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Carl sat in the same booth. Sometimes it was taken and he was obliged to take another booth, but generally he stayed towards the front so he could look out the window while he ate. As was customary every Monday, the good doctor would join him for usually whatever was the daily special at Ruby's diner. Bill and Carl went way back and continued to see each from time to time especially to take in a bit of lunch at the restaurant.

As Bill pushed open the door of the diner, the top edge of it flicked a piece of metal connected to a small bell which announced the comings and goings of the clientele. He took one step inside then looked around. Seeing Carl studying the menu, he headed over to the booth and slipped into the opposite bench. The two of them made for an interesting contrast. Carl was a policeman and fit the typical idea of a cop: six feet tall and two hundred twenty pounds. Bill on the other hand was merely five foot five and probably weighed no more than one sixty. Despite their physical differences, the two of them were fairly good friends although they rarely saw one another socially except for public events.

"How's it going?" said Bill.

Carl nodded. "Not bad. You?"

"Couldn't be better. How's Patty?"

"Fine. The two of us were out yesterday watching Tony play ball over at Hanover Park. He managed to hit a homer!" replied Carl. Bill made note of that fatherly pride in Carl's voice and smiled.

"All right!" Bill said. He admired Carl. Carl was a good attentive father to his whole family and some could do well to take a lesson from this playbook both on how to be a parent and how to be a husband. As a doctor in the community, Bill saw things which for the most part, remained behind the scenes. "So, what's on the menu?"

"Hmmm, chili?"

"Oh God, Carl, you know that I'll be farting my brains out for the rest of the day with that stuff. Ruby packs quite a wallop and on top of it, I am just so damn - How should I say this? - allergic to onions."

Carl smiled. "Okay, okay. Too much information. You don't have to fill me in on all the details, you know?" Carl continued to study the menu. "I think I'll try the western."

Bill continued looking at the menu in silence for a moment then said, "Ah... why not. Let's make it two westerns."

One of the waitresses walked up to the table and put down two glasses of water and began to arrange two paper placemats in front of the men. "What can I get you gentlemen today?" she said setting out two sets of silverware wrapped up in a paper napkin.

Bill replied, "Two westerns if you would be so kind."

The woman asked, "Fries?"

Bill nodded. Carl said, "Instead of the fries, can I substitute a side salad?"

"Sure," said the waitress. "Anything to drink?"

Bill said, "The water will be fine for now." Carl nodded in confirmation and the waitress went back to the counter to attend to business. "I heard you had a bit of an accident to deal with out on Route 6 over the weekend."

"Yeah." Carl ran one hand over his head as if to smooth down his hair. "It was the oddest thing. The day was sunny. There was no traffic on the road, but then this guy swerves over to the other side of the road and slams into another car coming the opposite way."

"Really?"

"I found a cell phone in the car. I'm guessing the guy was trying to text a message and took his eyes off the road."

"Why do you say that?"

"The phone was on and I could see on the screen a half finished text message. I think a few more letters and he would hit Send."

"What was the message?"

"The message read, 'Stopping at store to' and that's it, nothing more." Carl looked down at the table. "Oh god, I ended up having to tell his wife. She did not take it well."

Carl looked up and the two men looked at each other in the eyes. Bill said, "I'm sorry. It's always tough on everybody involved."

"Well, it was a little spooky. The guy didn't have his safety belt on at the time. On impact, he slammed against the windshield then was ejected from the vehicle when the driver's door popped open. He was lying on the shoulder and I was right there at his side when he expired. The funny thing, as I said, was that it was a beautiful day. There was no traffic; absolutely nothing which would have caused such an accident."

"You never know when your number will be up," said Bill.

The waitress arrived with two plates. She set the first plate in front of Bill and said, "Western with fries." She then set the second plate in front of Carl. "Western with side salad." Glancing first at Carl then at Bill she added, "Anything else?" Carl and Bill looked at her and Bill said, "No thank you. That's perfect."

"Enjoy," said the waitress. She turned and walked away.

Both men started to unwrap their utensils from the paper napkin. Bill carefully placed the fork on one side of the plate and the knife and spoon on the other then put the napkin on his lap. "Death is certainly an odd thing. I've always found it a strange phenomenon how people die but continue to live on in other people." Bill reached out for the bottle of ketchup.

