The Accidental Detective
12-22-09
By Dash L. Hammit
Chapter One
Looking for Love on the Internet
My name is Dash L. Hammit. That is my birth given name. Mom gave it to me.
It is important for the reader to know my background so you will know my background before I became a detective.
I lived with my mother until I got my GED. There was no ceremony or anything but I did get a piece of paper to make copies of to attach to job applications. Making copies of GED’s is legal in my state.
After receiving my GED, I got a trailer of my own and moved out. Mom gave me her spare pieces of Tupperware as a trailer-warming present. I got a real surprise when, Levi, the trailer park owner told me the monthly space rent was $95. I must have looked surprised because he asked, “What’s the matter?” I told him that Mom never paid you monthly space rent. He just chuckled and walked away repeating, “Your monthly space rental is $95,” with an emphasis on the word YOUR!
I dated a lot. Both girls nicknamed me Quick, which I knew was a subtle play on my first name. I thought that was far more endearing than the overused words sweetheart and honey.
Maude came from a broken home. A tree fell on their house and they had to move. It was rumored that she was the one who had masterminded the successful robbery of the Seven-Eleven. Her truck driver brother, Hugh Hall, was unfamiliar with firearms and he unintentionally shot the hell out of the doughnut case. The paper said that even the police chief arrived to investigate the case. I dated Maude for nearly three weeks. Then, after the robbery took place, she disappeared. Several days later, perhaps a week, Mom told me that she had seen Maude as a greeter in the Walmart way across town.
My relationship with Millie was much stronger. We dated for about a week short of a month and I thought I heard wedding bells but it wasn’t to be. She also had a troublesome youth. Only three weeks and six days after her thirty-third birthday, her parents sold her to gypsies. She had a terrible voice. She smoked a lot and sounded like Nat King Cole. So, at the evening get-togethers, she’d just dance and play the tambourine.
She had a nice figure with a hefty double A breast. So she was chosen to go door to door to con people into letting them reseal their driveways. She wore plunging V-neck
T-shirts to turn the heads of the men who’d come to the door. It’s amazing what men will buy when they see titties. She held the record for garnering the highest number of gravel driveways.
Chapter 2
Becoming a detective by accident.
My love for women was so strong and so etched on my sole that it can only be described as misogynistic. While surfing the Internet for a new love mate I saw an ad that read, “Become a Private Dick.” I thought it was for an inclusive and very private matchmaking club. Since Maude and Millie were gone, I figured this would be a secure and safe way to meet nice girls. I typed in my VISA debit card number plus the four-digit number on the back so the company could withdraw the monthly fee saving me the trouble of writing checks. I could tell right away that this company knew what it was doing.
Two weeks after deducting my sign-up fee of $250 and my first $100 monthly payment, the mail lady delivered the first of several packages yet to come. I was expecting a magazine or a link to a web site with pictures of girls, their vital signs, phone numbers, addresses and such. Instead it was a package with a well-typed instruction manual with big bold letters on the cover, “Become a Private Dick”. Underneath in smaller letters was the company’s French name “Faux Detective Agency, Paris, KY; probably the two French letters for Inc. Then in proud, bold, Gothic print the words, “Correspondence School.” At first I was disappointed but then realized that a golden opportunity had fallen into my lap, right from the Internet. It was the door that would expand my future to well beyond what my GED offered. Up until then my other choices were selling subscriptions to AWAKE magazine door to door or working on the assembly line at the local automotive factory. If I worked there, I’d have to join the union, work every day and sometimes work over time. Then there was the co-pay for health insurance that you couldn’t get out of. But with the Faux Private Detective Agency certificate of competition, I’d be on my own and be able to work or not work whenever I chose.
Included in the package was a .38 Special Colt snub nose revolver. I knew right away what it was because Maude had showed me one that she said she had found in a dumpster. The tag on the trigger guard said, “For instructional purposes only.” I could tell right away that it had been rendered inert because cotton had been stuffed in the barrel and black electrical tape was over the end so bullets couldn’t fall out. I was quite impressed that the school had thought out everything re: safety for its students and their own liability. No inert bullets came in the package.
My relationship with Millie was much stronger. We dated for about a week short of a month and I thought I heard wedding bells but it wasn’t to be. She also had a troublesome youth. Only three weeks and six days after her thirty-third birthday, her parents sold her to gypsies. She had a terrible voice. She smoked a lot and sounded like Nat King Cole. So, at the evening get-togethers, she’d just dance and play the tambourine.
She had a nice figure with a hefty double A breast. So she was chosen to go door to door to con people into letting them reseal their driveways. She wore plunging V-neck
T-shirts to turn the heads of the men who’d come to the door. It’s amazing what men will buy when they see titties. She held the record for garnering the highest number of gravel driveways.
Chapter 2
Becoming a detective by accident.
My love for women was so strong and so etched on my sole that it can only be described as misogynistic. While surfing the Internet for a new love mate I saw an ad that read, “Become a Private Dick.” I thought it was for an inclusive and very private matchmaking club. Since Maude and Millie were gone, I figured this would be a secure and safe way to meet nice girls. I typed in my VISA debit card number plus the four-digit number on the back so the company could withdraw the monthly fee saving me the trouble of writing checks. I could tell right away that this company knew what it was doing.
Two weeks after deducting my sign-up fee of $250 and my first $100 monthly payment, the mail lady delivered the first of several packages yet to come. I was expecting a magazine or a link to a web site with pictures of girls, their vital signs, phone numbers, addresses and such. Instead it was a package with a well-typed instruction manual with big bold letters on the cover, “Become a Private Dick”. Underneath in smaller letters was the company’s French name “Faux Detective Agency, Paris, KY; probably the two French letters for Inc. Then in proud, bold, Gothic print the words, “Correspondence School.” At first I was disappointed but then realized that a golden opportunity had fallen into my lap, right from the Internet. It was the door that would expand my future to well beyond what my GED offered. Up until then my other choices were selling subscriptions to AWAKE magazine door to door or working on the assembly line at the local automotive factory. If I worked there, I’d have to join the union, work every day and sometimes work over time. Then there was the co-pay for health insurance that you couldn’t get out of. But with the Faux Private Detective Agency certificate of competition, I’d be on my own and be able to work or not work whenever I chose.
Included in the package was a .38 Special Colt snub nose revolver. I knew right away what it was because Maude had showed me one that she said she had found in a dumpster. The tag on the trigger guard said, “For instructional purposes only.” I could tell right away that it had been rendered inert because cotton had been stuffed in the barrel and black electrical tape was over the end so bullets couldn’t fall out. I was quite impressed that the school had thought out everything re: safety for its students and their own liability. No inert bullets came in the package.
