Article -- Hatred

Deliver Us

By B.D. Adams

© 2016

Hate – Hate – Hate!! Along with Stupidity!!

   Of course, I hate. I hate being interrupted, I hate mosquitoes, I hate waiting in lines, I hated when my mom made me eat liver. We all have something we say we hate!!

   One thing I truly hate more than anything is stupidity!!!!

   A stupid thing, an oxymoron, I’d hear as a kid in Texas, was the phrase “to shoot fish in a barrel.” It meant that something was easy.  

   That could be translated to what Omar Mateen did.

   He walked into a nightclub that welcomed people – human beings -- who weren’t much different from him in looks or desires. Everyone there still danced, hugged and talked with their old friends and new ones.

   Horribly, Mateen began to shoot his fish. The nightclub was his barrel.

   I haven’t heard, as yet, how he acted while he squeezed the AR15 trigger to murder 50 people and wound 53 others. Was he smiling or laughing or shouting profanities?

   Oh, yes … I haven’t mentioned that Mateen HATED homosexuals. He chose the Pulse Nightclub, in Orlando FL, because the clientele was mostly gay/homosexual. He hated them so much he decided to rid, murder as many as he could at that nightclub. Perhaps he thought he was being nice to do his mayhem so near a hospital for the wounded.

   Was this his source of fun? Some people have distorted views of fun. Like shooting fish in a barrel.

   Am I gay? No, I’m not. However – like many heteros (not good grammar, I know) – I have had friends who were LGBT. And, as with friendships, people come and go – straight or gay.

   Many years ago, I would go to a gay bar/nightclub with my boyfriend, at the time, and other friends. To dance, drink and eat whatever the bar offered. I never contracted HIV because I had those friendships.

   See, you don’t get AIDS by being a friend. There’s that stupidity thing again.

   There are still a frightening number of people who are so self-righteous in their beliefs. Whites who hate blacks – Blacks who hate whites – Catholics who hate Protestants. Men who hate women and still get married … and vice versus. And, not to be left out, straights who hate gays!!

   Our country is becoming the melting pot of many negative issues. It’s like, “Go to America. Get a gun and go shoot whoever you want!”

   Now we need to be afraid of going to movie theaters, concerts, schools/colleges or any other gathering for the fear who might be there to kill!

   Fear of the unknown is bad enough.

   I believe in the Constitution. The ideas were appropriate for the time it was ratified. Now, however, the 2^nd Amendment, and a few others, need major overhauls.

   That young man had only bought his weapons a day or so before. Plus, he had been “watched” by the FBI. Hmmm (taps chin) … what does that tell us? He was watched while he bought an AR15 assault rifle?

   The prayer goes, “Deliver us from Evil.” Would God be offended if we amended it to, “Deliver us from hate and stupidity.”

   I feel the word evil has little meaning these days.

   “What? What did you say?” Someone is whispering in my ear. “No, I’m not being stupid. Really!!!”

Published Books

B.D. Adams the Author

by

B.D. Adams

©2916

To my Blog Readers:

            “The Spider Sat Beside Her” – suspense/thriller

            “The Moon Cries Blue Tears --

      Four Short Stories & A Novella” – thriller/eerie

   Many may already know this, but for those who don’t know, I am now a published author with two books in print!

   Both books are fiction, however, the first one is somewhat autobiographic. I am a stroke survivor of 18 years. The heroine is the same as me … a stroke survivor. The second book is a small collection of my short stories and a novella of strange and eerie material.

   The following are the descriptions for my two books. 

B.D. Adams – “The Spider Sat Beside Her” – A Novel

     -- Description --

   Liz Jacoby is a petite, single, 48 year old woman, who was a photographer and longtime resident of Columbus, OH. It is July. She is in the hospital’s rehab center to overcome a hemorrhagic stroke. She has to use a wheelchair, but her recovery has been rather routine, as well as tedious. Nothing an active, talented photographer would want any time.

  Pete Young, a short, wiry, 45 year old man is the patient across the hall with an “accidental” gunshot wound and a mild concussion. In reality, he had been hired to kill a political city candidate and was shot by that target. This was his first messed up hit. A known thief, not a known hit man.

   Liz overhears the argument Pete and Luke, his boss, have about why he was shot. Liz is convinced Pete is a hitman. Pete is certain that she heard their argument, so he begins to weave his web-of-doubt to play-up her stroke’s mental deficiency to the hospital’s staff.

   The last thing on Liz’s mind is to deal with a hit man in the hospital. Her biggest question was who could she tell about Pete; who would believe her?

   However, along with her medical concerns, her current life gives her a new boyfriend, Scott Warner, a Physical Therapy Intern. He began late to begin his Physical Therapy career; a little younger than Liz, but not that much.

   Liz confides in Scott and knows he believes her because he tells his police detective friend of her dilemma with Pete. Liz is disabled, but she becomes a tenacious, gritty patient to deal with Pete’s mental torments. No matter, Liz is a survivor!

   With emotional twists, a murder and a bit of romance, The Spider Sat Beside Her is riveting!

