Tag Archives: Serial

How Johnny had drawn it, nobody knew. How it looked so real was equally unanswered. It might have appeared as if the Sistine Chapel had lost one of its angels to the cement platform at Lexington Station … if it … Continue reading →

“Sorry for that, Johnny,” the chief said of his detective. “Barrister’s high and mighty about himself, thinks everyone else is a buffoon, particular about who touches what … but you’ll be fine, Johnny … no worry. You ready?” “… Ready … Continue reading →

“Didn’t have them turn the train off already?” the chief asked. “Oh … it’s you, chef,” Barrister said, pronouncing it with a hard “ch” like in the “chosen one,” and called him that in reference to a barbecue where the … Continue reading →

The entrance to the crime scene, the weathered and worn cement steps leading down to the subway at Lexington Station, smelling of warm blacktop and a hint of urine, and having signs of stale gum and being spat upon, was … Continue reading →

Johnny hadn’t moved a muscle in either leg. “I … I can do that,” he said, still ogling at the chief’s crime board as he studiously traced the white outline in the photo with the tip of his finger. “Do what?” “The chalk,” Johnny answered. … Continue reading →

The next day was an avid morning at the house. Johnny bundled his dad out the door and into the car, leaving behind an unattended mug of coffee to fill the void between his mom and younger sister at the … Continue reading →

The next day, Johnny’s dad brought him to meet the chief. Anxious and distracted by what would follow, Johnny’s father had forgotten that he’d pinned up Johnny’s wanted poster the previous day, and for but a second was clueless as … Continue reading →

Johnny’s father stood in front of his opened dresser drawer in his room, and stared at his collection of primitive wanted posters his precious boy had given to him over the years. It amounted to a small book, but the … Continue reading →

After the breaks had mended, it was months of therapy to get his body working again. For a time in the healing process, Johnny had used his grandfather’s old squeaky wheelchair. It had squeaked more than ever, but Johnny didn’t … Continue reading →