**Hey folks this is a reprint of part 1 of The Man With the Hazy Suit that origonally ran on May15, 2010.  I have been few and far between regular posts this summer, and that is the same thing that has killed some of my favorite TV shows, like Alias.  So I am going to rerun the whole story and finish it strong!  Thanks for reading for the first time or rereading if you have been here before.  The Choose your own adventure aspect is not available anymore.**

Hello friends, I hope you all had a great week.  Today I present part 2 of  “The Man With The Hazy Suit”  There is a quiz at the end so pay attention!

If you still need to read part 1, here it is!

When we left our story last time:

I looked back to my notebook and tried the 3 numbers as the combination.  The lock opened.  This was way too easy.  Something had to be, well, wrong for it to be this easy.  I took a deep breath and lifted the latch. Inside there were 13 yellow legal pads, filled with a tight handwriting.

My hands shook as I took them out of the locker and headed to a bench in the station where I started to read.

“My name is Aaron Goodwin.  If you are reading this, I am dead.  And all for the better.”  This opening line made my heart skip a beat.  I decided to read the rest before calling it in.

“I had never been interested in anything to do with the law.  Sure I had read detective stories as a kid but I never thought I would be in one.  I am sittting here now, trying to figure out what to do with the information that I have gathered.  The outcome does not look good, for me.  I need to get all of this out, get all of this written down so no matter what happens, there will be a record of the truth.  It may be cliche, but I have to do this.”

I knew there was a long night of reading ahead of me.  I couldn’t read this here.  I stood and forced myself not to run to my car.  I resisted the urge to drive home at full speed, lights and sirens blaring.  I had found something great.

And today we join our story already in progress:

I made it home in record time.  I entered my apartment in a rush, glad I was the only one who lived there.  I dropped all of the legal pads on the table and prepared coffee.  I was going to need it tonight.  Case solved or not, I was going to know for sure what was in those legal pads.

I got my things straightened out and took up a residence in my favorite chair.  The small table at my elbow held the coffee pot, my mug, and the legal pads.  I switched on the light and began to read.

My name is Aaron Goodwin.  If you are reading this, I am dead.  And all for the better.  I had never been interested in anything to do with the law.  Sure I had read detective stories as a kid but I never thought I would be in one.

I am sittting here now, trying to figure out what to do with the information that I have gathered.  The outcome does not look good, for me.  I need to get all of this out, get all of this written down so no matter what happens, there will be a record of the truth.  It may be cliche, but I have to do this.

First some background.  My name is Aaron Goodwin.  I am 6’2” tall with brown hair and blue eyes.  I was born in Washington State, near Seattle, in 1974.  My parents were killed in a car accident when I was 9.  I was sent to several foster homes and beaten relentlessly in one when I was 16.  After I got out of the hospital I filed for emancipation.  I was on my own.  I worked hard in any fast food joint that would hire me so I could eat.

I managed.  I had a small crappy apartment that was dry if not much else.  I had some food.  I had a radio.  One day I wasn’t saddened to hear of the violent death of my last foster father.  “…And we have some more details coming in now, it seems that Mr. Chan was beaten to death with a spindle from the staircase and then covered in gasoline and set on fire.”  The Reporter sounded horrified.  I felt slightly squeamish at the method of his death, but not sympathetic.  “Police have no leads and are currently trying to figure out anything related to this senseless crime.”

“Yea, right. Senseless.” I said to myself.  How many other kids had he beaten in his care.  Mrs. Chan knew it was happening and did nothing about it.  Titus Chan had been a bad man and I figure he got what he deserved.  What shocked me was the sharp knock on the cheap door to my apartment.

I crossed the worn hardwood and opened the door.  2 police officers stood there.  “Mr. Goodwin?” the older man asked.  I nodded like a chimp.  “We would like to ask you some questions about where you were last night.  Can we come in?”  “S, Sure” I got out and swung the door open.  “Come in.”

They entered, looking around with those cop investigator eyes, taking in everything in a glance.  There was not much to see.  I offered them the 2 chairs that I owned.  They declined.  “Mr. Goodwin, we need to talk about your previous foster family.  You see, Mr. Chan is dead.  He was killed last night.”  The older one again.  “I just heard on the radio” I said.

“Yea,” the younger cop chimed in. “Well, where were you last night between 11 pm and 3 am?”  I thought for a moment.  “ I was at work until 12:30 and then back here to sleep until my 7:00 shift at the Bagel Hut.”   They both had notebooks out now.  “Uh-huh,” the older one said. “And where were you working until 12:30?”  “Taco Barn.” I answered.  “Can anyone verify where you were after that?” The younger one asked.   “Ummmm” I said intelligently.  “Mr. Barnes down the hall saw me come home about 1 and after that I was sleeping.  I made it to work at 7 on time.”

“Ok.” Said the older one again. “We just have to ask, you understand.  We know he was pretty rough on you.  Do you know anyone else who may have wanted him dead?”  “Take your pick” I said.  “He beat everyone I knew in that house.”  They thanked me and started off.  Each of them produced a business card at the door.  “If you think of anything else that may help, please call.” The younger man said with a smile.  I took the cards.  “Thank you.” I said lamely as I held the door for them and they exited.

“Damn” I thought. How many times did I wish that son of a bitch dead.  I didn’t have the nerve for it of course.  I went back to the kitchen and looked at the cards.  Sergeant Stebbins and Patrolman Tompson.  Hmm.  I threw the cards on the counter and went back to the radio.

Ok Kids, here is the chance you were waiting for!  Your chance to decide the direction of the story.  If you haven’t guessed, Patrolman Tompson in the narrative is now Sergeant Tompson reading the notes.  So, here goes:

[SURVEYS 2]

This question will be active until 5/18 at noon MDT.  Thanks in advance for your help!

-Justin