The Tarot by Jim Miller

We're back with day six of the Summer Giveaway Hop hosted by I Am A Reader, Not A Writer & BookHounds.My Guest Blogger today is Jim Miller a retired Canadian Army officer with over forty years service who is now writing full time. He has been writing all his life, as time permitted. And has sold a number of humour columns to local markets, but Mined Your Own Business is his first published novel. He served in the Canadian Armed Forces for over forty years, moving through the ranks from private to warrant officer and then taking his commission. He worked with the Canadian Rangers and retired as a Captain. Married to Bev, they have two children, Camille and Michael.

He has a BA in history and philosophy from University of Manitoba and an MA from Royal Roads University.

As of right now, Jim has a portfolio of manuscripts that includes a mystery series of four novels and two short stories and a series of outlines for another ten books, which are all about Rabbi. The books follow Rabbi as he moves up the ranks and describe his adventures as an amateur detective and professional troublemaker, at least that’s how his Sergeant Major sees him.

He also has a military farce manuscript and a romantic comedy novel that are complete but still being polished. One of Jim’s goals is to win the Leacock medal for humour. He now writes daily and intends to write a book a year. 

Remember to leave a comment with your contact information. Jim is giving away six eBook's of his new release Mined Your Own Business.

The Tarot

“Last night I stayed up late playing poker with Tarot cards. I got a full house and four people died.”                        Steven Wright

The above quote is probably the only tarot joke in existence. The whole concept of the tarot is not one that reeks of humour or frivolity. I believe it’s time for a change, which is why I am writing this blog. And despite all the bad press the Tarot has received, you can forget about disappearing into a cloud of smoke because you dared handle a tarot deck.

This blog is not designed to give you the basics, the history or even teach you how to read tarot cards. All that is available on the internet. I would like to suggest that the tarot can be of help to all writers. But it’s not a magic device or an instrument of Satan. And before you ask, the tarot will not make you happy, healthy, wealthy or find you the right man/woman/pet. 

The initial concept of predicting the future, back at the dawn of time, was to use a sheep’s entrails. That idea died a natural death because it was too messy for some, mostly the sheep. Crystal balls came next and they were a glassy handful to have to lug around on pilgrimages. Once paper had been invented and then stolen from the Chinese, the tarot deck was born.

 Around about the 15^th century the tarot came into being mainly as a way of playing card games. Not content with poker, solitaire or bridge, the odd ones in society decided to use the tarot as a means of divining the future, answering unanswerable questions and for scaring the pants off unbelievers.

Tarot decks can be used by those of us who lodge somewhere in between the card game players and the fortune tellers. I use my decks to create options or potentialities. Somebody somewhere took a great deal of trouble to assign each card with a series of attributes, qualities and even matched them up with astrological signs. After all that work on their part why shouldn’t we at least take a look at them. But, prepare to get the pants scared off you. Something about the way they work, or don’t work can be astonishing.

Today there are over a thousand different kinds of tarot decks. You name it and someone has created a tarot deck. I have seven decks, one of them is a baseball tarot deck.

As writers we can employ the tarot in a safe and helpful manner. One very simple, but excellent method of getting the juices flowing is the one card reading. Pick the card and set it down where you can see it. Pick up a pen, a pencil, or start keyboarding. Describe the contents of the card, leaving nothing out and don’t stop at the first sentence. You know how it works, or if you’re like me, you don’t know how it works. You start writing and the next thing you know, you’ve got a grocery list of stuff and a dead end. Dang it! 

Okay, do it again. Pull another card. If after 78 times, (the number of cards in the deck) all you’ve come up are lists, maybe you shouldn’t be a writer. The object of exercise is to create a little story from the scene on the card.

Once that little story has been written, study it, because it’s here that the tarot will show it’s stuff. Something in that description will be pulled into your subconscious and mixed with all the other flotsam and jetsam of a life experienced to the fullest. Or not. Out of that evolves a nugget. It’s not an outline, but it could be. It may be a plot point, a story twist, a story starter, a story ender or even a road-block smasher that’ll get you back on track and writing. Once you’re deep into it, and the words are tumbling out onto the page, you’ll find yourself wondering where the hell those sentences came from? I no longer wonder, I just accept. 

