Even with his slumped shoulders and thin stringy hair that touched his collar, Jack Carlton was a man who demanded respect upon his appearance, and he held that "respect" for almost 40 years straight. His well dressed form most certainly contradicted his sloppy manner of behavior.
Always hovering behind and just to the sides of him were men, also dressed in ties and jackets though ill fitting for some. These men were virtually faceless in a manner of speak, that they were always being replaced. No two visits from Jack Carlton were his minions comprised of the same line up.
One such visit proved fatal for a group of bodyguards who had been protecting the Governor before he was abducted. Strangely enough, the Governor was set free unharmed only 4 days after the incident. He told the authorities of his experience and delivered names and descriptions of his assailants. None of them were Jack Carlton, even though word on the street said they were working for him. Nothing else, though, could be officially proved.
And likewise, the local police station was burned to the ground in broad daylight. No lives were lost, no injuries sustained, but the station could not be saved. All accounts said that Jack Carlton was present with his minions, but again, nothing was conclusive.
A bank blew up, a firehouse filled with noxious gas, a post office collapsed, and on and on the like went. Everyone knew Jack Carlton was behind it all, but the terror kept coming,
Buck Watson, a detective in the local police force, was done letting one man keep the entire state cowed. Pulling a map of the area out of a filing cabinet, he began to mark all the areas where the ring of terror had touched. The answer was as clear as it could be. All crimes were committed exactly within a 30 mile circle, but stopped in one particular neighborhood so that when Buck got through with the map, crimes appeared in something of a doughnut shape. That empty space in the center, the "eye of the storm" if you will, was where Jack Carlton was hiding out. The crimes kept authorities busy in other places, but no one thought of looking for the elusive criminal in a crime-free environment.
It was not much longer thereafter where Jack Carlton himself was cuffed to a table in a darkened room of the detectives' headquarters. "We finally caught up with you," Detective Watson said breezily. "I'm not looking for your sympathy," the crime lord sneered calmly. The detective continued, ignoring the weak attempt at a joke "What I can't understand is why you made it so easy to find you."
"Do you really wanna know?" Jack Carlton said sarcastically, "I'll tell you why. I was once a part of a gang where I was nobody. I was expendable. All I ever did was play the heavy. You know where the leader of that gang is now? Six feet under. Cops put him there. See, this leader was always tiptoeing around the country, trying to do everything carefully, not risk anything and so on. You know how much he accomplished that way? Nothing. Not a thing," Jack's voice began to rise, "Do you wanna know why I set him up? I can't stand mediocre criminals. I was the one who called the police on him. He never thought to check on things like that. He was too busy with his lists, and lists of lists of things to be careful of. Seemed to me he missed a few items, so I was just setting him straight."
Jack began to laugh maniacally. Buck Watson was at first surprised to hear that Jack Carlton had brought anybody to justice, but decided to keep listening to the story before he asked questions.
"Well I had had my fun. I was ready to settle down for life. Buy a yacht, plant a flower garden or whatever normal people do. But then I kept hearing how people were taking credit for bringing that guy down. They all wanted a piece of him. I was sick of it. If they wanted a chance at bringing crime down, I was gonna give them a criminal worth finding. Ha! They gave up too soon, those cowards."
"I ran the best crime ring in the land! I specialized in anything. I looked out for, and worked for number one. You see, lists are too easy to trace. Keep all that in your head. Encourage some spontaneity. Was my reign of terror not the most impressive? Of course it was. Everything was orchestrated in my head. It always was. What a beautiful sound it made! But the mind, like anything else, is volatile. Even you, Buck, you could slip like *that* into senility. Lists are for people with weak minds. Plans are for the mentally imprisoned."
"And that's where you made your mistake, Jack," Buck said somberly.
"Don't rub it in," smirked the defeated criminal as he was being led away, "I'll have all the time I need to remember it."
Sunday, November 8, 2015
Saturday, July 18, 2015
The Letter
"Oh wow, oh gosh, Melissa, here I go!", and with that, Jim Collings fell to the forest floor, dead. Melissa spoke not a word. She went through Jim's pockets and began collect the valuables he left behind. One of these items was a piece of paper folded tightly between a few dollar bills. Melissa gathered her things, and silently continued down the trail. She stopped very briefly at the top of the hill and turned. With the sun setting a purple and gold glow, and the stiff but gentle breeze blowing Melissa's long brown hair, a solitary tear rolled down her cheek. She turned her back and continued down the trail.