B.D. Adams – “The Moon Cries Blue Tears –

                   Four Short Stories and A Novella”

                                -- Description --

   Short Stories and Novellas entice readers to go from one story to the next. To enjoy. To savor. That is every author’s hope. The hope for the conventional fiction writer.

   However, for the unconventional, the author entreats the reader to read each story wide eyed with a fast beating heart – to be scared to death. Almost.

The Short Stories

   “The Bum’s Rush” is a different handling of a werewolf story – not a man, but a savvy woman. “The Devil’s Axe” is about a young man who makes his unintentional bargain with the devil. “Checkmate” is how a young man meets a woman of indescribable beauty who only wants him for her breakfast. “The White Haired Man” appears to a construction supervisor in a forested area that causes the supervisor to question his sanity.

The Novella

“The Moon Cries Blue Tears”

   This story involves Spencer Jamison, a vampire who has been a vampire since 1655, from England. The story is

present day, but with historic treatments of Spencer’s life.

   To begin the story, Spencer is in North Carolina. It is almost the dark hour. His desire this evening is to meet a mortal woman who could become his companion, his lover. And with his luck, Spencer meets Cynthia. They are at an open-air amphitheater to enjoy a string quartet of classic music.

   All seems to be in Spencer’s favor, until during the concert, he gets a cell phone buzz from someone he hadn’t heard from since his making!

   Angus, his creator in 1655, contacts Spencer to warn him. He warns of a rogue vampire that wants to kill Spencer for ancient vampire reasons.

   This book is about a werewolf, the devil, a ghost and vampires – Oh my. Enjoy, unless you’re too scared.

   If so intrigued by these descriptions, please buy my Paperback Books or Kindle Books at Amazon –

            “The Spider Sat Beside Her”   ---   and

            “The Moon Cries Blue Tears”

  

Both by B.D. Adams. Enjoy reading!!!!

----- FYI ----

There is another author who has the Pen Name of B.D. Adams on Amazon. That title is “Three Days.” Definitely not one of my books or my genre. 

Terrorists at Paris

And Paris Cries

By

B.D. Adams

©2015

     On this typical Saturday afternoon, here in the United States, my fiancé and I were watching college football. I wasn’t at my laptop, but decided to see if I had any emails. That’s when I saw the Yahoo! homepage account of what was going on in Paris!!

     As when I first heard on the radio station, in 2001, about a plane that crashed into a building in New York City, I wasn’t aware it was a Tower in New York City. Once I turned on the TV to understand what was happening in NYC, the reality bit hard. The same as when I first became aware of what I was reading about in France!

     Terrorists in Paris!! Many already dead and even more wounded!

     I said to Daniel, “Turn to CNN. Something horrible’s happening in Paris.”

     When I saw on the news station that my beautiful Paris was under siege by terrorists, “Oh, my God” went through my mind and came out of my mouth many times.

     The other word was, “Why?”

     No crying, but misty eyes at what this meant. Of course, my deduction was that ISIS was responsible … and they were, as learned later!

     The City of Light can now be described as “The City of Fear!” Now, they will not feel comfortable with whom they might see near to them. Rather like New Yorkers after the Towers were destroyed. Paris has been marred by uncouth, hateful churls that didn’t have the decency to respect a city of art and culture.

     The terrorists had absolutely no respect for beauty and history in their world!! Fine – destroy the history and beauty of your land. Why destroy, cause mayhem in a land many hundreds of miles/kilometers away that took in the refugees from the world these terrorists had destroyed?

     Granted, the terrorists hadn’t destroyed monuments or museum pieces (as far as what has been reported), but Paris is a state-of-mind, not only of tangible items.

     I had been very fortunate to visit Paris many times when my husband (at the time) and I lived in Germany (read other Blog Posts). We had been to the Louvre to see the fantastic paintings and all the ancient artifacts and all the monuments that Paris boasts.

     Many times we would sit at sidewalk cafes to enjoy wine or beer along with Parisian foods.

     My ex-husband was a marathoner and would go on his training runs in the mornings in Paris while I would enjoy coffee and a pastry and read a magazine to await his return. I am so thankful nothing like that happened when we were there.

     Even with the attack on the Towers in New York, there will never be an answer to that huge, unbelievable WHY!!!!

     These men committed murder … yes, murder … of non-military people, nowhere in their war-zone. Unbelievable!

     And that is the other question. Where IS THEIR war-zone? If they are truly trying to make the world their war-zone, are these churls really that inane, that stupid?

     I mean, even the Russians seem not on their side. Granted, Russian assault-rifles had been found in a car parked on the street and by the killed terrorists, who died mostly by their hand -- suicide. However, those weapons could have been gotten by many other sources.

     My memories of Europe, which of course include Paris, are now tainted by this horrible, nasty … no word really describes my feelings. However, my mind will remain with these people of love, art and integrity!

     Will there be other mindless acts of devastation or murder? Probably. I and others can only hope, beyond hope, that these military misfits will be found out by people in their religion – whatever religion that could be -- or families to discontinue this very unnecessary slaughter!

Pray for Paris

And all other cities and countries hurt by ISIS!

