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.
Keep writing and always have fun!


Title: Pretty Boy Dead

Chapter: 10

Author: Jon Michaelsen

Plot: 1. Newspaper reporter Calvin Slade updates his story using inside sources he's cultivated over time.
2. Detectives Parker & Pirelli (what a nice Italian name) go to a bar to find a whore who was w/ the 'john' the prior week. The usual sleezy bar and big bouncer and sexy whore ensue while the good guys pry info from the lady of the night.

Style & Voice: 3rd person omni

Referencing: Goood. Consistent.

Scene/Setting: Newspaper office; bar.

Characterization: Nicely done, esp. the Asian whore. I love sexy Asians the best.

Grammar: Good w/ comments & typos. Cannot give you an A+.

Just My Personal Opinion: VERY GOOD improvements over the last draft. Much more believable, esp. with Parker's attitude.
(David takes his invisible hat off to Jon in respect.)



Investigative journalist, Calvin Slade, do u need to set off the name w/ commas? cleared a spot on his desk for his laptop and booted up. Amazing he ever located anything atop his desk as the surface was thick with file folders, books, faxes and stacks of paper. Slade opened a file on his desktop and began to revise the piece run earlier in the print edition detailing the discovery of the body in Piedmont Park for the Journal’s online site by adding details he’d collected throughout the morning.

Slade had spent most of the day dogging the story, contacting sources inside the police department developed over the years, the Medical Examiner’s Office and the GBI’s Crime Lab. He chatted up anyone willing to provide insight into the investigation, facts the public needed to know. Facts? Really? Since when are journalists concerned about 'facts'. ??? By early afternoon, he’d spoken to the first police officer who arrived on the crime scene. The man claimed the manner in which the victim died was the worst he’d ever seen in all his ten years on the force.

Cradling the phone between shoulder and chin, Slade typed into his computer what the cop relayed he knew. “You say the victim can’t be identified?” Slade said.

“That’s right.” The cop’s voice whispered through the line. “Victim didn’t have much of a face left. Dude was mutilated beyond recognition. Since there was no ID on the body, he’s a John Doe for now.”

Killer’s intention? Slade stopped typing. “Thanks, man. I won’t forget this.”

Several more calls before Slade discovered the victim was a white male in his early twenties and well outfitted. The condition of the body was such that investigators at the scene could not immediately determine the cause of death, he typed, quoting a duty officer who offered his comment on anonymity.

Slade also managed to wrangle a quote from APD spokesperson, Wanda Booze. “We’re not calling it a homicide, or a suicide, or anything else at this time. We treat every case as a death investigation until we know something different.”

For the next hour, Slade worked on the article, flipping through his spiral notebook of scribbled facts, quotes and sources, all dated and time-stamped in codes only he could decipher. Police, the GBI and medical examiners plan to work at the scene well into the night, he added. Officials will preserve the scene and continue to look for clues into the death of the unidentified man. Authorities hope further evidence retrieved at the scene may provide more clues into the victim’s death.

Slade flipped through the pages, retracing notes he’d written that morning after speaking to the homeless man who’d found the body. It had taken less than thirty minutes to track down the old bum after the shuttle officer provided some important information. A quick visit to the Ellis Street Shelter downtown and twenty dollars later, he had his eye-witness accounts for the follow-up piece.

The homeless man, who asked to remain anonymous fearing his safety, claimed that finding the body was ‘the worst thing he ever saw’. The (victim’s) face didn’t look like a face at all. His eyes were open and gorged. “I ain’t never gonna forget that sight as long as I live on this earth, so help me God.” Nice realistic quote.

Satisfied, Slade concluded the article references what would happen nest. Typo: 'next'? An autopsy isreads ruff. delete 'is' or add 'that' in front of it scheduled sometime later in the week should help investigators determine the cause of death. Medical examiners studying the remains will use the most up-to-date forensic techniques available to identify the body.

Slade concluded the article by urging anyone with information about the case to contact the Police department. He provided the Crime Stoppers Tip Line phone number and mentioned tipsters didn’t have to give their name to be eligible for an award.

He titled the article, ATLANTA POLICE SUSPECT FOUL PLAY IN PARK DEATH, and sent the copy to editing.

