Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Joey the Clown

Joey the Clown

What a great idea having a clown for Bobby’s birthday party.  The kids will love him and all the parents will think you’re the best.  Joey the Clown wasn’t even that expensive and he brings his own balloons and party gifts.  You made quite the deal on this one; if the other parents only knew what a steal you got on this deal they’d just die.  No literally, right after they tear your heart out you fucking bitch.

DA:                         Mrs. James; how did you come to know the Defendant Joey Miller?

Mrs. James:        Well I met him at the grocery store; he was, was in his costume; his clown suit and had a sign.  A sign that said clown for hire.  So I; I booked him for my son’s birthday.

DA:                         Your son’s birthday party? A party at your house?

Mrs. James:        Ummmmm yes, at my house; I HAD NO IDEA, NO IDEA, THIS ISN’T MY FAULT!

DA:                         Objection your Honor.

Judge:                   Mrs. James answer the question; only the question.  Please


Judge:                   One hour recess.

A low murmur went through the crowded Court Room as the judge left the bench.  A few thought they were watching a witch hunt; one of which they were all willing to fight to get to be the one too light the fire to send the bitch to hell.

Joey the clown showed up early to the James house; a two story mansion and a full basement; two large pillars holding up the front facade, with white siding except the shutters which had been painter a soft grey color to compliment the early colonial architecture; a little drab, but huge; four thousand square feet and on a nice piece of property overlooking the St. Luis River.   Joey rubbed his hands together in excitement.

Nancy James greeted Joey at the front door; walked him through the entrance and into the living room area just left of the front hall.  A spacious room with high ceilings and one grand chandelier in the center of the room.  In the mid day sun it was set on a low setting, just enough to set off the cut of the crystal, but not enough to cast a shadow; saving energy was not a concern in the James house hold.  Joey placed his trunk on the serving table; with rolling eyes he ask Nancy when the children would be coming.  A slight chill ran up her back; being the finest of hosts Nancy got Joey a glass of water; the party would start in twenty minutes.

Children began arriving in ones and twos; Mother dropping off their four year olds without a worry; the James’s were well known in town being that they owned a good half of it. With horns, hats and candy the party was off to a good start; even the Martin boy was behaving to a point; his autism making him a hand full at the best of times.

Soon it was Joey’s turn to entertain the children; he made crazy faces and danced; they all laughed and laughed; he next twisted balloons into horses, cats, dogs and one that looked just like a sword.  The children were so engrossed that Nancy had to yell twice that the cake was ready; everyone ran for the

DA:                         Mrs. James, did you ever ask for identification or do any type of back ground investigation or ask for references?  You just let this person into your house full of four year olds?

Mrs. James:        He’s a clown…a clown.

DA:                         Nothing in his demeanor; his actions raise a red flag to you?  You let him take all eleven four year olds down into the basement?  You nor any adult going with them?

Mrs. James:        He’s a clown; they act funny; you know; he kept laughing all the time, but don’t they all do that kind of thing?  No, your question; we were having drinks, there was just me and Mrs. Ellis; we were just up in the dining hall; I’d had only two glasses of wine.

DA:                         Mrs. James… what about the screaming; tell me about the screaming.  Why’d you ignore all the children screaming?  Did you not tell the Police that the children were screaming for at least thirty minutes if not longer?

Mrs. James         He was doing magic tricks; don’t you scream during magic tricks?  I always scream; I’m scared of magic tricks and magicians…  I didn’t do anything wrong; nothing, nothing at all.  I didn’t do anything wrong here.

DA:                         Mrs. James; what was the first thing that made you think that something was wrong?

Mrs. James         Well; it got quiet; and then I thought I heard crying; so I went right away to check.

DA:                         What did you find Mrs. James?

Mrs. James:        The children; there was blood everywhere.  I thought; I thought someone must have fell and hit their nose; but no, no, no they were all laying on the floor; I thought; thought they were doing a magic trick; but all the blood; you could smell the blood; it made me sick; I called Bobby my son, but he didn’t answer; all I could hear was; was the clown laughing, laughing; he just never stops laughing.  He cut my Bobby’s head off; clean off, it was just sitting there; all the children were cut; little Mary, Mary Williams her head was almost all the way off.

