A Tragic End to a Short Life by Maxine Flam,Chianti

A Tragic End to a Short Life

I can’t believe I’m about to get the hell out of this place. It’s been too crowded for my taste plus it’s been quite the ride. First, I was tightly packed with all my other friends in a metal container. Then I and my buddies were released into some plastic container, and the temperature changed from cool to cold in nothing flat but at least I had room to breathe.

What’s this? It looks like a spoon or tongs to scoop my friends and me up to go to somewhere else. Geez, not another ride…Well, they didn’t get me this time. No siree. Missed. Nah, Nah, Nah, Nah, Nah…Oh, here comes some lady heading this way. Maybe if I ignore her, she won’t pick me. Oh, shit…she grabbed me and about twenty of my friends with the tongs and put us on semi curved place. I think someone called it a plate…whatever that is. At least I’m not alone.

She sat down. It’s warmer over here. But I’m confused. I don’t know where I am.  Now she is using something pointy to pick up each of my friends. They are disappearing one by one. Hey…what’s that thing? She didn’t get me. I’m the last one. HA. You missed me…

Oh, no…here comes that thing to get me…shit, she missed, I’m in the air and now on a hard surface. I hear laughter.  What’s so funny? I don’t think it’s so funny. I’m down here and she’s up there. People are walking all around me. OMG. I’m on the floor. I’m about to be stepped on.

Oh crap……………..splat.

I hear more laughter. One of the two ladies over there did this to me. Half of me is on someone’s shoe. The other half is on the carpet. Damn. I still don’t think that it’s at all funny… Jesus… here comes the carpet sweeper. Rrrrrrrrrrr.

Crap.

 

The end. 

About the author

 

 

\it's been ten years since Maxine became disabled and took up her passion for writing. She has been published several times in the Los Angeles Daily News, along with Nail Polish Stories, DarkWinterLit, BrightFlashLiteraryReview, OtherwiseEngagedLit, CafeLit, MaudlinHouse, and TheMetaworker.com Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the author the other half goes to expenses e.g. Maintaining the web site and setting up The Best of Café Lit book each year.

THe Hostage Siege by Maxine Flam,beer

            ‘Joe, if you have some spare time after work, you wanna stop for a beer to unwind,’ said his partner, Bill Kelby.

            ‘Yeah, that sounds good to me. It’s been a long day and a beer would hit the spot.’

            They went to the local bar around the corner that had a British atmosphere called Robin Hood. All the boys went there because the food was good and kitchen was open until ten.

                                                                             

            Joe grabbed a handful of peanuts from the bowl in front of him as he sipped his beer. ‘You know, I really should call home. I need to let my wife know I’m out with you.’

            ‘I called my wife earlier and told her to let yours know we would be stopping off for a beer. Look, I know something’s been weighing on you. Talk to me, please, I’m your partner.’

            Joe looked at Bill, then at his beer, then back at Bill. ‘Okay,’ he mumbled.

 

            Joe gathered his thoughts and spoke. ‘Five years ago today, I was forced into doing a hostage negotiation solo. It was a Saturday night. My partner was at a wedding and couldn’t be reached. Nobody had first-hand negotiation experience. Sure, I had seen it done but never did one by myself. SWAT was there and they wanted to storm the place, but in this case, you couldn’t do that. I’ll get to why they couldn’t in a minute. Reno wasn’t the captain then. It was a guy named Grainger and he had just transferred in from Sex Crimes. He had no experience in Homicide.

Grainger called me into his office. ‘You have to go there and do the best you can to resolve this situation.’

‘I’ve never done a hostage negotiation solo before.’

‘I know. I’ve read your file. I’ll continue to try to find your partner but you need to assess the situation and do the best you can to get those kids out of there alive.’

Joe stopped speaking. Tears formed in his eyes.

            ‘Calm down Joe, just tell me what happened,’ said Bill.

            ‘That day changed my life forever,’ said Joe.

            ‘I’m listening. Take your time.’

            ‘I needed someone to go with me so I took Bob Johnson with me.’

‘But Bob Johnson works Robbery,’ said Bill.

‘Not then he didn’t. He worked with me in Homicide,’ replied Joe.

 

We got there and we walked up to the officer in charge at the scene. I showed my badge, and introduced myself. ‘Joe Miller, Homicide, what is the situation?’

            ‘The situation is a man blew his wife away with what appears to be a .38 semi-automatic and took his three kids as hostages and barricaded himself into the apartment next door.’ said the officer.

            ‘Have you set up negotiations?’

            ‘No, we waited for you to show up.’

