Forever Haunt

Chapter 1-1

Chapter 1February was the shortest month by the stretch of the calendar, a mere twenty-eight days, yet there was something that made the days feel especially long. Perhaps the weather was a factor, a tease between the cruelty of winter and the promise of spring. For private detective Jimmy McSwain, the reality of life went beyond temperature. This time of year had, for a long time, been a deeply personal one, now made two-fold. Firstly, the anniversary of his father’s death was creeping ever closer, now just a month away, the grief always enveloping him early, the rawness that lived inside him bubbling to the surface with uncontrollable sadness. That rawness had a way of renewing his determination to see the cold case solved. Yet there was newfound warmth to be found in this young year, as secondly, anticipation gave the McSwain family a reason to hope, like a fresh bud on a tree branch. His sister Meaghan was in her ninth month of pregnancy and ready to pop any day. More than ready if you went by her.

“I feel like a whale,” she said.

“If it’s any consolation, you look like one, too,” Jimmy said, smiling jokingly at her.

She popped a bubble from the gum she was chewing. “You’re an asshole.”

Meaghan always did have an edge, even as a kid. Now she was hanging over the cliff, done with this pregnancy, even if the baby wasn’t.

It was a typical Monday night in February, with Valentine’s Day just four days away. No one was feeling the love tonight inside the McSwain household on 48th Street and 10th Avenue in the ever-evolving world of Hell’s Kitchen. Gentrification and construction had altered more than the skyline; the demographics and the economy had changed, too. The McSwains had lived in the neighborhood for three generations, with barely anything changing, much less evolving, inside their cozy apartment. Youngest sibling Meaghan had been in a pissy mood pretty much her entire life, more so since the new year arrived, and her impending childbirth. It had been a long six weeks to get them to this moment.

“Oh, I’m out of chocolate chips. Now how did that happen, I just went shopping last week,” Maggie said from the kitchen, where she was standing in front of the open door of the refrigerator. Mama McSwain had been intent on baking a chocolate chip sheet cake for dessert, now stymied by the lack of its sweetest ingredient. “Meaghan, did you eat that entire bag?”

“What, I can’t have cravings?”

“Well, I need a new bag.”

Two voices suddenly rang out.

“I’ll go!”

Jimmy looked at his sister Mallory, who was also feeling the effects of her sister’s pregnancy. Both in need of a temporary reprieve from Meaghan’s eternal foul mood. A quick deli run would easily remove them from the current situation. Jimmy won out, thereby giving the three McSwain women a chance to bond, or at least for two of them to calm the ornery, younger one. He grabbed his leather jacket and left the apartment for the cold outdoors, bounding down the five flights of stairs, much as he’d done his entire life. He was thirty, but sometimes on the trek back up he felt older, like the stairs were toying with him, keeping him simultaneously in shape while serving him a reminder that his knees were victim to the passage of time.

As he came to the first floor, he noticed a stack of cardboard moving boxes in the vestibule. They were typically marked: kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. What he didn’t see was who the boxes might belong to. It had been a while since a new neighbor had moved into their old building, one of the last surviving so-called tenements on 10th Avenue, now home to too many high-rises. While his family’s steadfast presence helped preserve neighborhood traditions, other forces—those with money and influence and big development plans—were busily tearing down the past and floor-by-towering floor,

transforming old school Hell’s Kitchen into new world Clinton, a more prominent district that guaranteed higher rents. Jimmy wondered which of the apartments in his building this person, or persons, was moving into. Mrs. O’Brien on the first floor had died seven months ago at age ninety-two, so maybe her relatives had finally given up the place.

As he dashed out into the early evening, he saw streaks of dark blue light hovering across the western horizon. Another sign that winter was on the wane. He also noticed a moving van in front of the building, but again, he didn’t see anyone milling about. Like a ghost was moving in, not yet ready to reveal its intentions. Jimmy refocused on the task at hand. His mother was nothing if not a stickler for time, and the fact she was missing an ingredient for her weekly family dinner probably had shifted her own mood. Meaghan didn’t come by hers innocently. He had to hurry.

His destination was a deli on 10th Avenue, a mainstay, even though it had changed owners over the years. Still, it was the same one which had changed Jimmy’s life and where his father’s life ended. Breaking up a robbery on what should have been a quiet morning. Jimmy continually saw the shrouded assassin stop, pivot, shoot. His mind, his eyes, focused on the firepower from the bullet rocketing through the shaft. So quick but also somehow in slow motion. Joseph McSwain had gone down, Jimmy had cradled him. Felt the warmth of his blood as it soaked into his clothes. Heard the man’s final breath escape his lungs, felt his body shudder.

Jimmy would never forget the notion of life draining out, as though it was that easy to die. Now he was opening the glass door of the scene of the crime, as he had so often over the years. For such a simple thing, too, a yellow bag of Nestle chocolate chips. He found them on a back shelf, then went to the cooler and grabbed a six-pack of Bass. He wasn’t sure what was in the fridge back home; not like it would go to waste.

“Evening, Habib,” Jimmy said.

“Interesting combination,” the clerk said looking at Jimmy’s chosen items.

“What can I say, you can’t control your urges.”

“The choices from customers get more interesting as the night goes on,” he said. “Usually Red Bull and condoms.”

Jimmy laughed as he paid, grabbed the plastic bag and started back up 10th Avenue. As he approached his building, he noticed a young woman emerge from the back of the moving van. She awkwardly carried a cardboard box that seemed too heavy for her toward the door.

