"Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before." -Mae West 

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Chapter 4 - consortium of characters

Hello! I know it's been two weeks. Sorry. been busy busy. But busy writing on top of butt wiping and other assorted motherly duties. So here is chapter four -part of it-. In this chapter I introduce two characters, ok maybe more than two. -two bad guys, ok?-. In this excerpt I introduce Frank Olivieri... next will be Ron Steenley. They are a suckish collection of dudes.

Also, it should be noted that I am amending the title of my book to: "Dead Beats. the beginning." Turns out I need to write more than one book to include everything I have to say. There's a lot of disturbing/humorous plots prancing through my twisted little mind. So I will be sticking around for a while. ::sigh:: y'all are just gonna love me!!

As usual, comments, praise random showers of unabated flattery are always welcome. : ) Hope everyone is enjoying the lovely fall weather we are having. Looking forward to more pumpkin carving, scary movies and Halloween! ciao be well, ~b

Chapter 4...a consortium of characters.

I’m tired of you sayin’ I should be prayin’.
I know it’s me against the world, I’ve been turned out.
Been thrown down to the killing floor.

Some people say I need to pray, Feels like it’s me against the world. I’ve been turned out. Been thrown down
to the killing floor, Down to the killing floor.”- Lyrics from “Killing Floor” by: Black Stone Cherry.

After my rather unexpected furious face smashing foray, with the crazy adequately amped up, I was somehow able to numb myself to my otherwise panic riddled state; like an emotional barometer I had finely honed. With time, I mastered the technique of numbing myself to his prattling presence and pitiful pleas to work on our marriage; what a joke. But with my distance finally becoming apparent, his crazy was off the charts. I was surprised he hadn't noticed my distance till now. Truth is, this man was so self absorbed I am surprised he hadn't been engorged with his own shit via osmosis. A girl can dream. In fact, it's amazing he noticed anything but for the mirror he constantly stood before, admiring himself.

The following morning in the wake of my unbridled rage, with its dust still clinging to the air, I was met by Alex stewing with rage at our kitchen table. The air was heavy, like walking into a vat of pudding.

With a wavering intonation in his voice he pulled a seat out and begged me to sit and talk, “Please come sit next to me so we can try and talk about this, Mira? Please. I don't want to go through the day like this.”

I turned my back to him and opened the fridge looking for the gallon of milk. -fuck balls, all out of milk...I will have to stop at Nancy's market on the way to work. Milk does the body good.- Coincidentally, I was more concerned about the milk than anything he had to say. Immediately he noticed my indifference and began pounding his fist on the table, demanding we talk. A rapid progression of wood wallops were intently designed to capture my attention. I had no desire to engage him now or otherwise.

Swiftly exiting the kitchen I went to grab my backpack from the hall closet, but the door was abruptly obstructed by one tear streaked monster. He stood before me and poked me in the center of my chest, needling me with his sausage like digit.

With his face squarely placed in mine, suddenly his tears had miraculously dried and were replaced with one familiar snarling sneer as he began berating with his deep growl like tone, “You aren't getting my fucking house, you bitch! You aren't fucking getting it, so don't even think about it! You and your kids better start packing up your fucking shit, you asshole! How are you going to stop the financial bleeding around here if you leave? I will go down with this ship and so will you! If you think I am leaving, you are mistaken, bitch! Because I will just keep coming back and plant myself right in your goddamned living room! You will get no peace! None!”

There was nothing I had to say to him, not a word. With a forceful thrust, I pushed him away turning my body from his; then turned my face into my hands and covered my eyes. I intimated sobbing sounds with a side of violent shoulder shrugging. In an attempt to console me, he approached placing his hand on me. Before another foul word was uttered from his heinous lips, I turned around and shoved him square in the chest and sent him sailing about three feet back.

Continuously shoving him till his back was flush with the adjacent wall, then politely reminded him, “Stay the fuck away from me. Stay the fuck away from me and my kids. Leave me the fuck alone and everyone will be fine. Let it go and stay out of my way.”

