Tag Archives: Crime

Chapter Seventy — One: The Plastic Bag

31 Oct

Brenda Chiatovich: Now you know one reason my daughter's picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Brenda Chiatovich:
Now you know one reason my daughter’s picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez: So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches. Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.
Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

 

 

 

DeVry put the plastic bag on Collars desk, explaining what it was. Collars nodded. “Soon as I can,” he said in dismissal. DeVry left, closing the door gently behind him.

Collars stared at the bag. If what DeVry said was true then what was in that plastic bag could put Morgan one step closer to the Chief’s job and one step closer to selling out the police station to the highest bidder. On the other hand, if the plastic bag were fraudulent, the police department, and the city, would be safer in the future.

There were times when Collars wished right and wrong were easier to keep track of. The good of the many. The good of the few. For some people it was a clear-cut choice. For others, there were no clear choices.

A choice between something bad in the present, and something worse in the future.

Of course if Morgan were ousted out of the force under serious enough shadow he wouldn’t be able to get back in even if evidence arose some time in the future to clear the Davenport girl.

Collars sighed heavily and picked up the bag.

Time to make a decision, time to decide what the right thing was to do and then to do it.

Collars turned the clear plastic bag over and over again staring at it fixedly. His frown deepening, his jaw tightening, as he did so.

 

© 2016 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Seventy: In The Know

24 Oct
Brenda Chiatovich: Now you know one reason my daughter's picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Brenda Chiatovich:
Now you know one reason my daughter’s picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez: So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.  Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.
Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

Peaches loved her smart phone, she always had the newest. She loved the apps that made her phone so smart. She was always willing to pay top price for the best ones, even those were cheap for what they did. What the hell, daddy paid for it anyway.

A jealous unfriend once made a remark to her a year ago, when she was sixteen that “Daddy wouldn’t always be there to buy everything for her.” Someday she was going to have to pay for things for herself.

Peaches slapped her down with a comment that maybe someday the girl’s mother would find a man who provided more that just a half hour’s entertainment in the bedroom once a month. Besides which why wasn’t her mother working in a corporate office earning huge bonuses every year the way Peaches mother did.

The incident did give Peaches pause for thought though. She did not intend to work the way her mother did, and she sure wasn’t going to quit spending. She would be clear for another ten years if she played her cards right. Mommy and daddy would care for her through graduate school until she was twenty-six. By then she would have to quit playing baby girl and find herself one hell of a Sugar Daddy of her own.

That was the biggest reason the asshole who was going to interfere with her plans for the future had to go. And why that bitch Davenport, who knew way too much, had to go too.

It was while she was hiking to her car, on padded footwear guaranteed not to leave as much of a print as a moccasin would, she listened to her blue tooth. As soon as she left the cabin she keyed in the app that gave her the local police, fire, and ambulance, frequencies. If there was anything she needed to know, she wanted to know it now.

Which is how she learned the fugitive Davenport was in custody in the hospital. Peaches did not hesitate. She drove straight there.

There was only one real witness to Peaches and anything she may have done. One possible fly in Peaches coffee. L C Davenport.

Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to get rid of her. Quickly.

Wouldn’t hurt to go see.

Peaches pushed the speed limit.
© 2015 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Sixty — Nine: Guarded

17 Oct

Brenda Chiatovich: Now you know one reason my daughter's picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Brenda Chiatovich:
Now you know one reason my daughter’s picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez: So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.  Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.
Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

 

 

Morgan and Delavera were on their way back to town to deliver the flash drive to Collars when the call came. Davenport was in custody and in the hospital in serious condition. They changed course.

The hospital was crowded. It seemed to be a night for knife wounds, beatings, two cardiac arrests, and one passed out drunk.

DeVry and his partner Peters were the designated guards. DeVry did not smile. “Collars said you might show up.”

“We are here.”

“He thinks you have a special interest in the case.”

“I do.”

“He said if you did show up to tell you to take over. And don’t screw this one up or he’ll have your head.” DeVry was in professional, “This is my job. I’m doing it,” mode. He did not take the pronouncement as a joke. Neither did Morgan nor Delavera.

“Can do that. Delavera has a flash drive for you. You take it straight to Collars and tell him he has to listen to it immediately.” Morgan looked at Delavera.

Delavera shook her head in a gesture of defeat. She searched her pockets. Pulled a plastic bag with a flash drive in it out of her left. Handed it to Morgan, who examined it through the plastic carefully. He was relieved to see it was undamaged. Clipped to the bag was a small ticket. Morgan signed it, handed the pen to DeVry.

“We want the chain intact. Make sure Collars signs off on it.”

DeVry nodded and did so.

“You sure this is a good idea? Asked Delavera.

“Yep. DeVry and Peters would only be watching to make sure she doesn’t escape. They don’t have orders to protect her from a killer and they wouldn’t worry about it without orders. If we told them they might up their vigil but they wouldn’t put any stock in it.”

“Excuse me,” Delavera told him, pulling out her cell phone. “My cousin is calling me.”

She spoke spanish far too fast for him to follow, although what he did catch made him wonder why she appeared to be discussing the quality of cigarettes when to his knowledge she had never smoked.

