Erotica Harem

David’s caveat: Dealing w/ me is akin to shopping at the store: 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 retired police officer. I look at things differently.
Keep writing and always have fun!

Title: Pretty Boy Dead

Chapter: 8

Author: Jon Michaelsen

Plot: Opens w/ a lament and foreshadow of backstory. ( Did that make sense?) Anyway, I like that. Detective Parker finally escapes the zoo-like atmostphere of the homicide unit. He goes for lunch to catch up on more history of Atlanta. GRIN. Nicely done via newspaper article.

Style & Voice: 3rd person via Parker

Referencing: Consistent

Scene/Setting: Good.

Characterization: Goood. No negative issues.

Grammar: Goood w/ comments.

Just My Personal Opinion: 1,487 Words (NOTE: I count words as an idiosyncrasy.) Still enjoying myself, Jon !


"Pretty Boy Dead"

Chapter 8

_____________________________________________________________________
Maybe I returned to work too soon. I like one line paragraphs

Witnesses and suspects moved in and out as the drone of phones buzzed like a symphony. Seems like they did it on their own. They need to be escorted by an officer, detective, etc. Parker was glad his time for manning the phones had passed. Shuffling paper and keyboards clicking merged with the investigators shouting above the chatter to create cacophony of the insanity. By midday, Police Headquarters resembled a bus station.

Parker glanced out across the floor and scanned the perimeter. The layout appeared different since his absence yet the only real change was his view of everything.

Nothing will ever be the same again.

The basement of the low-rise building housed the Criminal Investigations Unit. The space -- once a storage facility for Sears Robuck & Company -- was open and expansive, devoid of and real design. Classic industrial, every inch crammed with gray-metal desks and cubicles, putty-colored file cabinets and Pend-A-Flex boxes stacked ceiling high around the perimeter.If it's an old commercial building chances are the ceilings are over 10 feet high. Pretty high to stack boxes to the ceiling. The next sentence seems to be run-on or complicated. Cut it up? Parker stared at the large, square-paned windows which faced north though painted over, some sunlight to seeping through the chipped paint.

The stairwell at the opposite end provided the lone access to the room, save for two emergency exits that lead to the garage. Upon his return, Parker had chosen the back wall to put a desk, confounding most of his comrades. The spot he chose was furthermost from the stairwell and for obvious reasons. Suspects descending the stairs often proved uncooperative, handcuffs or not. Maintenance workers had long refused to repaint the walls lining the staircase, arguing that a fresh coat never had a chance to dry before more soles had made their mark, announcing yet another disruptive detainee, all too common at the precinct. Heheheheeeee.

“Hey, Parker.” Detective Torrez of Sex Crimes plopped down at his desk not far from the sergeant and devoured a sausage and egg biscuit. “Heard in the morning’s briefing you copped the park case.”

Parker nodded and watched the detective gorge himself in three bites. Torrez’s partner shuffled up a minute later and grabbed the seat across from the man.

“’S’up?” Detective Smith jutted out his chin. “You need help, just let us know.”

“You bet.” Parker nodded and watched the black man pour no fewer than five sugar packets into a steaming cup of black coffee.

“Where’s Perelli?” Torrez asked, wiping the grease and crumbs from his face with the back of his hand.

“Running a lead. I’ll be sure to tell him you’re trying to bust in on our case,” he said, winking at the officer.

The investigator laughed off the banter and snatched up his phone. Nice exchange.

Parker returned to the paperwork on desk.



Monday morning proved as challenging as the narrow stairwell itself. Witnesses, suspects, family members, friends, bail bondsmen, attorneys and just about anyone else connected with the weekend’s crime spree scurried in and out of the muggy quarters, most with complaints. He found it difficult to concentrate on the forms before him and after attempts to ignore the rising roar grew too much, he surrendered. Unlocking the desk drawer, he retrieved his gun and holster, snatched his blazer from the rack and trudged through the crowd toward escape.

After ten years the fancy of donning a crisp new uniform was gone. People could be so cruel and more often to the ones they loved the most. These first 2 sentences don't flow w/ each other. He shuffled past a battered woman huddled around her frightened children on his way out to grab lunch. Cynicism was a daily battle for most of the detectives in the “hole”, a nickname bestowed the basement’s humble quarters.

Nobody knew this fact more than Parker. He reached the stairs as a shriek from within the squash of people pierced the chatter. He ignored the pleas for help until the cries coincided with voices is "of" missing? department staff. Scanning the room, he pinpointed the source of the disturbance as two officers struggled to restrain a towering, purple-sequined transvestite. Efforts to handcuff the honey-skinned Madonna failed as she landed a succession of low body blows, their howls more earnest than her cries for mercy.