I was all done. That morning, in my living room, my monster's jarring frame jolted as I stared into the whites of his shocked eyes, then widened with disbelief and awe. I delighted in the seeming helplessness exuding from his every pore. He wasn't fighting back, surely this was a limited time offer. It was indeed time to get the fuck out of dodge. It was as though the tables had turned, but I wasn't interested in learning what was on the other side. With haste I made my way to grab my backpack and practically galloped out my front door.

Clenching my bag in my angry throbbing fist, I made my way to Nancy's market for my morning dose of cool calcium goodness. It was a morning ritual that could not be bypassed no matter what pressing matters loomed; a vice of mine that was not so bad after all. The madness of mind consuming murder, perhaps not such a positive one.

Typically on my morning walks I would ponder the details of Alex's murder, thinking on every detail. At times pangs of guilt stung my conscience. I continuously convinced myself that killing him was the best way. Mini pep talks would infiltrate my mind. This was the best way, the best way for things to go. The only way. If I let him go, I would unleash him. I would set my monster free to track down new prey. I would certainly read about some poor woman left for dead and badly beaten... and one missing Alex. Surely, I was doing the right thing. The only thing that could be done. There was no other way.

Turning the corner of one fractured decrepit street corner, I navigated it with distinct movements to avoid one fractured ankle. An abrupt right turn led me through the badly cracked front door of Nancy's store. Duct tape and ribbons of silvery tape constructed an awkward maze on the lower half of her door. Hmmmm...this was a new development.

Concerned with the presence of Nancy's newly acquired duct taped decoration I asked one brightly beaming Nancy, “What's with the door Nancy? Did you have a problem here or something?”

With an ear to ear grin monopolizing her portly face she responded with a hint of levity and laughter in her voice, “No no, Ms. Mira, nothing like that. There was just an accident with the cola vendor last week. His cart hit the door and made a big crack. We have to wait on the insurance people now to fix it.”

She carried on as her rotund frame jostled and exclaimed through her animated laughter, ”Ha ha, just my luck! Hey, How are you?! I haven't seen you in a while! Want a cup of tea? You should stay and have a chat with me. Gets lonely around here sometimes, you know? Hey, why is your face so red? Did you run here or something? Haha!”

Nancy Privetti, a wonderful blessed soul of a woman, the same face I had greeted at that very store for the past thirty memorable years of my young life. As I stood there listening to her, I thought how unusual it was that just moments prior I was consumed with my killing plans. Having just received an unanticipated invite for tea and scones, I found it oddly amusing. Did she see murder in my eyes? Because I could feel it consuming me. Or was I the same doe-eyed kid that bought a pack of nerds from her with a half a nickel less than retail cost? She would smile, send me on my way and tell me 'It's ok, I'll put it on your tab'. Of course she didn't see what I was thinking or feeling for that matter?

With an exhausted sigh of relief clinging to my words I replied, “No, Ms. Privetti I'm sorry I really got to run. You know lots of police work to do today, as usual. I'm glad to know that everything is ok and no bad guys are giving you a hard time. Maybe another time, I will come by and have some tea with you. Maybe a nice quiet Sunday morning.”

With a subtle hint of disappointment she replied, “Yes dear of course, I understand. You keep the city safe for us now.”

I nodded and turned down an aisle toward the milk cooler with chips, corn nuts and slim jims surrounding me as I made my way. As I walked down the aisle I noticed a man standing in front of the beer cooler with his young daughter -about eight years old if I had to guess-. An awkward looking girl wearing clothes, that by the looks of it, she seemed to have outgrown long ago. She wore filthy shoes with laces that were untied and covered in thick streaks of mud. Her fiery red hair looked as though it hadn't been brushed with gnarly bangs dangling across her milky white skin. Right before I was able to snatch up my morning milk, I couldn't believe what I saw next.

Out of my peripheral vision I caught the quick motion of her father's hand grabbing her arm as he lifted the left side of her body six inches from the floor by the apex of her elbow.

