Beginnings
January 21st 2008 04:30
‘Mr Inigo Charles Jones’.
‘That’s right’.
‘I am your late grandfathers solicitor and pursuant to his wishes I am to deliver this letter to you by hand’.
‘One look inside the suitcase and I shut it real quick. Going to the door I had a look up and down the street. Nobody there.
I stepped out to the car and grabbed my white stick and dark glasses. Going back inside the laundry I set about the stage management. Two minutes later and I am as blind as I was three years ago before surgery.
After twenty years or so I can put it on like a suit. I have a load in the washer and one in the dryer and a pile of clothes on the table. As I stood there behind my dark glasses, my white stick leaning against the table, I slowly and methodically felt my way through the clothes. Folding them with the precise and practiced motions of the blind, my eyes never leaving the door.
A short man sauntered by on the other side of the street giving the laundromat a good look. I fumble with the clothes a bit for effect. A minute later the same man appears at the door of the laundry. He stuck his head in the door and asked if I had the time. I said, 'sure', and lifted the bezel on my watch to feel the hands and told him it was about ten past six never taking my eyes off him.
Short, dark, and needing a shave. He looked so much like a B grade movie gangster I nearly laughed. He said thanks, picked up the case and walked off up the street.
I went to the door and called after him. ‘Excuse me sir. Could you show me to the door of the milk bar on your way.’ He agreed and came back. I put my hand on his shoulder and we proceeded up the street with me on the street side of him.
God people are so gullible.
As we passed the end of the lane way, that I knew like the back of my hand, I gave him a shove into the dark opening, the weight of the case helping to throw him off balance, and pulled the sword from my stick. Running him through I picked up the case and hurried to the other end of the lane way and back to my car. Dropping the case and my white stick on the floor in the back seat of my car I went back to folding my clothes.
Twenty minutes later I’m folding the last load hot out of the dryer when a cop car flies past with lights and siren. As it screeches to a halt just down the road another one stops just out side the laundromat. One of those eager young cops comes into the laundry, you know the type, short military haircut and a brusk manner. First question out of his mouth is, ‘What are you doing here?’ Honest that’s just what he said.
I looked him straight in the eye and said, ‘Getting a hair cut.’ The look on his face was one of the best comic moments in my life. He tried again. ‘There has been a murder in the lane down the street. How long have you been here?’
‘Well, three loads of laundry. About an hour give or take ten minutes.’
‘Have you seen anyone in the street in that time?’
‘No. But then I read while the machines are running.’
He then took my name, address and phone number and left the laundry.
I finished folding my things, put them the bag and dropped it on top of the other stuff in the back of my car. Any way, to cut a long story short, I posted the money to my mothers address in San Diego. That gave me a month to arrange a trip back to California. I got there a week before the package showed up. I spent a couple of weeks there then hired a car and drove to Mexico where I got a boat to Rio.
One day I got home to find this guy pointing a gun at me. I asked him, ‘How did you find me after these three years?’
‘It wouldn’t have happened except that the guy you killed was the Dons idiot nephew. His sister wouldn’t let him forget it. Let’s go.’
Well he had the gun so I had no choice. On the way out I stopped to pick up my cane. He grabbed it from my grasp and checked to see if it had a sword in it before giving it back. I leaned heavily on my cane as we made our way down to his car. He took me down to the docks where he had a boat waiting. He kept his gun on me and told me to get aboard then motioned me into the cabin which he locked.
As I sat in the cabin thinking that it had to come to an end sometime the engines started. Well it had been a good life. Three million dollars goes a long way in South America. After about forty minutes the engines were cut and I could hear my captor making his arrangements for my demise. Chain rattled across the deck. A large thump, presumably the weight, reverberated through the deck. The key rattled in the door. As the door opened I pointed my stick. My captor dropped with a 44 Magnum through the chest. People are so gullible. J.T. Jones
‘And this letter is from my Grandfather?’
‘That is correct Mr. Jones.’
‘You know, my parents told me he was dead.’
‘I have no knowledge as to that Mr. Jones. I was your grandfathers solicitor. I did not know your parents. You are the sole heir to his estate.’