"What do you mean?" Carl had picked up his fork and started on his salad.

Bill took off the top of the bottle, turned it over his plate, and began to shake it. "I just mean that even though somebody dies, he leaves behind things which remind other people of him." Bill held onto the bottle with one hand then picked up his knife and stuck into the bottle trying to coax the ketchup out. "As long as other people remember the person, he sort of lives on." Bill took out the knife then looked up the neck of the bottle with one eye closed. Satisfied with his work, he turned the bottle over and gave it a shake over his plate. A huge glob of ketchup spurted out onto his plate, far more than he needed for his fries.

Carl chuckled as Bill looked at what amounted to a pool of ketchup with a great deal of consternation. "At the hospital, I've had to deal with deaths in families and my observation is that the memories of the deceased are strong and even though the person isn't coming home again, to everybody else, it feels like he is still there." Bill put the top on the bottle and returned it to the end of the table.

Carl picked up one half of his western. He said "Oh" then bit into it. As he ate he watched Bill stab a fry then dip it in the ketchup on his plate.

"Speaking of deaths, how's Mrs. Gilbert doing?" said Bill as he impolitely chewed and talked at the same time. Both of the men had known the Gilberts for decades from when the two of them had Fred Gilbert as a scout master. Both of the Gilberts had been very active in the community, Fred in Boy Scouts and Mildred in the Girl Guides and both Bill and Carl had been part of many of the events the couple had organised over the years from selling cookies to charity collections.

"I spoke with her last week and I think she's sad, but also glad that Fred is no longer suffering." Like anybody entering their so called golden years, the Gilberts understood the idea that health is everything. Unfortunately Fred was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's disease about a year and a half ago. His decline was sudden and rapid and nobody held out much hope of the end being swift or merciful. Consequently, when Fred's death was announced two weeks ago, it came as no shock to anybody in the community. Hundreds showed up at his funeral to pay tribute to a man who had given so much to the youth.

"I should drop around sometime and pay my respects," said Bill. "I'm certain Mildred will have a lot of things to sort through. I imagine she might even consider giving up the house. It is a bit much for a single person. She should probably move into an apartment of some sort. I know she's still healthy and mobile, but I wonder if she should not consider one of the assisted living places. You can still be independent but you can get help."

"Yeah, that seems like a good idea" Carl smiled. "Sooner or later we'll all be needing something like that." Bill bit into his sandwich and half smiled back as he chewed. "When I was there, Mildred asked me if Patty and I would like to take their canoe." Bill with his mouth full grunted in a way which acknowledged the question with another question as if saying, "Huh?"

"Apparently Fred had a canoe out in the garage. She took me out to look at it. Seems to be in good shape so I'm going to talk with Patty about it. I think I can store it in our own garage and what the heck, it's free. Why not, eh?" Carl looked at Bill for some sort of approval of the idea. At the end of the day though, he knew what Bill thought wasn't what was going to be important, it was going to be his wife.

"You're going to have to talk to the boss about that one," said Bill with a smile. "I'd take it myself, but I know that Patty - quite wisely mind you - likes to avoid picking up things here and there that in the long run you don't really use."

Carl said, "Mildred may have other things she may decide to unload now that Fred is not around. Who knows what else they may have lying around the house? Heck, I was surprised to discover Fred had a canister of helium in the garage."

Bill stabbed his fork into another fry and swirled it in his pool of ketchup. "A canister of what?"

"A canister of helium. Mildred told me that from time to time, Fred had organised various events usually for charity and he used the helium for balloons. The kids apparently loved that sort of thing." Carl stared at Bill. Bill had stopped eating and was looking at the ceiling as if he mulling something over. "What?"

"Fred was cremated, right?" asked Bill.

"Yes. Why?" replied Carl.

"Nothing. Just an odd thought," said Bill. He stabbed another French fry.

Carl stared at Bill with a questioning look. "What are you thinking of?"

"It was just an odd thought of whether Mildred could have offed Fred," said Bill.

