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.