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| BBL
and his various creations are taking off some time to give medical folk the opportunity to perform many magical wonders. As soon as we know when he can return, you will know. Meanwhile, he suggests you fill those lonely hours reading The Hangman's Son. Upon his return, there will be a quiz. |
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Chapter 23 |
I had Joe Buckner's number and address. Can't ever tell when one might need a good welder who likes the Giants. » I thanked Joe, gave him his clothes back, Bluebird and I went to the room where we met Hammer, I got dressed, and we packed and split. » "He's a sheriff's deputy?" I demanded, not even pretending to disguise the alarm in my voice. "Bingo," said Hammer, then cut off the call. » "You happen to find out where they're from or what they want?" I asked. "No, but the guy who's toasting now is one of Al Mann's colleagues." » "What happened?" I asked. "Fellow was smoking in the car. Leaky gas tank. I did get him to call his buddies first. New Buick LaCrosse, too." » "Four of them?" I asked. "All four," he answered, "carrying nothing. No casualties except for the guy guarding their car." » Joe's phone rang, he answered and held the receiver out to me. "For you." I took it and it was Hammer. "All clear," he said. » Joe called the desk and was told it was a car on fire in the parking lot, nothing to be alarmed about, "Unless it's my car," said Joe. » Bluebird rightly pointed out that Miami had put up a pretty good scrap for never passing the ball. More talk, then we heard fire engines. » While the three of us waited for Hammer, we discussed the NY-Miami game, which Bluebird had watched on her iPad. » Joe might be a long lost relative. Before the Steelers won (two games in a row!) and before I put on too many pounds, Bluebird arrived. » "Who do you like?" I asked. "Against the Patriots? Anybody." I ordered a sumptuous snack-a-rama from room service on me and settled in. » Returning to Joe's room, I said, "I've sent for help, but it will take awhile." He held his hand out toward the TV. "Steelers and Pats." » With the ice bucket I walked down the hall toward the elevator where the ice machine was located. Passing the room, I saw it was occupied. » Bluebird was within a few minutes of the motel, Hammer would take twenty-five minutes. Joe loaned me a pair of jeans and a tee shirt. » I put in calls to Hammer and Bluebird, letting them in on the situation. We decided to leave them alone unless they left carrying stuff. » It didn't look as though my visitors were going to leave. Nothing irreplaceable there, but the files Al Mann gave me could come back on him. » There was some muffled discussion, then the man said, "Cancel the order" and hung up. A foie gras or nothing bunch. Joe burst out laughing. » I called my room, a gravely voice answered, "Yeah?" With my best French accent, I told him the foie gras was off, would he like truffles? » He turned the sound on and went back to the game. I was amazed. I rooted for the Giants and they actually won. Joe let me use the phone. » "And there's not one of 'em who couldn't do a better job of being president than the clown who's trying to learn the job now." » "What's that?" I asked. "I got to go for whoever the GOP puts up. A bunch of idiots, weasels, flip-floppers, and whackos." He looked at me. » "Then who do you vote for?" I asked, genuinely curious. Joe shook his head sadly and said, "That's the sad state of affairs these days." » His frown deepened. "Don't trust him. He seems like he's on a mission to deny his inner Democrat. The rest about the same." » "Kinda like Cain, but the 999 thing is nutty. Gingrich is smart but nobody likes him. Bachman can't keep her foot out of her mouth. Romney." » "I liked that Christie fellow. Now he's for sure gone, I don't know." He gestured toward the TV as though that's where the candidates lived. » "Everybody's after your vote this election," said Joe. "Who are you for?" I asked. His lower lip protruded as he frowned. » "Not a Republican?" I inquired. "That's just the trouble: I am a Republican. You?" I shrugged. "I'm what you might call an independent." » The TV landed on a couple of pundits discussing George Romney. He growled and practically crushed the remote changing channels. » His raised eyebrows indicated a missing occupation. "Right now I'm up here for my health and running for my life." He laughed and surfed. » Halftime came up and the man hefted the remote and began surfing. "My name's Joe Buckner. Up here on a welding job." I smiled. "Bob Black." » "If you're hiding a gun in that outfit, your tough enough to take down a little thing like that steel door." I nodded. "I see what you mean." » I sat, put my feet up on the Ottoman, and said, "Even a stranger who breaks into your room? I might have a gun." He laughed. » "Amen," said I. He offered me the chair and climbed back into his bed. "Always more fun having someone to watch with," he said. » "I do. I'm for the Giants, if that makes a difference." He grinned and held out his hand. As I shook it he said, "May Eli's aim be true." » "Probably Federal," he said. "Either that or the mob. No one else in Maine'd wear a suit in a motel, even if it is Sunday. Watch the game?" » "They cops or crooks?" he asked. "To be perfectly honest, I don't know. They were wearing suits." He thought on that, then went back to bed. » He was in his fifties and had the Dolphins-Giants game on his TV. "Four armed men just broke into my room." I explained my escape. » I went in, closed the door, turned to see a fellow coming out of the bathroom wearing bottoms and tops. "Wrong room?" he inquired. » It was Sunday, the games were on, hence the lazy ought to be in abundance. Sure enough, only five doors down from mine was one cracked open. » Lazy lockers are those who, when nipping out on a brief errand, leave their doors partway open so as not to have to screw with magnetic keys » When four armed visitors went in the door of my room, I nipped out the adjoining room's door & ran down the hall looking for lazy lockers. » Chapter 23. Curious with what one escapes when the pressure is on. In my case it was my iPad and a pair of pyjama bottoms. Embarrasing. |
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| ↑ Chapter 22 ↑ |
Have to get back to you---Dolphins 14, Giants 10. Damn! » Opened Hammer & Brad's door, and checked out the cleaning staff. Must have some union: 4 of them in suits armed with Glocks. » Blackbird here: Hate to interrupt the poetry party. The maid knocked, wants to clean. I called for just clean towels and went in next room. » on display ///quincy never told us that /// a tummy full of brains / a head full of dirty diapers /// hello eternity ........ns » then before they sew it up / they stuff the brain pan / with pampers / so it wont leak / all over the pillow / when they put the body / » afterlife afterthought / the autopsy / when they finish / they dump the brain / into the gut cavity / along with the other organs / » BBL: The following was written after the funeral about an event embracing life and afterlife, illustrating the edge on his humor. » oh hell oh hell oh hell /// she is dead / i hope i never feel any of this ......ns » thats why / we dont know death / when we see it coming / thats why / we keep dying / and killing /// » there we sip coffee / and nibble at crackers / and say hi to each other / as we gauge our chances / of outlasting the others /// » a vanity play / in which the main player / has no lines / yet / must pay to appear / a first night closer /// » let us feel the cold cold flesh / and watch rot and gravity pull it from / the bones /// but they dont / they show us / instead / » show us the rot / the maggots / the grinning skulls / splash the blood on the / ceilings walls and floors / fill the air with the stench / » / flushed into the sewer / to feed the rats /// /// /// cry out / show us deaths face / you frauds / so we can recognize it / » no one mentions / what went on downstairs / with the knives / the pumps and hoses / the needles and thread / all of that once precious blood » surround it with / flowers chatter and song / so no one can smell the rot / or hear death eating /// » put suits on it / dresses / with long dark sleeves / they stick death in / impenetrable crates / of wood plastic and zinc / » isnt she natural / so lifelike / it looks like shes just sleeping / the american funeral waltz /// they hide death / powder it / rouge it / » BBL: One of Sunday's most powerful writings was the following composed after his mother's suicide titled "the viewing." » i beat him again / just to make sure / he understands / the real meaning of love ............ns » i do not know / the meaning of love /// in the hospital / lying there / he is watching star drek / with his one good eye / » but he requires payment / she says /// he wants all that we are / in exchange for / what he hopes we will become /// he tells me /// me /// » for security / for love / how can rage be so black /// cut rate harry /i owe him my mind / my freedom / my future / she says » She is here / there / everywhere / how can she be everywhere / and still not see me /// she cannot throw me away / for respectability / » BBL: Harry Douglas, almost Nathan's stepfather, was beaten and hospitalized. "tough love" was written after the 2nd beating. » what do you see there /// its all right / you can say that word / here ........ns » windows / what we are inside / is ever so much more interesting / than what we allow others / to see /// please / look into my eyes » BBL: What follows is a Nathan Sunday poem written about the time social worker Brian Turbyville was found floating in South River. » BBL: It would be interesting if Blackbird visited me, but that will never happen. It's been done to death. Better check the doors though. » Blackbird: That means he has to pee again. Later. » BBL: Okay. It'll take a little while to set up. » Blackbird: And I know what kind of shape yours is in. Put on the poems. » BBL: My, wouldn't that be interesting? Of course, I know what shape your back is in. » Blackbird: We've had this conversation before. As long as I'm in Maine anyway, what if I dropped by your place & said hello? » BBL: I can do that. You know, if you make requests like this, some may conclude that you're not a fictional character. » Blackbird: Got any of those serial killer poems done to background The Hangman's Son? I need to bow out for a bit. » BBL: I'm here. What's happening? » Ever since have been saddled with the Giants and Eli Manning passing the ball to the other side. Think I'll take a shower. BBL, U there? » Picked the Giants a couple years ago when everybody was being such pains in the ass re: the Pat's. So, Super Bowl I picked NY AND WON! » Oh let us check our USA Today app and see which bunch of losers I can root for today . . . NY Giants play Miami at 1PM. Go Giants. » Another day in bed in a motel. What to do? Local Internet is down. MiFi is slow, but useable. Can't post the Catchup tweets. A game? » Good thing I ran out of characters. Pain. What's the point? After I've clued in that something's wrong and seen the MD, what? » Chapter . Sorry about the interruption. Half taken up with hollering about leg pain, the other half zonked out on meds. Fun, you say? |
3:00 AM. Phone ringing. I
grabbed it and punched it on. "Yeah."
