Erotica Harem

Re: my reviews: Take what you want and leave the rest. Please don’t ‘read between the lines’ with my comments. I say what I think free of insinuations. I am a retired martial artist and police officer. I look at things differently.
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Title: Pretty Boy Dead

Chapter: 7

Author: Jon Michaelsen

Plot: Scene 1: Poor street whore, Hopper wakes in the hospital, diagnosed w/ AIDS. He resists aid (pun) from a social worker.
Scene 2: Police dept,, ancient but realistic homicide unit, with hero Sgt. Parker and his two team members, Pirelli & Brooks, not sure of his rank, sgt. or officer.

Style & Voice: 3rd person omni

Referencing: Goood

Scene/Setting: Nice !

Characterization: Pretty darn good.

Grammar: Goood. See comments.

Just My Personal Opinion: 2,052 Words (NOTE: I count words as an idiosyncrasy.) I'm still enjoying the story. Glad I'm back to it.


"Pretty Boy Dead"

Chapter - 7
_______________________________________________________________


“Do you have a physician?”

Hopper glanced up at the social worker who introduced herself as Amanda.

The large black woman with big brown eyes stared at him, unblinking. She wore tight fitting jeans and an oversized flower-filled blouse. Bright-colored daisies, hundreds of them, filled every square inch of the cotton fabric. Hopper remembered a time when his mother picked daisies from the backyard is "and" missing? set them on the dinner table in a Mason jar. He thought it such a silly gesture since the flowers didn’t smell nice. If fact, they didn’t smell at all. His heart ached for her and the comforts of home as he stared at the woman. He’d not seen his parents in over a year now. Passive? Suggestion: "It had been more than a year since he saw his parents."

Hopper had not followed through with the threat to his former boss. The morning after professing revenge, he’d awakened with a nasty cough and fever, his body swimming in a sea of sweat. He’d attempted to get out of bed, but fell back on the pillow. His body too weatk Typo to challenge the effort, his headed had pounded through his skull and kept him lying flat on his back. This sentence is rough. An Typo: should be "a" cleaning lady checking rooms found him and called the ambulance. EMT’s connected IVs into his arms, pumped is "and" missing before pumped or should it be pumping? a bag of clear liquid into him. As with anyone else without the benefits of health insurance the city, he was rushed to Grady Memorial’s emergency room and treated for pneumonia and dehydration. In real life this is a routine call for EMTs and they would just drive there. Ok to leave it as it is, though. Once stabilized, he was diverted to the Infectious Diseases Unit. He had AIDS.

Hopper slept through the weekend in a wonderful narcotic state, his emaciated limbs gaining rejuvenation and strength from slow-dripping medicine. Heavy doses of antibiotics cleared his lungs of infection and gave him a new lease on life until the next infection set in. He sat up in bed eating breakfast that tasted like burnt paste and listened to the county employee go on and on about treatment. The odor of disinfectant permeated the room and stung his nose.

“See seen Typo a doctor yet today?” She sounded irritated.

The question came across direct and frightening, carrying the truth that chilled his soul. “No,” he stated, looking past the daises as a nurse entered the semi-private room and began removing the IV tubes from his arm.

“They backed up as usual. You’re bein’ released this morning. I have some pamphlets to take with you. You read them, here? Typo: "hear"? I put them in this package along with some condoms. You do use them, don’t you?”

The warmth hitting Hopper’s cheeks caused him to turn away from her. He jutted his chin and wished she’d stop talking and let him alone.

Amanda held out a stuffed manila envelope to him like she’d done so many times, no doubt. He saw the scorn in her face behind the fake smile, just another unfamiliar face among many. POV shift?

“You should find a steady doctor, get you some steady treatment. Disease ain’t no killer like it was twenty years ago. You can live a good life with medicine. There’s a list of clinics in there too. All can be reached by bus or train.” She leveled her eyes. “Are you listening?”

“I don’t need your charity,” Hopper snapped. He threw back the thin blanket and attempted to muster some dignity, but seemed foolish lying in bed. He slid to the side of the bed and let his feet touch the floor. I've never seen a hospital bed where your feet can touch the floor unless it's a fancy electric one that goes up/down, and then, usually u have to lower it cuz the nurses keep it high to make it easier to work on u.

