Saturday, January 31, 2015

Rehearsal (Blogophilia 49.7)

Turning into the complex, the sun blinded him. Dazed and confused, he wasn’t sure why he was here. When he left, he absolutely was convinced it was the right time. But somewhere mid-drive the realization that a dry run was needed came to his thoughts. The choreography needed to be just right. This place had a cul-de-sac like the Graves and he could test a couple of things without the residents knowing. 

A space was open, good. Carefully parking the car, he turned off the engine sat for a moment. Anticipation pushing on Control, it was tempting just to go ahead and do it here. But It that would be like completing an out-of-bounds pass at the Tech-Georgia game. It wouldn’t gain any yards, just lose precious seconds on the clock. Murray would not come until after the fun, and all there would be is a hoard of angry cops. This was not an option. But, he could work out a couple of kinks in the process. 

Focus returned. This was the place he was supposed to be. Maybe the stupid psychic was a genius after. Who else but him knew that there is not great genius without a mixture of madness? Opening the door, he looked back towards the entrance to the complex. No traffic going in or out and no people at the breezeway entrances. This shouldn’t take long.

 He sang softly to himself as he went through the walk through.

"Overture! Curtain! Lights! This is it. the night of nights..."

Murray and Gomez stood just behind the corner of one of the buildings. 

“So, why do you think he’s here?”

“Not a clue, but it sure is strange.”

“Ready for back up?”

“Not yet. I don’t want to blow our cover.”

Murray motioned for Gomez to go around the back of the building. Ducking low, he worked his way along  the parked cars and took a position behind an old Mercedes. The view from behind the roof pillar gave him a clear view and the rather bizarre antics only thirty feet away.

Pacing up and down along the passenger side of the Toyota, it appeared that Jeremy was placing something under the car. He repeated the motions three or four more times and then stood up and pulled a notebook out of his back pocket. He jotted something done and looked around. Comfortable in the process, Jeremy then walked toward one building and stopped to look at his watch. He repeated this a couple more times and then wrote some more.

What was he doing?  Murray still didn’t think he had PC to make contact yet. He glanced behind him at Gomez, whose face mirrored his own puzzlement. With a nod, Gomez signaled retreat and the detectives slithered back the way they came. When they got back to the car, they cranked it up and slipped unnoticed into the afternoon traffic. 


Topic-Tyler Myrth

Pic-Christine Wichman

Pic Guesses: Beary nice, Drawing a conclusion, Perfect, Paddington Place, Where's Pooh.

Friday, January 16, 2015

Maria Torres (Blogophilia 48.7)

From inside the door, an owl like apparition gazed out at the detectives. She was dressed in a high neck blouse and jeans.  The eyes and hair were dark and her face bore the lines of a hard life. Their reason for being at the door was all but certain to her. Sadness bloomed over the face. The little girl she was holding slipped down to the floor and hid behind her, wary of the strangers. The woman hesitated a moment, not wanting to plunge into the darkness spreading over her. 

Si, I am Maria Torres and Diego es mi herm…He is my brother.  Forgive me, my English not so good. The news…can not be good if Policia is involved.” She took a step back. “Please come in” 

Entering the apartment, the smell of fresh tortillas and chilies enveloped them. The two men saw a neat and tidy living room.  A small altar to Guadelupe, lit with candles, stood in the corner near the kitchen. A gray sofa and table stood at along the wall opposite the door.  Stopping just inside, Gomez took the woman’s hand. 

Si, Señora Torres, the news is not good.’ Gomez replied, measuring his words carefully, “Diego Aguirre ha muerto. Le encrotamos tiro. Siento su perdida.”

The coal black eyes grew wide.  A sound began softly and then grew loud.

“¡NO!.. ¿Porque?” She screamed and began to shake. Murray and Gomez grabbed her shoulders and eased her on to the sofa. Her daughter began to cry in sympathy.  If anything was true across the universe, it is the reaction sudden death. It is something you never get used to.  The daughter climbed into her mother’s lap and looked her in the eyes.

“¿Mami? ¿Tio Diego es muerto?”

The small voice seemed to shock her back to reality. The eyes locked together for a few seconds. Through her tears, Maria took the small face in her hand. Kissing the tear stained cheek she whispered in her ear. The little girl left the room and ran down the hall. A door closed and the room became a little calmer. Reaching in his coat, Gomez offered the clean handkerchief kept for notifications.Kind gestures were always appreciated in this horrible business and tended to open the grieving up. She took the cloth and covered her face, wailing at the certainty of fate.  Gomez sat next to her, arm around her in sympathy. The detectives kept silent. They knew she had no family to speak of here and they were her only support. 