DA:                         Mrs. James; why didn’t you call the Police?  Why did it take so long to call the Police?  Mrs. James; Why?

Mrs. James:        I was in shock; I needed another drink; I just couldn’t believe it; he just kept stabbing them and stabbing them; I could hear the laughing; he just wouldn’t stop laughing; IT’S NOT MY FAULT, NOT MY FAULT…

Judge:                   Bailiff please remove Mrs. James from the Court Room.

DA:                         Judge I’d like to remand the Defendant over to trial; this Office has more than shown the neglect of the defendants actions in this horrible crime.  Your Honor, Mrs. James failed to act in any manner to save any of the children from Joey Miller a known killer and child molester in this community.

Judge:                   The defendant will be held on one million dollar bail; next Court date August 15th @ 3:00pm for plea.  This Court is adjourned.

From the Ramblings.


Wednesday, October 23, 2013



Jimenez checked off his name on the filthy clipboard.  Who ever thought to pass a clipboard down the line?  With a silent chuckle Jimenez rolled his eyes and said to himself “the new Lt. that’s who” he reached out with his right hand and tapped Simpson on what he hoped was his shoulder; the board disappeared into the ink black of the night.

Jimenez went back to scanning the front with his night vision goggles “I wonder if the Lt. thought about whether we’d be able to see the fucking board in the pitch black out here without night eyes?”  Again shaking his head and a silent snicker he went back to watching for any movement towards the front of their position. 

The night was as dark as an ink well; so dark little round flashes of light, light up in your eyes as heavy charged protons rocket through eye fluid and passes into the earth leaving a flash as it goes through.   No moon, heavy cloud cover without a breath of wind; no crickets, owls, nothing but silence; it was so quite you could hear your joints creak.

 Simpson found where Clark was because Clark’s stomach was rolling and growling so loud you could hear it three meters down the line.  Simpson jammed the board into Clark’s left arm hard enough it made a thud sound. An almost silent squeak from the front was heard immediately; everyone in hearing distance knew what that was.  No one moved or even drew a breath for what seemed like minutes.  Twenty yards to the right and at least fifteen to the front a cricket sounded; again the nearly silent squeak.  Jimenez, Simpson, Clark, Stark and Franks all had the target acquired. 

The 15th light armor division had been deployed for over fifteen months.  Casualty rates stood at 82%; 47% wounded; 29% dead, and 7% missing and presumed dead or captured; which meant dead. The recently promoted third Commander in two weeks was screaming over the secured phone; Johnson the Company Staff Sergeant knew he was trying in vain to explain that he no longer had a command and the reason they didn’t know who the hell he was, was because the other two Commanders had been killed so fast the paperwork hadn’t gotten to the rear yet.  He needed men; and needed them fast.

Everyone knew what the score was; they were going to be overrun just a few minutes before first light of morning.  Not enough light that you could see in, but the faint light of early morning that you start the battle in and finish after it’s a bright sunny day with everyone dead.

Something touched Jimenez’s right arm; so softly that he barely felt it but Jimenez was as tense as a coiled spring.  He slowly, barely moving looked to his right and pulled his night eyes off his face.  Sergeant Williams was three inches from his face with a great big grin.  Jimenez rolled his eyes and took a breath.  Williams moved forward with lips to Jimenez’s ear said “H-ham when they come” a softball sized weapon was pushed against his side.  Jimenez’s eyes rolled up in his sockets.  He started to whisper to Sergeant Williams “OH no fuc……..”  Sergeant Williams was gone.  Jimenez could hear him moving down the line. He thought he could hear other’s gasps, but he knew better.

Around 3am a slight breeze kicked up from the rear of the 15th’s position and gave a slight reprieve to the astounding silence of the night.
Stark slow crawled toward where he knew Jimenez was dug in; so slowly it took over fifteen minutes to cover the four meters.  He was greeted by the flash suppressor of Jimenez’s rifle pointed at his forehead as it appeared out of the blackness.  Moving to Jimenez’s side and placing his lips directly on Jimenez’s ear, he whispered “H-ham’s?” Stark pulled back from Jimenez’s ear and looked directly in his eyes.  He saw the same look, the same blood shot watery stare.  Jimenez only slowly shook his head.  Without a word Stark started the long crawl back to his position.  Tears leaked out of both eyes, small dabs of mud caked on both sides of Stark’s cheeks as he made his way back.

