Showing posts with label Have you considered Voodoo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Have you considered Voodoo. Show all posts

Thursday, August 4, 2011

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.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

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.