Chapter 4

Chapter 4

     Michael sat in front of the television, Indian style, watching the Flintstones.  Connie, one of Judy’s cats, was getting her silky gray fur rubbed by the small palms of her favorite guest.
     “Ha-ha-ha, look,” Michael said, words sticking in his throats.  The cat blinked slowly. Dosing off was minutes away.
     The brick home looked immaculate from a bystanders perspective it should, it was well over a quarter of a million dollar home. The glass blades sparkled in the sunlight as it peered down in rays. The two healthy redwood trees that stood strong caddie corner had attached to them a dark beige colored hammock. Not too far from the outside relaxation, was a gazebo. Even though the Langston’s had it for over five years, it still looked brand new despite the top of it being punished by the weather. The acres that were behind the home upped the property value tremendously.
     “Haaaaaa,” Judy yawned lightly, stretched out across the sofa, with her sock less feet hanging over the cushion.
     The phone rings.
     “Not right now,” she said rubbing her warm forehead, that ached all of a sudden.
     The cordless rings for the second time. The tone sounded menacing.
     Judy reached for the phone that usually sat on the end table, but suddenly realized the rings were coming from the kitchen.  She sat up swiftly in one motion digging her hells into the floor. Her n*****s were slightly erect underneath her braless nightshirt, that was too big for her. Most likely it was her boyfriends.
     A third ring.
     Walking swiftly, Judy’s barefeet slapped in perfect harmony as they connected with the hardwood floor. Her light blue night pajama bottoms, flapped loosely with every step.
     A forth ring had startled the cat. Michael forced Connie back into his lap.
     “Go,go,go,” He cheered, watching Dino chase Joe Rockhead.
      The slaps stopped for a second then regained again as she stepped onto a oriental rug, then back onto the hardwood.
     “I’m coming, I’m coming”
     The fifth ring sounded important, like if bad news was on the other end. She lifted the phone out of the receiver and pushed the talk button, causing a beep to generate. Judy swung her hair out of her ear before she answered.
     “Hello….”
     The person on the other end had hung up. Judy rolled her eyes, then slammed the phone back onto the egg shell white receiver.
     “A******s,” She groaned.
      Judy stopped and took a look around. The house needed to be cleaned. Dishes were piled into the sink in old water, causing the orange grease to float on top and build up around the edges, the tile was swept, but the dirt was still on the floor at the entrance in a pile, scrambled egg pieces were glued to the frying pan that was sitting on the back of the stove along with a pot of old Wesson, that was used for deep frying French fries. Baking them didn’t quite give the fries that crunch.
     She was thirsty. Stretching her thin arm out, Cindy opened the cabinet and retrieved a green cup that displayed the following words.
     “Brazil Carnival 1983, Mamison Palace, 15th annual.”
    She remembered that her parents went there when she was in junior high. Thinking of her mother and father, their flight should be touching down some time this evening. That meant she had to do some serious cleaning. Between the parties and sleepovers, that house was in a condition her parents wouldn’t approve of. Even though most of the time they were out of town taking care of business. A business that Indy couldn’t put her hands on. As longs as she was living comfortable it didn’t matter. Besides she was the only child.
     “Michael are you thirsty?” she yelled kindly, opening the refrigerator.  
     He didn’t respond. A couple of seconds later, she heard him giggling. She smiled to herself.
     Michael turned his head towards the door, after suddenly seeing the sun peer through the living room, causing a glare on the television. The man who entered the home put his index finger up to his lips, signaling for him to be quiet.
     Scared, Michael started to say something but he doesn’t. He seen what happened on the movies.
     Meanwhile, Judy had plucked a couple of grapes from it’s vine, priming her stomach up for the real meal. Start small, end big. She pushed the milk jug out of her way so she could reach the Tropicana orange juice container that was in the back of the frig.
     “Eewww,”  she groaned, turning her nose up at the plate she left on the second shelf a few days prior.
     The hulky man walked slowly, looking around their home. Michael looked over his shoulders to make sure the man wasn’t behind him.
     The juice splashed within the cup, changing tones as the orange liquid reached the creased lip.
     Judy placed the jug onto the counter, even though the refrigerator was slightly opened. Not that much, but enough for the light to illuminate inside. She took a large gulp. The liquid gave life to her dry throat and her body that she knew was dehydrated.
     “Ahhhhhh,” she worded, enjoying the taste and the freshness.
     Before she could take another sip, large, powerful arms wrapped around her skinny neck tightly.
     “Oh, s**t,” she thought.
     The phone rings again.

     Boris sat in his office doing paperwork, following some weak leads that were presented to him over the phone. He had his sleeves rolled up mid forearm, top two buttons open, with his necktie loosened at the neck. The hair on Boris’s arms were matted due to the humidity in the building.
     Getting frustrated, Boris opened his desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels. The top sounded cheap as he unscrewed it from the bottle, that only contained half of its contents. He took a swig, and with the professionalism of a drunk, screwed the top on with one finger, before placing it back into its proper place.
     His door shot open, causing the blinds to sway side to side.
     “Gotta lead on that John Doe,” his co-worker said entering his office with only his head.
     Boris waved him in, “Which one?”
     “The double murder at the Sun House,” he said handing him a paper.
     The liquor had must of hit Boris hard, the way his face balled up. He knew his co-worker could smell it.
     “He looks familiar.”
     The co-worker wanted to add a statement.
     “Yeah, we arrested him and a couple other protestors a few years back at the New Lives abortion clinic in New Carrollton.”
     Boris leaned back into a well worn brown leather chair, holding the printout to his face.
     “Oh yeah, I remember him now.”
     “You should.”
     “How can I forget,” tossing the paper onto his desk.
     John tried to sue the department because two officers roughed him up, leaving him with a black eye and a broken wrist. The judge said that the injuries were justifiable, so the case was dismissed. After six months being on pins and needles, the department regained it’s imagine.
     Boris stood up and looked down at the printout again, this time feeling sympathetic.
    “Any relatives,” Boris asked, extracting a cigarette from the pack, then tossing it back down onto the desk, causing a pen to flip.
     “A wife and a son. His only child.”
     “Job status?” the smoke exited his lungs, after he lit the cancer stick.
     “Weinhart Investments”    
     “Did you notify his wife or next of kin?”
     “One of the officers is on that now,” the man said attempting to sit down.
     “Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah, what are you doing?” Boris asks the officer, pointing at the seat.
     “Well, I was……”
     Boris butted in, “We got work to do.”
     The officers butt was inches from the cushion he wanted to comfortably sit in. With both of his hands on opposite sides of the arm rest, he lifted himself back up.
     The cracks in the leather cause a gust of air to exhale as Boris plopped his body in his chair. He leaned back and placed his old, but shriveled shoes onto his desk, making a drag off of the cigarette.
     The officer, who was now visible mad, made his way to the door and turned the chipped knob.
     “Anything else master,” he said turning around.
     Boris knew in his heart he was being sarcastic, so he had to end it with a punch line.
     “Yeah, if you would be so kind, can you make me a cup off coffee. Black, no cream, a lot of sugar.”
     The officer exited unkindly.
     “Hey,” Boris yelled at the fact that he slammed his door.
     One thing for sure, even though Boris was one of a kind, he had one thing in common with the deceased. They liked the same coffee.



 

Reviews

[ganymeder]

Again great imagery, story development...wonderful.

Only suggestion I can think of right now...
>>The officer exited unkindly.
"Hey," Boris yelled at the fact that he slammed his door.

[JC Fox]

I do hope you continue with this, great job