Tag: cop (Page 1 of 3)

**Hey folks this is a reprint of part 4 of The Man With the Hazy Suit that originally ran on June 12, 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 there! I hope you have had a great week and are ready to dive right in to another episode of The Man in the Hazy Suit.  Thanks for indulging me last week with the poem, it really is one of my favorite things I have ever written.  I will have to post some of the fun exercises we had in some old writing classes where we had to make a sentence with as many words as possible, without being a run on sentence.  I got pretty good at it and held the record in the class that year.

But that is not today!  Today we are back in the Haze….

Previously in the Man in the Hazy Suit:

Police detective Thompson was wrapping up a crime scene when he found a scrap of paper in the dead man’s posessions. The paper led him to the bus station and a locker that was filled with legal pads, all written by the deceased man.  Sergeant Thompson is currently reading the legal pads which are spelling out a strange narrative and a chronicle of a serial killers murders, that somehow the man writing the story knows before they happen, if only by moments.  So far our writer has witnessed 3 deaths with apparently more to come…

When we left our story last time:

I woke up with a start, sitting in my chair, sweating in my Bagel Hut uniform.  Luckily I had tonight off from the Taco Barn.  I was going to sit here and try to rest up.  These last few nights have been hard.

I got up to change my clothes and take a shower.  I smelled of bagels and fear sweat and slightly of gasoline, but that must have been my imagination.  Cleaned and refreshed I headed to the kitchen to make some dinner.  I flipped on the television as I walked past.  The commercial ended and of course the news came on.

The reporter started, “And in a sad story, local university student…” I dropped the pan I was getting out as Karen’s picture flashed on the screen.  “…was killed last night just off of campus.  She appears to have been beaten and then set on fire.  Police are investigating similarities between this murder and a few others that have been happening lately.  More on this story as we go to…”  I had seen her leave with the man in the hazy suit.  I could have stopped this one as well.  What was going on???

And today we join the story already in progress:

I sat down on the floor, dumbfounded.  My jaw hung limply open.  I had seen this girl before she was killed.  I didn’t know what to do.  Why was I seeing these people before their deaths?  I should be glad I didn’t see the later deaths themselves.

I spent the next few hours with the TV off.  I didn’t want to see any more of my dreams being reported to me.   I did mundane things during that time.  I cleaned up my apartment, I paid some bills, I ate some food and washed the dishes.  All very normal things.

When bedtime rolled around I changed into my most comfortable flannel pants and t-shirt and went to bed having not thought of a killing for at least 3 hours now.  Little did I know, that was about to change.

I was following the Man in the Hazy Suit again.  I felt pulled along behind him, never gaining, never losing his pace.  We were walking down one of the main streets in town again, not far from the place where he had killed the two girls and lit their car on fire.  He held the red plastic gas can in his left hand.  His right hand was concealed in the pocket of his hazy overcoat.

We walked past the police tape that marked where the burning car had been and continued.  We finally slowed in front of Jakes Discount Auto Parts.  There were two girls there, cell phones in hand arguing.  The first one was skinny with limp brown hair and a nose ring.  The second, a classic brunette with the most gorgeous green eyes I had ever seen.  I knew both of these girls.  January Dixon had the nose ring and Faith Harper was one I had asked out at least 20 times.

She was always nice when she turned me down though.  I kept trying even though I knew she would never go out with the tall skinny kid who worked two jobs.  It was nice to hope for something that positive.  I had even given her a Christmas present last year, an old fashioned phone from the 1940’s, one of the units with the earpiece separate from the mouthpiece.

I had spent hours dreaming of her lips talking into that phone, on the line to me and to the matching phone that I had on the counter in the kitchen.  I don’t know if she ever even took it out of the box when she got home.  She had opened the gift and thanked me for it when she could have thrown it in my face.

Now she was here being watched by the man in the Hazy Suit.  January Dixon was talking loudly and very animatedly to Faith.  She didn’t notice the Man or me for that matter.  She was almost yelling, “And I get this text message from Jakes auto parts that my part is in.  I have never ordered a part for my car!”  It was very strange.

The Man in the Hazy Suit watched the two girls with the same detached indifference that he showed on this street before.  He stood stock still, his head slightly cocked to the right, showing me an almost profile of his face.  His old fashioned fedora sat on his head, pulled lower over his eyes, as if he were in a strong wind and didn’t want it to fall off.

He turned a bit more to the right and winked at me.  I had a bad feeling he had chosen someone else that I would see on the news.  He grinned and began to walk down the street, leaving the girls behind.  I woke up in a panic.  I knew these girls and maybe I could stop what was going to happen.