The furor continued as those nearest the commotion stepped back to watch the drag queen beat the shit out of the two men with a pair of long legs, bright pink pumps and matching handbag, a few cops standing back to watch. When the melee threatened to disrupt other units, Parker shoved his way through the congestion. He grabbed the bitch by the back of her dress. The abruptness confused the giant and halted her assault. She turned and kneed him in his groin. If his actions halted her assault how did she immediately assault him? Most men/cops know to protect the groin, but alas, too many cops suck at self defense. So sad. So, ok, she kneed his nuts. I suggest he lament to himself that he's getting lazy? Inattentive? etc., as even a few years ago he would not have left his groin exposed to assault. Parker cried out as the pain burned through his stomach and into his throat like a rush of acid reflux. Regaining balance, he swung his fist and caught the diva’s jaw. She hit the floor like a rag doll, arms and legs splayed. Over hoots and a few howls, Parker straightened his jacket, gave the room a quick glance-over and left without saying a word.

***

The Varsity on North Avenue in Midtown stood the test of time, as close to a landmark as anything in the city. Parker knew its history, having lived in the city for years. He had an affinity for all things nostalgic, preferring the greasy fast-food over the more modern drive-thru restaurants closer to the squad.

At its peak, the seventy-five old restaurant employed close to a hundred carhops, each with their own number. In the fifties, the “hops” worked for tips only, which led them to all kinds of showmanship. Carhops would sing, tell jokes, rhyme, and dance, all in the quest for bigger tips. Whenever some national crisis occurred, reporters in town flocked to The Varsity for man-in-the-street quotes. Visiting politicians headed to the White House from Richard Nixon to Bill Clinton had their pictures taken at the famous mark.

Inside the packed restaurant, Parker moved with the crowd along the 150-foot stainless steel counter. OMG. That's HUGE. At six-four, he could put away some food for a man of his thirty-five years, but managed to stay fit by jogging and working out regularly at the local “Y”. Good genes didn’t hurt either. The Varsity didn’t serve the healthy diet of late, but the food was rather standard for most cops, especially those who were single.

He stepped forward to order his meal, two plain hot dogs, two burgers, onion rings and a large diet soda. The harried counter waitress spouted out, “Walk me two naked dogs, two glorified, o-rings and an unleaded! Seven-ninety-six…next!” Wow, that's cheap. If each dog and burger cost $1.50, very cheap, that's six dollars alone. Add soda, big profit margin, and fries? Way cheap.....

Parker collected his tray of food and moved to the condiment counter to load up with supplies before moving to the nearest dining room. Most cops will find a corner table to keep their backs to the wall for safety/paranoia The Varsity was chock full of various size dining areas, each separated by walls of glass. There were large square rooms, tight cozy rooms, sports memorabilia rooms, and so forth. All were a turnout of popular trends at the time of endless expansion efforts over the years.

A boy inside was peddling copies of the newspaper inside, the ink fresh and smudged slightly to the touch. The discovery in Piedmont Park commanded a two-inch column on the first page of the Metro news section, the byline written by veteran staff writer, Calvin Slade. Parker sneered, shoved half a hot dog in his mouth and began to read the article. I assume he bought a paper from the kid, right? Maybe gave him a dollar for a 50 cent paper?

The story focused on the details, though sketchy at best, of the body found by a homeless man searching for a place to sleep. According to sources close to the investigation, the identity of the victim eluded police. Without an obvious cause of death, the article went on to say, police must await autopsy results as Typo? "and"? have established no motive and no identifiable suspects.

Parker noted the author filled in gaps of the report by chronicling the renaissance of the one hundred sixty-eight acre triangle-shaped park in recent years, the city’s largest remaining sprawl of virgin in town, bordered by Piedmont Road. The article continued to espouse well-funded conservation plan, the nearly-complete five year, twenty million dollar revitalization project of planted hardwood trees, poured pathways and proposal to enclose the large exposed sewage basin along the southeastern edge of the park earned accolades from the public. Slade attributed the facelift to the enterprising efforts of popular, Atlanta City Council President Mitchell Keyes who police discovered weeks earlier asleep at the wheel of his car in the pre-dawn hours. The councilman’s car straddled the left shoulder of the Lenox Road exit ramp off Interstate 400 in the affluent Buckhead community when an officer spotted him. Keys were in the ignition and the engine running, the man’s foot stuck on the brake.


The piece explained the councilman had attended a political fundraiser at the Fox Theater before heading home. Keyes Need the possessive form? blood alcohol level registered twice the legal limit. He’d plead no contest before a night court judge and promptly posted bail. He has denied all charges.

After finishing his lunch, Parker hit the john before he headed back to the station.


Sincerely,
David

My book, under my other name, is Wisdom is the Answer, Common Sense is the Way. See it on: http://www.rdrpublishers.com/catalog/item/3460547/6984709.htm
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