Die, Mother Goose, Die

Jim Malloy

Description

When Misty rammed the ice pick in his head, she felt alive, free, and wonderful. And the best part was she had six more to do. With a sigh, her mind went to an earlier time as she squatted in the corner and sucked her thumb. Childlike tears rolled down her cheeks as she
hugged her Raggedy Ann doll and recited a Mother Goose nursery rhyme.
Mary, Mary, quite contrary.
How. . . . . .
Police Sergeant Jack Delaney and the Doom squad were stumped. The murders had no common link. He knew if they could find the motive, they would solve the case. The problem was the motive was created fifty years ago.

Sujets

• Hard-Boiled
• Detective
• Mystery
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Xlibris US
• Date de parution: 31 octobre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781669835486
• Langue: English

Extrait

Die, Mother Goose, Die






A Sgt. Delaney “Doom” Squad Novel





Jim Malloy








Copyright © 2022 by Jim Malloy.

Library of Congress Control Number:
2022912097
ISBN:
Hardcover
978-1-6698-3550-9
Softcover
978-1-6698-3549-3
eBook
978-1-6698-3548-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.




Rev. date: 10/28/2022



Xlibris
844-714-8691
www.Xlibris.com
828790



Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47

Epilogue









To my friend, Edward Trudel, whom I love and curse for starting me on this journey.


Although the actions of law enforcement in this book are fiction, at some level those not in law enforcement, I’m sure, believe that is the way it is and to those in law enforcement, at some level, I’m sure, wish that it was.


This book would not be readable without the technical and content editing by my aunt and uncle, Paul and Martha Strifer. Thank you.



BOOKS BY JIM MALLOY
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For every evil under the sun, there is a remedy or there is none. If there be one, seek till you find it. If there be none, never mind it.
Mother Goose




Chapter 1
A S MISTY LAY on her back in the soft king-size bed, she absently noticed the zigzag crack in the ceiling and thought it was unforgivable in such an expensive hotel. She hardly felt the weight of the man on top panting and grunting with his sex smell pumping in and out of her. With a small smile, she casually let her hand roam to the side of the mattress, listening to his building orgasm, and when he was about to come, she jammed the ice pick into the side of his skull and brain.
She listened to his last grunt as his sightless eyes, inches away, stared back with his dead weight pressing heavy on top of her. With disgust, she shoved, rolling his hulk aside, and climbed out of the bed, feeling the male sweat coating her skin like melted cheese. She choked back a gag as his sour odor seeped, filling her nose. Chilling to a quick shudder, she stood there, naked, looking at the fat glob of man in the rumpled sheets. Then, childlike, she cocked her head, curious, and studied his naked form now looking at the ceiling crack, thinking the wood handle of the ice pick sticking out the side of his head looked like a blunt horn. She again smiled, considering sticking one in on the other side so he would look like the devil he was.
No matter, she thought, taking a huffy breath, reaching in her overnight bag for another ice pick. She kneeled back on the mattress and gently, with her left hand, lifted his limp penis. With her right, she put the tip of the ice pick in the small opening and jammed it home to the hilt of the wood handle.
Standing back for a final look, she admired her work with a thin snicker of satisfaction before slipping into a modest cotton nightie. She rooted deeper into her bag for her favorite Raggedy Ann doll and went to the corner of the room and sat cross-legged on the floor. There, with her back to the wall, eyes far away, she began rocking back and forth, hugging her red-haired doll tight as she recited her favorite nursery rhyme.
“Rub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub,
and how do you think they got there?
The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker.
They all jumped out of a rotten potato.
‘Twas enough to make a man stare.”
Her childlike voice echoed softly, sing-songing the verse over and over, sucking her thumb as any young child, paying no mind to the tears running down her cheeks.
A while later, she stood with a huff, suddenly perturbed, and packed the Raggedy Ann away, ignoring the dead man still studying the ceiling crack.
She went into the bathroom and turned the shower hot and steamy before stepping in, relishing the burning water washing him off her. She scrubbed herself red, making sure the bathroom walls and fixtures steamed wet to eliminate any fingerprints.
Finally, feeling clean, she stepped out of the shower and rubbed her skin with the huge Turkish towel. Returning to the bedroom, she strolled over and stood in front of the vanity mirror, letting the towel fall to the floor. Cocking her head, she looked curiously at her reflection, studying the strange person looking back at her. The image of the beautiful woman looked like her, but she knew it was false because inside the covering of her skin were crawly ugly things.
She shrugged, found her cosmetic bag, and took her time carefully applying her makeup. After brushing her shoulder length hair to a flowing shine, she dressed slowly and stood back, facing the long mirror to make sure her appearance was perfect.
Then, taking a washcloth, she wiped her fingerprints from the three places she touched, the doorknob to the hall, the doorknob on the bathroom, and the cocktail glass. Finished, she glanced around for a last check, placed the enveloped card gently on the dead man’s chest, grabbed her purse and overnight bag, and stepped into the hallway, remembering to hook the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the doorknob, and left.
Walking through the hotel lobby of the Liberty Hotel, every head turned to the stunning blonde passing by.




Chapter 2
J ULIE WAS BUSY filling coffee cups for the night shift getting off and the morning shift just starting. As she waited for the magic hour of 8:00 a.m., she reminded herself she’d been waitressing at Greasy’s for four years, putting up with this police macho bullshit. Smart-ass tough guys working hard on their image of being as sensitive as a rock.
Smiling to herself, she was one who knew their secret. Under that cold copper shield was a softie ready to defend those who couldn’t defend themselves. While others ran from danger, they charged forward, the thin blue line fighting the predators scratching at the door, day and night, seven-twenty-four. Smart-ass tough guys. She loved ‘em all.
Julie was fighting the leash on forty. Twice divorced with a fifteen-year-old son, she still had a good body that turned male heads. Anyone looking would notice her tits first. Just the right size, a guy could tell they were still firm as cold Jell-O even through her waitress uniform. She knew it and, quite frankly, didn’t have a problem with the stares and the occasional remark. It was, after all, a form of flattery. But now, she was dating one of the smart-ass macho cops, and he was quick to take exception.
The tinkle of the bell on the front door broke her thoughts and she looked up to see the Doom squad, trouping in, led by their leader, Sergeant Jack Delaney. They entered single file with a certain swagger that spelled cop. Their skinny brimmed hats, well worn, were tipped back just right with a couple sporting cigarettes hanging from the side of the mouth, looking cocky.
The chatter in the crowded room rose as they primed themselves for the morning “busting of the balls”.
Delaney started the routine.
“Jezus, Stretch, maybe you outta join the circus.”
Officer Theodore (Stretch) Jones, standing six-five, was chasing a short-shit burglar through a backyard and was clotheslined. His partner, running behind, said he almost made a complete loop before falling on his ass.
“Yeah,” Pop added, “I hear they’re a couple clowns short.”
“Stretch’s too tall to be a short clown,” Breed added.
Stretch turned with a bandaged throat, giving them the finger.
Dago, behind Pop, pushed a wheelchair through the door and the joint cracked up.
“Hey, Taylor, we got this for you to even the odds.”
Officer Taylor, a tad overweight, chased a petty thief known to all as “Spokes” in a wheelchair.
He got away.
“Hey, Julie, give Taylor another platter of flapjacks, lotsa butter.”
Taylor turned, with mouth full, and also gave them the finger.
And, so it went until