« on: July 17, 2014, 10:54:17 am »
Every word of this post following this sentence is by Roger.
My Girl Friday, Part 12
Detective Jaxx Josh sat at his desk and read the file, softly cursing under his breath. Ever since he moved here from Chicago, the department had dumped all the really WEIRD stuff on him. His last case was a man who murdered his wife with a vacuum cleaner. Now it was a private investigator wanted for torching the oldest church in the western hemisphere, killing something like 30 people.
30 people, you’d think a task force would be formed. You’d think there’d be FBI involved, all that stuff. Instead, Jaxx’s Lieutenant just slid the file across the desk and went back to picking at the track marks on his arm.
He called down to the desk sergeant. “What do we know about this Hamish Howl guy?”
“Not too much. The one guy who really knew him was Sergeant Ahmad…You know, the sergeant who was killed at the front desk? Also, he was present when Wilson killed himself.”
“I am beginning to see a pattern, here.”
“Well, that’s the funny part. We have witnesses that swear up and down that Wilson did himself without any help, and that it was just as much a shock to Howl and his partner as it was to the bartender.”
“Pretty girl, young thing, call her about 25 or so. You never see one without the other. They keep an office on Congress. From what I gather, they mostly do divorce cases and the occasional missing persons thing.”
“Thanks.” Jaxx hung up the phone. Then he stared at it a minute. Picking it back up, he dialed the operator.
“Operator”, came the bored voice of a woman, “How can I help you.”
“I need the address of one “Hamish Howl”. He’s on congress street, but I don’t know the exact address.”
“The address you are requesting is 105B Congress Avenue, Tucson.”
“You’re going to die, detective.” A wash of static.
“I said you’re very welcome, sir.”
“Oh, yes. Okay.” Jaxx hung the phone up again and stared at it for a moment. Then he got his jacket on and walked over to Congress Avenue. Reaching 105, he opened the door and followed the stairs up, moving as quietly as he could. Reaching unit B, he stopped, hearing voices on the other side of the door. He put his ear to the door to listen.
A man’s voice was speaking. “So, these ‘maintenance programs’, they’re all the jobs nobody would want to do for a living…But have to be filled because the world wouldn’t look right without them?”
A female voice said something too quietly for Jaxx to understand. Another female voice spoke. “And all preachers or other influential people are actually just these programs?” More muttering.
At that point, Jaxx felt the barrel of a pistol push against the back of his neck.
“Well”, another female voice said, “what do we have here?”
(To be continued)