"Offed him? How the heck could she have done that? The coroner said it was natural causes; respiratory failure. After all, Fred did have Lou Gehrig's disease."

"There are some organisations which support the right to die."

"Yes."

"I won't, we won't argue whether it's right or not, but these people believe in a person's right to choose to die; especially in the cases where the person in question may be suffering from a debilitating disease like Lou Gehrig's." Carl stared at Bill. "Some practitioners who subscribe to this idea have gone so far as to invent euthanasia devices to be used in an assisted suicide. Most of these devices work on the idea that the patient has the final say and may even press the final button."

Bill wiped his mouth with his napkin then took a sip of water. "Kevorkian, Dr. Jack Kevorkian, is probably the name most people know of in this regard. He had a device which delivered a fatal dose of barbiturates, but the patient had to throw the switch." Bill idly picked up a French fry in his fingers, dipped it in some ketchup, and put it in his mouth. "I recently ran across some information about an organisation in Australia called Exit International. The founder, a doctor, came up with a device or should I say method of euthanasia which is fast, painless, and easy to put together based on easily obtainable materials." Bill took a sip of water.

Carl reached over and helped himself to a French fry. "Yes, go on."

"The human body is capable of detecting levels of carbon dioxide. If you hold your breath, CO2 builds up in your system and the body's natural mechanisms force you breathe again. Oddly enough, your body is incapable of determining whether it's got enough oxygen."

"What?"

"Yes, when you hold your breath, you feel a burning sensation as if your lungs are crying out for more oxygen, but that's not the case. Your body is actually protesting the buildup of carbon dioxide. Your body cannot determine if it has enough oxygen or not. Based on this idea, the method Exit International came up with involves giving an inert gas to the patient. Put a plastic bag over the head; use a tube to pump in the gas, and as the patient breaths, the oxygen in his body is replaced with the inert gas. The level of CO2 in the body remains unaffected so the patient does not panic. Apparently the patient will be unconscious in about 10 to 15 seconds and dead within 3 minutes."

Carl looked perplexed. "Really?"

"Yep. It seems that any inert gas will do but the organisation has said that it is fairly easy to get helium. After all, any party store which deals with balloons would sell it. And the whole thing is virtually undetectable. I say virtually undetectable as while tests may overlook the helium, tests can determine signs of anoxia or oxygen starvation. Anybody looking at the body would think the person is asleep and any professional looking at the body would assume natural causes like the heart just quit. Consequently, who's going to even think about doing any tests?" Bill waved to the waitress and made a motion with his hand as if signing something. She nodded her head understanding he wanted the bill.

"Are you suggesting Mildred did this to her husband?" asked Carl.

"We'll never know now since the body is cremated, but it was just an idea that came to mind considering Fred's condition. As long as the equipment is removed, the bag, tubing, and the canister of helium, I'm sure nobody would think there was any foul play. It's actually a shame when you think about it that people are not allowed to die with some sort of dignity. Once you get into the advanced stages of some of these diseases, the quality of life is an important factor in whether a person wants to go on living or not. One could argue that under these conditions, it's not living at all."

"I know Mildred," said Carl. "I find it hard to believe she would do such a thing."

"Do any of us know what we would do under those circumstances? If Mildred loved her husband, which I know she did, she would want what's best for him and to stand by and watch Fred live a life that was getting more and more untenable, I am sure she would be torn between life and death, or should I say, escape."

The waitress arrived with the bill and put it on the table. As she turned to go, Bill said, "Hold on." He glanced at the amount, and then put some cash on the bill. "Keep the change. Thanks." Bill looked back at Carl and said, "My turn this week. Next week, I'm ordering steak."

The two men slide off the benches of the booth and got up. "Thanks, Bill," said Carl.

"Hey, no problem," replied Bill. He glanced at his watch. "Oh boy, I've got to get back to the hospital. I have an appointment right at one o'clock. Listen, take care and say hello to Patty for me."

"Will do."

Both men walked out the door of the diner. Bill turned right and walked off to the hospital which was a block away. Carl watched him for a moment thinking about what he had said about the helium. The detective in him made him think about the truth - What had Mildred done or not done? - but the humanitarian in him agreed with Bill. Without quality of life, what did one have? After all, the old saying was true: health is everything.

