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I decided the need for quick cash out-weighed any suspicions I might have of Mrs. Gladys, so I took the job. Pretty dames and the devil's currency are every man's weakness. Even a seasoned veteran like myself isn't totally immune to their powers.
We shared a few more drinks and conversation that night, and that's the last I remember of that evening…
*****
I woke up suddenly to find myself in a small, dark room. The sound of the furnace kicking in woke me from my sleep. My head was pounding, and I had no idea where I was or how I had gotten there. A red flashing glow was streaming across the bed from the only window in the room, providing some faint lighting. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed a clock on the shelf that read a quarter after six. Was it morning or evening, I thought. Hell, it was hard to tell this time of year, even if I could see outside.
Trying to put my thoughts together, I swung my feet to the floor. Something heavy lay at my feet. I managed to make my way across the room and switched on the light. By the bed lay a nude body of a woman and beside her was a gun – a Colt 45. At first I thought I must have been dreaming, this couldn't be happening to me.
I walked back to the bed to find my clothes on the floor in a pool of blood. My shoulder holster hung from the bedpost – empty. The woman was lying on the floor face down. She could very well have been a movie star by the looks of her chassis and the long dark hair flowing down her back. The exit wound in the back of her head told me she was dead without even checking. I reached down and turned her over. As I stood there staring at her face, my mind was suddenly flooded with memories of her – a newspaper clipping, a radio sound bite, a wanted poster, a mug shot – where did I know this broad from?
The recollections stabbed my brain, adding to the orchestra of pain already throbbing in my head. I sat my naked ass on the bed. My mind drifted towards Mary. I needed to get hold of her and make sure she was okay, but judging by the décor of the room, this dump likely didn't have a blower [1] anywhere in the building.
"Dan, what the hell have you gotten yourself into," I whispered. I rubbed my face to relieve the pain, but the pounding thumped my head like Gene Tunney [2] in a title fight.
This was a first for me.
Naked with a broad at a cheap motel? Nah, I've danced that dance before. Naked with a dead broad at my feet? Can't say I've ever had that fantasy, nor saw it in my future.
Frank.
What about Frank? He told me to meet him at the Lounge and he never showed, least not that I can remember. The bastard stood me up, or did he set me up? The memory hit me like chin music [3]. Why Frank? He'd never had a beef with me that I know of. It ain't like I slept with his old lady, though I'd be lying if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind a time or two.
Something stunk like a dead polecat in June, and it wasn't the dead broad at my feet.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
[1] Slang word for phone.
[2] Gene Tunney was the World Heavyweight Boxing Champion from 1926-1928, known for his quick feet and relentless jabs.
[3] Slang for being hit square on the jaw.
With the exception of a few alterations, this is how my father's book, "Murder Incomplete" opens up, with Dan Swagger waking up to find himself in a place he doesn't remember, with a murdered woman at his feet.
I've altered it for a couple of reasons; one - to fit this format of storytelling; two - and more importantly, to keep his original intact and untainted.
Love and miss you Daddy-O!
Original Post
Michael A. Walker
Defying Procrastination
www.want2bwriter.com
I decided the need for quick cash out-weighed any suspicions I might have of Mrs. Gladys, so I took the job. Pretty dames and the devil's currency are every man's weakness. Even a seasoned veteran like myself isn't totally immune to their powers.
We shared a few more drinks and conversation that night, and that's the last I remember of that evening…
*****
I woke up suddenly to find myself in a small, dark room. The sound of the furnace kicking in woke me from my sleep. My head was pounding, and I had no idea where I was or how I had gotten there. A red flashing glow was streaming across the bed from the only window in the room, providing some faint lighting. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed a clock on the shelf that read a quarter after six. Was it morning or evening, I thought. Hell, it was hard to tell this time of year, even if I could see outside.
Trying to put my thoughts together, I swung my feet to the floor. Something heavy lay at my feet. I managed to make my way across the room and switched on the light. By the bed lay a nude body of a woman and beside her was a gun – a Colt 45. At first I thought I must have been dreaming, this couldn't be happening to me.
I walked back to the bed to find my clothes on the floor in a pool of blood. My shoulder holster hung from the bedpost – empty. The woman was lying on the floor face down. She could very well have been a movie star by the looks of her chassis and the long dark hair flowing down her back. The exit wound in the back of her head told me she was dead without even checking. I reached down and turned her over. As I stood there staring at her face, my mind was suddenly flooded with memories of her – a newspaper clipping, a radio sound bite, a wanted poster, a mug shot – where did I know this broad from?
The recollections stabbed my brain, adding to the orchestra of pain already throbbing in my head. I sat my naked ass on the bed. My mind drifted towards Mary. I needed to get hold of her and make sure she was okay, but judging by the décor of the room, this dump likely didn't have a blower [1] anywhere in the building.
"Dan, what the hell have you gotten yourself into," I whispered. I rubbed my face to relieve the pain, but the pounding thumped my head like Gene Tunney [2] in a title fight.
This was a first for me.
Naked with a broad at a cheap motel? Nah, I've danced that dance before. Naked with a dead broad at my feet? Can't say I've ever had that fantasy, nor saw it in my future.
Frank.
What about Frank? He told me to meet him at the Lounge and he never showed, least not that I can remember. The bastard stood me up, or did he set me up? The memory hit me like chin music [3]. Why Frank? He'd never had a beef with me that I know of. It ain't like I slept with his old lady, though I'd be lying if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind a time or two.
Something stunk like a dead polecat in June, and it wasn't the dead broad at my feet.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
[1] Slang word for phone.
