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Related article: Date: Wed, 29 Aug 2007 11:22:12 -0700 (PDT)
From: Matt Wess
Subject: Double E: Part 5 Eliot stared at me for a few seconds, which seemed to drag on for a
few years. Impulsively, I leapt from his chair, letting go of the mouse
as though it had just bitten me. The fact that he was remaining silent
was creeping the hell out of me.
I could tell that he was reading my mind: escape. The door was
still open. Without a scene I could possibly slip around him and out of
the door. Just when I thought the plan may Preteen Nude Bbs work, Eliot shut the door
with his foot. I was trapped.
Then he was taking off his tie, he asked me what I was doing at his
computer. I lamely told him that the family computer was broken and I
needed to check my e-mail. "Lies," he spat, quickly turning his head to
stare daggers at me. "You're still stuck on this murder case."
I didn't even answer him. The voice inside of my head warned me
about testing Eliot when he was angry. I just took three calculated
steps towards the closed door, reaching out for the doorknob. My heart
was beating quickly; the cold, brassy knob was in my hand. His lack of
anger still unnerving, I knew he was watching me.
Anyway, the next thing I knew, I as on the goddamn floor and he was
sitting on my chest, with his face all red. That is, he had his goddamn
knees on my chest, and his muscle mass was suffocating. Preteen Nude Bbs
He had hold of
my wrists, too, so I couldn't take a sock at him.
"What the hell's the matter with you?" he kept saying, and his
stupid face was half concealed by his shaggy brown hair.
"Get off me," I told him. I was almost in tears from the pain.
"Gerroff me!"
He wouldn't do it, though. Preteen Nude Bbs He kept holding onto my wrists and I
kept calling him a sonuvabitch and all, for the next twelve hours. I can
hardly remember what all I said to him. I just remember the pain
shooting through my chest.
"Stay off" - he emphasized "off" and dug his knees in deeper - "my
computer. I'll punch your lights out the next time I catch you snooping
around. And drop this whole murder case. Do I have your promise?" When
I didn't answer, he moved his knee so it was squarely placed in my gut.
I gasped. "Do-you-promise?"
"Yes," I breathed, cursing him under Preteen Nude Bbs my breath.
He got up off me, and I inhaled sharply, allowing the regular flow
of oxygen. I got up, too, walking quickly for the door. As I slammed
his door shut, I realized the only person I should be mad at was myself.
I was careless. This evening when I paid my visit to Get Fit Gym I would
have to be a lot more careful.Almost immediately after my encounter with Eliot I set off for the gym.
It was located on Newberry Street down by the river, just north of the
statehouse, and ran in a northeasterly direction. Crammed with small
inner-city business, bars, crack houses, and cheerless three-story row
houses, the street stretched close to a mile. Most of the row houses had
been converted to apartments or rooms to let. Few were air-conditioned.
At four on an autumn evening the air-conditioner was not a necessity.
I missed the Preteen Nude Bbs
gym first time around, rechecked the address from the
page Carrie printed out for me, and doubled back, driving slowly, reading
off Preteen Nude Bbs street names. I caught the sign, Get Fit Gym, professionally
lettered in block on a door window. Preteen Nude Bbs
It took two additional blocks before
I found a parking space.
I locked the P.T. Cruiser, slung my one-strap book bag across my
chest (which still hurt from Eliot) and set out. I'd put the Preteen Nude Bbs fiasco with
Eliot behind me, and felt pretty damn slick as I strut across the street,
ready to take care of serious business.
The gym sat in the middle of its block, over a vacant shop. The
door to the gym opened onto a small foyer with steps leading up. The
stairwell walls were institutional green, covered with spray-painted
graffiti and twenty years' worth of hand smudges. The smell was bad,
ripe with urine steaming on the lower steps, bonding with the must aroma
of stale male sweat and body odor. Upstairs, the warehouse style second
floor was no better.
A handful of men were working the free weights. No one was at the
bags. Activity faltered when I entered, and if I'd been uncomfortable on
the street, it hardly counted at all to what I felt here. I hadn't
anticipated the atmosphere to be charged with hostility and suspicion.
Once again, Carrie's words popped into my head: "I would leave this to
the police."
I shook her words out of my head and hitched up my book bag. "I'm
looking for Rocky."
A hulking mountain of muscle rose from a workout bench. "I'm
Rocky."
He was over 6' tall. His voice was husky, his lips curved into a
menacing smile. The overall effect was eerie, the voice and the smile at
odds to the stealthy, calculating eyes.
I crossed the room and extended my hand. "Elijah Temime."
"Rocky Katz."