            ‘You waited? Why? Do you have your head up your ass? There are kids in there. Their lives are at stake. Get me a phone set-up now and take me to the guy,’ I said.

 I was so angry.

‘He’s on the second floor.’

‘Let’s go.’

            The two of us went upstairs together.

            ‘What is the suspect’s name?’

‘Peter.’ he replied. I positioned myself on the side of the apartment door.

            ‘Peter,’ I shouted. ‘My name is Joe and I’m from the police. We are going to set-up phone negotiations so just pick up the receiver to talk to rather than having to shout.’

            ‘Not interested in talking by phone. Go away.’

            ‘I can’t do that,’ I yelled.

            ‘Leave me alone.’

            ‘I can’t. You have your three kids with you. I’d like to help you if you’d let me. I’d like you to give yourself up.’

            ‘No.’ Peter laid his gun down on the table and lit a cigarette.

            ‘Will you at least give up your kids?’

            ‘Why should I do that?’ he said angrily.

            ‘So, they will be safe and I can get them something to eat.’

            ‘You could bring food here.’

            ‘I could but you would have to give up something for the food. How about your gun?’

            ‘No way. You think I’m an idiot?’

            I changed the subject.

 ‘How about some burgers and fries?’

            ‘Sounds good. What do I have to do for that?’

            ‘Give me one of your kids.’

            ‘No.’

            ‘Peter, everything is a give and take. You give me a child and I give you some food.’

            Peter thought on it awhile and said’ Okay.’

I sent Bob out to get the food and he came back 45 minutes later.

            ‘The food is here. Now you have to send out one of your kids.’

            ‘No.’

            ‘A deal is a deal.’

 I held firm. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing but I went with my gut instinct.

            ‘Okay… but if you try anything, I’ll kill all of them.’

            ‘No, I won’t try anything. Pass one kid as I pass the food bags to you’.

            I was perspiring and my gut was in knots as I held out the three bags of burgers and fries and he passed me his oldest child, a nine years old girl. I grabbed her and passed her to Bob.

            ‘Hey, where is the beer? There’s no beer.’ Peter yelled.

            ‘The deal was burger and fries, nothing else, but if you want beer, it will cost you another kid.’

            ‘Shit…I should just kill everyone now.’

            ‘No, I’ll get you whatever you want to drink but you have to give up another kid. That’s the deal.’

            ‘You know, I should just end this now. I need to keep a hostage so you don’t come in.’

            ‘You can surrender. We will sort out everything that has happened at the station and I’ll get you an attorney.’

            ‘Attorneys are shit,’ Peter exclaimed as he lit another cigarette.

            ‘You’ll need one to help you.’

            ‘There’re just going to put me in jail for the rest of my life.’

            ‘No, now let’s not think like that.’

I had a six pack of beer and soda brought up for the kids.

‘Okay, I brought you some drinks. A deal is a deal. Send out one kid.’

Peter hesitated but finally gave in.

I handed him the drinks and he sent out his second child, another girl aged 7. I grabbed her and gave her to Bob.

            ‘Okay Peter, it’s time to send out your son. You need to put the gun down and do the right thing.’

            ‘And what is the right thing, Detective?’

            ‘Send your son out, drop your gun, and face the situation like a man.’

‘Maybe I’m not a man. Maybe I’m not the person you think I am.’

            ‘No, you gave up your two girls.

‘I bargained them for food and beer. What kind of father does that?’

‘One who doesn’t want anything to happen to them. So, now it’s time to give up your son.’

            ‘So, he can be raised by her relatives or mine? No way. No, Joe, I can’t let him go. He’s staying with me.’

            I don’t know what I was thinking but I knew he was going to kill the boy. I lunged for him. Peter reached for the gun on the table. I had the boy in my arms but before I could pass him to Bob, one shot rang out. The bullet went through the boy and lodged into my abdomen. I pushed Peter down and struggled with him for the gun. He was determined to kill himself and take me with him. I don’t remember what happened but I must have turned the gun on him and shot him in the chest…dead.

             I jumped from the force of the blast, fell back, and landed on the floor. SWAT stormed the apartment when they heard the shot. Medics were on top of me in seconds tending to my wound. The boy was taken to Children’s Hospital where he later died of the wound. That bastard killed his own child. An innocent five-year-old little boy. And I somehow felt responsible for the child’s death.

Joe stopped talking and started sobbing bar counter.

The whole place had stopped to listen as he told the story. Some had no idea what happened behind the headlines they read years ago. Joe saved two kids that day out of the arms of a wife murderer but all the papers talked about was the child that died and the cop who was responsible.

