2 days left to nominate this book
Back to top

First pages

ONE

City of Felton within the US State of Alabama

(Six miles north of Birmingham)

 

Tuesday, June 5th

Hot temperatures with bright sunshine

 

Pa’s Barber Shop location

Barber chair setting

04:03 pm

 

 

He lounged inside the red tinted oversized leather chair and admired his own face. He possessed a tone of peachy color skin, a pair of brown eyes, and a jaw line of red tinted whiskers, frowning into the forward reflection mirror, brushing back the loose hair strands around the earlobe. “I asked you to trim the curls, not cut off the curls, Violet.”

Violet possessed a tall and slender body, wearing a high ponytail in her natural bright red colored hair that had been highlighted in narrow streaks of neon purple hue, displaying a tight white short dress with an array of big bold purple colored flowers. She reached over and grabbed, pulling backwards on some of his shoulder length blonde colored curls, saying into the reflection mirror with a set of green tinted eyes and a sour frown. “And I did as you asked, Tarsal. I trimmed off the dead end on each one of your curls at the bottom of your hair. Now, get up from my barber chair! I have more customers waiting for my scissors,” she lifted up near her sneer and snapped the small pair of scissors, laughing out loud with an evil tone.

Thirty years old Tarsal Tarragon continued to sit and stare with a sour frown into the reflection mirror, studying his shoulder lengthy blonde tinted hair strands. “I don’t know about that. You seemed to have cut off too many of my golden blonde curls. I might not…”

She frowned into the reflection mirror. “Your hair color is not golden blonde. It’s dirty blonde. And get out of my chair, Tarsal.”

A tall and muscular male swiftly stood upright from a row of ratty chairs against the side wall with a loud sneer and then quickly advanced ahead with a sour frown, stopping and stood behind the red tinted barber chair with Tarsal in silence. He reached down and grabbed, touching the back rest on the barber chair, swiftly tilting the chair forward with a sneer. “Violet did a good job on your sissy golden blonde curls. Get outta of the chair, Tarsally.”

A barber chair did not contain a safety belt that could hold a body in place for any reason. So, Tarsal quickly slid down the slick worn leather and then tumbled forward toward the massive black tinted hair stylist counter that contained a row of sharp scissors and other small instruments for cutting off human hair. He swiftly stood upright on top of the floor and spun around with a sneer, clearing a throat and presented a fake smile at the known male, who had attended the same local high school with Tarsal. The tall and muscular male had been a local bully in high school and now was a local big shot within their home town of Felton. Tarsal tossed both palms near his fake smile with a whiny timber, “All right! I’m okay. I’m leaving the chair.”

“Tip her good, also, Tarsally!” The extremely large male sneered and then smiled at Tarsal.

Tarsal dropped both hands beside the pockets on his blue jeans and scooted around the barber chair with his fake smile, strolling ahead, lifting a cupped hand with three individual twenty dollar bills and his fake smile to his personal hair dresser. “And my generous tip to you, Violet.” He slowly moved ahead toward the front door with a fake smile. “I’ll be back in eight weeks for another trim, Violet.”

The tall and muscular male slid down into the red tinted leather chair and smiled into the reflection mirror. “A real man comes back in three weeks for a shave and a haircut, Tarsally,” he laughed with some of the other waiting male customers.

Tarsal continued stroll ahead with a fake smile and a nod to each waiting male customer, reaching out, grabbing the pre-offered red tinted plastic cup of cold ice water and moved through open archway held by two of the young girls. He slowly strolled over the front porch and sipped, swallowing the cold water beverage, strolling into the bright sunshine.

The month was June and the weather was heated.

He had stopped into Pa’s Barber Shop for a trim, not a cut.

Pa’s Barber Shop was owned by an older, uglier, and wiser female, who only employed a set of young pretty females with a cosmetology license for cutting human hair. The smart entrepreneur also employed a few older and uglier female cosmetologists that wore a ton of cosmetic girly makeup which made each one appear as a pretty southern belle.

Each female cosmetologist had been assigned the nickname of a flower and wore the nickname on a short sexy dress that thrilled the loin cloth on each male and maybe the older and uglier owner also.