Melissa was anything but sensitive. If there was anything she hated, it was a knee-jerk-over-emotional person. This said, she was not sure she could bring herself to read the note from Jim's pocket. After a long mental battle, she decided to read it little by little. She opened it up. It was dated November 13, 1939, almost five years ago! It began "Where should I start?" A most unusual beginning to a letter. The next line read "The first bank we held up was only the beginning of my troubles." Why did he have to bring that up? Melissa was a very strong girl mentally, but blackmail was where almost anyone would bend to evil. She put the note away. It wasn't her fault she was wanted in almost every state south of the Mason/Dixon. What choice did she have but to run? Everyone still thinks it was she who killed the teller and Deputy. Melissa stopped by a small brook to rest. Night was falling and she could hear the sound of cicadas and bullfrogs throughout the entire forest. Despite the noise, she fell asleep quickly and soundly.
The morning found her walking down the trail towards uncharted territory. There would be no record of her crimes if she went further west. Curiosity got the best of her before long and she opened the letter once again. "We were never each other's friend. Why should we be?" A seemingly needless line, Melissa thought. "But you seemed so much stronger in your young age than I was. You didn't fall in with evil as easily as I did." That was simple enough to explain, all church-going children are morally stronger than the rest. "Running from the law was my idea, but being good was yours." Melissa did not feel like hashing through every detail of their past ten years as 'partners in crime'. She was glad they were over.
The letter continued "You made me want to do what's right, and before long, I couldn't see a day without you. I knew I could turn my life around, but I didn't." Melissa's mind wandered. As the sun shone brightly through the leaves and down on the paper in her hand, she continued to read the closing lines. "Every evil about to befall you is my fault. I don't know what to do or say; I can only apologize. I want you to know I am sorry. Good luck, J. Collings"
Melissa read it through one last time. Apologizing was the most noble thing he had done. The last tear she would ever shed for Jim Collings rolled off her face as she tore up the letter.
Melissa was anything but sensitive. If there was anything she hated, it was a knee-jerk-over-emotional person. This said, she was not sure she could bring herself to read the note from Jim's pocket. After a long mental battle, she decided to read it little by little. She opened it up. It was dated November 13, 1939, almost five years ago! It began "Where should I start?" A most unusual beginning to a letter. The next line read "The first bank we held up was only the beginning of my troubles." Why did he have to bring that up? Melissa was a very strong girl mentally, but blackmail was where almost anyone would bend to evil. She put the note away. It wasn't her fault she was wanted in almost every state south of the Mason/Dixon. What choice did she have but to run? Everyone still thinks it was she who killed the teller and Deputy. Melissa stopped by a small brook to rest. Night was falling and she could hear the sound of cicadas and bullfrogs throughout the entire forest. Despite the noise, she fell asleep quickly and soundly.
The morning found her walking down the trail towards uncharted territory. There would be no record of her crimes if she went further west. Curiosity got the best of her before long and she opened the letter once again. "We were never each other's friend. Why should we be?" A seemingly needless line, Melissa thought. "But you seemed so much stronger in your young age than I was. You didn't fall in with evil as easily as I did." That was simple enough to explain, all church-going children are morally stronger than the rest. "Running from the law was my idea, but being good was yours." Melissa did not feel like hashing through every detail of their past ten years as 'partners in crime'. She was glad they were over.
The letter continued "You made me want to do what's right, and before long, I couldn't see a day without you. I knew I could turn my life around, but I didn't." Melissa's mind wandered. As the sun shone brightly through the leaves and down on the paper in her hand, she continued to read the closing lines. "Every evil about to befall you is my fault. I don't know what to do or say; I can only apologize. I want you to know I am sorry. Good luck, J. Collings"
Melissa read it through one last time. Apologizing was the most noble thing he had done. The last tear she would ever shed for Jim Collings rolled off her face as she tore up the letter.
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
The Case of the Locked Door
Doctor Allen Lehnman is not your ordinary detective. He's not really a Doctor either. He is one of those gentlemen who can only be described by his actions: Eccentric, and right on point. Dr. Lehnman is one of those gifted people you have to see to believe.
One windy Tuesday afternoon found him at a rustic mansion on the outskirts of Jasper, Arkansas. The forensic team had already been there, dusting for fingerprints on the bookcases, walls, and desk of the cluttered office room. Poor Wilfred Harmon never knew what hit him. Being stabbed in the back for the money your Father left in his will is not the most pleasant terms on which to leave this world, thought Dr. Lehnman. Dr. Lehnman shook his head sadly as he gazed about the room, past the full coat rack, the large portrait of Granddaddy Harmon, and the heavy wooden door with the key on the inside of the room.
