Thursday, April 13, 2006
Fixer [Interim Title] Chapter 7 Part 1
There was mixed gore and brains splattered against the
wall. My masked buddy's ski mask was now fragments mixed with the
gore. The smell of blood and urine and feces filled the air, the
smell of death. Dr. Feelgood had arrived and was taking pictures,
humming a happy tune. Officer Jackson looked a bit green about the
"Hi Marvin," I said, intercepting Dr. Feingold and kissing him on
the bottom of his chin again.
"Hi Kathy. You look hungry. Want a sandwich?" He pulled a sandwich
out of one of the pockets on his lab coat. Tuna salad. Yum. I grabbed
it and took a bite, realizing just how hungry I was. I'd missed lunch
getting patched up at the doc-in-box. Officer Jackson was making
gagging noises and holding his hand over his mouth. Dr. Feingold
handed him a barf bag out of another of his pockets.
I pointed at the dead man. "What killed him?" I wolfed down
another quarter of the sandwich, eating like I meant it.
Dr. Feingold pointed at the wall behind the dead man. "The bullet
went in there. We'll know more when I get it out, but it looks like a
.357 magnum hollow point. Massive destruction."
"I shoot 9mm, full-jacketed."
He nodded. "I know." He pointed to the shoulder and leg
wounds. "Those are 9mm bullet holes. Bullet went clean through except
where it tumbled in the leg after hitting the bone. Odd angle,
though. Almost like someone was shooting from the ceiling?"
I held up my wrists. "I was tied to the rafters. Rope burns."
"Ah." He examined the bandages on my wrists, then produced an
evidence bag with frayed rope in it. "Already got that. Your blood on this?"
"Yeah." I stuffed the rest of the sandwich in my mouth. Officer
Jackson was shaking his head. He still looked green.
He consulted his notebook, walked to where he'd found the rope, and
looked upward. "How'd you work it?", he asked.
"I baited him into getting close, kicked him in the balls, and
swung up into the rafters. The rest was easy."
"Not easy," he said. "Not easy at all." He patted me on the
shoulder, and looked wistful. "You take care," he said. I was suddenly
very interested in my shoes.
Officer Jackson cleared his throat. Dr. Feingold turned his
attention to him. "She doesn't shoot a .357. Too much kick. She's too
light, can't control it. She didn't have anything to do with this
man's death. Send her home."
"She shot a man."
Dr. Feingold sighed, and shook his head. "Even if she did, it was
self defense. There isn't a jury in this county that would convict a
tiny little thing like her for shooting some goon who tied her up and
hurt her. What's the point?"
"Thanks," I muttered.
Dr. Feingold gently put his hand on my shoulder, and said softly to
me, "I know you think you're tough. And you are. But that doesn't turn
you into a 250 pound linebacker. You've had a hard day. Go home. Get
some rest. Go."
"Thanks, Marvin," I said, and leaned my head against his shoulder
for a moment, and closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. Then I shook
my head and headed for the door.
"Hey," Officer Jackson said, catching up with me. "What's with you
and Doctor Feingold?"
"He's been with the coroner's office a long time," I said. "He was
there when they brought my mother in."
Fourteen years old. Fourteen years old, and a knowledge deep inside
that it wasn't right, wasn't fair. Saying to her father, "I have to
see her. I have to know." And a young Doctor Feingold, hands on that
girl's shoulders, saying "You don't want to see this, it's not a good
idea" but I had to. I had to.
The image of my mother's dead and shattered body on that lonely
table remains with me to this day. And the look on young Doctor
Feingold's face, as that girl pulled the sheet down, looked, nodded,
and said "Now I know she's dead," turned and walked out. I remember
I rubbed my eyes. The sunlight was making them water. Yeah, that
"You okay?" Officer Jackson asked.
"Yeah. Just tired." I stopped. "What about the Beemer?"
"Leased to an import/export company. America Import/Export."
I closed my eyes, shook my head, and smiled. I knew who the guy in
the Beemer worked for, anyhow. I doubted that he was shooting anybody
with a .357 Magnum, unless he'd bought it himself, which was unlikely
given that his issue weapon was a Glock 23 .40 caliber pistol which
for his purposes was preferable to the .357 Magnum. Of course, Doc
could be wrong about the .357, but it wasn't likely. He'd seen a lot
of bullet holes in his time. A .40 jacketed government load shot from
an automatic didn't make the same kind of hole as a .357 Magnum soft
lead hollow point shot from a revolver.
"Forget about him," I said. "He's got nothing to do with this. What
about the house?"
Officer Jackson shook his head. "Still waiting on the warrant."
I nodded. "It's been a long day. I'm going home."
It was 2PM.
Not much happening here, but still one of my favorite scenes. Got that whole hard-boiled softy thing going, between gobbling down a sandwich amidst the smell of blood and shit, and getting a bit bleary-eyed during the backstory flashback. Kathy is someone who might let her guard slip a bit from time to time, but never much, for reasons that should be starting to come clear now and will be crystal clear by the end. Too bad. There's people who care for her and could be good for her, if she'd let them.
Posted by: BadTux / 4/13/2006 09:55:00 PM
# posted by SB Gypsy : 16/4/06 4:41 PM