Tag Archives: Murder

Chapter Forty — Four: The Ride

7 Jun
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 lawyer told L C to stay low, not attract attention, and avoid the press. She had a microwave, a TV, and a small refrigerator. Still she needed some food and something to read. It was a neighborhood where a lot of people dressed so as to be “invisible.” It was not uncommon to see people walking slouched over, wearing hoods so you had a hard time seeing their faces, shoulders and arms bowed forward so you could not tell from looking at their chest if they were male or female.

She sat in her room, with the lights out, looking out the window.

She decided she could do that. She rolled her hair up and tucked it out of sight, waited unill the sun set and the world outside was in dull quiet shadow only broken occasionally by someone yelling or honking. She missed her little dog Rocko.

The store was open after dark. It was less than a block away. It had everything she could need. Food, drinks, magazines, and a shelf of paperback books.

She went ahead and used her debit card, wondering how long her money would last. Enough to last a week, maybe.

As she left the store the only thing on her mind was getting back to the room. When she rounded the corner of the store, one step past the driveway into the parking lot, something rammed into her, driving her into the unlit parking lot.
She dropped her bag. She started to yell. A fist hit her in the stomach. She found herself bent over looking at the cement. She looked up, trying to see her assailant. Another fist hit her in the chin.

She went down.

When she came to she was being rolled into the trunk of a car, her bag of groceries being dumped on top of her. Her hands were duct taped. Her feet and legs were duct taped. A cloth something was in her mouth and duct tape applied over it as an after thought. Duct tape was wrapped around her eyes. Someone was going through her clothing picking out her cell phone, billfold, room key.

As the trunk slammed down, closing her into total blackness, she thought, “That sure as hell isn’t a reporter.”
© 2014 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Forty — Three: Understanding Oneself

1 Jun

 

 

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.

 

Okay, I think I’ve got it figured out.

Why I never killed anything in my life before. Why I was afraid to kill anything. Why I was so squeamish. I was murder phobic. I knew, subconsciously, what I was. And I knew, also subconsciously, that if I never did it I would never become it.

That didn’t sound right.

That sounded muddled.

Some men are homophobic. Some men are so non-homophobic they can do things that would embarrass a homosexual and it still never effects their basic heterosexual nature. Now I know. Not all homophobes, maybe. But some of them. They know deep down that if they ever kissed another man, if they ever had sex with another man, they would lose control, and from then on all they would ever want was another man.

Some of us fear other things.

Some.

Somewhere deep down I knew. If I ever killed anything, If I ever tortured something, someone. I would never want to stop.

So maybe that kid in class, the one you teased because they refused to dissect the frog… Maybe they are the wuss you thought they were. But maybe they are a murder phobic latent psycho murderer who secretly knows in their heart of hearts what they really are.

And maybe, if they are like me, and they hated you enough, perhaps they are considering you as their next victim.

I am.

Chapter Forty — Two: The CIA Agent

24 May

 

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 had been out to the safe house several times. Nothing. A window had been broken and a squirrel moved in. Other than that it was uninhabited, unvisited, and hardly worth going back too.

 
He was pretty sure he was suffering from depression. Since Cody’s murder he had been getting higher more often and stealing more cars, not just oftener but more desirable. The kind that brought in better money.

 

The guy who bought the cars from him was proud of him. Something Cody said was a bad sign. “Means you are doing it too often. You are playing with fire. Cops will start looking for patterns until one day you go to break into a car and they are waiting for you.” Until Cody’s death what Cody said was what Lonnie did. Now. It didn’t seem to matter.

 
Right now he was doing something else Cody had told him never to do. Cody said, “You heist a car you get in it, you get it where it is going, you get out of it. Never look back.”

 
Now he was doing what Cody told him only a fool on a suicide mission would do. He was stealing chick mobiles, cruising town in them, and picking up girls in them.”

 
He was driving slow checking out everybody. Looking for some promising action.

 
That was how he spotted the CIA agent.
He whipped into the parking lot. Got out of the car, and headed toward the street, trying to figure out what to do next.

 
Right now Lonnie wanted to be really really clear. To think perfectly. To be more brilliant than he had ever been before in his life. To be able to see and understand things normal people leading normal lives would miss.
Lucky for Lonnie. Even though Cody had told him never to mix his crimes, to never be loaded or have drugs anywhere near you when you boosted a car… Well, Cody didn’t know everything or he wouldn’t be dead, would he.