Morgan went to L C’s bedside. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Hurt.”

“Doctors say there is nothing serious. How much do you remember?”

“Every,” there was a pause as L C drew another breath, “thing.”

“That is good. We will need a statement from you later. Right now you better rest.”

Doctors came and went. Nurses came and went. Morgan examined the identification of each person as they entered.

“Why you doing that?” asked one nurse. “The other policemen didn’t.”

Morgan shrugged. “Everybody does their job the best they know how.” The nurse said nothing but the look she gave him had wtf all over it. 

Both a doctor and a nurse were in the room when an old Mexican grandmother tottered into the room hanging onto the door, “¿Dónde está el baño?” she asked in a weak and shaky voice.

Morgan frowned at her, wondering why anyone would look for a bathroom here.

“She is just an old lady,” Delavera said. “Let me get this one.” She took the old ladies hand, folded it in her own, and said, “Todo está bien, abuelita. Ven comigo, por favor.”

Morgan kept an eye on them, but nothing seemed suspicious as Delavera led the old lady down the hallway toward the waiting room where the bathrooms were. He turned back to the doctor and nurse. Everything seemed fine. Morgan wondered why he felt so on edge.  

“That should help you with the pain,” the doctor said to L C. “Can you talk now?”

“Yes. Much better.” Her smile was tentative, her voice was hopeful. 

The doctor turned to Morgan. “Try not to upset her. She has been through a lot.”

“It’s okay, doctor. What I have to say should calm her down and make her happy.”

The doctor nodded. “Good.” He left.

Delavera came back into the room. Morgan rounded the bed where it would be easy to look into L C’s eyes, which were both pleading and hopeful. Delavera joined him. Delavera held L C’s hand.

“We found the flash drive with the confession on it. You should be okay now.”

L C Squeezed Delavera’s hand and cried silently.

 

 

 

© 2015 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Sixty — Eight: The Old Couple

3 Oct
Brenda Chiatovich: Now you know one reason my daughter's picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Brenda Chiatovich:
Now you know one reason my daughter’s picture is here. But wait, there is more.

 

 

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez: So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.  Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.
Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

 

 

The old couple hated driving after dark. They had done their best to make it home before the sun set, and were within five miles when it turned night. The two of them sat in the car looking like a matched set of salt and pepper shakers: Grey hair, black rim glasses. They had recently celebrated their fiftieth anniversary together: Married at a time when a twenty year old man marrying an eighteen year old girl seemed a natural, normal, thing to do.

Today they had been visiting their grandson and his new wife who seemed such a nice girl.

They were two miles away from home when something rolled into the road ahead of them.

He slammed on the brakes, trying not to hit the object.

They sat, at first, shaking. He was holding the steering wheel, she was holding her purse. They tried to peer through the darkness and uncertain headlights to see what they had almost run over. It was too close to the bumper for them to see it.

Slowly he opened the door. “Don’t let anybody in, you hear.” He said.

“Oh, Herbert. I wish we had taken that thing our grandson tried to give us. He said it would call 911 from anywhere.”

“Could be, my dear, but even if we had it, by the time anybody got out here to us what ever was going to be done would have already happened. You just stay put. I’ll go see. Mayhap it is nothing.”

“Oh, I know it is something awful.”

Herbert made sure to lock the door. He didn’t let on what she said bothered him, but he was painfully aware, over fifty years of marriage, that her instincts were more often right than his logic.

What he found was a young woman. Her eyes were wild, but she was not struggling. He rolled her over, away from the front bumper of the car. Her hands and feet were tied. Simple knots for an old sailor to undo. He did not have a pocket knife and he did not need one. Soon he had her loose and on her feet. His wife peered through the window at them taking it all in.

He took L C around to the passenger side to show his wife so she could see for herself it was just a girl with him. Together they laid her across the back seat.

“Did you hit her, Herbert?”

“I don’t know honey. Question is do we go to the house and call from the phone or go back to town to the hospital.”

“Hospital. We don’t know who did this to her. They could be anywhere. We will all be safe at the hospital. I do hope the poor girl is going to be okay. She looks like she has been through hell and back again.”

Herbert nodded and turned the car around.

© 2015 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Sixty — Seven: The Ute

27 Sep
Brenda Chiatovich: Now you know one reason my daughter's picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Brenda Chiatovich:
Now you know one reason my daughter’s picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez: So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.  Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.
Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

“We need to get that flash drive to Collars,” Morgan said, eying the dark sky.

“I don’t trust him.” Delavera eyed the plastic bag with the flash drive in it.

“Ah, Collars is all right. He just thinks I got my last partner hurt is all. It’ll pass.”

“I don’t think that is it, Morgan. I think he has a lot more against you than that. I don’t know what it is but he hates you.”

Morgan laughed. “What could he possibly hate me about? Even if he did he is still a professional. He sees the evidence he will be a policeman and follow procedure wherever it leads. That’s what cops do.”

“He is a white man.”

“So am I. The kids in my neighborhood would have thought you were white too. They never heard of the ‘Mexican’ standoff thing. Odd, isn’t it that you can be a white person in one place and not in another?”