The Barber Shop establishment primarily cut hair off the human skull but offered trays of finger sandwiches and pitchers of sweet tea for each customer. A pair of girls opened and closed the front entrance doors, so each male customer could enjoy the beauty parlor salon experience like their female wife or girlfriend.

The establishment was not limited to male customers and also serviced females as well.

However, the smart, old, ugly, and wise female entrepreneur had a thriving business venture with a steady line of male customers, who lounged inside a ratty leather chair and sipped on a tall cold tumbler of sweet tea while waiting their turn for a shave and a haircut with their favorite Barbie…barber.

Alcoholic beverages were not allowed but the female entrepreneur was working on a liquid license too for her special clientele.

Underneath the front porch, tall and slender Tarsal stood away from the entrance doors and finished the cold beverage. He reached over and deposited the used empty plastic cup down into the green tinted trash can, where the plastic cup would be buried under the red dirt and live for another two thousand years and never die.

He slowly strolled ahead toward his parked silver tinted pickup truck in the hot sunshine and then stopped, opening the driver’s door, sliding inside silver tinted leather seat. He wiggled side to side for comfort and started the cold engine, fiddling with the controls, setting the air conditioning unit on the highest setting. The trunk engine slowly warmed as the forcefully cold air hit his wet face and neck drying the sweat balls from the heated day.

He pulled out his personal mobile telephone and checked each text and email message, smiling down at an empty screen. “Nice! Today is an easy payday.” Tarsal reached up and placed his personal mobile telephone on the dashboard clip, adjusting the device upright for an immediate view, slapping one hand back onto the steering column.

The other hand shifted the drive gear into the letter of D.

He slowly pulled ahead from the end parking spot.

Tarsal always parked his big pickup truck backwards into any parking spot for a quick getaway from the home of his biological parents or the current cute girlfriend.

He slowly entered onto the main highway that run through Felton heading in a southern direction for his next afternoon treat, slowly steering within the smaller lane with light traffic.

The small town of Felton was growing up fast and furious with the rest of the bigger cities.

Felton was located only six miles in the northern direction from metro city Birmingham. The city of Birmingham was the largest city within the US State of Alabama with a population of 500,000.

Felton started out as a small plot of unknown wilderness and mammal wildness, before the year 1819, when the territory of Alabama became a state.

During War of 1812, the newborn United States of America had engaged in a second independence from the country of Great Britain. The USA won that war battle also, but some of the injured and surviving British soldiers swiftly ran away from the battlefield and hid inside the wilderness while living off the land, enjoying the taste of freedom.

The same group of British soldiers continued to head westward and stopped, resting their tried bones and festering wounds within a plot of wilderness that eventually became their hometown of Felton.

Currently, within the town of Felton, the family clan that came from each one of the surviving British soldier still live and thrive within the same plot of wilderness and wildness, retelling the ancient tales of independence and freedom, where no man or woman or government or gun can take away from brave and bold American.

One hundred years ago, the small town of Felton became a farmland of field crops, planting and then harvesting tons of red colored strawberries, yellow tinted corn stalks, brown colored soy beans, and white tinted bolls of cotton.

Currently, each fertile field crop had been plowed over with rows of big and small residential houses, where each new family unit coming from metro city Birmingham slowly creep into the soil, one day at time.

On the main highway, Tarsal slowly steered his truck within the slower lane and then occasionally turned a face while studying the new landscape. “We got a new dining restaurant. I gotta eat there this week but not alone,” laughing. “And we got a new money lending company is in town. Or a new money laundering company is in town. I hate these types of money places. They rob from the poor people and give it all to the rich folks. I gotta tattle tale to my chief about the new villain in town,” he stopped with a sneer at the traffic light carefully watching each vehicle.

The traffic turned into the color green for go.

He turned onto the new roadway and slowly steered within the slower lane with the other vehicles, viewing the old landscape of older retail stores and buildings. He slowed the speed and then slowly turned into the smooth gray tinted parking lot with a huff, stopping. His pickup truck was last in a long line of four other stationary vehicles.

On the other side of the new business, there was a longer line of six other stationary vehicles.