Another method of combining the tarot and writing is to select a card each for your protagonist, antagonist and two or three other characters. By studying the cards based on how you already see the character you’ll begin noting details that pull more of that character out of you. You’ll have a head, or better yet, a computer full of ideas, descriptions, personalities, attitudes, likes and dislikes, and most valuable, an idea of how each character will react in a certain situation. Give it a try. I promise that by doing so the only cloud of smoke you’ll disappear into will be one created by your fingers frenzy-ing along the keyboard. 

And in case you have forgotten, writers are the descendants of those sheep’s entrails-prodders. Only instead of evisceration, we envision. We foretell of worlds and dreams. We populate them and bring them to life in a future or past or a ‘Never-was-never-will-be’ that we have chosen. But we do it with words. The tarot helps us. Besides, it saves on sheep, right? 

Out of nothing but our brain cells we create the truths and lies of our character’s lives for our readers. The tarot, a bunch of brightly coloured cards, greases those cells and jump starts our imagination. If you’re a total sceptic, the tarot is nothing more, or less than an idea-grinder. A harmless almost mnemonic tool. And if you aren’t then the tarot is…Magic. 

Happy Tarot-ing, Jim.

He found the body with his toes. Little did Private Donald “Rabbi” Hawkins know that an innocent little dip on company time would lead to a web of intrigue, a treasure map, more murder, proficiency with a bayonet, and the opportunity to solve a decade old crime. All while trying to stay out of trouble.

While in training with the army Rabbi Hawkins, neophyte sleuth, discovers the death of a fellow solider may be linked to a treasure map he was harbouring. The goal soon becomes to discover the nature of the treasure, and to evade those willing to kill to keep that secret buried.


Remember to leave a comment for Jim. You'll not only be entered to win a copy of Jim's new eBook Mined Your Own Business. Lorhainne Eckhart will be giving away three copies of her new release THE CHOICE, to three randomly drawn commenters at the end of the summer hop giveaway. Don't forget to leave your contact information when you leave a comment, so we know how to get a hold of you.

Visit the other blogs participating in this summer giveaway by clicking on the link I Am A Reader, Not A Writer & BookHounds.
 

Conclusion to Have You Considered Voodoo

We're back with day four of the Summer Giveaway Hop hosted by I Am A Reader, Not A Writer & BookHounds. Today is the final installment of Author Wayne Zurl's guest blog, a short story Have You Considered Voodoo. 

Biography:

Wayne Zurl grew up on Long Island and retired after twenty years with the Suffolk County Police Department, one of the largest municipal law enforcement agencies in New York and the nation. For thirteen of those years he served as a section commander supervising investigators. He is a graduate of SUNY, Empire State College and served on active duty in the US Army during the Vietnam War and later in the reserves. Zurl left New York to live in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains of Tennessee with his wife, Barbara.

Eight (8) of his Sam Jenkins mysteries have been produced as audio books and simultaneously published as eBooks. His first full-length novel, A NEW PROSPECT, was named best mystery at the 2011 Indie Book Awards by the Independent Publishing Professional’s Group. It is also available on Kindle.

For additional information on Wayne’s Sam Jenkins mystery series see www.waynezurlbooks.net. You can read excerpts, reviews and endorsements, interviews, coming events, and even see photos of the area where the stories take place.

Have You Considered Voodoo - Part Four - Conclusion

Have You Considered Voodoo?

By Wayne Zurl

Copyright 2011

4,400 words

Long Island, New York, July 1977

I cuffed Anthony and walked him over to the Squad. Ten minutes later, Bob Prince from the Juvenile Section showed up.

“I want this bird locked up for the night,” I said. “Can you get me the standby Family Court judge to lodge him and petition him to court in the morning?”

“Good luck!” Prince said.

