PART 1: A SIGN FOR MURDER
In the dark, she sat. Alone with her thoughts. Unfortunately, even those had become dark.
She’d been vibrant once. Alive with an energy that sparked from within. She’d been ready for the world. All eyes upon her. Yet, one day, something went south. She couldn’t pinpoint what the something was – and maybe it wasn’t for her to know. But south it had gone. Until, over time, she’d come to this place of darkness. Unnoticed. Unused. Forgotten even.
It was in this darkness that she saw it all happen.
A murder that was monumental.
She lived at the end of Main Street, on the edge of town where things used to happen but no longer did. There’d been a nightclub across the street. Jazz on Wednesdays, 80s rock on Fridays. You know the type; one of those places that tried to cater to everyone – just not on the same night. The club was called “Bobby Dean’s”. Who Bobby Dean was had remained a mystery to her. All of that came before her time.
The incident happened on a Wednesday. She had seen it all. Wanted to look away, but couldn’t.
They’d come out of the nightclub. Three guys. Friends – or so she’d thought. She’d seen them before. One was tall and thin; she heard the fellas call him Jim. He wore the type of jeans that sagged in all the right places due to decades of hanging on the same body. Jim wore a silver chain on his belt. Heavy. Connected his wallet to his body so nobody could steal it when he wasn’t looking. It jangled when he walked. It was longer than most of the chain belts she’d seen like that. The night of the murder, she learned why.
The second guy was Jim’s buddy. They called him Cooper. He was shorter, wore shorts all the time. Didn’t matter the time of year, he was always in shorts. It bugged her that he didn’t honor the seasons like the rest of the town. She didn’t know why this insolence bothered her so much, it just did. He had wavy black hair that slicked backward on his head like a tidal wave. Cooper was always smoothing it back; trying to control something he couldn’t.
The third guy, the one that ended up dead, his name was Pete. His red hair was the most noticeable thing about him. Other than that, he was a nice, average kinda guy. When she thought about the night of the murder, she kept thinking, Pete never saw it coming. He didn’t see how Jim and Cooper would stand by Pete’s 1960 Chevy Impala. Looking at it like they wanted to eat it. The color was delicious. The pale blue paint shimmered under the streetlights. The tires were like creamy black and white moonpies.
From where she stood, it looked like it could fly. The wings that flared on either side of the trunk were gorgeous. To her, they flew just as beautifully as the Rolls Royce ‘Flying Lady’. There were times she wished she’d had such wings.
They’d circle the car, slide their hands along the smooth hood, follow along the sides of it to the back and admire The boys, Jim and Cooper would act like they were admiring it; act like they were Pete’s pal. But she could tell that they weren’t. She could tell Jim and Cooper weren’t happy for Pete, they were jealous.
Ahhh jealousy. When it gets a little fire under it, and those embers start to glow like the beady eyes of a werewolf in London…? Well, that’s a sign for murder.
Part 2: A SIGN BY ANY OTHER NAME
Pete’s murder had happened on a Wednesday.
Wednesdays were already weird. People liked to call it hump day, but that never sat well with her. Hump day? What are we humping? It irritated her. And with all the nothing she had going on in her life, she didn’t need this type of friction in her life.
That particular Wednesday night was perfect for a murder. Spring had sprung and the early summer nights were enchanting. Folks were distracted. They weren’t thinking about anything other than getting into Bobby Dean’s, having a few beers out on the edge of town where nobody bothered them, and paying $6.00 for it, rather than $12.50 like the rest of the schmucks in town.
There was a gentle breeze. Even from where she sat, it whispered to her. It said, “Hey, Lady Jane, why’re you still holding on? Isn’t it time you let go…?”
‘Lady Jane’ was the name she’d been given by Joe Hamilton. He was the man that owned the lot where she lived. Where she stood her ground. Joe had bought the lot back in 1975. Sold new and used cars. He held onto the lot until he went on to greener pastures. After his death, his daughter Lydia sold cars until the early 2000s. It wasn’t Lydia’s fault the lot died off. She did her best. The town changed. New housing came in. New shops. Changed the direction of where folks wanted to be and to be seen. It didn’t help that the way folks bought cars changed, too. Internet connected folks from the comfort of the couch. Auctions. Nobody needed Hamilton’s Used Cars like they used to.
Main Street died. She was dying right along with it.
Pete, the one who was now dead, the one who she watched get murdered, had bought his 1960s Chevy Impala here. She’d watched the sale. Saw the joy and excitement in him as he drove away. Who knew that the car would become his tomb. (I mean, who ever knows these things, really?)