 

Lonnie reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe. He smiled. This was some of the best shit. It made the world a pane of glass you could look through.

 

With this he could think his way through anything.

 

© 2014 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Forty — One: Bag Nanny Anonymous

17 May
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.

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

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

 

 

“Where would you like me to drop you?” asked Tulkhorn. He sat behind the wheel, somehow giving the impression he was guiding a tank through enemy territory rather than driving a car through town.
For some reason it was a question L C had not anticipated. Her only concern had been getting out of jail. For some strange reason she thought that once she was released from the nightmare she had been subjected to everything would go back to normal.
Now she realized. Released. Standing in front of the courthouse. Tulkhorn holding the door of his modest car open for her.
Nothing would ever be normal again.
Tulkhorn confirmed what she was thinking by saying, in as gentle a voice as it could be said in, “You can’t go back to — the Langlins. Not while you are accused — of wrongdoing. — You understand.”

“Yes.” She nodded.

“How about your parents?”

“No. My stepfather.”

Tulkhorn nodded understandingly. He waited. A man used to applying infinite patience to a multitude of problems that yielded to his implacable will. “I know of some reasonably priced apartments — that rent by the month. Not in the best part of town — but they are clean and — no one asks a lot of questions.”
L C had the feeling Tulkhorn had more than a passing acquaintance with those apartments. Visions of Perry Mason hiding clients in seedy hotels sprang to her mind.

“Okay.” She agreed.

She did not want to talk to her mother, or anyone else in her family just yet. In the morning she would get Rocko from Aunt Emerald. When L C was little she would pretend to be Dorothy in the wizard of Oz and would call Aunt Emerald, “Aunty Em.”
Maybe that was where L C developed a fondness for small dogs. It’s a wonder she had not named him Toto rather than Rocko.
© 2014 All Rights Reserved

 

Chapter Forty: To Bail or Not to Bail

27 Apr
BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading  TheMapThinker.com

BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading TheMapThinker.com

 

L C Had never been in a courtroom before. It looked just like the ones on TV, all the way from the old black and white Perry Mason series up to the newest Blu-ray.

She thought she was going to go to her arraignment but it turned out it was her preliminary hearing. Something that happens before an arraignment.

It would have been comforting to have had Kathy Bates from Harry’s Law instead of the heavy-eyed Tulkhorn sitting next to her. She looked at him out of the corner of her right eye. It was not a sight to cheer up her already lowered spirits.
He looked reluctant and lethargic, as though he not only did not want to be there, he barely had the energy to lift his head up high enough to look at the judge.

L C had asked him, “Are you really my lawyer? Or are you working for the Langlins?”

He studied her carefully before answering. “I work for money. My skills do not come cheap. If I am paid I work. If I am not paid ― I do not work. I am being paid ― to represent you. As long as I am being paid ― I represent you ― and you alone.”

“And if they quit paying you?”

“Then you will probably be given a public defender.”

Somehow she felt like she was back in the cell with Violet. “I’m a professional. I don’t get paid I don’t fight.” She had said.

A man in uniform stood up. “All rise.”

Everyone stood up.

The judge entered. Sat behind his desk. Nodded his head.

The man in uniform intoned, “You may be seated.” Then he sat down and so did everyone else.

The judge read some papers. Looked around the room. Said some things L C didn’t follow. Then he said a string of numbers and suddenly asked “How do you plead. Guilty or not guilty.”

“Not guilty. My client has no knowledge of the crime in any manner, shape or form.”

The prosecutor rose. He was everything her lawyer was not. He was young. He was good-looking. He was thin and hard muscled. He bounded to his feet. He spoke strongly, quickly, and steadily. He had a good speaking voice.

“We ask that bail be denied, your honor. She is a flight risk. She has already attempted to flee the country once and it was entirely through luck she was apprehended within minutes of boarding.” He handed papers to the judge. L C assumed they were tickets, flight plans, etc. Proof she was boarding an airplane bound for Europe.

Tulkhorn rose. “Rediculous. My client,” he stared at L C causing every eye in the room to go to her. She was dressed in the most professional, most “nanny” looking outfit money could buy. He had handed it to her earlier and instructed her to go into the bathroom and put it on. She was surprised that it fit her perfectly, but it did.