He looked her in the eyes as she whimpered in pain, and growled in an attempted hushed whisper, “If you fucking ask me again I am going to beat the piss out of you when we get home. Do you understand me? Every time we come to the store I can't buy you something. I told you that before.”

I am uncertain what demon crawled up out of my ass that day and made me do what I did next but it happened. It just happened. As my heart was pounding, my blood seemed to run cold into the very epicenter of my heart as a seething anger enraptured every fiber of my being. I walked up close behind him grabbing his right arm at the base of his wrist. I drew in close enough so no one but he and I knew there was now a Glock .40 neatly pressed against the base of his spine.

He had in his right hand a twelve pack of Natural Ice that was released from his grip and fell abruptly to the floor once my gun was wedged just above his Fruit of the Looms. Nancy called out when she heard the commotion, asked if everything was 'ok'. I assured her that I had just dropped something...no worries I had it.

He stammered nervously when he asked, “What the hell are you doing lady? What are you out of your mind?”

In a calm restrain, as calm and collected as I could muster I whispered in his ear, “Shut your lousy mouth. You aren't going to make a sound. Not a fucking sound. Nod your head if you understand me.”

Trying to turn his head to see me out of the corner of his eye he rapidly nodded with his big pumpkin head.

As I continued with my instructions, “Right now I have a Glock .40 pressed up against your spine. If you piss me off once you will be looking at your guts falling out of your zipper. What is your daughter's name?”

He was quiet for a few moments, hesitant to answer but then stammered a barely coherent sentence as he whimpered out his answer, “Nora. Nora Joy I call her.”

Strange. How could she have joy with a father like this? I looked down at the little girl, she had no clue what was going on. That's how I wanted to keep things. No need to upset the poor thing anymore than her father already had. Dickhead.

She looked up at me and asked a series of random questions with a heartwarming overtone of innocence, “Are you my daddy's friend? Daddy says if I am good today I can watch Disney channel before bed. Do you like Disney channel? I have an apple for snack time at school. I love apples.”

I smiled as I informed her of our plans for the morning, plans that didn't involve tea sipping, “Yes hunny, I am your daddy's friend. We are going to make a fun trip back to your place so you can watch Disney and play with your dolls. Do you have dolls?”

She looked up at me with glimmering eyes and nodded, “Yes I have lots of dollies, can you play with me?”

I answered her, “No I am sorry sweetheart, I have to talk to your daddy about a few things then I have to go to work.”

Looking away from Nora, I pressed the barrel of my gun until its front sight was nestled deep inside the fleshy nest of fat overflowing his pants.

With my attempt at unwavering unequivocal command, I whispered in his ear, “Now you are taking me to your place, and you aren't going to make a goddamned peep but for your home address. If you run or make one false move I will shoot you dead right were you fucking stand. Nod your head if you understand me.”

He nodded his head and as he continued to walk a few paces before me, we began our journey to the dungheap he called an apartment. Along the way, I looked down at Nora who walked beside me. She was a sweet looking little girl, she walked beside me giggling to herself -she seemed delighted with the notion of company-. Swinging her arms as she began to skip along, her undersized shirt swung back to reveal a path of thick bruises along her tiny forearm. Instantly, I became enraptured with rage.

Once inside the stank filled hovel, I knelt down and held little Nora's hand and asked her to go to her room while her daddy and I talked. She smiled and walked down the hall to her room, only to return later... begging me to play.

He sat in his recliner that he had clearly coveted since it had been purchased circa 1974. He looked up at me and asked with a tone of hesitation in his voice, “So what the fuck is this all about? Have you lost your mind lady? Your a goddamned cop? I could turn you in for this shit!”

I quickly drew my weapon and pressed it against his right temple holding it hard and steady against the right crease of his eye, causing him to recoil in his fleabag chair and plead, “Stop, ok Stop, I just want to know what is going on!”

I stood back and studied him, taking a moment just to take in the sloth-like pitiful appearance of Frank Olivieri. The man looked like a rat, with a large pointy nose, thin legs and arms with a bulging distended belly; along with the nasty smell and hygiene to match.