I stared into his hooded, close-set eyes. Rocky looked like he'd
enjoy the kill. There was something about the density of his eyes, black
holes where everything gets sucked in and nothing comes out, that
suggested a hiding place for evil. I wondered how on earth some Catholic
goody-good, as Eliot had explained Georgina as, ended up with a guy like
this.
"So, Elijah Temime," he said in his eerie voice. "What can I do
for you?"
I quickly made up a lie. "I'm running a report for Jamestown's
local, yet popular newspaper."
"Reporter, huh?" he said, obviously amused. "That's a big title
for a little kid."
I'd never consider myself as little until I stood alongside Rocky.
I'm 5'7" and slightly muscled. I try to work out; try to get myself up
to at least Eliot's standards. Luckily, I didn't quite look the part of
a high school student all the time. In fact, more than once I was
mistaken for an older college student. I forced a smile. "I'm currently
doing a report on the murder of Georgina Cloves. Someone instructed me
to ask you a Preteen Nude Bbs few questions - if you have the time, of course," I added.
Rocky shook his head. "I only met Georgina once. Never knew she
was murdered." He looked around at the rest of the men. "Any of you
know about Georgina?"
No one responded.
"I've been told that just the other day she was shot in her Preteen Nude Bbs house.
Anyone near the vicinity around midnight and six in the morning?"
Again, no response.
I pushed on. "The police are trying to indict the wrong person for
her murder. So does anyone know of a person who knew Georgina? Who saw
her on a daily basis?"
"You ask a lot of questions," Rocky said. "Would you like a Coke?
We got a Coke machine here. I could buy you a soda."
A red flag went up. "Thanks for the offer, but I have to move
along. This report won't write itself. If you spot someone who knows
Georgina, I'd appreciate a call."
"I don't believe you," Rocky said. His smile had turned tight, and
the civility had slipped from his voice. "I think you're lying about
this report."
I felt tendrils of panic curl into my stomach, and I cautioned
myself not to overreact. Rocky was playing with me. Showing off in
front of his friends.
I made a display of looking at my watch. "Sorry you feel that I
way, but I'm suppose to have this report started by tonight."
I took a step back, and Rocky grabbed me by the scruff of my neck,
his fingers digging in with enough force to make me hunch involuntarily.
"You're not going anywhere, Elijah Temime," he whispered. "I don't
like how you're snooping into other peoples business."
The silence in the gym was oppressive. No one moved. No one
voiced an objection. I looked at each of the men and received only blank
stares back. No one's going to help me, I thought, feeling the first
licks of real fear.
I lowered my voice to match Rocky's soft pitch. "I came here as a
member of the Jamestown Inquiry. I came here looking for information to
help me with the murder of Georgina Cloves, and I gave you no reason to
misinterpret my intentions. I'm conduction myself as a professional, and
I expect you to respect that."
Rocky dragged me closer. "Something you got to understand about
the champ," he said. "First off, you don't tell the champ about
respect. And second, you got to know the champ doesn't appreciate
scrawny, liars." He gave me a shake. "You're scared now," he said in
his whisper voice. "I can smell it."
I had a blunt object in my bag, and I'd use it if I had to, but not
until all else had failed. I just wanted to back everyone up enough to
get the hell out. I slid my hand over the leather book bag until I felt
the object, hard and unyielding under my palm.
Reach in, get the object, I thought. Take aim at Rocky and look
serious. Could I hit him? I honestly didn't know. I had my doubts.
"Let go of my neck," I said. "This is the last time I'm telling
you."
"Nobody tell the champ what to do," he roared, his composure gone,
his face twisted and ugly. He grabbed the front of my shirt, and over my
yelp, I heard the fabric tear. I roundhoused Rocky square on the side of
his head with my book bag. Between the blunt, heavy object and
everything else, the bag must have weighed quite a bit.
Rocky staggered backwards, and I bolted for the stairs. I didn't
get five feet before he jerked me back by my collar and flung me across
the room like Preteen Nude Bbs
a rag doll. I lost footing and went Preteen Nude Bbs facedown to the floor,
my hands hitting first, skidding over unvarnished wood, my body
following, the impact knocking the air from my lungs.
I scrambled for the blunt object in my book bag and took aim at an
approaching Rocky. Blinded by fear, I took a swing, heard a hurtful
yell, more movement throughout the gym. I was moving, too, crab style
across the floor, my legs not able to support me. Without looking back,
I heard the other friends of Rocky rushing over to help him. I reached
the stairs, stood, and lunged for the railing. I missed the second step,
too panicked to coordinate my movements, and half slid the rest of the
way down to the cracked linoleum landing at street level. I dragged
myself to my feet and staggered outside into the setting sun.