She looked up at him, serious coffee brown eyes unwavering. “Know what I am besides Mexican? I’m Ute. You know what the Utes are famous for?”

“Being Native American Indian?”

“Believing the white man. One group of Utes realized the white man was going to win. They believed all the promises the white man gave them about how they would be rewarded if they helped capture the Navajo. They weren’t on good terms with the Navajo at the time and it seemed like a reasonable deal.”

Morgan listened. “What happened?”

“The whites gave the Utes rifles, told them to help round up all the Navajos and bring them in. The Utes kept their part of the bargain. When it came time to march the Indians on the Trail of Tears, the white man turned their rifles on the Utes. Told them to drop their weapons and join the others.”

“That was a long time ago. It was a different world then.”

“It is a long time ago to you. Cortes was a long time ago too. Tell, me, Officer Morgan, were you ever beaten up in grade school by a bully?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You remember it, don’t you?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I bet you the bully. He don’t remember.”
© 2015 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Sixty — Four: Three To Get Ready

22 Jun
Now you know one reason my daughter's picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Now you know one reason my daughter’s picture is here. But wait, there is more.

So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.  Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.
Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

They had been silent for a while, when Peaches turned to L C “You are way too cocky, you know that?”

L C stared at her blankly.

“Yeah. You think some superhero is going to come busting through the wall any minute and save you, don’t you?”

L C Frowned. She had been wondering exactly what Wilbur was doing at the minute. Had he called the police? Was he following them? Hopefully he was doing both. For a second she felt a small fear Peaches could read her mind. Could she somehow know?

Peaches smiled. She pulled the car over. “I have something I need to do, do you mind. You know. I have to pee.” She wrinkled her nose at L C.

L C did not like the situation. Should she talk and try to get information to Wilbur? What? They were stopped? If he were listening he should know that.

Wilbur, aka Lonnie, did not know that. He wasn’t listening. He had placed the recorder on the passenger seat and had ignored it from then on. It had not occurred to him to go to the police. All of his life the one group of people Lonnie never went to, never confided in, was the police. He had followed the car. He was compelled to do that, even though his knees were shaking. He had no thought beyond that one goal. Keep the car in front of him in front of him.

When it went on a back road he went on a back road.

When he turned the corner and the car was stopped in front of him he slammed on the brakes in confusion. There was only one person in the car. In the passenger seat. It had to be L C.

His first thought was to get out of the car, grab L C and run. His second thought was to back the car up and get out of there now. While he wavered between the noble and the cowardly things to do, something appeared next to his window. When he looked he almost passed out.

Peaches had known there was the possibility she might become a suspect at some point. So she kept nothing where it could be directly associated with her. She stashed different things in different places. Places that would be easy go get to but unlikely to be found by someone else. Money, clothing, whatever she might need. She had decided to become the ultimate girl scout, or the ultimate ninja.
She had given thought to the idea that someday she might be followed by someone she would want to trap. So she buried the rifle in a waterproof container in the perfect spot to trap someone.

Lonnie.

He stared at the rifle barrel pointed at him as though it were a cobra and he were hypnotized.

Peaches had been sitting behind the bush when Lonnie drove up and when he pulled parallel to her she simply stood up, smiling, pointing the gun at his nose. She enjoyed his expression of disbelief and horror. She knew he was going to be fun to kill. Slowly.

She motioned him out of the car. He did. She motioned for him to turn around. He did that too. When he did she hit him with the barrel of the rifle. While he lay moaning on the ground she tied his hands behind his back. She searched his pockets, found nothing of real interest. No money, no drugs, no weapons.

Just a wallet. She pocketed it without looking at the Id.

“Get up. Get in the backseat of my car.” He complied. “Stretch out on your stomach.” When he did she tied his feet together. “You can just lay there until we get where we are going.” He tried to look around so he could see her. When he did she shoved the barrel of the rifle in his nostril. He pulled his face away quickly. Peaches laughed, a sweet, tinkling laugh.

He asked, “Was it you in the cabin with us?”

Peaches leaned over and asked in a breathy voiceless whisper, “Why honey? You want me to audition?”

Lonnie began to cry.

Peaches went back to the rental car.

Still no guns. No money. No drugs.

Peaches decided that in the future, when she chose victims, it would be ones who could supply her with things she could use.

At first she wondered what the object in the front seat was. It looked like it could have been something on the order of a cell phone or a generic music player. When she picked it up she heard Lonnie and L C talking.

“Did you call the police?”

“The police. Lady do you know how many warrants I got out on me? Course not. Even I don’t know how many warrants I got out on me. I can tell you this. They wouldn’t listen to me. They’d book me. End of story.”

“Wilbur, I think we are in trouble.”

“You sure as hell are,” chuckled Peaches to the recorder.

© 2015, All Rights Reserved

Chapter Fifty — Nine: Chief

19 Apr

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

 

 

Officer Morgan walked past the squad room into the bull pen past Chewy’s desk. He was early. A common occurrence for him when it was his turn to have the kids. At least they were both school age now. He did not have to worry about day care facilities. But he did have spare time between dropping them off and starting his shift. Not enough time to do anything constructive, but time. So he was early again.