Bill pulled a hanky from his pocket and handed it to his partner. Little by little the bar patrons started talking among themselves again. The owner, Philip Cantrell, came over to Joe and said, ‘Listen, I’m sorry. I had no idea you worked that case.’

‘Two children were saved; one died. It wasn’t considered by the LAPD Detectives as one of their finest moments. They felt it was best to forget it. Maybe they were right.

 …Bill, do you mind if we go. I have a place I need to be,’ said Joe.

 

Joe and Bill left the bar and stopped by St. Joseph the Worker’s church. The boy’s service was held there five years ago. Joe made it a point to go there on the anniversary and light a candle for the child. The two walked in and Father Juan welcomed them.

‘Hello Father. This is my partner, Bill Kelby.’

‘Hello Joe, Bill. Joe, I’ve been expecting you.’ They walked to the candles while Bill waited in the back. ‘Five years, isn’t it?’ said Father Juan.

‘Yes, it is,’ said Joe softly.

‘Time moves on.’

‘He’d be ten now. He’d be in little league, growing up, playing, being a normal kid.’

‘You can’t think about that, Joe, because he’s with God.’

‘Is he Father?’

‘I know you don’t believe that, Joe, so I’ll believe it for both of us. He is.’

‘Thank you, Father.’

Joe lit the candle and pulled out a $10 bill as a donation.

‘You don’t have to,’ said Father Juan.

‘Yes, I do. Someone has to think of him and I will for the rest of my life.’ Joe put the money in the poor box and walked back to Bill. ‘Let’s go home,’ said Bill.

They got in the car and left.

           

About the author

 

Maxine has been disabled for the past eleven years spending time writing books and short stories. She has been published several times and had a book published by Bridgehouse, called Miller and Kelby, and OtherwiseEngagedLit, CafeLit, Maudlin House, TheMetaworker.com, and BrightFlashLiteraryReview,. 

 

Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the author the other half goes to expenses e.g. Maintaining the web site and setting up The Best of Café Lit book each year.

The Murder at Willow Brook Cemetery Part 2 by Maxine Flam, whiskey

 The next day Mater wasn’t there to open up Willow Brook as always. The staff called his name but he didn’t answer. They had a 9:00 a.m. service so they prepared for it not knowing they were about to find their boss where they least expected him to be.

            ‘Gee wiz, can’t the grave diggers get it right? They only dug the grave half way down. It’s a good thing Mr. Mater isn’t here to see this. Let’s get this fixed,’ said James to George.

            James called the diggers and read them the riot act but they swore up and down they prepared the spot correctly. ‘Never mind,’ replied James. ‘Just fix it now.’

The two men got into the hole but it wasn’t hard. It was soft like they were stepping on something or someone. They got on their knees and started digging with their hands until one of them found an arm. ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God!’ said the one grave diggers as he crossed himself. The second digger kept going until he came across a leg. ‘Jesus Christ, I’m getting the hell out of here.’ Both jumped out of the open grave.

            James didn’t understand what they saw and jumped in and began to dig until he uncovered Mater’s face, eyes wide open staring at him. ‘Christ Almighty!,…’ he screamed as he jumped out of the grave.

            There were screams from the family present and mother of the dearly departed passed out.

            George yelled, ‘Get everyone out of here. Take them back to the church and call the cops.’ The people were ushered away. Miller and Kelby were called to investigate.

            ‘Shit…the crime scene had too many people trampling on it.’ said Kelby. ‘This is going to be bitch to investigate.’

‘Hey,’ Miller shouted to the CSI tech, ‘Can you take some casts of some of the shoe prints. I know it’s a long shot but we need to get a handle on this,’ said Miller.

The coroner rolled up.

‘Hey Bill, it’s kind of ironic that today of all days the coroner rolls up in a hearse instead of his normal medical van. If it wasn’t tragic, it would be actually be laughable,’ said Miller.

            ‘So, what do we have here?’ The coroner looked in and tried not laugh although he found it ironic. Mater himself was in the grave, staring blankly with open eyes into space. ‘Someone finally did him in after all the rotten things he did to other people. I wonder how the person did it.’

            ‘That’s what we hope you are going to tell us,’ said Miller.

            ‘If I can.’

            ‘What do you mean, if?’ replied Kelby.

            ‘Sounds like we have a real joker on our hands. I don’t think he was buried alive but I could be wrong so the murderer dumps the body in an open grave and covers him with dirt. That’s a laugh.’

            Ignoring the remark the coroner made that he was enjoying the situation, Miller said, ‘And?’