"Death, Torio. I'm going to kill you the same way you killed the Rizzo brothers—" "Thank you," I interrupted. "You have reached the number for Assholes Anonymous. Congratulations on this your first step in getting honest with yourself. At the tone leave your name, address, and asshole size, and we'll be happy to send a truck by as soon as a vehicle large enough becomes available. Beeeep!" I listened for a moment, but the only sound appeared to be something gurgling or gasping for air. No message. I punched off the phone. "I guess he isn't ready yet." ---Joe Torio in THE HANGMAN'S SON |
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| ↑ Chapter 21 ↑ |
Midnight, leg hurts, pain pills making me sleepy, time to take the gun out of Bluebird's hand, turn off the lights and sleep. Vacation. » I don't feel badly about what we did at Penny's, but this whole trip has put a new wrinkle on a "busman's holiday." » The only one who would have been missed was Penny because of school. Since she is the only one left, used to paying the bills, she's OK. » How can a horror like Penny's family go on as long as it had. None of them had proper jobs. No visitors or meter readers. » Why is Al putting life and limb on the job for squat pay and bottom drawer treatment from his boss? Dedication? Al's as old as I am. » Top of the 9th, Texas up, 1 out, 2 outs. St. Louis fans going crazy. A fly, it's caught, and that's it. Cards win. Leg pain at 7. » Some people get cranky about being pulled over simply because they're weaving all over the road an tossing empties out the window. » "Isubordinate," is the favorite word used on his evaluations. Low rank, never missed a day except twice when wounded. » I've got the file on Al Mann that Hammer's guy got for me. Checking it between shooting pains and Card runs. » It's 11:00 o'clock. Do you know where your children are? Top of the 8th. Rangers look as though they've lost heart. » Frank wasn't at school but Brad mingled and found out about Frank's friend Brody. The word is that Brody's done time. » Hammer called, said he and Brad are staying near a friend of Frank's near Saco. Cards get another run. It seems written. » Chapter . Blackbird here, in bed, sick as 3 dogs, Cards lead the Rangers 5-2. |
My gaze lowered to a
green Buick stuck in traffic next to the bus. In the rear window was
the face of an angelic little girl. Seven or eight years old. Brown
eyes, black hair, and a tasteful sprinkling of freckles. She stuck her
tongue out at me and made a face. I mouthed the words, “I know where you live,” grinned
malevolently, and drew my thumb slowly across my throat.
As the bus crept forward a few feet and braked, I slumped down, my knees a- gainst the seat in front of me, and let my head sink to the back of my seat. “Man,” said Yukiko, “look at that traffic jam. We’re going to be stuck here all day.” “Too bad,” responded Geraldine. “I got me a weak bladder.” I checked to make certain that Geraldine was not within tinkle range, then closed my eyes and allowed the drugs to hijack me back to Goofytown. ---Joe Torio in JUST ENOUGH ROPE |
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| ↑ Chapter 20 ↑ |
I quietly thanked
Blackbird for rescuing someone else from that life:
me. He let me do the killing, too. Always a gentleman, that Blackbird. » "Paul Draykol rescued me from that," he said. I shook my head. "No. To him he was rescuing himself from it, over and over again. Big club." » I had to laugh. "Yeah. It's only the nature of it that makes it seem like you're all alone; that you're the only one it's happening to." » "Then would come the drinking," I said, "then the beatings," I said. He stared at me. "You too?" I nodded. "It's a real big club, Brad." » Brad seemed to shake the tears out of his head, forcing them away from his eyes. "He called me a little control freak. Him!" » At last he said, "It's like a timescope looking to my past. I would try to keep my room neat like that, but my old man would rip it up." » An I always thought urban hog wallows were a myth. A few empty bottles lying about. When we got back in the car, Brad was very quiet. » No chargers or space for a computer. Don't believe in them, according to Maw Baby Doll. On the way out I peeked in at the master bedroom. » "What do you think of this?" I asked Brad. "Looks like my room," he said. "A place for everything and everything in its place." » Clothes in the closet sorted by type, color, and all hanging in the same directtion, each hanger spaced evenly apart. Not a spec of dust. » Chapter 20. Frank's room would make a military barracks look sloppy. Everything put away, clothes in the drawers folded. » |
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| ↑ Chapter 19 ↑ |
Lots of booze in the kitchen. "We do like to party," she explained. She asks if we wanted to see Franks room. We did, yes. » As Blackbird would say, "She don't know nothin'." Her husband took care of that. The kitchen was interesting: Telemarketing from home. » We say we're looking into Frank's bullying career, she assumes I'm a cop and Brad is yet another victim of her son's anger issues. » She has on one of those baby doll nighty-maternity blouse things the kids are wearing. On young girls it looks stupid. On older women, too. » Modern looking, clean. Mowed lawn, respectable shrubs and flower beds whacked down for the winter. Frank's mom is dressed in ratty jeans. » Each house is faced or set back different than the ones on either side, different colors, too. I looked through Images, so it's a row house. » Frank's family lives in a development of ... when two of them are ganged together it's a duplex. Twenty ganged together? Not row houses. » *Sabving his life. See what Blackbird means about typos.* So Brad stayed quiet, thinking, until we pulled into Frank the bully's driveway. » "My best friend?" Brad fell silent and thought long and hard about Paul Draykol, the man who rescued him from Hell--for a year. » I put the car into cruise control to keep down the speed. "In the process of sabving your life, Blackbird also killed your best friend." » "Blackbird saved my life, took me in. But I've got this anger ... angry with him. I don't understand why." Blackbird said he'd ask me. » Smart kid. Asks a lot of questions, listens to the answers, makes up his own mind. On our way to Bully Frank's, Brad's got a question. » Blackbird's in bed jonesing for something that will kill his leg pain, Bluebird is manning the guns in case of visitors. Brad's with me. » The lawyer says, don't say anything. What did the Solyndra crooks in front of the Congressional crooks at that hearing. The 5th, man. Big 5. » I know Blackbird codes everything and sometimes used the tweets to plant misinformnation, but in the house of slams, what's the lawyer say? » Chapter 19. This is Hammer and up front I think hitters tweeting to the world is dumb. Half the world is made up out of cops and informers. |
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| ↑ Chapter 18 ↑ |
Cards homer. There will be a
seventh game. The pain's eased up, so I'll
say goodnight. » I helped Penny a bit to clean up. Killed my leg, though. Bottom of the 10th 9-9. Brad approves of Penny and what we've done. » Texas walks Pujoles. Winning 1 strike away ... Again. Base hit & run. It's 9-9. Top of the 10th. Whoever wins this game will have earned it. » We did that, along with enough of their stuff, making it look as though they had gone off on a trip. Cards get a run. 9-8 Texas. » Her father, mother and brother wouldn't do anything. In fact, they told her to keep quiet about it. So if we would help her bury the bodies ... » Top of the 10th, Texas homers. 9-7. Lyle had not dumped Penny. She had called it off, she had been so horrified at being pregnant by her uncle. » One strike away from Texas winning, St. Louis gets two runs, 7-7. Penny answered our questions and satisfied me she wasn't our killer. » Top of the 9th, still 7-5. We got in there before Natalie expired, but Penny told us to let her go. We did and she went. 1 out to go. » Greg and Jeb decided to do a Waco and Hammer took out both with Kerry's rifle. Natalie got hysterical, slashed her wrists. » About our visit with the Starks, Bluebird was partially correct. Going in armed helped get their attention. » Everyone is asleep, Hammer, Brad, and the dog in the adjoining room. Bluebird looks like an angel when sleeping--St. Louis homered: 7-5. » Chapter 18. 11PM, Blackbird here full of pain pills, pain at 6, Texas at 7, St. Louis at 4. Bottom of the 7th. A mixed investigative day. |
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| ↑ Chapter 17 ↑ |
Bluebird grinned as she began walking down the drive toward the house, leaving her gun in her hand. "I bet it's going to help. A lot." » "How so?" asked Hammer. I shrugged. "Call me crazy, but I think killing Kerry is going to put a crimp in our questioning of the Starks." » "He's dead," said Hammer. "Go look, if you want." Brad glanced at me and I nodded back at him. He went to look. "Pity, that," I said. » Brad got up and looked toward the woods from whence Kerry's voice had once emerged. "Anybody going to check him out?" » "...You exercise your strength in order to climb higher tomorrow," she completed. "Thank you," I said. "Had a brain fart." » "Either you already reach a higher point today," I quoted as Brad hit the dirt and I aimed and fired, "or you exercise ..." I frowned. » "In the mountains of truth," said Bluebird, "you never climb in vain." Ah. She was quoting Nietzsche. "What's she talkin'?" demanded Kerry. » "Ain't nothin' concernin' you here, cop!" he shouted. I glanced at Bluebird, rather at a loss for a sentence with the word 'today' in it. » "Well, Kerry, we're kind of curious about the sleeping arrangements at your place." Kerry issued a couple of rather raw expletives. » "We're here to talk with your sister,"I said. Long l-o-n-g silence. "What you want to talk to her for?" I smiled and put laughter in my voice. » "Brad," whispered Bluebird, "When Blackbird says the word 'today,' fall down flat on your face as fast as you can." Brad mouthed, "Okay." » I managed to get the silencer on the .44 without too much body movement. "Is that you, Kerry?" I called. "Who wants to know?" he answered. » Keeping Brad's body between me and Kerry, I drew my Anaconda. "Don't do nothin' funny," the boy said with a reedy voice. "Got a gun here." » Young man with a rifle; presumably Kerry Stark. No blaze orange, hence not the usual sort of hunter. Bluebird already had her gun in hand. » While Brad continued with the history of Kennebec County, I looked over his shoulder at the trees and bushes behind him. Young man there. » "Do not react," I whispered."Talk to me." Brad was quick on the uptake, realizing immediately what I wanted. "Kennebec County was ..." » Brad was frowning, apparently angry at the entire family. I saw his eyebrows jump as we all heard movement in the woods behind Brad. » "Weeds, broken down farm equipment, a bit of pot--not enough to be commercial. They appear to be living off good old Uncle Jeb." » "They are Penny's to kill, unless and until she says different," I cautioned. I nodded toward the curve inb the drive. "What kind of crops?" » "170 thou doesn't go very far these days," said Hammer, checking the load in his Glock 17. I held up a restraining hand. » I rubbed the back of my neck. "I can think of a number of persons Penny should kill, none of them being Lyle." » "He does and everyone knows what he did to Penny. Everyone also knows that Uncle Jeb is a minor lottery winner, to the tune of $170,000." » "The reason for Penny's breakup with Lyle, her pregnancy, was a gift of her Uncle Jeb." I frowned. "Jeb still lives there?" » She faced me. "Living there are five members of the Stark family: Greg and Natalie, their two kids, J. Kerry and Penny, and Uncle Jeb. » "I put the time to good use." She pointed down the drive to a curve. "Around that bend is a farm house only a bit better than the barn." » "I thought so, too," I answered, "but my back and leg appear to twitch to a different drummer. Sorry about having to wait." » Chapter 17. "I thought you were coming here before you went to the doctor's," said Bluebird, getting out of the SUV. |
