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    Ivor Slipper
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Diamonds Don't Always Sparkle - 1. Playing the hand you're dealt

Diamonds Don't Always Sparkle

 

He always hated being woken in the middle of the night. He found it hard to get to sleep most nights, which he knew was due to the stresses of his job. Some of the horrors he had to deal with just stuck in his mind and, more often than not, as soon as he laid his head on the pillow, images of those would come flooding back. For that reason he now always took a book to bed with him. He hoped reading it would place fresh, and much more pleasant, images in his mind. Perhaps then the pleasant images would overcome the gruesome ones.

He didn't really mind what sort of book it was – just as long as it wasn't a crime novel. He could even read a horror story, because he knew that was fiction not fact and it was only the factual images of things he had seen himself that bothered him. Ghosts were simply figments of the imagination and unreal, so were not a source of potential terror and night sweats. Tonight he had been reading a travel book about a cruise in the Caribbean. There he had been put ashore on a palm tree fringed tropical beach where the sand felt like icing sugar beneath his bare feet. The sun shone from a cloudless azure colored sky, while gentle waves from a bright turquoise blue sea lapped the shoreline. He was reclining on a sun lounger with a cold pina colada by his side – and that was the last he remembered before that damned phone had rung.

And indeed it had worked. He had dropped off to sleep, but now he was roused from his slumber by the ring tone of his phone. He fumbled for it in the dark, eventually locating it on his nightstand.

Diamond, here.” he muttered.

“”Sorry to wake you Detective, but we have a murder reported and you are the duty detective.”

He thought he recognized the voice of the duty night sergeant, Benson – or was it Hedges. He always got those two confused. He really needed someone to give him a tip so he'd be able to tell them apart.

S'alright, Benson. Where's this one?”

It's Hedges, Detective. It's at 875 Elm Park Drive. Local officer already on site, name of Perez, and he says he's already got crime scene tape in place. Can't raise anyone from CSU right now though, so it's all down to you.”

Great! Diamond thought. CSU goofing off as usual.

Okay, I should be there in ten, fifteen at the most. Has he got any witnesses?”

It was called in by a couple of kids. Wasn't sure it was genuine, but sent Perez to check it out. He confirmed it as soon as he got there. Don't think he saw the kids though.”

Alright. I'm on my way.”

He struggled out of bed, found his clothes and walked out of the front door. Heclimbed into his car and set off. As he drove he gently fingered the diamond stud in his ear. He knew he ought not be wearing it while on duty, but it was the middle of the night and he was confident none of his superiors were likely to be at the scene. He drove through the heart of the down town area; past Sam Spade's Detective Agency and the Ace of Clubs lap dancing joint. Incongruously next to that was the Vet Surgery where he and his mother had taken their puppy to be spayed many, many, years ago. It hadn't meant anything to him at the time but now he always chuckled at the name over the barber's shop which was next to that - 'The Snip Joint' – it fitted the area so well and could almost apply to the vet's. He chuckled to himself as he imagined them placing a sign in their window saying, 'Bring your bitches for cheap neutering', suspecting that it could lead to an unexpected increase in their workload. It was that sort of area and one in which he'd spent a considerable amount of his time, both on business and pleasure. Tonight though everything was quiet, almost eerily so, until he reminded himself that it was just before 4am on a midweek night. Even down town closed down on occasions. Now there was just the odd discarded party hat lying on the pavement, or shifting gently in the slight breeze, as visible evidence of the activities of a few hours ago. That is apart from a couple of drunks slumped on a bench and a tramp wrapped up in the doorway of the barber's shop.

He drove out of the down town and into one of the older residential areas. One that he remembered had in his youth, been considered to be quite upmarket with houses set back from the street and in, what had seemed then, very large plots with grassed areas around them. Of course to a kid like him who came from, almost, the other side of the tracks, they would seem large and impressive with their three levels and many rooms. His home was on one level and with just two bedrooms, one of which he'd shared with his twin younger brothers. He'd fought his way upwards from there due to his innate intelligence and physical fitness. He'd joined the local police force and after some years of beat duty, he'd finally been assigned to the detective branch. That had only happened a couple of months ago. At the time he'd thought that without the stress of being the first one to attend scenes of violence and death, the night time images would diminish. However, he still had to attend those scenes and very often view them more close up. Consequently, getting to sleep was still a problem.

He turned onto Elm Park Drive. In the middle distance he could see a cruiser parked at the curb, so he pulled in behind it and switched off his engine. Getting out of the car he saw a uniformed officer standing in front of the house. As he walked toward him he recognized the rather overweight figure of Officer Perez – a long serving guy who he knew was now nearing retirement. Diamond thought how lucky the guy was. He'd put in his twenty five or thirty years and would now have a nice pension to enjoy. A brief picture of that Caribbean beach flashed into Diamond's mind.

Hi, Perez. Where's the body?”

Hi, Detective. It's just in the front hall.”

Nobody else in the house?”