Carl turned and walked back to his car.

2011-05-24

Site Map - William Quincy Belle

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It was always a blessing to get the Sunday morning shift for Officer Carl. It was generally quiet and considering the occasional Saturday night hell he was assigned to during the usual shift rotation, he welcomed a little contrasting peace and quiet. As he drove along the side road, he enjoyed the wind going by the open window of the squad car. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his arm perched on the car door.

It was going to be a beautiful day, heck; it already was a beautiful day. Tony was going to be playing a softball game this afternoon and Carl was looking forward to being in the stands with Patty to route for their son. Carl didn't know if his daughter Molly would come as he was certain she would rather be spending time with her friends. Guy stuff, ugh.

Carl held the wheel with his left hand and reached out on the seat with his other hand searching for his lunch box. It may be a little early but he felt a few pangs of hunger. Patty did say she had packed him two sandwiches so maybe he could just have a half now to calm the grumblings in his stomach.

Carl couldn't quite get a hold of the lunchbox so he glanced over at the seat. Ah, there it was. He smiled. Yes, there was his Hannah Montana lunchbox. The boys down at the precinct had a field day with that one the first day he showed up with it. Molly had been absolutely overjoyed when she got the lunchbox for her birthday. She watched the television show and was a bit of a fan of the Disney character. A bit? Heck, she had a nearly life size poster of Montana hanging on one wall of her bedroom. That would seem to indicate a bit of a fan for sure. Carl smiled.

However, things changed. A couple of years go by then Molly announces she can no longer go to school with a lunchbox embossed with the image of Hannah Montana. Why? It's no longer cool. Carl remembers sitting at the dinner table when Molly made this announcement not sure of how to proceed. Mom stepped in with the offer to trade lunchboxes with Dad as his was a little more neutral being just the colour blue with no design. Molly seemed relieved she no longer had to show up at school toting an uncool Hannah Montana lunchbox.

Oh no, that duty now fell upon dear old Dad, six feet and two hundred twenty pounds of the meanest, toughest cop on the Hanover police force. Harry was the first one to chuckle at the sight of Carl coming into work holding the lunchbox and immediately said, "I knew it. Montana is out. All the girls at school have called it quits." Oh well. At some point he could stop in at Canadian Tire and pick up a less distinguished lunchbox. Then again, if he took Molly along, maybe he could get her the next cool thing.

The radio crackled. He leaned away from the window so he could hear the voice. "Car 4, car 4, come in please."

That was him. Carl shut the window then picked up the mike. "Car 4 here."

"Carl, we just had a report of an accident out on route 6 about 5 kilometres out of town."

"I'm on side road 54 B just coming up to route 6. I should only be about a half a click away. I'll be there in under five."

"Roger." As the radio went silent, Carl hit both the siren and the light the sped up down the side road towards the route 6. With the area so flat out in the prairie farm land, he could easily see a distance in both directions and at the moment, the road was deserted. He slowed but didn't stop as he turned onto the route and floored it.

Carl cracked the window again as the car accelerated. The wind was whipping by and the noise was quite loud. Carl could already see something up ahead even though he still had a ways to go. As the squad car got closer, Carl could make out two cars. One was off to the left, upside down in the grass just beside the shoulder, while the other was sitting in the middle of the right hand lane, turned 180 degrees and pointing backwards. It looked as though part of its front was smashed in. Oh, oh. This already wasn't looking good, but just what could have happened? It's sunny out. It's a peaceful Sunday morning. How could anybody have an accident when the conditions were just perfect? Who knows? Strange things do happen.

As Carl roared up he radioed in to dispatch. An ambulance was going to be needed, no doubt about it. He pulled over to the left and parked on the shoulder turning off the siren. He looked out the windshield to the upside down car.

Carl got out of the cruiser and jogged over to the car. The motor was still running. He knelt down to look in the driver's window which was wide open. A man hung upside down still strapped into the seat, his arms dangling down to the roof. He wasn't moving. Carl reached out to the man's wrist to feel for a pulse. He was still alive. Carl reached in and shut off the key cutting the motor then looked at both ends of the car. For the moment, there didn't seem to be any danger so he decided to leave the man as is and wait for the paramedics to show up to get the man out of the car. Unstrapping him would mean he'd fall right on his head and without knowing his injuries, it was best to wait for help.

