The City Of Angels

The year is 47’. Only two years after the Second World War. I was a sergeant in the war; my best partner was a machine gunner. Carlo stood by me all the way from Okinawa to Berlin. Three years I’ll never get back. I joined the fight in 42’. I was eighteen and got a nasty scar toward the end from a mortar round that hit next to me. It runs from my left shoulder down to the elbow. I met my buddy Carlo a few years before. Funny thing is we were poor before the war; not much better after but that’s not the point. The point is we had a little business of our own; robbing jewelry stores, hustling people; we did what we had to supporting our families. We got caught at one point. It was December in 1941 a cold one if I remember correctly.
About four months later we saw each other at a base for training; I guess we both got the same deal. Serve and they would clear our records. We thought the military was better than jail. We were wrong. In late 42’ for the Italy campaign they needed guys who spoke the language. See I was born in Sicily 1924 we ended up in the states when I was five or six. When we got there I had to go to school, I had to learn English and I wasn’t going to do that in a neighborhood full of Italians. Not long after, I met Carlo Banano. A tall black haired muscled man. He was tough in the face but soft in the heart. His big black eyes always gave me a reason not to fight him even when we were kids. He was also Italian but born in the states. We hit it off I guess because we were inseparable through the time we were in school. Alright enough of the sad retelling, my name is Micky Marita and this is our story.

Like I said the year was 1947 America was a wondrous place. At least where we lived, Los Angeles, the city of angels. I laugh every time I hear the last part. I’m a detective for the LAPD and so is my partner Carlo, we’ve seen a lot of bad crimes since we got back; we wanted to make a difference, but sometimes I just don’t know if we do.

“Hey Mick, did you see that broad? You know the blond one with the beautiful face and red dress? She walked in with cuffs on, I don’t remember that happening back in our day,” Carlo exclaimed walking into our office,
Carlo never was the brightest of the bunch.
“Yeah, yeah it’s a new age I suppose,” I said nonchalantly while looking through a newspaper.
“Banano! Marita! We got a burglary on six and Hollywood!” our sergeant yelled as he ritually seems fit to do throughout our offices.
“On it!” I said grabbing my suit jacket and hat and walking to the door, leaning up against its frame.
“Just another day in the city of angels” Carlo said holstering his weapon and following me through.
Carlo and I got to the car I heard over the radio that it wasn’t a burglary. It was an attack. Apparently the place either refused to pay the Mob taxes or did something to really tick them off. I figured because we pulled up they were popping bullets into the small downtown jewelry shop, with .45 caliber Thompson Submachine guns in broad day light. We got out of the car weapons un-holstered and noticing they were in the street firing away.
“Drop your weapons!” I yelled so the criminals could hear me.
Suddenly they turned their attention on us. Our car was riddled with bullets. Carlo and I ran around to the opposite side of the car. We began shooting back when we hit but didn’t kill two out of the three criminals, but the last ran. Carlo and I began the chase on foot dodging through the back alleys of the city; the criminal dropped the machine gun and shot a pistol at us inaccurately. Carlo cut him off through a short side alley leading directly to where the suspect was heading --being the ruffian that he is-- he stepped out as the suspect ran to the corner and hit him with his fore arm knocking him down. We cuffed him and brought him back to the car where back up had arrived, helping the shot suspects who were dressed in black coats and hats, and taking them in.
“They sure trashed the place…” I said finally catching my breath looking at the once jewelry shop turned duck shoot.
“Yeah they meant business, look at the wreckage; I heard there was only one murder that the criminals committed and he himself was suspicious,” Carlo cut in while examining the body.
Later we dropped off our squad car for repairs. Carlo and I headed into central, our police headquarters, to question the suspects. The first one who was shot in the arm was a young man about five foot six and hardly past sixteen years old, soft faced with boyish curled blond hair. He sat there quietly; he never even made a sound he will serve time, but at least he was alive. Next we got a name from the other suspect the older man; certainly older than me thirty four I believed, tall and a lot more stone faced. He had a serious look but I could tell he was seriously regretting the shooting. He told us that he didn’t know the others and was black mailed through a middleman. He was certainly not some kind of organized crime affiliated criminal instead he was a physiatrist, family man, and made a nice living. He told us a name.
Mickey Malone.
I shuddered at the sound of my own first name a bit though I wouldn’t admit it, I assumed it had to be something bad to hold over this guy’s head to make him do this but I didn’t pursue.
Carlo came back moments later telling me they made calls everywhere and that the name didn’t exist. We then interviewed the youngest of them --Charley as he gave his name-- was just a kid from the streets homeless. He was the boy who ran after the other two fell. Its weird how even in the War you couldn’t tell man from boy only enemy or friend. Carlo filled me in that the boy hadn’t fired a real shot they must have gave him blanks but instead had nothing but a piece of paper and a third but very specific gun that was unable to fire. The paper said

Dear, police

You don’t know who I am but I know who you are; each and every one of you, Sergeant Thomas, Carlo Banano, and Mickey Marita. You know a name which doesn’t exist; you have three suspects and ones an innocent child. The others are clueless and simply followed orders to meet their own ends. This wasn’t a diversion to something bigger but a warning to you; don’t try to find me; you will fail. On the miniscule chance you ever found me you would be dead and frankly I don’t like cleaning up after myself there was one death today and that is what I chose don’t make me mark more names.