Morgan was six-foot plus a pinch to grow on. Blue eyes and blond hair cut into a three-quarter inch butch. His hair was always perfectly cut, his mother saw to that. It wasn’t that he liked the cut itself. It was the fact it was convenient. He didn’t have to comb it and it was quick to wash. It had the added advantage it made him look more like a cop. Seen as he did not always act the part, he might as well do his best to look it.

Everyone in the room was busy doing something, typing, talking on the phone, talking to each other, rustling papers, cussing under their breath at computer monitors, texting, all very low-key but busy busy busy, except for one. She sat on the edge of a desk doing something intently with her nails. She looked like a teenager ready to pop bubble gum out of her mouth any second. Morgan figured she was in trouble again about something. Every partner she had complained about her.

He was picking his way across the room to his own desk, moving around people and chairs as he had almost every morning, not actively listening to what was going on until he passed close to DeVry who was saying, “Ballistics says the bullet found in the head of the prostitute matches the bullet found in the head of the horse. Fired from the same gun. At about the same distance.”

Morgan paused, wondering if he heard correctly, “The head of the horse?”
“Yeah.” DeVry looked up from his partner, a much shorter man seated in a chair. DeVry sat on the desk, causing him to tower over the other man like a giant. “You remember that horse Mr. Somebody named… Corrigan I think. Anyway you must remember. He was making a big fuss about his horse being shot in the head.”
Morgan looked down at Peters. They were both serious. “We ran ballistics on the bullet from a horse? Must be some expensive horse.”

“Nah, and nah to that too, but the guy has money and he paid for it, so we did it.” Smiling, he added, “I wonder if he loves his wife as much as he does his horse. A real cowboy, that one.”

“Morgan.” Chief of Police Collars had a voice developed to be heard, and everyone who heard it winced. “DeVry and Peters have a case to work on. Leave em alone.” Collars was a square man with a perpetually loosened tie, rolled up sleeves, buttons looking like they were threatening to pop… He looked like a man who ought to have a cigar jammed between his teeth. Perhaps he was an ex-smoker. That would explain why he was so anti-cigarette. It was often said ex-smokers were the most fanatic non-smokers.

“Yeah,” whispered DeVry, “We gotta go find out if the horse and the prostitute were working the same corner.”

“I heard that.” Bellowed Chief Collars. “Get out there and do something… You’re wasting your time sitting in here cracking stupid.” He held a piece of paper in the air. “You. Morgan. You got nothing better to do?” Collars waved the paper in Morgans face. “Here is a crank call. Some idiot’s dog won’t get off a porch.”
Morgan thought about his desk full of undone book work and the fact he wasn’t even on the clock yet and smiled ruefully.

He snatched the paper out of Collars’ hand. As he did so he realized it was an act very close to insubordination. Morgan himself could not have said if it was an act of defiance, standing up for himself, or simply allowing Collars to “get” to him.
Collars continued to bellow, “Your gold bricking partner may never get back here,”

Morgan cut him off, ”I’ll take Delavera.” Except for Morgan and Collars every eye in the place went to the Mexican girl doing her nails. She took a deep breath, which augmented her natural assets, and did nothing to distract anyone’s gaze, then she slowly, carefully, looked up at Morgan and Collars.

“You do that. You bring her back in one piece, you understand?” There was some snickering. Collars ignored it as he locked eyes with Morgan.

The stare down was an open challenge, in front of everyone, a dominant male thing. Morgan was not even tempted to stare back defiantly, a teenager’s trick used by young people who did not know how to really stand up for themselves.
Instead Morgan smiled one of those smiles he used on strange women who eyed him when he strolled into a bar when off duty and out of uniform. Maintaining the smile he strolled out of the room, not once looking back; not at Collars, not at Delavera. Morgan knew every eye and ear in the room was fixed on the exchange. This was confirmed by Collars further bellow of, “Get back to work.” and “Delavera, your partner is gone. Catch him before he leaves you.”

There was another snicker. This time a solo.

When he reached the car she was scampering up behind him.

“Puto,” she whispered under her breath.

Morgan did not acknowledge he understood. He wasn’t sure to whom she was referring, himself, Collars, or someone else. He also knew enough Spanish to be aware that, like English, what was said wasn’t always exactly what was meant.
He started the car as she swung in.

“Where are we going?” she asked. She did not “look” Mexican, she looked like she could be Mexican, and her English betrayed no accent. He thought, as he had thought before, that feature could be useful under the right circumstances.
He passed her the paper. “You tell me.”

She studied the paper; frowned. “All the way up there? Is this even in our jurisdiction?”

“Call dispatch and find out.”

Morgan had been divorced long enough that he had no immunity to her smell, which was excellent; her looks, which were way better than average; or her figure, which, if it weren’t centerfold material it would take a professional to tell the difference.

Delavera pulled out a nine-inch smart tablet and fussed with it for a few seconds. Morgan assumed she was going to use it as a map.

“Take the highway north.”

He did.

“Not sure if I should thank you for asking for me to go with you or not.”

“Probably not.”

“Okay, why?”

“Collars doesn’t like me. That’s okay, I don’t like him either. Right now he is mad at me and you have a reputation of being hard to get along with. He was going to give you to me anyway. I just saved us the embarrassment of having you dumped on me and you the embarrassment of being pushed on someone who didn’t want you.”