“She was not fleeing. She was acting ― in her capacity as nanny. She was following her employers instructions. On extremely short notice ― I might add. Unless,” he managed to look at the prosecutor with his entire body, not just his eyes,

“you claim her employer ― was somehow involved ― in this alleged ‘escape’ ― you keep talking about.”

The judge brought down his gavel. “You will address the court, counselor.”

Ponderously Tulkhorn turned his body toward the judge. “Of course your honor. Is it your wish to extradite her employers from,” he riffled through his papers, “France, I believe.” He waited expectantly.

The judge did not look happy. “Of course not. I do not believe anyone here has implied her employers were, or are, in any way concerned in the matter.” He looked to the prosecutor. “Isn’t that correct, counselor.”

“Of course your honor. All of our findings indicate the girl acted on her own.”

“Woman,” Stated Tulkhorn. “She is twenty years old. She is no longer a girl.”

“This woman, acted alone. She admits to being in the cabin and her prints are all over a revolver which appears to have been fired at the crime scene.”

“Appeared.” Tulkhorn straightened his tie. “Was the gun fired at the crime scene or not? Was it fired during the crime? She does not deny handling the gun. She admits it. Even if she fired it. If she did so a week before the crime ― it is not pertinent.”

“One question at a time, counselor.” Advised the judge.

The prosecutor looked apologetic. “Our town is not large enough to afford a full-sized crime lab, your honor. We have to farm these things out. The results are not back yet.”

“I see the pistol, I am unclear  –  about what has been sent –  to the crime lab.”

“A bullet dug out of the roof of the cabin, your honor.”

“It is a hunter’s cabin, your honor, such things – often – happen.. Is there any proven connection between my client and the bullet in the roof?”

“We cannot allow a cold-blooded killer to roam the streets at will simply because the test results that would prove it are not yet returned to us.”

Tulkhorn squared his shoulders. “Noble sentiments. However my client is not a murderer. She has nothing to run from. And the results of the test will clear her of wrong doing.”

The prosecutor spoke passionately. “She murdered her fiance with no compassion. It was a torture scene. She knows we will prove this. She has every reason to flee. And we do not believe it is in society’s best interest to allow someone with so little compassion as to commit such a barbarous to be allowed to roam the streets, your honor.”

“There is no evidence ― my client ― has had any contact ― with the deceased ― except for a chance encounter ― one time only ― in a grocery store.”

“Which she lied to the police about.”

“A chance encounter ― a half a year ago. In a grocery store. I am sure ― I can produce someone ― the prosecutor ― or even yourself your honor ― you encountered in a grocery store ― a half a year ago ― that you do not recall.”

“An encounter that was so blatant the owner of the story threw her out over.”

“That has yet to be proven. And the prosecution ―has only interviewed ― one witness to this ― alleged ‘incident’.”

In the end she was let go with five hundred thousand dollars bail which Tulkhorn posted. She had to surrender her passport and was told not to so much as leave the city limits.

 

 

 
© 2014 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Thirty – Nine: The New Old Timer

20 Apr
BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading  TheMapThinker.com

BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading TheMapThinker.com

 

 

Janet was gone. “She’ll be back, one of her new friends told L C. It was the type of woman L C would never have spoken to a week ago. A woman she would have skirted past and not looked at. Yet in here, today, she saw woman who was the closest thing she had to a friend. A thin woman who looked older than her years with bad teeth, bad skin, and bad hair. She’s never gone long. In six months to a year she’ll get in trouble again. She always does.”

L C Was puzzled. “I thought with the three strikes thing that couldn’t happen any more. I thought if you kept getting in trouble you wound up in prison for life.”

“Ahg. It is like a routine, honey. She never does anything real bad. She gets arrested, gets booked on some big fat charge, gets the charge reduced. Winds up doing community service. Most of the time it doesn’t even show up on her record.” She shrugged and smiled broadly, either unaware or uncaring of the condition of her teeth.

L C felt as if a rope holding her to reality was somehow cut, setting her adrift, a boat that had lost its ties to the wharf that gave it stability. “It’s like a whole new world. It’s like an Edgar Rice Burroughs novel where you wake up on in a whole new world. Or nowadays I guess a whole different parallel universe. The world I lived in two days ago and I live in today have nothing to do with each other. Just yesterday my biggest worry was whether I should go to college or marry a man who could support me. Now I don’t even know if someone is feeding my chihuahua right.”