Crouching down and placing my hands along the wooden arms of his chair, I placed my face near his and said, “You are going to answer my questions, only the questions I ask. Nothing more. I am not here to have story time and I don't give a shit about you. I am here because of that little girl and because of what I saw you doing to her in that store. We are going to get down to business, and it starts now. Do you understand?”

He nodded his head as he continued to recoil in his filthy seat. He was good at the head nodding routine.

As I stood upright I effected a deliberate tone in my voice as I began with my questions, “Let's start with what's your name, shall we?”

He answered, “Frank, Frank Olivieri.”

I replied, “How long have you been hitting your daughter and leaving those marks I saw on her little arm?”

He raised his eyebrows and with a tone of dissension in his voice he replied, “I don't know what marks you are talking about lady. Nora is a clumsy girl, she falls a lot.”

I withdrew my weapon and placed it snugly just beneath the bulging spot in the crotch of his jeans; with the barrel of my gun neatly nestled against his denim covered scrotum I continued to prod him, “Don't make me pull the trigger and cut the bullshit. I told you, this isn't happy time. I saw what you did and I heard you tell her you were going to beat her. You aren't fooling me, so spill it.”

In an attempt to remove his nuts from the barrel of the gun he leaned back too far causing the chair to flip backward. Quickly I pulled him up from the floor by his left arm -just as he had done to Nora-, and threw him onto the couch. I didn't have time for this, fuck that chair.

Nora's sweet voice chimed into the living room from down the hall, “Is everything ok daddy?”

I replied, “Yes, Nora just stay in your room for a little bit. We are almost done talking. The chair just fell back by accident.”

Nora replied, “Ok, that's ok. I will stay here.”

Squatting directly in front of Frank with my weapon leaning against my left knee pointing squarely at his loathsome face, I resumed my questions, “Ok Frank, back to square one. You ready?”

With a whimper and a crackle resonating in his pathetic voice he replied, “Yes. Yes I am ready. Sorry it won't happen anymore.”

I replied, “So answer the question, when did you start hitting your daughter?”

With a look of desperation on his face he replied while fighting back tears, “I don't know, sometimes I lose my temper I know I shouldn't. I am real sorry lady, listen I will go to counseling if that's what you want. Don't torture me lady. I am just trying to take care of my little girl you know, it's tough being a single father.”

With conviction I pounced to my feet and growled my reply into the center of his face as a loomed over him and his then shivering frame, “I already told you I don't care about you. Don't piss me off, Frank.”

He stammered with a quivering lip as he replied, “Yes, ok. I know I know. I'm sorry.”

As I stood back I noticed the saturated denim where Frank had just pissed himself, just beneath his bad ass skull and crossbones belt buckle. Talk about irony, and he thought he was going to "beat the piss" out of someone today. Good, I was glad I scared him... But I was becoming exhausted already with this guy, plus I didn't want to be late for work.

I continued, “Frank, how are you supporting your daughter?”

He answered, “I get disability and workman's comp for now.”

I replied, “Is that it?”

He answers, “No I get Social Security disability income for Nora because she has autism.”

With disgust and despise now dominating the inflection of my voice I replied, “What the hell, you are beating your autistic daughter? Man, you really are one sick puppy aren't you.”

He just stared at me with his pitiful eyes as he sat there in his piss soaked pants. I wanted to beat him within the inch of his life as he slouched back on his Brady Bunch looking couch, but I wouldn't do that to Nora. That wouldn't be right. I brushed off that fleeting desire and propped upright the hideous chair that had been pushed back onto the floor.

Now sitting squarely facing Frank, taking in the musty smell of his pea green chair as it pervaded my nose, I continued, “Do you have someone you know that can take care of Nora. Someone other than you? Someone you trust?”

He sat up with a look of relief in his eyes, wearing the expression of condemned man that had discovered a probable means of escape as he replied with a heavy tone of alleviation, “Yes ma'am, my mother, Edna Olivieri, she lives in South Boston. She's real good with Nora. I'd trust her anyday.”