“Why?”

“Donald Foy is on call tonight. On something important and simple he hates to be called out. For this he’ll go berserk. The guy’s a whack job.”

“This punk has been going around for the last week assassinating animals and smoking grass. That’s why he’s on probation. For chrissake, he’s a serial killer in the making.”

“Foy doesn’t look like an animal lover and where these young assholes are concerned, he’s so liberal, he makes George McGovern look like a Republican.”

“Oh, great.”

Anthony sat in the chair next to my desk picking at his cuticles, listening to our conversation. When I finished, he only moved his eyes to look up at me and grinned like a weasel watching an injured sparrow.

“You want to call this guy’s parents and have them meet us at Family Court?” I said.

“Mother.” Anthony said.

“What?”

“I only got a mother, no father.”

I wanted to smack the smirk off his face.

“Detective Prince, will you tell the Rocket Man’s old lady where she can find us?”

<><><> 

It took us twenty-five minutes to drive to Family Court. Half way there, I watched lightning crackle in the western sky and a light rain hit the windshield. A uniformed court officer met us at the door. He was the only one present.

After locking the entrance again, he ushered us to Judge Foy’s chambers. We all sat on guest chairs in the hallway.

Twenty minutes later Foy came storming down the hall removing a windbreaker before he reached us. Prince stood up. I followed suit.

“Hello, Judge,” he said, while Foy opened the door and turned on the lights.

“This better be good, Detective. You know I don’t like to be disturbed without good cause.”

I stuck in my two cents. “We had a good reason, Judge.”

“And you are?”

I told him.

“So, what’s your story?”

I told him that, too.

“You want this boy lodged in a secure facility for killing a dog?”

I elaborated one more time.

“Ridiculous. You have no proof of his involvement with the other incidents. Even this is shaky. He’s what, a hundred and thirty pounds? Do you know what will happen to him inside?”

Yeah, I thought, he’ll probably slit his cell-mate’s throat and shit on his bunk.

“Your honor,” I said, “obviously the boy can’t control himself and marijuana seems to control his life. His mother doesn’t have any control over him either.”

Then I let it slip.

“He’s on probation for the same thing and he’ll most likely do more or worse unless you lock him up.”

“Most likely? You come here saying he most likely did other things and he’ll most likely do more of the same. I don’t react to most likely scenarios. I need probable cause to believe. You should know that.”

The judge tried to intimidate me with a cold stare. He was neither big nor bad enough to trouble anyone I knew.

“And where did you learn about his probation and the reason for it? Those records are sealed,” he said.

Foy looked at Prince, who shrugged. I glanced at Anthony. The smirk was back in full force. Now I wanted to smack the kid and the judge.

“There was a field interrogation card made at the time of his arrest. It never got purged from the Precinct file,” I lied. “I assumed you’d want to know his history.”

“I’ll look into this and release him to his parents,” Foy said. “Where are they?”

“His mother is on the way, Judge,” Prince said.

“Judge,” I said, “if you let him go, we’ll only have more of the same. This is a mistake.”

Foy picked up a pen from his blotter and slammed it down for effect. The court officer flinched. Prince closed his eyes for a second. And Anthony kept on smiling.

Foy glared at me. “I’m the court, young man. Don’t you presume to tell me my business!”

I took that as my cue to leave.

“Bobby, I’ll call your office and have a car sent to pick you up.”

I heard Anthony snicker. I turned and walked out, reminding myself not to send Foy a Christmas card.

The court officer followed me and locked the door after I left.

<><><> 

When I finished my set of day tours, I spent two weeks with my wife wandering around New Mexico and northern Arizona. I returned to work for a week of 5 to1s. My in-box was stacked with inter-departmental envelopes and loads of other mail.

At eleven o’clock, Louie DeMarco asked, “Hey, Sam, you get a chance to read any of the tour bulletins from the last couple days?”

“Haven’t had the pleasure, Sergeant.”