Inside the cab, Tarsal reached over and tapped the soft tiny screen on his personal mobile telephone, viewing the menu. He smiled with a nod, “Nothing there again!”

His stationary line of vehicles slowly moved ahead toward the side open window and then halted. He moved the truck ahead and stopped, staring through the window with a smile.

The Daughter and Mother Coffee Bouquet was a coffee establishment which was owned and operated by a team that consisted of a biological mother and her biological daughter.

The coffee bouquet was a short and squat single building which appeared like a tacky field shack on top of a solid gray pavement without a single tree shade or a row of pretty flowers beds and appeared in the bright color of hot pink hue. The entrance window displayed a set of young pretty females, who only worn a colorful two-piece bikini and served the new customer needs with food items, only.

The coffee bouquet offered a large cup of hot or cold coffee or tea. Chocolate candy bars and protein bars appeared on a tiered display exhibition for purchase also, if your taste buddies drooled for more than the pretty young coffee girls.

The charm or the curse of the establishment was the older gray-haired woman, who was fifty-something in age and worn a two-piece bikini over her wrinkled, golden tinted salon-tanned old body frame also. She quietly sat inside the wall corner and mostly out of eyesight range while reading an adventure novel without watching over each pretty young girl for both protection and security. She and her biological pretty young daughter were the co-owners in the Daughter and Mother Coffee Bouquet.

The old woman and her pretty young daughter had started their business six years ago while both of the women had served as the two original coffee girls, standing inside the shack floor, handing over a paid beverage through an oval shaped opening on each side of the short, squat pinked tinted building.

A fleet of curious and nosy people from all over the State of Alabama and beyond the Bama state line had come and then had seen that old wrinkled woman inside a hot pink tinted two-piece bikini also as they had thought it was a faraway demon tail. But they had been totally wrong and also had purchased a hot cup of black tinted coffee or a large tumbler of iced sweet iced tea. That old woman had dreamed a dream and had made a few million bucks from her nasty dream too.

Currently, her pretty young sexy daughter occasionally worked inside the business shack and trained coffee production to each new young girl, who was college age at eighteen years old and older.

The establishment opened up at four in the morning and closed up at midnight while serving up coffee, tea, and food bars, only.

In the long line of stationary vehicles, police detective Tarsal continued to sit inside the cab of his truck and watched each young pretty girl through the wide and clean front glass window with a happy smile while pondering the new activity for his late evening hours.

Monday night, he will go and visit his parents, eating a home-cooked meal which will be prepared by his loving mother. His parents will eat and then chat at the dining room table like usual.

Tarsal will eat and then chat like usual also. Then the array of bright moonlight beams will burn down onto the manicured lawn indicating the time for Tarsal to leave his parents for the evening.

In the long line of stationary vehicle, the sedan in front of Tarsal slowly moved ahead and left the shack with a flat cardboard tray of coffee cups and candy bars.

Tarsal slowly steered ahead and then stopped, smiling at the brown-haired girl, saying with a manly voice. “Hey, honey, gimme an iced caramel mocha coffee, please.”

“Yes sir!” The girl nodded with a smile and then spun around, dashing ahead to the coffee station, working on the new customer order.

Five years ago, the old woman had expanded the drink menu from plain black hot coffee and added iced coffees, hot chocolates, cappuccinos, lattes, and espresso hot and cold beverages. The tea selection was only iced sweet tea, which was very popular in the South. Thus, her clientele volume had increased with additional females and all the high and college students.

Inside the open window of the business, the young beautiful college student returned and handed over the cold beverage to Tarsal.

Tarsal slipped a fifty-dollar bill with a wink into her palm. “Now, you pay for my iced coffee outta of the bill and you keep all the change but one dollar. On the one-dollar bill, please write down your personal and private mobile telephone number,” smiling.

The college student giggled with a grin and accepted the fifty-dollar bill, providing back a one-dollar bill that displayed in large and bold black tinted math numbers her personal mobile telephone on top George Washington’s face. “There’s your change, sir. I get off today at seven o’clock. You can meet me here and we can drive back to your place, sir,” she winked at the cute male with the big pickup truck.