***

The officer’s report contained the name of Churchill’s companion the night of the citation. Parker pulled a copy of the woman’s citation and checked with his buddies in Vice. He soon learned that Wendy Jones, aka Woo Vu, was a prostitute who worked fancy hotels and high-end nightclubs uptown in Midtown and Buckhead. When hounded by Vice, bouncers or hotel security, she moonlighted as a dancer at the Cheetah Lounge on West Peachtree. Described as a beautiful, honey-skinned babe, Wendy Jones had a record, arrested five times in past the last year for solicitation, disorderly conduct and possession of narcotics. When not working, the hooker was known to hang out at a bar on Cheshire Bridge Road.

The 24K Club offered everything but what the name implied. The lounge was rustic, dark and cheap, a real dive judging from its peeling exterior and crooked neon sign. The place occupied a section in the rear of a strip mall fronting Cheshire Bridge Road. The parking lot held an array of oversized SUV’s with custom chrome wheels costing more than the investigator’s monthly salary. The hole-in-the-wall tavern catered to would-be criminals and those who hung out with them. The dark interior offered a kind of sanctuary from the real world looming beyond the drab, cinder-block walls.

Sergeant Parker removed his sunglasses and held the door for his partner. He passed through the narrow opening shielded by an old screen. Stale beer, body odor and cigarette smoke engulfed their entry like a wet sauna. The men stepped to the side, backs against the way wall to let their eyes adjust to the darkness and scanned the room. Ah, very, very good!!! He sensed a few pair of eyes glancing their way. Most who frequented places like this knew they were cops the moment they stepped inside.

Conversations continued not-stop. A jeweled hand out of nowhere scooped up the money from the pool table in the center of the room as Parker stepped forward. A glass shattered in the distance and a waitress bent to the floor. James Brown screamed from rattling speakers in a jukebox hidden in the corner.

A muscular black man with silver studs riding his left ear walked up to them. “You boys lost?”

Parker flashed his shield. “Wendy Jones hangs out in this place,” he said. “Is she here?” He followed the bull’s eyes. “We’d like to speak with her.”

“Chill,” the man grunted.

Parker thought he typo guy was sizing up their strength.

“See ‘bout ‘dat. You wait here.”

The big lug moved away. Perelli lit two cigarettes and held one out midair. Parker fingered the filter between thumb and forefinger. Christ, I need to give up this shit. The smoke concentrated in such a tiny place was enough to choke a small city.

“Never did like this dump.” Perelli scowled. “Too goddamn dark in here.”

Parker remained dubious, his senses heightened in the unfamiliar place. He scanned the room, checking the corners and alcoves where criminals lurk.

The hulk returned, his jaunty sway asserting a practiced stride. “You got five.” He huffed and led them to a tall cocktail table in the back where Wendy sat alone. “Don’t fuck wit ‘er,” he warned. He back typo away and positioned himself within pouncing distance.

“Cute,” Wendy mused, ogling the detectives. She rested her catlike eyes on Parker’s crotch. He ignored the slight stir and matched her intense stare. “You buyin’?” she asked, pursing her plump, ruby-red lips.

“Just need to ask a few questions,” Parker said, feeling warm beneath his collar.

“Another time perhaps,” she cooed.

Perelli chuckled and took a seat opposite the vixen, his back to the wall for safety. VERY GOOD Parker chose to stand.

Wendy stoked her long raven hair and tossed her mane over bare shoulders. A sweet scent of jasmine floated across the table. “Suit yourself.” Wendy’s eyes narrowed.

“You don’t look like a ‘Wendy’ to me. Changed your name?”

Wendy scoffed. “My real name is Woo Vu.” Parker struggled not to snicker. “Wendy is easier in my line of work, if you know what I mean.” She arched a penciled brow and focused her attention on Parker. “What took you boys so long?” She asked.

“You don’t miss much.” Parker kept contact with her eyes and avoided the shifting of her body meant to reveal more cleavage.

Perelli squirmed like a dog in heat. “You’re referring to the body in the park?”