I showed Mom the package. She encouraged me right away saying, “Son, this is your chance to move up to a double-wide.” She always believed that image is everything. “After you solve a couple of cases, you should add a deck and later a shed, one of the good ones made by the Amish. Go for it!”
I did! Still with the package of stuff on the table before me, I telephoned AT&T and Yellow Book and bought a full-page ad in each in their detective sections. To save money I used the same words in each, “When you need a private dick, call me.” Then to add emphasis I had them put in bold Italics: “Day or Evenings.” For an extra fifty bucks, AT&T threw in a Sherlock Holmes silhouette with him holding a magnifying glass. Yellow Book gave me a drawing of a man holding a camera with a telephoto lens taking a picture from the open rear window of a Volkswagen Beetle. If Dad was out of jail and knew of the journey that I was about to take, he would be proud. Well, maybe not.
Chapter Three
Many things to learn
Opportunity’s Door Inside the front cover of the Becoming a Private Dick manual was the first page called a syllabus. That’s where you’re told what courses of study are available. At the head of that page in Italics was, In order to solve crimes, you first need to know how to commit them. Right then I was hooked. It’s like learning how to walk or spit. You have to do them to learn them. For instance some were: Using Big Words to Impress People, How to Steal Cable TV, Bomb Making, Wiping Fingerprints from a Crime Scene, Buying Your Way into Public Office, Loading an AK-47, Molestation for beginners--4 DVD set (half price to Seminary students), TV Evangelism, Retaining Your Elected Office, Pick Pocketing, Keeping a Straight Face When Telling a Woman that You Love Her, and Banking.
Because each course was so well thought out and detailed I was curious about the school’s instructors. What were their backgrounds? Where did they get such insight? I read the list of names of the mentors. An R and the name of a state, e.g. John Smith, R-Illinois, followed each one. It wasn’t until years later that I found out that each had been in residence for a varying number of years in their respective states. The R behind their names meant Rehabilitated. I figured that an R was even better that a GED. The institutions to which they attended were State funded. Getting in was not like West Point, the Air Force Academy, or Notre Dame where political influence was needed. The acceptance to all of these academies was based on one’s prior performance. Some of the schools were harder to get into than others. To be admitted, one had to have done something grand.
I did! Still with the package of stuff on the table before me, I telephoned AT&T and Yellow Book and bought a full-page ad in each in their detective sections. To save money I used the same words in each, “When you need a private dick, call me.” Then to add emphasis I had them put in bold Italics: “Day or Evenings.” For an extra fifty bucks, AT&T threw in a Sherlock Holmes silhouette with him holding a magnifying glass. Yellow Book gave me a drawing of a man holding a camera with a telephoto lens taking a picture from the open rear window of a Volkswagen Beetle. If Dad was out of jail and knew of the journey that I was about to take, he would be proud. Well, maybe not.
Chapter Three
Many things to learn
Opportunity’s Door Inside the front cover of the Becoming a Private Dick manual was the first page called a syllabus. That’s where you’re told what courses of study are available. At the head of that page in Italics was, In order to solve crimes, you first need to know how to commit them. Right then I was hooked. It’s like learning how to walk or spit. You have to do them to learn them. For instance some were: Using Big Words to Impress People, How to Steal Cable TV, Bomb Making, Wiping Fingerprints from a Crime Scene, Buying Your Way into Public Office, Loading an AK-47, Molestation for beginners--4 DVD set (half price to Seminary students), TV Evangelism, Retaining Your Elected Office, Pick Pocketing, Keeping a Straight Face When Telling a Woman that You Love Her, and Banking.
Because each course was so well thought out and detailed I was curious about the school’s instructors. What were their backgrounds? Where did they get such insight? I read the list of names of the mentors. An R and the name of a state, e.g. John Smith, R-Illinois, followed each one. It wasn’t until years later that I found out that each had been in residence for a varying number of years in their respective states. The R behind their names meant Rehabilitated. I figured that an R was even better that a GED. The institutions to which they attended were State funded. Getting in was not like West Point, the Air Force Academy, or Notre Dame where political influence was needed. The acceptance to all of these academies was based on one’s prior performance. Some of the schools were harder to get into than others. To be admitted, one had to have done something grand.
I also learned that 85% of the staff had re-entered the institutions several times; no doubt to keep their skills current, e.g. computer hacking. And because the States funded the institutions, there was no tuition. Room and board was gratis courtesy of the taxpayer, roughly $22,000 per year. That was comparable to most other state colleges but for those, the students needed loans or their parents took out second mortgages on their homes to pay for the schooling. Some might argue that the schools where my mentors came from reek of Socialism. I will not indulge myself in politically correct discussions preferring to leave them to the great icons of our day. Howard Stern, Pat Robertson and Star Jones come to mind.
Special notices were at the bottom of the introductory page. They stated that (1) each chapter would be sent to the student only when he or she requested it having finished the preceding one and ready to move forward in the course. However, the monthly fee would be charged to one’s debit or credit card on a regular monthly schedule (this, they said, was for bookkeeping purposes) (2) some chapters were thicker than others and needed a front and rear staple in the top left corner to insure that the pages stayed together (3) a legal notice absolving the school from any and all staple pricks injuries. That was in Italics bold.
Because there was no homework or test given, each student could move along at his or own pace. I loved that because I was afflicted with a disease that began at about the time I started school. Sometimes I didn’t want to get up. The feelings were overwhelming and sometimes I’d get a tummy ache. I asked Mom about it and she said not to worry my little head about it. She said it runs in the family plus it’s genetic. By taking correspondence courses, I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about sleeping in now and then. If the school wouldn't allow me to do that I’d have difficulty completing the course.
Chapter Four
Cement Overshoes Caused Woman to Drown
My first case came via the Evening Chronicle. On the front page was a story about a woman found dead in the East River at about nine o’clock. The police believed that it was a case of suicide.
Special notices were at the bottom of the introductory page. They stated that (1) each chapter would be sent to the student only when he or she requested it having finished the preceding one and ready to move forward in the course. However, the monthly fee would be charged to one’s debit or credit card on a regular monthly schedule (this, they said, was for bookkeeping purposes) (2) some chapters were thicker than others and needed a front and rear staple in the top left corner to insure that the pages stayed together (3) a legal notice absolving the school from any and all staple pricks injuries. That was in Italics bold.
Because there was no homework or test given, each student could move along at his or own pace. I loved that because I was afflicted with a disease that began at about the time I started school. Sometimes I didn’t want to get up. The feelings were overwhelming and sometimes I’d get a tummy ache. I asked Mom about it and she said not to worry my little head about it. She said it runs in the family plus it’s genetic. By taking correspondence courses, I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about sleeping in now and then. If the school wouldn't allow me to do that I’d have difficulty completing the course.
Chapter Four
Cement Overshoes Caused Woman to Drown
My first case came via the Evening Chronicle. On the front page was a story about a woman found dead in the East River at about nine o’clock. The police believed that it was a case of suicide.