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| ↑ Chapter 16 ↑ |
He pulled the car into a drive where Bluebird's SUV was parked. "Even when he's 100, I don't want that old guy after me." » "What do you think?" he asked. Hammer grinned. "Getting the job done," he said. "Tell you one thing, though." » "That's judged by whether the Mark is dead," Brad completed. I nodded my agreement. Brad turned to face Hammer. » "To answer your question, one is too old when one's age interfears with the job." » "That's right, you only asked," I admitted. "I'm feeling a little defensive. Illness does that to me." » "Is that pretty old for doing take out?" he asked. "What makes you think so?" I snapped. "I don't." » Driving toward Penny's place, Brad sat in back with me. "How old are you?" he asked. "Sixty-nine," I answered. » The result of this study is that another study, one requiring hospitalization, is necessary mainly to determine where to stick the knife. » 2:45PM and if anyone suggests you should get an EMG study, shoot said individual and run--hobble--to the nearest exit. Ouch. »  » There are bad individuals that certain kids need to kill. Two movies, "The Professional" and "Columbiana" both make that point. » Killing you might be bad, depending on who you are and what you've done. Getting a twelve-year-old kid to do it? Call it "Basic Training." » All such prohibitions paint with too wide a brush. Killing me is bad. Killing our client in "Breach of Contract" was sound business. » Uber nannys are those who don't even want children exposed to Henry Hawk and Foghorn Leghorn cartoons. Anti-gun, of course. Killing is bad. » Training a child eager to learn the take-out trade might possibly offend the uber-nanny crowd: » Hammer is driving, I'm in back, and Brad is up front in the passenger seat. I listen to Hammer passing on hitter lore to the boy, wondering. » Bluebird, in the SUV, will meet us at Penny's (Lyle's exgirlfriend). We should have time to learn what we need before seeing the doctor. » Should they find such an abnormality, I presume they can repair such. Otherwise, what would be the point of finding it, eh? » "Electromyogram" This appears to be the recording of electrical activity when muscles flex and whatnot. Looking for abnormalities. » Anything that begins with "electro" has me thinking in terms of shock therapy, stun guns, and some of the ways we obtain information. » Chapter 16. Borrowed Brad's dictionary of medical terms since today's experiment is something that begins with "ELECTRO--!!!" (eeek!) |
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| ↑ Chapter 15 ↑ |
Right now we are about to meet the family of Lyle's ex-girlfriend to assess why they broke up and what consequences accrued thereby. Ta ta. » You can contact me. Direct messages to either @BarryLongyear or @aTwitMystery and I should get them. If entertaining, I'll run them here. » Give up trying to track us through cell towers and satellite feeds. Bluebird has our signals routed through all but the London sewer system. » Ah, there they go. I know municipalities are on tough times, cutting back wages to pre-opulent sultan levels, so to save gas and rubber.... » Brad pointed out that last tweet is pretty much flipping off the cops. If it was taken that way, I apologize. Yes, it was sent that way. » We are busy solving three, perhaps four, murders. Clearing cases is what it's all about, right guys? So, let us be to do your jobs for you. » We are not here to kill anyone undeserving. As a professional courtesy we abstain from killing law officers, unless they insist. » Although we skedaddled to avoid capture, you will please note the absence of prints, impressions, fibers, DNA or other useful forensics. » Al Mann is a code name for my cop contact, Blackbird is a code name for me. What you think you know from these tweets is likely wrong. » Don't have to work together, but imitating Congress accomplishes nothing but waste, $$$, and the bad guys going scot-free. Just sayin'. » Note to the various law enforcement agencies: I do believe we are all after the same killer. Es verdad? Why not postpone this contest? » One or more followers of these adventures have been tattling to the blue and not so few. It's OK. We listen on their frequencies, too. » It was one arm in a sleeve, one leg in my trousers, and into the car. Hammer got a different car, so that's covered at least. What happened? » Chapter 15. Just after 1PM. This morning it seems the police from four states were having a convention in my motel room! » |
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| ↑ Chapter 14 ↑ |
Whew. Texas wins. Moriarty needs to get off the bed and I need to get some sleep, Jayden's murdered mom teasing my dreams. » Feliz is all over the place. Guy tried to steal 2nd and got caught. 2 outs. Full count. He walked the guy. Tying run at home plate. » My job is to figure out who killed Jayden and the two other boys. Feliz pitching for Texas. Bopped the batter. Cards have 1 on 1st. » Texas, bases loaded again, 2 outs. Strikeout. Inning over. Moving into the top of the 9 th. » After, his land development business really got going. Cards trying new pitcher. So, what if Jayden's dad arranged for mom's death? » Texas hit a double. Cards 2, Texas 4. Still 1 out. Jayden's dad was in hock up to his bridgework before the mugging. » Texas has the bases loaded & only 1 out. Cards muttering on the mound. Sure was convenient bio mom croaking when she did. » Young hits a double and Jayden's dad inherited close to $4,000,000 when bio mom bought it on Western Avenue. Just sayin'. » One out, top of the 8th. 2 outs. 3rd out with the 1st baseman stretching ino a perfect split to make the catch. Bottom of the 8 th. » Turns out she was murdered in Augusta, a mugging gone wrong, perp never caught. Game still tied 2-2. Cards 1 on base. » Dog's a female. Named it Moriarty. She snores. I call Al Mann and ask what happened to Jayden's bio mom. How'd she die? » Game tied, Bluebird arrived with the pizza, and Brad took a walk and returned with a dog--a poodle-mutt mix, platinum blonde, fond of pizza. » How did Jayden's mom #1 die? » Hammer's in his room getting some sleep. Not a baseball fan. Cards 1 out, top of the 4th. 2 outs. Stepmom still on my mind. » Crap. Holland doing impressions. Shut up and pitch. Double play, Texas up. Napoli out, Moreland hits a solo homer. 2-1 Cards. Elvis bunts. » What is it the cops say? Everybody 's a suspect. Bottom of the 2nd, Texas one out. 2 out. 3 out, top of the 3rd. Oh crap. Dropped... » 1-0 Cards. 2-0 Cards. Bluebird goes to get a couple pizzas. Brad is going through Al Mann's police record (that's right, Al). » Walked first Card batter. Guy on 1st stole 2nd, walked next batter. Why shouldn't Ron use Derek Holland two nights in a row? » 2 outs. Texas one on base. Stranded. Top of the 2nd. Jayden's dad has a new will. Moderate trust for Jayden, the rest goes to Stepmom. » 1st inning, Cards out, evil stepmother on my mind. Jayden's dad didn't require a prenup before wedding the stepmom. Elvis is out. » "It will give us something to listen to while we're busting our humps trying to figure out who killed the Maine boys and why," I said. » We watched as Bluebird emerged from the school administration office with a double armload of files. » "We going to watch the game tonight?" asked Brad. I frown. "Texas won last night. The games are tied 2-2. Damned right we're watching." » What if he's thinking of pinning the deaths of the Maine boys on me? I can't figure how. Just doesn't add up. » But if it's Al, why bring in Blackbird & Co.? Not only complicates things, but it throws a big random variable into the mix. Unless ... » What if Al and Jayden's stepmom?...And to divide Dad from Stepmom, croak kid and pin it on Paul Draykol? Interesting if Dad offs himself ... » What would be the point in setting up someone who already has a string of murders to his credit? Unless it's something else. » Troubling lad, that Brad. And what would be Al's motive? Setting up the guy who, years ago, killed his dog? The guy who is already guilty. » Brad looked at me, his eyebrows raised. "And the way I understand it, that person here is that sheriff's deputy, Al Mann." » I said, "And?" urging him on. "Clues. Lots of clues pointing everywhere except at the real killer, who is the one suspected the least." » "What's the formula for a mystery?" I asked. Brad thought for a second. "A dead body and a bunch of people who wanted him dead as suspects." » Brad's right. The afflictions House was after usually represented themselves as something else and either it or House was going to kill you. » the CSI's, House--" "House?" I interrupted. "Sure. I watch that with Barron's Dictionary of Medical Terms in my hand." » After thinking a moment, I put my cell in my pocket and looked at Brad. "You watch many mysteries on TV?" He nodded. "Some. Masterpiece, » Then, again, it might be someone using the evil stepmother stereotype to divert suspicion from him or herself.I ended the call. » Wills, prenup, who gets what if this and that happens," I said to Hammer. "Evil stepmother?" he inquired. "Perhaps," I answered. » "Jayden's family; I need to know everything that there is to know concerning the legal relationships between Son, Dad, and Stepmom: » Must be a cultural thing; immediately the stepmom floats to the top of the suspect list. The evil stepmother, Cinderella... I called Hammer. » Jayden's mom died when the boy was 8. Pop married again, with his son's blessing, when Jayden was 11. Called his stepmom, "Mom." Hmm. » Back to the notes: Jayden's father, land developer and financial tycoon, had a good relationship with his son. Pop made all Jayden's games. » I looked at my notes. Jayden was also an "A+" student, practically a math savant, All-American halfback, and could dance like Fred Astaire. » Brad's eyes narrowed as he nodded. "Doesn't that mean that how Jayden died--that was personal. It was someone he knew that hated him." » Brad nodded thoughtfully. "Or if our killer really wanted to cause Jayden as much pain as possible while killing him." » I nodded. "Now, what we need to know is if our killer was trying to ape Paul Draykol's pattern and slipped up, or ..." » "What about him?" I asked. Brad tapped his finger on the pile of papers. "They didn't find any drugs in Jayden. He was fully awake." » "When he did the things he did to them," I completed. Brad looked down at his hands and back at me. "The one from your home town, Jayden." » Brad nodded. "Well, right. I mean, Paul didn't hate the boys he killed. He was trying to spare them. They weren't awake when he ..." » He turned and looked at me. "Why drug them?" I shuffled through the file and pulled out a wad of reports. "Paul drugged his victims, too." » He nodded as he continued looking through the passenger window at the front of the high school building. "The point of torture is pain." » I had given the autopsy reports to Brad to read. I asked him, "Find anything strange in the reports?" » Both boys had been "tortured to death by repeated applications of electricity." House voltage, 120. Both boys stoned on Valium. » Well, we shouldn't be thinking along those lines. The fact is that Carter was alive and Lyle and Ethan were dead. Autopsy records: » Ethan was an athlete. Carter's idea of exercise was to work his mouth. If anyone in that school should have been murdered ... » A fellow named Carter, peacenik, editor of school newspaper, and rumored druggie, had a well-publicized dislike of Ethan. Nothing physical. » In real life, best of friends. Ethan's sports were basketball and swimming (captaining of both teams). Ethan wanted to go to West Point. » "Bye Bye Birdie" was the play, Ethan had the role of drafted rock star Conrad Birdie. Lyle had the role of Hugo Peabody. Rival characters. » Chapter 14. Ethan, the other vic from Kennebec County, was also an "A+" student, same school as Lyle. Lead in the school play. |