I ran to my kitchen, barely noting the open front door and found the business cards for the two cops that had visited me a few days earlier.  I dialed the number on the card and asked for Patrolman Thompson.  I was going to prevent these murders.

Join us next week for more in the Saga of The Man in the Hazy Suit!

I am sorry to tell you that the choose your own adventure thing didn’t pan out like I was planning on so for now I am just following the story as it comes.  If you have any suggestions or ideas, please leave them in the comments!

Thanks for reading,

-Justin

**Hey folks this is a reprint of part 4 of The Man With the Hazy Suit that originally ran on May29, 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 all!  It has been a less than ideal week for writing so this is a shorter part of the story.

I am kicking around the idea of recording each of these stories and adding them as a downloadable mp3 each week with the whole story coming at the end.  What do you think about that?

No other explanation, lets get on with it!

If you haven’t yet, Catch up here!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

When we left our story last time:

I flipped on the radio as I dressed.  After some chatter and worn out banter by the DJ’s they began to read news.  I had just picked up my Taco Barn uniform and I stopped at what I heard.  “…girls under the car and then the car set on fire.  No details have come out yet but it looks like murder.  I’m surprised no one saw this happen”  I did.  It may have been a dream but I saw it happen.  What could I do about it though?

Nothing I decided, just a strange coincidence.  Maybe I was psychic like on some of those TV shows.  Maybe I could be that detective who saw things before they happened and could fix them.  Maybe I was just losing my mind.  I held a strong possibility for the latter because I had convinced myself that I could smell gas on my Taco Barn uniform as I dropped it into the hamper.  Foolishness.

I went to work still pondering the dream.

And now we join our regularly scheduled program already in progress:

My shift at the Bagel Hut was a wreck. I was so tired I think I went through a pot of coffee myself. My boss was so pissed at my lack of work he sent me home early to “Get my head right.” He had seen Cool Hand Luke too many times. But I went home.
So there I was, home. Home and sitting in my recliner staring at the nothingness on the wall. I finally was so tired that I fell asleep sitting there, still wearing my Bagel Hut shirt.
I dreamed about the Man in the Hazy Suit again. He walked through a library at what must have been the University. He walked through the library carrying his red plastic gas can and stopped to look around. No one seemed to notice this man, garbed in a hazy, long black coat and old fashioned fedora. No one noticed his gas can.
The library was crowded today, the small round tables filled to the capacity of 4 nearly everywhere he looked. Conversations over textbooks and notes intertwined with conversations about last night’s escapades. Voices and the clack of keyboards all contributed to a dull hum that seemed to be coming from everywhere.
The sunlight that filtered through the many skylights was bright enough to render the reading lights on each table useless, yet they were lit anyway. The man walked around the tables seemingly in an aimless daze, but with that same…searching that he had outside of the car from last night’s nightmare.
He must have found something because he wove through the rest of the tables and walked slowly towards the center of the library. There was a bank of elevators lining a central pillar in this 5 story library. He walked purposefully that way, moving like a snake, or water even, just flowing through the dense crowd.
When he reached the elevators, he didn’t press any button. He just turned around, briefly surveyed the room, and checked his watch. I was puzzled. What was he doing? It was then that he looked directly at me and winked. I froze with a wide-eyed stare. He then knelt as if to tie his shoe and disappeared.
I looked frantically for him and then found him, heading out of the back doors with a curvy, redheaded girl. His left arm was draped casually across her shoulders and his right held the gas can. There was something very familiar about the girl, kind of like the girl that sat across the aisle from me in philosophy.
The one I took out last week. Her name was Karen, and I thought we had something that may turn into something else, and here she was heading outside with this guy. I tried to push my way through the crowd to the door but I wasn’t moving very fast. The man in the hazy suit turned at the door, stared right at me, and smiled. He knew I was there. And he was being vindictive.
I woke up with a start, sitting in my chair, sweating in my Bagel Hut uniform. Luckily I had tonight off from the Taco Barn. I was going to sit here and try to rest up. These last few nights have been hard.
I got up to change my clothes and take a shower. I smelled of bagels and fear sweat and slightly of gasoline, but that must have been my imagination. Cleaned and refreshed I headed to the kitchen to make some dinner. I flipped on the television as I walked past. The commercial ended and of course the news came on.
The reporter started, “And in a sad story, local university student…” I dropped the pan I was getting out as Karen’s picture flashed on the screen. “…was killed last night just off of campus. She appears to have been beaten and then set on fire. Police are investigating similarities between this murder and a few others that have been happening lately. More on this story as we go to…” I had seen her leave with the man in the hazy suit. I could have stopped this one as well. What was going on???

Join us next week for more from “The Man In The Hazy Suit!”

Thanks for coming by and reading!

have a great weekend!

-Justin

**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