Sincerely, the Angel
The sergeant, Carlo and I all read with uneasy eyes. Hoping that it was a joke, but I had a feeling it wasn’t.
Later that night Carlo was on the phones and I was working with the sergeant in figuring out just who and what this guy was and how he “knew” who we were and exactly what we where doing. We did find that digging into that one death in the shop, that the victim was specified in our file as top secret, no new information presented due to our low ranks. But I had a theory that it was all related in that one incident. The gun was something I also owned myself an army issued Colt M1911 .45 pistol. Obviously the mastermind was in the army at the same time I was. Although it seems we have chosen different sides of the law, his being the criminal. Although the message the kid had struck me as a mystery, I was trying to wrap my head around the idea that this guy knew about all of us.
“We’ve got nothing to answer for our hard work!” let slip from Carlo “DANG IT!” he exclaimed.
“Easy there partner, it isn’t over yet,” I said while putting a hand on his shoulder.
We walked to our homes our first time diverting away from each other that day. I had a small apartment three blocks away from the station. It consisted of one messy bedroom, one clean bathroom, and a half and half living room/kitchen. I sat alone every night since the War ended unable to sleep; or dream of anything else. For the murder of my enemies I try to repay in helping others, but the work is never done and I never have peace. Sitting on my couch all night, I thought about the day behind me and the one ahead. Trying to connect the dots, the evidence of which there was hardly any of at the forefront of my brain. Then a revelation crossed my over stressed mind. The message as I went over it again. He clearly made a change to bold print at “myself” we shared a name “Mickey” and that I clearly understood. I called Carlo who I knew would be able to do some digging even at home through connections. I asked him to research my first name and told him to tell me if a place or tied organization held something extremely similar in the Los Angeles area.
Later Carlo called my apartment. “An old army buddy of mine called, he said that the most possible connection is a Mickey’s Toys Factory. Funny enough it made toys for children back in the day, before it changed to producing military ammunition and bombs. Oh and it’s owned by a family with the last name Malone” Carlo recited written information on the other side of the line.
“I see,” I was lost in thought and gave the only answer I could.
“Are you seeing something I am not? Well; you always did love to look into things by yourself,” Carlo exclaimed sarcastically. At that point he hung up knowing well after all these years I would need time to collect my thoughts.
Around nine in the morning after sitting on the couch all night, it came to me there was. A toy factory a location symbolized by him sending a kid. The name of the factory my first name and the message myself meaning we had the same name so it had to be the location. Our connection to each other unknown but I certainly accept the challenge sent by this Mickey Malone.
Eleven o’clock is when my partner Carlo and I went to the factory when we entered, lights flared on. Men at least ten, plus a guy in a white suit and pants, red shirt and black tie walked into the light. Malone had looked just like me. White guy, with the same brown hair as me but swept back. In the face you couldn’t tell the difference between us other than his wore a sadistic smile that gave anyone the creeps. “Hello Malone” I directed toward the man,
In a lighter more terrifying voice “Hello Marita” Malone shrieked toward me.
At that very time Carlo and I both drew our Colts and had them sighted on my direct but more terrifying copy.
“The gig is up!” I exclaimed to my counterpart, weirdly enough he danced in place, mocking us.
“Is it? I think the dance has just started,” Malone said with an overly dramatic tone.
Malone made a gesture and the other men next to him opened fire, left right the column I hide behind was tearing apart with the machine gun fire raining a destructive storm in our wake. Just then I looked to Carlo who pulled out a grenade from his inside jacket; he winked and threw it toward the men. BOOM! The explosion rocked the foundation of the small factory, getting up from the fall I took from the blast I checked Carlo and he was dandy; smiling away. We walked through the radius of the grenade; carnage was the only word I could use to describe it. Checking the bodies, none were alive; then I see one move I motioned to Carlo who was closer.
“Got it—“ Carlo was cut off,
I turned to check him and he fell; Malone in his tattered white suit had a knife and had cut Carlo across the arm and back as he turned away. Carlo fell back onto the ground with a shifting sound of debris. Malone stood over him with the knife and looked as if he was about to lounge. I rushed over grabbing his wrists that held the knife turned down toward Carlo. We fought for control until he kicked me back; at least his attention was on me and not my wounded partner. He came at me with the knife lounging and slashing at me Malone caught my left side and my right shoulder. I decided I found an opening and took it tackling him to the ground in a last effort to rid the knife from his hand. There was no movement as I slowly moved up to my feet. He was alive but the knife was centimeters from his heart. I took the chance to take the knife and cuff him to a steel bar that had fell from the ceiling after the blast. Back up was outside. I heard the sirens of their police cruisers and apparently the fire department due to the explosion. I picked up Carlo soon realizing he had seemed to broken his ankle. Outside we were greeted by our sergeant,
“Good work boys” he gave me a pat on the bad shoulder and gave a look to Carlo.
“Ch…” I made a sound, the kind of sound I used for people I don’t really like.
“I got it man; thanks partner,” Carlo thanked me as I put him in the ambulance
“Don’t worry my look alike I’ll be back to play with you again” Malone shrieked laughing insanely while getting shoved into the back of one cruiser.
“I sure hope not. I think I remember seeing him during the War, he was sent home after losing it on a hill in Okinawa. He was younger then and didn’t look like that much like me, maybe he blames me for how he ended up,” I said putting my hand up to my chin, in the way I do when I am recalling past events
“Would you look at that,” Carlo said turning to me “you sure you don’t have a crazy evil twin?” he said laughing hysterically, for which I gave him a slug into his shoulder.
“I sure hope not…who called this place the city of angels anyway!”