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Message-ID: <30988asstr$993067806@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: writerzblocked@aol.com (Writerzblocked)
Subject: {ASSM} Harry Long, Psychic Detective  1 (mc)
Date: Wed, 20 Jun 2001 16:10:06 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


Copyright by Writerzblocked, 2000.  All rights, well, you know. Repost and
archive to your heart's content, just don't charge anyone for it or I'll have
to send Harry after you. You all know the rest of the drill by now.  I'm not
big on headers and/or labels, so anyone reposting may feel free to add whatever
MF, MM, FF stuff they think is necessary.  

This figures to be a bizarre one for ASS - not much sex, but just enough to get
me in trouble.  If you're a devout Catholic, you might want to skip this one,
OTOH, if you're a devout Catholic, what are you doing reading this newsgroup in
the first place?  It's not necessarily erotic, but more of a character study of
people you probably would never really want to meet in the first place...

CHAPTER 1

"Are you on the internet AGAIN old man?  I'm really starting to wonder about
you. It's a good thing you installed that internet answering machine I sent
you."   

"Anyway, I really need the help on this one.  Since you haven't called in
months, I'm gonna assume you lost my number. Call me on the cell phone,
555-4709.  And please get back to me ASAP.  This one could mean a promotion. 
Thanks."

Humph!  That voice.  555-4709.  Hmm.  Sounds like one of those numbers you hear
in the videos, not a regular phone number.  Doesn't seem familiar.  But the
voice...haven't heard that one in quite a while.  Sounded nice, though.  Kinda
like the ones on those sexy web sites, but different.  More real, maybe?  I
dunno anymore.  Since Chance logged off, there is no one left in the room
anyway, so what the hell...

I hate logging off.  Seems the moment I do, I get another annoying phone call. 
Luckily I turn the ringer off, so I don't have to deal with 'em.  Damned
salespeople with their tricks.  And their sly, suave, sultry voices, trying to
get me to do this or that, to switch long distance numbers or buy more life
insurance or more medicine.  But I never let 'em get far enough anymore.  I
learned my lesson a long time ago.  No one can sell me anything anymore.  I
don't even remember installing that internet answering machine. I guess I can
always get rid of it if it gets too annoying.

But that voice...

Why I pick up the phone, I don't know, but I dial the number anyway.

"Hello?"
"Hey, did you just call me?"
"Hey, old man!  Thank God, you called."
"Who is this?"

Silence.

"Oh, Lord, you're not taking your meds, are you?"
"No, I don't see why I should.  I'm much happier without 'em."
"You stay right there, I'm coming right over."
"No, I don't want anyone over."
"Just sit tight, I'm about ten minutes away."
"Don't.  I really don't need..."

Click.

Well, that didn't go too well, I don't think.  Now I'll have someone else at
the door trying to sell me something.  But it's OK, I've got plenty of locks. 
Now, maybe Chance has come back.  Or Genny.  I really like talking to her. I
bet she has a great body...

"C'mon, old man!  Open up!"  
"Go away!!"
"If you don't open this door in the next two minutes, Harry, I'm going to have
to call a unit here to break it down.  You don't want that, do you?"
"I don't want to be bothered with anyone.  Please, go away!"
"If I have to break it down, it's going to stay broken, and anyone is going to
be able to come in and bother you.  Do you really want that?"
"Please, go away.  I don't want to buy anything."
"OK, Harry, but I'm coming back with a unit and an ambulance."

Seems my timing just stinks nowadays. I'm just about to download a picture of
Genny she sent me when I hear a loud crash from the door and I look around just
in time to see a bunch of police officers and some guys in white coming through
the door.  Right in front of them is a fairly cute woman in her late '20s, with
short red hair, wearing a pantsuit.  She looks kinda familiar, but I don't have
much time to try and place her before the guys in white get to me.  It isn't
Genny, though. I'd bet on that.  I don't think Genny wears a badge.

Last thing I remember, the guys in white are taking out needles and I don't
even have time to tell the rest of the room I'm leaving.  I don't like that at
all. That's kinda rude, and I'm nothing if not a nice guy.

"Do you think he'll be OK?"
"I don't see why not.  From what you showed me, I'd say he only missed a month
or so.  The doctor has countered with increased dosages over the past day and a
half he's been here."
"I should have checked up on him more often. I know he'd become more and more
withdrawn, but I had no idea he was living like that.  His neighbors said
they'd never seen him even step outside in over a month."
"Well, some people need less interaction than others..."
"I guess so.  I didn't know you could get so much accomplished over the
Internet nowadays.  Groceries, videos, he had everything arranged and
delivered. He never HAD to go outside."

At least I wasn't dead, even if they were talking about me as if I was.  I
opened one eye and glanced around the room.  Agent Grummond was talking to a
blonde nurse who was spilling out of her uniform in every direction but up.  I
shuddered and thought about closing it back up, but decided to focus on the
fact that I was, indeed, still very much alive.

"Ahem."  

"So, Mr. Long, how are you feeling this morning?"  The white whale speaketh.  I
tried my best not to look at her, but was too weak to resist.  So I tried to
deflect the impulse orally. 

"Is that always the first question you people ask?"   
"No, it's usually something like 'Do you want it in your arm or your butt?'"

That did it.  Sarcastic as well as self-destructive.  Such language from a
nurse.  No more doughnuts for you, girlfriend.

"Ha Ha Ha.  You can go now."
"Not until I take your vital signs, sir.  Doctor's orders."

What the hell.  I sure don't know how to take 'em.  I offered my arm.

"Do your worst."
"I plan to."  She smiled.