            ‘Boys, lift him up and put him on the ground,’ said the coroner.

            His staff complied.

            ‘Well, I don’t see a bullet entry or a knife wound while I do a cursory examination. Roll him on his stomach,’ The staff again complied. ‘No knife or bullet wound to the back, nor can I  see any damage to the head from a blow by a blunt object. Someone planned to off him and did a good job. I’m guessing but it was probably a poison of some kind. I’m sure it will be a difficult one for me to locate…Yes, I will check potassium chloride, nightshade, and pufferfish but it probably won’t one of the common ones either like arsenic or cyanide.’

            ‘Why are you being so negative?’ questioned Kelby.

            ‘Because this guy has been a thorn in the side of the cemetery industry for years. A real son of a bitch. He’s skirted the law and now someone decided to off him. It wasn’t done as a spur of the moment thing. It was planned and if he was pissed off to do this and leave the body here for shits and giggles, he was probably as methodical in murdering him with an obscure poison.’

            ‘Why Doc, I never heard you say anything bad…about anyone,’ said Miller.

            ‘Well, there is a first time for everything…I think catching him is going to be a bitch…Load ‘em up, boys. Come by later and I might have an answer…I said might.’

            The coroner drove off and Miller and Kelby looked at each other stunned over what they just heard. They didn’t need to consult Dr. Delmonico. They knew the motive was revenge…pure and simple. They walked into the mortuary office and spoke to James. George was still consoling the family. The grave site was crawling with technicians. The deceased was driven back to the mortuary and put in back in cold storage until such time they could proceed with internment.

            ‘I want all the funeral files for the last six months,’ said Miller.

            ‘Are you kidding?’ said James.

            ‘Do we look like we’re kidding? No…we’re just getting started. Don’t you get it? Your boss was murdered and we have to go through all the files to figure out who might have done it. We especially want to see the ones of people where the deceased’s family had issues with Willow Brook. Go back nine months on those files,’ said Kelby.

            ‘Shit, that will take me all day and maybe into the evening.’

            ‘Then I suggest you get started now,’ said Miller.

##

            Miller and Kelby got the files the next day and started going through them one by one.

            ‘Boy, they sure have a lot of people having funerals,’ said Miller.

            ‘This includes the cremations too,’ replied Kelby.

            ‘You know, it could have been worse. ‘

‘The killer could have shoved him in one of the ovens. No body…no cause of death.’

‘He probably didn’t know how to work the machine.’

‘It couldn’t be that hard.’

‘Then time was a factor. He wanted to be in and out and not draw attention by using the oven. The oven would create smoke. If he did it at night, someone might have noticed something was amiss.’

‘I’ve been putting possibles in this pile and ones that went smoothly in that pile.’

‘That’s still a hell of a lot of people here. How about 72?’

‘There are more disgruntled people than I thought. How are we going to figure this out?’

‘Pure logic, we need to use the board and write down the highly probable people. Also remember the person who took out the ad and had people come to the meeting.’

‘I wonder if there is any record.’

‘We’ll check but to be honest, he’d have to be a fool to have left a name and I don’t think we are dealing with a fool.’

Miller and Kelby checked out the hotel lead and it was indeed a dead end. The hotel mentioned there was a kid who recorded the meeting so they questioned him. Another dead end. Back to the squad room.

‘You know, Kelby, most of the arrangements are made by men unless the man is being buried, I think we should concentrate there. Someone pissed off a man,’ said Miller.

‘Well, that didn’t narrow it down a whole lot,’ replied Kelby.

Miller and Kelby worked long into the night. They believed it was more likely a recent screw-up than something that happened six months ago. That gave them five possibles to check out the next day when they came in.

One by one they went to the various houses of people grieving a loss. Captain Reno warned them they about to tread on thin ice but they pursued it nevertheless. The Fitzgeralds were the fourth name on the list.

            It was lunchtime. Mr. Fitzgerald had come in from the garden to have a bite to eat. That’s where he buried the box with the excess hemlock until he could figure a permanent way to get rid of it.

            ‘How many more left?’ asked Kelby.

            ‘One and then we have to pick five more people,’ said Miller.

            ‘There’s got to be a better way.’

            ‘Unfortunately, not. Didn’t they tell you in detective school there would be cases like this?’

            Kelby glared at Miller as if to say NO!

            They got out the identification cards. Their badges were clipped to the belts. Miller rang the doorbell.

            They heard a female voice say, ‘Arnold, will you please answer the door?’

            Mr. Fitzgerald opened the door and through the screen said, ‘May I help you?’

