help on my novel

[mysteryscribe]

If you want to read the a gay insurance investigator go here and look for artie the insureance investigator short story..... http://2hot2cool.com/11/deacon1 go there and click on the short story artie... will take you about five minutes to read it..Only one minute if you hate it right away

 

[mysteryscribe]

Or we could all write a short story one of those continuing thread things. First person to read the last post makes the next post to continue the story.

 

[mysteryscribe]

By the way the man with the interpretation of the real csi is dead on... I was a crime scene photographer in the seventies. we weren't even allowed to carry guns.... Now thats a scary thought. when I arrived at the scene of a murder and a crowd had gathered, Iwas the only one without a gun and Im talking about the crowd as well. The bystanders were always better armed.

 

[jocose]

By the way the man with the interpretation of the real csi is dead on... I was a crime scene photographer in the seventies. we weren't even allowed to carry guns.... Now thats a scary thought. when I arrived at the scene of a murder and a crowd had gathered, Iwas the only one without a gun and Im talking about the crowd as well. The bystanders were always better armed.

where are you from? NYC? Southeast DC? Miami?

 

[mysteryscribe]

none of those north carolina did the crime lab thing in greensboro nc 1971 or so street in smaller town for a couple of years then opened a studio and did ins investigations.

 

[mysteryscribe]

Thanks for the help.........first draft posted to my blog so here is your part....


Everything was conspiring to start me drinking again. All the bad old days were just ten sober minutes away. I wasn’t an alcoholic I was a non practicing drunk. I kept a bottle in the apartment and another in the trailer just for occasions like that one. I almost always resisted the urge to take a drink, but I didn’t that night.

From the trailer, I recovered the bottle of Jack Daniels with the green label. I sat it on the picnic table even though the rules prohibited me from doing so. The big, Duke arena plastic cup, the one that had cost me a buck, plus the coke that came with it, sat full of ice beside it. Beside that sat a can of Wal-Mart cola. It was probably not a drink to get me any awards for class, but it was what I had.

I sat there screaming quietly to myself as I got totally blown away. I hadn’t had a drink in 5 months so it was a cheap drunk that night. After a couple of drinks to take the edge off the nights events, I began reliving my nightmare.

It happened on a hot night just about like the one I was suffering though at the moment. I was working a sector car in one of the nicer sections of Atlanta. The call was a suspicious noise next door kind of thing. One of those just vague enough to be nothing at all, 99.9% of the time, calls. Everyone cop sooner or later gets that .1%, and I got mine that night.

I remember that it was a Wednesday night. It was also my first night on the midnight rotation. Rotating shifts tend to case a blur on the first night of the midnight rotation. I was tired at 1 A.M. I will freely admit that now. I parked the sector car in front of the dark house then I walked up to the front door. I listened carefully before I rang the bell. There was the sound of breaking glass somewhere in the house. Any indecision I had about breaking and entering was washed away by the sound of a woman’s scream. It was a muffled scream but I immediately recognized it for what it was. I called for backup then tried the door. To my surprise it opened easily. When I shined my flashlight on it, I knew why. The lock was broken.

When I entered the house, I tripped over a table. The burglar had obviously moved the table in front of the door to do just what it did. Alert him that someone was on the way into the house. By the time I found the source of the sobbing, I knew I was in trouble. A greasy looking white man in his late twenties held a bloody young woman in front of him.

“You come any closer Cop, and I cut her throat.” Judging from her battered and bloody face he appeared to be up to the task. To murder takes a lot of rage, anger or just plain mean. He looked to have all three in abundance.

“Let her go,” I said as menacingly as possible.

“No way cop, Stand aside I’m walking out of here.”

“Ain’t gonna happen kid. Let her go and you can stand trial. These days you’ll probably be out before she’s finished with the plastic surgery for the scars.”

“If you don’t move I’m gonna cut her.”

“If you cut her, there will be no trial for you.”

I watched his eyes and knew he was going to do it. I have no idea why, but I froze. I stood there watching as he cut her throat. I only snapped out of it when she fell to the floor like a pile of dirty laundry. The son of a ***** smiled at me. He made a move toward me. I shot him in the forehead before he could take even one step. I know it was cold blooded murder for both of us.

Later I found out he was on drugs. PCP as a matter of fact was his excuse. Mine was that I couldn’t explain how he lived and a hostage died. I murdered him so there would be just one story told. I wasn’t sure at the time why I did it, but I had inkling. By that time I had passed out in front of the house. I had also awoke in the hospital and began to cry like a baby. I got admitted to the psych ward but still couldn’t stop crying. The more I tried to explain it away, the more I realized what I had done. I did the only thing I was conditioned to do, I lied.

 

[treehuggerhikerboy]

might pick a more modern drug than pcp (hardly anyone uses that anymore)...meth might be a good choice nowadays.

i do some csi stuff, we can carry guns to scenes if we want to. most of us choose not to though, we trust the cops to clear the residence properly (and if i shot myself in the foot, i'd never hear the end of it)....although every now and then you hear of a horror story that would probably fit your story.

 

[mysteryscribe]

times they have changed... thanks for the drug tip I been away from it a long time but I can remember (when I was a cop) wrestling with guys on it while trying to get them committed. Some nasty strong dudes when they were high.
The gun thing, lots of us did but the cops looked the other way... there were no civilian carry laws here then. It was the seventies.. I had a nasty little .38 special derringer made in south america somewhere I was terrified to fire it. I was sure it would kill me, not anyone else. Ah those were the days lol