Venus de Milo -- Louvre

Article -- Unthinkable

The Unthinkable

By

B.D. Adams ©2015

W

e really never try to think about the unthinkable, life’s trauma. Yesterday, another unhappy person – a man – used a gun to murder people in a college classroom! Most of who he had had no connection!

Personally, I have not had issues with people who own guns for hunting or just to do targets. However, when those tools become devices of anger and hate, I am a proponent for gun control!

            Then the NRA will scream, “What about the 2nd Amendment? It says right there ‘the right to bear arms.’”

            No argument there – it is in the Constitution, it is one of our fought for rights by our forefathers.

            When does the “right” make it right to kill people when a deranged person decides it is his or her right to kill because they feel they have the right to have a gun! Chew on that idea. And, it seems that many of the guns are purchased legally by law abiding citizens. Then mayhem happens when the weapons are in the hands of the “unhappy” people.

            Why? Why do the unhappy ones feel it is right to kill as many as they can because they feel they have the right? Why? Do they think about what they are doing or is it just mindless vomit spit out from their warped brains?

            It seems to be the trend for these murderers to target schoolrooms and any other place where people gather. Sickly, like shooting fish in a barrel.

            At Sandy Hook, a young man’s mother felt it was her right to own weapons that could hold off a barrage of home invaders. The young man felt the weapons gave him the right to mass murder elementary school children in their classroom. He made his mother the first in his bloody spree! 

            When I was 16 years old in Texas, Charles Whitman climbed up to the tower at the University of Texas in Austin and behaved as a sniper. This was in 1966. He murdered 16 people in the vicinity of the Texas campus tower. He himself was taken out by local police to end his mayhem. Also, before he took to the tower, he murdered his wife and mother. It was reported that Whitman was abused by his father, so he murdered 16 people who had no connection to him.

            Another mass murderer was Richard Speck. He murdered 8 student nurses in Chicago in 1966. Plus, Ted Bundy, one of the most heinous murderers of modern times. His victims were all women and his treatment of his victims proved that he hated women. However, he did not murder his mother, as others have done with theirs.

            Other than Bonnie Parker of Bonnie and Clyde fame, the numbers are far less for women than what is known for the above documented men murderers. That doesn’t give women the “right” to kill/murder any more than for men.

            There have been mass murderers through the ages. In some ways, it’s called war or political conflicts. There were the Mongolian Khans very early in the previous millennium, Vlad Tepes – better known as Dracula –, the Crusades did their murdering under the guise of religion, the Nazis and any other hate organization used whatever reason to kill/murder for their blood lust.

            If the murderers really wanted to be labeled with these other senseless jackals, I guess they got what they wanted.

            Murder is not glamorous or romantic! Why do these mass murderers have distorted views that the people they kill want to be taken out with them? Senseless.

The Oregon murders of this week are another reason to keep guns out of the reach of the disturbed and insane, people. How can this be implemented? I do not have an answer – wish I did. 

My heart goes out to the families of the victims of now and in the past. That has to be a pain that never really heals.

            It is senseless, so senseless for what these – and I use the term loosely – people do to others. Some might view me as unsympathetic to the disturbed murderers. Well, I have to plead guilty. Since these “people” are not stable and have access to objects to murder others, how does that give them the right to murder others when they are unhappy -- to leash out against people they don’t know or have not done horrible things to them!

Suicide is senseless, but to cause the deaths of other people with his or her reasons – which are no real reasons -- is unthinkable! 

Red Painted Lips - Finale

The Case of the Red Painted Lips

Finale

by

B.D. Adams
© 2015

           Detective Neal Scarpetti with the Manhattan 5^th Precinct got a phone call from the doctor at Belleview. The bum had died. The heroin should have killed him, but the brain tumor that was found, is what did him in. The drug merely catalyzed that condition. The bum would be just another statistic to this serial killer’s tally.