Sergeant T.J. Vincent approached Dr. Lehnman. "Hey, Allen, we're glad you got here, but I feel like we won't be needing your help after all." Dr. Lehnman looked up from his brown study, "Oh? You've solved it then, yes?" said he in his quirky Scottish accent. "No, that's not it," chuckled the Sergeant, "it's just that this case is liable to drag on for years. After all, there is no sign of a struggle. It will be a tough time to try and peg someone he trusts. He never had too many friends, you know and no family members nearby or in town. What kind of man would willfully turn his back on an intruder when he's carrying over $100,000 cash?" "It was not an intruder," Dr. Lehnman snapped seeming quite annoyed, "the key is on the inside of the door. Mr. Harmon had to let the murder in."
The Police Chief walked through the door and looked around the room, bewildered. "Vincent, give me what you know." "Homicide, Chief. Victim carrying large sum of money let the murder in this door by unlocking it. When he turned his back on the murderer, he was stabbed through the back. He has no family no friends, no one else could have known about his Father's will money." The Chief shook his head. "Ah, poor Wilfred. He was so worried he would lose his money. I guess he never figured it would come to violence. Walking across the room, to look at the body and the baffled forensics team, he brushed by Dr. Lehnman. "Well, Al, do you think you know all the answers?" laughed the Chief. Dr. Lehnman did not share in his mirth "We'll have to wait and see now, won't we?" The Chief was taken aback by the stiff reply and apologized, "I was merely joking. You know cases with as little information as this one don't solve themselves overnight. I must be going, though. Report to me should you find out any more details." With that, the Chief took his hat and coat from the rack, and made his way to Sergeant Vincent to remind him to keep the forensics team from moving the body before the coroner arrived.
Dr. Lehnman had seen enough. He approached the Chief and Sergeant boldly and interrupted their conversation. "You can be quite proud of me," Dr. Lehnman smirked, "for at last, I have all the answers. Sergeant, place your Chief under arrest!"
One windy Tuesday afternoon found him at a rustic mansion on the outskirts of Jasper, Arkansas. The forensic team had already been there, dusting for fingerprints on the bookcases, walls, and desk of the cluttered office room. Poor Wilfred Harmon never knew what hit him. Being stabbed in the back for the money your Father left in his will is not the most pleasant terms on which to leave this world, thought Dr. Lehnman. Dr. Lehnman shook his head sadly as he gazed about the room, past the full coat rack, the large portrait of Granddaddy Harmon, and the heavy wooden door with the key on the inside of the room.
Sergeant T.J. Vincent approached Dr. Lehnman. "Hey, Allen, we're glad you got here, but I feel like we won't be needing your help after all." Dr. Lehnman looked up from his brown study, "Oh? You've solved it then, yes?" said he in his quirky Scottish accent. "No, that's not it," chuckled the Sergeant, "it's just that this case is liable to drag on for years. After all, there is no sign of a struggle. It will be a tough time to try and peg someone he trusts. He never had too many friends, you know and no family members nearby or in town. What kind of man would willfully turn his back on an intruder when he's carrying over $100,000 cash?" "It was not an intruder," Dr. Lehnman snapped seeming quite annoyed, "the key is on the inside of the door. Mr. Harmon had to let the murder in."
The Police Chief walked through the door and looked around the room, bewildered. "Vincent, give me what you know." "Homicide, Chief. Victim carrying large sum of money let the murder in this door by unlocking it. When he turned his back on the murderer, he was stabbed through the back. He has no family no friends, no one else could have known about his Father's will money." The Chief shook his head. "Ah, poor Wilfred. He was so worried he would lose his money. I guess he never figured it would come to violence. Walking across the room, to look at the body and the baffled forensics team, he brushed by Dr. Lehnman. "Well, Al, do you think you know all the answers?" laughed the Chief. Dr. Lehnman did not share in his mirth "We'll have to wait and see now, won't we?" The Chief was taken aback by the stiff reply and apologized, "I was merely joking. You know cases with as little information as this one don't solve themselves overnight. I must be going, though. Report to me should you find out any more details." With that, the Chief took his hat and coat from the rack, and made his way to Sergeant Vincent to remind him to keep the forensics team from moving the body before the coroner arrived.