Juan Dean Jimenez was a born athlete; lettering in every sport but picking up girls, he was a school favorite and home coming king.  Entering the Marine Corps one week after graduation he wanted to be a lifer.  Basic was a breeze; his only set back being when the DI’s found out his middle name “Dean” and tore into him for having a gringo middle name.  “Didn’t your momma mean “Bean” not “Dean” and you’re father just fucked it up!”  From that point on his nick name was “Bean”.  It had nothing to do with the fact that he was full blooded Mexican and was the first generation to call America their home.  It was the weird middle name.  A few of the other boot’s asked him why he had such a fucked up middle name; Jimenez would just shrug it off and never an answer was given.  The truth was his mothers, father was a gringo from Texas and they wanted a part of him passed down the line.  After boot camp and secondary school Jimenez was assigned to the 15th as a grunt.  It never entered his mind to be anything but a pack carrying grunt headed to the front line of whatever action the United States might be in.  The Corps tried twice to promote “Bean” finding that he flat turned them down each time; he was where he wanted to be.

The night breeze slowed, then turned 90 degrees and picked up its pace.  Coming out of the South it carried heavy smoke and ash from yesterdays fighting down south.  The air was smoky but had a strange nasty taste to it; like burnt barbeque sauce and a fallen cremated hamburger patty.  It made you want to cover your nose and mouth; you knew in your heart you didn’t want that in your mouth.

Jimenez moved the canister up from his side and lifted it with his right hand.  He tested its weight and guessed at a half pound.  How far could he throw 8 ounces?  He knew a baseball weighed 5 ounces and he could throw an advancing runner out from the outfield fence with ease.  So about 275 feet if he guessed right and more than likely shorter with a cold arm; say two twenty five max; subtract wearing BDU’s and a chest rig, 150 feet on a good day.  If what they said in special training was right, this was going to be close, very close.
Hearing movement in the distance they all knew that enemy troops were moving closer to the front line. Number of reinforcements was a guess but by the sound it was a lot.

The stars where still out bright in the night sky, but looking to the horizon to the east you could tell the stars were beginning to fade. 

Over the last weeks both sides had run their supply lines to the point of exhaustion.  Not being able to keep up with anything but the simplest of supplies; small arms ammunition and short food allocations was the best both could hope for.  This was going to be a battle straight out of the WWI manual; straight up the middle as fast as you could run; shooting anything that looked alive.

Two hours they’ve been moving men forward; it was clear to Jimenez and the rest of the squad why they’d been issued H-ham’s and ordered to use them before they could be overran; without them it was going to be a short day and a turkey shoot.

With the sky glowing in the east they came.  The American’s fired their weapons to empty and then threw their H-ham’s (Hand Held Atomic Munitions) as far as their arms were able.  With a payload of 500 pounds of TNT; estimated detonation kill zone of 150 feet; leaving a 40 foot wide, 8 foot deep crater; first blinding white light; hammer strike, and then churning blackness.

Jimenez threw his H-ham with everything he had; jumped into his hole and waited for the bang.  It was an eight second wait; flash of light; floating, twisting in the air Jimenez knew he’d been too close to the blast zone and waited for the hard landing. 

Waking minutes; hours later eyes caked with wet ash, lungs choking on dust; white ash three quarters of an inch thick on his blouse; the ash looked like white grey corn flakes, with the slightest movement, touch of breath they’d crumble to a fine powder.  The slightest movement would free them back into the air.  Jimenez rolled over causing a cloud of choking thick dust; rising on one elbow he looked towards the front.  Where once was flat land there was now a shallow depression; with high edges and smoke filled bottom.
The figure with heavy white robes rode with ease as the stallion pranced and danced; hooves kicking up clouds of powder fine grey dust dimming the blinding white light from the sky.  Raising a hand to block the light Jimenez grin grew wide as he watched his squad march behind the prancing stallion.  He fought hard to join them; straps cinched tight kept him pinned to the hospital bed; nurses ran from gurney to gurney in feeble attempts to stem the flow of blood and dying.  An over head speaker scratched out a dreary speech “a great victory, I’m proud to be part of the forces….”  