          With what Neal had learned today, several items had been brought to light within a few hours.
          A man, Marvin Stevens, had become a person-of-interest in this case. It had been discovered that Stevens was a deliveryman, who delivered breads and mushrooms to different facilities; mostly in Manhattan. The Medical Examiners had found minute traces of those items in each of the murdered women’s hair. Plus, Stevens kind of fit their early profile of the killer.
           Earlier, Neal had gone to the delivery company -- Moonlight Deliveries, Inc. -- where Stevens was known to work. With some verbal, police muscling, he was able to get his address without a warrant.
           As it turned out, the address was the same for a building where an elderly German fellow, Günther Jäger, also lived. He and his one great-granddaughter, Heike Rozen (she interpreted), had been to see Neal this afternoon to tell him what Güther was sure he smelled in the building. An odor the old man remembered from WW2; nasty, unforgettable odor. He was convinced the smell was burnt flesh. As a teenager, he lived near to Dachau, a Concentration Camp -- a death camp in Germany. On top of that realization, the gentleman truly believed he “smelled” another one of his great-granddaughters in connection to the bad odor. The great-granddaughter the old man thought he smelled was Sara Wallace, who was one of the serial killer’s victims.
           Much to Neal’s dismay, he had to tell Güther and Heike that their loved-one was deceased. They viewed the body in Brooklyn and confirmed the identity.
           Frank Mallory, Neal’s partner, had gotten hold of Lyn Martin and Sid Roselli, detectives in Brooklyn, who were on this brutal, serial case with the Manhattan detectives. They had two of the murdered women in their district and were on their way to meet at the Manhattan Precinct. Things were in the works to get search warrants for Stevens’ apartment and the furnace in the building’s basement.         
           So much was rattling around and Neal wanted to call Maria, his year-long girlfriend, to tell her to be careful, that he would come to take her back to his place when the bar closed. He knew that Stevens was a deliveryman to O’Luigi’s Pub, where Maria worked. He couldn’t divulge anything right now, but he felt the need to tell her to be careful. He had a moment, so he called the Pub. He knew she wouldn’t have her cell with her at work.
           “O’Luigi’s!” was answered loudly by a male voice. The Pub sounded like it jumped!
           “Hi. Can you hear me?” Neal queried.
           “Yeah! I have 20/20 hearing. What d’you want?” was a chuckled answer.
           “This is Detective Scarpetti. Is Maria Bertiani nearby?” Neal said with a chuckle himself. The bar had decided to sponsor an 8-ball Pool Tournament for the neighborhood – not advertised city-wide. That’s what all the noise was about, Neal believed.
            “Oh, sorry, Detective. She’s here, but I don’t know where. If you hold a minute ….”
           “No. That’s all right. Just tell her I’ll pick her up after hours.” There was a louder whooping heard over the phone, so Neal asked, “How’s the tournament going?”
            “Tournament doesn’t start for an hour. People are practicing is all.”
           “Expecting a big turn-out?”
           “Oh, yeah. We’ll probably do this again sometime. I’ll give Maria your message. I gotta get busy here.”
            “I understand. Thanks.” The call was ended.
            This pool tournament was another of Maria’s ideas to boost clientele to the Pub. He was a little concerned that he wasn’t able to talk to her. That shouldn’t bother him, though. She knew how to take care of herself. Besides the bartending classes, she had taken Karate classes. Was he being paranoid in his old age, he wondered? All he did was smile at this thought.
             Frank got back in a timely manner with the search warrants. Lyn and Sid arrived pretty quickly, despite the evening traffic.

 …*******†

             Frank and Sid went to the building’s basement with a few Uniforms –- vests and helmets -- and a couple of CSU Officers (Crime Scene Unit) while Neal and Lyn headed to Marvin’s apartment with as many other associates. His apartment was on the 5^th floor. The building was a six floor-walk up.
             The German Superintendent, who spoke English very well, reluctantly unlocked Marvin’s home. “What’s he done? Huh? He’s a good tenant. What’s he done?” the Super babbled in his German accent. He wanted to go in before the Police, but a Uniform blocked him.
           “Sir. We aren’t sure he’s done anything,” was explained. “Let us do our job. Okay?” The Officer ushered the Super down the hall.
            Before the apartment door was opened, there was a definite odor of organic decay. Like an overflowed garbage can, but more pungent, putrid. All the policemen put a hand to their face to block the odor. Ellen, the one female CSU Officer, took out a small tissue packet and began handing the men a sheet.
           Once the main door opened, there was a small manmade foyer, with another door that obscured seeing down the hall. No light was on, either. All guns were drawn, as one Officer burst through the flimsy second door!
          There were voices that called out “Clear!” when the few rooms were perused. Now inside the apartment, the odor was worse. A window was opened, even though it was very cold outside. More lights were switched on, along with their bright flashlights.
            The CSU Team began their photographing in each room.
            Neal told another Uniform to go get the Super. He was brought quickly. The Super, on seeing the second door, said that was not regular. The tenant must have made it.
            “Has anyone in the building complained about this odor?” Neal asked.
            “Detective, there’re a lot of Orientals here that cook their food. Stevens might like that food. What am I gonna do? Knock on their doors and tell them they can’t cook their food?” The Super added, “Only an old German guy and a few other Germans think they smell Auschwitz.”
            “Don’t you mean Dachau?” Neal asked impatiently.
            “You say tomato,” he quipped nastily. “I pay him no mind.”
            Neal sent him back with the Uniform. The team thinned out. Only a couple Officers remained. Neal went to the kitchen to see if that was where the stink originated. There was an odor, but not the one in question.
           “Hey, Neal. Look at this,” Lyn, the profiler, called out. He was at some bookshelves by the antiquated, disabled gas fireplace. When Neal was by his side, Lyn pointed out, “Look at these books. Can I call it or can I call it.” The books were crime stories -- mostly murders. Serial
murders. Just how Lyn profiled.
            After a moment, CSU Ellen came to Neal. “Come with me,” she said. Neal had Lyn come along.
           She took them to the bathroom. She and her co-tech had sprayed Luminol, a chemical to detect blood, and gave the detectives the orange glasses to see what the chemical could show. “A strong detergent was used, but as you will see ….”
           And, there was blood -- a lot of it! On the walls, floor, in the bathtub and the sink. Lyn commented, “Now, it’s a blue-blood room.”
          “Detective? Sir, this is for … you,” an Officer spoke hesitantly to Neal. “This was under a pillow on his bed.” He held in his gloved hand a sheet of lined paper with writing like what was sent to the small newspaper’s reporter. It was in a plastic page protector. Evidence.
          Neal took it and began to feel queasy. What would be next? He read:

 Det. Scarpetti --- It was nice meeting you today. If you are reading this letter, you are in my apartment. I knew you were a smart Cop and now you have proved me right.  I found out that old nosy Kraut saw you and told you his theories about what he smelled. Too bad his memory was so good from when he was a kid.