I wasn't sure if Rocky cared enough about me to come charging down
the stairs, but it seemed prudent not to hang around and find out, so I
clattered towards my car. My nose was bleeding; my palms were skinned
and burned like the devil. My scalp was sore. My knees throbbed.
By the time I reached home, my knees had stiffened up, and the
blood had dried and caked on what was left of my school pants. To make
matters worse, Detective Booker and Sergeant Manning were home along with
my parents. The only good thing was that they weren't outside.
I parked the car. I reasoned that they were probably sitting in
the living room, which was at the front of the house, so I limped around
to the back door would I could enter without being seen - just heard.
The moment I entered, the conversation in the next room stopped.
"Elijah," my mom called out. "Is that you?"
Picking up the pace, I wobbled to the steps. "Yeah - it's me."
I heard her get up. Christ. Half-way up the steps, I quickly
wiped the blood from my face and tried to hide my torn knees. Seconds
later she appeared at the doorway. "Where on earth were you?" Without
waiting for an answer she exclaimed, "What happened to the knees of your
new pants! And your shirt!"
"I-I fell," I stammered.
"Down what? You have a large black and blue mark on your face! And
your nose is bleeding!" For a fleeting moment I thought it had stopped
bleeding, but I could now taste the blood that seeped down to my lips.
As if I needed to come across Eliot more today, he appeared behind my
mother, his blue eyes narrowed into slits as he observed me.
Not wanting to say anything in front of him, I wiped the blood
away, and said hurriedly, "I'll be fine. Just a nasty fall, that's
all." I dashed up to my room, closing the door behind me.
Milliseconds later a set of footsteps came pounding up the stairs
and my bedroom door burst open. Before I could even open my mouth, Eliot
grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pinned me against the wall. The
impact knocked dust from the eaves and made my teeth clack together.
His voice was tight with barely controlled fury. "What the hell
did you just go do?" He punctuated the end of the question with another
body slam, rattling more filth onto the two of us.
"Answer me!" he ordered.
The pain was mental. I'd been stupid. And now, to add insult to
injury, I was getting bullied by Eliot Preteen Nude Bbs for the second time within three
hours.
"Shouldn't you be acting dainty with the police in the house?" I
said curtly.
His grip tightened on my ripped shirt. "They were leaving as you
were coming in. Now where the hell were you? You were off trying to dig
up more facts on Georgina's murder, weren't you?" My guilty silence
answered his question. He released me, and shook his head in disbelief,
mustering a laugh, as if to say "this is unbelievable." "Jesus fucking
Christ, Elijah. Find a new hobby. I don't need your help. I know I'm
suppose to think that you'll somehow pull off the job, but do yourself a
favor and forget about it. Whatever happens, happens."
"Yeah, but you've just been framed for a murder and those damn
officers are being closed minded!"
He came up close to me, this time I backed myself up against the
wall. "Listen to me. This is your last warning. Next time something
like this happens..."
"You're punching my lights out," I finished his sentence.
He shook his head. "No. I'm telling mom and dad first and then
I'll punch your lights out with their approval."Overall, day one sucked. I couldn't believe all I've already been
through. Part of me said I should just give up. Murder was a dangerous
realm to travel into. Uncovering someone's true sexual orientation is
just as dangerous, if not more.
Eliot seemed to be straight, but so did I. I was able to walk the
walk and talk the talk of a straight guy successfully and even land a few
girlfriends now and then. The truth was, though Eliot's aggressive
behavior hurt, it was something of a turn on. I could still smell his
Axe sent lingering around me long after he left my room.
I sprawled out on my bed. My thinking position. Staring up at the
eaves. Looking back on my lousy day. All of it was my fault. Every
single thing that happened. I had been careless, reckless and out of my
mind to confront someone like Rocky.
A mental image of him splashed into my mind and I shuddered, my
cuts and burns began to throb. I needed a better cover. Reporter would
have worked had I actually had something like a business card, or proof
that I actually worked for the Jamestown Inquiry, even though I did not.
Also, I needed more help. Eliot wasn't about to help anytime soon,
but a few names were called to mind. If I played my cards right, they
were bound to help me. Rolling delicately on my side, so as to not
disturb my wounds, I reached out for my spiral notebook and flipped Preteen Nude Bbs to an
open page.
Slowly, I began to write. At the top of the page, the date;
underneath that, "Day One", and under that, "Case Name: Double E." For
Elijah and Eliot.
Then I began to jot down notes, unknowingly placing the first piece
of the puzzle into place.
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# by odacydiop | 2012-08-02 20:00