“Save yourself the embarrassment, you mean.”

“Have it your way.” Morgan allowed his shoulders a quick twitch that passed for a shrug. “It worked out better for both of us and took some of the wind from under his wings.”

“Why is he mad at you.” She slouched down in the passenger seat in a very uncoplike manner, sidled her eyes out the window, looking more like a teenaged brat he was detaining than a trained police officer.

“My partner had a choice. He could say I did something stupid, or he could say he did something stupid. He chose to say I did something stupid. Collars blames me for him getting hurt.”

“Which was it? Turn here.” She pointed. “Who did something stupid? You or him?”

He turned onto a side road not looking at her. His peripheral vision picking up all the information he needed. “Doesn’t matter.”

“What did you write in your report?”

“That my full attention was on the person I was arresting. I was unable to see what he did.”

There was silence while she digested the implications.

“You telling me you are always Mr. Noble?”

“Nope.”

“So why would you be noble with me? Or with him?”

Morgan smiled and looked at her, blue eyes to brown eyes,
“You haven’t pissed me off yet.”

She held his gaze. “So you think I will or you think I won’t?”

He looked back to the road. She stared at him fixedly.

“I think you’re already pissed. I think you are angry at the whole world and ready to kick out at anybody because you can’t kick whatever it is has you in its grip. Am I right.”

“So who do you think you are? The mentalist or that phony psych guy?”

“I think I’m a cop who has seen a few really pissed off people. Last girl I met acted like you are was fifteen, and her daddy decided she looked just like her mother when she was fifteen and he thought they ought to do the same things together.” He concentrated on his driving.

“So you think you are going to bring me out here and I’m going to spill my guts out to you and then what? We going to be great friends or something?” She concentrated on him.

“Nah, I’m just going to try not to piss you off any more than I have too.” He did not return her searching stare.

“Yeah. I don’t think you’re doing too well.” She turned to stare out the window.

“So tell Collars I’m an asshole. He will probably give you a commendation. Give him reason to fire me. Tell him I was looking at your butt when you got in. Then tell him I tried to look down your cleavage. He will give you a promotion.”

“My shirt is buttoned up.”

“Good liar never spoils a story with facts.”

“So what is with you? The girls say you are a single father”

“Yep.” He sucked in his lower lip.

“So you looking for a mother or a mistress or what?” Her attention was turned back to him, studying him.

“Just looking not to do something stupid again.” He kept his eyes to the road, not even catching her in his peripheral vision.

Delavera rolled down her window.

“So what did you do stupid the first time?” She was staring out the window again, hands palmed together in her lap.

“Wish I knew. Somewhere along the line I decided to be a cop and she decided to be a drug addict. Now the poor kids spend half their time with cops and the other half the time with people who think cops are the bad guys.”

“Ouch.”

They rode in silence.

“You aren’t mad as hell?”

He thought before he replied carefully, “I honestly don’t know how to feel.”

“I’d know how to feel. I’d be pissed.”

“So I don’t know my own mind.”

“Yeah, well I’m still married.”

“Doesn’t sound like a reason to be angry to me.”

“Yeah. Right. I’m married to a worthless gringo who has blue eyes like you. He has never worked a day in his life and all he does is criticize me.”

“What is to criticize?” Morgan looked at her carefully, “It sure doesn’t show from here.”

“He is sick of Mexican food. Wants me to cook more American. I told him I work all day. Why don’t you cook some ‘American food’, I’ll come home and eat it. One day I cooked some ‘All American food’ and he got mad ‘cuz I had tortillas on the table. I forgot the bread.”

“Buy him a hamburger on the way home tonight. That’s American.”

“Turn here, on that dirt road.” Morgan figured they were close. She was now sitting up straight in her seat.

Morgan had to slow down to negotiate the ruts and rocks.

“Maybe you two just married the wrong people. Maybe you should call it quits.”

“He is a racist pig. But he kept it to himself until I was pregnant with my fourth baby. Then every time he gets mad he calls me a Mexican and my kids Mexicans. Then I try to teach the kids Spanish and he gets mad ‘cuz he doesn’t want them talking that stuff.’”

“I know a lot of people speak Spanish and not all of them are Mexican.”

“When I first met him he had me teaching him Spanish. I thought ‘How cute he wants to learn my language’. As soon as we were married he quit.”

“Too bad.”

“Too bad I married him. He is such a racist pig I should have cheated on him. I should have brought him home a nice fat little black baby.”

They rounded the corner. Two men stood by the side of a cabin, next to the steps. One was smoking, the other stood hunched, and there was a large dog, its tongue lolling, sitting on the porch staring at the door as though waiting for its owner let it in.

Morgan winked at Delavera, “At least we have settled one thing.”

“Whats that?”

“You have reason to be pissed off at the world.”

“Nah. Just you gringos.”

“Time go get out and be professional. We will try to pretend we don’t notice they are gringos.” The two men were obviously hunters. Their rifles were leaned up against the porch, within sight but well out of reach.

Morgan noticed that she almost smiled as she swung herself out the door of the squad car.