God, I love this woman.  In a few months, when she's down to a size 14 or so
and I can actually stand to look at her, maybe I'll find my way back here.

As soon as she finished her business, I waved my hand nonchalantly and
repeated.

"You can go now."
"OK, My Lord, but only if you promise to behave yourself around the FBI agent."


Ooh, definitely going to find my way back here.  Back to this very bed, maybe. 


"Oh, I can take care of myself," interrupted the detective in question.
"OK, but if you need me, call me back and I'll..."
"...sit on him?" I inquired?

That got a nasty look from both women, but it achieved the desired effect. 
Leaving a wake in the sterile air of the room,  Moby Dick took her exit.  

"I really don't know why I bother with you, old man."
"Neither do I.  You should've left me alone where I was happy."

She suddenly moved closer to the bed and gave me a peck on the cheek.

"You know I can't do that.  I just should've kept a closer eye on you.  I've
just been so busy with work and..."

She hesitated. "You can't be happy living like that."

I pulled away to the other side of the bed, my hands pulling the sheets up
between us and looked away from her, out the window.  There was a magnificent
view of the side of the next building there.  It was a brick building, the kind
where the rows of bricks alternate.  It seemed like very new construction.  I
started counting...

"But I was.  The happiest I've been my entire, miserable life."
"But to shut yourself off completely?  You may as well have been in Tibet...

In the third row from the bottom, one of the bricks, the fifth from the left in
my view from the window, was stained.  I could barely make it out.

"You forget, I've already been to Tibet.  Too crowded."

I could hear her moving away from the bed.  I concentrated on the stain.  It
seemed out of place. 

"I...I need your help"  She asked finally.

Not long ago, two boys were playing catch near that wall.  One of them missed
the ball and it landed against the wall.  While going to retrieve the ball, one
of them slipped on the grass and banged his head against the wall.  He fell,
slumping to the wet grass.  His companion ran to him and waved his arms,
shouting frantically.  It was a hospital, after all...

"Did you hear me?"

...several orderlies ran outside, and attempted to assist.  Blood was
everywhere.  The boy was eventually moved from the spot and into the hospital.
Rain cleaned the grass.  But not the stain on the wall...

"Harry, you sure you're OK?"
"No, I'm not OK.  You know that."
"But you seemed out of it for a moment."
"There's a blood stain on that wall over there."

I could sense her walking around the bed.  "Is it something I need to look
into?"

I sighed.  "No, it's been taken care of.  I expect he was OK."

I could see her at the foot of the bed staring out of the window, then at me.

"I need to borrow you for a while, old man."
"So I assume.  What is it this time?  Murder?  Kidnapping?  You know I don't do
rapes anymore."
I immediately bit down hard.

She frowned.  "Was that supposed to be funny?"

I turned back toward the window and rubbed my temples with my right hand.  "Of
course not.  Bad phrasing."

Damned meds.  Not for the first or last time, I wished I was back in my room in
front of my computer.  Even if it WAS a different me.

"I meant, of course, that I don't do rape cases anymore."
"And I wouldn't think of asking you to. It's a murder.  A pretty high-profile
murder."

She hesitated.  "It could finally mean a promotion."

I smiled sardonically.  Her turn to be uncomfortable.  "I figured it had to be
pretty important for you to finally give me a call."
Yeah, it was dirty pool, but dammit, I really didn't like this particular me
all that much.

She saw it coming.  "OK, so now I'm the bad guy?  It's not like you don't have
MY number."  At times like this, she certainly wore that red hair well.

I shrugged.  "As a matter of fact, I don't, or didn't until you left that last
message.  I remember trying once before I finally stopped the meds but getting
the typical company voice mail 'This number is no longer in service' message. 
I assume you had it changed after the divorce."

She stopped for a moment in thought.  "I could've sworn I gave you my cell
phone number."

I shook my head, but smiled softly.  "You didn't even answer the e-mails, did
you?"

She put her hand to her head and turned towards the door and for a moment, I
actually thought she might cry.  But she wasn't made of that kind of stuff -
neither of us was, at least when I was on the meds.  The other me cried quite a
bit, actually.  It was him who finally took control enough to recognize that
nothing good was coming of this.

"Enough of that. Tell me about this murder case."

At that, she turned back around and her eyes lit up.  

"It's the Archbishop Delgado murder."

Even the other me couldn't have avoided that one.  It had entire chat rooms
devoted to it.  Archbishop Delgado was the head of the Roman Catholic Church in
South Texas and a good bet to eventually become a Cardinal.  He'd been found
stabbed to death in his bed about a month ago.  It was an especially brutal and
messy crime.  According to most reports, he'd been stabbed in excess of fifty
times over all portions of his body.  Though the Church had done its best to
stamp out the rumors, it was reported that the coroner had initially ruled that
there were several assailants.  The investigation had gone slowly and
deliberately until the FBI was finally called in to help because of the nature
of the crime and the importance of the victim.

"I thought they finally had a suspect?"

She shook her head.  "We have several suspects, but the one we like best for it
is not cooperating."

"So, where do I fit in?"
"The Church will probably be unwilling to let you into the crime scene, but we
have confiscated the murder weapons that were left at the scene."
"WEAPONS, plural?"

She hesitated again, chewing on her lower lip.  "Yeah, all four of them."

I turned again toward the window and the opposing wall.  The blood stain seemed
brighter, somehow.  I'd been around Nancy enough to know the other shoe was yet
to drop.  "And the rest of it..."

"All our suspects are nuns."


"Write what you want, how you want, and don't worry about the rest of the
world.  If you do it long enough, eventually they'll catch up."

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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