            I’m Detective Miller and this is my partner, Detective Kelby. We’d like to talk to you about your recent experience at Willow Brook Cemetery.’

            ‘Come in.’

 Gizmo, their mutt dog, came running in from the backyard barking and sniffing the detectives.

            ‘Gizmo down.’ Nothing…  ‘Lisa, call off the dog.’

‘He never listens to me. Gizmo is her dog, not mine.’

            ‘Gizmo, come to mother. ‘The dog ran over to Mrs. Fitzgerald and jumped on the sofa, drooling and wagging its tail.

            ‘As I was about to say, would you like some coffee? I was making lunch,’ said Mr. Fitzgerald as he walked to the kitchen.

            ‘No, thank you. We are detectives with the LAPD working on a murder case,’ said Miller.

            ‘Murder?’

            ‘Haven’t you heard? It’s been on the news since yesterday. The owner of Willow Brook Cemetery was murdered. His body was found in a shallow grave,’ said Kelby.

            ‘Oh my,’ said Mrs. Fitzgerald. ‘I didn’t like the man but I wouldn’t have wished that on him.’

            ‘Someone did. Since you had problems with him at your funeral we needed to talk to you. It seems there were many people who had problems with the funeral home and Mr. Mater as well,’ said Miller.

            ‘Ours was a minor problem and he fixed it. I was mad at the time because the people who worked there did it as a practical joke,’ replied Mr. Fitzgerald.

            ‘We read the file. You received a large discount on your service because you threatened to go to the State Funeral Commission,’ said Kelby.

            ‘He runs…I mean ran his business poorly.’

            ‘Arnold is businessman with a genius IQ and an MBA,’ said Mrs. Fitzgerald proudly.

            Miller and Kelby looked at each other and knew what the other was thinking. This was the guy but how to prove it. That might be the problem.

            ‘Nice home you have here,’ said Miller.

            ‘Thank you,’ said Mrs. Fitzgerald.

            ‘Mind if we look around?’ asked Kelby.

            ‘Not if you mind if I eat while you do,’ said Mr. Fitzgerald.

            Mr. Fitzgerald sat down at table and made himself a sandwich. Miller and Kelby looked around the first floor and while they did, Gizmo jumped from Mrs. Fitzgerald and ran through the doggie door outside into the garden. He barked furiously.

            ‘Never mind, him. He does that all the time,’ said Mrs. Fitzgerald. Mr. Fitzgerald looked uncomfortable.

            ‘Mind if we see the backyard?’ asked Miller.

            ‘I don’t mind,’ replied Mr. Fitzgerald as he began to sweat.

            The three of them walked through the backdoor into the yard.

            ‘Nice garden you have,’ said Kelby.

            ‘Thank you. I like to putter around in it when I have time. I plant tomatoes, flowers…Gizmo, stop digging! Bad boy.’

            Kelby bent down to see what he was digging at and beneath the flowers, he saw a small wooden box. He reached into his pocket and got out some rubber gloves and put them on. He picked up the box. Kelby opened the lid and saw a white powder within three Ziplock bags.

            Miller pulled out the cuffs and read Fitzgerald his rights. After he was finished, Miller asked if he wanted to make a statement.

            ‘Yeah,’ replied Mr. Fitzgerald.

            ‘And that is?’ said Miller.

            ‘I hate that dog.’

End of Part 2

About the author 

 

Maxine has been disabled for the past ten years spending time writing books and short stories. She has been published several times in the Los Angeles Daily News, LiteraryCocktailMagazine, Nail Polish Stories, DarkWinterLit, BrightFlashLiteraryReview, OtherwiseEngagedLit, CafeLit, Maudlin House, and TheMetaworker.com. 

Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half towards supporting the project (web site maintenance, preparing the next Best of book etc.)

The Murder at Willow Brook Cemetery Part 1 by Maxine Flam, whiskey

 ‘Hey Bill, did you see the paper this morning?’ asked Joe Miller.

            ‘No, I didn’t get a chance. I had to take the kids to school. I didn’t even get breakfast. Do you know if anyone brought doughnuts in this morning?’ replied Bill Kelby.

            ‘You’re in luck. The third floor had extra from their meeting and left the rest here.’

            ‘Bless their hearts.’ Kelby went over and got his favorite jelly-filled doughnut with a cup of coffee. ‘So, what did you want to tell me that you saw in the paper?’

            ‘Willow Brook Mortuary and Cemetery is in trouble again.’

            ‘I’m not surprised. I wouldn’t bury my dog there. So how many reprimands does that make?’