That night, the fellas had all come out of Bobby Dean’s. Jim and Cooper had circled Pete. Whoopin’ and carrying on. She had thought that maybe they were playing around – like there’d been some fun in the club that they’d carried out into the summer night air. But something in their mood changed. The chase became sinister. And then Jim took the heavy silver chain from his jeans and before Pete knew it, the chain was around his neck.
She wanted to scream. She tried to do something. To get somebody’s attention. But time had passed for so long that everyone had stopped paying attention to her. She could do nothing.
Jim and Cooper piled poor, dead Pete into the trunk of the Chevy Impala and then they jumped into the car. Jim at the wheel, like the vintage baby blue was his — like he had worked and saved for it. Cooper in the passenger seat, nervously smoothing his waves with confused, misplaced adrenaline.
They screeched off into the night. Thinking they had gotten away with murder.
It was then that something zapped inside of her. She felt her wires come alive. She felt energy connecting within. A light lit up the dark road.
It was a monumental sign. Jim and Cooper would pay.
PART 3: A SIGN FOR CHANGE
Pete had been a real nice guy. She remembered him the day he came to Hamilton’s Used Cars to buy his baby.
He’d shoved his hands deep in his pinstriped pants, rocked back on his heels and his wispy red hair had fallen into his eyes.
“Been waiting for this day my whole life,” he’d said to Joe Hamilton, wiping a tear from his eye. “Could never afford this car when I was a kid. Wasn’t even possible.”
Joe Hamilton, a giant of a guy who wore suspenders and a belt, clapped Pete on the shoulder. “Son,” he bellowed, “This here kinda talk is the reason I sell cars and the reason I bought this lot.”
Joe wiped his big, brown forehead with a faded, red bandana. “You and me are the type of guys who like to make dreams come true, ain’t we?”
Pete shook Joe’s hand and smiled wide, “That we are, Joe. That we are.”
Joe handed Pete the keys to his vintage beauty. Pete swung open the door and shot a two-finger salute at Joe before driving off onto Main Street.
If she’d been able to find her words, she would have said something like, “This is a monumental moment, Joe!” Instead, she stood still. Rooted in the moment. Still, her face beamed. She felt warm inside. Connected.
That was nearly 15 years ago.
Time has a funny way of dealing with folks, doesn’t it? It wants you to feel like it’s your friend, but then… it acts a little sinister. A little passive aggressive. Takes away your youth and then wants to punish you for not having it. It takes away your ability to do what you used to.
Fifteen years ago, this never would have happened. She would have been the light that wouldn’t have allowed the dark that gave Jim and Cooper the shrouded courage to kill Pete.
She knew it was up to her to make them pay.
Maybe this murder on Main Street was more than a wrongdoing. Maybe it was a sign for change. In her.
PART 4: EVEN WHEN IT’S A SIGN
Pete had been murdered on a Wednesday. Hump day. The night of the murder, she had been dead inside. By Thursday morning, she was different.
By Thursday night, she knew what she needed to do.
Hamilton’s Used Car lot had been her home since the 90s. While everything from hairstyles to storefronts changed around her, she had remained roughly the same.
She wouldn’t have called herself ‘psychic’… ‘cause what sign is psychic? But she did call herself intuitive. And that’s how she knew Jim and Cooper would be back. She just hadn’t expected them to come back Thursday night.
It was just about midnight when she saw the familiar headlights that belonged to Pete’s Chevy Impala. They came toward her and just as the car parked in the lot, the lights went dark and the tires slowed on the gravel.
Jim and Cooper got out of the car. He was tall and thin. A tough piece of beef jerky. Cooper was medium sized. Wavy black hair. A nervous type you never want to have around ‘cause they make you nervous, too. Like Jello. Jim carried a shovel. Cooper watched him carry it.
A shovel? At midnight?
Stupidity bothered her. It was bad enough that Pete was dead. Pete had been a really good guy. Hadn’t done anything to deserve the ending he got. Now, these two idiot-heads were gonna try and bury him in the back lot behind the car lot. With one shovel. Stupid.
But, somehow, she had counted on this. Jim and Cooper were jealous that Pete had such a nice car. They couldn’t stand that Pete drove around town looking like he was better than everyone else. Couldn’t stand it even more that Pete was going to buy Bobby Deans – their favorite bar just there across the street (where they choked poor Pete to death). Pete was a developer, he was going to tear Bobby Deans down and build a multipurpose housing development. See, Pete was about progress. He wanted to bring life back to Main Street. He’d grown up in these parts and wanted the town to thrive again.