I drove to the scene where a large crowd encircled something lying on the pier. I gave my keys to the attendant and joined the crowd looking at a dead woman. She had brown eyes that matched her areolas. Because there was a nip in the air, her nipples were hard. I was probably the only one to notice that and I credit my astuteness to chapter 12 of my correspondence course. And she had probably been a model because she was very skinny accentuated with two voluptuous and well portioned AA breasts.
Our dedicated firemen were still trying to recisitate the poor victim. They were in line, taking turns tenderly stroking the woman’s chest and blowing into her painted lips. Someone had thoughtfully covered the lower portion of her body with a towel up to about mid-calf. Unfortunately, this prevented me from seeing if there were any scratches or abrasions indicating a struggle with her attacker. Amazingly, even in her death throws she held a cement overshoe in each hand. Such dedication! Her clothes lay folded neatly near the edge of the pier, I’d guess to be about fifty feet away. A thoughtful lady from Goodwill was going through them eliminating the need to call for a HAZMAT team.
Another line was the usual gawkers all taking pictures of the grizzly scene. One tall fellow, claiming to be with National Geographic, tried to muscle his way to the front of the line. I recognized him as the star high school basketball player. I gave him a dirty look and nodded for him get in the back of the line behind me. Then I heard a loud voice that sounded official. “She died at 6 o’clock. We know that because that’s when her watch stopped.” Then the basketball star asked, “Six in the evening or six in the morning?” The official pondered a moment then said, “Let’s take a vote! Everyone who thinks she died at six in the evening, raise your hands.” He counted 17. “OK, everyone who thinks she died at six in the morning, raise your hands?” Eighteen hands went up. “OK then,” he proclaimed, “the time of death has officially been determined at 6 a.m. And the cause of death will be suicide by drowning while holding a cement overshoe in each hand.” But I knew better. Because she died in the morning, I knew that we had a cereal killer on our hands.
From these few facts I was able to deduce that the killer was either white, Caucasian or, to be politically correct--race free. Therefore the perpetrator was probably a male and a golfer. I knew that because that he was a golfer because the time of death was in the a.m. leaving time to make his afternoon tee time. An important fact that the police overlooked was that even though her clothes lay on the pier, her purse was missing. No woman goes anywhere without her purse, even to the hereafter.
Our dedicated firemen were still trying to recisitate the poor victim. They were in line, taking turns tenderly stroking the woman’s chest and blowing into her painted lips. Someone had thoughtfully covered the lower portion of her body with a towel up to about mid-calf. Unfortunately, this prevented me from seeing if there were any scratches or abrasions indicating a struggle with her attacker. Amazingly, even in her death throws she held a cement overshoe in each hand. Such dedication! Her clothes lay folded neatly near the edge of the pier, I’d guess to be about fifty feet away. A thoughtful lady from Goodwill was going through them eliminating the need to call for a HAZMAT team.
Another line was the usual gawkers all taking pictures of the grizzly scene. One tall fellow, claiming to be with National Geographic, tried to muscle his way to the front of the line. I recognized him as the star high school basketball player. I gave him a dirty look and nodded for him get in the back of the line behind me. Then I heard a loud voice that sounded official. “She died at 6 o’clock. We know that because that’s when her watch stopped.” Then the basketball star asked, “Six in the evening or six in the morning?” The official pondered a moment then said, “Let’s take a vote! Everyone who thinks she died at six in the evening, raise your hands.” He counted 17. “OK, everyone who thinks she died at six in the morning, raise your hands?” Eighteen hands went up. “OK then,” he proclaimed, “the time of death has officially been determined at 6 a.m. And the cause of death will be suicide by drowning while holding a cement overshoe in each hand.” But I knew better. Because she died in the morning, I knew that we had a cereal killer on our hands.
From these few facts I was able to deduce that the killer was either white, Caucasian or, to be politically correct--race free. Therefore the perpetrator was probably a male and a golfer. I knew that because that he was a golfer because the time of death was in the a.m. leaving time to make his afternoon tee time. An important fact that the police overlooked was that even though her clothes lay on the pier, her purse was missing. No woman goes anywhere without her purse, even to the hereafter.
Having firmly established that she had been a model, I deduced again that she had also been a pageant queen, creating a career path to the modeling profession. I’d seen on TV re-runs that most killers keep souvenirs of their crimes. Therefore, I was also on a quest to find a man who had a winner’s sash hidden under his mattress or hanging over a curtain rod displayed like a trophy near his Jackalope head. Things were coming together nicely. Thank you correspondence school!
There were no eyewitnesses to the murder. Since I had no idea what the killer looked like I had to phone his mother. She must have been out shopping because she didn’t answer until my third try. She graciously invited me over, served Green Tee, oatmeal cookies and offered her family album. I saw many pictures of her son but the only one she would let me keep was one where he was dressed as Batman on Halloween. Because of the mask, it showed only the part of his face below his nose. That meant we might not be able to spot him until October. I thanked for her hospitality, cooperation and the picture of her son. As a token of my gratitude I gave her my half-off coupon at Wendy’s.
While taking the correspondence course, one of the hardest chapters for me was art. Although it was titled: How to Counterfeit Currency, the craft could be applied to other venues of venue. I dedicated myself to create an artist’s conception of the lower part of the killer’s face. After two days and one night, I showed the sketch to Mom who at first thought I had drawn a whale. Finally she patted me on the head and said, “Nice work Son. Can I have a Crayorized copy for my refrigerator?”
I went to Kinko’s and made two dozen copies to post on the city’s utility poles. But there was a hitch. It was a weekend and all of the yard sale; lost pet and babysitting signs were already there. I’d have to wait until Monday. Solving crime, I was quickly finding out, was not as easy as people think!
Waiting until Monday was fortuitous because I was able to keep my place in the horse shoe tournament at the trailer park. Last year I came in second, just behind first place. This year I was going to press hard but the weather turned ugly. The sun had gone behind the clouds. Getting a good bead on the stakes would be harder in subdued light but I knew that I was up to the challenge. Last year’s first place winner was old lady Lilly Morgan. She thought she was the Queen of Sheba in the Court and I wanted to take her down a couple of pegs. She flaunted her hatch back car while the rest of us drove square backs and pickups.
Mom once told me a story of when she and Lilly went to Kroger’s together. She said Lilly was feeling a bit frisky that day and made a pass at the bag boy. Mom said that, on their way to the car, she said to the boy, “I have an itchypussy.” The boy replied, “Ma’am, you’ll have to point to it. All Japanese cars look alike to me.”