           Now you have to ask yourself, what are you going to do? I have Maria. If you don’t believe me, go to the bar. Tell her she should stop smoking. It could kill her.
           Take care, Neal.
Marvin

           Neal’s knees nearly buckled, but now he was very angry! He tried to call Maria on her cell, but it just went to voice-mail. If this asshole did, indeed, have his Maria, Neal would be like all the other men whose wives or girlfriends had been senselessly stolen. He would throw his badge down and hunt that bastard as any man would. However, he knew he wouldn’t do that.

           He needed to go to the Pub and start his search there.
           Frank radioed Neal. There was human residue – blood traces – in the large open, easy accessed furnace. Neal told him about the new letter and he and Lyn were headed to where Maria worked. Frank said he and Sid would stay at the apartment to look for any clues where Marvin Stevens could have taken Maria. Frank assured his partner, his friend, she would be found, if she wasn’t at work.

…*******†

           Neal and Lyn drove to the few blocks to O’Luigi’s Pub. They parked right on the corner.

           It was nearly 9 o’clock. A lot of whooping and hollering escaped from the pub’s opened
door. The pool tournament was going strong. Only three tables, so the place was packed.
            Neal and Lyn went to the bar, where they flashed their badges to the bartender.
           “Where is Maria Bertiani?” Neal asked firmly. He didn’t know all the bartenders.
            The bartender looked around to see her, but she was nowhere in sight. George, the assistant manager, when he saw the Detectives came to them. They all stood close to talk because of the noise.
           “You’re looking for Maria?” George asked.
            “Is she here now, George?” Neal had known this man since he knew Maria. He was married and was a good compliment to Maria. They were a good team.
            “Neal, I can’t say I’ve seen her for a while. She went out to smoke, but … come to think of it … I never saw her come back in.” George began to survey the crowd for her.
           “When did she go out?” He was a bit perturbed. She had made a pact with him to stop.
           “Hank! When did Maria go outside?” George asked another bartender.
           Hank handed two Bloody Marys to a waitress, turned to them – thought a moment -- and then answered, “About an hour ago. The games hadn’t begun yet. I gave her your message, Detective,” Hank said, then added, “That one delivery-guy was with her.” He had to move away to make some exotic drinks.
           “What delivery-guy?” Neal yelled to Hank, as he moved closer to him.
           “That weird guy with the light blue eyes. He has a thing for her,” Hank said.
           “With Moonlight Deliveries?” Neal now felt sick.
           “Yeah. That’s the guy. The Deli called to complain that he parked his van in their delivery space, out back.”
           Lyn took Neal by his shoulders to get him out of the noisy bar. They hustled to the Deli next door.
            Neal’s mind was pushed into high gear, as he asked the one Deli worker, “Where’s the manager?” Lyn and Neal showed their badges.
           “That’s me, Officer,” the fellow answered. He was in the process of slicing roast beef for a customer.
           “Someone’s parked in back?”
         “No. Not now.”
           “Did you see the driver? Was anyone with him?” Neal asked frenetically.
           “Didn’t see anyone. I called O’Luigi’s because I knew it was one of their delivery companies.” The manager finished with the slicer and wrapped the meat and smiled to his customer.
           “Can we go out this way?” Neal pointed to the door that showed “Employees Only.”
           The manager motioned to go on. He had another customer of which to take care.
           Neal and Lyn went stealthily to the back door. Another worker was there to smoke. Now, there was no white delivery van with blue and green lettering in the alley.
           “Were you here when the van was parked?” Neal queried.
           The guy crushed out his smoke and answered, “Yeah. I told Max about it. We were expecting a delivery.”
            “Did you see the driver? Did you know him?” Neal all but yelled.
          “Yeah to both. He’s the regular. I saw when he got in and drove down the alley.”
          “Was anyone with him?”
           The guy shook his head and said, “No, didn’t see no one, but ….” he hesitated, and then said, “I heard a sound in the van. Like a kitten, maybe. Kinda strange.”
            That was all Neal needed to hear! He and Lyn went quickly back to their car.
           Once there, Neal took out a piece of paper from an inside suit jacket pocket. He sat in the car and took the radio to demand, “All points! All points! Looking for a white Ford, delivery van with Moonlight Deliveries printed in green and blue on each side.” He read off the license number from the piece of paper for a New York vehicle. “Last seen at O’Luigi’s Pub, in the alley. Driver is Martin Stevens – 5’8,” 150 pounds, curly, dark brown hair, light blue eyes. Last seen with Maria Bertiani, a hostage! Approach with extreme caution!” The Deli worker wouldn’t have thought he heard a woman, but Neal knew that sound could mean a woman was trying to yell.
           Dispatcher typed the alert to all cars’ notebooks.

