Chapter 11
| The Story | The Authors |
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And there she lay on the floral patterned daybed in a limp torpor watching the
light of the day make a slow sweeping arc across the ceiling until it was
replaced with the quick flash of headlights. The Chintz curtains brushed her
face gently with a breeze and the far off flatulent stench of the city. All her
cares were far away. Even the dull throbbing pain of her deliciously ravaged
rectal passage had receded to a point that she could examine it with a cool
detatchment as if it were some bright and burnished beetle.
Far off in the other room the Cd player continued with its endless recapitulation of the songs of Carole King from the most recent "tribute" and backwards to the earliest days of her songwriting career deep within the bowels of the Brill Building penning multifarious hits for the increasingly demented Phil Spector. He hit me and it felt like a kiss He hit me And I knew he loved me... crooned the Crystals gently to her. She sighed. Now there was love. | |
| So enthralled was she in these roundabout explorations of her inner fantasy world, and so loud did the stereo pound in her head, with the wine already pound-pound-pounding in their veins in her temples, that she failed to hear the downstairs window sliding open, nor hear the slouch-hatted, raincoated, ghoul-thin figure slip in from the drizzle, remove his shoes, and pad soundlessly across the living-room carpet and the stairs toward her bedroom, fingering something large and of almost-but-not-quite-familiar shape in the side pocket of his dark blue, rainslicked Burberry. | |
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His hand came out and was holding the biggest gun he had ever seen. He
wondered
if it had been put in there at the resturant. Just then he decided to see if his wallet was still there, he pulled it out but it wasn't his. He decided to go back to the resturant and try to streighten this all out, but before he could get to the resturant he was knocked down and the gun was stolen from him | |
| Temporarily stunned, he quickly jumped to his feet in time to see a short man dressed in army fatiques bolting around the corner. He gave chase, but it was no use. By the time he reached the corner, the man had disappeared into the darkness. He returned to the spot where he had been slugged, reaching down slowly to retrieve his bookbag. At first glance, the bookbag looked like his, but upon closer examination he noted a difference in the color of the straps. What had happened to the gun? Everthing happened so fast, he surmised that the thug who hit him must have taken it. Seeing it only briefly and not knowing much about guns, he thought that it had looked like a 38 cal. At least it looked like the ones police toted around in the movies. He seemed to remember that those were 38's. He picked up the wallet opening it, hoping to find some identification inside. Approx. $200 was still inside the wallet. Was this a robbery attempt? Why wasn't the money taken if it was? Why was only the gun taken? A drivers license in the wallet displayed the photo of a young woman. Blond hair and blue eyed, she appeared to be in her early twenties. Looking at the birthdate, he found that she was born in 1976. Still groggy, he decided to return to the restaurant to find his own bookbag and hopefully locate the owner of the wallet. He started back toward the restaurant but had to stop momentarily. Maybe he was hurt worse than he thought. He felt a twinge of dizziness and struggled to get his thoughts straight. As he proceeded back toward the restaurant, he tried to piece together in his groggy mind the incidents leading up to this mugging. Thats all he could call it until he could find out more details. He didn't understand why all this had happened. Reaching the door of the Odyessy Restaurant, he pushed on the door. As he entered the restaurant, he slowly scanned the customers at each table failing to find anyone who resembled the photo on the drivers license. He went to the cashier and asked if she had seen anyone within the last 30 minutes or so who resembled the girl in the picture. The cashier could not remember if this individual had been there that evening. She didn't remember anyone looking like her ever having been in the place, but admitted that her memory was not the best. What should he do? Contact the police? Why would a girl like her have a gun in her bookbag, if indeed he had picked up her bookbag. It could have been someone else's. The wallet could have been stolen earlier from the girl in the wallet. He looked at the driver's license and looked at the address. 222 Summer Sun Rd. Cocoa Beach, Fla. Cocoa Beach was approximately 60 miles from Orlando. What was the girl doing in Orlando? Maybe just visiting. The Odyssey was certainly not the type of place someone would travel 60 miles to eat at. It was average at best. Maybe the girl was visiting some of the attractions for the day. Maybe she hadn't been here at all. Maybe her wallet had been stolen by someone else who had been in Orlando for some reason. Seaching the wallet further, he found typical things that a women would carry in a purse, but not necessarily in a bookbag! He made a quick decision to wait on calling the police. He decided to follow his instinct and go to Cocoa Beach to search for the girl and hopefully return her wallet in person. Maybe he could find out the solution to his mugging. |
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