There were no eyewitnesses to the murder. Since I had no idea what the killer looked like I had to phone his mother. She must have been out shopping because she didn’t answer until my third try. She graciously invited me over, served Green Tee, oatmeal cookies and offered her family album. I saw many pictures of her son but the only one she would let me keep was one where he was dressed as Batman on Halloween. Because of the mask, it showed only the part of his face below his nose. That meant we might not be able to spot him until October. I thanked for her hospitality, cooperation and the picture of her son. As a token of my gratitude I gave her my half-off coupon at Wendy’s.
While taking the correspondence course, one of the hardest chapters for me was art. Although it was titled: How to Counterfeit Currency, the craft could be applied to other venues of venue. I dedicated myself to create an artist’s conception of the lower part of the killer’s face. After two days and one night, I showed the sketch to Mom who at first thought I had drawn a whale. Finally she patted me on the head and said, “Nice work Son. Can I have a Crayorized copy for my refrigerator?”
I went to Kinko’s and made two dozen copies to post on the city’s utility poles. But there was a hitch. It was a weekend and all of the yard sale; lost pet and babysitting signs were already there. I’d have to wait until Monday. Solving crime, I was quickly finding out, was not as easy as people think!
Waiting until Monday was fortuitous because I was able to keep my place in the horse shoe tournament at the trailer park. Last year I came in second, just behind first place. This year I was going to press hard but the weather turned ugly. The sun had gone behind the clouds. Getting a good bead on the stakes would be harder in subdued light but I knew that I was up to the challenge. Last year’s first place winner was old lady Lilly Morgan. She thought she was the Queen of Sheba in the Court and I wanted to take her down a couple of pegs. She flaunted her hatch back car while the rest of us drove square backs and pickups.
Mom once told me a story of when she and Lilly went to Kroger’s together. She said Lilly was feeling a bit frisky that day and made a pass at the bag boy. Mom said that, on their way to the car, she said to the boy, “I have an itchypussy.” The boy replied, “Ma’am, you’ll have to point to it. All Japanese cars look alike to me.”
By evening time, the match had come down to just Lilly and me. She was sitting on 20; one point above my 19. It was my turn. I looked at the crowd; all six gave me a thumbs up. They wanted me to show Old Lady Morgan a thing or two. I threw the first shoe and it scored zip. This was it. I knew the match hung on my next throw. I took a deep breath, arched my arm forward, took a bead on the stake through the shoe. Suddenly, proving that He is real, God pushed the sun from be behind the clouds for a short, brief and momentary moment. I could clearly see the stake 40 feet away. I swung my arm back then forward letting loose of my grip on the steel edifice. It flew like a butterfly headed for a rose. A RINGER! I got a RINGER. Twenty-one points! I won! I won!
Immediately, Jack Hoff our only illegal German resident got on his cell phone and made a call. A few seconds later I heard a shotgun go off from across the Park. Then there was another and another. After the cops left, everyone came up and patted me on the back and we popped some Coors.
Monday came and I hit the streets with copies of my sketches in hand. I was bound and determined to prove the authorities wrong. They said the woman died of suicide because she held on to the cement overshoes. But I knew that she had been murdered! My solid, sound, and conductive reasoning proved that.
Leafing through the Yellow Pages I found no place that sold pre-made cement overshoes. That meant only one thing, he was skilled in cement sculpturing. And that told me that he had to be a Freemason. Could it be that Jack The Ripper has left London and is now hiding in the US? And, if he’s now drowning people, will his name change to Jack The Dripper? I sent an inquiry to Scotland Yard but received no reply. I guess I should have sent it to London Yard.
Chapter Five
The Facts Are Obvious
The facts in the case were very clear. A woman was dead and a democratic majority determined that she died in the morning hours. The good folks at Goodwill had taken care of her clothes. I might need to follow up to see if they had a motive to kill her. I had the photo of the killer in a Batman Halloween costume, which proved he likes candy. That proved that he was diabetic and took insulation shots. I needed to phone all of the drugstores in town and get a list of their diabetic patrons. He was white, Caucasian, or race free. He played golf in the afternoons, which proved that he had arthritis, unable to withstand the morning chill. I needed to phone all of the drugstores again and get a list of all of their arthritic patrons. And he collected women’s beauty pageant sashes. This case was almost a no brainier. I jotted all of this information on a 3x5 card and put it in my pocket.
Immediately, Jack Hoff our only illegal German resident got on his cell phone and made a call. A few seconds later I heard a shotgun go off from across the Park. Then there was another and another. After the cops left, everyone came up and patted me on the back and we popped some Coors.
Monday came and I hit the streets with copies of my sketches in hand. I was bound and determined to prove the authorities wrong. They said the woman died of suicide because she held on to the cement overshoes. But I knew that she had been murdered! My solid, sound, and conductive reasoning proved that.
Leafing through the Yellow Pages I found no place that sold pre-made cement overshoes. That meant only one thing, he was skilled in cement sculpturing. And that told me that he had to be a Freemason. Could it be that Jack The Ripper has left London and is now hiding in the US? And, if he’s now drowning people, will his name change to Jack The Dripper? I sent an inquiry to Scotland Yard but received no reply. I guess I should have sent it to London Yard.
Chapter Five
The Facts Are Obvious
The facts in the case were very clear. A woman was dead and a democratic majority determined that she died in the morning hours. The good folks at Goodwill had taken care of her clothes. I might need to follow up to see if they had a motive to kill her. I had the photo of the killer in a Batman Halloween costume, which proved he likes candy. That proved that he was diabetic and took insulation shots. I needed to phone all of the drugstores in town and get a list of their diabetic patrons. He was white, Caucasian, or race free. He played golf in the afternoons, which proved that he had arthritis, unable to withstand the morning chill. I needed to phone all of the drugstores again and get a list of all of their arthritic patrons. And he collected women’s beauty pageant sashes. This case was almost a no brainier. I jotted all of this information on a 3x5 card and put it in my pocket.
Then I got a tip. Someone had seen my artist’s sketch on one of the utility poles and rang me up. I was to meet her at a discrete location. She said she’d be at the rear table in Steak and Shake. I was not to tell anyone or bring anyone with me. I was not to bring a camera or tape recorder. But I could bring my sketchpad if I wanted to draw her picture.
In order that I not be late, I arrived five minutes ahead of schedule. I discretely scanned the room and saw a young lady at the far end of the room, standing and waving frantically to catch my attention.
She wouldn’t give me her name even though I said that I’d like to put it underneath the drawing. She said to use Marie Annotate. She was a college student at the local night school majoring in the study of human behavior in relationship to man made objects. My ears perked up; my name had been called to pick up my order. I offered to split my Steakburger but she only wanted my fries.
I prodded her a bit so she scooted away. Then I got to the point. “Why did you phone me?”
In order that I not be late, I arrived five minutes ahead of schedule. I discretely scanned the room and saw a young lady at the far end of the room, standing and waving frantically to catch my attention.
