Crime Can Be Fatal

FDB030B0-8A0D-45ED-B3D5-929CFEF41BFE“I got another corpse over here,” called out James Conover, the lead FAA investigator. He and his team were investigating the crash of a small, private jet in the San Andres Mountains in New Mexico.

“That makes three dead,” said Jack Jamison, a member of Conover’s team.

“Here, in the trees, is a fourth,” Janet Holmes, the team’s only female member, called out. “He apparently tried to parachute out of the plane before it went down, but the chute probably deployed too close to ground and the thin, gossamer-like material didn’t slow his descent down enough to save him.”

“Based upon the direction of the plane and its markings, when it went down, it seems to have been heading north from Colombia,” Conover said.

“And there are several hundred cocaine packages strewn on the ground next to the plane’s fuselage,” Jamison added.

“And as a former college professor,” Holmes said, “I’d call this is a teachable moment. Crime can be fatal.”


Written for these daily prompts: Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (corpse), Ragtag Daily Prompt (jet), Your Daily Word Prompt (gossamer), and Word of the Day Challenge (teachable).

SoCS — Because It’s Musical

I’m going to try something different for Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt today. She assigned us the word “musical.”

Well, it just so happens that I, along with a number of my fellow blogger buddies, are doing this thing called the “30-Day Song Challenge.” And isn’t, after all, a song, by definition, musical? That was a rhetorical question. The answer is obviously yes.

I don’t even know whose idea this song challenge originally was, but whoever created this challenge also created this chart:img_3121Now if you look carefully at this chart, you’ll see that today is Day 8, given that today’s date is December 8. The song for Day 8 is supposed to be one about drugs or alcohol. So the song I’m choosing — a very musical song, by the way — is “Cocaine” by Eric Clapton.

For the record, I’ve never done cocaine. I smoked marijuana back in the day and more recently, now that pot is legal in my state, I’ve indulged in some edibles. Also, in my hippie days back in the late 60s and early 70s, I dropped acid a few times. But never cocaine or any other drugs.

Anyway, I chose this song, “Cocaine,” because I’m a big Clapton fan, and I like the song.

And because it’s, well, musical!

Book ’em, Danno

It was a Friday night. I had been away for a few days on a business trip and was eager to get home, to unpack, and to have a nice, relaxing weekend.

Carrying my laptop bag and rollaboard, I walked up the two flights of stairs to my apartment. I got to my door, inserted the key, turned the knob, and walked into the narrow hallway.

I put my laptop bag down next to the door and started to roll my rollaboard toward my bedroom when I noticed a light on in the living room. I also heard what sounded like the TV. I never leave any lights on when I travel, much less leave the TV on.

I stopped short of my bedroom, turned around and walked toward the light and sound coming from the living room.

When I got there, I saw two young men, maybe in their early twenties, sitting on my sofa and watching TV. I had no idea who they were, why they were in my apartment, or how they got in.

I saw a small glass vial containing some white, powdery substance on my coffee table, along with a rectangular mirror with two short lines of the white powder neatly lined up on its surface.

These two men, total strangers to me, were snorting cocaine in my living room and watching my TV. They had apparently not heard me walk in.

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my apartment?” I yelled. They both looked up, shock on their faces. And then I saw one of them reach behind his back, pull a pistol from his waistband, and aim it at me.

It all happened so fast, so unexpectedly, that I didn’t have time to react, to move. I heard the shot and immediately I felt a pinching sensation in my stomach.

I was surprised that it didn’t hurt more; the pain wasn’t as intense as I would have expected it to be. I looked down and saw the red stain spreading rapidly across my shirt. I reached down and felt the warm stickiness on my hand.

My knees weakened and I started to feel light-headed. That’s when I felt the intense pain that I would have anticipated after having been shot. I fell to my knees as a veil of blackness began to drape my consciousness.

The last thing I remember seeing was my blood dripping and spreading onto the carpeting beneath me and knew that I would never get my security deposit back.

I could hear one of the men say, “Grab the shit and let’s get outta here,” and I sensed, more than saw or heard, the two men run past me and out the door.

Even though the darkness had descended fully upon me, I could still hear the TV. I think it was Hawaii Five-0, but I can’t be sure.

It’s funny, but “Book ‘em, Danno” ran through my mind. In fact, that was the last conscious thought I can remember.

“Book ‘em, Danno.”

And then I passed out.