let's start again

       Paul sat up slowly, his face was  on  fire and it was wet. He absently wiped at the wetness on his cheek. Fucking women, why did  they have to get so violent? In his own opinion it was all this women's lib and  medication that was making them so unreliable. If we had been alone, I would have hit her back, he thought sullenly. He clambered to his feet, something  ran down his cheek.
       That Bitch! Monday,  when he got into the office,, he would  call that asshole down at the Police Station and tell him that he was going to press charges! He  was  right by God. He  wasn't going to take this  lying down. No one threatened Paul Murray  and got away- his bladder chose at that moment to remind him to be elsewhere. He inwardly clenched then began walking towards the men’s restroom.
        “She sure knocked the spit out of you.” cheered a man in blue jeans and black shirt that said something like `Hell Yeah!’ on it.
        "Fuck you asshole." Paul mumbled as he strode past  the overweight man.

Where the spit hits the fan

He glanced back to the concession counter to confirm that he had been heard. He looked back to Caitlin, who sat stiffly with a shocked expression on her face. She looked as if Paul had just slapped her and Paul decided that this was better than hitting her. Almost all the color had drained from her face, her mouth was moving but no sound escaped from her lips. Her right hand worked a class ring around her index finger in rapid twists. She blinked and then blinked again. Paul looked back to the concession stand to find everyone, three employees, an assistant manager and a customer staring back. Steven, the manager was in his office with a phone call, but had stopped midway and stood with the phone dangling in one hand as if deciding what to do. Paul then turned back to Caitlin.

“Are you listening to me!” Paul said as he turned back to face her. He heard the door to the office close behind him. “I will ruin you.”

Caitlin did not answer. Her right hand kept twisting the ring. She appeared to be caught in the moment. Then the color began to return to her face. She looked at Paul with newfound hatred.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more important matters to attend to.” Paul said as he glanced once more to the concession stand and noticed that the manager had joined them. Paul noted that he wasn’t coming over and relaxed.

He looked back at Caitlin. To his surprise, she made a quick movement and her right arm blurred. Paul barely had time to blink before Caitlin’s right hand struck his jaw with a resounding smack and a searing pain stabbed his face. She literally knocked the words out of his mouth, slapping him so hard that his saliva hit the wall. Paul toppled off the bench and rolled to the floor with a thud.  He lay there in shock as Caitlin rose to her feet. She looked at him, then at her hand, as if seeing the ring for the first time. A look of realization flooded into her face as she eyed first her hand and then Paul’s face.

            Cheers erupted as the employees and a customer broke the silence. Caitlin looked back at Paul, somehow knowing what he would do now. She looked over to the concession stand to find both Steven and his assistant on the phone.

“Cops,” she murmured, “no, oh not that.” She turned away from Paul and fled the theater out into the night and the rain. 

Note: I like this scene, it's where we see that Caitlin Marshall is made of firmer stuff than what Paul Murray has decided she is. I want to someohow rewrite it in order to enhance her femininity while keeping her human. There must be some measure of the sexiness/lust/mix that Paul feels for her there but at the same time a hidden strength that he has not seen or at least taken notice- I I feel it is important since Caitlin will be the prime suspect for awhile in the early part of the book. As Sam Waterton would say- it points to motive, and motive is all.

The good old days (sort of)

A year ago, Caitlin had joined the District Attorneys’ office fresh out of law school. She was vigorous and ambitious. She won several cases in the lower courts and had set her targets on the higher ones. She had drawn the attention of both the DA and the Attorney General with her erasable calm, professional demeanor and her quiet focus as she tackled one case after another. She seemed driven, Paul was attracted to that drive believing that it would make her formidable in bed, after all it he believed he had that same drive.

Paul had met her at a subsequent meeting and asked her out. Apparently his idea of an aggressive invitation had not been shared. He had placed his hand on her buttocks as a flirtation. She had not welcomed his touch nor his suggestion of sexual activity and had slapped his hand away. Then to confuse everything she had smiled. Maybe Paul had read it all wrong but to his understanding if a woman slaps your hand then smiles she wants it even if she is going to play hard to get. Paul had “pressed” his point harder after that.  Then the next thing he knew, he was being charged with sexual harassment. How did she dare to charge the Assistant DA with such an act? Caitlin had even gone so far as to suggest attempted rape. It was not hard for Paul to convince the predominantly male office that she was just one of those “Militant Feminists” out to destroy men. That she apparently was out to topple men in high places, like Paul and then claim his job. That this had been her ambition all along and that any one of their jobs (i.e. the DA or Attorney General) was next. The case had been thrown out for insufficient evidence (primarily thanks to a call from the DA on behalf of the AG) and Caitlin summarily dismissed.

Paul smiled at the thought of this woman, having whored her way to the peak only to fall all the way down. Oh, he had informed the DA as to her true nature. Had her disgrace been complete she would have left him alone, but the DA wouldn’t allow him to sue her for libel. He had fervently wished to pursue it, if only to strike back like a kid in the schoolyard.

Caitlin had changed weaponry and came back at him from new directions. She tried to slander his name to the press- that had failed when the Attorney General had backed Paul’s defense. She then began to follow him and harass him over the phone. Paul had a judge put a restraining order against her, but it had only slowed her down. She began to question his friends, neighbors, and girlfriends. Fortunately she had never learned of Peggy, and Peggy had no knowledge of Caitlin. Still Paul could not help the way he felt about Caitlin and now looking at her like she was a cornered animal; he felt a strange sense of power come over him. Recalling the excitement of gripping her arm, the feel of her goose flesh gave him a excitement that he rarely felt. He wanted so much to reach out and slap her across the face.

“What do you want?” Caitlin began fiercely.

“What do you think, I want?” Paul quipped back. “I have a restraining order against you.”

But I…“ She began, then stopped. “Look, this is just a misunderstanding, I just came to see the movie.”

“Where’s your date?”

“Where’s my what? I came alone.”

“From the West Side?” Paul shot back, the theater being on the northeast side of Knoxville.