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| ↑ Chapter 13 ↑ |
After a moment, I added Lyle's parents to that list. As the lizard said about the dead duck, "You never know." » Although I didn't want it to be any of Lyle's fellow students, I had Hammer check and see if Penny or Frank had police records, as well. » I called Hammer. "I could really use a peek at Officer Bill Vernor's records." All he said was, "Tonight." » Small town cop might think himself qualified to ape the pattern of a serial killer, although the additional two deaths seems a bit much. » From the barflies we confirmed the Lyle + Betty rumor, and that husband, Officer Bill, was aware of the rumor. What about Bill? » We went into the village, and while Brad prowled among the teens, Bluebird and I hit a couple of bars, sipped ginger ale, & bought a few. » Possible persons of interest: Penny, Frank, and Betty Vernor's husband, Bill, a patrolman on the town's police force. » None of the usual anti-parent angst, admired chemist father; worshipped librarian mother. » Dave: Best friend. Tania: Main squeeze. Penny: 2nd squeeze. Frank: Humiliated bully. Fave teacher: Betty Vernor. Rumor: Betty + Lyle <3 » As we rode toward Village Center, Brad said, "Those kids are genuinely rattled about Lyle's death. Very popular." He has names: » At the school, Brad milled around, talked, picked up some glowing tributes to Lyle, and found out the popular kid hangouts. » Football games, dances, adult ed classes, field hockey, lacross, band practice, play rehersals, and who has time for classes? » Brad was in the back seat, and had a suggestion: Check out Lyle's school. "It's Saturday," I said. "School isn't weekday limited," he said » We try to be discreet with names and such, but when we arrived there were enough state troopers to invade one more small country. » Chapter 13. Bluebird drove me to the house of deceased boy Lyle in Kennebec County, his family's home located in a tiny village on a pond. |
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| ↑ Chapter 12 ↑ |
First, though, it's time to take my pills. » More likely, set a killer to catch a killer. Lots of bodies, now, and no suspects. Time to study all the stuff dug up by Bluebird. » Case. Now that's a laugh. Focus on the case instead of on the mark. Inspector Blackbird and the $2 murder. » I'm fortunate to have Bluebird. Hammer. Brad, as well. I'll be all right. Just need to take extra care in focusing on the case ... » The police appear to be camped out at my sponsor's. They probably have more sense than to stake out the NA meetings, though. » The cure, of course, is to stay close to the program, in touch with one's sponsor, attend extra meetings, extra moments with HP. » It becomes easier to jump to conclusions, harder to keep an open mind, quicker to find offense, slower to accept necessary change. » The unwelcome guest. Preferable to screaming, but not by much. Have to be extra careful in such circumstances. Pills rearrange priorities. » But it's Death tugging at your elbow saying, "I'm still here, still hoping, and as ever patient as the bloody stars. » It do mess with one's serenity, though. And one's ability to think. To everyone else it just looks like a crabby attitude. » Recovering addicts run into such now and again, and there are protocols to follow to come out the other side not in jail or a morgue. » Hammer's spine guy needs to do a study, that can't happen until the 26th, meanwhile we keep the pain down with drugs, yeah. » A great time for a blinding headache, or a loss of muscle control, or a bath in unimaginably intense pain--What a treat! » assemble highly competent professionals to assist in the mission, and then the bloody body decides NOW is the time to have a blowout! » What am I talking about, you might ask. Well, you plan every little detail that can be predicted, train to handle the unpredictable, » It is perverse how, as the physical demands of a task increase, one's physical assets to perform said task tend to evaporate. » Chapter 12. Blackbird here. Pain and drugs, drugs and pain, take just one and get the other again. #LamePoetry #SciaticaSucks |
3:00 AM. Phone ringing. I
grabbed it and punched it on. "Yeah." "Death, Torio. I'm going to kill you the same way you killed the Rizzo brothers—" "Thank you," I interrupted. "You have reached the number for Assholes Anony- mous. Congratulations on this your first step in getting honest with yourself. At the tone leave your name, address, and asshole size, and we'll be happy to send a truck by as soon as a vehicle large enough becomes available. Beeeep!" I listened for a moment, but the only sound appeared to be something gurgling or gasping for air. No message. I punched off the phone. "I guess he isn't ready yet." ---Joe Torio in THE HANGMAN'S SON |
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| ↑ Chapter 11 ↑ |
Hammer is back and the way Blackbird is cripping back to the room, I don't think the treatment worked. Oh. That was Chapter 11. 23 » The apprentice killer. Perhaps, once I learn my craft, I can return to the family that gave me life and make their lives more interesting. 23 » I believe Blackbird wants to teach. The whole reason for the tweeting was to have people to talk with about what he does. Big risk, too. 23 » There's not much room for stuff like that in between the governmental regulations, union demands, drugs, texting, and fashion statements. 23 » I wonder what it would be like having a teacher who teaches just for the joy of it; for the joy of experiencing another's learning. 23 » how does a kamikaze pilot / write a letter / explaining why /// very quickly .........ns 23 » somewhere in between / lived men / unknown unknowable 23 » their commanders called them / glorious heroes / their enemies called them bloodthirsty fanatics 23 » the divine wind / the japanese suicide pilots 23 » or lost in the back / of some dusty file drawer / things / that by their nature / must be misunderstood / without a guiding /word 23 » a quick note / i sense i am / at the beginning / of great and terrible things / matters / that should not be forgotten 23 » One last poem: "a quick note" This one makes me think of Paul Draykol, the only serial killer I ever met; the man who saved my life ........ 23 » Sunday was seated with the faculty bigwigs and visiting dignitaries. Just before getting up to speak, he handed that poem to the headmaster. 23 » i wonder if i will /// i wonder if he ever will .....................ns 23 » this is the valedictory speech / i would like to give just as soon as / james fitzgerald mccann / runs out of hot air 23 » graduates the question / that needs to be asked today / is this /// is he that stupid or are we 23 » sound more like john fitzgerald kennedy / james fitzgerald mccann / you see / has a dream 23 » for years he is merely james gilbert mccann / but james fitzgerald mccann / decides adding a fitzgerald makes / james fitzgerald mccann 23 » james fitzgerald mccann / our speaker / i went to the library and looked up / james fitzgerald mccann 23 » provided his liver doesnt fail him / and his fingers dont get caught / too many times in the wrong pockets /// 23 » this creature will one day become governor / perhaps even president of these united states 23 » and looked elsewhere / when his own friends fingers / were found in the public pie 23 » he should know / our speaker is a corrupt / assistant district attorney / who has purposefully imprisoned / the innocent 23 » unbounded opportunities / that our only limits are the sizes of our dreams 20 » faculty parents honored guests fellow students / graduates /// our speaker today talks of futures / filled with bright vistas 20 » @AlanaWarren96 Serial killer Nathan Sunday wrote the following during his school's graduation ceremony the year he graduated: "valedictory" 20 » she is pus / in the boil on the dragons tail / perhaps i can borrow a lance / from a saint ...........ns 20 » more studying less drama / she says / there is no place for quality control / in education 20 » i tell her what she is doing / conducting this madrasa for mediocrity / she gets angry / but with a smile 20 » never testing /// perish the thought / it would never do / to quantify the extent of her ignorance / or ours 20 » with more money / fewer hours / more benefits / fewer students / more vacations / and no testing /// 20 » this reverential guardian of the mantle / of socrates /// she is a labor thug / holding children hostage / until their parents pay 20 » academe / behold this teacher / this molder of youth / this dedicated bringer of light / to tender young minds 20 » Sunday was a straight A+ student. Surprises me to learn how much he hated school. @AlanaWarren96 peek at these: "academe" & "valedictory" 20 » Brad here. Hammer took Blackbird to see the new spine guy, Bluebird is doing more research, leaving me here with The Sunday Papers. #Poetry. 20 |
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| ↑ Chapter 10 ↑ |
Blackbird here. Good. Glad to hear about the spine guy. Have Hammer get some ID for Brad making him seventeen. Be at the Next in an hour. » Hammer and I have collected all that we can on the three families, and Blackbird, Hammer has a spine guy coming. We're at Motel Next, 2282. » To hide the murder of one boy, two more were killed. Hence, we only need to find one person with sufficient motive to kill one of the boys. » The murderer of those three boys had the victims' physical similarities down, but the backgrounds don't match Paul's killings at all. » The murderer didn't understand that serial killers are made, and that which makes them also colors their killings. » In all three families never a hint of anything resembling the families of Paul's victims. Whoever killed the three boys didn't understand. » Jayden's family thing was skiing, and every season they would take a month out and perfect their skills at resorts all over the northeast. » The boy's new mother was a welcome addition to the family and more than made up for the gap left by the death of Jayden's bio mom. » Jayden's mother died when he was eight, and when he was eleven his father married again, and with Jayden's permission and blessing. » Jayden, also an "A" student, was a whiz at math, football, and dancing. His father, although a wealthy land developer, was an attentive dad. » From his mother he learned self-respect that was rooted in respecting others, how to cook, and jogging which they'd do every morning. » From a military family, Ethan had dreams of attending West Point. From his father he learned basketball, shooting, diving, and honor. » Ethan, the other boy from Kennebec County, was also an "A" student, dramatics, basketball, and swimming. He was his younger brother's hero. » Lyle wanted to get into the sciences, probably astronomy, although he wanted to get more experience under his belt before deciding. » Lyle played sports, was captain of his school's football and skiing teams, and was no slouch at baseball. He was also an "A" student. » Now look at from whence came the three boys from Maine. Lyle, an only child, was reared in an upper-middle class home filled with love. » Read Sunday's poem "resolution" to appreciate the degree of horror in which those boys lived, making abduction and death the better choice. » The boys that Paul Draykol abducted, gave a year of love and relative sanity to, then killed all came from homes that made death preferable. » When alive they looked more like the Paul Draykol victim ideal than the Paul Draykol victim ideal did. But the families don't match at all. » The boys from Kennebec County are named Lyle and Ethan. The one from Blackbird's home county is named Jayden. The three boys look similar. » Chapter 10. Bluebird here. I have been checking up on the families of the three dead boys; all I could do without face-to-face interviews. |