“Not so fast fellas.” Wendy produced a long, slender cigarette holder and attached a slim filter to its tip. She leaned toward Parker. He obliged with a lighter and held the flame longer to get a better look at the sex kitten. “If I help you, what’s in it for me?” She battered her long lashed. “I’ve got a hearing coming up soon.”

“We can’t offer you anything.” Perelli snapped.

Wendy Vu’s raucous laughter forced stares. “Spare me, cop!” She spat out her words, lost her seductive charm. She slid off the stool. “We’re done here.”

Parker grabbed her arm, her skin soft like creamy butter to the touch. Muscle-man appeared at her side.

“We’ll put in a good word with the judge hearing your case,” Perelli said. “Tell us if you saw that night in the park.” Something missing in this sentence, maybe 'anything'. But, that gives her the chance to say 'nothing'. I suggest he asks 'what did u see' or something similar, this is a time to assume, that she saw something.

“Who said I saw anything?” She challenged. Her voice was strong and calm, a practiced skill. “My people hear you been hassling me, you’re fucked.”

Parker stared down the big brute. “You wanna mess with Atlanta PD? Go ahead. I’ll have cops swarming this place in five.” I suggest he adds, "and for everyday this shit hole stays open."

The cat dismissed the bouncer with a flick of a hand. Parker released his grip. “Get to the point,” she scoffed as she regained her seat.

“We’ve spoken to the john you were with last week, so we know you were in the park after midnight last Wednesday, early Thursday morning,” Perelli said.

“The same night as our victim,” Parker added. Wendy turned to ogle him again, her eyes flicking from his face to his crotch. “The john claimed to have seen a man cutting through the park that night. What can you tell us?”

“Who, the fat salesman?” She giggled and sucked on the instrument attached to the cigarette. A roar of erupted around the pool table as the winning ball clipped a corner pocket. “Yeah, so I saw this dude running through the park, if that’s what you can call it. Looked like he was coming right toward us, from the direction of the lake,” she said. Smoke exited her delicate nostrils and engulfed the table. “Didn’t think much about it at the time, but he appeared to be trippin’, you know?”

“Care to elaborate?” Parker said.

“He staggered like hell, fell a few times, but got up and kept on going. Hobbled like a motherfucker, seemed scared.” She tapped ashes to the floor, threw her head back and shook her hair. “I figured the guy was a base-head, you know?”

“Did you see anyone following him?” Perelli leaned forward. “Was there anyone else?”

Wendy pushed her supple body against the wall. Her perky breasts strained beneath the ivory silk blouse. “I wouldn’t know, man. It was pretty dark. My catch was all over me.” She closed her almond-shaped eyes, pinching the middle of her forehead. “All I remember is that guy in the dark coat. I didn’t pay that much attention, you know?” She leveled her eyes at Parker. He could feel her seductive claws needling him. “Like I said, I was busy,” she cooed.

“Your trick claimed to have seen a man running through the park, over by the bridge across the lake. Are you sure you didn’t see anyone else?”

Wendy rolled her eyes. “I saw the big dude. I remember thinkin’ he looked like one of those ninjas, you know, all dressed in black?” She shook her head and twirled the end of the cigarette holder. “He had something in his hands, but I couldn’t tell what it was. He was going opposite from where we were parked. Look like he was headed to a building on the other side of the lake, but I can’t be sure.”

“Anything else you can remember?” Parker asked.

“That’s it, man. Cop showed up and started hasslin’ us, made us get out of the car.” Wendy’s tone grew flat and indignant. “Didn’t give it another thought ‘til I heard that body was found. Man, that’s some shit.” She called out to the bartender. “You boys thirsty?”

“No thanks,” Parker said. “Can you Is "come" missing? down to the station and sit with a sketch artist?” Parker held out his card. Wendy rolled her eyes and snatched the paper Paper? U mean the business card?from his hand.

“You’ve been a great help, Wendy,” Perelli said. “We’ll be in touch.” They turned to leave.

“Hey,” she called out after them. “Don’t forget ‘bout puttin’ in a good word for me,” she urged.

Parker grinned at her. I suggest you add that Parker said, "I'll pull your record, get the docket number and call the judge. I keep my promises." She tipped a shot of Jack Daniels in his direction and turned the glass on end across her full lips.