“What is going on?” Morgan asked the men.

The man in the heavy brown vest used his cigarette to indicate the slightly younger, slightly thinner, man.“ He can tell you. He thinks his damn dog is Lassie or Rin Tin Tin or something.”

The other man, smiled engagingly, “Not Lassie. He is a boy. His name is Harry.”

“Yeah, Harry. Know why he named the dog Harry? Because my name is Tom, his name is Dick,” he stressed the other man’s name, “and my sister married him for crying out loud.”

“So what is wrong with Tom, Dick, and Harry?” asked Dick.

“What is with the dog?” asked Morgan.

“Does he bite?” Asked Delavera.

“Nope.” Dick answered her.

“Stupid dog won’t get off the porch. We are supposed to be up here hunting, not dog sitting. Anyway numb nuts here thinks his dog has psychic powers or something and is wasting our day because the fool dog won’t get off the porch.”

“That your car?” Morgan indicated the SUV parked a few foot away.

“Nah. Probably the guy owns the cabin.”

Delavera petted and talked to the dog, calling him Harry, and knocked loudly on the door saying, “This is the police. Open the door please.” There was no reply from within.

“So how did you two get here? Why are you here?” asked Morgan.

“Followed this stupid dog my brother-in-law thinks is a canine genius. We came in one of the other roads, hadn’t even intended to come this way. Now we’ve wasted half the morning over nothing. I swear the only reason I tolerate him is because of my sister.”

Dick winked. It was unclear who, if anyone, he was winking at. “The only reason he tolerates me is because his sister and his wife are best friends. They are like sisters and he is afraid my wife thinks more of his wife than she does of him.”

“No puedo entender porque eso seria.” Delavera told the dog in a tender voice.

Even without a basic understanding of what she said Morgan could have detected the sarcasm in her voice.

“What did she say?” asked the smoker.

“I told him he is a very good doggie.” She stood up, went to the window to look in. Harry followed her.

“We already did that,” Said the smoker again, taking a last drag off his cigarette, he spit in the palm of his left hand and then put the bright red butt out in it. He had followed Delavera and was within a foot of her, yet he was unaware of the fleeting look of disgust on her face. Like Morgan she had excellent peripheral vision and did not need to look directly at him to see what he was doing.

Morgan had two reactions to this, one was disgust, the other slight admiration for the practicality of a woodsman or hunter making sure his cigarette did not start a fire in the woods. He was also aware Delavera would have no such qualms. She would be disgusted, period.

When Tom reached into his pocket Delavera stepped back from the window, placing herself to his side. Had he pulled a gun he would have quickly found himself face down on the ground with his gun and hand behind his back. It was not a gun. It was a small plastic container. He put his cigarette butt in it. As he did so he jabbed his chin in Delavera’s direction. “Tell her it is rude to talk that gibberish in front of people who don’t understand it.”

“I was talking to Harry,” she said. “I wanted him to teach me how to speak dog but he is reluctant. Perhaps you could help?” Morgan noted Delavera suddenly had an unmistakable accent. As Tom turned red, Morgan was able to understand why Delavera’s last couple of partners had wanted to strangle her. She knew where people’s short hairs were and didn’t hesitate to tug on them. He remembered his grandmother reaching around to the back of his neck when he got out of line as a kid in a public place and giving the hairs on his neck a solid yank.

“Let me get your names. Write all this down.” Morgan used his official police officer voice, brought out his notebook. While their attention was on Morgan, Delavera dropped off the end of the porch and disappeared around the side of the cabin.

“If Dicky Wicky here would teach his dog to mind we never needed to call you and waste your time or ours. We’d all be on our way. Probably have a nice big buck by now.”

 

Dick smiled. “Harry is up about something. I didn’t want to break in and I don’t want to leave someone behind who is in trouble. I hope its not too late and everything turns out okay.”“Windows open.” called Delavera from the side of the cabin. The three men went around to where she was. She had pushed the window partway open but was unable to reach further. Nor was she able to hoist herself in.

Tom frowned, “Can you just go into someone’s house like that?”

“We have cause. Car is outside, no one answers inside and you two made a report.”

“I didn’t make any report. I think it is all a waste of time.”

“Let’s hope you are right.”

“Aren’t you supposed to go through the door or something?”

“We would prefer to do minimum damage. Why break down a door or wait for a locksmith when we can climb through the window?”

“You gonna talk all the day or you gonna do the help your partner though dee window, Meester Morgan?” Her accent was becoming thicker and more fraudulent by the minute. Still it was the man who complained about her talking Spanish that immediately offered to help her through the window.

Delavera pooched her lips at him. “We are dee professional policemans all trained right. My partner he will help me. You stands over there, out of dee way.” She indicated an area well away from the men’s rifles. They complied. The bigger man sullenly, the other cheerfully.

Morgan knelt in the basic lunge position, offering his left leg as a platform while his right leg and right hand were free next to his holster. She stepped up in one quick motion and quickly put herself waist deep into the window.

She was no more inside than she was saying, “Back, back, get me down outta here.” Her accent was gone.

Morgan grabbed her by the legs, in a not altogether professional manner and got her back down on the ground. She held herself against the wall with one hand and spewed. He waited until she was done.