The policeman stood up and backed away. It looked like the other car must have swerved on the road and slammed into the rear door. Hmmm, the speed limit along here was 50 kilometres an hour so if both cars were doing the speed limit, they connected at 100. Carl turned to look at the road. This car would have been spun around and at some point when it hit the shoulder it turned over.

Carl started to walk to the other car. It was sitting in the middle of the right hand lane but now pointing in the wrong direction. It too had spun around but remained upright. As Carl approached the front, he saw it was quite badly smashed on the driver's side where the car had entered into the rear door of the other vehicle. He tried to look through the windshield for the driver but the glass was cracked so much, he couldn't see the interior. Then he noticed the driver's door was partially open. At the same time he walked around to the driver's side for a closer look, he heard a moan and turned to see the body on the shoulder. Carl quickly took three steps and was standing over the man. He was lying on his back. The side of his head was badly cut and bleeding. Carl guessed that the man had not had his safety belt on. He must have slammed forward and his head smashed into the windshield then during the spin, the door must have popped open and he was flung out of the car.

Carl knelt down and said instinctively, "Are you alright?" That was silly. This guy was in really bad shape. Would he live? What the heck had he been doing? Carl looked around. The day was sunny. It was calm, perfect weather and there wasn't another car in either direction. There was absolutely no reason this should have happened.

The man coughed. Carl looked back down. Blood trickled out of the side of the man's mouth. "Are you alright?" Carl stared waiting for a response. The man's lips quivered. Was he going to say something? Carl leaned closer and watched the lips for a couple of seconds. No response. "Sir?" He waited. The lips quivered again then the man let out a long sigh and was still. Carl continued to stare at him for a couple of seconds. Carl reached for the man's wrist and tried to feel a pulse. The man had died, right in front of Carl. Just like that.

Carl remained kneeling for a moment looking at the man. Who was he? Why was he here? What happened? Is he married? Carl would have to write this up. He would have to find out the answers to these questions. Somebody was going to have to break the news to his family, maybe to his wife if he wasn't single.

A bird chirped overhead. Carl looked up. There were a three or four of them perched on the wires running beside the road. Suddenly Carl realised how quiet it was. The birds chirped, the grasses were rustling just a little in the breeze but other than that it was quiet. The sun felt good on Carl's skin. He stood up. He looked in both directions. There wasn't a car in sight.

Carl checked his watch. It was 11:10am. Now let's see, back to the station by noon. Maybe a half hour to write up the report. Yep, he could probably still get off at 1pm which would give him enough time to get home and change then he and Patty could make the game before 2pm. He was looking forward to seeing his son play.

Off in the distance, there was the vague sound of a siren. Carl looked down at the body. A bird chirped overhead. Carl turned to walk back to the police car to radio into the station. Life goes on.

2011-05-17

Site Map - William Quincy Belle

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Gertrude or Gertie to friends had decided to dig out some old cookie cutters. Janie was coming over tomorrow with the grand kids and Gertie thought it might be a nice idea to make some sugar cookies as a family activity. She smiled to herself thinking how much she enjoyed having the three children over, but appreciating that at the end of the visit, they all went home. That amount of activity in the house would surely be exhausting if it was going on twenty-four by seven. Gertie had done her time; let's stick with visits of a limited duration.

She dug out her ring of keys and carefully selected the right one for the locker area door.  Turning the key, she turned the knob and opened the door into the darkness. Reaching around, she flicked on the switch to light up the locker room. People say that you have to be careful, being alone, being a woman and alone, but after five years in the complex, she knew everyone, had never heard of any problems, and felt perfectly safe coming down to her locker even late in the evening.

Gertie stepped into the room and turned to shut to the door. As she did, she spied a metallic object on the floor off to the side. Picking it up, she turned it around in her hand wondering what it was. Rectangular; not necessarily heavy for its size; curious, what could it be? She held it so she could look at the one end. Were they...? Yes, Gertie remembered seeing this on a few of those police shows on television. In fact, she had seen this in a movie. It was the bullet clip for a gun. There were the bullets. Hmmm, how many were in a clip?