“Honey, you got more to worry about than a chihuahua. Word is you getting Andy this afternoon. She’s been in prison twice. She goes again she probably spend the rest of her life in there.”

“Okay. What does that have to do with me?”

“Word says you up for murder. You could wind up with her for your roomy for a few years. She is a bull dyke. White supremacist. Good chance for you to get in some practice. Cuddle up with her and she is the only ass you’ll have to kiss.”

“Uhhhhh.” L C felt like a space shuttle that had broken free of earth’s gravity, never to return.

“She ain’t your regular gay girl who wants to do her own thing and be left alone to do hers and her girlfriends. Andy is a cave man with a vagina. She will grab a sweet thing like you by the hair and …”

L C Left. Short, quick steps. She wasn’t prepared to face the concepts, let alone the pictures, that were going through her mind. She felt slightly dazed.

It happened later that afternoon.

She was not ready to face Andy. The woman was built like a tank with arms and legs. She would make the incredible hulk blink twice. She was huge. She was fat but she looked like her fat cells had muscles all their own. She looked like she lived for one purpose and one purpose only. To beat the hell out of anybody she could find.

The minute she entered the cell was like sides were chosen. She stared at Violet and Diamond, and even though Violet and Diamond were in separate parts of the room L C could see them forming a solid rank against the newcomer.

Then she looked at L C, “At least there is one white woman in here.”

L C felt her own eyes widen. She turned and looked at Violet. Until then it had never dawned on her Violet wasn’t white. Her skin was actually a shade or two lighter than Andy’s.

Violet smiled. It was a cold smile, one Jack Nickleson would be proud of. “A real racist can tell.”

Andy sneered at L C. “You didn’t even know. Hell, you got a lot of learning to do.”

L C felt something clutch at her diaphragm. She wasn’t even sure if it were fear or not. She knew it was a feeling that would inhibit her ability to act, to move, to defend herself and she did not like it. She knew there was no right or wrong here. It did not matter what she said or did, she was not going to find a “door three” with the bright shiny car inside. No matter what she chose, or why she chose it, there was not going to be a happy solution in here. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Her mother always told her to make the best of every situation. What would she consider the best in here? Her mother scorned her grandparents injunction, “Its better to lose being yourself than to win being somebody you despise.” Her hippy grandparents, thrown out of their wealthy homes, living on the fringe of society, arrested during sit-ins, marching for civil rights, had no doubt faced similar problems as she was facing now.

L C Suddenly realized that when you are in a parallel universe, say a prison universe, reality also changes. As the reality she lived in changed she grabbed onto the only constant she could find. She realized she had to decide who she was, really was, and she had to decide now. She felt the fear wash over her, rising from her feet up over her head. But she knew she could not let the fear decide for her.

She spoke slowly, deliberately, the way Tulkhorn spoke. “I’m not ― Interested ― In learning ― anything ― You have ― To teach.”

“What? You a lover of,” she paused to sneer, “These?” she gestured toward Violet and Diamond.

“Yeah.” L C Looked directly at Diamond’s eyes, even though Diamond kept her eyes trained on Andy. “I love her. She’s my aunt.”

“Bah.” Andy snorted. “What you think that black bitch going to do for you in prison?”

Diamond started to move. Violet interposed herself. Knowledge passed between the two L C was not privy to.

“You think she is your friend? In there she will slit your little white throat without even thinking about it.” Andy leaned close and spoke in L C’s ear so close she could feel hot, stale breath, tinged with dead cigarette smoke. “When you reach the big time you better choose sides. And it better be the right one.”

“Oh, my god,” thought L C “I can’t go to prison. I’ll never survive.”

 

 

 

© 2014 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Thirty – Eight: The Letter

5 Apr

 

BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading  TheMapThinker.com

BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading TheMapThinker.com

 

 

 

The desk wasn’t a desk. It was a piece of metal stuck to the wall. It was hard, it was cold, it was unfriendly. Two stools were provided to sit on while trying to write a letter. They were uncomfortable. The felt like someone had designed them for a torture chamber. When you sat on one it did not feel as though it were designed to accommodate the person’s posterior. It felt more as though it were designed to assault it in an obscene manner.

Somehow money had appeared on her books, allowing her to buy what few luxuries were allowed. Paper and something to write with were among them.

So she was trying to write a letter to her mother.