It seems to be empty. I haven't been all over though. Didn't want to mess with your crime scene.”

So no witnesses. What about these kids who phoned it in?”

Perez shrugged. “Dunno about them. Front door was open when I got here, but that might be because they were in such a hurry to leave they didn't shut it when they went. Or perhaps they saw it open, came to look around, then saw the stiff and ran off.”

Yeah. Well unless we can track the number they called it in from, I guess we're not going to find them. S'pose I best go and look.”

Diamond donned his rubber gloves and pulled on a pair of elasticated plastic slip on overshoes. Perez had fixed a strip of crime scene tape across the outside of the door frame. He lifted it and ducked underneath before pushing back the now ajar door and stepping inside. There in front of him, lying prone on the wood floor, was the body of a fully clothed man, his head away from the door and his arms stretched above his head.

Diamond assumed Perez must have checked for signs of life when he first arrived, but thought it sensible to do so himself. He moved forward and then knelt alongside the man so he could check for a pulse. As he went to do so he felt sure the corpse moved slightly, but he dismissed the thought instantaneously – that only happened in books. Then the door at the end of the hall burst open and from it emerged the other members of the detective squad. They were carrying bottles and wearing party hats.

Happy Birthday, Dick!” they chorused.

The corpse rolled onto its back and joined in the chorus.

 

 

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Something a little different to my usual offerings. Hope you enjoyed.
Copyright © 2018 Ivor Slipper; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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Chapter Comments

I'll say it's different for you--but still great!  Very 'punny' old son!  😜  😺

I hadn't thought of Benson & Hedges in decades, but it's a brand name oldies can't forget....

Edited by ColumbusGuy
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38 minutes ago, ColumbusGuy said:

I hadn't thought of Benson & Hedges in decades, but it's a brand name oldies can't forget....

It's amazing how much inappropriate advertising I was exposed to as a child. All those cigarette ads that are now banned from US TV. All the car magazines I used to read have them. Even The Advocate has them. But I don't remember The Flintstones cigarette ads. Unfortunately, I can still remember some of the jingles…

 

It's interesting that the US Department of Justice has lumped together several seemingly unrelated issues into the ATF (the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives).

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Giorgetto Giugiaro designed a series of concept cars: the Audi-Karmann Asso di Picche (1973), BMW-Karmann Asso di Quadri (1976), and the Isuzu Asso di Fiori (1979). Now if you, like me, don't speak Italian, you might wonder why the apparent non sequitur. Well, Asso di Picche is Italian for Ace of Spades, Quadri is Diamonds, and Fiori is Clubs (Cuori is the missing Hearts). Giugiaro most famously designed the DeLorean DMC-12 and the original VW Golf (Rabbit in the US and Canada). Lamborghini now owns the once independent Italdesign Giugiaro. Lamborghini (which also owns Ducati) is owned by Audi. Audi is owned by Volkwagen.

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Who has a surprise Birthday Party at 4am? It's a good thing we don't know you IRL. Instead of a corpse, you'd probably prefer a blue crystal zombie*!  ;–)

 

When did you say your birthday is?  ;–)

 

 

* a blue-tinted ice sculpture might work!

Edited by droughtquake
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2 hours ago, ColumbusGuy said:

I'll say it's different for you--but still great!  Very 'punny' old son!  😜  😺

I hadn't thought of Benson & Hedges in decades, but it's a brand name oldies can't forget....

 

Thanks CG.

 

It actually didn't start out that way, but once I'd stumbled into B&H it somewhat changed direction. :)

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2 hours ago, droughtquake said:

Who has a surprise Birthday Party at 4am? It's a good thing we don't know you IRL. Instead of a corpse, you'd probably prefer a blue crystal zombie*!  ;–)

 

When did you say your birthday is?  ;–)

 

 

* a blue-tinted ice sculpture might work!

 

My birthday is a closely guarded secret  - even the zombies don't know. :)

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2 hours ago, droughtquake said:

It's amazing how much inappropriate advertising I was exposed to as a child. All those cigarette ads that are now banned from US TV. All the car magazines I used to read have them. Even The Advocate has them. But I don't remember The Flintstones cigarette ads. Unfortunately, I can still remember some of the jingles…

 

It's interesting that the US Department of Justice has lumped together several seemingly unrelated issues into the ATF (the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives).

 

Not that illogical a grouping I'd suggest - they can all kill you¬`

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2 hours ago, droughtquake said:

Giorgetto Giugiaro designed a series of concept cars: the Audi-Karmann Asso di Picche (1973), BMW-Karmann Asso di Quadri (1976), and the Isuzu Asso di Fiori (1979). Now if you, like me, don't speak Italian, you might wonder why the apparent non sequitur. Well, Asso di Picche is Italian for Ace of Spades, Quadri is Diamonds, and Fiori is Clubs (Cuori is the missing Hearts). Giugiaro most famously designed the DeLorean DMC-12 and the original VW Golf (Rabbit in the US and Canada). Lamborghini now owns the once independent Italdesign Giugiaro. Lamborghini (which also owns Ducati) is owned by Audi. Audi is owned by Volkwagen.