“That’s a fine evening for me too!” He accepted the one-dollar bill and slid down into the pocket of his blue jeans, winking with a grin at the cute college student. “See ya’ll later, honey!” He slowly steered ahead with a smile and held the plastic tumbler of iced coffee, slowly sipping and swallowed the tasty beverage. “Yeah, they are both good,” he spoke out loud with a sissy whine like he was pretending to talk with his mother, “Hello, mom! Something came up right now, today. I can’t eat supper with ya’ll tonight. We’ll meet next Monday night. I love you, Mom.” He sipped and swallowed the beverage. “Yeah, that’s sound good enough.”

Inside the cab, his personal mobile telephone sounded with a musical scale of bass notes which indicated a new message through the text system. He reached over and swished the soft screen twice, seeing the new text message:

 

 

Signal 0. 3001 Felton Court.

 

 

He reached over and placed the beverage inside the cup holder on the truck dashboard, slipping a hand down and pressed the button on the door panel. The driver’s window dropped down blowing his blonde curls. He frowned at the roadway, “Geez! I gotta go to work right now!”

He reached over and swished the icon on his mounted personal mobile telephone, waiting on the ring tone, hearing the new voice. He shouted out loud inside the cab to the dispatcher. “Tarsal, en route to crime scene with lights and sirens,” he pressed the button and disconnected the telephone call with the police dispatcher at the Felton Police Department.

Tarsal was a seven year employed police detective for the Felton Police Department. Normally, a patrolling police officer inside their patrol police car was not allowed to use a personal mobile telephone on police duty to call their loved ones or chat with their personal friends. This police mobile telephone policy had been established for years throughout the USA cities, since the slick invention of the portal communication device.

Within the small town of Felton, the police department rules were flexible and loose as long as the police officer used common sense and safety. Thus, each patrolling police officer or police detective could communication by text or by voice back to the local police dispatcher like Tarsal had did during this current police emergency.

His normal work day started at eight o’clock in the morning behind a fake light wooden colored office desk reading the daily crime report and deciding which crime case needed attention.

He would leave the office desk and drive around the city in Felton tracing and hunting down each clue, wrapping up some type of small time crime like a burglar of merchandise or a domestic violence showdown or a property trespassing with a gun.

The city of Felton was a small town when it was compared to metro city Birmingham. The biggest criminal offense here in Felton entailed two drunken farm hands and a pair of blackened eye sockets. Most of the residences in Felton commuted back and forth from home and then to work inside the city limits of Birmingham which didn’t leave much time for criminal trouble during the evening hours.

Inside the truck cab, Tarsal reached down and grabbed the object, placing the portal police siren on top of the rooftop, dropping both hands on the steering wheel, increasing his speed.

The police siren whirled and swirled with a blue tinted light while sounding with the loud siren for a newest police department emergency.

Tarsal was a police detective for the Felton Police Station and the closest police officer to the newest crime scene. Thus, he had to respond to the newest trouble.

He carefully steered around each slow-moving vehicle that kindly had halted or slowed down into a crawl while maneuvering back into the right lane and then slapped down onto the brake pads. He gently turned onto a curvy roadway of Old US Highway 31 and then turned toward the east onto Walker Avenue that became the new name of Felton Court. He slapped down on the brake pads again, sliding onto the manicured lawn into a halt and then reached down, opening the door.

 

 

3001 Felton Court

Manicured lawn setting

04:50 pm

Hot temperatures with parted clouds of sunlight

 

 

Tarsal arrived at the crime scene first and reached over, grabbing his hand gun and the mobile telephone, sliding off the seat and running around the open door. He pressed the button and spoke into the telephone with urgency. “Need police assistance at 3001 Felton Court,” he dropped his personal mobile telephone down in the manicured grass and held his police issued hand gun with two cupped palms, targeting an unknown male and shouted out loud, “Stop! Halt! Don’t shoot me! Get away from the dog, sir! Don’t shoot the dog either! Stop, sir!”

Ahead on top of the nicely manicured green tinted lawn, a black tinted Giant Schnauzer dog breed raced ahead toward a stationary upright tall and slender unknown male with a head of brown colored cropped hair. The unknown male reared back and tossed a silver tinted crow bar at the running dog.