From the Ramblings


Monday, October 21, 2013

Jimmy Duke

Jimmy Duke

The body rose to the surface slowly, having lost most of its buoyancy over the months tied to the bottom of the lake.  Two minutes later the diver also floated to the surface; just as dead as the young mutated woman.  The crime scene went crazy; ignoring the woman’s floating corpus the State Police Officers grabbed the diver out of the water trying to bring him back to life.  Diving mask full of vomit confirmed the horror of the find.

Number 7 was a young white woman, someplace between twenty and twenty five years old.  Blond hair, about five foot six inches.  Anything further just wasn’t possible; her head had been removed crudely leaving just enough scalp to id hair color; hacked off hands and feet removed with an axe type of weapon.  Stomach torn open internal organs ripped from her body; connecting tissue showing rips and tears, not knife marks.  Sex organs mutated by heavy axe blows and pulled from the body; showing no knife marks, just torn flesh. The body was a ruined shell of what use to be a human being.

Jimmy laughed until he couldn’t breathe watching the TV news story showing three big State Police men in a little boat dragging the dead diver over the side of the boat nearly tipping it over. It was hilarious; with tears streaming down his face he was just howling; the next door neighbor banging on the thin wall bringing him back to his senses.  Pulling hard on his fifth beer of the morning and throwing it against the wall along with a “GO FUCK YOUR SELF” at the top of his lungs; he knew who would be next.  Jimmy toned it down a little not wanting the old bitch to call the police on him.

 With a chuckle he sat back on the tread bare couch turning on his mental movie of Jenna his latest and twelfth victim; smiling and snickering he played the movie over and over.

Jimmy was an easy going petty thief that had discovered by accident that he was also an up and coming serial killer after killing one of the neighborhood kids he caught in his apartment going through his shit.  Stealing peoples stuff and money was one thing, but taking their lives was a whole new game; a game he couldn’t get enough of.  He had found a vast reservoir of rage and hatred that had been untouched until now.

Tuesday morning shortly after 8am found Jimmy at his neighbor’s door.  He’d waited listening closely at his own door for all the floors little worker bees to leave the building making his floor nearly empty; empty except for him and old Mrs. Stock his next door neighbor.  Tap, tap on the door and he could hear her coming to him.  Jimmy had a news paper he’d picked up out of the recycle been in one hand covering an eight inch kitchen knife in his other gloved hand.  He’d found the kitchen knife going through a garbage can two blocks from his flat.  Sharpening it against a concrete wall as he watched people looking for a target, it was now razor sharp.   Mrs. Stock with a “humph” of displeasure at being bothered opened the door to the hallway.  Jimmy with a big grin on his face stepped into her and plunged the knife into her left eye with enough force it jammed and stuck solidly into the back of her skull.  Standing at the open door not breaking the threshold Jimmy watched as Mrs. Stock stumbled backwards, hands waving and trashing the air; a small squeak coming from her wide open mouth; a fine line of vitreous humor, the fluid of the eye and a small line of blood ran down her left cheek; three cats dashed for safety.  The old bitch stumbled across the room hitting the far wall, sliding down to a sitting position, dead just as a he wished her to be.  Jimmy reached inside pulling the door to him; locked and closed it with his gloved hand; leaving the building giggling Jimmy walked twelve blocks before dropping the glove down a storm drain then tossing the newspaper into an empty recycle bin.  He couldn’t wait for the evening news.

Two months later and Mrs. Stock the old dead bitch still hadn’t been found.  Jimmy’s apartment was beginning to pick up the scent from his dirty work.  He’d have to do something soon if someone didn’t wake up to the stench and call the police.  The smell was getting that bad.  How can it be that no one checked on his neighbor bitch in two full months; no wonder she was such a bitch?  Jimmy decided to go out just to be away from the smell.  Coming out of the elevator Jimmy nearly ran into the super of the building coming into the elevator.  Jimmy recognized the super Ed Kock from when he moved into the building a year ago.  “Say don’t you live up on the seventh?”  Jimmy cool as ice said “Yeah; just heading out, problems?”  “Yeah 7E says the floor smells bad.”  Ed said rolling his eyes into his head.  Jimmy “I noticed that too, must be a dead rat in the vents, who knows?” “Well, I’d better find something; I’m tired of the constant complaints for those people!” The elevator door closed and Jimmy hurried out the double doors into the not so clean smell of auto fumes and old garbage.

