Flash-Fiction: Day 66: (Play with Perspective) Donnelly, P. I.

It was a cold day in November when I came across that body outside in the icy ground.  There was blood staining the snow.  The march of the drummer beat on in my head, as I closed the eyes of the victim.  The M. E. said it was a homicide.  I knew something was up the other night when I came out of the bar of Burdick Street.  I could feel it in the bones, aside from the cold eating away at my senses.

I could feel that my friend Telly wasn’t feeling up to par when he took a ride with a friend last night, going home from the bar.  The questions that went through my mind were how did he get in the cradle of death?  Who was the one who did it?  That’s where evidence usually comes into play.  I’m just a simple P. I. Rodney Styles is the name.  Fetching is my game.  Getting results is the key to resolving any puzzle.  Well, really, it’s the evidence that brings this calamity all together.

Walking up to the detectives, I kneeled down next to the victim, and, asked, “What have you got for me today, boys?”

“Don’t know yet.  But we recovered the vic’s wallet with only matches, and a receipt.  No I. D.,” said Geo who carefully inspected the slip of articles with his gloved hands, and placed them into a plastic bag.

“I know the victim.  The I. D. here isn’t the problem, boys.  His name is Telly Styles.  I saw him come out of the Weston’s Bar on Burdick Street last night.  When I approached him, and asked him if he was alright, he only told me he was tired from a long day of work.  He got into a car with some friends.  They took off down the street in a hurry.  But I didn’t think anything like this would happen to him.  However something in my gut didn’t feel right about him,” I told the detectives, as they gazed up at me from where they squatted on the ground next to the victim.

I asked Geo if I could have a gander at the receipt to gather information to find out where my friend went, but I was told, “You’re too close to this case, my friend.  However, judging from the receipt, it looks like he stopped at Briar’s Deli at 1 a. m.”

The M. E. said, “Based on the body itself, I’d say he was killed at least within the time frame shortly after that.  I know more when I get him back into the lab.”

I headed back to the East Side where my office is located.  Getting out of my car, I entered the building.  My office was on the third floor.  There was a woman waiting for me outside of my office.  She said her name was Dallas.  “Are you Mr. Donnelly, the private investigator here?”  She asked while playing around with the strap of her purse that was slung over her shoulder.

“Yes, ma’am, I am.  Why don’t you follow me into my office where we can talk some more,” I said, as I inserted the key into the lock and turned it.

© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2015


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