The dog continued to run toward the male without barking and then leaned down, snatching up the tire iron, chewing on the metal and then spit out the useless tool. The black colored large work dog continued to rush toward the unknown male.

The unknown male reached down and loaded the shell into the twelve-gauge pump shotgun, lifting up and lined the eye piece for the deadly kill.

Tarsal raced ahead and pointed the cold barrel of his police issued hand gun at the unknown male. “Stop! Don’t shoot! Halt! Move away from the dog! Get away from that dog!”

The twelve-gauge shotgun is the most common firearm in the world. The pump shotgun is used to kill everything from tiny doves to large buck deer, empty cans of soda for fun, and cold blooded snakes for survival.

Last week, Tarsal had investigated a burglary alarm when the elderly man with his twenty-gauge shotgun had tried to kill a runaway beef cow. The face on the cow was pure white. The body on the mammal was pure black. In the dark of the night, a black colored cow had appeared like the face of man wearing a white shirt to Tarsal and the elderly man.

On top of the manicured lawn, the unknown male was also a seasoned hunter who intended to kill the dog as he patiently waited for the close encounter with the racing canine at twenty yards as the dog continued to charge directly at its prey without stopping.

On top of the same manicured lawn, police detective Tarsal was too far away to protect both the male and the dog, shouting out loud, holding the cold barrel at the unknown male, “Stop! Don’t shoot! Move away from the dog!” He didn’t understand why the large work dog had targeted the unknown male but it was obvious that the dog didn’t know the man.

If the man shoots the dog with the twelve-gauge shotgun at twenty yards, the single shot would be very close and cause extensive damage to the dog’s body and head while maximizing a deadly kill for some purpose.

Tarsal was too far away to protect both the male and the dog, shouting out loud, “Stop! Don’t shoot! Move away from the dog!”

The unknown male pressed the trigger on the shotgun and as his body tumbled backwards from the recoil.

The loud gunshot echoed throughout the air waves and each pair of eardrums.

Tarsal swiftly dropped down and then slid a few feet over the smooth grass with a sneer, covering his skull from any potential skull or eyeball damage from the gunshot.

A single shotgun shell flew out from the cold barrel spreading a wave of silver tinted lead balls in the air, on the grass, and into the black fuzzy chest on the dog.

At close range, the concentrated pack of lead balls neatly sliced through the neck bone and then severed the head skull from the Giant Schnauzer. The skull on the dog flew sideways through the air spilling blood and bone on the green grass, landing on top of a patch of pretty wildflowers. The running body on the shot dog continued a few more inches and then collided down, sliding into a second patch of pretty wildflower in the manicured lawn.

Tarsal stood upright from the grass with a sneer and raced ahead with a sour frown, pointing the hand gun at the unknown male.

The unknown male lowered the shotgun and exhaled with deep breaths of worry, staring down with a stern face at the severed body on the dead dog.

Tarsal dashed ahead and shouted out loud. “Drop the weapon! Kneel down on the grass! get down right now! Get rid of the weapon, sir, before I blow your skull off your body like you did that poor dog.”

The unknown male gently dropped the gun down onto the manicure grass and then knelt down on top of the short grass while staring at the dead dog.

Tarsal stopped and stood upright over the hair roots on the brown haired male, exhaling with fighting fury. The idiot could have been a lousy shooter and could have hit Tarsal instead of the running dog. “You are under arrest for tons of stuff. Discharging a firearm within the city limits. Killing an innocent animal. Obstruction of justice. Attempted murder on me, a police officer,” he sneered. “Place your hands on top of your head.” The man complied. Tarsal reached back and pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket on blue jeans, moving ahead, kicking the rib cage on the unknown male.

The male grunted out loud and instinctively folded over in pain.

Tarsal leaned down and hit the back spine on the unknown male, knocking the man onto the ground, sitting on top of the back spine with one knee. “You have the right to remain silence. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you…”

“Hey! Hey, you! That’s my husband. Hey, you! Stop that. What are you doing?” A short, overweight, black haired female swiftly dashed ahead from the rear yard at a second residential house, wearing a sour frown, waving both arms in the air and then stopped, standing over the blonde tinted hair roots on Tarsal.