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| ↑ Chapter 9 ↑ |
A Duncan Donuts comes into view and I have Brad pull in. Time for a bite and a piddle. 19 » Brad laughed as did I. Joe Torio once said: Because they are such experts at it they [serial killers] are unremitting enemies of sham. 19 » thats what happens / when you get taught / self esteem / friendship / fellowship manhood / honesty / honor / and sex / by an / appliance 19 » from the look on russells face I know / russell is a virgin / so of course is freddy /// television 19 » yet another act / in the pimple and bubblegum / rites of passage / play 19 » big tough russell / always bragging about sex / makes freddy confess / linda was his first 19 » in the locker room / freddy says he made love / to linda felton 19 » I cut off the call. Brad said, "Could you read me one of those Nathan Sunday poems, like when he was in school." I read to him "just guys." 19 » "All that is on Twitter," I said. "Thanks for the advice, BB." "No sweat," he said, "and think about getting another sponsor. Bye." 19 » "Dont abuse, go to meetings, ask for help," he advised. Whispering on his end. "The cops want to know where you are," Big Bird remarked. 19 » "Well, I'm on oxy for the pain." "Your back?" he asked. I assured him it was. "You got a drug warden?" he asked. Brad shook the pill bottle. 19 » "This kind of puts a cramp in my sharing," I observed. "Yeah," he said. "Guess what it's doing to mine?" 19 » "Nah," he said. "How'd they know about me? You and your twit people've been so discreet--mind not knocking into that with your nightstick?" 19 » "So, BB, had any interesting visitors lately? The kind that leaves fuzz all over the furniture?" 19 » He answers his phone, "County Jail." He has nothing to do with law enforcement. It's just his way of saying, "We have listeners." 19 » I call my NA sponsor. Anonymous program. Let's call him Big Bird. He makes it a point not to follow my tweets. Helps him save on antacids. 19 » Hope and Change. Christ, I hope there's a change soon! .... Getting down, depressed. Pain killers do that. Need to get my head straight. 19 » I smile thinking of Deputy Al Mann. When you run out of options, you have an officer of the law hire a contract murderer to do justice. 19 » ...and by those who would. But when the governmental uber-parent is as cruel and insensitive as the child abusers, what then? 19 » "He's my child and I'll raise him the way I want!" Parental rights. There's a lot of that expressed by those who wouldn't harm a child .... 19 » Nathan Sunday. The strange thing is, I don't think he was being ironic or fanciful. In his heart of hearts, he wanted a job in Hell. 19 » i would be / an excellent addition / to the firm / i am thorough / imaginative / attentive to detail / prompt / untiring / and motivated 19 » you see lucifer / sir / when i die / i dont want to go to heaven / instead i want a job in hell / working on certain cases 19 » the baby boy is dead / but he doesnt mess his diapers / anymore 19 » the man got three years / in lock up / watching tv / doing free drugs / and out in eleven months / for murder /// better than disneyland 19 » and the magic lantern / tells us all about / uremia 19 » a baby boy cries / and cries and cries / and then dies / a rubber band on his babyhood / to keep the boy / from messing his diaper 19 » I read this one, titled "curriculum vitae," and wonder what this killer might have become had his twig remained unbent: 19 » The collection of #TheSundayPapers is at: http://www.sff.net/people/bblongyear/TwitMysteryArchiveSundayPapers.html and only a few of these made it into THE HANGMAN'S SON mystery novel. 19 » Read any of Nathan Sunday's early poems, particularly "lamby" and "resolution," and wonder if he would trade his in on "Perfect Parents." 19 » All that I have witnessed on any level strikes me as worse than having perfect parents. Perhaps I use a different definition of "perfect." 19 » It was Alexander Pope who said, "Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined." I've heard about and experienced horrific twig bending. 19 » An anonymous fellow once advised, "Perfect parents are the worst form of child abuse." I suppose it sounded clever at the time. 19 » At least, not guilty of the three dead boys in Maine. If it hadn't been for that killer, I wouldn't have Brad and I'd be driving. 19 » I read some, I tweet some, both help me think. The presumption was that we were after a serial killer. The killer, however, was not guilty. 19 » Chapter 9. It turns out Brad can drive. Frankly, it seems saner to have a competent 12 year old driving than a flaming back case on oxys. 19 |
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| ↑ Chapter 8 ↑ |
 Last leaf-peeper shots: "What kind of person murders two innocent boys just to hide murdering another?" I looked at Brad, "A very dangerous person, that's who." » "My best guess right now is that whoever wanted the one boy dead, also killed the additional two, tightening the frame on Paul." » I nodded. "Yeah. Someone wanted a boy dead and worked it to frame Paul Draykol for it." Brad frowned and looked at me. "The other two boys?" » "When we get back with Bluebird I'll see if Hammer knows someone invisible who can help with my back." Brad asked, "The three dead boys in Maine?" » "How do we adapt your back?" I pointed at him. "For temporary, those pills. Lift those at the hospital?" He nodded. » "Adapt?" asked Brad. "Just as you did this morning," I explained. "Problem comes up, don't panic. Adapt, improvise, overcome." » "Can't see how it can get much worse, so either it gets better on its own or it doesn't. If better? No problem. The same? We adapt." » He smiled, then his expression went to one of concern. "What about your back?" he asked. "Good question." I thought on it for a bit. » After renting a blue Grand Cherokee, we got another breakfast at a Denny's, and were on our way back to Maine, I said to Brad, "Thanks." » We found an alley and behind a dumpster I changed. Once dressed, I sorted through my false IDs, picked one, and said, "Let's find wheels." » He handed me my cell, wallet, glasses, reached into his coat and pulled out my pants, shirt, coat, and undies. "Thought you gained weight," I said. » I looked down at the boy as the Oxycodone began coaxing the pain monsters back into their cages. "Tell me you gathered up my stuff." » Spotting an unattended cane in one of the rooms, Brad nipped in there, secured the instrument, we exited the building as more cops arrived. » "Are you going to need a wheelchair?" he asked. "Not if I can do a House impression. See a cane?" We walked past several of the rooms. » If I didn't make eye contact or speak to anyone, I was invisible. I only had to putter around for a minute or two, then Brad arrived. » Doctors, nurses, patients, visitors, all going this way and that, each focused on his or her own troubles. It was like a New York sidewalk. » I made it over to the room corresponding to the room I had been occupying on the floor above, picked up a clipboard, and tried to look busy. » There was a Maine State Trooper there. "Excuse me, doctor," he said, went past me, and up the stairs. "No problem," I said to his back. » ...I stopped, waited for the backlog of screams to come out as something resembling a gastric disorder, then opened the door. » At the stairwell, I went through the firedoor, and walked down like I knew where I was going and had to get there stat. On the landing ... » I was doing 7s and 8s on the old pain scale, and it would take 30-40 minutes for the pills to kick in, but they would kick in. » He urged the pills at me. I took them, chased them with the water on my nightstand, opened the door, and walked the best I could. » "You head on down to the next floor," said Brad, "I'll meet you at the same room below." I frowned at him. "You sure you're not a midget?" » He reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out a small bottle, opened it, shook out two tiny white tablets, and held them out. Oxys. » "Uniform just getting to the nurse's station," he announced. All disguised, I said to the boy, "The trouble is I can't walk very well." » It was either my back or the nabs. After Brad closed the door, I began putting on the scrubs. He took a look outside the room. » After the nurse left, Brad showed me a set of green scrubs and a lab coat. "Get in these," he said. "NH cops checking all the hospitals." » The nurse says to expect the ambulance ride to Big City and my MRI after ten. I was about to call Brad when he walked in carrying a bag. » Chapter 8. Yum. Hospital breakfast: eggs, possibly from some species of bird, cold toast, a fruit cup the size of a thimble, & OK coffee. |
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| ↑ Chapter 7 ↑ |
 He pointed at my iPad and said, "Most of them reading 'Home Tweet Home' think it's made up--fiction." I nodded and smiled. "Yes, they do." » "Brad, I think you would be an excellent addition to the firm," I said. Later, as I was tweeting these lines, Brad returned with some coffee. » "And another runaway escapes into the land of statistical obscurity," I commented. Not impulsive. Good planner. Courteous. » "Yes. To settle things. Afterward, I buried him in the raw dirt inside the forms. Next morning they poured the concrete." » I nodded approvingly. "So, just before they poured the foundation, you . . . did you challenge him to meet you there alone?" » "They ever find him?" I asked. Brad shook his head. "No." He smiled. "Town was putting up a monument to a local politician. I waited." » "A scumbag?" I inquired. Brad nodded. "Don't know what made him like he was, but what he did to weaker kids earned him a knifed throat." » And let it out slowly. "When I was in fourth grade there was a bully in school--a seventh-grader named Vincent." » "--Is history," Brad completed. He looked at me, nodded once, and said, "I want to become part of the family business." He took a deep breath. » "Ever since, I've been a code name and a strange face. Cloud found me in New York, tried me out a few times, and the rest, as they say--" » My superiors insisted. I resisted. They threatened. I was adamant. There was a court martial, I lost. While voyaging to Leavenworth, I split. » Very popular. But it would be like the Iranians taking out Clint Eastwood because it might upset Clint's fans. I refused the order. » Maybe so, but the guy was not in the military. In fact, he didn't even support the conflict against US interests. He was a part-time poet. » Minor official in a forgotten corner of an insignificant conflict. Our politicians held said official dead might help demoralize the enemy. » "Men, women, even a few children wired as bombs. Then I was ordered to take out someone who was a popular civilian leader." » "What about your scumbag rule?" Brad asked. "Well, that others were trying to kill me or those on our side was sufficient for me at the time. » "Sniper school," interrupted Brad with a whisper. I nodded. "A war was going on--a war is always going on, it seems. Many kills." » "I was large for my age, made like I was eighteen, and joined the Army. In basic, I shot a perfect score on the range and they---" » "Before Social Services could get into gear, I used stuff I learned from my father to get forged ID, birth certificate, SS, and so on. » "A year or so later my mother OD'd on crack and died. My mother's brother was notified, but he had no room in his life for me." » "The funeral thing, the hero burned with a dog at his feet?" I nodded. "Cliff wasn't burned, but he had a cur buried at his feet." » Brad gave me a sharp look. "Where ... where did you bury him?" I grinned widely. "Ever see an old Gary Cooper movie titled 'Beau Geste'?" » Brad grinned. "You reported him missing." I nodded. "Alcoholics desert their families all the time. Cops said, good riddance." » Brad was sitting on the edge of his chair. "What happened?" he asked. I held out my hands. "We did for him what he did for Cliff." » "He did hit me again, when I was twelve, but didn't tell. Instead I took an ice pick, stabbed him in the ear, and stirred his brains." » My stepfather and I would exchange looks. His look said, If you ever tell, I will kill you. My look said, Hit me again and I'll tell. » "Cliff was reported as a runaway, and my stepfather along with the rest of us adjusted to life as though Cliff had never existed." » "Cliff was dead. There was no discussion, no question, just immediate action. The body was taken into the woods, buried, and forgotten. » I played it for the millionth time in my mind: that ham of a fist swinging down from the stratosphere, the crack of Cliff's neck breaking... » "Cliff was only your age, twelve, when he stood there to prevent our stepfather from taking out his rage on his younger brother." » "When I was ten, my older brother Cliff got between me and another drunken beating by my stepfather, the cop." I felt the tears coming. » "I'd be pleased to tell you," I said. I began with the raging insanity of a home filled with addicts: violence, isolation, endless betrayal. » Brad: what a gift this kid is. He gets it: It's not all about him and what he wants. All of us are parts of the same universe. He gets it! » "Blackbird," he began, "Tell me how you got into the take out trade, and why." He looked at me. "If you can and would like to." » He pursed his lips, slowly lowered himself into the bedside chair, and turned to look through the room's window: sunlight and Fall. » I laughed, too, until the pain in my back and leg put a stop to it. "You aren't limited to Maine or the US, for all that matters," I said. » "Speaking of the family business, Brad, do you have any idea what you want to do for a living?" He smiled, then laughed. "In Maine?" » I thought about that for a second and nodded. "You have a point. The family business is a shade out of the norm." I gave Brad a sharp look. » Brad looked around, got up, closed the door, and stood by the side of my bed. "I don't think 'normal' is what we should be shooting for." » "Then we have a lot in common," observed Brad. I nodded. "True, but that means none of us has any experience in what a normal family is." » "Like what?" he asked. "Like punches, kicks, respect, love." I frowned. "Understand that Bluebird and I both come from crap homes." » I tried to sit up, winced, groaned, and then laughed. "And right back at you, Brad. From you, I don't expect anything I don't earn." » I considered his response for a long time. "I don't believe I've ever heard a more succinct statement of sane parent-child relationships." » "I don't expect anything I don't earn: kicks, punches, love, praise, money, whatever." » "What are you expecting from Bluebird and me?" He thought for a long time, an internal debate appearing to wax and wane. "OK," he said. » I had the distinct feeling I was being interviewed for the position of boy's father. "I have a question," I said. Brad nodded at me. "OK." » His eyebrows went up, "Is sarcasm policied out in this family?" he asked. I shook my head. "Sarcasm is soul therapy. We're big fans." » "I do code things like names and locations," I offered. "That worked great with that sheriff's deputy back in your home town," he countered. » He leaned forward. "Okay, I got to ask about the Twitter thing. It just doesn't seem smart for a take out man to be tweeting his moves." » "What about Bluebird?" he asked. "I can't say," I answered, me all straight with the Traditions. Brad nodded. "So she's an addict, too." » "I'm a recovering addict and want to stay recovering. If drugs are your thing, you'll have to move on." He studied me for a second. » Interesting reaction from the boy. Instead of a wad of defensive bluster (You can't tell me what to do!), Brad asked, "Why?" » "That's one rule," I state flatly. "No booze, no drugs without a prescription, and no prescriptions without at least a grade 6 agony." » How do I see our relationship? What are the grounding rules in a home parented by a couple of contract killers? What about drugs? » Unexpectedly Brad spnds his time hanging out talking with me. Behind a screen of jokes he's exploring, seeing if I and my offer are real. » Small hospital, Dr. wants to send me into the big city to get an MRI. After getting Brad a room, Bluebird drives on to Maine do some detecting. » Chapter 7. #ThingsToBringToGodsAttention: Nipples on men, pomegranate seeds, and sciatica. What's the point? Had to interrupt trip back. |
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| ↑ Chapter 6 ↑ |
 Here's more of Bluebird's leaf peep pix taken before the rain and gloom. » We rented a new car with a bogus credit card, bought a few things for the trip, and headed east, the killer of three Maine boys a mystery. » "That means you can take your time," said Bluebird. "That's how I want to do it," said Brad. "When I can do it without emotion." » He grinned. "Home schooling sounds terrific." His smile faded and he nodded. "About my parents. I don't have brothers or sisters." » "That's right," he said looking warily between Bluebird and me. "What about school?" he asked. I leaned back. "Home schooling sound OK?" » "You mean," she asked, "like what we're going to name him?" I smiled and looked at Brad. "I believe he's already picked a name, right?" » I finished my coffee and looked at Bluebird. "Should we discuss this, first?" She was looking at Brad. » "That's right," Bluebird confirmed. Brad nodded and said, "That could make it tough for us to leave the state---if there is an "us." » "Nothing for now." He looked at me. "If they suddenly got dead, then all kinds of connections would be made, right?" » "Okay," I said. "What about your family? What do you want us to do?" He thought, a parade of emotions crossing his face. His eyes closed. » He held up a hand. "I know who you are," he said. "I've been following @aTwitMystery & @BarryLongyear since they began." » "Before we head back to Maine," I began, "there is the matter of Brad's family." I looked him directly in the eye. "About us---" » "Those boys were killed the past year, right?" he asked.Bluebird nodded and looked at me. "So we still have a killer out there." » "How do you know?" asked Bluebird. "He said he hasn't been in Maine since '93, but I know he's been with me nearly every day the past year." » Brad looked at Bluebird. "Paul killed a lot of boys," he said. "But he didn't kill those three in Maine." » As she finished her donut and wiped her mouth, Bluebird said, "Do we go collect our payment from the client?" I looked at Brad. » By the time she was finished describing the details of the incident to the police, they'd found Paul dead, but not the gag wall. » But there was always one or two with their fingers on their triggers. A proper bump in the right direction--accidental discharge. » There were several cops with their weapons out, aimed at the house. Most of them had their trigger fingers resting outside trigger guards. » Forty minutes later Bluebird arrived. She got a cream-filled donut and coffee and filled us in on the distraction. It wasn't hard. » At the aformentioned Duncan Donuts, I worked on a poppyseed bagel with cream cheese, Brad worked on a couple of crullers. » A block away, behind a dumpster, we clean up "Mother," turning her into a boy again, then I take my place in the wheelchair, Brad pushing. » "Mother" is laughing--cackling, actually. Staying in character. Brad is a very special boy and I fear I am going to get very silly over him. » "Better get them out of the line of fire," says the other cop, and soon I'm pushing "Mother" down the sidewalk, away from the fracus. » The first cop sticks his head in through the open door, looks at his partner, and shrugs. "It's an empty apartment." » "Mother" jabs the first cop with the tip of my cane and croaks, "I'm going to be late for my doctor's appointment." » I look at the young cop, his partner (also young), and ask,"What'd he say? Are we in there with anybody?" I shake my head. "We're out here." » "Is there anybody in there with you?" He demands. "What he say?" croaked "Mother." I point at the "apartment." "He wants to know if ..." » I hold my hand up to my ear and say, "What? What's that, sonny?" The cop takes a quick peek inside the "apartment," frowns, and looks at me. » As I wheel out "Mother," a young cop with a blond burr cut and a too-big pistol shouted something that sounded almost like "Freeze asshole!" » Then we hear it: an increase in the crowd background noise followed by a sharp scream and a shot being fired. I open the back door. » I hand him my cane and we wait by the back door for Bluebird. Brad's hands have thin little cotton gloves on them. Nice touch. » With flour, cranberry juice, a black grease pencil, a print tablecloth, and a few other things, plus the wheelchair, Brad is now "Mother." » a mattress, and bits of this and that. A little furniture arrangement, and suddenly Paul's house is divided into two apartments. » "It's all working out for the best. Two minutes." I shut down my cell, looked at the false wall Brad and I'd made from blankets, cardboard » "That sounds terrific," she said, then her voice became very quiet. "Sorry he took you like that. My fault. I wasn't prepared." » "I have to take mother to an appointment. Afterward, what about lunch at that quaint cafe we ate at last night?" (Duncan Donuts) » "The locals have the back covered," she said. "Two patrol uniforms. Not SWAT. What's the plan?" she asked. » Bluebird whispered, "How big?" "Nothing they'd have to call out the National Guard for. Just want them focusing on the front for a bit." 23 » I said, "We're okay. Paul's dead. We need a distraction for a few moments beginning at five-to-nine." It was silent for a moment. 23 » "Hi, Sweetie," she said, as though she was in the middle of a platoon of cops and couldn't talk freely."I was worried about you and junior." 23 » Carve this in stone: Brad is not going back home to his family. Now we had to make him and me vanish. I called Bluebird on my cell. 23 » What was evident was that he would rather die than go back. Brad showed me the Colt .32 Pocket Auto Paul had given him. 23 » Not all of the boys Paul had killed had been found, so not finding Brad wouldn't stick out. Didn't ask about Brad's home & family. 23 » We didn't have to beat CSI:NY. All we needed was to confuse things. Paul dead would be the big thing. The next would be no sign of Brad. 23 » That cost me a very nice "Baby" Glock 26. I had to muffle shoot next to his head to get the GSR and stippling almost right. 23 » Chapter 6. A gray morning. Brad and I spent a a few hours after midnight preparing the scene. First, Paul Draykol killed himself. |
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| ↑ Chapter 5 ↑ |