“Hey, how about we switch?” Jimmy said.

The woman paused. Then she smiled, lighting up an already pretty face. She was probably no more than twenty-five, Hispanic it appeared, with long dark hair and high cheekbones.

“I’m fine, it’s not heavy, just bulky. But if you could get the door.”

Jimmy did as asked, slipping his key into the front-door lock. “There is a catch, where you can secure the door so you don’t have to keep opening it,” he said. He then demonstrated, flipping a metal clasp to the lower part of the front door.

“I wasn’t sure if I should do that…” she said. “Leave it unattended.”

“It’s pretty safe here. Really, let me take that box.”

Jimmy set down the bag from the deli and the woman relented, seemingly glad to have the weight off her arms. Jimmy went into the building, the woman directing him to the rear apartment on the first floor. Just as he’d suspected, Mrs. O’Brien’s old place. He smelled fresh paint as he entered the small apartment. He saw more boxes, no furniture. Setting the box down near them, he wondered if anyone was helping her. A boyfriend, or a husband…hell, even a hunky moving man would do. He supposed he’d just stepped into that role.

“You’re moving in by yourself?” he asked, turning to her. She stood in the doorframe, like she was afraid to step across the threshold. Afraid of her new home or perhaps an uncertain future. Or a bad past? Something unwritten, or unplanned?

“No, no…I have…”

“Mom…Mom…I saw a bug in my room…”

Jimmy spun around to see a young boy, probably no more than five or six. He had the same dark hair as his mother, wide brown eyes and a sudden fearful expression on his face when he saw Jimmy. The boy stopped in his tracks.

“Who’s he?”

“Actually, I don’t know yet, but he lives in the building. He had a key.”

Words that sounded like assurances. To the boy, and to her.

“Jimmy McSwain,” he offered. “I live on the fifth floor. My mother and sister do, too.”

The woman finally stepped into the apartment, her hand extended. “Carmen Ramirez. This is my son, Sonny.”

Jimmy smiled at the boy. “Almost sounds redundant.”

Sonny looked like he didn’t understand his comment, or at least like it. “Mom, I’m hungry.”

“We’ll eat soon. Just a few more boxes. Why don’t you run out, get the easy stuff? Lamps.”

“Okay.”

The boy dashed past Jimmy without even a cursory glance. As though Jimmy didn’t exist, a phantom needing to be exorcised from his new home. Worse than any bug he might find. Maybe the boy was used to men not being around. It seemed to be Carmen and Sonny against the world.

“Don’t mind Sonny. He’s a…cautious kid.”

“No worries,” Jimmy said. “Welcome to the building.”

“Thank you. And thank you for your help with the box. You didn’t have to.”

“Are there many more?”

“Just a few. I can handle them. Furniture movers arrive tomorrow. Not that we have much.” Jimmy nodded. He sensed a vulnerability within her, an emotion she was trying her best to hide but failing in her attempt. He read her body language, arms wrapped around herself. The bag from the deli had been set down on the floor just inside the apartment. He went over to it, withdrew two bottles of the Bass Ale. Maybe she could use a cold brew, even on a winter day. Moving was worse than work. It was life-changing.

“No, that’s okay, but thank you, Jimmy. You are very sweet.”

Jimmy realized the bottles weren’t twist off. He’d have had trouble opening them anyway. A flush of embarrassment hit him, as though he’d failed her. Which was a ridiculous notion. He didn’t know this woman, nor did he bear any responsibility to her. Didn’t stop him from an inner need to want to help her. Then he caught a view of the bag of chocolate chips. His mother was no doubt waiting for his return with her usual Irish impatience.

“Carmen, I’m just a few floors away. You need anything, just let me know.”

“Thank you. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

Jimmy nodded, picked up the deli bag after putting the two bottles back inside their carrier. He paused at the doorway, turned back to her. A question formed on his lips, and even though he knew the answer was none of his business he felt the urge to know. He felt a sudden responsibility to the new residents of his long-standing home.

“If I may ask, is there a Mr. Ramirez?”

Carmen paused. Was she wondering whether to answer, or what the right one was?

“Sort of. Somewhere,” she finally said.

“I’m sorry,” Jimmy said. “Anything I can help with?”

“How could you possibly help?”

He stepped back toward her, this time extending his hand. “Jimmy McSwain, private eye.”

“You’re kidding.”

His expression said otherwise. “Carmen, are you in trouble?”

“I’m fine. Sonny is fine,” she said, dismissing Jimmy’s concerns with a wave of her hand. Then she paused before continuing. “Really, everything will be fine. Thank you, Jimmy. I should see what’s keeping Sonny. He likes to put up a brave front, but he’s moved around a lot. He’s only six. New surroundings can confuse a child.”

“I’ll let you go to him,” Jimmy said.

“I’m sure I will see you around. Goodnight.”

Jimmy knew a dismissal when he heard one. He left with a mix of emotions, thinking she’d used the word fine too much. And the phrase “will be.” Usually an indication things were anything but. Walking back up the stairs with the weight of the world squarely on his shoulders, he tried to tell himself Carmen’s troubles were none of his business. If she didn’t want help, who was he to force his services on her? Except he felt something gnaw at his insides, a sense that there was much more to their story, and that whatever the Ramirez family’s story was, it couldn’t be good. Carmen might have sent him away now, but he believed she’d come knocking eventually.