 …*******†

             Frank called Neal to let him know what the odor was. In the bathroom, under a
removable floor board in the linen closet, there was a small corrugated box with a few sets of
women’s breasts. There must be more unknown victims. In the bedroom closet, a wooden box with surgical scalpels was found. Very sharp with blood residue on them. One scalpel was missing from the kit; a long one. They now knew this was their Perp!
             Because Maria was abducted by a serial killer, the wait-time for a run-a-way was waived. Now, this was a massive AMBER Alert for an adult!     Neal was nearly frantic, but his professional demeanor kept him focused. Find Maria, no matter how!
             Frank said the CSU team still scoped and tagged evidence. The Super divulged that Stevens had no personal vehicle, just the delivery van. He now didn’t sound as nice about his tenant.
           Another Precinct became involved. Neal and Lyn went to the 1st Precinct on Beach Street to brief Detective Joe Barton, who Neal had seen at lunch. One victim was in his district, but Joe gladly let Neal and Frank take that case. Joe’s partner was Detective Judy Jardin, a very savvy black, woman. She came from Louisiana; Cajun Country. She told some outrageous yarns about the bayou cases in her Loozee-ana accent and was proficient in French. She married a fellow, an accountant, with a CPA firm in NYC. That’s what brought her north.
           With a hostage situation, especially with a woman, it was good to have a woman detective on board. Plus, Judy and Maria were friendly. Joe wasn’t privy to this.
           Neal introduced Lyn to the 1^st Precinct’s team. This was all business – no jokes or light-hearted banter about police work. Neal got his phone on speaker so everyone could hear.
           “We’ve scoured this apartment thoroughly,” Frank admitted. “The women were definitely killed here – raped here. CSU found a lot of … body fluids …. “ He trailed off.
          “Don’t worry, Frank. I’ve heard this talk many times,” Judy affirmed with a small smile to the men beside her.
          “I know, Judy. I’m trying to be more politically correct these days,” Frank confessed and added, “There was residue from the use of condoms, which we knew about. He mustn’t change the bed sheets that often.”
          Then, Sid jumped in, “We found rolls of unopened duct tape and a couple opened rolls.” He took a moment to talk to one of the CSU Officers, and continued, “There are some unused lengths of thin, nylon rope that he used to bind the victims. One piece under the bed, near the head, tested positive for human blood. Maybe from a wrist. Plus, we have what broke their legs.”
          Sid seemed to be affected and couldn’t complete his thought, so Frank said, “A very heavy sledge hammer. An 8 pound sledge. What movie¹ was that from?”
          That made everyone rather quiet. Then, Frank was heard to say, “What? Say it again?” The other voice was muffled, as Frank said louder, “Hold on, guys.”
          The sound of rustling and other movements was heard. After a moment, Frank was heard, “Let me write that down.”
          “Com’on, Frank. What’s going on?” Neal said edgily.
          “Okay. We caught a break.” He spoke quietly to someone, again, and then to the waiting others, “It seems Marvin has a storage unit in Harlem and it looks like he’s paid recently.”

 …*******†

The time approached 11:00pm. Very cold with snow flurries. Neal ached to get Maria away from this danger – to hold her and soothe her. God, how he loved her!