Why would such an item be on the floor of the locker room? Instinctively, she looked around. There was nothing else on the floor beside her. She looked down the length of the rectangular room, lockers to the left and right with a narrow corridor running down the middle, but the floor was clean. "Hello?" said Gertie. "Anybody here?" Of course there wasn't anybody here. Would they be down here in the dark?

Gertie put the bullet clip in her pocket and continued down to her locker at the far end of the room. She went through her keys, found the right one, and unlocked the padlock. Swinging the door completely open, she went into her locker and began to look at each of the boxes she had carefully stored on a shelving unit set up against the one side of the locker. She had been smart enough to label each box with its contents so it was easier to locate things. Ah, here it was, a box with the word "cooking" printed in block letters with magic marker. Gertie pulled the box off the shelf and put it on the floor. Fortunately, she had arranged the various things she wanted to put in storage into a number of boxes so each individual box didn't weigh too much and she could easily deal with moving them around.

Gertie kneeled down and pulled the four flaps up so she could get in the box. Ah yes, here was all her extra cooking utensils. Somewhere in here, she had some old, metal cookie cutters. If she remembered correctly, they should all be in a single plastic bag. She started to take things out of the box and set them aside in order to dig down to the bottom. Bingo, there was the plastic bag and there were her cookie cutters. She placed the rest of the contents back in the box, folded down the flaps, and then put the box back on its shelf.

A noise came from the far end of the room. Gertie looked up. She heard voices. Somebody else was coming into the locker room. The voices were still indistinct, but she thought she heard two voices, a man and a woman. The locker room door slammed shut.

"Gee sus H K rist woman. Can't you remember where anything is? Why the fuck didn't you leave this in the apartment? Why put it in the locker?" said the man. Gertie could hear their steps coming part-way down the room. They stopped. "Give me the fucking keys, goddamn it!" There was a familiar tinkling of a ring of keys followed by some fumbling on a padlock then the squealing of some unoiled hinges.

The woman said, "I think it's on the bottom shelf."

"Think? You think?" said the man. Judging from the tone of his voice, there was no doubt he was not at all happy with the situation. "Crap, I'm gunna have to go through this complete fuckin' mess." Gertie partially stuck her head out the door of locker to look down the corridor at the couple. "Jesus, you are really goddamn stupid, woman." The man got down on his knees and crawled partially into the locker. His feet stuck outside the locker door.

The voice was muffled, but Gertie could still hear him. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" The noise of boxes being moved around broke the silence. There were other noises punctuated with "Shit", but suddenly there was a loud crash. There was moment of silence then the man started in again. "You stupid cunt. The box containing the statue from Florida just fell off the shelf onto the cement. Fuck! It's broken!"

Gertie stared down the corridor interested by the scene playing out in front of her. "I'm sorry," said the woman. She seemed to backing away. Was she trying to stay out of the line of fire? The woman turned and walked back to the door. The man continued whatever he was doing while periodically swearing. Gertie watched as the woman stopped beside the door. She was fiddling with something but Gertie couldn't quite see what.

The woman finished and walked back towards the locker where the man was. She stood at the door. She lifted her hand. Gertie's eyes widened. The woman was holding a gun. Gertie watched as the woman squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. The woman squeezed again. Nothing. She held the gun sideways and looked at it. She pointed it again and squeezed a third time but nothing happened.

All this time, the man continued in the locker making the sounds of somebody pushing things around and opening boxes while cursing from time to time. The woman now held the gun up in the light looking at it as if to see just what the trouble could be. She looked at the barrel, looked at the trigger, and then finally turned it over. Her eyes widened and she and looked around her. Seeing nothing, she walked back to the locker door and started fiddling with whatever she had done before.

Gertie picked up her bag of cookie cutters, exited the locker, and closed the door. She put the padlock back in place and clicked it shut. The woman was walking back from the door to where the man was when she looked up and saw Gertie. Her head shook in surprise and she immediately held the gun behind her so Gertie couldn't see it.