Yay, Rangers. 15 » "No more boys get a year off from their nightmares, though," he says. Texas wins 15-5 and goes onto the series 15 "You won't have to go back to that family of yours," I say to Brad. He's crying. » Top of the 9th inning. Odds are Detroit isn't going to win. When Brad isn't looking but Paul is, I shoot him in the head. » The boy put a hand on the man's shoulder. "That's where his own family was; he was afraid they'd drag him back home." » Cabrera gets a homer. Tigers 5, Rangers 15. "Why not in Maine?" I asked. Paul just looked ashamed. Brad went over to Paul. » Brad knew he was going to die and soon, and to him that was a better deal than he would get staying home." » "They each got a year, though. They each got a year away from the nightmare." » "Then they had to make room for the next boy. Paul is only one guy." » To Brad, I say, "You know what happened to those kids?" He nods "They got to live like humans for a year, safe loved." » Texas 13, Detroit 4 ... And they call what I do "murder." Make that Texas FIFTEEN, Detroit 4. » I pointed at Brad. "He know how you saved those kids?" Brad said, "Each one of 'em got to live safe and loved." » Paul said, "I've saved boys all over New England, 19 of 'em, in every New England state but Maine. Why lie about it." » Texas 11, Detroit 4 ... That's Texas 12 ... Man, to hang in there rooting for the American League, just to stay in there ...Texas » "I find that hard to believe," I confessed. Paul leaned back in his chair, his expression haunted. » "What do you mean, it wasn't you?" I demanded. "I mean it wasn't me. I never saved any Maine boys." » Texas 10, Detroit 4. "One at home, two in Kennebec County," I added. He shakes his head. "Wasn't me," he said. » "So they sent an old cripple after me?" He frowned. "Three kids? In Maine?" I nod. "That's right." » Tigers-- home run batting in another. Rangers 9, Tigers 4. "Deputy at home suspects you in connection with three missing kids." » Paul said, "You got to be about the unluckiest SOB that ever was, there, Blackbird. How'd you catch the tail end of this?" » "You don't seem very bothered at the prospect of blowing up," I said to Brad. "Rather blow up than go home," he said » Brad answers, "The whole place is wired." The kid points toward some blue plastic barrels. "Break in and Boom!" » "Aren't you worried about them breaking in upstairs while we're down here?" I ask Paul. 10 » He looked at me, eyebrows raised. "Everybody lives if the Tigers win," I guessed. Paul nodded and smiled. "Yeah." 10 » Crap, the Rangers 7, uh 9, Tigers 2. I looked at Paul. "Bet I know what you were laughing at," I said to Paul. 10 » Rangers 5, Tigers 2. Paul is smirking at some bitter little joke. "Like it here?" I ask the kid. "Paul's my friend." 10 » "What's wrong with your leg?" asked Brad. Rangers have the bases loaded, only one out. "Sciatica." 10 » I hobbled over and sat in the couch next to the kid. "I'm Blackbird," I said. "Brad," said the boy. 10 » Chapter 5. By the time we made it to the basement where the TV was, the score was Texas 3, Detroit 2, a boy watching the game. 10 |
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| ↑ Chapter 4 ↑ |
"Let me call and find out," I say. He stares at me for a minute, then nods. "Okay. Call them." 11 » "You have a TV?" I ask. He sticks out his lower lip and slowly shakes his head. "Cops won't wait." 11 » Paul pulled out an iPod, glanced at it and looked surprised. "2-0 Tigers," he announced. "Detroit might do it." 11 » "Do you have a boy here?" I ask again. Paul peered through the blind as he caressed his Remington 700. "He's dead, too. 11 » "I'm dead man sitting." He nodded toward the wheelchair. "Guess that makes you dead man rolling." No smiles. 11 » "Ever hear 'dead man walking'?" he asks, his eyebrows up. "Sure," I answer. "Sean Penn." 11 » "We don't appear to be dead," I suggested. Paul snorts out a derisive laugh. 11 » The muscles in his temples flex, he shrugs, and says, "Everyone in here is already dead." Then he hangs up. 11 » "It's for you," I tell him. He takes the handset, says, "Yeah." He listens for a long time. 11 » I pick up the handset. "Hello?" It's a cop. State fuzz negotiator. He wants to know where the boy is. I hold out the phone. 11 » Telephone rings. And rings. Paul looks at me and says, "Answer that." I roll the wheelchair to a stand next to the door. 11 » He started again, "If they listened, if they would just listen, nothing would happen. Nothing would happen. They could learn." 11 » "Do you have a boy here? Blue eyes, dark hair, quiet but angry looking." His head jerked down then up."They don't--" 11 » "Cops think I got one of their boys in here. They gonna rush in soon. Better tweet those folks bye-bye." 12 » "If you like," I said. "About those boys--" His features seemed to morph into granite. We heard movement outside. 12 » "I heard about that," he offered. "You tell people when you're eatin' workin' or takin' a dump." 12 » "What you doin' there?" he asked, ignoring my question. "It's called 'tweeting.' A kind of messaging." 12 » He studied me for the longest time. "What about missing children?" "There's a fellow back home who thinks you took them. 12 » "What the hell were you doing coming up to my front door in a wheelchair?" he asked. "Missing children," I said. 12 » Shifting his gaze he looked through the blinds on the window. "I don't remember anyone from school. He closed his eyes. 13 » "Don't you remember me from school?" I asked. His stare became fierce, wide-eyed, desperate. "No," he said. 13 » "Pops?" I said. "You're a year older than I am, Paul." He aimed a pistol at me and studied my face. 13 » "Excuse me?" I say to the fellow loading all the guns. "Just shut up, pops," he says. 13 » And ran me into his damned house! He's letting me tweet, since it keeps me quiet, while he prepares for a siege. Guns, guns, guns. 13 » That was when the cops showed, a dark, powerful-looking fellow raced out from behind some bushes, took me hostage, and .... 13 » We bought a collapsable wheelchair, since sitting is about half as painful as walking. We went to one of Paul's old addresses, and ... 13 » Chapter 4. Now, here's a funny thing. It looked like Bluebird would be wheeling me around, checking out Paul's old digs. 13 |
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| ↑ Chapter 3 ↑ |
 More of Bluebird's leaf peeps: » Even if it takes them twenty years! *Grump* ...Meanwhile, back to Paul Draykol ... my cereal is here. Mm-mm. Cold & wet. It's a cloud thing. » The juvenile justice laws are exactly that: juvenile. Such kids should pay back the taxpayers, through hard labor, for $ such pranks incur » The boy turned up. The boy didn't get the play station he wanted, ran away, and stayed with a buddy whose parents were in Aruba. A prank. » Diagnosis: Low-grade schizo, paranoid, bipolar, knows the difference between right and wrong, so convict away if you have the evidence. » Arrested in Nashua in connection with a missing boy (see familiar pix), pending charges, he underwent psychiatric observation. » Not a word about any of that in group. Discharged, out the door, and vanished until reappearing in New Hampshire's Laughing Academy. » Just judging from the dead dog, burning chickadee, scarred-back tidbits I knew about, Paul had much to say about his childhood, motivewise. » A familiar treatment theme is to find out one's excuses for blotting out feelings so they can be dealt with and taken off the shit parade. » Those familiar with these chronicles are aware that Blackbird was once Old Crow and used substances that landed him in a 28 day program. » Discharged. Opinion of those who worked on his case: Paul wouldn't make it, that is, stay clean. In treatment he said nothing of his youth. » Paul entered 28 day program, exhibited violent behavior and was transferred to the violent floor. Re-entered treatment two weeks later. » History of drug abuse. Assumption: The problem begins and ends with substance abuse. Put him in treatment, next case, please. » The tone in these reports rings false; it's as though anyone claiming to have been abused as a child is automatically marked as a fraud. » First file from Happy Valley in Vermont. Diagnosis: schizo, paranoid, bipolar, he claims to have been an abused child, physical and sexual. » Chapter 3. Must remember to put these headings in; people will think I'm simply tweeting in my spare time, making it up as I go along.... » Awaiting my cold gruel, I dip into the tote. First two files are the med records from the butterfly palaces that treated Paul Draykio. » "Want another shot in your spine?" she asks, already knowing the answer. She pushes a tote bag toward me with her toe. "Hammer's here." » Bluebird orders toast and coffee; I order a bowl of cereal with Splenda and low-fat milk, & tea. Eating to stay alive is a drag. » Pancakes layered with sausages layered with butter layered with syrup, deep fat fried and served on a pork crown roast. Charge! » Detroit 5, Texas 2! And there are those who do not believe in miracles. Shame, shame! Breakfast. I could eat a bear. Where is a Denny's? |
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| ↑ Chapter 2 ↑ |
 It's possible. They could pull it off. If they can't, that means rooting for Texas. Meanwhile, leaf-peeper shots: » Get Hammer to gather a few things and run them up to Maine, hit the books, then plan my moves. Meanwhile, there is the Tigers game tonite. » Al Mann and I had never been friends in school. Twittering me up to his lair, however, impressed me. The killer needed to be stopped. » I risk getting bogged down in the why, letting the what, when, and when does it stop get lost in the detail. One why, though, was why do it? » Time to refresh my own knowledge on the subject, as well. We've mentioned Norris' work. There is Bob Ressler, Douglas, a few others. » I'd need the police files for the 2 each in New Hampshire, Vermont, Connecticut, New Brunswick, and Quebec. Hammer is going to be busy. » The only police file I had on the suspected victims was the one on the boy killed in my home county. I'd need the two from Kennebec County. » Like many Mainers, Paul left the state in 1993 to find work. He settled in Manchester NH doing what he did at home: slaughtering hogs. » In case you ever wondered why Stanton B Farnsworthy never quite made it into the Blaine House. Too many easy jokes about population control. » Paul nodded slowly and said, "Just like John Wayne Gacy." "Good, good," said the candidate. "We need all the John Wayne Gacys we can get." » He got to Grandpa, Uncle Stub, Daddy Paul, Ma, etc., until he reached Paul. Shaking Paul's hand he said, "So, you're a good Democrat?" » Ignoring the wave-off by the driver, the candidate went in to press the flesh, a TV cameraman close behind. » Once when a Democratic candidate was crowding the prohibition re: campaigning too near the polls, he spotted the Draykols exiting the van. » Every election day, though, a large van would come to Hog Hollow, pick up the clan, and drive their eleven votes (or more) to the polls. » We weren't the only ones in the conspiracy. The Draykol's were staunch Democrats, although their rides to the meetings never materialized. » "Spare the rod and you'll spoil that child." Yeah. Right. » To my eternal shame, I agreed not to tell, joining Paul's family, and school, medical, and law enforcement services in creating a monster. » Suddenly he turned and saw me. I was ready to run or fight, but there were tears in his eyes. "Please!" he wept. "Don't tell Please!" » His back was to me and it was a battlefield criss-crossed with scars, old and new. The new ones were stitched with blue cotton thread. » Slopped some on his shirt and didn't notice it when he struck the match setting himself on fire. He tore off his shirt, put it in a sink. » I caught him without his shirt on once. In the boys room he was preparing to burn a wounded chickadee alive with lighter fluid. » No one ribbed him about being gay. He was too big and too mean for that. He wouldn't go out for football, though, or any other sports. » Thinking back, school gossip was that Paul was gay because after gym he'd never shower--anything involving changing clothes was out. » Medical records unrevealing. The only contact was with a quack in Skowhegan who agreed to sign vaccination forms without vaccinating Paul. » Notice I didn't say "dead-and-buried." Let that prey on your mind for a bit. They used to tell folks the smell was homemade sauerkraut. » Social service workers welcome just as long as checks kept coming. Grandma Draykol was their hero: Dead three years and still drawing SS. » Just about any other exhibition of sanity was considered a crime. If soap was natural, it would grow on trees. Doctors and guns were out. » The generation gap in that household was marked by which drugs were selected to shape reality for an individual. Drugs were not a crime. » County Sheriff's files on Paul's familyread like The Beans of Egypt Maine move to Tobacco Road and invite Hannibal Lector to dinner. » One institution was in New Hampshire, the other in Vermont. No files: patient confidentiality and all that. Note to call Hammer. Get files. » In between the Tigers losing to the Rangers twice, I learned that Paul had twice committed himself to psycho-hotels, pronounced cured twice. » Chapter 2. Back acting up, Hammer knew a guy at Maine Spine, a shot, pills, and some rest. Gave me time to wade through Paul Draykol's file. |