“We need forensics,” she said. “And you two… Don’t even think about going anywhere.”

Tom groaned as he pulled out another cigarette, shooting a glare of hatred at his brother-in-law, who beamed proudly at Harry.

 

 

© 2015 All Rights Reserved

 

Chapter Fifty —One: A Mouse In The House

5 Oct
Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

The person in the black ninja suit sat contemplating the room, savoring the memories of their first kill. Savoring the tortures they had committed, the expressions of pain and dismay on the face of the victim. A victim the killer felt deserved every second of pain and misery they received.

This time there was a distinct thump. Not a scratch.

The ninja rose. Pulled out a thirty-eight Smith and Wesson five shot revolver. Quietly, on padded feet, the ninja went along the wall, following it until they found the handle to the closet.

Inside the closet L C did not hear a sound. She had no clue if anyone were within a thousand miles.

Quickly opened the door.

There was a strangled noise as a bundle fell out on the floor.

The ninja took out a flashlight wrapped in layers of black cheesecloth. Enough light shown for close up inspection, but was hard to see even a few feet away.

Right now it played across L C’s face.

The ninja had spent a lot of time practicing talking using all breath and no voice. A whisper, it carried no clue as to the sex or voice of the person using it. With practice a person can make the whisper carry without strain.
“And what have we here? All tied up and ready for … What are you ready for?”

L C lay on her side, tied to the chair, her face to the floor, unable to answer. Gagged and blindfolded, only aware that this could not be the person who put her in the closet in the first place.

The breathy voice continued. “I know who you are. You are the Davenport girl. The one the police say committed murder right here in this cabin.”

It was the first time L C knew where she was at. She tried to see who was in the room with her, but the darkness and the ninja suit did its job well. The complete breathyness of the voice did its job just as well. All L C could tell was there was a human being in the room with her.

The human being hauled the chair upright with no sign of gentleness. Reached over, grabbed the duct tape covering the gags in her mouth, and yanked hard. To L C it felt as though her skin was being ripped from her face. She tried to yell but gagged on the cloth that had been shoved into her mouth. Those also were pulled out without ceremony.

L C was crying and sobbing, largely incoherent.

The ninja did not hurry her. There were other things to think about. On the surface this was a pure gift. The woman accused of the murder the ninja had committed sitting here like a spitted goose just waiting to be cooked.

On the other hand who, besides the person who had committed the murder, would want to tie her up and have her at their mercy?

Who would bring her here?

Why?

Killing the Davenport woman and hiding her body would be the perfect answer. No trial, no questions, no one probing around. Everyone would believe she had skipped the country.

Except the person who put her here.

The person in the ninja suit slapped L C, hard. “Who did this to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“How did you get here?”

L C could not understand why the person was whispering. “In the trunk.”

The person in the ninja suit was certain there had been no cars in the vicinity when they entered the cabin. Nevertheless they left L C in the chair and went out the front door to look. There were no vehicles anywhere.

Once back L C had calmed down.

Remembering to speak with all breath and no voice, the person in the ninja suit asked, “Someone brought you here and just left you?”

“Yes.”

This was going to take some serious thought.

The expedient thing to do was to simply kill her and dispose of the body where it would not be found. The most pleasurable thing would be to get her somewhere where she could be tortured at leisure.

There was a problem with either plan.

There was no car. No vehicle. Ninja like, the murderer had hiked in. There was no way to get either her living body, or her dead body, away from here easily without detection. Dragging her body across the ground would leave marks that would be almost impossible to cover over. Wouldn’t even need a forensic team to find it. A dog or a sharp detective could unravel everything.

Plus the other thing. Someone had left her and was no doubt planing on coming back.

At the minute it seemed absolutely essential to know who that someone was and why they had tied her up and left her here. The only answer the ninja could think of was “There is another serial killer running around here.” The question was would this other killer be someone who would want to work together, or someone who would be an implacable enemy.

“I have to know.”

 
© 2014 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Fifty: The Decision

7 Sep

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

 

 

Lonnie pulled to the side of the road and waited for the cop car to catch up to him. He had a small hope it might be after someone else. It might pass him by. Leaving him shaken but still a free man.

No such luck.

Lonnie looked in his rearview mirror. The cop car pulled up behind him. The driver spoke into his radio. Sat. Waited. Did nothing.

Lonnie became more nervous by the minute. He knew the cop was waiting for backup. Somehow he had expected the cop to come up to him, tell him to get out of the car and lean up against the side of it. He expected to be frisked and put in the back of the squad car, taken down to the police station and booked.

None of that happened.

Nothing happened.

Again Lonnie looked in his rearview mirror at the cop sitting behind the wheel behind him. The cop did not move.
Lonnie began to fidget. He began to tap his finger on the steering wheel. He began to think. He began to tap his foot. He began to count the charges against him.

Car theft. He knew that. They knew that. There were drugs in the car. He knew that. They did not. But they would do a search and find them. Not as if he did anything special to hide them. Like an idiot he somehow assumed he would never get caught.

Lonnie began to rock back and forth. His eyes became fixed on the rearview mirror. On the cop sitting in the car behind him. The cop doing nothing. Nothing.

