Deadly at Midnight

A short story, or the beginnings of one, with examination questions to boot!

Jason Fox, by Terry Freedman

Preamble

As I was trawling through the Freedman archives I came across this story I wrote as a joke back in 1988. I was living in a place called — well, it doesn’t matter. It was a very sleepy town where nothing happened. I’ve changed the name of it in the story. The name I’ve used in the story is made up. I used a random name generator to obtain it. This is the first time I’ve published this, although I have recycled bits of it in other pieces. Anyway, enjoy! Oh, and I don’t usually write fiction, so if this story isn’t to your taste, all I can say is, if you didn’t like my potatoes, why did you dig so deep?¹

Chapter 1: Revenge is a dish best served piping hot

There are places that you don't walk through at night, unless you're a hoodlum or a fool. St Lincham is one of those places. Maybe it's the blackness of the so-called green sward that encircles the houses like a cobra. Maybe it's the sound of the night trains, like the death rattle of a guy who drank too much and then spoke too much. Or maybe it's just that St Lincham is Menelli's patch. If you ain't heard of Menelli, you must be in a coma. He's the kind of guy who makes Al Capone look like a good Samaritan. Let's put it this way: if Menelli says "Jump", you jump; and if Menelli says "Die"...

December 31st. Most of the folks in St Lincham had used their brains and gotten themselves invited to parties out of town. Jason Fox hadn't. He had other plans. His New Year resolution was to get even with Menelli! All he could think of was how Menelli had double-crossed him on the Detroit job, and then stolen his girl.

The barman grimaced at Fox. "Hey, buddy" he rasped. "We closed ten minutes ago." Fox slid his empty glass along the counter. "Stow it", he grunted. "Gimme two shots of Bourbon and make it snappy". Fox was too engrossed in thoughts of revenge to notice the dame in the red dress. Suddenly, he caught a hint of her perfume. It was like the scent of nectar in a city of broken dreams. Fox jerked a cigarette into his mouth and then, almost as an after-thought, motioned the pack towards her. She took one.

"What's yer label, honey?", Fox demanded. She lowered her eyelids like a school kid being asked on a date for the first time.

"Say. You don't waste much time, tall guy. I like a man who gets right to the point."

Fox allowed a sardonic grin to flicker across his face like the flame of a candle by an open window.

"The point is,' he grunted, "What's your angle? You're too classy for a dump like this. Either you've been sent by Menelli to set me up, or you got your own reasons for getting even with Menelli. I just ain't figured out which one of those it is. And I still don't know your name."

She smiled, and leaned closer towards him. It was going to be a long night.

END OF CHAPTER ONE

Examination Questions

Inspired by Oscar Wilde’s aphorism: In examinations the foolish ask questions that the wise cannot answer.

1. Discuss the use of metaphor and simile as vehicles for establishing the sense of desperation.

2. What evidence does the author present to suggest that Fox has been practising meditation for about 15 years?

3. “The interplay between Fox and the mystery woman represents the eternal tension between the elements of yin and yang in the cosmos." Discuss.

4. Why does the author liken St Lincham to an open-air lunatic asylum?

1. A question usually attributed to that great blues woman, Bessie Smith