            ‘I’ve lost count.’

‘What did they do this time?’

            ‘They put the right body in the wrong casket.’

            ‘Huh? Was he dressed with the right clothes? Remember last time they had the wrong body dressed in the right clothes inside the right casket.’*

            ‘How can you keep track?’

            ‘Because I find it appalling, they are still allowed to operate.’

            ‘Before that, they put the right headstone on the wrong grave (the mother’s) and the family was visiting an empty grave for four years until they interned the father and the cemetery realized the error and moved the mother’s headstone to right place.’*

            ‘Wasn’t this cemetery the one that had a break in and the person who broke in had sex with a dead body.’*

            ‘Yeah, that’s them so I don’t know why the state doesn’t close them down.’

            ‘I can think a few reasons. Money, influence, and where else would people be interned. The cemeteries in Los Angeles are almost all owned by large corporations and they are all the same, offering the same services at the same prices. People tend to go where their families are interned.’

            ‘It seems Willow Brook has more problems than the others. The State Cemetery Commission needs to take control.’

            ‘I worry someone is going to snap because of one mistake too many and someone in Willow Brook’s upper management is going to get his comeuppance. That would be one case we would have trouble solving.’

            ‘I think it hasn’t happened until now because the people the people who are having the problems with the cemetery have been paid off in some way. People talk a big show and I believe the reason the cemetery and mortuary have gotten off the hook was because the owners offered the family of the deceased a discount or free funeral. Remember these people are grieving. So, by offering them a discount or free services, it solves the problem until the next problem occurs.’

*All cemetery stories with the  * are true. They happened at various cemeteries in Los Angeles starting in the 1970s through the present and that’s just the ones that have been reported in the media.

 

            ‘I still think they will make a mistake once too many and someone will go off the deep end.’

            ‘We’ll see.’

##

            ‘What the hell is going on here? We paid for the deluxe funeral and you put my father-in-law in this…this cardboard casket? Are you mad? It doesn’t even look like a casket.  What are you people trying to pull? I should call the State Cemetery Commission and make a complaint,’ said Mr. Fitzgerald all the while his wife is sobbing next to him.

            ‘I am terribly sorry,’ replied Mr. Mater, the head mortician and owner of Willow Brook. ‘We will make it up to you. I’m not trying to make excuses but we have been extremely busy but that doesn’t justify what happen. We will change everything and it will be perfect before the viewing this evening and give you a credit on what you paid.’

            ‘What other mistakes have you made, huh? I don’t want to come later and find something else has gone wrong. He will be dressed in the clothes we brought, made up, and embalmed.

            ‘I assure you we will give your funeral top-notch consideration.’

            ‘You better or tomorrow, I will be calling the State Cemetery Commission.’

            Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald left. They were due back at 7 p.m. for the viewing. Tomorrow was the memorial service followed by the burial in one of the most expensive parts of Willow Brook. It wasn’t an easy sale despite the fact that the Fitzgeralds had more money than they knew what to do with. Selling these plots, an entire family section and not just one plot, worked out to be a good sale, a very good sale. Mr. Mater knew Mr. Fitzgerald would make good on his promise to call the state. He was such a prominent man in the state, he probably had friends in Sacramento (California’s state capital). Mater didn’t need the additional aggravation of them breathing down his neck. He just got out from under that last investigation.

            Mater walked over to the microphone and said, ‘Alright everyone, take a break and assemble in the memorial room.’

            The staff filed in one by one. Mater was trying to figure out who was responsible for the practical joke on switching the caskets.

            ‘Okay, who was the wise guy who put Mr. Fitzgerald’s father-in-law in the cardboard box that we use for cremations… Huh?’ No one said a word. ‘Nobody will leave this room until I have an answer,’ said Mr. Mater.

            ‘We did,’ said James and George from the back.

            ‘I might have known. What are you two jokers trying to do? Put me out of business. We are trying to be number one in independent funeral homes. There have been too many mistakes lately. The way we can be number one is to give personalized service. Our customers are number one and they tell their friends. Word of mouth. Get it! We must be on our toes at all times. We have had too many screw-ups recently. We can’t let that happen.’

            ‘Weren’t you the one who tried to squeeze more graves into established areas where people were buried? Huh? You got caught throwing people’s remains into the undeveloped portion of the park and had a class action suit against you in which you were forced to settle out of court for millions.’** said James.

            ‘I never admitted guilt,’ said Mater.

            ‘You didn’t have to but all of us here know you were as guilty as sin,’ replied George.

