Thursday, February 26, 2015

Out of the Wilderness (Blogophilia 1.8)






Sleep was futile.  Energy bounced through him and then back out again. He was more alive than he had ever been. Rushing blood and breathing were the white noise on which he worked. Carefully, he attached the last of the metal threads to their connectors.  It has to be just right. 

What was the guy’s name the priest mentioned the other night, John? Yeah, wandered the wilderness for the 40 days, with locusts and honey and desperation was his lot. He escaped only to bow to something greater.  It was a concept he was both familiar with and hated. HE was the greatest.  They will bow to me, not the other way around.

Lucifer Light was what they called him in the hospital. Keep the light away from him, he’ll burn you! Maybe. But they weren’t the pigs. They were their keepers and servants. Not worth the time.
Who needs a loin cloth or a tunic to prove greatness? Expanding gases and shrapnel will voice his arrival out of the wilderness, and it will make his way straight.

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The highball glass sat on table about half full. Silhouetted with the square bottle and row of crackers, it was a Still Life waiting to be painted. The gray and black with tinges of amber. Absently sipping the warm liquid, Murray became lost in his thoughts. Carol would nag him tomorrow, pointing out the liquor made him half of himself, closed up and stoic. Not the fun loving man locked up in its prison. She was right, she always was. He wasn’t a mean drunk, just needed to be alone. But putting it aside would have to wait until the axe falls, hopefully somewhere other than this house.

Beezelbub was going to lash out. But without a little more information, there was no probable cause for a search warrant. Since that drug raid that left the old lady dead, the process had been tightened up and you needed a real conspiracy. The where and how was what the Psychic couldn’t provide them, only that there would be no unfinished business. It wasn’t a dead end lead, just one without a hook to go forward.  No method or a place, it would be a fishing expedition. The Lawyers would love that. 

Was this personal? It sure seemed like it. Allen was the right personality to blame anyone but himself for the fire, or for any other misery that might have befallen him. An fuzzy image of him jumping over the table bubbled up.Pain flowed in his cheek as the broken teeth clamped down. Killing the messenger? In that twisted mind, surely that was what was happening.Smacking the Hound of Hell in the head with a pair cuffs got him off. Allen was screaming that he would avenge his cousin’s death. The last image of the hogtied form being carted off faded away.

Yeah, that grudge no amount of drugs would have erased and he had twelve years to hone it. 

Atlanta PD had been as a courtesy. If something did turn up on Allen, they would be the ones doing the searching. The call had actually been fruitful, though.  They had been tipped by a worker at a coffee shop about Allen’s behavior. He would come in with his laptop and spend hours fiddling with his settings before seeming to do real work. It confirmed in Murray’s mind that a direct IP trace wasn’t going to work.  But it was a small piece of the puzzle. There just wasn’t quite enough to justify either a warrant or continuous surveillance to glue those pieces together.  

The amber liquid twinkled in the moonlight, beckoning at least the escape from the reality of his thoughts. Picking it up, the cold blue eyes stared intently to see if this crystal ball might give a light in the fog. The interior silence gave up nothing and no one. There would be no snitching from inside his mind. Chiding himself on thinking it would, he slugged the drink down.

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The picture was a whim. Monkey Dirty Harry just struck him funny and he just had to share. Kicking a hornet’s nest was fun. He had learned to run in a zig zag pattern to confuse the lead insects.  The lead pigs would be looking for him like the hornets. And maybe they would find him before show time, but he didn’t think so. The trail to him was muddy and obscure and the bush that he hides in is not visible to the naked eye. 

Absently, he packed the remaining pipes and fittings into a storage container. Exhilaration tinged with a bit of dread filled him. Sarah would be avenged and those pig bastards that had ruined his life would be dead. Had he gotten all the wire? 

Surveying the apartment one last time, it appeared like it had never been occupied. Good. It would soon  be all over and he would not be coming back.



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Interesting challenge this week. Here's to another successful season.

Topic: Out of the Wilderness
Hard prompt: Three synonyms for Satan
Easy: Alcoholic drink 

Pic: Courtesy of Morguefile.com


Saturday, February 21, 2015

Monkey Business (Blogophilia 52.7)



As Murray left the small house, he thought to himself. The woman was an enigma. She would interesting to him if he had been single. The psychic crap never did much for him, but her energy was unmistakable.

The interview went well enough. Ms. Walker described how Allen had called for an appointment. She had worked with him when he first got out of Georgia Regional, but it had been about a year since she had last seen him. She had some errands to run, so set the appointment for after dinner. She was finishing up her Moo Goo Gai Pan when he got there. She cleaned up and went out to meet him.

From her earlier sessions, she knew he was schizophrenic.That wasn't uncommon among her clients. But th figure that met her had given pause. The face reminded her of Hercules after slaying the Hydra. His scent, sweat, exhaustion combined with the drivers of Hades, filled the room. The purpose of the meeting was to slow everything to focus, she knew that. Tea and small talk made him comfortable and relaxed where they could work. She went on to explain that most of the benefit from alternate spirituality is in participant’s head.

 Psychiatry by another name still smelled like bullshit, to Murray. But, who was he to judge?