She wouldn’t give me her name even though I said that I’d like to put it underneath the drawing. She said to use Marie Annotate. She was a college student at the local night school majoring in the study of human behavior in relationship to man made objects. My ears perked up; my name had been called to pick up my order. I offered to split my Steakburger but she only wanted my fries.
I prodded her a bit so she scooted away. Then I got to the point. “Why did you phone me?”
Looking directly into my eyes she answered, “I think I know the man your looking for.”
It was apparent that our conversation would be fruitful maybe even convoluted.
“One of my professors has a chin just like the one in the drawing. It resembles a whale, doesn’t it?”
This was becoming more convoluted than I could ever hope.
“Why do you want to find him?
I said one word, “Murder!”
She was aghast causing her to smear catsup beside her mouth from a fry.
“Yes,” I said, “But please don’t show any more signs of aghast.”
Hoping that she would comply I asked, “Does he play golf?”
“Yes but only in the afternoons.”
“Does he like candy?”
“Yes and he’s diabetic and gives himself insulation shots.”
“Is he either white, Caucasian, or race free?”
“Yes.”
“Has he ever lived in London?”
“Yes.”
“What was his profession there?”
Clicking on some keys she replied, “According to Wikipedia, he laid cement.
I was hesitant to ask the next question but I had to. “Is he a joiner?”
“It says here that he has never married.”
“I mean, did he belong to any fraternal organizations?”
Again referring to her laptop, “Yes. It says that he is a paid-up member of our public golf course, and was an instructor at the YWCA’s beauty pageant program.
I asked her to type in, “Teaching credentials.”
It was apparent that our conversation would be fruitful maybe even convoluted.
“One of my professors has a chin just like the one in the drawing. It resembles a whale, doesn’t it?”
This was becoming more convoluted than I could ever hope.
“Why do you want to find him?
I said one word, “Murder!”
She was aghast causing her to smear catsup beside her mouth from a fry.
“Yes,” I said, “But please don’t show any more signs of aghast.”
Hoping that she would comply I asked, “Does he play golf?”
“Yes but only in the afternoons.”
“Does he like candy?”
“Yes and he’s diabetic and gives himself insulation shots.”
“Is he either white, Caucasian, or race free?”
“Yes.”
“Has he ever lived in London?”
“Yes.”
“What was his profession there?”
Clicking on some keys she replied, “According to Wikipedia, he laid cement.
I was hesitant to ask the next question but I had to. “Is he a joiner?”
“It says here that he has never married.”
“I mean, did he belong to any fraternal organizations?”
Again referring to her laptop, “Yes. It says that he is a paid-up member of our public golf course, and was an instructor at the YWCA’s beauty pageant program.
I asked her to type in, “Teaching credentials.”
She was startled, as was I. It said that he was currently teaching in this city’s night school without a license. However he had a certificate of completion from the Innocuous School of Hypnosis.
Remembering my manners I asked, “Would you like me to order you some carry-out as a token of my appreciation for sharing this information with me?”
“Oh my gosh, yes! How thoughtful of you” Then she fished in her purse, found a 10 % off coupon for chili and a double shake.
After placing her order, I fired off my final question which was key to the case. “Does he have arthritis?
“No but he tells the golf course people that he does so that he can play in the afternoons. He likes to sleep late.” I thought, ‘Oh the poor fellow. He has the same genetic disorder that I have.’
I thanked her again for the information and offered to drive her home.
“No thanks. I have my suitcases, lamps, throw rugs, appliances, blow-up queen size bed, books, and a few clothes…whatever I could cram into the spaces in the back seat of my car. I’m leaving town.”
I presented the coupon to the cashier and paid for her carryout. We shook hands; I watched her drive away and waved adios. Then I remembered that she hadn’t given me the professor’s name, where he lived, his phone number or how to find him.
“Win some, loose some”, Mom always said.
Chapter Six
Closing in on the Killer
It now being after 3:30 in the afternoon, I would have to wait until 7 to phone the night school. A putt-putt golf course was across town so I drove there and played three rounds. I’ve always had good luck at the windmill and this evening was no exception. I conceived it as a good omen.
My call went right through and I talked to a lovely sounding lady who said that giving out the names of their instructors over the phone was “bullshit”. “If you want to know that, look at the directory in the hall.”
I told her. “But I’m trying to find a killer.”
“Oh. Then you’ll have to come in and present yourself in person.”
I asked, “How presentable do I have to be?
“No shirt, no shoes, no service,” was her curt reply.
“I’ll be there as soon as I finish the back nine.”
This seemed to put her off and she said, “FINE!” and slammed down the phone.
I found the school. It was in a former bank building that had used up it TARP money, and filed bankruptcy a day later. The forwarding address for former customers to use was Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. The lady with whom I had spoken on the phone was on her cell phone at the receptionist’s desk.
Remembering my manners I asked, “Would you like me to order you some carry-out as a token of my appreciation for sharing this information with me?”
“Oh my gosh, yes! How thoughtful of you” Then she fished in her purse, found a 10 % off coupon for chili and a double shake.
After placing her order, I fired off my final question which was key to the case. “Does he have arthritis?
“No but he tells the golf course people that he does so that he can play in the afternoons. He likes to sleep late.” I thought, ‘Oh the poor fellow. He has the same genetic disorder that I have.’
I thanked her again for the information and offered to drive her home.
“No thanks. I have my suitcases, lamps, throw rugs, appliances, blow-up queen size bed, books, and a few clothes…whatever I could cram into the spaces in the back seat of my car. I’m leaving town.”
I presented the coupon to the cashier and paid for her carryout. We shook hands; I watched her drive away and waved adios. Then I remembered that she hadn’t given me the professor’s name, where he lived, his phone number or how to find him.
“Win some, loose some”, Mom always said.
Chapter Six
Closing in on the Killer
It now being after 3:30 in the afternoon, I would have to wait until 7 to phone the night school. A putt-putt golf course was across town so I drove there and played three rounds. I’ve always had good luck at the windmill and this evening was no exception. I conceived it as a good omen.
My call went right through and I talked to a lovely sounding lady who said that giving out the names of their instructors over the phone was “bullshit”. “If you want to know that, look at the directory in the hall.”
I told her. “But I’m trying to find a killer.”
“Oh. Then you’ll have to come in and present yourself in person.”
I asked, “How presentable do I have to be?
“No shirt, no shoes, no service,” was her curt reply.
“I’ll be there as soon as I finish the back nine.”
This seemed to put her off and she said, “FINE!” and slammed down the phone.
I found the school. It was in a former bank building that had used up it TARP money, and filed bankruptcy a day later. The forwarding address for former customers to use was Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. The lady with whom I had spoken on the phone was on her cell phone at the receptionist’s desk.
I said, “Hi, I’m….” but she waved me off pointing to the cell phone and miming the words, “I’m on the phone.”