Gertie walked down the corridor towards the couple. She could hear the man more clearly. "You dumb bitch. I'm gunna kill you for fucking this up. I've never seen anybody so fuckin' stupid before in my entire life. You are such a retard." The woman stared at Gertie with wide eyes. As Gertie approached, the woman moved slightly so as to give her room to walk by. The light from the overhead bulb shone onto the woman's face. Gertie looked. The woman had a black eye. Gertie stopped and stared at the woman. Yes, not only did she have a black eye, she had a cut on her lip and there appeared to be some bruising.

The woman realised Gertie had noticed her face. Her eyes dropped. Gertie continued to stare at the woman for a moment, and then looked into the locker at the man down on all fours rummaging around in the darkness. "Fuck, you cunt. How the hell am I supposed to find anything in this shithole? What a fuckin' mess. You're gunna pay for this. You hear?"

Gertie looked back at the woman. She looked back up and the two of them stared at one another for a moment saying nothing. After a few seconds, Gertie reached into her pocket, and then held out the bullet clip to the woman.

The woman didn't move. She looked down at the bullet clip. She looked back up at Gertie. She didn't move; she didn't take it. "You're gunna pay for this, you bitch." said the man.

Gertie held the bullet clip up a little higher as a second offer and smiled slightly at the woman. The woman hesitantly put out her hand. Gertie dropped the clip into the woman's hand. She turned briefly to look at the back of the man who continued to curse, then stepped over his feet and continued down the corridor.

As Gertie approached the door, she noticed off to one side an air vent. The grill had been removed and was lying on the floor. Ah, that's where the woman had hidden the gun. Gertie opened the door of the locker room and stepped out. Just as she was closing the door, she heard the man say, "You fuckin' dumb cunt." Gertie pulled the door shut and it clicked into place. She hesitated at the door before turning to walk to the elevators. She pressed the up button and waited for an elevator to arrive. A little bell rang and one of the doors opened. Gertie was about to step in when she heard a muffled bang. So, that's what a gunshot sounds like, a real gunshot.

The elevator door started to close so Gertie stuck her arm up and it opened back up. Gertie stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for her floor. The door slide shut as she held her bag of cookie cutters up to look them over. Ah, the grandkids were going to have a great time making cookies with her.


Gertie had boiled the kettle and made herself a nice cup of chamomile tea. Sometimes she felt a little peckish later in the evening and a biscuit with something hot to drink was a good way to wind down the evening before bed. She walked from the kitchen into the living room to stand by the window. She looked down from her third story window onto the parking lot and the common central area of the complex. It was a nice moment to reflect on things. As her neighbour Barry liked to say, "I like to cogitate." Gertie smiled thinking that she liked to reflect and wasn't sure if she liked "cogitating".

The lights of a vehicle appeared out of the darkness. It was a van and it pulled into the lot and took a spot close to the side entrance of the building. The headlights went out and somebody got out. Gertie saw the figure walk up to the building and guessed it was a woman. All of a sudden, she walked into the light of the main entrance and Gertie recognised her as the woman who had been in the locker.

Gertie took a sip of her tea then bit down on her cookie. She wondered if the woman would get away with killing that man. It was hard to say. From the various police shows she had watched on TV, the police were getting more and more scientific in their investigations. Their ability to find evidence meant getting away with it must be getting more difficult.

Gertie turned and looked at the bookshelf beside her. On the top shelf was a framed photo of her husband, Toby, and her taken years ago up at their cottage. She smiled slightly. Ah, it was a better period of my life, but it's over. Everything has to come to an end sooner or later. Gertie glanced out at the emptiness of the parking lot wondering what the woman was doing.

A movement off to one side caught Gertie's attention. She stared in the semi-darkness and realised that she was seeing somebody pushing the baggage cart from the main entrance. The building had a luggage cart like those found in hotels as the residents of the building from time to time needed to move boxes, groceries, or even baggage between apartments and vehicles. It was a handy thing to have.