           The paid receipt for the storage unit had been hidden in a paperback book on the bookshelf. The book had a gruesome cover of bloody, split lips, like a woman’s, complete with very red lipstick. Lyn quipped the guy was a loser.
           The storage address was on Broadway in Harlem, between 131^st and 132^nd Streets. Frank had gotten an open warrant just for this purpose. He got hold of the owner of that business to find out which was Stevens’ unit. The owner would meet them at the large, one-time factory building. Thankfully, an assumed name was not used. This killer was not as smart as he thought.
           Judy called the 26^th Precinct in Harlem to give them some of the collar. Never hurts to spread the wealth around.
          When all the other detectives arrived, they were met by Detective Victor Taylor from the 26^th Precinct. Taylor was about 6’, with broad shoulders and a shaved head. He was in this precinct because good black detectives were welcomed in Harlem. He shook hands with everyone and then began his evaluation, “We’re looking at ten floors here. The SWAT Team is ready for instructions.
            “The owner, who’s not here now, said we can do what we need. He has good insurance, but he wants someone to bring the warrant to his condo in mid-town.” The warrant was given.
            “He brought the building’s layouts (spread out on the hood of a Cruiser). He gave me the keys and said the unit in question is on the third floor.” Taylor gave the warrant to a Uniform to deal with, then said to everyone, “Stevens’ white van is parked in an obscured spot behind the building. I have three Uniforms there. There is a parking place near the entrance, near the elevators, but I figured he parked in back because he’d need more time than the allowed thirty minutes. Wouldn’t want a parking ticket,” he gave a wry smile and went on, “There’s public parking under the El² – not a safe place or easy to load or unload anything in this area, daytime or night.”
           “Has anyone seen Stevens?” Neal asked as calmly as possibly.
           “One of the local junkies said he helped a guy – a skinny white guy -- carry a long duffle bag to a unit. Supposedly tools. He said they went in the building by the propped open, mega-locked backdoor, where the van is parked.”
           “Did the junkie get paid?” Lyn asked.
            Taylor smiled with a nod and said, “Yes. A syringe of ‘good stuff.’” Taylor motioned to one of his Uniforms, who showed an evidence bag with a full syringe. Probably with pure heroin. “We made the bum happy. I gave him a fifty spot and told him to get clean.” The other detectives were so glad that their warning had gotten to Harlem. Neal handed the bag to one of his CSU Officers.
           “As far as we know, he’s still in there,” Taylor said with certainty.
            “OK,” Frank said as he pulled and cocked his semi-automatic, “Let’s do this!”
           All players were vested-up, handguns and assault weapons at the ready! The remaining junkies were shooed away. The elevator was disabled to eliminate that escape. The lead SWAT Team – quietly, stealthily – ran up the stairs.
           When they were at the storage unit, the access door suddenly flew opened! Marvin Stevens stood there with a look of astonished surprise! Almost as soon as he saw the Police, he tried to slam the door. He dashed behind a couple large red metal, standing tool chests halfway to the back of the unit. The heavy lock was cut and the large garage door squeaked loudly as it was shoved open. All the Police took positions near the opened door.
           A gunshot pealed from behind the tool chests. Stevens had a gun.
           “Police!! Don’t move! Throw down your weapon,” was yelled by a Policeman. Other demands rang out, as well.
           “Fuck you!” Stevens yelled back. “Have a woman here. Have a knife. I’ll cut her!!”
           “Do you really want to do that, Marvin?” Neal called out firmly -- he was in control.
           “Is this Detective Scarpetti? Her other lover?”
          “Her ONLY lover, Marvin.”
           “Hate to tell ya but she’s mine now. She loves me and proved it tonight. She is so hot – hot for me, Neal!” He made a male noise of pleasure.
            There was a different squeaking sound from behind the chests – like a woman trying to scream with a taped mouth.
            “Let her tell me that, Marvin,” Neal said. He was in torment.
           After a moment, there was a sound like something heavy was moved and then a knocking sound, like one of the tool chests was kicked a few times.
           “Maria?” Neal called to her. Another noise was heard; a desperate noise.
            Some of the SWAT moved quietly, but quickly, closer to where Stevens hid. Neal and Judy were behind them. A small mirror on a thin, metal arm was used to peer behind the chests. There was only Maria, whose wrists were duct-taped and rope-tied above her head to a metal pole attached to the wall. Her ankles were duct-taped, also. Her legs were not broken.
           “Clear!” called out one of the Team. Now, there was more scurrying in other areas. The tool chests were hurriedly rolled out of the way.
           Then, Neal rushed to Maria and untied her wrists and removed the tape over her mouth. Judy cut the tape that bound her ankles. Her clothes were mostly off with her panties down to her bare feet. Judy covered Maria with a blanket; she was conscious, but groggy – and beat up.
           “We need Paramedics here!” Judy yelled.
           “They’re on their way up,” someone answered.
           Neal couldn’t say anything. He sat on the dirty concrete floor while he tenderly held Maria in his strong, protective arms. Kissed her eyes – one was swollen. She tried to see Neal and smile, but Marvin had really beat her.
           In a hesitant whisper, Maria explained, “I wouldn’t … I wouldn’t say I … loved him. That pissed … pissed ….” She began to weep softly.
          “Shhhh … shhhh,” Neal consoled. He wrapped her more with the blanket.
          “Excuse me, Detective. You need to look at this,” a Uniform had one of the layouts.
          “Go on, Neal,” Judy assured with a big smile. “I’ll take care of her.” Maria nodded to Neal that she felt safe now. The Paramedics had arrived and they got her on the gurney. He kissed her forehead and fingers, before he did his work. She was whisked away.
           Neal went to the Officer, who stood farther to the back with spread out paper, then said, “There’s a floor/horizontal chase³ behind the units, divides the units – for wiring, gas and water pipes. Small but big enough for a man to walk through.”
          Neal saw tall metal shelves against the wall and hustled to move one. And, lo and behold, there was a 2’x3’ cut out on the wall – just big enough for someone to crawl through. He squeezed through and asked the Officer for his flashlight.
          Then the Officer said, “Looks like there is a vertical chase – ladder rungs to climb or descend. There might be access to the roof.”
          “Son-uva bitch,” Neal murmured. Then there was a strong cold draft that came from the vertical chase. Out loud, he said to the Officer, “Tell the SWAT about this.”
          When Neal emerged from the chase, he radioed Frank, Sid and Victor to put extra troops at the exits, especially where the van was parked. He called over to the one SWAT Sargent to make perimeters at the chase on all floors.  
           There was no way to know how many weapons Stevens had.
           Neal’s instincts were screaming that Stevens was on the roof. He wouldn’t make this easy for them. He obviously hated Neal and women. Stevens was waiting -- waiting to attack!
           Lyn was with Neal, as they went up the stairs (the elevator had been disabled earlier). As the two detectives made one floor after another, they heard on the radio the “Clear!” they wanted to hear by the pursuing troops. Over the radio, someone confirmed one of the chase roof-covers was off. This confirmed Neal’s hunch about the roof.
           They made it to the narrow stair-access to the roof. Via the radio, they learned the other groups at the chase roof openings were in place. Taylor radioed that the fire-escapes were covered – no one seen. Several of the SWAT troops swarmed out onto the roof and hid behind various protection; a couple of air-condition units, large exhaust pipes, an old water tower.
           The snow began to swirl heavier now. Not a white out, but more than before. Definitely, a cold January night. Because of the lack of insulation under the roof, it wasn’t icy, slippery. Any heat there was in the building escaped through the roof.
          Neal guardedly peeked around one corner. Then, it sounded like there was singing. Neal frowned to Lyn, who had a curious expression, also. It sounded like the song “Let It Snow.” Then, Neal saw Stevens on top of one elevator bunker, made him higher than the concealed Police. He used his semi-automatic gun like a symphony conductor’s baton.
          “No shooting! No shooting!” Neal loudly whispered into his radio. “Take him alive!” After seeing Maria, however, he wanted to be the one to kill him.
          No direct light, but enough ambient light to discern Stevens’ actions. Neal stepped from his protection, in full view, and laid his gun on the tar-papered roof. Raised his hands in a submissive manner.
          “Let it …,” he stopped singing when he saw Neal. “Ahhh, Neal. That’s a good boy,” Stevens said as he saw the detective. “She told you? She told you how good I made her feel?” He pumped his hips and laughed a sardonic laugh.
          “She’s at the hospital because of what you did to her, Marvin. That’s all.” Neal kept his demeanor. “What are you gonna do now, Marvin? What do you want?” He knew the sharp-shooters had a shot – he heard Lyn’s faint radio transmission.
          “What do I want?” Marvin asked as he flailed his arms, waving the gun. “In the last few months, I’ve laid more bitches than in my whole life. Too bad, it was by force. They were difficult. Even Maria. I really thought she liked me.” He gave out one of his nasty laughs, as he said, “Instead, she threatened me! Said she was gonna tell you – you’d fix me.”
           “Did you think you’d get away with what you’ve done? No hostage now, Marvin. Why don’t you put down the gun? Let’s get outta the cold.” Neal’s tone was less “nice” after this last rattle from Stevens.
           This was not part of what Marvin wanted, to be confronted by any man. His laugh became louder and more demonic. “I would have given one of them everything she would want! I just wanted one of them to love me. Was that asking too much?” he began to cry tears. He sobbed with his shoulders, then he regained his self-control. “Top of the world, Ma⁴!” He yelled as he raised his gun to Neal, “Top of the worl ….”
            A single rifle shot rang out. The bullet hit Marvin Stevens in his head. He was dead as he fell from top of the elevator bunker to the tar-papered roof.