“You’ll like this one, kiddo. Ryan’s case. Home invasion on Cedar Avenues, two blocks south of the railroad station. Nine-year-old boy was home alone. Perp slit the poor kid’s throat and took a dump on the living room floor.”

THE END

Sam Jenkins never thought about being a fish out of water during the twenty years he spent solving crimes in New York. But things change, and after retiring to Tennessee, he gets that feeling. Jenkins becomes a cop again and is thrown headlong into a murder investigation and a steaming kettle of fish, down-home style.

The victim, Cecil Lovejoy, couldn’t have deserved it more. His death was the inexorable result of years misspent and appears to be no great loss, except the prime suspect is Sam’s personal friend.

Jenkins’ abilities are attacked when Lovejoy’s influential widow urges politicians to reassign the case to state investigators.

Feeling like “a pork chop at a bar mitzvah” in his new workplace, Sam suspects something isn’t kosher when the family tries to force him out of the picture.

In true Jenkins style, Sam turns common police practice on its ear to insure an innocent man doesn’t fall prey to an imperfect system and the guilty party receives appropriate justice.

A NEW PROSPECT takes the reader through a New South resolutely clinging to its past and traditional way of keeping family business strictly within the family.  

Wayne will be giving away ten eBook's of A NEW PROSPECT to ten randomly drawn commenter's on August 5. 

Lorhainne Eckhart will be giving away three copies of her new release THE CHOICE, to three randomly drawn commenters at the end of the summer hop. Don't forget to leave your contact information when you leave a comment. And remember to visit the other blogs participating in this summer giveaway by clicking on the link I Am A Reader, Not A Writer & BookHounds.

Have You Considered Voodoo

 We're back with day two of the Summer Giveaway Hop hosted by I Am A Reader, Not A Writer & BookHounds. To kick off this great giveaway I invited Author Wayne Zurl to post a guest blog. What he came up with was quite creative. A short story Have You Considered Voodoo, which will be featured over four days. Today is part two of this great story. 

Biography:

Wayne Zurl grew up on Long Island and retired after twenty years with the Suffolk County Police Department, one of the largest municipal law enforcement agencies in New York and the nation. For thirteen of those years he served as a section commander supervising investigators. He is a graduate of SUNY, Empire State College and served on active duty in the US Army during the Vietnam War and later in the reserves. Zurl left New York to live in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains of Tennessee with his wife, Barbara.

Eight (8) of his Sam Jenkins mysteries have been produced as audio books and simultaneously published as eBooks. His first full-length novel, A NEW PROSPECT, was named best mystery at the 2011 Indie Book Awards by the Independent Publishing Professional’s Group. It is also available on Kindle.

For additional information on Wayne’s Sam Jenkins mystery series see www.waynezurlbooks.net. You can read excerpts, reviews and endorsements, interviews, coming events, and even see photos of the area where the stories take place.

Have You Considered Voodoo - Part Two

.

I knocked and a good-looking Hispanic woman in her early-thirties answered the front door. She had dyed red hair, wore a well packed halter top, and short-shorts that hugged her muscular mid-section.

“Mrs. Santiago, I’m Detective Jenkins, 5th Squad. Can we talk about what happened last night?”

I learned that twelve pigeons in her husband’s coop had been strangled and six of their throat’s cut. The screened-in coop was located behind their house and built on stilts to keep animals away. Whoever killed the birds defecated in the middle of the coop and left a half-smoked reefer behind.

Since Maria Santiago could tell me nothing more than she surmised it happened between 7:30 and 10:30 the night before while she and her husband Indio were at the movies, I started knocking on doors of the surrounding houses. At house number three I scored a bingo.

The woman living in the home with a back yard abutting the rear of Santiago’s property told me something interesting.

“I heard a racket behind Santiago’s place,” the elderly woman said. “His birds were going crazy, flapping and squawking. I looked outside but didn’t see anything. Then I heard someone whisper, ‘Come here baby, come to Cisco.’”

“And what happened next?”

“And nothing. I went back to watch TV. The noise kept up for a couple minutes, that’s all.”