“It ain’t charity, honey. Your T-cells are below 300. It’s up to you if you wanna live to see another year. Get some treatment or you’ll be back here in a few weeks and you’ll cost the state even more money.”

The nurse’s tone irked him. Hopper examined his arms and legs. His veins crisscrossed his limbs like a broken roadmap. He glanced up and realized he didn’t have any clothes to wear.

“I didn’t see you had any clothes with you. You ain’t had no visitors I could ask to bring you some,” nurse Amanda said. She adopted a more soothing tone and smiled. “I rustled up things from the stuff that goes unclaimed around here.” She pointed to the chair against the wall. “I think they’ll fit you all right.”

Who the hell are you to get gushy all of a sudden? Hopper marched over and jerked the jeans on beneath his hospital gown. He tugged the one-piece garment over his head, tossed it on the floor and pulled at the long-sleeves of the shirt. The pants sagged in the seat like he liked them. The sleeves of the shirt hung past his wrists so he folded them over twice and glanced at the caseworker.

“What now?” Hopper asked.

“You got papers to sign before ya leave.” The look on Amanda’s face reminded Hopper of his mother’s anguish the time he insisted on walking to school alone the first time. “Is there someone I can call for ya, honey?”

“They ain’t nobody.” He furrowed his eyebrows, steeled his eyes and straightened his shoulders. “I can take care of myself.”

Hopper left the hospital through the side entrance as an ambulance pulled passed. Typo? "past"? The sun was shining but he wrapped he hugged himself tight and walk back out into the cruel world. Typos and extra words here. Is 'cruel world" a cliche? Overall, a good, realistic scene.

***

The caffeine buzz threatened a headache as Sgt. Kendall Parker entered Police Headquarters. After leaving the homicide scene at the park, he’d grabbed a giant cup of coffee at Library Coffee and now regretted the impulse on an empty stomach. That's happened to more cops, and doctors and nurses, than would be admitted to. GRIN. Not me! He nodded to other officers and staff who acknowledged him and waded through the bodies milling in the corridors. He took the stairs to the basement and pushed to the back of the room past a bevy Nice word of cubicles. The scarred wood desk in Is "the" missing? far corner with its creaky swivel chair and government-gray filing cabinets suited him fine. Nice.

Parker tossed his blazer on the rack in the corner, "corner" repeats. switched on the fan behind the desk. It sputtered to life after struggling to spin twice around its body, heavy metal fins struggling against the electric current and build-up of dust. Give me another week, will ya? He’d been meaning to pick up a new one.

None of the detectives assigned to the unit were in. It was almost noon so most were eating lunch or out in the field investigating last night’s rage in the city. He dropped in the chair behind the metal desk, its defiant squeal shooting bolts through his head.

“Afternoon, Sergeant.” Brooks said with a cheerfulness that was irritating. He collapsed in the suspects need aposthrophe "s". Also, not sure how they really do it there but suspects, ESPECIALLY murder suspects, are interviewed in special rooms w/ recordings for video and sound. Even in old buildings. Mostly. Can't guarantee everyone does that. chair beside Parker’s desk, stretched his long, lean legs across the scuffed tiled floor. “You should ask for a new desk. Is it held over from the 1950’s or something? It’s seen better days.”

“In this economy? City can’t give us a precinct with the equipment needed to combat those assholes out there, much less decent furniture. Union spends more time in front of the cameras threatening politicians than fighting furloughs and layoffs. No thanks, I like my little corner. I have a desk, more than most in the squad. Need end quotes. Are you inferring MOST don't have a desk? Hmmmmm.

Parker rummaged around the desk. “Did you canvas the neighborhood around the park for witnesses?” He asked.

“Sir? Parker is a sergeant, they are not called 'sir'. Perelli thought you’d need me here.”

Just like Perelli to pawn him off. Parker lacked patience training new recruits. Recruits don't go to homicide unit, a premier assignment. Do u mean a rookie to the homicide unit? “I need help churning up witnesses, detective. Not filling in reports,” he said. “Get back out there!”

The detective marched across the room in reaching stride and ascending the stairs in twos. Brooks never complained of the hectic, frustrating schedule required of a rookie homicide investigator. Parker admired the young man’s eagerness, reveled in the memories of his own rookie days when he’d had plans to make his mark in the world. He recalled a time when justice drove his need to prove that crime didn’t pay and that a steady job, hard work was Typo. "were" all anyone needed to keep straight. He’d believed in the decency and good nature of all human beings and that everyone, even criminals, deserved their break once in a while.