 …*******†

            In the hospital, Maria was cleaned up, bandages on her cuts. Not much could be done for her lips – just some antibiotic salve. Her upper body was at a raised angle.
            Neal’s overcoat, suit jacket and tie was on a chair in her room. He sat in another chair beside her bed. He had unbuttoned the shirt at his neck and rolled up his long sleeves. His head rested on his arms and wished she would wake soon.
            Presently, her eyes fluttered slightly. Then, she blinked wake. Turned her head to see Neal and smiled as sweetly as she could.
          “How do you feel?” he asked quietly.
           “Right now, not too bad,” Maria replied softly honest. “Is he ….” she hesitated.
            “He’s dead,” Neal assured.
            She sighed relieved, then said, “He didn’t rape me, Neal. He wanted you to think he did. All he did was undress me and fondle my breasts – rub between my legs. While he did this, he wanted me to say I loved him. I wouldn’t. He hit me each time I wouldn’t.”
            She pointed to the plastic glass on the cabinet. He poured some water from the small pitcher and handed the glass to her. She sipped, then continued, “I know now my karate training doesn’t work all the time. He really surprised me. Knocked me out as soon as we were outside.”
            “Are you going to stop smoking now?” Neal asked playfully serious.
            She embarrassedly nodded her head and went on, “It didn’t bother him what he’s done. He followed me to the Bartending Class – saw all the girls; planned all of this. He actually thought we – the women -- needed discipline. Needed pain.” She took a good gulp of the water before continuing, “His mother was his reason. She was cruel to him. Never married – she might have been raped. I didn’t ask. She dominated; didn’t let him date in high school; jealous of any girl he even mentioned. She died when he was 23 from some cancer. A pathetic man. He hated you.” Maria closed her eyes which began to tear, then opened them again to look at him and spoke softly, “Neal, I love you.” Her eyes lovingly searched his.
           Neal grinned to her, sat on the bed beside her, took her hand without the heart sensor and said, “I love you, too. Very much,” he said warmly, but then, with a small frown, he asked, “Maria … will you marry me?”
           She sat up to wrap her arms around him. He lovingly held her head to his chest. She nodded with a yes motion against his chest.
           “I guess that’s a ‘yes.’” He said with a teary smile.
           Now, they had more of a future, which made Neal happier than he’d been all day.

The End

 

¹ – “Misery” 1990 – Directed & Produced by Rob Reiner

² – Elevated Train
³ – Building access areas/tunnels for various utilities
⁴ – Said by James Cagney in movie, “White Heat” circa 1949