She blew smoke from her unfiltered cigarette toward the ceiling and stuck her left hand defiantly into the pocket of her house dress

“Mrs. Bloomberg, why didn’t you call the police?”

“I don’t want to have nothing to do with these Puerto Ricans. Let them fight among themselves. Let someone younger call. It’s none of my business.”

<><><> 

I parked the gold Plymouth and walked back into the Squad. Louie Demarco sat leaning back in his chair with his feet on his desk reading the newspaper.

“Hey, Sergeant, do me a solid and get your ass in gear. We’ve got police work to do.”

“What’s your hurry, you young cock-a-roach?”

“Check our nickname file and then call Intelligence to see what they have. I need to know who’s called Cisco in this area.”

“Only half the male population on the west end of town. Why? What have you got?”

“Some old battle-ax heard a guy who killed a bunch of pigeons call himself Cisco. See if you can get me a name while I call Crime Scene.”

“I wouldn’t do this for just anybody, Sam.” Louie laughed. “You’ll owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry to interrupt your current events study.”

The duty sergeant at the Crime Scene Unit told me the ET who handled the massacre at the Pigeon Hotel recovered a fingerprint from the glass pane on the door to the coop. The print had been forwarded to the Identification Section to match against their files and the elimination prints he took from Mr. and Mrs. Santiago. He anticipated getting it back in a few days.

I called the ID Section myself.

“Come on, John,” I said to a sergeant. “I think I’ve got a hot lead here. I need to match the print to someone called Cisco. Do me a favor and push this to the top of the pile.”

“Sam, we’ve got robberies, real burglaries, recovered stolen cars, and a homicide that came in overnight to go on the bottom of the stack. And you want me to play around with a latent from a dead pigeon case? I know a coop is technically a building, but gimme a break, it’s not a real burglary.”

“John, this is bigger than just pigeons. I’ve got two other cases with probably the same perp. From what I’ve learned, it may be connected to Voodoo. And now that Hispanics are involved I might have to look at Santeria. Come on, we go way back. For me?”

“Okay, but I’ll remember.”

<><><> 

I drove to the bodega on West Main Street and spoke with the owner, Anibal “Benny” Quilas.

“You know anything about people around here practicing Santeria?” I asked.

“That’s private thing, Vato. Why do jou ask?”

I explained my theory.

“I don’t know, man,” he said. “A few old people may believe in that, but no one who would kill pigeons.”

“They practice animal sacrifice in their religion, don’t they?”

“I don’t know, man, maybe. Hey, I’m a Catholic, what do I know. But who would sacrifice pigeons? That’s sick, man.”

“I don’t know either, Benny. I’ve got a dead cat, a chicken and now a dozen pigeons. What do you know about Voodoo?”

He looked at me like I had two heads.

<><><> 

Sergeant John Rondinelli from the ID Section called me the next day.

“I did that print for you, but it doesn’t match anything Smitty took from the scene of your pigeon caper or anyone who’s been arrested in the county.”

“Rats!”

“You’ve got dead rats now?”

“No, wise guy, that was an expletive. Now I’ve only got 400 Ciscos in the Precinct to look at. Thanks anyway.”

“Sorry, pal, but you still owe me.”

“You’re all heart. John.”

<><><> 

Just after lunch, Officer Paul Thomas walked into the Squad. I dropped the phone back onto the cradle as he stood in front of my desk.

“What’s up?” I asked. He looked a little frazzled.

“You know that homeless guy they call The Bishop?”

“Yeah, tall skinny guy. Tyrone something.”

“Tyrone Banks.”

“And?”

“And you got a minute?”

“Yeah.” I pointed to the guest chair next to my battered metal desk.

He sat down and tossed his hat on my blotter atop stacks of paperwork and pushed a hand through his dark hair as he settled into the armless chair.

“Yesterday on the 4-to-12s, Frampton and Leonard get a call: Dead dog near the tracks on that vacant land off Railroad Avenue.”

“You think it’s connected to the chicken and the cat?”