Dr. Lehnman had seen enough. He approached the Chief and Sergeant boldly and interrupted their conversation. "You can be quite proud of me," Dr. Lehnman smirked, "for at last, I have all the answers. Sergeant, place your Chief under arrest!"
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Faith
It was raining. Hard. It did not seem like the clouds would ever thin. How else could the sky be that dark? The noise of the raindrops on the deserted city sidewalk seemed deafening. In the middle of the night, one cannot sleep when a storm this size hovers on the built-up town.
I sat at the window of my apartment. Looking out into the soggy and dark night, my thoughts wandered. It had been weeks, years since I had seen the sun. At least that's what it felt like. I thought I was going mad. How can I know the sun exists? Such a silly question. Everybody knows it exists. It has been so long, maybe, just maybe, I have remembered incorrectly? Once I convince myself the sun does not exist, I will know I have gone insane.
But it's so ridiculous! How can one not believe the sun exists? The rain grew louder as the storm kicked up the heavy mist against my window. People have challenged the existence of more fundamental things besides the sun. I broke into a feverish sweat. Depression began to fill my eyes until it blended in with the drops of rain on my window. How to convince myself there is a sun? I have read about it in books, I have heard people talk of it, could these suffice? I threw open the window and felt the wet, cold air hit my face. No sun. Not in this town, anyway. If there was a sun, how could the rain fall to the earth without being evaporated? How could the skies be so dark? What need would there be for street lights? I looked up to the sky again. No sun.
No, the sun does exist. It must. Why would I be talking about it? How could I conceive such a concept unless someone, or myself, had experienced it? Feverish minds are incapable of making something like that up. But oh how sick I was. I needed to see the sun badly. The rain persisted with a force like that of a strong river. The noise, deafening still. If I was so certain the sun existed, why couldn't I explain where it was? I know it comes and goes with regularity. This storm's duration has surpassed the sun's schedule many times over. I held on tightly to the feeling of gloom, dejection, depression, for these so complemented the attitude outside my window. Maybe I didn't need the sun. If there was a sun, I would still feel like this. If there was a sun, I would still be so miserable.
The silence of the outdoors tore my attention away from the battle within my head. On the horizon, a dim light appeared. The first I had seen in ages. The smell of a fresh fallen rain came through my open window and quickened my dying senses. The silence of a clear breeze was broken by a first hesitant songbird and followed by a chorus of his rejoicing companions.
What do you know! Morning already. The storm has finally cleared.
I sat at the window of my apartment. Looking out into the soggy and dark night, my thoughts wandered. It had been weeks, years since I had seen the sun. At least that's what it felt like. I thought I was going mad. How can I know the sun exists? Such a silly question. Everybody knows it exists. It has been so long, maybe, just maybe, I have remembered incorrectly? Once I convince myself the sun does not exist, I will know I have gone insane.
But it's so ridiculous! How can one not believe the sun exists? The rain grew louder as the storm kicked up the heavy mist against my window. People have challenged the existence of more fundamental things besides the sun. I broke into a feverish sweat. Depression began to fill my eyes until it blended in with the drops of rain on my window. How to convince myself there is a sun? I have read about it in books, I have heard people talk of it, could these suffice? I threw open the window and felt the wet, cold air hit my face. No sun. Not in this town, anyway. If there was a sun, how could the rain fall to the earth without being evaporated? How could the skies be so dark? What need would there be for street lights? I looked up to the sky again. No sun.
No, the sun does exist. It must. Why would I be talking about it? How could I conceive such a concept unless someone, or myself, had experienced it? Feverish minds are incapable of making something like that up. But oh how sick I was. I needed to see the sun badly. The rain persisted with a force like that of a strong river. The noise, deafening still. If I was so certain the sun existed, why couldn't I explain where it was? I know it comes and goes with regularity. This storm's duration has surpassed the sun's schedule many times over. I held on tightly to the feeling of gloom, dejection, depression, for these so complemented the attitude outside my window. Maybe I didn't need the sun. If there was a sun, I would still feel like this. If there was a sun, I would still be so miserable.
The silence of the outdoors tore my attention away from the battle within my head. On the horizon, a dim light appeared. The first I had seen in ages. The smell of a fresh fallen rain came through my open window and quickened my dying senses. The silence of a clear breeze was broken by a first hesitant songbird and followed by a chorus of his rejoicing companions.
What do you know! Morning already. The storm has finally cleared.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)