“I was looking for a change of place- I mean pace and this grand old’ theater came to mind.” Caitlin smiled. “How could I have known that you were here?“

“How could you have known? Well, you have been interrogating my neighbors and friends about where I go, what I eat, and who I see.” He said this with an air of authority, feeling power in his words.

“No. It’s not like that.” Caitlin interrupted. “I didn’t interrogate anyone.”

            “Shut up! Look- what we did is over.” Paul said raising his voice, knowing he could be heard. “You can’t have it back. Get on with your life and leave me alone!”

“What do you mean what we did?” Caitlin replied, her face going pale.

“If I ever see you again,” Paul said commanding with his tone. “No- if I ever hear of you again, I will sue for every dime you have to your name. No- every dime you will ever have to your name. If that isn’t enough, I will have you charged with solicitation and prostitution!” Paul realized he was shouting, but the glee of his manner kept him going.

“And I mean every word of it you- you clinging, conniving bitch!”

notes: Paul Murray is mostly a split personality, that one finds more often among men then women, there are women like him but few are that much like him, most of those are probably that way because of someone like him ruining their lives at some point. Paul Murray is a predator who has taken the desire and need to dominate women to a level where he cannot fully separate the sexual from the sense of power over dominating them. Peggy represents the woman who feels that this kind of man (and believe me she has no idea of what her "boyfriend" actually is.) She has misinterpreted him to such a degree to believ that somewhere inside of the lust and dominanace that she means more than being an abject. Her relationship is not without reward, Paul does tolerate distractions like romantic movies in order to get what he wants but he is more interested in the ends to the means than in the process. Ironically, many men I have known operate on this principal alone. In fact, most of Pornography and pornographic material cultimates in what those men and thus Paul Murrray want/desire/need- total sexual pleasure through the domination of a person,persons or thing. It's ironic (to me) that the entire industry can be summed up in two words (primarily with a small concession to women). The porn Industry calls this moment the "money shot" and it means the one moment where all their "efforts" are summed up in a single frame of action, the male climax. The reason I am talking about this is to understand what I want you to see in Paul is that this part of his personality has overridden the other side of his persona and is basically getting out of his control. 

In which I hope Paul Murray proves to you that he is a Perv

“Please behave; we like to have it comfortable for everyone.” Steven said as he walked past Paul, in a tone low enough for Paul to think that he was the only one who heard it. Steven walked on towards the concession stand.

Paul waited until Steven-the manager- or- whatever the fuck he thought he was- was out of earshot and then looked back at Caitlin. Caitlin was staring off in the direction that the manager had taken. Paul gave a grunt of disgust at her distraction and said.

“Excuse me, Miss Marshall?”

Caitlin came back to reality. “Yes?” she answered nervously. She looked at Paul as if she had just noticed him as he signaled with his right hand to a baroque style bench, one of eight that ringed the lobby. She turned and walked over to it still massaging her arm. She was angry, hurt and still afraid. Paul could see it in the furtive movements even as she tried to hide them.

Paul followed her, his frustration and anger cooling as he observed the gentle tilting of Caitlin’s hips as she walked. Her buttocks were tight and muscular and moved smoothly as she walked- unlike Peggy’s which were wider and softer (still looked good stuffed into those Jeans he made her wear when they went out). That guttural feeling returned, and Paul found a new heat building in him as she sat down, adjusting her black velvet skirt over her knee. Caitlin’s legs were long and well toned. She was taller than Peggy was, as almost as tall as Paul himself. She had blonde hair that fell in deep curls about her narrow shoulders, her skin was smooth and her breasts- her breasts were perfect. Paul felt his heat rise as he looked at Caitlin’s breasts held away in her velvet v-cut blouse. She was showing cleavage. They were a little larger than Peggy’s, rounder- though it could be the Victoria’s Secret bra- softer looking- hell he knew what they looked like, he had seen them once and very close up. Paul thought about cupping each of her breasts in his hands. His daydreaming ended when she made a throaty sound and his eyes met her icy blue. Paul’s fever fell like ice in a wind storm.

She glared up at him as he went to sit down beside her. She slid further down the bench in order to leave as much space between them as there was possible without falling off the bench. From his position under this cold new glare; Paul began to remember why he had come to hate this woman so much. What had started out as an innocent flirtation had become a nightmare of harassment and subsequent law suits. He stared back at Caitlin feeling a new deep sense of rage creeping up inside of him.

Strangers on a Train

            Paul instantly felt a surge of relief to escape Brad Pitt. He secretly wished he could escape Brad Pitt forever. Paul rose quickly to his feet only to receive hisses and muffled threats as he blocked the screen for the couples in the rows behind. He glowered back at the hissers but quickly realized that he could see non of them in the dark theater.

Jerks! Paul thought- Brad Pitt isn’t even in this scene, but he stooped anyway as he sidestepped towards the aisle. Reaching the aisle, Paul quickly strode for the lobby and certain freedom. He was just about to push through the doors when he ran right into someone in the darkened aisle. Surprised he began to apologize when he stared into the frightened eyes of a woman.

It was Caitlin Marshall.

Paul reached out and grabbed Caitlin’s left arm and yanked her towards him then pushed out the door. They both burst out into the spacious lobby of the theatre. Paul angrily held onto her arm as he walked into the lobby as if he intended to throw her out. She struggled ineffectually to get free. She must have realized she was trapped in his momentum. Paul felt a surge of power and sexual arousal at the idea that he had this power over her. With a burst of energy and inspiration he pulled her up to him then all but hurled her forward in front of him as they neared the front doors.

 “Just what the Hell?” Paul began, turning on the woman. He saw a man in a maroon blazer and tie spin around from the concession counter even as he heard the words echo off the walls.

“Is everything okay?” A voice questioned over his shoulder.

How had he gotten there so fast? Paul thought in frustration.

“Would you mind your own business!” Paul snarled without turning, still glaring at Caitlin- who stood like a girl needing desperately to go to the bathroom.

for some reason I can see Paul realizing this need and imagining it

This is probably closer to what he was thinking later
bot pics are from Strangers on a Train

[It's curious what comes to my mind as I rewrite this so many movies (and years) later.]

Prelude: Paul Murray Goes to the Movies

 

“How much of our lives are in the movies?

                                                How much of the movies are in our lives?”