Tiny footsteps pattered down the wooden floor of Frank's hallway, and around the corner peered tiny green almond shaped eyes covered by wisps of scarlet red hair. I looked away from Frank and saw Nora giggling in her cupped hands with a Barbie doll at her feet. The poor thing was dying to talk to me so I called her over. She bounded across the room with barbie in hand. Without hesitation she proudly propped herself on my lap, with her boney bottom digging into my left knee she looked up and smiled at me with her extended hand offering me her half naked barbie doll. When I looked down at her hand that was clasping the doll by its hair, it was then I noticed it. A deep welt in the shape of a skull in the center of her hand. Just like the one on daddy's belt buckle. That dirty rotten son of a bitch.

As I grabbed her hand and studied the imprint I asked her, “Who did this, Nora? How did this happen?”

Nora pulled her hand out of mine as she coyly replied, “I don't want to talk about that. Can we just play dolls?”

I held Nora's fragile hand in mine and said, “It's ok Nora, you need to tell me, daddy said it was ok.”

Nora glanced at her father and said, “Is that true daddy? Is that ok?”

He sat stoic with a look of disgust in his eyes glaring at me, and then answered his daughter, “Yes, you can tell her Nora. It's ok.”

Nora looked up at me and in a matter of fact like tone she replied, “My daddy gets mad at me sometimes and yesterday I snuck a can of soda into my room after bedtime. Well, he caught me with it and I had to get spanked with his belt. Sometimes I do bad things and sometimes my daddy has to spank me. It's ok though, I still love my daddy. I just have to stop doing bad stuff, that's all.”

After she shared this horrifying story, she looked up at me with her carefree demeanor and again insisted upon playtime. My heart melted, I felt like taking her from him that day. I had thought about reporting this, but he had to surrender his parental rights to someone who cared. Someone who knew Nora, like her grandmother. I didn't want her to get lost in the system, it was just a bad place to be. He needed to hand her over to Edna.

Later, I did my homework on Edna, no record, a well respected widow in the community, retired, and would love the daily companionship of someone as lovely as little Nora. That's where she had to be, and it was going to happen...otherwise Frank my have an unfortunate accident. Hell, that may happen anyhow.

Disgusted with what I had just heard, I looked over at a now sobbing Frank and told Nora that she had to go back to her room for a little while so her daddy and me could finish talking. After she smiled at me and nodded she hopped up and ran down the hall to her room. She seemed like such a well mannered child, I couldn't wrap my head around why he would do such horrible things to an innocent child. Honestly, I just knew something had to be done and what was best for her wasn't here. I loathed this giant sack of shit sitting before me and it would have done me no greater pleasure than to extinguish whatever shred of humanity that clung to his meager soul.

As Frank sat before me sobbing into the palm of his right hand while covering his eyes, I told him, “Here is what you are going to do Frank. I am going to make myself clear. I am going to come back here and check in, in one month. You are going to get yourself a lawyer. I don't give a shit how you do it, just do it. You are going to draw up papers to surrender your parental rights to your mother. I will check back, and you won't be able to hide. So don't try to. If I come back and find out she is still here and nothing has been done or your not at least working on it, you will regret it. I will find out, so don't try to be slick. I will hunt you down and put a bullet right between your eyes. Oh, and don't get cute and try to report me, I'm a well respected cop, you're nothing but a piece of shit. They will never believe you. Now Frank, don't make me come back here and launch a bullet straight through your nutsack.”

I stood to my feet and as I marched out the front door, the sound of loud dramatic sobs and whimpers trailed off in the distance as I made my way further down the chilly halls of the seedy apartment building. Off to work, with a pep in my step. The corners of my lips and eyes felt as though they were pinned against my face, tightly curled upward, as I grinned all the way to work. I even laughed to myself as the train jostled my body against the steel beam to which I clung. That just made my day, Thanks Frank.


  1. I love this, I can't wait to be able to read all of it!

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  3. Thank You, I have followed your blog "mysoulaccomplishment". Thanks for the words of encouragement. : )