“It was decapitated.”

“What did they write it up as?”

“Just that. But those two are sharp. They forwarded a copy of the field report to you.”

“Haven’t seen anything yet.”

“Probably sitting in the back room waiting to get processed.”

“Maybe it was some sick bastard who took a dead dog and laid it across the tracks just to see a train cut it in two. It’s happened before.”

“I don’t think so. We drove over there this morning. About fifty feet from the tracks the grass was stomped down to make a clearing and there’s blood all over. The dog wasn’t decapitated post mortem.”

“Jesus.”

“I called the dog warden who picked up the corpse. He said the dog’s throat was cut and then above that cut, someone hacked off the head.”

“So what’s The Bishop got to do with this?”

“He flagged us down about a half hour ago.”

“The old guy’s half nuts, you know.”

“Yeah, he is, but he brought us something.”

“What?”

“Come outside. You don’t want this in the squad room.”

We walked into the parking lot. Car 501 was parked in the breezeway between the Precinct house and the 5th Squad building with its trunk open.

I looked at Thomas’ partner. “Whaddaya say, Jimmy?” Armstrong was blond and stocky, but not fat.

“Hi ya, Sam.”

A red and white plastic cooler sat in the trunk.

“You guys having a beer party?”

“Not hardly,” Armstrong said.

“Tell me I don’t already know what’s in the cooler.”

“’Fraid so,” Thomas said.

I gingerly lifted the lid.

“Oh, man!”

To be continued in Part Three Tomorrow...

Sam Jenkins never thought about being a fish out of water during the twenty years he spent solving crimes in New York. But things change, and after retiring to Tennessee, he gets that feeling. Jenkins becomes a cop again and is thrown headlong into a murder investigation and a steaming kettle of fish, down-home style.

The victim, Cecil Lovejoy, couldn’t have deserved it more. His death was the inexorable result of years misspent and appears to be no great loss, except the prime suspect is Sam’s personal friend.

Jenkins’ abilities are attacked when Lovejoy’s influential widow urges politicians to reassign the case to state investigators.

Feeling like “a pork chop at a bar mitzvah” in his new workplace, Sam suspects something isn’t kosher when the family tries to force him out of the picture.

In true Jenkins style, Sam turns common police practice on its ear to insure an innocent man doesn’t fall prey to an imperfect system and the guilty party receives appropriate justice.

A NEW PROSPECT takes the reader through a New South resolutely clinging to its past and traditional way of keeping family business strictly within the family.  

Wayne will be giving away ten eBook's of A NEW PROSPECT to ten randomly drawn commenter's on August 5. 

Lorhainne Eckhart will be giving away three copies of her new release THE CHOICE, to three randomly drawn commenters at the end of the summer hop. Don't forget to leave your contact information when you leave a comment. And remember to visit the other blogs participating in this summer giveaway by clicking on the link I Am A Reader, Not A Writer & BookHounds.

Have You Considered Voodoo

Welcome to the Summer Giveaway Hop hosted by I Am A Reader, Not A Writer & BookHounds.To kick off this great giveaway I invited Author Wayne Zurl. He's written a short story which will be featured over the next four days. Now if any of you have read Wayne's novel's you already know your in for a real treat. 


Wayne Zurl grew up on Long Island and retired after twenty years with the Suffolk County Police Department, one of the largest municipal law enforcement agencies in New York and the nation. For thirteen of those years he served as a section commander supervising investigators. He is a graduate of SUNY, Empire State College and served on active duty in the US Army during the Vietnam War and later in the reserves. Zurl left New York to live in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains of Tennessee with his wife, Barbara.

Eight (8) of his Sam Jenkins mysteries have been produced as audio books and simultaneously published as eBooks. His first full-length novel, A NEW PROSPECT, was named best mystery at the 2011 Indie Book Awards by the Independent Publishing Professional’s Group. It is also available on Kindle.