                                                                                                (Anonymous)

                      “Nothing is as certain as death and taxes.” Joe Black reflected, as the movie dragged on about certainties in life. Paul Murray stifled a yawn and wondered again how he had let Peggy drag him out to the movies. He was a busy man and movies did not usually make his schedule unless the movie was a prelude to sex. In this case it was. Peggy was his regular girl- though he kept others on the side whenever he got bored of her. She was good enough for a laugh and in the sack, but Paul always liked to keep his options open.

Peggy Milsap sat to the right of Paul in the darkened theatre, desperately trying to hold back the tears as Brad Pitt steamed up the screen. Paul glanced at the tearful Peggy then back to the screen to watch Brad Pitt confess his love to another beauty that one could actually conceive of dying for. Not that Paul would have died for anything- or anyone for that matter. He certainly would not have died for Peggy even though he believed he loved her, but only occasionally, in moments of weakness.  He was instantly grateful he hadn’t married her, although he had nearly asked a year ago. Paul knew that he would never dare marry Peggy or any other woman; he could not afford such a character flaw in his life or professional career. Unless, of course, he did actually run for office- then maybe he would chance it. But it was unlikely, Paul Murray had far too many skeletons to hide to make a very public run for elected office. No, it was better to remain where he was; especially since he knew where the real power lay.

He stifled another yawn wanting to look away from Brad and his all-to-beautiful partner engaged in the love scene. He looked to his left at the couple, five or six seats down, all snuggled together as they watched the movie. Disgusted, he looked back at Peggy, wondering if he could stand such an entanglement. He wondered as to why they were still together. He found no reasons intellectually, so he appraised her physically instead.  Peggy for the most part was a plain woman in appearance, slender and small. She had a round doll-like face with a narrow nose and small mouth framed by straight black hair. Her mouth was sweet to kiss but had left no lasting impression. On her nose rested a pair of full-rimmed glasses, librarian size and shape. Peggy only wore them when she went to movies or to read. She reads too much, Paul thought, as his eyes wondered on down. He glanced briefly at her slim arms which were crossed under her breasts- the only feature that he could see at that moment that held much interest and longing for Paul.

            Paul gazed at Peggy’s breasts, which were pushing hard against her tee shirt. Her nipples protruded against the flimsy bra that Paul made her wear when they went out. Paul smiled, Peggy’s breasts were small and hard; he realized at that moment, in the dark, that was why he stayed. A low fever of desire rose inside Paul as he stared. Paul now satisfied with this newfound answer relaxed and sighed. A fresh feeling rolled over him as he looked back at his sole reason for staying, something stirred deep down inside of his being. Paul purred.

This purring noise was deeply “guttural,” a sound-like that of a lion looking at his next meal. Peggy gave him a look of real surprise. Her face had reddened from her tears and now a fresh blush came into her cheeks and she almost smiled. Her smile froze on her face, like a tongue on frozen metal, as she saw where Paul’s gaze was glued. Her frozen smile melted into a grimace of disgust, her arms quickly cutting off his view.

“Paul!” she hissed almost to loud to be a whisper.

“Paul!” she repeated lower with sharper inflection.

Paul snapped out of his reverie like a rubber band freshly sprung. He looked into her icy expression.

“Yes my sweets?” He managed to choke out.

“Would you get me a Pepsi” She quickly added, “diet please.”

“Okay Honey.” 

A new direction...oh boy!

No I don't know what happened to draft 2. And hopefully I will finish the book on Draft 3 so that you will e-read or read Draft 4 or 5 in one sitting soon.

“ANY CONCESSION FOR MURDER…”

An Arthur Dixon Novel

By

Michael D. Jansen van Vuuren

Foreward:

I began writing Any Concession back in 1999 during a Mystery Writing course I took at UT with the Indomitable Dr. Manchip-White. He will go down in my book as the best writing professor I ever had. Sorry Dr. Weir- not that you would ever read this commercial pulp- non-literary garbage (as you were wont to describe it) and thus there is the reason that Dr. M-W took the cake.

I initially wrote about 20 pages and then rewrote and rewrote the same 20 pages. In late 2000, I rewrote the initial draft and added another 20 pages and got stuck. Major writers block.

Why one might ask if they are prone to do? Well I will quote Dr. M-W: “Reading is inhaling and writing is exhaling. If you want to write my boy, you must read and read everything!”

I had fully exhaled and had no more breath.

Since then I have down a lot of breathing.

So now 12 years later, I am going to exhale some more.

I want to thank Tony Hillerman, Dana Stabenow, Robert B. Parker and Elmore Leonard for opening the scope of all that I could write about and where.

This leaves me in Knoxville, Tennessee with a Carl Hiassen high and the need to share a story about this crazy town and some of its colorful denizens. Lastly I must pay homage to Steven Womack who took on Nashville and mostly won with a series of fairly ridiculous mysteries that were lots of fun to read. Oh, and if I left out my Mother I would burn forever in Fantasy Book Hell. She got me to read other books (even some that would have Allen Weir jumping for joy) and talk about them with her. She also led me to Hillerman and Stabenow and now to Henning Mankell.

For the next 40 or so pages I will be reposting (reviewing what I have written) and making changes and offering comments on this or that but I will use a different font and brackets like this ][ to indicate them. Call it an work in progress that I am going to share with all of you.

Interludes and such

Today I found draft 3 of Any Concession and started rereading it. A few things struck me immediately, I can write a mystery better than several of the mystery (published) writers I have read in last few years and why the hell didn't I finish this years ago..... got distracted I guess by that annoyance called life- to bad I cannot blame it on love instead.

So Now I am pleased to share with you Draft 3 of Any Concession and announce that I will in fact be finishing it!

another installment

Apologies for the delay (health issues thankfully resolved)

The lights were on in house six, a crowd of four cops, Darby and the Coroner were standing around a seat in the seventh row. Dixon walked down the aisle to the second row above the seventh and began crossing the house. When he reached the middle, he sat down in a seat and waited for the coroner to finish. Jan came in and walked over to his row. She brought him a cup of coffee and Dixon took it with thanks.

“Sorry about the mix up on the phone.” He whispered.