[2] Gene Tunney was the World Heavyweight Boxing Champion from 1926-1928, known for his quick feet and relentless jabs.
[3] Slang for being hit square on the jaw.
With the exception of a few alterations, this is how my father's book, "Murder Incomplete" opens up, with Dan Swagger waking up to find himself in a place he doesn't remember, with a murdered woman at his feet.
I've altered it for a couple of reasons; one - to fit this format of storytelling; two - and more importantly, to keep his original intact and untainted.
Love and miss you Daddy-O!
Original Post
Michael A. Walker
Defying Procrastination
www.want2bwriter.com
A few years ago I started a "Choose Your Own Adventure" writing project in honor of my father via a Yahoo Group. I'd post short snippets of a story loosely based on an unpublished novel my Father wrote a long time ago, and others (mostly friends and family members) would vote on a decision tree as to what Dan Swagger (the main character from my Father's book) would do next. I thought I'd rekindle that writing project, only this time, I would just progress the story with a few posts a week and see where it takes us.
Let me take a moment to give you some background information on Dan Swagger and why I chose to base this project on him and in this setting. For those who may not know, my Father passed away in 2006 at the age of 74 from complications with Leukemia. Some time during the early 1980's my Father wrote a book - which was a big accomplishment for a man born in the heart of the Great Depression (1932) with only a 7th grade education. My Mother and Father went to school in the same "one room" schoolhouse, which is still standing today.
When my Father was 2 years old, his mother died from a simple infection, something easily cured today with a dose of antibiotics which wasn't available in those days. The times being as they were, with no mother or money to help care for his children, my grandfather was forced send all five of his children to live with other family members - including giving up his new born baby up for adoption. I can't even imagine how hard that must have been for my grandfather, but back then you did what you had to do or you just didn't survive. My Father was sent to live with his hateful and abusive uncle, who forced him to work in the fields as a child from sunup to sundown, day in and day out, and beat him on a daily basis.
Eventually he ran away, which turned out to be a long road filled with more hardship and hard life lessons learned.
Despite all these obstacles, which in truth wasn't all that uncommon back in those days, my Father turned out to be a fine loving man who had a quick wit and would go out of his way to make every person he met laugh. When he was in his fifties he taught himself how to program a computer. Shamefully he was much better at it then me, and I had grown up around computers nearly all my life. This was the first time he had ever even seen a computer. Everyday I would come home from school and he would show me some new program he had written on the computer, and it amazed me how he did some of things he did, but then again if you ever met my father, you would already know that he was an unusual man.
My Father's book never got published despite my sister's best efforts. In truth it needs a fair amount of polishing. The heart of the book is there, and it's a great story with some great characters (namely the main character - Dan Swagger), but it needs to be refined and fleshed out. Nevertheless, I was very proud of him for taking on such a daunting task and never giving up on his dream. I've since taken his typed up manuscript and transcribed it to the computer, in the hopes of one day fulfilling my Father's dream.
The book he wrote was called Murder Incomplete, and was centered on a man named Dan Swagger, a private detective in the Chicago area. So tipping my fedora hat to my Father, and in homage to him, I've decided to base this experiment around his character, Dan Swagger.
Michael A. Walker
Defying Procrastination
www.want2bwriter.com
Facebook/DefyingProcrastination
Let me take a moment to give you some background information on Dan Swagger and why I chose to base this project on him and in this setting. For those who may not know, my Father passed away in 2006 at the age of 74 from complications with Leukemia. Some time during the early 1980's my Father wrote a book - which was a big accomplishment for a man born in the heart of the Great Depression (1932) with only a 7th grade education. My Mother and Father went to school in the same "one room" schoolhouse, which is still standing today.
When my Father was 2 years old, his mother died from a simple infection, something easily cured today with a dose of antibiotics which wasn't available in those days. The times being as they were, with no mother or money to help care for his children, my grandfather was forced send all five of his children to live with other family members - including giving up his new born baby up for adoption. I can't even imagine how hard that must have been for my grandfather, but back then you did what you had to do or you just didn't survive. My Father was sent to live with his hateful and abusive uncle, who forced him to work in the fields as a child from sunup to sundown, day in and day out, and beat him on a daily basis.
Eventually he ran away, which turned out to be a long road filled with more hardship and hard life lessons learned.
Despite all these obstacles, which in truth wasn't all that uncommon back in those days, my Father turned out to be a fine loving man who had a quick wit and would go out of his way to make every person he met laugh. When he was in his fifties he taught himself how to program a computer. Shamefully he was much better at it then me, and I had grown up around computers nearly all my life. This was the first time he had ever even seen a computer. Everyday I would come home from school and he would show me some new program he had written on the computer, and it amazed me how he did some of things he did, but then again if you ever met my father, you would already know that he was an unusual man.
My Father's book never got published despite my sister's best efforts. In truth it needs a fair amount of polishing. The heart of the book is there, and it's a great story with some great characters (namely the main character - Dan Swagger), but it needs to be refined and fleshed out. Nevertheless, I was very proud of him for taking on such a daunting task and never giving up on his dream. I've since taken his typed up manuscript and transcribed it to the computer, in the hopes of one day fulfilling my Father's dream.
The book he wrote was called Murder Incomplete, and was centered on a man named Dan Swagger, a private detective in the Chicago area. So tipping my fedora hat to my Father, and in homage to him, I've decided to base this experiment around his character, Dan Swagger.
Michael A. Walker
Defying Procrastination
www.want2bwriter.com
Facebook/DefyingProcrastination
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