I grabbed a magazine showing the latest hair styles and took a chair. My other choice was reading all of the business cards posted on the bulletin board.
Several and many minutes later, she said, “Hi there! I’m Pam and it is my pleasure to serve you.”
I expressed my gratitude and asked if she could crunch some details in the school’s computer to find someone I’m looking for.
“No way Jose!”
“But I’m looking for a murderer.” I retorted.
“Oh yes, I remember. So then it’s important. Right?”
“Yes it is.”
“What perimeters do you want me to punch in?”
Immediately, I withdrew my 3x5 card and read off the criteria: “Likes to sleep late, is a Freemason, lived in London, fakes arthritis, likes candy, is diabetic, dresses up on Halloween as Batman, likes to work with cement, collects beauty pageant sashes, plays golf but only in the afternoon.
“Men, women, cross dressers, morphodites, or transvestites?” she asked.
“All but women.” Then I added, “And no blacks.”
“Oh I couldn’t find any of those anyway,” she answered.
“Why not?”
I grabbed a magazine showing the latest hair styles and took a chair. My other choice was reading all of the business cards posted on the bulletin board.
Several and many minutes later, she said, “Hi there! I’m Pam and it is my pleasure to serve you.”
I expressed my gratitude and asked if she could crunch some details in the school’s computer to find someone I’m looking for.
“No way Jose!”
“But I’m looking for a murderer.” I retorted.
“Oh yes, I remember. So then it’s important. Right?”
“Yes it is.”
“What perimeters do you want me to punch in?”
Immediately, I withdrew my 3x5 card and read off the criteria: “Likes to sleep late, is a Freemason, lived in London, fakes arthritis, likes candy, is diabetic, dresses up on Halloween as Batman, likes to work with cement, collects beauty pageant sashes, plays golf but only in the afternoon.
“Men, women, cross dressers, morphodites, or transvestites?” she asked.
“All but women.” Then I added, “And no blacks.”
“Oh I couldn’t find any of those anyway,” she answered.
“Why not?”
“We don’t hire any of those people because if even if they screw up, you can’t fire ‘em.”
She punched in the criteria. I heard a printer clickity, clackitying in another room. When she came back she handed me the printout. It had seven names on it. I was startled. Not because there were seven names on it but because it didn’t show their addresses or phone numbers.
With a huff in her voice, “Well…why didn’t you SAY that you wanted that information too? Now I have to type all that in again. Hold on…my cell phone.”
I went back to my chair. Fortunately I had left my magazine open to the last page that I was on. When she wiggled her finger for me to return, I hustled over before her phone could ring again.
“Now, WHAT are the criteria AGAIN?”
I asked why she didn’t simply Copy & Paste the information I’d already given her. She answered, “I just updated Windows and have yet to learn their new system.
I repeated everything slowly, “Likes to sleep late, is a Mason, lived in London, fakes arthritis, likes candy, is diabetic, dresses up on Halloween as Batman, likes to work with cement, collects beauty pageant sashes, plays golf but only in the afternoon.” Then I added, “He may dabble in hypnosis.”
This time the list contained their addresses and phone numbers.
“This list doesn’t show any of their cell numbers!” I exclaimed.
“SIR! If you wanted their cell numbers, WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SO?”
We went through the routine again. By now I didn’t need to refer to my 3x5 card.
She handed me the new sheet. “That will be $15.”
“Fifteen? You told me $5 on the phone when I called earlier.
“SIR! It’s $5 per copy. You got three copies.”
“But I only need one.”
She punched in the criteria. I heard a printer clickity, clackitying in another room. When she came back she handed me the printout. It had seven names on it. I was startled. Not because there were seven names on it but because it didn’t show their addresses or phone numbers.
With a huff in her voice, “Well…why didn’t you SAY that you wanted that information too? Now I have to type all that in again. Hold on…my cell phone.”
I went back to my chair. Fortunately I had left my magazine open to the last page that I was on. When she wiggled her finger for me to return, I hustled over before her phone could ring again.
“Now, WHAT are the criteria AGAIN?”
I asked why she didn’t simply Copy & Paste the information I’d already given her. She answered, “I just updated Windows and have yet to learn their new system.
I repeated everything slowly, “Likes to sleep late, is a Mason, lived in London, fakes arthritis, likes candy, is diabetic, dresses up on Halloween as Batman, likes to work with cement, collects beauty pageant sashes, plays golf but only in the afternoon.” Then I added, “He may dabble in hypnosis.”
This time the list contained their addresses and phone numbers.
“This list doesn’t show any of their cell numbers!” I exclaimed.
“SIR! If you wanted their cell numbers, WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SO?”
We went through the routine again. By now I didn’t need to refer to my 3x5 card.
She handed me the new sheet. “That will be $15.”
“Fifteen? You told me $5 on the phone when I called earlier.
“SIR! It’s $5 per copy. You got three copies.”
“But I only need one.”
“SIR! I’m a Buddhist. We have a saying. It goes like this, “What is, IS! $15.
I gave her a five and a roll of quarters that I had for the Laundromat.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
That’s ten dollars worth of quarters.”
“She was really pissed now. “AND I’m supposed to count them?”
To save time I did it for her then went to the parking lot. Once in my car, I left open the door to keep the dome light on. Seven names, seven addresses, seven phone numbers, and six cell phone numbers. Well, that ruled out one of the potential suspects.
To find the killer from the list, I chose to use the seldom-used Stop Light procedure.
At each stoplight, I’d roll down my window and ask the driver if he was so and so, a name from my list. After several weeks of utter futility, I was tiring and thought of phoning the correspondence school, using its special 900 number, and asking for advice.
Then it happened. A fellow driving a fancy-schmancy Super Mini-Cooper answered, “Yes I’m Harry Gayman. Why?”
I replied, I’m a private dick and I’d like to meet you.”
He smiled, gave me a cute, little wink and said, “Follow me.”
I gave her a five and a roll of quarters that I had for the Laundromat.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
That’s ten dollars worth of quarters.”
“She was really pissed now. “AND I’m supposed to count them?”
To save time I did it for her then went to the parking lot. Once in my car, I left open the door to keep the dome light on. Seven names, seven addresses, seven phone numbers, and six cell phone numbers. Well, that ruled out one of the potential suspects.
To find the killer from the list, I chose to use the seldom-used Stop Light procedure.
At each stoplight, I’d roll down my window and ask the driver if he was so and so, a name from my list. After several weeks of utter futility, I was tiring and thought of phoning the correspondence school, using its special 900 number, and asking for advice.
Then it happened. A fellow driving a fancy-schmancy Super Mini-Cooper answered, “Yes I’m Harry Gayman. Why?”
I replied, I’m a private dick and I’d like to meet you.”