There were guns in the car. He knew that. They did not. Or did they? Was the cop behind him waiting for a damn swat team who would surround him, just waiting for him to make one single slip so they could blow him to hell?
What if the CIA was on to him? Would they use regular cops to catch him so they could take over?

Of course they would. They would stop at nothing. They killed Cody, didn’t they? They weren’t going to arrest him. They were going to kill him. And he was being stupid enough to sit here in the car and wait for them to do it.

Lonnie couldn’t take the suspense any more. He started the car. The cop in the car behind him looked up. Lonnie jammed the car into reverse. Floored the gas. The car snapped into motion with a jerk, as though it were a football being kicked toward a field goal. The tires spun. They took hold. Grabbed traction. The cop in the car behind him did not have time to start his car when the car Lonnie was driving slammed into it doing zero to sixty in one and one half seconds.

Not only did the trunk of Lonnie’s car do serious damage to the front end of the cop car, it swerved the nose of the cop car well over into the ditch on the side of the road.

Launching into drive Lonnie pressed full on the gas, tires spun and slid raising black burned rubber smoke, before shooting down the road in front of him. For the space of three miles he thought he was free. Then he heard sirens coming from in front of him.

If he were spotted they would give chase.

He had to disappear.

Lonnie aimed the car between two big trees. Killed the lights. Kept on going. The police car screamed down the road beside him. The car Lonnie was driving was scraped and scratched, but still managed to lumber out onto the road.
He no sooner did so than another cop car came toward him. This one did not have sirens wailing so he was not aware of it until it pulled around the corner towards him. The cop car shot out of a horseshoe turn. Straight passed him. As Lonnie entered the turn the cop car was spinning around to come back after him.

In panic Lonnie rounded the turn. He had to slow down. No choice. The cop would have to slow down too or go off the road.

Lonnie went back into the woods between the trees again. Remembered to douse his lights. The cop car turned on his sirens and flashed behind Lonnie. Then Lonnie lurched out onto asphalt again. Turned left.

Then he realised. He was headed back the way he had come.

By then it was too late. He was passing the car he had ruined, and another cop car beside it. They both stared at him as he passed. Soon he had sirens behind him.

Once again he made his own road into the woods. Kept going this time until he found a dirt road. It more or less paralleled the regular road, and headed him back toward the safe house.

If the CIA were after him there was only one possible out. That was to get ahold of that CIA agent and get to the bottom of this before the CIA got to him. It was a scary idea, but if he took the time he could convince himself he could do it. If he needed some fortification he had some mind sharpening drugs right on board. All he needed was a few minutes to get them inside.

He made the decision.

Now he knew what he was going to do.

That was when he heard the helicopter overhead.

 

 

(C) 2014 All Rights Reserved

 

 

 

Chapter Forty — Nine: Solitude

23 Aug

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

 

 

Ever since the event. Why do I think of it as the event? Why not the day of revenge? The death? The day I found what pleasure really means? The torture. The murder. It doesn’t bother me to think of myself in those terms any more. What I am is no  longer important. What you can prove about me is all that is important. What anyone can prove about me. 

Ever since the event I have found solace, relaxation, satisfaction, and stimulation, in going back to the cabin where it happened. Sitting there, remembering every vivid detail. Maybe that old crock was right about the murderer always returning to the scene of the crime. I certainly did. Sometimes I embellished my imaginings with things I could have done but did not do. That is okay. It was my first time. Couldn’t think of everything. Next time. Next time I will remember them all. 

Tonight there was a mouse. I could hear it scratching somewhere. Wonder what it found to eat. 

Only visited the cabin at night. Didn’t want to get caught. To help I used a cheap, second hand lap top from a thrift store. It is amazing how anonymous you can be in a world without privacy. Went to the airport where thousands of people pass everyday. Ordered myself a ninja outfit using a prepaid credit card you can pick up in any store. Had it delivered to a house that was between renters. Intercept package.

Everything was wrapped in black. Only my eyes showed. In order to find me at night you would need a heat sensing device. 

Possible, but unlikely.

There was that rat again. Knawing on a wall or something. Over by the closet.

 
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ultimatemindsettoday

A great WordPress.com site

Don Charisma

because anything is possible with Charisma

War By Other Means

Politics & Philosophy

this is... The Neighborhood

the Story within the Story

stillness of heart

MUSINGS : CRITICISM : HISTORY : PASSION

The Guilty Preacher Man

abandoned illustrations

matchtall

A tall women amazon model WordPress.com sit

Three Wise Guys

Best not to think about it

Mister G Kids

A daily comic about real stuff little kids say in school. By Matt Gajdoš

Ray Ferrer - Emotion on Canvas

** OFFICIAL Site of Artist Ray Ferrer **

The Judy-Jodie and Kelli Memorial Blog

A great WordPress.com site

A Financial Life Coach

Your Financial Life Coach

Storyshucker

A blog full of humorous and poignant observations.

Dysfunctional Literacy

Just because you CAN read Moby Dick doesn't mean you should.

Top 10 of Anything and Everything - The Fun Top Ten Blog

Animals, Gift Ideas, Travel, Books, Recycling Ideas and Many, Many More

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