Tarsal continued to kneel at the back spine on the tall and unknown male, reaching down, slapping the pair of handcuffs over the man’s wrist bone with a stern face. “I’m a Felton police officer from the Felton Police Station. I’m arresting the criminal that has caused a crime, ma’am,” he finished clipping the pair of handcuffs over both wrist bones on the unknown male but continued to kneel on top of the married but unknown male.

“That’s not the criminal here. That’s my husband…”

“…who was running away from the once alive and breathing dog,” Tarsal turned and frowned at the dead dog that bleed over the pretty manicured yard and patches of flowers. “The dog is dead now. And the dog had served its purpose by identifying and capturing the perpetrator for me, the Felton police officer.”

A row of white and green tinted police car sounded with a set of loud musical whistles and an array of bright blue lights on the rooftop rolling over the roadway and then slid into a halt, tearing up the pretty manicured lawn between two residential houses.

On the manicured lawn, Tarsal continued to kneel on top of the married but unknown male, waving both arms at the row of police cars. “Over here! Come over here! I got the criminal over here.”

The wife continued to stand over the blonde hair roots on Tarsal, wearing a sour frown with a matching tone, pointing down at her husband. “This is my husband. His name is Wallis Wrest. He and I were born here in Felton. Get off my husband, sir.”

Tarsal turned and stared at the line of Felton police officers in green tinted uniforms that were rushing in his direction. “Ma’am, your husband just discharged a single round of live ammo into the air waves within the city limits of Felton, which is a legal felony. First, you need to go and get his currently paid and secretly stored gun permit. Or a set of new police charges will be added to the old ones. Second, you need to go and get a bails bondman for the money bail to bail his butthole outta jail tonight. Third, you need to go and get a criminal lawyer for your criminal husband…”

“He is not the criminal here but there is a criminal over there,” she jabbed a finger at the first residential home with a worried face. “That dog is my brother-in-law family pet. We know that dog. That dog knows us too. Someone has attack my brother-in-law or his family members or both. Else, the family pet would not have run away from its family for help. You need to go over there and find out what has happened to my brother-in-law, police officer.”

Tarsal turned and stared at the first house on the street corner.

The line of police officer stopped and formed a semi-circle around Tarsal, blocking the view of the first house.

Tarsal reached down and slapped the rear skull on Wallis. “I bagged the criminal already, gentlemen and ladies,” he laughed with the other police officers. “Please, go and collect the single shotgun shell casing and his shotgun. And please, go and get him booked and jailed. And finally, please, take him away from me!” He slid off the man with a loud laugh and stood upright on top of the grass with a smile, back stepping from the man and the police work, spinning around to face the other house with puzzlement.

The female had swung around from Tarsal and her husband, rushing back into her house, obeying the wise advice from police office Tarsal.

Tarsal slowly moved ahead with a stern face toward the dead dog.

The dog breed displayed a dense coarse coat of black hue that protects the canine from the weather and from vermin. The dog possessed a pair of a dock tail, a pair of cropped ears, and the distinct beard and eyebrows.

He stopped in front of the drowning flowers of blood and dog fluids, standing over the severed black tinted body that was partial covered in red blood. “That’s what I thought. This is a Giant Schnauzer dog breed. The dog is a work horse original coming from the country of Germany. Its body is both healthy and furry measuring about twenty plus inches in height and weights about one hundred pounds. I do believe this is one large powerful dog against one tall and slender male. Yeah, I understand why the male shot the dog. The dog would have killed the individual without mercy. And the dog breed has a doggie personality that is intelligent, loyal, strong willed, kind, and powerful. And this particular breed is used by police K-9 units all over the world that value and abuse these doggie traits. Why would a loyal extra-large work dog run away from trouble? That’s weird. They’re bred to beat and defeat any type of trouble.” He back stepped from the dead canine body with a stern face and turned to face the house on the corner street.