Ten minutes later the sounds of sirens filled the air in the direction of the Hampton apartment building.  Jimmy was six blocks away sitting on a bench watching down 2nd street to where the sirens were stopping.  Yep, Ed had found Mrs. Stock’s body.
Jimmy sat out as long as he could; finally he headed to the Hampton.  Still three cop cars outside; he knew they’d want to talk to him just like when the kid disappeared a few months ago.  Jimmy was exceptional at evading trick questions and his short interview went well.  He asked the Detectives to come into his apartment and look around if they wanted; they did, but he was way too clever to have anything out that they could see.  He had a little something from each of his kills but nothing big that would stand out. They were all hidden away nice and tight where even a hard search would likely not find anything.  He was turning into a pro.

With the heat off Jimmy went out on the hunt.  Having to go to the grocery store for need of a few things; he’d also found it to be a great hunting ground.  He wasn’t disappointed; standing there on aisle four was just what he was looking for.  She was about five foot three, brown hair, decent build; and Jimmy saw his opening and as any predator would see; there on the left forearm where tiny marks that would open the door to his next kill.  Stepping just around the end of the aisle so he wouldn’t be seen he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a syringe filled with dark liquid.  Strolling up to the young woman “Hey baby; looking for some time” he rolled his wrist so she could see the ready syringe.  “Oh I think I just found a party” with a giggle and rolling her eyes.  “Well let me buy your stuff and we’ll go” with a wink they were off to the register.

Walking just two blocks to the girl’s apartment gave little time for conversation but the girl had already told Jimmy her name that she was new to the area, knew no one and needed a fix real bad.  Shutting the door behind her and throwing the three dead bolts, Jimmy was floating in anticipation to getting down to work.  Dumping the small bag of groceries on the counter Sara turned and stuck out her hand; she was in very much in need of a fix.   Jimmy tossed the syringe to her and she only then did she realized she been taken.  The right hook came out of nowhere; she didn’t see it coming and her eyes nearly pooped out of her head when the fist drove into her head hard, snapping her neck and sending her sprawling on the floor.  “Bitch” was all that was said; on top straddling her Jimmy drove his knuckles into the soft tissue under her neck perfectly cutting any chance of getting another breath.  Eyes bulging Sara pushed off the floor with her hips and threw Jimmies weight forward over her head.  Sara had been raised with three brothers and fighting back was engrained in her head.  Tipping forward Jimmy had no choice but to release his grasp and tumble forward.  Now laying flat across on top of Sara, his chest across her upper chest and head; Sara bit hard and deep into Jimmies right shoulder like a cougar.  The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth and her body with adrenalin.  All knees and elbows she pushed Jimmy to the left and connected with a wild elbow to Jimmies nose.  Jimmy with a second scream of pain rolled to his right and kicked as hard as he could in the direction of the wild cat he’d ran into,  His booted foot landed directly on the bridge of Sara’s nose breaking it.  The fight was over; Jimmy sprang like a cat picking up a heavy wrought iron door stop that had been rolling under his back leaving a huge bruise.  He pounded it into Sara’s face until it was bloody mush.

Lying panting on the floor with blood gushing out of his damaged nose Jimmy listened carefully to the sounds of the building above his labored breathing. All quiet; no running feet, no sirens.   Rage exploding Jimmy blacked out; without any conscious thought Jimmy got to work.