Parker’s first month as a patrol officer on the streets burned his memory even today. He’d witnessed more violence in thirty days than one man should know in a lifetime. He watched as Brooks disappeared up the stairs. An exceptional Police Academy cadet, he accomplished where most met with defeat. This sentence can be more clear..I had to read it twice He excelled technically, yielded excellent marksmanship and could sprint a hundred yards in thirty seconds flat. He accepted tasks without question and relied more on textbook know-how and common sense than muscle and brawn. Detective Timothy Brooks came across as a big dork, a mama’s boy, a man who needed to fit in. Through misplaced enthusiasm, he did.

“Still haven’t ID’d John Doe yet.” Should that be a question?

Looking up from a pile of reports on his desk, Parker nodded to Perelli as he lowered himself in the chair opposite. “Got anything to go on yet?”

The detective rubbed sleep from his eyes, making them red and bloodshot. Did he have a nap? I thought it was noon or the afternoon? “Nada. Autopsy won’t be until later this week, if we’re lucky. Fingerprints are blown, hands and feet too wrinkled and decomposed. M.E. figures the stiff’s been dead four, maybe five days. The vic’s description is being fed into the state’s computer and faxed to the FBI. The glove found at the scene has been sent to the state crime lab for analysis, too big to belong with the body. With luck, CSU can lift prints from the lining.”

“Suppose John Doe’s got no priors.” Parker grunted. “What then, fucking dental records?” He fumbled for a cigarette. Perelli opened his mouth to speak, but Parker held up a hand. “Have you checked with Missing Persons?”

“Nothing’s matched so far. Sketches will be ready for the media in an hour. Not sure what good that’ll do. The vic’s face was a mess. Artist had a tough time looking at the dude. Can’t blame him none.” Perelli withdrew a cigarette and pinched it in the corner of his mouth where a permanent nicotine stain resided. “Want to go for a smoke?”

Parker followed his partner up the stairs and out a side door to the parking garage. “The victim may not be missed yet,” he said, perhaps more to himself as he flicked his lighter. Nice. Jon, I've really only been picking on things to correct, but, THIS IS A GREAT IMPROVEMENT IN THE REALISM AND RELATIONSHIPS FROM THE PRIOR VERSION.

Perelli nodded. “Streets abutting the park are known cruising areas.”

Parker sensed his partner’s unease. Things between them had been subdued and not the typical banter back and forth, the constant jabbing each other. He’d noticed the difference since returning to work, even in the days following the accident.

“Squad cars case the place by the hour,” Perelli said. “I could check traffic records for citations going back a few days. Maybe the perp or a witness got cited.” Remember last century, the Son of Sam killer, I think New York State? He got caught cuz his car got a frigging parking ticket when he was committing a murder. A parking ticket!!! GRIN. I'm not saying to put it in, just FYI.

“It’s a long shot.” Parker nodded to a group of patrolmen returning bagged lunches. Were they returning the lunches or returning WITH them. He turned to Perelli. “The only thing we’ve got to go on is a pack of matches recovered at the scene. May not be connected to the body, but I thought I’d check the bar out early this evening.” He flicked away his cigarette butt. “You want to come along?”

“I’ll pass. The wife’s been complaining I’m not home enough.” Perelli scoffed. “Hell, before that she was complaining because I was home too much. We’ve been married over thirty years and I still can’t figure her out. I doubt I ever will.” I suspect you need him to go alone, but where I was a cop, partners work together and go places togehter, esp. since you never know what you're 'going to step in'.

Parker laughed and held the door open for his partner. “At this point, I wouldn’t even try, old buddy,” he said. He trailed behind the man. “By the way, I sent Brooks back into the field. He’s canvassing the neighborhoods around the park for witnesses.”

“Hey, want to grab some lunch?”

“Nah, wife’s got me eating veggies and leafy things again this week.” Perelli said. “I’m off to the break room. Five more pounds on this diet doc’s put me on or face blood pressure medicine for the rest of my life. You go on ahead. I’ll catch you later.” ONLY if you want, he could confess that as he's lost weight his blood pressure has dropped.


Sincerely,
David

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