For additional information on Wayne’s Sam Jenkins mystery series see www.waynezurlbooks.net. You can read excerpts, reviews and endorsements, interviews, coming events, and even see photos of the area where the stories take place.

Have You Considered Voodoo?

By Wayne Zurl

Copyright 2011

4,400 words

Long Island, New York, July 1977

At 3:30 on a hot and sunny Tuesday  a uniformed officer walked into the 5th Squad Detective’s office. His blues were wrinkled and an eight-point cap sat on his head at a jaunty angle.

“Detective Jenkins,” he said, “I understand you’re getting the squeals today.”

“Officer Thomas, aren’t we being dreadfully formal?” I said.

“Yeah, I know. Listen, Sam I’m sorry, but the lieutenant said I should bring this over to you.”

He waved a carbon copy of a field report for a moment before handing it to me. I skipped the heading and read the synopsis of the incident.

“This is a dead cat. I can see it was murdered, but it’s only a misdemeanor in the Agriculture and Markets Law. Why are you giving it to me?”

“Read the top line. It’s a burglary. It happened in a house.”

“Great. House or not, you’d usually give something like this to Plainclothes as a misdemeanor investigation. Inside, outside, it’s still just a cat.”

“The LT said it’s the second similar event. Frampton and Leonard handled one the other day—dead chicken hanging on a front door. They gave it to PC. Marty Koenig is handling that.”

“And your boss thinks we have a serial animal killer?”

“I guess.”

“Thank him for me, the moron. Like I’ve got nothing better to do than investigate dead cats.”

“What can I tell you, buddy?”

<><><> 

Twenty minutes later I stood in the kitchen of a house on River Avenue, in one of the flea bag sections of town.

An evidence technician puttered around processing the crime scene and the homeowner, one Cedric Bromley, stood next to me.

“Who would do this to my cat, mon?” Cedric spoke with a Jamaican accent.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Bromley. Have you had a problem with any of the neighborhood kids lately or a major argument with someone?”

“No, sir, I don’t argue with no-one.”

Cedric’s dreadlocks were tucked under a black, yellow, red, and green knitted cap. The smell of blood, urine, and feces tainted the air.

“This is not your average burglary, Cedric. Besides your cat having its throat cut and hung from the light above your sink, the person who did this took a dump on your kitchen table and left behind the remnants of a marijuana cigar behind. I’ve never seen a bomber that big before. Big time ganja.”

“I tell you, mon, I got no enemies. I don’t bother no-body. And not every Jamaican does drugs. I don’t know who did this.”

<><><> 

I left as the ET finished up his work and Cedric stood there dumbfounded.

Back in my unmarked car, I switched on the ignition and picked up the microphone.

“555 to headquarters, 10-33 with unit 501.”

“10-4, 555, switch down.”

“501, copy.”

I turned my radio to Frequency Two.

“501, on.”

“Frampton or Leonard in the car?”

“10-4, that’s us.”

“Can you meet me at your relief point?”

“10-4, five minutes.”

It took me three minutes to drive to the railroad station. I waited.

A blue and white sector car pulled up next to my Plymouth with Frampton driving. He rolled down the window and showed me a wolfish grin.

“5th Squad needs help from the likes of us?”

His partner gave me a wave. I returned it.

“Yeah, one of the uniform lieutenants thinks we’ve got a serial killer in your sector.”

“Serial killer?” Frampton’s salt and pepper hair fell across his forehead and covered the tops of his ears. Not exactly regulation. He drove the supervisors crazy.

“A chicken and a cat,” I said.

He laughed. “We had the chicken. Who had the cat?”

“Thomas and Armstrong.”

“Where’d it happen?”

“Inside 215 River Avenue. Rastafarian named Cedric Bromley. Know him?”

“Yeah, Gary wrote him for a stop sign a couple months ago.”

“He into anything?”

“Not that we know of. He seemed okay. But all these Jamaicans like their ganja.”

“Tell me about the chicken.”

