist buzzed to life.

With the precinct in sight Jack pulled the device from its pouch and activated its screen. A translucent disembodied head burst from the screen. Jack knew the image and what it was about. He debated