Some light shone onto the walkway and Gertie could make out the woman. There was something, a bag, a rug, something on the baggage cart. For lack of anything else, Gertie imagined it was the body of the man. Did the woman wrap it up in something? There must have been blood. You can't shoot somebody without there being blood, right? How did she clean it up? Just what was she going to do with the body?

Gertie shook her head as all these questions came flooding back to her, the very same questions she had asked herself ten years ago. Her husband Toby did not start out to be a bad man, but he had difficulty dealing with life. His education wasn't the best; he found himself passed over in his company, and as the years wore on he became progressively bitter about his lot in life. He had gotten angry with Gertie twice. The second time involved Gertie phoning the police and that incident completely changed the nature of their relationship. He never touched Gertie again, and that meant he never touched Gertie again.

Unable to deal with his work life or with his home life, Toby slowly developed a problem as he tried to escape his situation: he drank. He wasn't a falling down drunk; he was what they call a functioning alcoholic. He managed to hold down a job; he managed to function in life, but after hours he drank and drank and drank. Most nights he didn't fall asleep insomuch as he passed out. Gertie was surprised the human body could take that much punishment, but the day did finally come when the doctor told her. Toby was 64 and a half years old and set to retire in six months. The doctor had taken Gertie aside to explain that Toby was probably going to die in a year or so if he didn't stop drinking immediately. His liver was shot; he had cirrhosis and this was his last chance.

Gertie realised that Toby after so many years of drinking was not going to stop. She also realised that she was going to have the onerous task of taking care of him as he went downhill. On top of it, once Toby stopped working, his pension wasn't going to be that great so making ends meet would be another problem.

The solution to Gertie's problems presented itself with no invention on her part at all. Shortly after the doctor had given her the news, Toby and Gertie had visited their cottage. It was after the end of the season; the leaves were changing colours, and nobody was left on the lake. Toby had been sitting out on the dock watching the sunset. He had been steadily sipping all evening and had fallen asleep or passed out in his chair. Finally Gertie walked out and said to Toby that it was time to go to bed. Toby didn't move. She put down her flashlight, shook his arm then tried to pull him up. Toby roused himself and half stood up. He then stumbled, lost his balance, then pitched to one side falling off the dock into the water. Gertie could not hold his weight.

In the darkness, Gertie couldn't quite see what was going on. There was a little splashing and a little gurgling. She hesitated. She could rescue him. She could jump in the water and hold his head out of the water. But she hesitated. She waited. The movement stopped. Silence. There was what seemed like a bubble breaking or some gurgling then once again silence. She stood still waiting. Listening in the silence. She could hear the crickets. A loon cried on the other side of the lake. Other than that, it was quiet.

Gertie bent down beside her chair and felt around until she found the flashlight. Picking it up, she turned it on and shone it on the water in front of the dock. At first nothing, then moving slightly, she could make out the outline of her husband floating face down in the water. It was still. Gertie turned off the flashlight. She looked up at the stars. She listened to the crickets. It was over.

Toby dies before his retirement date, but Gertie gets his full pension; a full pension for one instead of two. Toby dies quickly instead of lingering on for possibly years requiring expensive hospital or home care and who knows how much work on the part of Gertie. Toby leaves his wife a little something so she can live comfortably, not richly, but comfortably.

Gertie had been watching the woman wheel the baggage cart around to the back on the van then proceed to half pick up, half drag the package, whatever it was, into the back of the van. After finishing the job, the woman pushed the cart back to the building to leave it at the front entrance for somebody else to use. The woman came back out, got in the van, and then drove off into the night.

Gertie had sold their cottage and their house then moved into a condo apartment. It wasn't luxurious, but it was comfortable. Gertie turned away from the window and looked around the room. She absentmindedly reached out and touched the framed picture of her husband and her, making a minor adjustment in its position. She'd have a good time with the kids tomorrow. She went to the kitchen to leave her mug. Time for bed. Tomorrow would be a busy day.

2011-05-07

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Are you playing with the cool kids at Studio30 Plus yet? If no, get your butt over there and get wordy with us! This week's writing prompt was: Las Vegas

Although I have many weekends of Las Vegas shenanigans to draw against for inspiration, I decided to take a little fiction short story angle the prompt just for fun. So here goes....