The first house displayed a two-story frame with light brown tinted brick, a red tin roof, and a very large and flat nicely manicured lawn with pods of colored flowers and low-lying plant bushes that was connected to the lawn of his brother. The entrance door faced the nicely grey tinted smooth roadway on Felton Court. The rear lawn held a large patio setting in pink hue and an attached building which displayed with three individual white tinted metal garage doors that were closed.

The male police officer appeared and moved beside Tarsal, holding an item to the police detective. “Tarsal, here’s your cell telephone. What do we do with the two separate dead doggie parts?”

Tarsal accepted his mobile telephone and looked down, fiddling with the menu while continuing to stroll ahead toward the house, sweating in the late afternoon sun. “I wanna keep that dead dog as a piece of hard physical police evidence. That male shot that dog dead for some reason. And I just learned the dead dog was a family pet within that residential house. Maybe, the dog went crazy and wild, trying to harm someone. I want the local medical examiner to preserve that doggie body also.” He looked up to see the house and then looked back down reading out loud the information on the tiny screen on his personal mobile telephone while moving over the manicured lawn toward the house. “The city address is 3001 Felton Court and belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Wrest Wollen. The wife is named Wobbie Wrest. That’s really hard to say with a twisted tongue. They have a nine-year-old daughter, who is named Willet Wollen, and a three-year-old son, who is named Wittoe Wollen, and a ten-month old baby, who is named Woad Wollen. This family loves the letter W.” He looked up with a stern face and studied the house.

The young adult male police officer strolled beside Tarsal and watched the police car with Mr Wollen leave the crime scene. “She is not going to do that.”

“She is not going to decide here. Is Mr. Wollen inside the squad car?”

“He is. And the squad car is leaving now for the police station. You got the criminal and solved the Signal Zero here. What are you doing now?”

“His wife said that the family dog came from its family house. Like a good police department detective, who is on overtime clock now, I wanna check out the house and ask the owners about their dead dog.”

The male police officer cleared a throat. “I wanna remind that you need to provide your eyewitness account to me as well as you were the first responder here in the battle field. Then you arrested the suspect without another officer present.”

“Yeah, I’ll come by after I check out the house and talk with the owners of the dead dog. I gotta fill out my own police paperwork also,” he looked down and quickly typed a text message to his parents but not the pretty young girl at the coffee bouquet. If he quickly finished up all of his required police tasks, then he could be singing in manly baritone this evening.

The police officer stopped and stood on top of the grass, looking down at the red tinted stain. “I don’t know about. This stain kindly looks like a blood splatter here at my boot toes.”

Tarsal stopped and then back stepped even with the police officer, staring down at the green grass, seeing the red tinted stain that greatly appeared like a blood splatter. He looked up with a stern face and moved ahead with a stern face at a faster pace. “Come with me, officer! There might be something else here going on here. Or there is another crime that has been missed here.”

The manicured lawn had recently been mowed which provided an excellent trial of red tinted blood on top of each grass blade that led over the pretty pink tinted patio bricks, heading through an open archway.

Tarsal stopped and stared down at the faint semi-crooked line of blood splatters. “Okay. To me, there appears to be a semi-crooked but faint line of blood splatters here on the grass. The faint line of blood splatters is clearly displayed on top of the some of the pink tinted flat bricks on the outside patio. However, why is the red tinted blood splatters going into the house?”

“You bagged the criminal. You need to go down there and interrogate Mr. Wollen. He can explain the faint line of blood splatters.”


AUTHOR Q&A

About me

Hey.... I work during the day as a computer programmer, for pay, and at night as an author, for fun.

Q. What is the inspiration for the story?
A.
I was curious about the death factor which is heavily explored but not explained. In this novel, I have explained death with a different twirl within the pysche.
Q. Is there a message in your book that you want readers to grasp?
A.
Yes, there is a message of terrible terror which could become reality, but I hope not ever.
Q. Where did the idea for this book come from?
A.
I live out in the rural town which is created the city and the plot of the story.

Next in:
Literature & Fiction
How the World Ends (Book Two)
At first it was just about survival.
Mr Right Now
Ready for Mr Right? Not right now...
Petrichor Letters
When the dead tell their life story