She hadn’t started when the older tattooed woman spoke to her. “Be damn careful what you put in that. They read every word and it will come back to bite you in the ass.”

“First time I got arrested I was just a scared kid. I wrote a letter home about how upset I was, all my feelings, I just poured it out.”

“Yeah. I can see doing that.”

“If you are a scared kid with no lawyer they can keep you for seventy-two hours. By then my letters home were so frantic the prosecutor petitioned the judge to have me sent to observation for possible mental problems. According to them I had no reason to be scared of nothing. No reason to cry either. So I spent a year in a cuckoo’s nest. I was never charged, never convicted, never nothing. Just kept.”

“Shoulda kept on keeping ya.” It was from the woman in the bunk. Her name was Violet. She was the most muscular woman L C had ever seen in her life. When she told L C “I’m a professional boxer,” her response was, “I guess I’ll try not to make you mad at me then.”

“Kid, I’m a professional. You can’t tick me off. If there isn’t a purse I don’t fight.”

“Purse?”

“You know. Prize. Money. A professional boxes in the ring for money. You don’t pay me I don’t fight.” She tapped the newspaper in her hand. She subscribed to it, said she needed it to keep up with her professional career. “A philosophy you could use according to the paper here.”

“Huh?” L C Wasn’t sure where the conversation was leading.
Violet shoved the paper under L C’s nose. It was a picture of her with the caption, “Family discusses home wrecker who allegedly murdered their husband, father, brother.” As L C read Violet went on,

“From now on don’t do no home wrecking unless you get paid for it. You can’t just be giving this stuff away for free, you know.”

The tattooed woman, Margie, chided, “I thought you were in here for street fighting.”

“No. I’m in here for mouth trouble. This guy hit his woman and blacked her eye. I told him he was a pretty sorry piece hitting a woman like that. So he took a couple a swings at me and couldn’t hit me. He got mad and when the cops come he said I’d hit the woman and give her the black eye. She scared of him. She won’t say boo.”

“You need a high priced mouth like cinderella here.” She indicated L C “How’d you getta lawyer like that? You ain’t got the bucks to pay him.”
She explained Tulkhorn was the Langlin’s lawyer.

“And you trust him?”

“He told me he is my lawyer.”

 

“You poor little fool. He isn’t here for your benefit. He is here to keep the richy bitchy Langlin’s nose clean. He don’t care about you. He’ll toss you anywhere he needs to to keep the people who pay his wage looking good.”

 

 

 
© 2014 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Thirty – Six: The Cell

23 Mar
BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading  TheMapThinker.com

BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading TheMapThinker.com

L C Felt emotionally traumatized. If there were a self-help group for people who had post traumatic stress disorder after suffering trust abandonment issues, she would have signed up for it immediately. She suddenly realized she did not trust anyone. Never in her life had she ever not trusted people.

Now she trusted no one.

He had been adamant in their first official conversation as client and lawyer that she was to discuss the case with no one. She was not even to tell a fellow inmate that she was innocent nor to speculate what the charges were against her.

L C had been just as adamant that Nathaniel could sort things out. He would explain the whole mix up. It was his cabin. He was her fiance.

The lawyer jotted down the name and cell phone number. He would have someone out looking for Nathaniel Norman first thing tomorrow morning.

However no one named Nathaniel Norman existed. Not in the city, the county, or even the state.

And the owner of the cabin was the man found dead in it.

Tulkhorn was heavy jowled and seemed to push his words out from between them with some effort. This required him to speak ponderously and slowly. He spoke in short sentences, even when the sentence was long, using pauses in the middle. “You will be placed ― With experienced criminals. One way to get their sentence reduced ― Is testify against you. They will go any lengths ― To cause you to say something ― They can use. Pretend to be your friend. They may tell you something ― Something about themselves. Hoping you will do tit for tat.”

“Like truth or dare?”

“You will have more to lose ― than dignity. We don’t know ― what is at stake. Chief Collars had a  revolver. This is a capital punishment state.”

“Oh, My God!”

“If anyone ― tells you something incriminating ―in an effort to entrap you. Tell me who they are ―and what they told you ― immediately.”

L C Was aghast. “You want me to play that game?”

Tulkhorn stared at her from under his heavy lids for a full minute. She started to wonder if she had really overstepped. Still she did not want to blurt out an apology out of fear.

