Here is the first chapter of my new Hank Myles Crime Story……I hope you like it! THE LEGACY Chapter 1 I awoke just after sunup feeling great! U.S. Army Captain Shirley Briggs, the cutest army officer I’d ever want to share a foxhole with, my ash blonde buddy, whom I happen to be madly in love with, had awakened before dawn, slipped out of my bed, gathered her belongings and her dog tags and gone to her apartment. The sun was high in the sky now, shining bright and had the beginnings of a beautiful day. This was Sunday morning and a day to rest. I was especially happy because Detective Magazine had sent me a $9500 check in yesterday’s mail for a story I’d sent them about my friend’s murder two months ago. I showered, and decided not to shave. I dressed quickly and slipped my feet, without socks, into soft cordovan loafers with tassels. I love tassels. I wanted a Sunday newspaper and some donuts so I could read, relax, eat my donuts, and drink my black coffee out by the apartment’s pool, maybe I might glimpse some girls in their Bikini’s on this beautiful Sunday morning of August 1965. I hopped into my almost new, 1964 Cadillac Coupe De Ville, let the windows down so the fresh air would blow in and sped over to Zinn’s Bakery. Mrs. Zinn was at her usual place behind the counter, next to the cash register, of course. She’s the kind of woman, if I was a 70 year old man, who wanted a baker’s wife, I’d get down on my knees and plead my case to her in one New York minute. I blew her a kiss as I entered her shop, then selected my goodies by pointing as she filled the box, I paid her and she sacked my purchase. I thanked her for helping me by kissing her hand, she swooned as always. “Thank you, Mr. Myles, and Goot Morgen to you,” I blew her another kiss to go with her beautiful smile and quickly left the bakery before her jealous husband Leo, came darting out from wherever he made all his delicious goodies and gutted me with a serrated bread knife. As I came out of the bakery door, a young woman having just gotten out of her white BMW was walking towards me. She was a well-groomed, good looking young lady with that soft suntan complexion that we men are accustomed to here in the southwest. Her eye shadow was in top form as was her lipstick. She was a tall girl, with long shiny brown hair, pulled back into a pony tail that swept from side to side as she walked; another reason to be attracted to her. I have a fondness for ponytails. She looked to be in her early twenties, and dressed in white designer shorts with a matching low halter that showed off her cleavage. She had lots of bare leg to show off also. She was a real looker, as the boys down on the corner would say. Just as she was about to pass me, a shot rang out from somewhere and the young girl lurched into my arms, knocking the donut box from my hands. I caught her in my arms; and we both went to the ground. The poor thing was spurting blood from a bullet wound right between her breasts. As I layed her down, her eyes rolled up into the back of her head and she shuddered; then slowly she relaxed. I watched her face as the poor girl released her spirit and died. I lay looking at her for a few seconds expecting another shot to come, as the blood spurting from her chest slowed, then stopped. Who the hell was shooting at me? Why were they shooting at me? Who had I pissed off bad enough to want to kill me? Surely they weren’t shooting at this kid? A man and woman rushed over from somewhere as we lay on the ground. “Call an Ambulance!” I yelled, and as a reflex; “Call the Police!”….The woman backed away, wide eyed, with a hand at her throat, her fist at her mouth and stood staring at me, with her back to the building. The man darted into the bakery. I hoped he’d gone for help. So much for a leisurely Sunday morning! Other people appeared out of nowhere, they’d heard the shot I supposed. People always want to stare, hoping to see some gore ... I jumped up, grabbed a picnic blanket from the backseat of my car and covered the girl’s body. “Go to hell, you gawking bunch of bastards,” I yelled on my knees. No more shots were fired. That helped. It’s a hell of a feeling waiting for a bullet I can assure you! The shooter was quite. Was he gone? Or hoping for another shot? I hoped he’d gone. I sat down on the bumper of my Caddy, bent low, believing I was out of sight of the shooter while I listened for the ambulance and the cop’s cars to come. I washed the dead girl’s blood from my hands with a bottle of water from my car and my handkerchief. “Damn, what a way to begin a day” was all my brain could think of to say.
Posted on: Sat, 15 Nov 2014 03:33:46 +0000
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