‘Estate? This letter?’
‘Oh no Mr. Jones, there is also sixty million dollars and the villa in Rio. It seems that your grandfather made some wise investments.’
This story gave me a character who will feature in a novel that is just about half done. This story? Well, lets face it, it's not that great is it.
I wrote this years ago. Everybody starts someplace.
‘That’s right’.
‘I am your late grandfathers solicitor and pursuant to his wishes I am to deliver this letter to you by hand’.
‘One look inside the suitcase and I shut it real quick. Going to the door I had a look up and down the street. Nobody there.
I stepped out to the car and grabbed my white stick and dark glasses. Going back inside the laundry I set about the stage management. Two minutes later and I am as blind as I was three years ago before surgery.
After twenty years or so I can put it on like a suit. I have a load in the washer and one in the dryer and a pile of clothes on the table. As I stood there behind my dark glasses, my white stick leaning against the table, I slowly and methodically felt my way through the clothes. Folding them with the precise and practiced motions of the blind, my eyes never leaving the door.
Short, dark, and needing a shave. He looked so much like a B grade movie gangster I nearly laughed. He said thanks, picked up the case and walked off up the street.
I went to the door and called after him. ‘Excuse me sir. Could you show me to the door of the milk bar on your way.’ He agreed and came back. I put my hand on his shoulder and we proceeded up the street with me on the street side of him.
God people are so gullible.
As we passed the end of the lane way, that I knew like the back of my hand, I gave him a shove into the dark opening, the weight of the case helping to throw him off balance, and pulled the sword from my stick. Running him through I picked up the case and hurried to the other end of the lane way and back to my car. Dropping the case and my white stick on the floor in the back seat of my car I went back to folding my clothes.
I looked him straight in the eye and said, ‘Getting a hair cut.’ The look on his face was one of the best comic moments in my life. He tried again. ‘There has been a murder in the lane down the street. How long have you been here?’
‘Well, three loads of laundry. About an hour give or take ten minutes.’
‘Have you seen anyone in the street in that time?’
‘No. But then I read while the machines are running.’
He then took my name, address and phone number and left the laundry.
I finished folding my things, put them the bag and dropped it on top of the other stuff in the back of my car. Any way, to cut a long story short, I posted the money to my mothers address in San Diego. That gave me a month to arrange a trip back to California. I got there a week before the package showed up. I spent a couple of weeks there then hired a car and drove to Mexico where I got a boat to Rio.
One day I got home to find this guy pointing a gun at me. I asked him, ‘How did you find me after these three years?’
‘It wouldn’t have happened except that the guy you killed was the Dons idiot nephew. His sister wouldn’t let him forget it. Let’s go.’
Well he had the gun so I had no choice. On the way out I stopped to pick up my cane. He grabbed it from my grasp and checked to see if it had a sword in it before giving it back. I leaned heavily on my cane as we made our way down to his car. He took me down to the docks where he had a boat waiting. He kept his gun on me and told me to get aboard then motioned me into the cabin which he locked.
As I sat in the cabin thinking that it had to come to an end sometime the engines started. Well it had been a good life. Three million dollars goes a long way in South America. After about forty minutes the engines were cut and I could hear my captor making his arrangements for my demise. Chain rattled across the deck. A large thump, presumably the weight, reverberated through the deck. The key rattled in the door. As the door opened I pointed my stick. My captor dropped with a 44 Magnum through the chest. People are so gullible. J.T. Jones
‘And this letter is from my Grandfather?’
‘That is correct Mr. Jones.’
‘You know, my parents told me he was dead.’
‘I have no knowledge as to that Mr. Jones. I was your grandfathers solicitor. I did not know your parents. You are the sole heir to his estate.’
‘Estate? This letter?’
‘Oh no Mr. Jones, there is also sixty million dollars and the villa in Rio. It seems that your grandfather made some wise investments.’
This story gave me a character who will feature in a novel that is just about half done. This story? Well, lets face it, it's not that great is it.
I wrote this years ago. Everybody starts someplace.
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