Jim and Cooper didn’t like that kinda progress. They liked Bobby Deans exactly how it was and that was that.
Jim walked a few steps toward her. He leaned the metal shovel against her side. He pulled a lighter from his saggy jeans pocket, and lit a cigarette. She’d never been this close to him. As he pulled on his cigarette, she saw creases around his deep brown eyes. She saw that time had gotten to him, too. His skin was taught, stretched across his cheek bones in a way that suggested history had a hand in his appearance.
Jim looked toward Bobby Deans. Took in the scene from her point of view.
“Do y’ think anybody saw us last night?” Jim said. His voice was raspy. He coughed to kickstart it into place. “It was dark, right? And the band was playing. I don’t think anybody saw us.”
Cooper cracked his knuckles. She hated the sound. It irritated her. Cooper stammered, “It happened so fast, Jim. Whatdya-whatdya think – “
Jim pointed his lit cigarette in Cooper’s face, “I don’t think nothin, Cooper. And neither should you.”
“But – “
“But, nothin’! We talked about this, remember? Pete had it comin’”
“Well – “
“He had it comin’!” Jim shouted. “Who the hell did he think he was?”
Cooper cracked his knuckles again. “We’ve gotta do something with the body, Jim.”
“Don’t you think I know that?!” Jim coughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“The longer we wait – “
“Cooper, shut up and let me think.”
She found it infuriating that they felt so at ease with talking about their crime in front of her. It was like she didn’t exist. And like Pete’s life meant nothing.
She’d already decided how she was going to spook them. Show them her powers – what she knew she could do.
She squeezed her insides with all her might. And lit up her front. She was a sign after all. On her front she wrote: “1 KN0W WH4T U D1d”
It was Cooper who noticed the sign first. His face paled. “Oh my god,” he shook. “Look, Jim. Look!”
Jim came around to Cooper’s side and stood next to him.
She flashed the sign again: “1 KN0W WH4T U D1d”
Jim’s eyes got big.
Cooper spun around. “You–you said there were no cameras ‘round here…!”
“There ain’t!” Jim shouted. “Somebody – somebody … “ Jim’s eyes narrowed. He looked out around him. Did a full three-sixty to survey just who was out there. “Whoever you are, show yourself. You wanna be a big shot? Show yourself!”
The two men stood back-to-back, looking into the darkness for a sign. But none came.
She watched them act like the cowards they were.
Perplexed, Cooper whispered, “Do you – do you think they might be in there?”
He pointed toward the abandoned building that used to be Joe Hamilton’s office. The sign above it was intact, mostly. Joe’s daughter, Lydia had upgraded the building sign a few years ago (backlit channel letters, if you’re wondering). But some jerkface kids had shot out most of the letters in HAMILTONS USED CARS to strategically leave three letters that are a swear word for your butt. (A-S-S if you’re havin’ trouble.)
Jim looked at the building. Snarled his lip, “Let’s go see.” He said.
Lady Jane, that was her name – the one given to her by Joe, she knew she had to act fast. She didn’t believe in murder, but sometimes a girl has to do what a girl has to do.
She knew herself. She was a sign, after all. Knew how she was wired and how powerful she could be if she only believed in herself.
So, when Jim went to reach for the metal shovel, she turned up all the juice she had. Her wires had been exposed and the electricity work around her had been shoddy (and why Lydia hadn’t invested in upgrading Lady Jane fully)… Lady Jane called on the electrical currents that ran above her and below her and shot them all into the metal of that shovel that was going to bury poor Pete.
ZZZtzzzt!!!!
Jim never knew what hit him. And because his body reacted so violently, he swung that shovel around and it whacked Cooper in the back of his head and …well, that’s all she wrote.
The police came the next morning. Discovered quite a scene with the two dead bodies and one in the car. You shoulda heard all the speculations they had about what happened.
When they asked one another, “Who do you think knows the truth?”
She tried to tell them. At the bottom of her sign was another little sign. It used to read “Welcome”. But over time, only two on the end worked. So she lit up those two important words in bright neon red. ME.
But you know how things go; folks don’t want to see what’s right in front of them.
Even when it’s a sign.
***
You’ve just enjoyed an original short story in our “Sign Noir” series: When A Bad Sign is a Crime by Peppur Chambers. Care to comment or got a bad sign to kill? Join us on Instagram: @collaborativesignanddesign