“There’s a Haitian family on West Street, just south of Main. We figured a neighbor didn’t like the smell of chicken shit from the coop they keep in the back yard. Cut one’s throat and hung it on the door knocker to bleed out. Weird thing was, somebody left a bag of human shit on the stoop and set it on fire.”

“Like a Halloween prank? Whoever comes out and stomps on the burning bag gets shit on his shoes?”

“Something like that.”

“Anything else?”

Leonard spoke for the first time. “Perp left behind a bomber roach with enough grass in it to roll another stingy joint.”

<><><> 

I walked back into the 5th Squad and tossed my keys and notebook on the desk.

“Whaddaya know, kid?” Detective Sergeant Louie Demarco asked.

“I know I’ve got too many real burglaries and a new armed robbery to think about to be spending time on assassinated cats and chickens.”

“That stuff in 501 sector?”

Louie was a small, middle-aged man with dark curly hair and an Errol Flynn mustache.

“You got it,” I said.

As Louie and I spoke, the squad commander, Lieutenant Harold York, walked out of his office.

“You working on that 10-3 with the dead cat, Sam?” he asked.

“Yeah, boss. Kinda weird. Louie tell you about it?”

“Yeah.” York was tall and distinguished-looking. With slicked back hair and a three piece brown suit.

“Any connection between the vics?”

“I don’t know. Got one Jamaican and a Haitian family. I’ll check for a connection.”

“Haitians and Jamaicans? Dead animals? Marijuana?”

“Right.”

“Have you considered Voodoo, Sam?”

<><><> 

The detective whose desk faced mine had about 200 years on the job and was always a good guy to ask for a second opinion.

“Hey, Dave, you ever handle anything involving Voodoo?”

“Voodoo? You got zombies doing stick-ups or what?”

“Gimme a break, huh? The LT brought up a good point.”

I explained the possibly related cases.

Detective Browne sat back in his chair with his fingers intertwined over his large belly. His blue and red striped tie ended at three buttons above his waistline.

“Voodoo my ass,” he said. “There’s some connection the vics aren’t telling you about. Nobody tells the whole truth.”

“Thanks, partner. You’ve been an immense help.” My voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Yeah, you’re so smart? Go out and look for some Voodoo mama with mojo.”

<><><> 

The next morning I walked in and looked at the clip board holding the reports that came in on the midnight tour. One grabbed my attention. I pulled the field report from under the spring-loaded clip.

“Hey, Louie,” I said to the sergeant. “Who caught the squeals from the midnights?”

“Richmond, but he’s not in yet.”

“Tell him I’ll take this burglary on Lake Street. I think it may be related to my cat and chicken.”

“You going there now?”

“Stopping for coffee first. The people may not be awake yet.”

***Stop back tomorrow for Part Two

<><><> 

Sam Jenkins never thought about being a fish out of water during the twenty years he spent solving crimes in New York. But things change, and after retiring to Tennessee, he gets that feeling. Jenkins becomes a cop again and is thrown headlong into a murder investigation and a steaming kettle of fish, down-home style.

The victim, Cecil Lovejoy, couldn’t have deserved it more. His death was the inexorable result of years misspent and appears to be no great loss, except the prime suspect is Sam’s personal friend.

Jenkins’ abilities are attacked when Lovejoy’s influential widow urges politicians to reassign the case to state investigators.

Feeling like “a pork chop at a bar mitzvah” in his new workplace, Sam suspects something isn’t kosher when the family tries to force him out of the picture.

In true Jenkins style, Sam turns common police practice on its ear to insure an innocent man doesn’t fall prey to an imperfect system and the guilty party receives appropriate justice.

A NEW PROSPECT takes the reader through a New South resolutely clinging to its past and traditional way of keeping family business strictly within the family.  

Wayne will be giving away ten eBook's of A NEW PROSPECT  as a PDF on August 5 to ten randomly drawn commenters.  Don't forget to leave you contact information.

Lorhainne Eckhart will be giving away three copies of her new release THE CHOICE, to three randomly drawn commenters at the end of the summer hop. Don't forget to leave your contact information when you leave a comment.