The session had gone pretty smoothly until she noticed him looking the picture of the Castle. What had she called it? The Shiver of the Scythe? A Grim Reaper reference, Murray knew.  Allen kept talking about unfinished business and how Vlad the Impaler never used cheap tricks on his enemies, ones that didn’t last. No, tricks and events he used were permanent and so were the ones Allen planned. She quickly ran through the reading to get him out of there. Afterward he left; she saw case file online and couldn’t sleep.  

When he got back to headquarters, he was met with a mini conference that had congregated at his desk. Gomez, Jackson, Cap and two other detectives with frowns and crossed arms were waiting. What now?  Jackson waived him over, pointing at his computer screen.

Monkey
Has a friend
He wants to play
Today is your day. 

Detached words floating across the screen under the picture of a small chimp pointing a Glock at an unknown target. Murray’s eyes grew wide at the image.

“Dagnabit! When did THAT come in?” Murray asked.

“About fifteen minutes ago.” Jackson took a slug out a water bottle. “We all got a copy”

“Any idea who might have…” Murray broke off. “Never mind, I can guess.”

Captain Hudgins broke in “He’s upping his game. Allen must think we are stupid.”

“But, can we tie this to him?” Murray, turned to one of the other detectives. “See if Computer Forensics can to an IP search on this. Allen isn’t dumb, he probably knows how to hide his tracks, but it would be worth it to see if he originating computer was local.”


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Topic_Christine Wichman

Pic_Stephen Lee

Pic Guesses- Little friend (in blog), Bang, Fred J. Mugged, Smart? Monkey Business (in blog), 

Thursday, February 12, 2015

Lent (Blogophilia 51.7)



Moonlike, the face reflected the glow from the screen.

“..and now my Brothers and Sisters as we begin the quadragesimal journey into the personal wilderness that is Lent, we strive for a plan of  examination for our souls…” 

The white clad figure droned on. 

“Yeah, right.” Jeremy spoke at the screen. “I’m tired of being in the wilderness.”

Ever impatient, he pressed the remote button.

“..I’m feeling like a bad boy, mmm just like a bad boy. I’m ripping up a rag doll…”

The singer’s curls looked almost three dimensional on the little screen.  Jeremy smiled at the cute figure, knowing what was to come.

Click.

Blackness replaced the glow. There was a lot of data to process, and like the Priest said, a lot to plan. The forty days for him was up.

And yes, he was going to be very, very bad boy.

Pigs think they are smart, don’t they? They were too obvious rooting around those cars. They were in the wrong place for the hit. Who cares? It wasn’t time, yet. Two packages were safely tucked in the trunk and they didn’t know. Just put on a song and dance out the back seat and let them wonder.    

Time out.

Tomorrow is go time. 

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Topic-Doris Emmett.

Pic-Heather Blomquist

Pic Guesses-Wonderland, Lost, Proper education, Dreaming, Hero,

Saturday, February 7, 2015

Tailights (Blogophilia 50.7)



The crimson taillights of rush hour snaked slowly up the freeway. Outlines of warehouses and cheap stores were lit by scarlet remains of the day. Silence in the car was broken only by random squawks, routing units to small dramas around the county. The oppressive tension, as each man pondered what they had seen.  

Finally Gomez broke the silence

“So, what were we watching back there?”

“Not really sure. Maybe a rehearsal for something?” Murray jerked the wheel to get around a particularly slow sedan.

“Yeah, that was kind of what I was thinking, a waltz with an invisible partner.”

“More like the Masochism Tango.”

Laughter broke the tension.

“Yeah, he looks like that four-eyed geek.” Gomez took a sip of his soda. “I used to listen to him when I was a kid.” 

“Do you think he saw us?” Murray scratched along the edge of his bald spot.

“I doubt it. He looked like he was possessed.” Gomez turned down the radio. “Like that old show, ‘Outer Limits.’ Remember how it used to come on and say that they controlled your TV? I think our boy there was controlled by some outside force.”

Traffic slowed as they approached the 316 exit. Two cruisers were on the shoulder. Three cars were lined up like ducklings in various stages of damage. Just a simple damage claim and everyone had to watch. 

“Yeah, kind of like what we have now. ‘Oooh, look at the pretty blue and red lights.’” 

Murray tapped the horn and went around the car in front of him. The other driver responded with his middle finger. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted with the ring of his phone.

“Lt. Murray…Yeah?” He motioned to Gomez for a pen. 

“Give me the name” He wrote while keeping one eye on the car in front of him. “Sandra Walker... Address?...Where is that?... Atlanta? OK… Yeah, Cap, we just saw Allen as we were leaving the Torres notification...No, I still don’t think he’s involved in the hookers, but I am wondering if he isn’t planning something to piggyback on them...We’re on our way back, we’ll call her and see if it is worth pursuing. See ya in a few.”  He clicked off

“What was that about?”

“Some Psychic lady down in the City just called in to Crimestoppers. Said our boy Jeremy was planning some kind of revenge.”



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Topic-Dave Raider

Pic-Lika Scaliente

Pic guesses: Ducklings (in blog), Lakeside, Picnic,