He smiled, gave me a cute, little wink and said, “Follow me.”
Chapter Seven
Was it Murder? Was it Suicide? Or was it…?
Mr. Gayman’s home was magnificently decorated. Who done it was a mystery. I made mental notes to see how I might spiff up my trailer.
There were several other things that also impressed me too. One was that, being the gentleman that he was, he offered tea and a full-length smoking jacket. Wow, this guy knew how to entertain! Secondly, exhibiting refined English manners he kept touching me as we talked.
Almost in a whisper he asked, “How did you happen to know my name?”
I answered, “I didn’t. I was simply looking for someone who met my criteria.
“Well, then, let me assure you that I can meet many criteria.”
He smiled and I smiled back. Such a gentleman!
I felt that I was becoming too involved with Gayman and needed to get on with my questioning.
“Do you ever dabble in cement?”
Was it Murder? Was it Suicide? Or was it…?
Mr. Gayman’s home was magnificently decorated. Who done it was a mystery. I made mental notes to see how I might spiff up my trailer.
There were several other things that also impressed me too. One was that, being the gentleman that he was, he offered tea and a full-length smoking jacket. Wow, this guy knew how to entertain! Secondly, exhibiting refined English manners he kept touching me as we talked.
Almost in a whisper he asked, “How did you happen to know my name?”
I answered, “I didn’t. I was simply looking for someone who met my criteria.
“Well, then, let me assure you that I can meet many criteria.”
He smiled and I smiled back. Such a gentleman!
I felt that I was becoming too involved with Gayman and needed to get on with my questioning.
“Do you ever dabble in cement?”
His eyebrows raised, smiled then asked excitedly, “Do you?”
I continued with my line of questioning hoping to make him sweat a little. “Do you like candy?”
“M&M, Snickers, Hershey’s, Reese’s, but my favorite is Almond Joy. But I have diabetes and take insulin shots every day to manage the sweets.”
“How about arthritis?”
“Not a twinge,” he answered.
“Golf?”
“Love it. Play nearly every day but only in the afternoons.”
Little did he suspect that he was putting the noose around his neck.
“What do you think of beauty pageants?”
“Funny you should ask. I used to teach a class on beauty pageants when I worked at the YWCA. Would you like to see my sash collection?”
I nearly jumped out of my chair with joy and kissed him. But I’m sure he’d have none of that.
“Yes. Yes I would.”
As we walked to the basement stairs he gingerly put his hand on my shoulder to guide me down. He flipped on the lights illuminating his entire sash collection. They were keepsakes from his many years of being involved in this splendid and most worthwhile pageantry. All three of them were hanging straight down from the coat hanger next to his mounted Jackalope. Each one was secured with a paper clip. I could tell that he was proud because his face flushed when he looked into my eyes. It was obvious to him that I was awe-struck by these trophies. Off in the corner I spotted a potter’s wheel.
“Is that a potter’s wheel?”
“Yes but I don’t use it any more.”
“Why not?”
I continued with my line of questioning hoping to make him sweat a little. “Do you like candy?”
“M&M, Snickers, Hershey’s, Reese’s, but my favorite is Almond Joy. But I have diabetes and take insulin shots every day to manage the sweets.”
“How about arthritis?”
“Not a twinge,” he answered.
“Golf?”
“Love it. Play nearly every day but only in the afternoons.”
Little did he suspect that he was putting the noose around his neck.
“What do you think of beauty pageants?”
“Funny you should ask. I used to teach a class on beauty pageants when I worked at the YWCA. Would you like to see my sash collection?”
I nearly jumped out of my chair with joy and kissed him. But I’m sure he’d have none of that.
“Yes. Yes I would.”
As we walked to the basement stairs he gingerly put his hand on my shoulder to guide me down. He flipped on the lights illuminating his entire sash collection. They were keepsakes from his many years of being involved in this splendid and most worthwhile pageantry. All three of them were hanging straight down from the coat hanger next to his mounted Jackalope. Each one was secured with a paper clip. I could tell that he was proud because his face flushed when he looked into my eyes. It was obvious to him that I was awe-struck by these trophies. Off in the corner I spotted a potter’s wheel.
“Is that a potter’s wheel?”
“Yes but I don’t use it any more.”
“Why not?”
Nudging me to a darker corner of the room he showed me several pairs of cement overshoes that he had made. Alike is shape but different in size each had tiny buckles were expertly hand etched into them. They were masters of craftsmanship.
I asked what were they for.
My ruthless, relentless and intense probing had made him guilt ridden; he began spilling his guts.
He spoke softly at first, “Several months ago I decided to perform an experiment. Its focus was human strength.”
I kept quiet just it said to do in Chapter 14.
“In order to get my paper published in the AMA Journal of Medicine I needed to come up with different data than had already been published.”
“Yes, go on,” I pretended that I didn’t know what I already knew.
“There was this lady student, Linda Willingly, who adored me. Well, I never get involved with the women in my class but she was anxious to please. She asked if she could participate in the experiment. I said no. In a huff, she blew me off. I’d never had a student blow me off before so you can understand why I was quite taken aback. With such posturing on her behalf, I thought our teacher-student relationship was over. Wouldn’t you?”
Still picturing the scene he had described it took me a moment to realize that he had asked a question. I finally agreed that her behavior could best be described as fallacious and unbecoming of a student striving to achieve good grades.
He continued his confession. “I figured that I’d never see her again and she might even drop my course even though she had entered the course consentingly. Then, surprisingly, one night she came back and apologized for blowing me off and asked to join me in my experiment. I told her that many scientists had tested the strength of humans holding heavy objects but no one had ever done it under water. That was to be my experiment and it would make me famous the world over. Her eyes lit up and she told me that she was a great swimmer and had won a swimming pageant.”
“I exclaimed, no way Jose!”
Enthusiastically she snapped her fingers over head and shouted “Yes, Jose!’
I asked what were they for.
My ruthless, relentless and intense probing had made him guilt ridden; he began spilling his guts.
He spoke softly at first, “Several months ago I decided to perform an experiment. Its focus was human strength.”
I kept quiet just it said to do in Chapter 14.
“In order to get my paper published in the AMA Journal of Medicine I needed to come up with different data than had already been published.”
“Yes, go on,” I pretended that I didn’t know what I already knew.
“There was this lady student, Linda Willingly, who adored me. Well, I never get involved with the women in my class but she was anxious to please. She asked if she could participate in the experiment. I said no. In a huff, she blew me off. I’d never had a student blow me off before so you can understand why I was quite taken aback. With such posturing on her behalf, I thought our teacher-student relationship was over. Wouldn’t you?”
Still picturing the scene he had described it took me a moment to realize that he had asked a question. I finally agreed that her behavior could best be described as fallacious and unbecoming of a student striving to achieve good grades.