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| ↑ Chapter 1 ↑ |
"A trigger wandering around until it meets the finger with the proper tug," I concluded. We turned in. Tomorrow we'd go hunting. » "Alcoholic home, physical abuse, sexual abuse, brain damage, the works including torturing animals," she said. "He was loaded like a gun." » "His name is Joel Norris. Serial Killers: The Growing Menace. Fits like the proverbial glove." http://pic.twitter.com/cadaMrQ8 » "What does that file make you think of?" I asked. She frowned for a moment. "That book on serial killers by that shrink." she answered. » "You think he has files like this on us?" I thought for a moment. "I think we can count on it," I answered. » "Meticulous, ain't he?" She nodded. "Everything but his brand of toothpaste." She looked up at me. » "He knows," I answered. She continued paging through the files Al had given me. "Hate to have this cop on my tail." » "He has damned good instincts for a county mountie. He found us," I said. "He know that dollar he paid makes him our boss? » "He moved from here in '93, but Al thinks he's home." Bluebird frowned. "We are listening to a hick cop why." » She wanted to know the plan. "First we go with Al's hunch and find out all we can about Paul Draykol, beginning with where he is. » "Why'd he leave you alone?" she asked. "I told him not again unless he wants an ice pick stuck in his ear." » "What about this Paul Draykol?" she asked. "I never had much to do with him. He tried shoving me around once, then let me be. » When I explained the particulars, she asked for her payment in advance. I gave her $.67 and told her the extra 1/3 cent was a bonus. » Chapter 1: Last night Philadelphia was eliminated in a 1-0 game with the cards. Hard to concentrate thinking about the hit, and Bluebird. |
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↑ Intro ↑ |
"Who's the mark?" she asked. I put Paul Draykol's picture on the table. "It may be him; maybe not. First step is to find out." » I nodded. "He's a cop. But he's also our new client. He's the one who lured us up here with promises of glory leafs." » "What was that about?" Bluebird asked as we sat in a Pizza Hut so she could eat something. "He's a cop, right?" » I moistened my lips, held out my hand, and said, "Give me a dollar." Al produced one. "I'll want the second dollar once I've finished." » "To sum up, then, you want me to hunt down and kill Paul Draykol on the basis of a hunch." He shook his head. "I want the killer to stop." » "Yeah. That and it was my dog he killed." He leaned forward, clasping his hands. "In addition, Paul Draykol seems to have disappeared." » Paul Draykil's photo seemed to complete the set. Dark hair, blue eyes, a certain face and look. "Is this what set you off?" I asked. » "Vaguely. In trouble a lot. Didn't he bring a dead dog to school to disect in biology?Thrown out?" Al nodded and produced another photo. » "You keep referring to 'him'. You have someone in mind?" He leaned forward. "You remember a kid a year ahead of us, Paul Draykol?" » Al shrugged and said coldly, "If you should take out the ones that made him a serial killer, too, I'll be happy. But stop him." » "From what I know, serial killers are made, not born, and what makes them serial killers also makes them, first, victims," I said. » "Hired?" I repeated. He nodded. "You go after scumbags," he said. "I believe someone who does this to children is a scumbag. Don't you?" » Daddy from punching out Mommy, filling out B&E reports for insurance purposes, and rescuing the occasional kitten. That's why I hired you." » "He's right about one thing," Al continued. "My law enforcement experience involves a lot of traffic tickets, breathalyzing drunks, keeping » Thomas W. Atkins. He's from away." I pushed my own plate away. "Bet he went through school being called Twat." Al shrugged. "It fits." » "I suppose he could be more condescending," I suggested. "Not without touching his toes," said Al. "Who is sheriff now?" I asked. » "This looks like enough to get your boss interested," I said. Al smiled widely. "I was told to write tickets and rescue kittens." » New Brunswick, Maine, Maine, and Maine, one in this county, two in Kennebec. By the reported missing dates, he's operating now in Maine." » He went through the photos one after another. "New Hampshire, Vermont, Vermont, New Hampshire, Connecticut, New Brunswick, Quebec, » "A death like that must have lit up the local media," I said. Al shook his head. "Not more than a mention. Tim was taken in New Hampshire." » Al pushed his plate away again. "He had been dead only a few days. The marks on his body show that he had been tortured to death." » I frowned. "Any relation to Harold Dill, our classmate?" Al nodded. "Tim was his. His body was found eleven months after he went missing." » He nodded. "In addition, they were reported missing almost exactly one year apart. The one body that's been found," he pointed, "Tim Dill." » I studied the pictures again, carefully. All the children were around eleven or twelve, dark hair, blue eyes, male. "They could be a type." » "What do you see in them?" he asked. » Al pulled a few ID photos from his inside jacket pocket and handed them to me. I looked at them one at a time. "And?" I said. » If a pattern develops, call in the FBI. The parents will be sent home with a few platitudes and orders to "Sit by the phone" and wait. » A few get taken. Al and his fellow deputies are called, they take down details, the paperwork may make it to the State Police Detectives. » Many hard knocks later, a number of them return. Many don't. Some of those hard knocks are lethal. A few get lost, just wander away. » Thousands every year. To cops, more often than not, they were runaways fleeing from abuse, boredom, or not getting their own way. » I sat back and listened. Missing children, especially in the 11-16 year old range, were nothing new. To loving parents they were missing. » "How could you be sure it was me?" He shrugged and pulled his plate back within fork range. "I'm a cop. Let me get on with the story." 7 » "Have you sent me messages?" He smiled and said, "Only indirectly. I suggested to someone who follows you about leaf-peeping in Maine." 7 » "Have you been following me on Twitter?" I blurted out. "Yes, I have. As I said, I've been following your career--" "Yes." I interrupted. 7 » "Strange stuff?" I prompted. "Yes." He put his bread down and pushed his plate away. "It has to do with missing children." 7 » "I imagine some police force with lots of body armor and firepower will try it someday, but not me; Not today. Let me get back to my story." 7 » I glanced around at the other diners, but they were filled with dispensing and absorbing gossip. I looked at Al. "Am I to be arrested?" 7 » "Why?" I asked. "It's an occupational thing," he offered. "Crime and criminals are interest me, and you have been a very successful killer." 7 » "What about my occupation?" I inquired. He nodded once and talked as he ate. "Been following your career since you enlisted." 7 » "Forget I'm a cop" he said around a piece of bread. "Wanted to tell you about some strange happenings in this county and Kennebec County." 7 » "How's the leaf-peeping going?" He asked. "It sucks," I answered. "Is there a SWAT team on its way here?" I asked. He shook his head. 7 » Okay, so there I am, a cop just let me know--plastic work be damned--he recognizes me, knows what I've done, and all I can do is eat beans. 7 » I pointed with my thumb toward the serving line. "So, what was so funny?" He smiled at me. "I never thought you'd become a hitman." 7 » "Al," I said, what've you been up to for the past twenty years?" He swallowed and said, "Went to UMF, became a sheriff's deputy." 7 » She motioned back that she had a better shot right where she was. I sat down facing her and Al took his place next to me at the end. 7 » The table seated eighteen elbow-to-elbow, and there were three empty seats at one end. I put my plate down, motioned Bluebird "it's okay." 7 » "Well," he answered, "That makes two of us who were wrong." Loaded with pork & beans, brown bread, and salad, Al lead the way to the table. 7 » "Sure," I answered. As we made our way to the serving line, I said, "I never thought you'd become a cop, Al." He laughed. A lot. 7 » Bulge, right hip in his Orvis tweed jacket with the shooting patches. It all spelled small-town cop. "Would you sit with me?" he asked. 7 » "Won't she sit with us?" Al asked. "I don't know her name." I checked out my old classmate. Close-cropped hair, fit, no facial hair. 7 » This fellow who looked like an older Al Mann held out his hand and spoke my name. Alarm bells. Bluebird moved to a far wall and faced us. 7 » One of the old faces missing was mine: Very talented man in Italy managed to transform my Brad Pitt good looks into Bruce Willis with hair. 7 » Mrs Why and Mrs. Zee at the kitchen door, and several of the elderly who had been town landmarks during my youth. Many old faces missing. 7 » Attending the bean supper was a way of seeing if there was anyone there I would recognize. The taking donations at the door was Mrs. Exe. 7 » There was a bean supper at the Congregational Church, and we parked on the street, and went in. Nobody does bean suppers like Maine. 7 » We rode up the coast, then worked instate, pausing here and there, catching the Detroit-NY series at night. Eventually making it back home. 7 » Supposedly a pro business administration has moved into Augusta, but it all looks the same to me as we crossed the Kittery Bridge. 7 » Maine is where people are born to be poor and rich people go to retire. A succession of governments made business impossible. No $, no jobs. 7 » So was I, now that I think about it, but as a teen contemplating my future, I knew Maine wasn't in the cards. 7 » Al was in that set of students whose fathers were pulpcutters, mill workers, , unemployed, State & county pogues, and/or addicts. 7 » Al Mann is close enough. I went through elementary and secondary schools with Al and he was an unnoticeable class fixture, like many. 7 » Al Mann's not his name, of course, for the same reason Bluebird's not her name and Blackbird isn't mine. Can't control who peeps the tweets. 7 » Bluebird's driving. "Tell them about the bean supper," she says. I've been chewing it over in my mind. Conclusion: I underestimated Al Mann. 7 » I'm still for the American League, and if I root for the Tigers I can watch baseball for a little while longer. Yay Tigers. Sun's out today. 7 » Bluebird is an old Detroit fan. She took on NYY as an adult remedy to being on the losing side all the time. Her childhood now calls. 7 » Vacation. I don't really know what to do when I'm not supposed to be doing anything. "Have fun," says Bluebird, "Root for the Tigers." 7 » Vacation. Yankees eliminated, fall colors in Maine blown off the trees in a rain storm, overnight temps in the 20s. Bluebird, "Nevertheless, we go." 7 |
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| The Sunday Papers: Poetry of a Serial Killer by Barry B. Longyear | ||
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9.7.2008: 766
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