“Young lady. If you were not ― the most naive client ― I have ever met ― I would consider ― that question ― an insult. I would never ― suggest ― in any way ― you do anything ― improper. I would only warn you ― and tell you how ― to take all proper precautions.”

It was then she realized behind that slow ponderous form of a man was a mind that never stopped moving.

So she did not trust the people in the cell with her. Three women. One of whom was large and black and didn’t seem to care what she said to anyone about anything. Nor did she deem in necessary to keep her voice quite or calm when she said it. As the policewoman pushed L C into the room and closed the door behind her the woman was standing in the middle of the cell saying, “Yeah, I killed the bastard. He deserved it. There comes a time when you gotta stand up for yourself and face the shit. That or you go the rest of your life being Uncle Tom and kissing ass. I ain’t kissing nobody’s nothing.” She turned to face L C who stood with her eyes and mouth both wide open.

“What the hell are you staring at?”

L C Could not answer. She had never seen anyone like her before. She had never heard anyone like her before.

An extremely skinny tattooed woman who was the oldest stepped up beside L C “C’mon, she’s the newest fish I’ve ever seen in a tank. She is about to mess her diapers. She doesn’t mean any harm.”

The black woman ignored her.

“Ain’t you never seen a black woman before?” She came down heavy on the word black and talked with a southern accent. She did not take her eyes off L C.

In truth L C Had been raised in a predominantly white middle-class neighborhood. There had been only a handful of black students at her school and she had never really thought about or paid any attention to them. The only black woman L C Had ever spoken to was the quiet, soft-spoken, young woman who worked at one of the chairs in the Just Bain Me Beauty Salon where her aunt worked. She did not speak with an accent. She remembered hearing someone say Obama did not sound black, that he sounded just like any white guy, but she really did not know what that meant. She had never met a person who was proud of being black and was not afraid to stand up and say so.

She managed to stutter out, “Daisy.”

“Daisy? What the hell is ‘Daisy’.”

“She works in Just Bane Me where my aunt works.”

“And her name’s Daisy? There ain’t no black woman in the world today going to name her child ‘Daisy’. What do you think this is, Gone With The Wind?”

“Her name is Daisy. She told me.”

“And are you and this Little Miss Daisy friends.”

“I, I don’t know. I like her. She is real quiet. Um. She never talks much. We ate lunch together once. I guess she likes me.”

“Are you a racist bitch?”

L C Paled. “I don’t think so.” It was the first time in her life anyone had accused her of racism. She knew hate groups existed but she never met anyone who espoused racial superiority. It was the first time in her life she ever gave a thought to the fact she was white and other people were not.

“I’ll tell you what to think. See that bunk up there? That is yours. You sleep in it and you keep your mouth shut. You so much as snore or piss me off I’m going to shove you outta this cell right through those bars whether you fit or not. Understand?”

L C Looked at the top bunk wondering how she was going to climb up there without a ladder.

The muscular woman told her, “I’m Violet. The tattooed lady here is Janet. On the bunk is Diamond. You met her.”

L C burst out laughing.

“What a hell you laughing at?” Diamond’s black eyes snapped at her.

“You ought to be my aunt.” L C felt nervous and like she was starting to babble, but she could not help herself.

“How you think that might happen?”

“My grand parents were so hippy. They named all four of my aunts ‘Daddies little gems.’ Amethyst, Sapphire, Emerald, and Topaz. If they had another girl they were going to name her Pearl. Number six might’ve been you.”

“And what would you do if I was your aunt?”

“Give you a big hug and kiss. Like I do all my other aunts.”

Diamond shook her head. “Get that girl out of here,” she rolled over on her side and looked the other way.

© 2014 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Thirty – Five: The Room

9 Mar
BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading  TheMapThinker.com

BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading TheMapThinker.com

It was a tiny little interrogation room. One chair. One card table. She was sure she was not in there long, but it seemed forever and a week before anyone came in.

The man who entered looked as though he literally walked with the weight of authority. He wore a white shirt, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, collar unbuttoned. He slapped a folder on the card table in front of her.

“Can you tell me what is going on?” L C Asked.

He held his hand up. “I’ll ask the questions.”

L C Nodded meekly, biting her lower lip.

“Have your rights been read to you?”

“Yes. Outside. But he didn’t ask me anything.”

“Do you understand those rights?”

“Well yes, of course. Am I being charged with being stupid?”

“Being flippant will not help your case.”

“What am I being charged with? What is my case?”