“It’s okay,” she said, whispering as well. “You are not the only one doing it.”

“I am still sorry about that.”

Darby looked up and spied Dixon and Jan. He frowned, turned back to the coroner and nodded. The coroner shook his hand taking his leave. Darby looked back to Dixon.

“Hey Dixon, what are you doing up there?”

“I didn’t want to go where I was not welcome.”

“Jan, would you tell Weyr that he can bring in the body bag now.”

“Sure Darby.”

She left.

Dixon stood up.

“So who’s the stiff?” he asked.

“You mean you don’t know? No one told you?”

“Nope.”

Darby laughed.

“What? What’s so funny?” Dixon demanded.

Darby stopped and shook his head, holding up his hand.

“This is rich, no one even bothered to tell you. Well this-“ Darby pointed to the barely visible head next to him. “This is an old friend of ours, the guy who got you to quit the force. It’s Paul Murray, Dix.”

Dixon dropped his coffee.

The cup his the seat in front of him, splashing coffee backwards onto Dixon’s abdomen. Dixon danced around, first with whelps of pain then curses until he sat back down.

“Aw shit.” He pronounced. Dixon threw up his hands.

Darby stood there observing the tirade with a puzzled expression on his face. He walked over to the left aisle and came up Dixon’s aisle until he sat down next to him.

They sat there awhile.

            “Dix, I didn’t know that you were friends.”

            “We aren’t, I mean we weren’t.”

            “Then why are you so upset?”

            “Murray had hired me because he was afraid that some one was stalking him.”

            “Why didn’t he just go to the cops?”

            “Because he was sure that his stalker was a cop.”

introductions are made

Dixon walked in out of the cold, the lobby spread out before him. Dixon closed his eyes taking in the smell of the popcorn and smiled. He always performed this ritual when he came here. He felt through the space his mid soaring to the ceiling and back down to the plush carpets and steps, the brass rails and felt ropes that hung upon them.

Someone was calling his name and then pushed him. His dream shattered and he opened his eyes.

            “Dix!”

            “Hello Steven?”

            “This isn’t the time! Will you get serious?”

Steven Lowe was in a panic. Sweat ran down his face and stains showed on his shirt. He had shed the jackets after they had heard the scream. Peggy Milsap now sat on a bench to the far side of the lobby with Jan Connelly who was trying to comfort her.

“So.” Dixon began.

“So, this Ass-hole comes into the theater and pushes this woman around and she punches him, then he messes up the bathroom and I tell him to leave. But he doesn’t, he goes back into the theater and croaks. Now the cops are here and Darby can’t explain the reason why this guy died in my theater. If Mr. Creedlan finds out he might close the theater.”

“-And you don’t want to lose your job, and I better help you or I will lose my free pass to the movies?” Dixon finished for him. Jan was right, Steven was losing it in a big way. Dixon grinned and put his arm out taking Steven by the shoulder.

“Well, we can’t let that happen. Where is Darby?”

“He’s in house six.” Steven looked back to Dixon. “So you’ll help?”

“Of course, but not for money or free movies. I’ll do it for friendship and because I owe you.”

“Thanks” Steven relaxed and smiled feebly. “I needed that.”

“Sure that are what I am here for.” Dixon said stuffing his wallet back into his jacket. “Now get me some popcorn- extra butter and butter salt.”

Dixon wheeled around and walked towards the house six door.

Steven grinned and went to get Dixon’s request.

arrival

A murder at the Park Side, Dixon thought as he climbed to his feet. He looked back at the glowing screen of his computer. Should I leave it?

Yes. He bent over and clicked the save button with the mouse. He was already mentally on his way out as he grabbed his coat and ball-cap. He turned back to the computer as his screen saver kicked in; a police car ran up and down the screen. He sighed; the case he had been working on would have to wait until tomorrow. Paul Murray and his stalker case could wait. The murder at the Park Side, his favorite places in Ralston, now that was just too inviting to miss.

Rain and snowfall was all the weather that came to Ralston in the winter. When it was not raining, it was snowing. Dixon pulled his coat tighter around him and locked the door to his house. Darby would always say things like-“If it rains in Ralston, it snows.”

This always struck Dixon as odd, although tonight Ralston had proved Darby’s philosophy true. The sheets of rain had given way to a blizzard of snow. Dixon dodged the freezing puddles as he traversed the dark street to get to his car. The cold bit down on him and he was numbed as he fumbled with his keys. Finding them, he stuck his lighter to the key-lock with hopes that it was not frozen in the snow. It was covered with a thin sheet of ice.

            Dixon sighed in frustration, stepped back and kicked the locked door with a thump. He nearly slipped. Stumbling back to his car door he slid his key in a rattled it back and forth until it gave. Forcing the frozen door open he slid into the cold confines of his car. The engine started with the first turn and as the car warmed up, Dixon hunched of the heater. The temperature slowly rose.

            Dixon had bought the Buick after his finally got paid on his most recent case. He had owned a truck before that but it had been too much trouble to park in the city. He loved that truck, smashing it into cars and generally terrorizing his attackers. He had owned the truck along time, since he was at the academy. He smiled as he shifted the Buick into drive and with a last look across the street; he drove east towards the Park Side.

            The Buick, which was dark blue, had been a good choice as it blended into traffic as another unremarkable four-door sedan. The perfect surveillance car, Dixon had found it useful to follow Paul Murray and his many enemies around the area. He had taken to parking the car across the street, so no one would ascribe that the car belonged to him. This reasoning was two fold; first, Dixon hoped it would keep it safer from would be vandals (the truck had suffered that fate on an earlier case) and it would keep Henry Love out of his life. Henry Love was his sister’s ex-husband who thought that Dixon would be the perfect mediator between himself and Laura Dixon. Dixon had decided to stay out of it. He parked his car in different places, so Henry would not know if he were ever at home. So far the plan had worked.