“Don, this is a bad one; I’ve never seen anything like it, it’s like a pack of wolves tore her apart.”  Detective Bob Williams cautioned Detective Don Hilderman before he entered Apartment 3B.  Even from outside you could smell the vile stench of death.  The sight that met the two detectives was far worse than the smell.  It sucked the breath from their lungs; floor, ceiling and walls turned from off white to pink to dark red, burgundy with dried blood and pieces of stringy entrails sticking to the walls. Viscus chunks sat on books selves where they had landed; some leaving red trails as they sank slowly to the floor.  Clearly a large section of lung hung from the cheap overhead chandelier caught on one 30 watt bulb; a stalactite of dried blood reaching eagerly towards the floor.  Pooled red almost black blood escaping the horror and flowing off toward the living room in a now dried river.  Intestines partly attached to the stomach torn and split; undigested food and feces from exploded bowels covered what once was a small tan sofa.  Detective Hilderman holding his handkerchief over his mouth and nose slowly rotated his eyes from left to right taking in the ghastly scene; far right  next to a blood stained lamp like it was part of the collection of blown glass orbs, was one of Sara’s eyes sitting in its pool of mixed blood and intraocular fluid.

Detective Don Hilderman twenty seven years with the force threw up his dinner on his and Bob Williams shoes; splashing up on both Detectives pant legs.  Eyes rolling he turned on his heels and ran for the door. Detective Bob Williams held his vomit all the way to the entry way; exploding his stomach contents down the door frame and into the hallway.  Cops from three boroughs jumped and ran out of the way of the two escaping puking Detectives.

Jimmies mind still in complete insane rage stood over a pile of ripped and tore meat that once was Sara Benson; one time daughter; part time junky as blood dripped from his hands and clothing.  Jimmy blew a large blood clot from his right nostril; hitting and sticking to the bottom of an over turned chair.  Very slowly Jimmies mind was slowing coming down from the rage and centering on self preservation and escape.  Jimmy stepped over the remains and for some unknown reason picked up the bag of groceries off the counter with blood covered hands and calmly walked out the front door of the apartment without closing it and down to the street.  Mouth breathing from his blood plugged nose Jimmy used alley ways and side streets to make it to his apartment and then waiting until no one was in sight ran for the stairway.  Placing the groceries on the table he reeled into the shower, leaving dripping blood in his wake.

It took just twenty minutes; the first person to open their front door, immediately smelling the stench of blow opens bowels and viscous fluids.  Walking down the hallway to the open door Jan Miller fainted straight away at the sight of the explosion of rage and hate.  Her husband hearing the thud was fast behind her; not wanting to leave his wife, but succumbing to the most primitive part of the brain to flee; flight took over and he ran banging into the door frame so hard he fell and crawled to the phone; screaming hysterically into the phone the 911 Operator had no idea what the problem was.  She pulled up the address to the incoming call and dispatched Police without knowing the problem; just that it must be bad.

The very next morning a task force was assembled and Detectives from eight boroughs were out in force talking to everyone in the area.  It short order they realize that the newest crime scene was smack in the middle of numerous unsolved murders and disappearances.  After a full days investigation it was found that they had two different person’s blood.  DNA analysis was ordered ASAP.

Jimmy Duke’s apartment sat directly in the center of the pin up board with a large map of the general area covering and hanging limp off its sides.  Around it was fifteen colored pins depicting either missing or dead people; one being just next door to his apartment.  Jimmy was the main suspect.

Jimmy had cleaned up the apartment getting rid of bloody clothing, shoes even the bloody grocery bag.  Its contents still sitting on the kitchen table where Jimmy now sat wondering what prison life would be like; providing he didn’t get the death penalty. He’d even cleaned out all his souvenirs from his other kills and bleached everything in the apartment.  He was ready as he would ever be for them to come for him
The task force had decided that Jimmy was their man; they obtained search and arrest warrants.  The knock came at 11am on the dot.  Jimmy looked up at his cheap wall clock and was kind of surprised that it took them so long.  The long arm of the law was in slow motion.  Jimmy was arrested and asked for an attorney even before they read him is Miranda rights or asked even one question.  He was ready for them.

Ten hours of searching, down to even pilling the wall paper off the walls found nothing.  Not one piece of evidence could be found.  Every inch of the apartment had been carefully photographed and every item logged into evidence bags.  There was not one thing left in the apartment; not even dust.

Two days later Jimmy was dancing down the street outside of the County lockup.  Yelling at the top of his lungs towards the Court House “YOU GOT NOTHING MOTHER FUCKERS” Jimmy was the happiest man in the world.  The DNA came back tainted from the Detective’s barf.  The surveillance wasn’t lost on Jimmy; it was a great game seeing and walking up saying hi to the Detectives that were watching his every move.  He’d give them the finger, dancing and laughing in their faces.  They were left with nothing to do but drive away or call to get picked up by the team.