            ‘As long as it wasn’t proven in court…’ said Mater.

            ‘You’re such a hypocrite. All we did was a harmless prank but you did the ultimate desecration,’ said James as he raised his voice in frustration.

            Ignoring the remark, Mater said, ‘If anyone does anything out of line again, I mean anything… they will be fired. Get that. FIRED. One the other hand, if someone does something exemplary, that person will be considered for promotion as I am in the process of buying another mortuary and will be hiring help so the sword cuts both ways.’

            ‘Shit…it was just a practical joke,’ said James. ‘We didn’t mean anything by it.’

            ‘Harmless? These are people who are grieving the loss of a loved one. You can’t play around with that. One more mistake and you’re out. Got it?’ said Mater. ‘What about switching headstones and letting the family go to the wrong grave for four years inoffensive? Had the father not died, the family would have continued going to the wrong grave.’

            ‘Well, you’d think they would have known where they buried their loved one,’ said George.

            ‘In this park? It’s huge. Even the gardeners have to read the signs and the front desk must use maps…I’m warning everyone. No more screw ups.’

##

The Fitzgerald funeral went off without a hitch. Everything was perfect. Mr. Fitzgerald acted pleased.

##

            Two days later, there was an ad in the paper on page 2 in big letters. Anyone that has had problems with Willow Brook Cemetery meet Friday night at Community Room of the Hilton Hotel on Riverside Drive in Glendale, California. 7 p.m. Refreshments will be served.

            It wasn’t signed. It could have been anyone. The hotel didn’t know who set it up. The bill was paid in cash and the hotel was given a false name.

            Miller and Kelby saw the ad but there was nothing they could do about it, except wait.

            ‘Maybe we could get in and see what’s going on,’ said Kelby.

            ‘You saw the paper. People who had problems,’ replied Miller.

            ‘How would they know?’

            ‘The person who put this show on must have a list.’

            ‘Then all we can do is wait and see.’

 

**This one happened in the early 2000s as my mother was part of the class action lawsuit against the cemetery where my father is interned and she received a settlement.

 

##

            The place overflowed with people. The mystery person who set this up was surprised at the turnout. He stood behind closed curtains; his face was covered by a mask to hide his identity just in case.

            Over the microphone, he said, ‘Please everyone, take your seats.’ A sound man was there to distort the man’s voice from possible recognition.

            ‘I invited everyone here to tell of your experience with Willow Brook Cemetery. I think we might have a class action suit,’ said the voice.

            What the people didn’t know was his lawyer was present to witness the event.

            ‘I’d like to hear your stories,’ the man said.

            One by one people came to the microphone. Some were minor, some were horrific like things that sounded actionable for a lawsuit. After two hours, the man thanked those in attendance and asked them to leave their names and numbers and someone would be in touch.

            ‘What do you think?’ the man said to his lawyer.

            ‘I think you have enough wrongdoings to go to the State Commission that oversees cemeteries,’ said the lawyer.

            ‘The State? I don’t want to go to the State. I want to sue the bastard,’ replied the man.

            ‘Not with these stories. Inconveniences, yes, giving back some money, and saying they were sorry, yes, and then moving forward. But suing? Not enough for a case. It’s best you forget about it.’

            ‘I’m not going to forget…’

            ‘What do you plan to do?’

            ‘Better you don’t know.’

‘Arnold, I’ve known you a long time. Don’t do something rash.’

‘I paid a lot of money for everything…tonight’s meeting, the mortuary, the funeral, that place made a monkey of me. I’m done here. Forget I said anything.’

‘Arnold…as your attorney, I’m advising you against doing anything rash.’

‘Harry, as my attorney and my friend, just forget what you heard tonight.’

The man went over to the kid who taped the meeting. He asked for the tapes.

‘You want a copy too, Mister. Only ten dollars more,’ replied the kid trying to make a sale.

‘No, just the original. I want you to forget everything you heard.’

‘Mister, I didn’t hear anything. I was listening to music during your meeting. Once I set it up things, I am a person who knows nothing, sees nothing, and hears nothing. It’s better that way,’ replied the kid.

‘Excellent!’ said the man as he handed the kid $200.

‘Hey Mister.  The agreement was for $100. You gave me $200.’ The kid looked confused.

‘A tip is to forget this evening ever happened,’ he replied.

‘What evening?’ said the kid.

The man went to a payphone and called several people on the list. He realized his attorney was right. People only wanted to vent, not fix the situation. He decided to take the situation into his own hands.