            The idea of buying the Buick had led Dixon to reach over conclusion and he reconsidered them as he sped onto the bypass highway. First, he could not afford to have sports car like Magnum P.I.- Dixon’ hero and inspiration in life. Magnum had a Ferrari and lived in sunny Hawaii, whereas Dixon lived in Ralston where there was always rain and usually snow. Besides the insurance would kill him and the Ferrari was anything but inconspicuous. Driving a junky car like that of Colombo would be signature, but it would probably break down all the time and it was not any less conspicuous than a sports car. So Dixon stuck with his non-noteworthy car, and the fact that it only cost him two thousand dollars.

            He had bought the truck because he thought that Lee Majors had made a valid point about the versatility of such a vehicle in his 1980’s show The Fall Guy. What I really need is a TV-PI show set in Ralston or at least Atlanta.

            Dixon nearly missed his exit to the Park Side, so caught up in his thoughts about the car. The snow had stopped falling, revealing the gray aura of the Ralston night-lit sky. The Park Side sat on a low hillock to the lower side of the East Gate Mall. The theater had been built in the 40’s and had endured through history as a great movie house. The exterior of the theater had been recently redone in a retro-fifty’s facade. The current owner of the Park Side, a fan of big band and swing had it refinished to look like an old dance Palace. The triangulated marquee was lit advertising movies as its’ sequence lights flashed blue red yellow and green filling the winter air with the glow of its performance. Reflections of this and the flashing lights of the eight police cruisers in front of the box office decried a spectacle that had drawn a crowd despite the freezing weather.

            Dixon drove his car off to one side of this riot, and chose a spot between two Toyota Celica’s and headed in on foot. Coming under the bright marquee, Dixon encountered the Police line. Officer Peter Felx blocked his path with a strong arm.

            “Hey!”

            Dixon pulled his faded wallet out and flashed his license out.

            “I know who you are Dix.”

            “So let me pass.”

            “Who invited you?” he shot back.

            “Let him through Felx.” Sergeant Martin Ross joined them.

            “But Sarge, he doesn’t have an invitation.”

            “Let him pass Felx, Darby wants him.”

            Felx made a face but dropped his arm

            “Don’t stay too long Dix.” He sneered.

            Dixon smiled with all his teeth showing and crouched under the Police tape.

            “Thanks Ross.” Dixon told the Sergeant.

            “Don’t flatter yourself Dixon, I only let you in because Darby wants you here.”

“For whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap

I

“For whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.”

(Galatians 6:7)

The phone rang for a long time before Arthur Dixon heard it. He sat asleep in front of his computer in the shadowy office above his home. His head was tilted forward as he snored in stuttering phrases. The ringing pierced the fog of drowsiness and he awoke with a snap as if he had just been stabbed. With a jerking motion, he went for the phone, but his handicapped movements knocked the handset from the cradle. The handset hit the floor and bounced under the desk. With a groan, Dixon slid out of the chair and crawled under the desk.

The voice in the handset led his blinded hand to it. Dixon rejoiced at finding it and tried to stand up, slamming his head and back into the ceiling of his desk. He winced at his failure as he returned to his knees and backed painfully out from under the desk. Exhausted from the effort, he collapsed, leaning back against the desk. He wearily remembered the handset and brought it up to his head.

“Hello?”

“Dix?”

“Yes. What do you-.” He found it impossible to finish.

“Dix, are you awake?” A woman’s voice spoke.

“Yes. No, but I will be soon.”

“Can you come down to the Park Side?”

“Yes. Yes I can- who is this?”

“It’s Jan. Don’t you remember me?”

“Uhm.“ Dixon closed his eyes trying to summon forth a memory of the speaker.

“You don’t remember me.”

“No, wait I do. It’s-“ Nothing came. “I’m sorry, who?”

“Officer Janice Connelly.” Her tone was flat, Dixon decided she was either mad or in a hurry or both. Suddenly his memory jogged, an image appeared in his head.

“Oh! Jan- Darby’s new sidekick.”

“Yes, that is me, although you apparently don’t remember our earlier conversation either.” She was very mad.

“No. No I don’t.”

“Let me refresh your memory. We discussed the fact that I was Darby’s new partner- not his sidekick or his girl, but his equal. That is what partner means, Dix.”

Her words were sharp and Dixon paused.

Silence.

“Oops.”

“It’s okay.” She said, “I’ll forgive you, again.”

“Thanks” Dixon replied with relief.

“Look, the reason I called is that Darby wants you to come down to the Park Side right now.”

“Tonight?”

“Now. Right now.”

“Why?”

“There’s been a murder.”

That detail woke Dixon up, before that he was almost convinced that this whole conversation had been a dream, a bad one. Now it seemed to be a bad reality, and Dixon sat there wishing that it had stayed a dream.

“A murder? A murder at the Park Side?”

“Yes.” She replied. “Look I’ve got to get back, Darby’s giving me a signal and Steve’s getting restless.”

“What about Steve?” Dixon asked but she had already hung up.

the moment has arrived

Peggy shook Paul’s arm as the credits rolled and the house lights came up, but Paul didn’t respond. She sat back in frustration at him ignoring her again. She look up to his face, he was sitting there stiffly, staring at the blank screen.

“Paul?” she said softly. “I want to go home.”

“Come on Paul, be reasonable.” She began again. Peggy leaned over to kiss his cheek and froze as her lips touch his skin. She wanted to scream.

Paul Murray was dead.

next murder piece

Paul made his way back into movie with a drink in each hand, a tub of popcorn between them. This time he ignored the comments and hisses as he sidestepped over to his seat. He handed a drink to Peggy while holding the tub in his teeth.

            “Where’ve you been?” Peggy demanded as quietly as she could manage.

            Paul told his rehearsed lie, She seemed to believe him and fondly touched his wounded face Her thin fingers traced his cheek and then she bent over to kiss him, but he pulled back. She then made a pass for the tub of popcorn, but Paul pulled it away angrily. Peggy sighed and settled back to her original position, cradling her drink. Let him sulk, all he wants, she thought.

As he stuffed the warm popcorn into his mouth, Paul thought about the threat the thug had made. He flinched as he realized that he had put too much butter-salt on his popcorn. He felt chills, but couldn’t figure out where they came from. His wet pants clung to him coldly. The threat pushed its way to the forefront of his mind. The Grover case had looked open and shut- but now Mr. Hubert Grover had sent a thug to threaten him. Paul smiled as the thought of suing Grover for harassment and this theater too. The money floated around in his head. He happily stuffed more popcorn into his mouth, forgetting all about the dampness in his crotch and Caitlin’s attack.