He continued his confession. “I figured that I’d never see her again and she might even drop my course even though she had entered the course consentingly. Then, surprisingly, one night she came back and apologized for blowing me off and asked to join me in my experiment. I told her that many scientists had tested the strength of humans holding heavy objects but no one had ever done it under water. That was to be my experiment and it would make me famous the world over. Her eyes lit up and she told me that she was a great swimmer and had won a swimming pageant.”
“I exclaimed, no way Jose!”
Enthusiastically she snapped her fingers over head and shouted “Yes, Jose!’
“I told her that I wanted my scientific study published by the AMA. I said that I would hypnotize her to think that she had super woman strength therefore able to hold heavy objects longer than anyone else ergo surpassing the record of all other women in the database. Plus the study would be conducted underwater, a feat never done before. It would be my fete’de-complee.”
She was delighted and said that she would never blow me off again. I asked if that was a promise and she said, ‘Yes.’
“I explained how hypnosis worked. No one will do under hypnosis what he or she wouldn’t do outside of hypnosis. Since I was going for a time-element record I needed her to stay under water for an inordinate amount of time. To do so, I would make her think that she was a fish.”
I said, “Makes sense, go on.”
“I added that I would tell her that she had Wonder Woman strength and could hold on to concrete overshoes forever if needed.”
By now I was convinced that his experiment was a valid scientific endeavor and his approach was nothing less than miraculous in concept and planning.
Continuing he said, “We got to the East River pier about 5:30 the next morning. I wanted to conduct the experiment and be back home before the local kids came to fish. In our haste to leave the house, she had forgotten to take her swimsuit. We agreed that I would turn my head while she stripped naked.”
She was delighted and said that she would never blow me off again. I asked if that was a promise and she said, ‘Yes.’
“I explained how hypnosis worked. No one will do under hypnosis what he or she wouldn’t do outside of hypnosis. Since I was going for a time-element record I needed her to stay under water for an inordinate amount of time. To do so, I would make her think that she was a fish.”
I said, “Makes sense, go on.”
“I added that I would tell her that she had Wonder Woman strength and could hold on to concrete overshoes forever if needed.”
By now I was convinced that his experiment was a valid scientific endeavor and his approach was nothing less than miraculous in concept and planning.
Continuing he said, “We got to the East River pier about 5:30 the next morning. I wanted to conduct the experiment and be back home before the local kids came to fish. In our haste to leave the house, she had forgotten to take her swimsuit. We agreed that I would turn my head while she stripped naked.”
“She was chilly and her nipples became hard. I had never witnessed that before. I brought her body close to mine to warm her up. I had never held a woman close like that before and it made me feel funny. Not my usual gay ha-ha funny, but an odd funny. I shook off my queer feeling as best that I could. My brain was now aroused, probably elevated because of the upcoming experiment. I held up my pocket watch and swung it back and forth. A couple minutes later she said, “It’s moving too fast.” My brain was still aroused and my hopes were rising in anticipation of the coming experiment. After another ten or 15 minutes she slipped under my spell. I said ‘You’re a fish. You are Wonder Woman. You will awaken and come to the surface when I say these words, “The world would be a better place without wars, malice, and hatred. Got it?”
“She said in a guttural tone, Yes I do. When I hear the words, the world would be a better place without wars, malice, and malice, I’m to wake up and surface.”
“I told her ‘NO! The word malice will be said only once followed by the word hatred. Do you understand now?”
She furrowed her brow and said, “I guess so.”
“I escorted her to the water’s edge, put a cement overshoe in each hand then gave her a push. In mid-flight I saw the moonlight glisten off her watch. I hoped that it was waterproof. I also noticed that some sea gulls were floating out in the water several yards away. The sun was trying to creep over the horizon and the breeze smelled a bit salty. By now I guessed that she had been underwater long enough to establish a new record. I leaned over the water and yelled, the world would be a better place without wars, malice and malice--NO, NO I mean hatred! HATRED!”
“But it was too late!”
“I’d have jumped in after her but I don’t swim. I almost cried all the way back to the car. When I got in, I saw that she had left her purse on the floor in front of her seat. There was no time to go back to put it with her neatly folded clothes because I saw some boys approaching with fishing poles.”
Autonomically, he raised his head and looked straight at me. “So you see Mr. Hammit, it was an accident.”
I could definitely see that it had been. And as such I couldn’t place him under Citizen’s Arrest. Hell, everybody makes mistakes don’t they? So why make a federal case out of it? Right?
The inspiration for this 6,692 word, 15-page story came from an email that I had sent to a friend on November 30, 2009 at 10:55 a.m. In that whimsical moment I wrote: “I found a body in the East River. He had cement overshoes but not wearing them. Instead he had one in each hand. I suspect suicide.” That silly comment lingered in my mind for several days and germinated into the story above. Satire is not my usual bill of fare but my mind just wouldn’t let go of these two sentences. On Friday, November 27 I began writing. I finished Friday, December 4, followed by many hours of editing and tweaking. I had fun writing it and I hope that you found some joy and laughter reading it. Bob
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“I told her ‘NO! The word malice will be said only once followed by the word hatred. Do you understand now?”
She furrowed her brow and said, “I guess so.”
“I escorted her to the water’s edge, put a cement overshoe in each hand then gave her a push. In mid-flight I saw the moonlight glisten off her watch. I hoped that it was waterproof. I also noticed that some sea gulls were floating out in the water several yards away. The sun was trying to creep over the horizon and the breeze smelled a bit salty. By now I guessed that she had been underwater long enough to establish a new record. I leaned over the water and yelled, the world would be a better place without wars, malice and malice--NO, NO I mean hatred! HATRED!”
“But it was too late!”
“I’d have jumped in after her but I don’t swim. I almost cried all the way back to the car. When I got in, I saw that she had left her purse on the floor in front of her seat. There was no time to go back to put it with her neatly folded clothes because I saw some boys approaching with fishing poles.”
Autonomically, he raised his head and looked straight at me. “So you see Mr. Hammit, it was an accident.”
I could definitely see that it had been. And as such I couldn’t place him under Citizen’s Arrest. Hell, everybody makes mistakes don’t they? So why make a federal case out of it? Right?
The inspiration for this 6,692 word, 15-page story came from an email that I had sent to a friend on November 30, 2009 at 10:55 a.m. In that whimsical moment I wrote: “I found a body in the East River. He had cement overshoes but not wearing them. Instead he had one in each hand. I suspect suicide.” That silly comment lingered in my mind for several days and germinated into the story above. Satire is not my usual bill of fare but my mind just wouldn’t let go of these two sentences. On Friday, November 27 I began writing. I finished Friday, December 4, followed by many hours of editing and tweaking. I had fun writing it and I hope that you found some joy and laughter reading it. Bob
Comments to: [email protected] Subject: weebly