The room became as quiet as a church, punctuated only with the sniffles of grief. Maria rose from the sofa and approached the shrine. Taking a tapered candle from the rack on the side, she lit one of the smaller lights and knelt before the icon. The tears ended after the prayer. She returned to the sofa much lighter.

“Forgive me, Señores…I…have feared this day for a long time.”

Opening his notepad, Murray spoke up.

Señora, I know this is a bad time, but Diego was found in my jurisdiction. I have been assigned to find his killer and we will need some information. When was the last time you saw him?”

Maria dabbed at the corner of  her left eye and sighed. 

“A…about two weeks ago.” 

She blew her nose. 

“He had called me asking if I had heard from one of his girls. Diego was…how do you say…a Pimp, always putas around him. I heard they found her on the road out here. I became scared for him…and for me.”

“Why?” Murray was writing furiously. 

Maria stopped and covered her face. The dark memories rose up like a demon. In a whisper, she said. “I am also of those… putas.  I was taken when I was 14 as payment on mi Papa’s debt. That night plays in my dreams. My face was covered and…”

 Looking down, she crossed herself, and then continued.

 “I was brought up here. There were several moves. Houston, Dallas… I remember. Other places, I was only there little time and not allowed to go out. The Pimp would just say, ‘pack up’, and we would go.”  Her shoulders bore the shame of the revelation.

“Was Diego working for the same people as you?”

Si. We called them El Potro, The horse. The leader, es llame Roberto, he came from a wealthy family in my village. Very vicious man. One who always did what he wanted, no matter how many people died.” She paused to dab her eyes with cloth. “He was always tricking people into owing him money. When they wouldn’t play, he would just kill them. If they couldn’t pay…”

“Diego, he came up after me. It always seemed we were meant to fall apart, then fall back together again. He seemed so small when I left.”

“But he had changed. He was one of them, you know? Sauntering about, bossing us around. But, he did get me off the street not long after he came. He said I was too good to be with riffraff and should be saved for better men.  So, I am, I think they call it, a “call girl”. It is better because I can shelter Beatriz and Ami from what I do.”  

“Those are your daughter’s names?”

Si, the one you saw is Ami.” Maria smiled and looked back toward the halls. “She is seven. Beatriz is staying with a friend and she is ten. Both good girls, very smart and obedient.”

Murray smiled at that. Kids always are the hope. “You mentioned the leader’s name was…Roberto? Do you know his last name?”

“The family name is Cardenas, but I don’t know if uses that or his Mama’s name. I haven’t seen him in a long time. Not since Dallas. Since Diego came here, he was my contact”

Gomez looked at Murray. They knew they had put her through enough. Closing his notebook, he stood. But there was one more question they need an answer for before they left. With a nod, Gomez spoke.
“Señora, we only have one more question right for you and we will leave. Diego had a tattoo on his neck reading ‘La Paloma’. Do know what it means?”

“Doves.”  Maria pulled the collar of her shirt back to show hers. “El Potro always called us The Mourning Doves.” A look of accomplishment ran across the worn face.  “A skill learned by accident not long after I was taken. Done well, it would drive men crazy and make them want more. Happy, repeat customers meant more money.  It was a way to, how do you say…brand us different from the other putas.”

With a repeat of the condolences, Murray gave Maria his business card. They both agreed they would be back in touch.

As they were leaving,  Murray looked towards the apartment complex entrance.  Just in time to see the beige Toyota pull in. 


Welcome to Blogophilia and my serial series.

Topic (Across the universe) Sharonlee Goodhand.

Pic-Christine Wichman.

Pic Guesses: Owl (in blog). Hidden, Surprise, I see you, but you don't see me, Who?, grayscale, wide eyes.

Thursday, January 8, 2015

Nightmare (Blogophilia 47.7)

Blinding light … Intense heat flashed across her face as she turned toward the noise, a car splintering into pieces along with the people around it.  A body was hurled into the tree…

The dull thud of impact woke her, sweat pouring from her face. The deep red sunrise peeked through the gray slatted blinds. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sandy ran her fingernails along the damp fabric of her nightgown and tried to breathe normally. This one was more than vivid, she was THERE. The images were worrisome. In all the years she had been working the Psychic gig, dreams this intense usually were triggered by someone outside of her

There had only been the one client, Jeremy. He truly was dangerous. Obsessed with his enemies and hell bent on revenge.  The Zima she had after seeing him wouldn’t have done it, since she didn’t chase it with any Xanax. She had learned that moderation in all things made the next morning a lot more pleasant.