            Peggy suddenly grabbed his arm and said, “This isn’t diet.”

            Paul handed Peggy the other drink and took another handful of popcorn. He arched his back as a stabbing pain reminded him of the force of that push into the urinal.

            “This isn’t diet either!” hissed Peggy with disgust.

Paul felt a wave of nausea as he put another handful of popcorn into his mouth. It had a metallic taste- maybe it was stale. The chills returned and Paul felt them race through his abdomen. The tub of popcorn dropped from his hand. It spilt all over Peggy’s lap and onto the floor.

            “Paul- watch out- you just spilt the ‘corn!” she said trying to squirm out of the way. She began to brush the oily popcorn off her jeans.

            Paul tried to turn his head to look at her but found he couldn’t. Brad Pitt had returned to the screen. He was saying something about death and taxes. Panic rose inside of Paul, and his heart raced. He tried to get up but he couldn’t feel his legs or feet. He tried to move, but his fingers went numb. It was as if his extremities had gone to sleep. He tried to call for help, but only managed to gasp. He blinked and realized that he was paralyzed. He blinked again staring at the screen and at Brad Pitt. Paul agonized at the thought of having to watch Brad Pitt until Peggy would notice and get help. Paul hated Brad Pitt, and having to watch him. Paul thought: I would rather die.

confrontation

Paul sat up, his face had started to swell and it was wet. He absently wiped at the wetness on his cheek. If we had been alone, I would have hit her back, he thought sullenly. His bladder chose at that moment to remind him to be elsewhere. He clambered to his feet and began walking towards the men’s restroom.

“She sure knocked the spit out of you.” cheered a man in blue jeans and black shirt that said something like `Hell Yeah!’ on it. His bald head reflecting the light.

Paul glared at them all and flipped him off- but his gesture was lost in the applause. He walked on into the restroom. He stopped inside the door, new thoughts sprang up in his mind as he replayed the scene and imagined what he would have like to have done to her. Paul walked over to the urinal to relieve the pressure on his bladder.

As he zipped up and flushed, he heard footfalls behind him. Before he could react, a man pushed him hard- crouch first into the urinal. Paul squealed in fright then grunted in pain, as there was sudden pressure in the small of his back. Water flowed over his pants and down his legs pooling on the floor and in his shoes. Steven- Paul thought angrily as he turned his head.

“Look manager-man, “ Paul began “I-“ But he never finished as he realized this man was taller than Steven was. The man was so tall that when Paul looked back, he was staring at the suit jacket of the man.

“Shut up, Shit-head!” The deep gruff voice commanded. “If you don’t lay off the Grover case- yer dead.” The thug size man held Paul in place for one more flush, reaching around Paul’s head with a big arm to pull the handle.

 Terror gripped Paul, he didn’t move. The thug let him go, but Paul remained leaning against the urinal until he heard the man exit. Paul stood there dripping until he felt he had regained his composure. He turned and walked over to the mirrored sink. As he approached, he saw the blood trail on his swollen cheek.

The bitch cut me! He touched the gash, his fear fading fast. She must have been wearing a ring; he grabbed a stretch of paper towel and dabbed it until bleeding stopped. He threw the used towel over his shoulder only to notice the blood on his hand. The hand he had just used to- the thought made him so sick that he dry-retched in the sink. He looked back up at the mirror- a sudden feeling that he had forgotten something.

Peggy! What was he going to tell Peggy! He began thinking ferociously. He soon had worked out a quick and convincing lie. He would tell her that he went to the restroom, water had splashed from the sink and he had slipped, hitting his face on the sink. In the dark she would only notice that he was cut and would give him sympathy. His lie was good and solid.

He smiled as it occurred to him that he could sue the theater. He had the evidence after all and the DA was in his back pocket. The truth might never be known.

Truth, Paul thought as he headed towards the door, truth is a funny thing-so easily twisted, so easily pliant. The door opened as he approached, Steven Lowe appeared. Steven stopped and looked at Paul, instantly noticing the big wet spot in Paul’s crotch. His eyes followed the stain down Paul’s pants legs and along to the puddle behind him. He looked back to Paul, who, caught thinking about his latest lawsuit, looked like a possum caught in someone’s headlights; frozen and stupid. He moved up until he almost stood nose to nose with Paul and said menacingly.

“Don’t come back to this theater again.”

            “Oh.” Paul choked. “Or what?”

            “Or I’ll have you arrested for loitering and public indecency.

            This time Steven’s smile was genuine.

more murder

A year ago, Caitlin had joined the District Attorneys’ office as new lawyers did. She was vigorous and ambitious. She had won several cases in the lower courts and had set her targets on the higher ones. Paul had met her and in a subsequent meeting asked her out. He had placed his hand on her buttocks as a flirtation. Then the next thing he knew, he was being charged with sexual harassment. How did she dare to charge the Assistant DA with such an act? She was just one of those “Militant Feminists” out to destroy men. Out to topple men in high places, like Paul. The case had been thrown out for insufficient evidence and Caitlin summarily dismissed.

Paul smiled at the thought of this woman, having whored her way to the peak only to fall all the way down. Had her disgrace been complete she would have left him alone, but the DA wouldn’t allow him to counter sue.

Caitlin had changed weaponry and came back at him from new directions. She tried to slander his name to the press- that had failed when the Attorney General had backed Paul’s defense. She then began to follow him and harass him over the phone. Paul had a judge put a restraining order against her, but it had only slowed her down. She began to harass his friends and neighbors, and girlfriends. Fortunately she had never learned of Peggy, and Peggy had no knowledge of Caitlin. Still Paul could not help the way he felt about Caitlin and now looking at her like she was a cornered animal; he felt a strange sense of power come over him. Recalling the excitement of gripping her arm, the feel of her goose flesh gave him a sexual excitement that he rarely felt. He wanted so much to reach out and slap her across the face.

“What do you want?” Caitlin began fiercely, wanting to draw notice away from her.