“Do you want me to read you your rights again or do you agree you fully understand them?”

L C Sighed. “I told you I understand them.”

He fished a photograph out of the folder, pushed it across to L C “Tell me about this man.” She looked at the picture. It was an eight by ten. The face had little to distinguish it. Freshly scrubbed. Eyes closed. Hair not combed.

“What about him?”

“What is his name? What is your relationship to him.”

“I don’t know his name. I don’t have any relationship to him.” She kept looking at the picture trying to remember anyone who looked like that in real life. The longer she looked at him the more certain she became she had never seen him before.

“So you deny knowing this man.”

“I don’t recognize him.”

“Let me refresh your memory. He is your fiance. You spent the weekend in his cabin with him.”

“That’s not my fiance. I spent the weekend, well, part of it anyway, with my fiance in his cabin. This isn’t him.”

“This is not your fiance. Yet you carried on with him in Sternhouser’s market in such a disgusting display the owner threw you out and told you never to return. Do I have that part right?”

“Is this that guy? He doesn’t look like him. He followed me around the store. I wasn’t ‘carrying on’ with him.”

“I suppose you don’t recognize this either?” From somewhere he pulled out a revolver. Showed it to L C

“It looks just like the one in my fiancee’s cabin. It was in a wooden box under some cabinet thing.”

“Your fiancée’s gun. In your fiancee’s cabin. But you claim you do not know your fiancee. Or do you just have a habit of carrying on with strange men you don’t know in grocery stores?”

“It wasn’t like…”

A knock on the door interrupted her.

The policeman stood up. “Come in.”

The Langlin’s lawyer entered. He looked from the policeman to L C And back. “What is my client charged with?”

“Nothing much. Lying to a police officer. Resisting arrest. International flight to avoid prosecution. That ought to hold her for a while.” Holding the revolver in plain sight the policeman left the room.

“I was under the impression Mr. Langlin instructed you not to say anything until I arrived.”

“I only told him the truth.”

“Apparently you told him enough of it to get yourself into serious trouble, young lady.”

© 2014 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Thirty – Four: The Airport

2 Mar
BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading  TheMapThinker.com

BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading TheMapThinker.com

 

 

They had already checked their bags. They were already standing in line to be boarded. When L C Looked up she saw two police, one man, one woman, jostling through the crowd.

The man looked familiar.

“Wonder why Lance is here?” asked Mrs. Langlin.

“Looks like he has a new partner,” commented her husband. “An improvement over the last one.”

As they drew closer L C Recognized the policeman. It was the same man she met, out of uniform, in front of Sternhouser’s market, the day she got the job of nanny. As he came up to them she smiled at him. He did not return it.

“Hello, Lance. What brings you here? And who is your partner?” asked Mrs. Langlin.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Langlin. Mr. Langlin.” Morgan said with a formality that elicited a raised eyebrow from Mr. Langlin and a pinched frown from Mrs. Langlin.

He turned to L C “Are you Lindsey Carol Davenport?”

“Well, uh, you know I am.”

“You are under arrest. Please place your hands behind your back so my partner can handcuff you so we make as little a scene as possible.”

The words at first did not make sense to her. She had to replay them again in her mind slowly. She was being arrested. Here at the airport.

“Stop. Wait a minute. I’ve done nothing. What am I under arrest for?”

“What is she under arrest for?” asked Mr. Langlin curiously as though a very interesting idea had just struck him.

Morgan spoke politely but firmly. “That is not my concern. My job is to arrest her. She will be charged at the station.”

“My.” Said Mr. Langlin thoughtfully. “That sounds ominous.”

Morgan turned to L C “You will put your hands behind your back now and allow my partner to handcuff you or she will throw you down to the ground and handcuff you the hard way.”

L C Began to cry. Her chest heaved.

Guinevere started to run to L C.  Mrs. Langlin grabbed her daughter and pulled her close.

Delavera stepped up behind L C. Grabbed her unresisting hands one by one, pulled them behind her back, and handcuffed her firmly.

Mr. Langlin told her, “Say nothing to anyone until the lawyer gets there.” He started tapping his cell phone.

As L C Was being led away she looked back through bleary, teared eyes. She saw the Langlins, Bixby, Missy Mousey, and Guinevere, disappearing into the tunnel to the plane. Mr. Langlin was closing his phone, having put it in airplane mode.

 

 

 

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