Using a floral hankie to her to wipe the water off her face, she sat on the edge of the bed. The bodice of her nightgown was soaked, cleavage almost fully exposed. Jeremy’s face came to her mind while stripping the wet gown off. Slipping the panties off, she faced judgment before the mirror.

The body looking back at her was trim, with well formed breasts that seem to defy age and gravity. A face with only small lines and a belly was taut and smooth all the way to the garden.  A wealthy client had offered her access to her surgeons, but she had turned it down. Jack used to say good wine ages naturally and she was the finest vintage. Why mess with a good thing? 

The small hands stroked down from ribs to nipples and she let out a small sigh and smiled. Memories of him coming in saying “Ce qui pour le diner” with his head traveling down made her shudder. Feather touches and blazing passion surrounded her. The fire still was there; maybe someday she’d find the right one. 

She really needed to pee.Quickly, she stepped into the bathroom and sat. 

Human weakness and insecurity paid her bills. They weren’t pretty enough, wealthy enough or skinny enough.People needing assurance that either they were more special or the specialness was just around the corner. The skill spinning stories with the Tarot deck provided that comfort to most of her clients. As she finished up, another thought came. 

Jeremy. If he wasn’t so crazy, he might be an interesting lay. But the quick search of his past ended any and all chances of that. Crazy had been with her more than once with painful and violent results before she had met Jack. She wasn’t going there again. She knew absolutely he was a runaway train and the final outcome was going to be his death.  

What scared her was that others would be taken out with him

Instead of starting the shower, she picked up her phone.

And in the mists, Sarah smiled. They were going to be reunited after all.

Forgot the guesses.

Topic-Lika Scaliese

Pic: Tyler Myth.

Pic Guesses-Cleavage (in blog) Decolletage, Heaven, Dreamland, Best assets, Come Hither, Baby Time, 

Friday, January 2, 2015

Moonlight (Blogohphilia 45.7)

Moonlight fell over the yard. It reflected in the green eyes that followed Jeremy as he climbed the steps. The tuxedo coat was slightly raised in alarm. His hand reached out to scratch on the ears, but the cat bolted into the brush alongside the house. That’s right run. Just like those fools will when I get finished with this. 

Dodging metal and plastic debris as he headed to the kitchen, he thought maybe a little music for the background? A box marked “For the Solstice” sat with a dust coating over the top. Jeremy’s curiosity got the best of him. He opened and found a large number of compact discs laid out in neat rows. ”The spirits must really be with me”, he thought.  

Frowning to himself as he picked through the pile, he wasn’t finding the one song for the work. Title’s like “Equinox” and “Night of the Living Dregs” didn’t resonate with him. They were just so much noise, in his book.The he saw the old Chicago album. Yes, that was it. He remembered someone playing it at the hospital. The chant at the beginning was mesmerizing. Could it really be true?

A small boom box was on the table in the corner of the kitchen. Sliding the disc into the player the mechanism spun up, and sound of the 1968 Democratic Convention riots flew out of the speakers.

“The whole world’s watching! The whole world’s watching! The whole world’s watching…

The chant faded into a guitar solo and Jeremy smiled. 

Yes, they will be watching, as I set fire to the rain and turn passerby into mincemeat with no spice added. Everyone will know Jeremy Alvin Allen as someone to fear and not some broken Kelpie sitting in a mental ward. Images of Kelpies amused him. Mythical creatures resembling horse, their power was drawing the humans in close to destroy them, just like he was about to do. 

The Toyota would be the bait. It made sense. Murray had already seen him in it and probably had the plate. Blood would be smeared on the passenger side window and spilled on the sidewalk outside the door. When it is done, it should look like something horrible had happened and the body was moved. The car would then be parked at the Graves near where they found the girl and a 911 call placed. 

And while everyone was scratching their heads, the surprise would come. 

The blood was easy. A quick stop at an Asian market netted him two pints of pork blood. Pigs blood for pigs. 

The big finish still had to be built, though. 

Quickly stepping back to the work table, he picked up one of the pipes. The first end cap had already been fastened, so all that was needed was the power charge and blasting cap. In a few minutes it was together. Now, how big should they be? Two sticks, maybe three?  Big enough to scatter them to the winds. 

The test bomb only had one and it had utterly destroyed the stump. This time it had to make a car disappear. He could test one on the old truck in the barn, but time is of the essence. 

White pipes were filled and wires attached. He added the detonator, then the Velcro belt he had picked up at the hardware store to attach it to bottom of the car. 

If he hurried, he might be able to get it set up for the evening news.


Topic-Trevor Clower

Pic-Irene Melgoza 

Pic guesses-High Heeled Sneakers, Tiger Paws, Roar, Glittering Gats, Party time,