“What do you think, I want?” Paul quipped back. “I have a restraining order against you.”

But I-“ She began, then stopped. “Look, this is just a misunderstanding, I just came to see the movie.”

“Where’s your date?”

“Where’s my what? I came alone.”

“From the West Side?” Paul shot back, the theater being on the northeast side of Railston.

“I was looking for a change of place- I mean pace and this grand old’ theater came to mind.” Caitlin smiled. “How could I have known that you were here?“

“How could you have known? Well, you have been interrogating my neighbors and friends about where I go, what I eat, and who I see.” He said this with an air of authority, feeling power in his words.

“No. It’s not like that.” Caitlin interrupted. “I didn’t interrogate anyone.” She felt a desperation that had clung to her teeth for the last few days.

            “Shut up! Look- what we did is over.” Paul said raising his voice, knowing he could be heard. “You can’t have it back. Get on with your life and leave me alone!”

“What do you mean what we did?” Caitlin replied, her face going pale.

“If I ever see you again-“ Paul said commanding with his tone. “No- if I ever hear of you again, I will sue for every dime you have to your name. No- every dime you will ever have to your name. If that isn’t enough, I will have you charged with solicitation and prostitution!” Paul realized he was shouting, but the glee of his manner kept him going.

“And I mean every word of it you- you clinging, conniving bitch!”

            He glanced back to the concession counter to confirm that he had been heard. He looked back to Caitlin, who sat stiffly with a shocked expression on her face. She looked as if Paul had just slapped her and Paul decided that this was better than hitting her. Almost all the color had drained from her face, her mouth was moving but no sound escaped from her lips. She blinked and then blinked again. Paul looked back to the concession stand to find everyone, three employees, an assistant manager and a customer staring back. Steven, the manager was in his office with a phone call, but had stopped midway and stood with the phone dangling in one hand as if deciding what to do. Paul then turned back to Caitlin.

Caitlin’s mind raced, when Paul had first alluded to a fictitious affair. Then he had completely gone off the hook and accused her of immoral actions, calling her a whore. His words rang in her ears. Solicitations- she had heard this from the judge who had restrained her. Her thoughts were jumbled and she choked as a new understanding struck her like a bolt from the blue. Was that how he had won the lawsuit?

What had Paul Murray told the DA and the judge behind closed doors? Her fingers on her right hand worked the diamond ring around on her index finger as she struggled to come to grips with what Paul had said. Turning the edges of the ring brought new clarity to Paul’s words. He had called her a whore!

“Are you listening to me!” Paul said as he turned back to face her. He heard the door to the office close behind him.

Caitlin did not answer; the thought of Paul’s name-calling had brought a new revelation. Paul had convinced a judge that her allegations of sexual harassment and assault, had been nothing more than Caitlin trying to hide that she had solicited him for sex. The judge had dismissed her case with a warning- she was to maintain professional conduct at all times in the work place and to stop making false or imagined allegations against her superiors. In one stroke, Paul had sullied her reputation and destroyed her career. She had been surprised when the DA had dismissed her, but now the surprise was gone. She looked at Paul with newfound hatred.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more important matters to attend to.” Paul said as he glanced once more at the concession stand. The manager stood there now. Paul noted that he wasn’t coming over and relaxed.

He looked back at Caitlin. To his surprise, she made a quick movement and her right arm blurred. Paul barely had time to blink before Caitlin’s right fist connected with his jaw and a searing pain stabbed his face. She knocked the words out of his mouth so hard that saliva hit the wall. Paul toppled off the bench and hit the floor with a thud.  He lay there in shock as Caitlin rose to her feet. She looked at him, then at her hand. She felt her anger drip away as the reality of what he had done flooded back in.

            Cheers erupted as the employees and a customer broke the silence. Caitlin looked back at Paul, somehow knowing what he would do now. She looked over to the concession stand to find Steven grinning and his assistant on the phone. Cops, she thought, not what I need. Despair overcame her; she turned away from Paul and fled the theater out into the night and the rain. Steven followed.

more concessions for murder

Paul waited until Steve-the manager- or- whatever he was- was out of earshot and then looked back at Caitlin. Caitlin was staring off in the direction that the manager had taken. Paul gave a grunt of disgust at her distraction and said.

“Excuse me, Miss Marshal?”

Caitlin came back to reality. “Yes?” she answered nervously.

She looked at Paul as if she had just noticed him as he signaled with his right hand to a baroque style bench, one of eight that ringed the lobby. She turned and walked over to it still massaging the pain in her arm.

Paul followed her, his frustration and anger cooling as he observed the gentle tilting of Caitlin’s hips as she walked. Her buttocks were tight and muscular and moved smoothly as she walked. That guttural feeling returned, and Paul found a new heat building in him as she sat down, adjusting her black velvet skirt over her knee. Caitlin’s legs were long and well toned. She was taller than Peggy was, as almost as tall as Paul himself. She had blonde hair that fell in deep curls about her narrow shoulders, her skin was smooth and her breasts- her breasts were perfect. Paul felt his heat rise as he looked at Caitlin’s breasts held away in her velvet v-cut dress. She was showing cleavage. Paul thought about cupping each of her breasts in his hands. His daydreaming ended when she made a throaty sound and his eyes met her icy blue. Paul’s fever fell like ice in a windstorm.

Caitlin sighed, her eyes still flashing as she remembered Paul had a real obsession with her breasts. The thought made her sick to her stomach. She glared up at him as he went to sit down beside her. She slid further down the bench in order to leave a space between them.

From his position under this cold new glare, Paul began to remember why he had come to hate this woman so much. What had started out as an innocent flirtation had become a nightmare of harassment and subsequent lawsuits. He stared back at Caitlin feeling a new deep sense of rage creeping up inside of him.

any concession for murder

                        “Nothing is as certain as death and taxes.”