 

@droughtquake  showing the lunghezza e larghezza of your knowledge.😃

  

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5 minutes ago, Ivor Slipper said:

@droughtquake  showing the lunghezza e larghezza of your knowledge.😃

I might have a wide range of knowledge, but it’s really very, very shallow (just like me!) with only occasional small areas with depth.  ;–)

 

Giugiaro is unusual in that he is one of the few well-known car designers, most toil in obscurity. He has been much more influential than nearly any other designer. He was even asked to create a prototype for Apple back in the early ‘90s, but he likes doing his designs freehand and Apple wasn’t happy with the imprecise results.  ;–)

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Surprise! That was a step away from your usual. I liked it. I think you should write a noir mystery, perhaps with your tongue stuck in your cheek! 

 

I'll even help you get started...

 

It was a gay night, perhaps one of the gayest nights I'd ever experienced in the city. It was so gay that the moths flying about the street lights were bumping into each others rears. It was so gay that the tomcats yowling in the alleys were all sopranos. One of those kind of nights where every Tom, Dick, and Harry you met on the sidewalk hurried past and averted his eyes, because he was heading to a secret rendezvous with a Tim, Rick, or Larry.

 

I'd just left Tiny's Tavern, a gin joint where the booze was cheap and the bartender friendly. I had a head on my shoulders, one much bigger than the one I normally carried about, and it was throbbing so badly I thought I might pass out. I was stepping light, trying to miss the sidewalk joints - because everyone knows that's bad luck, right? - when I felt something hard press into my rear.

 

"You Sam Steed, the private dick?"

 

I was feeling surly, and just plain not nice. "What's it to ya?"

 

"That's for me to know, and you to find out."

 

"Clever," I said. I wiggled my butt just a bit, to see if what was sticking me was a knife, because the tip would penetrate my pants and the nearly non-existent black briefs I wore underneath - but no deal. No point, nothing sharp. Not a knife then. The feeling was blunt, rounded - maybe a pistol, instead.

 

"What do you want?" I asked, biding my time.

 

"I wanna hire ya, Steed. You and your private dick." As if to accent this request, the blunt thing gave me a poke right where it counts.

 

"Ooh!" I said, gasping at the sensation. "Uh, I mean...threats won't getcha nuthin, see?"

 

"I don't wanna threaten you, Steed. I just want what's comin' to me. And you're gonna help me get it!"

 

I nodded. "Yeah? And what would that be? And if you say anything about a black boid, I'll clobber ya!"

 

 

 

There. You can carry on from there, okay? :)

 

 

 

 

 

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5 hours ago, Geron Kees said:

Surprise! That was a step away from your usual. I liked it. I think you should write a noir mystery, perhaps with your tongue stuck in your cheek! 

 

I'll even help you get started...

 

It was a gay night, perhaps one of the gayest nights I'd ever experienced in the city. It was so gay that the moths flying about the street lights were bumping into each others rears. It was so gay that the tomcats yowling in the alleys were all sopranos. One of those kind of nights where every Tom, Dick, and Harry you met on the sidewalk hurried past and averted his eyes, because he was heading to a secret rendezvous with a Tim, Rick, or Larry.

 

I'd just left Tiny's Tavern, a gin joint where the booze was cheap and the bartender friendly. I had a head on my shoulders, one much bigger than the one I normally carried about, and it was throbbing so badly I thought I might pass out. I was stepping light, trying to miss the sidewalk joints - because everyone knows that's bad luck, right? - when I felt something hard press into my rear.

 

"You Sam Steed, the private dick?"

 

I was feeling surly, and just plain not nice. "What's it to ya?"

 

"That's for me to know, and you to find out."

 

"Clever," I said. I wiggled my butt just a bit, to see if what was sticking me was a knife, because the tip would penetrate my pants and the nearly non-existent black briefs I wore underneath - but no deal. No point, nothing sharp. Not a knife then. The feeling was blunt, rounded - maybe a pistol, instead.

 

"What do you want?" I asked, biding my time.

 

"I wanna hire ya, Steed. You and your private dick." As if to accent this request, the blunt thing gave me a poke right where it counts.

 

"Ooh!" I said, gasping at the sensation. "Uh, I mean...threats won't getcha nuthin, see?"

 

"I don't wanna threaten you, Steed. I just want what's comin' to me. And you're gonna help me get it!"

 

I nodded. "Yeah? And what would that be? And if you say anything about a black boid, I'll clobber ya!"

 

 

 

There. You can carry on from there, okay? :)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wow! I'll have to pass that back to you as I know I couldn't maintain that standard.

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8 hours ago, Ivor Slipper said:

 

Wow! I'll have to pass that back to you as I know I couldn't maintain that standard.

What standard!?!?!

 

The whole point was that there wasn't one! It was a joke, son. I say, a joke!

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