Detective Don Hilderman was furious; he’d been embarrassed by his puking in the crime scene.  Arresting Jimmy just to see him released; a stack of bodies five feet deep at his feet.  Even the media had picked up on the story and was hounding him.  He poured over every photo; he’d held in his hand every single item from Jimmies apartment.  He just couldn’t find a single clue to put Jimmy to the crimes
Sitting down to dinner with his wife at 10:15pm that night; his mind on the case, nothing else.  His wife talking from the kitchen was speaking to deaf ears about her day, going to the grocery store; all the little things that kept her busy all day long.  Don felt a pin prick in his mind; what did she just say?  “Honey I missed something you just said about what you did today…..say it again” Donna without missing a beat started over again on her day; she was talking to no one.  Detective Don Hilderman was out the door heading to the Office; he had his case and Jimmy was going to jail or the gas chamber
With the whole team assembled in the conference room with all the hundreds of pictures and items bagged and logged from Jimmies apartment sitting around them on tables and pinned to boards.  Detective Hilderman told the team what he was looking for; members that had taken pictures and logged items jumped to action.  Ten minutes later they were all standing as Hilderman read the list of groceries from the blood stained grocery receipt and marked off each item from the picture on Jimmies table.
A perfect match.

Eleven months later Jimmy Duke sat on death row still wondering why he'd picked up the bag of groceries and took them home.

From the Ramblings


Sunday, October 20, 2013

The Switch

The switch

The switches’ must have come from the big willow tree out front of the house along the driveway.  Only once do I ever remember one breaking.  My child’s memory was the damn things being about three inches thick. Probably more like a half inch really; incredibly flexible.

My brother and I would be marched out to the wood shed like the condemned we were.  If you made a fuss you’d get the switch every inch of the way to the shed. I think it must have hung on a hook out on the covered and screened in deck.  I don’t remember ever seeing it there, but it would just appear as we marched out.  I’m not sure how it was determined who would go first; I think it must have been decided by one’s body language, shuffling feet would get your number up in a hurry.  It was very important to stand very still and quietly while the other got his beating.  No crying out, shuffle of feet; making that mistake would double what you had coming.  Going second was the hardest I always thought; you were expected to stand still, no crying waiting until positions were switched.

I remember one time school shoes were bought and my brother didn’t like his, so he was wearing them outside to help break them in.  We were playing around the woodshed; he put one shoe up on the chopping block and played like he was going to chop it in half.  Double bladed axe went up, came down and cut that shoe almost in half; like a knife through butter.  That was one beating I’ll never forget.

I have no idea where mom was; I’ve thought about it for years, still no idea.  Invisible.

Mom was good; she’d dress us up for school in long sleeves and pants to cover the bruises.  Even in summer with the sweltering heat; long sleeves and pants.

I have to say the worst was when my brother was only getting his beating; I’d stand so still, not even a breath.  Sometimes I’d get so dizzy I’d stumble; that would get you a turn on the switch.

In the before times; From the Ramblings


Friday, October 18, 2013

Stormy skies

Stormy skies

You can feel the rumblings in the air like far away thunder.  The air takes on a heavy charged funny electrical smell like hot wiring; moods begin the shift; sideway looks, little subtle verbal jabs; sounds like far off firecrackers echo off the walls and fill the house.   The storm is coming………

My brother and I would run hide in our rooms; spend hours outside trying to put distance from the brewing storm; it’s coming, building massive in its fury; vibrations like earth quakes shake the tiny house; stomachs twist into knots; there is no way to stop it, make a mistake, get in the way and the eye of the storm will focus on you and you alone; so alone.

In the years since I've watch hundreds of thunder storms build, filling the skies with huge angry black clouds, super charged particles dance in closed eyes.  I remember so clearly; voices sounding like thunder, the crack of lightning mirrors a hand hitting a face; the low boom of a body blow.  The tears fall sounding of tiny fragments of broken glass hitting the linoleum.  The distant slam; boom of a door splintering as any escape is denied.

Muted insults like a jack hammer hitting the concrete.  These are my memories; I share at last.

In the before times; The Ramblings.