                                                                        (Meet Joe Black)

The movie dragged on about certainties in life: Paul Murray stifled a yawn and wondered again how he had let Peggy drag him out to the movies. He was a busy man and movies did not usually make his schedule unless the movie was a prelude to sex; and in this case it was. Peggy was his regular girl- though he kept others on the side whenever got bored of her. She was good enough for a laugh and in the sack, but Paul always liked to keep his options open. Peggy Milsap sat to the right of Paul in the darkened theatre, desperately trying to hold back the tears as Brad Pitt steamed up the screen. Paul glanced at the tearful Peggy then back to the screen to watch Mr. Pitt confess his love to another beauty that one could actually conceive of dying for. Not that Paul would have died for anything- or anyone for that matter. He certainly would not have died for Peggy even though he believed he loved her, but only occasionally, in moments of weakness.  He was instantly grateful he hadn’t married her, although he had nearly asked a year ago- another moment like that. Paul knew that he would never dare marry Peggy or any other woman, he could not afford such a character flaw in his life.

He stifled another yawn wanting to look away from Brad and his all to beautiful partner engaged in the love scene. He looked to his left at the couple, five or six seats down, all snuggled together as they watched the movie. Disgusted, he looked back at Peggy, wondering if he could stand such an entanglement. His thoughts turned to why he thought they were still together. He found no reasons intellectually, so he appraised her physically instead.  Peggy for the most part was a plain woman in appearance, slender and small. She had a round doll-like face with a narrow nose and small mouth framed by straight black hair. Her mouth was sweet to kiss but had left no lasting impression. On her thin nose rested a pair of full-rimmed glasses, librarian size and shape. Peggy only wore them when she went to movies and to read. She reads too much Paul thought, as his eyes wondered on down. He glanced briefly at her slim arms which were crossed under her breasts- the only feature that held much interest and longing for Paul.

            Paul admired Peggy’s breasts, which were pushing hard against her tee shirt. Her nipples protruded against the flimsy bra that Paul made her wear when they went out. Paul smiled, Peggy’s breasts were small and hard; he realized at that moment, in the dark, that was why he stayed. Paul sat satisfied with this newfound answer. A new feeling rolled over him and he looked back at his sole reason for staying, something stirred deep down inside of his being. Paul purred.

This purring noise was deep “guttural” sound-like that of a lion looking at his next meal. Peggy gave him a look of real surprise. Her face had reddened from her tears and now a fresh blush came into her cheeks and she almost smiled. Her smile froze on her face, like a tongue on frozen metal, as she saw where Paul’s gaze was glued. Her frozen smile melted into a grimace of disgust, her arms quickly cutting off his view.

“Paul!” she hissed almost to loud to be a whisper.

“Paul!” she repeated low but with sharper inflection.

Paul snapped out of his reverie like a rubber band freshly sprung. He looked into her icy expression.

“Yes my sweets?” He managed to choke out.

“Would you get me a Pepsi” She quickly added, “diet please.”

“Okay Honey.”

            Paul instantly felt a surge of relief to escape Brad Pitt. He secretly wished he could escape Mr. Pitt forever. Paul rose quickly to his feet only to receive hisses and muffled threats as he blocked the screen for the couples in the rows behind.

Jerks! Paul thought- Brad Pitt isn’t even in this scene, but he stooped anyway as he sidestepped towards the aisle. Reaching the aisle, Paul quickly strode for the lobby and certain freedom.

He was just about to push through the doors when he nearly tripped over someone. Pivoting as he stumbled, he stared into the frightened eyes of a woman.

It was Caitlin Marshall.

Paul reached out and grabbed Caitlin’s left arm and yanked her towards him and the doors. They both burst out into the spacious lobby of the theatre. Paul angrily held onto her arm as he walked into the lobby as if he intended to throw her out. Paul realized he wanted to.

A man in a maroon blazer and tie spun around from the concession counter as the pair came out.

“Just what the Hell!” Paul began, turning on the woman.

“Is everything okay?” A voice questioned over his shoulder.

How had he gotten there so fast? Paul thought in frustration and a little fear.

“Would you mind your own business.” Paul snarled without turning, still glaring at Caitlin- who stood like a girl needing desperately to go to the bathroom.

“Are you alright- Ma’am?” The manager said as he came around Paul’s blocking mass. He immediately noticed Paul’s grip on Caitlin’s arm. He looked back at her face, which was torn between embarrassment and pain. Caitlin opened her mouth to speak, but Paul cut her off.

“She’s fine. So why don’t you go away and sweep the floor.” Paul stopped; spittle ran down his chin. Fear hit him hard as the manager turned on him.

The manager stood half a head shorter than Paul, squared build and wore an expression like that of an angry pitbull.

A lump rose in Paul’s throat.

“This is my theater, sir, and I was addressing the lady- who I am sure will be better when you let go of her arm.” His voice was quiet, his tone deadly.

“Or?” Paul was still determined to stand his ground.

“Or-“ continued the manager, bringing his clenched hands forward.

“I’ll dismantle you,” he said smiling, “piece by piece.”

            The finality of the threat sunk into Paul who found him staring at the calluses on the manager’s knuckles. He gulped for air like a man drowning, letting go of Caitlin’s arm. He raised his arms defensively in front of him with his hands spread wide.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

Paul managed a feeble smile.

“Of course. No harm- no foul.” The manager grinned. He turned to face Caitlin, who stood less awkwardly, rubbing her arm.

“Steven A. Lowe, Ma’am.” He extended his right hand. Caitlin took it feeling the security in it. A profound look of gratitude came over her.

“Thanks.” She said. “Caitlin Marshall.”

“If you need anything else,” Steven said with a genuine smile, “I’ll be right over there.”

He pointed across the lobby to the concession stand. Caitlin nodded-the color coming back into her cheeks. Steven turned to look at Paul, who stood palely in place.

“Behave.” Steven said as he walked past Paul, in a tone low enough for Paul to think that he was the only one who heard it. As Steven walked back to the concession stand, he gave a shallow wave to the other employees to get back to work. Marcy, his assistant manager, gave him thumbs up to show her approval of Steven’s actions.

Rabble, Steven thought, wishing he had kept the policeman- security guard there for weeknights. Rabble came on weeknights, and there always seemed to be trouble when the rabble was here.

Steven sighed and shook his head as he looked back at the couple. He wondered what a woman like that would be doing with a man of that character. The man appeared to be behaving. Steven looked at the beautiful woman trying to remember her name.