I should have done this from the beginning. The money meant nothing to me. No one knows who set this up but I hate wasting time and energy on idiots. But…maybe… it wasn’t a waste of time. Maybe it throws the suspicion on multiple people. There was a full house here. Many people were pissed off at what that cemetery had done to them and their loved ones. And people left their info only with me. The hotel doesn’t have it…no one, not even my lawyer knows. And when I called these losers, I didn’t give my name so everything was anonymous. It is time I go to work after that bastard, Mr. Mater.

##

            Mr. Fitzgerald was in his workshop. He had an MBA making most of his money in the stock and bond market and inheriting a part of it from his parents when they passed away. He was an expert shot, a blackbelt in Karate and a low handicapped golfer. Another thing he had was a genius IQ and was an avid reader. It was this brilliance and being a reader that had him tackle things that the average person wouldn’t understand. A basic knowledge of chemistry and reading up on contact poisons was how Mr. Fitzgerald planned to kill Mr. Mater and bury him in an open grave at the cemetery. Little did Mr. Mater know was Mr. Fitzgerald was planning his demise.

            It would be a glorious and just revenge. I must be careful how I handle the poison. It is the same one that killed Socrates: Hemlock or Conium maculate. I know where I can get some but it kills if it touches the skin, and by ingestion…I have to wear gloves and skin protection at all times when handling it but it will be worth it to get rid of that scum…Mr. Mater: A person that no one will miss once he’s dead.

##

            Mr. Fitzgerald got the ground Hemlock from someone he found selling on the black market. It wasn’t easy finding the person who sold it but when one has money, one can buy anything. He put it a triple Ziplock bag. The plant was so dangerous, it is destroyed once it grows. But there are other people who must want it for killing animals such as rats or… maybe people too…

##

            Mr. Fitzgerald put the baggie in a small box and stored it in the glove compartment of his car. He drove to a payphone and asked to meet Mr. Mater. He made up some excuse to see him alone and then headed out. It was late; the mortuary was closed but Mater agreed to stay to meet Fitzgerald.

            ‘So, what can I do for you?’ asked Mr. Mater.

            ‘I thought we ended things on a poor note,’ said Mr. Fitzgerald.

            ‘Actually, I thought you were happy with our services, after the initial problem was solved.’

            ‘I was but I was upset earlier and wanted to apologize.’ Mr. Fitzgerald pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels and put it on the table.

            ‘Well, this is a nice surprise. Let me get some shot glasses to pour this into.’

            Mr. Fitzgerald said that he’d like a little bigger glass for a double shot. While Mr. Mater walked to the other side of the room, his back was turned to Fitzgerald at which time Fitzgerald strolled across the room to the bookcase to admire Mater’s collection of books. Mater brought the glasses over. As Fitzgerald began to pour the amber liquid into the first glass, he mentioned that one of the glasses wasn’t clean.

            ‘I am so sorry. Let me get that.’ Mater went back across the room to the bar to get a towel to clean the inside of the glass which gave Fitzgerald enough time to pour the white powder into Mater’s glass and pour the amber liquid over it. Enough poison to kill five men. How wonderful! I haven’t been this excited since mummy and dad took me on my first cruise when I was twelve. Now, do I dispose of the body in the oven or do I stick with the plan and put it in the open grave I saw when I entered the cemetery?

 I think the open grave will be easier even though I had read up on how to use a crematorium. What a surprise the people will receive tomorrow at their funeral! The owner of Willow Brook will be laying in a freshly dug grave. Somehow the thought of that is so terrific I can’t stand it. I only wish I could be there to see it.

            Mater drank his drink and the two made small talk for a few moments until he felt the effects of the poison. Then he keeled over dead. Fitzgerald put on gloves and washed both glasses out drying them with the same bar towel that Mater used earlier. He put everything back perfectly and then left. Fitzgerald pulled his car to the entrance where the hearses pulled up. He put Mater’s body in the trunk and drove off. The new grave was covered by bushes in an older part of the cemetery. Fitzgerald dropped the body in and shoveled a few mounds of dirt to cover Mater up so by looking into the grave, you couldn’t see anything. He left and on the way home, he stopped at a gas station to use the restroom and made sure he looked okay. Fitzgerald looked perfect. No dirt, no nothing. Now he needed to wait.

End of Part 1

About the author 

 Maxine has been disabled for the past ten years spending time writing books and short stories. She has been published several times in the Los Angeles Daily News, LiteraryCocktailMagazine, Nail Polish Stories, DarkWinterLit, BrightFlashLiteraryReview, OtherwiseEngagedLit, CafeLit, Maudlin House, and TheMetaworker.com. 

 

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