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copyrighted image by award winning photographer -Steven Slack
“That year, Zeus runs in the United States. Franks being a half-assed trainer, shows mediocre results. Finished eleventh two weeks earlier. Zeus is going to run at Bellemont. He makes the second race, and wins by four lengths and pays one-hundred and sixteen dollars. Ol’ Cash heads for the fifty-dollar window at the clubhouse. He has fifteen hundred dollars in win tickets, plus six hundred dollars to show. He walks away with eighty-thousand dollars in winnings.”
“If I were a betting man, I’d bet that Justine Calloway and Ziggy Franks made a killin’ making an off-track bet,” Orrin said.
“That’s my point. If Tripod is a dead-ringer to Cash’s horse. He could collect another mountain of money off the insurance company, but only if Tripod dies.”
“Then I reckon I better get a little surprise ready for them when they come,” Orrin said, with a grin.
Later, Orrin takes Tripod’s horse blanket and dusts a powder from the Stinging Tree branches and leaves. Orrin knows it will enrage the horse. But he has to do that to save his life.
Two nights later, Cash shows up to the stable in a truck, pulling a horse trailer. Ziggy Franks is behind the wheel.
“I’ve been thinking about that horse I sold you a couple of years back. I’ll tell you true, I’ve been missing that horse. I’ll pay you fifty dollars to get that horse back,” Cash said.
“He’s not for sale,” Orrin said.
“Maybe this will help change your mind,” Cash said, producing a revolver. “The only reason that horse is still alive is that he has value to me. I can’t say the same for you.”
Ziggy Franks entered Tripod’s stall, and placed the bridle in his mouth. Backing him out, leading him out of the barn into the trailer. Cash wadded the money into a ball and threw it into Orrin’s face.
“If you don’t keep your mouth shut, you’ll end up in the same dog food processing plant as your horse.”
“If you’re going to transport him in a trailer, put on his blanket…keeps him from getting fussy,” Orrin said offhandedly.
Cash slipped the revolver into his coat pocket, grabbed the horse blanket and headed for the trailer. Thirty seconds after he threw the blanket on Tripod’s back, he bucked when the shock of the hairs embedding themselves in his back. The more it hurt, the more he fought. It took less than ten seconds for Tripod to kick Cash and Ziggy to death.
This has been a month long journey with the A to Z challenge. Each day the letter is the prompt for my short stories themed: “Thirty Ways to Kill …”
And keep on the lookout for my upcoming novel – “Lifeblood of the Dragon.” Lifeblood is set in the seedy alleys of post-war Los Angeles. The morgue is full more often than not. Cameo appearances by the well known gangster Mickey Cohen and his goons.
Thanks to each of you for your input. This has helped us (friends of Steve) in our decision making as we publish and also put some of his stories in TV or radio series. He thanks each of you!!
Orrin Crear worked as a stable hand at a ranch that produced champions. He had a gift for choosing winners. Bookies paid him money for tips on horses.
“Crear was always right.” They said.
Cash Dakuten was a breeder who travelled the world looking for the best. One foal in his stable was born with a deformed rear foot. He ordered Orrin to put him down. Instead, Orrin signed paper and paid two-dollars for the cripple. Orrin named the colt Tripod. Each day he would walk Tripod then after cooling him down he’d massage his foot and rub Hyjonda Conqueror’s root on his leg. At night he would pray to Saint Lazarus.
“Don’t you worry none, just let Saint Lazarus do his work,” Orrin purred.
As a yearling, Orrin started trotting Tripod. In another three months, Tripod was cantering. At By the end of the season, he was ready to run on the track.
“He rides like the wind. I shouldn’t say anything, but your hoarse is the spitting image of the one Cash Dakuten’s got. He finds out you got him, he’ll be down here to steal him from you,” Phil the jockey warned.
“I bought him fair and square from Mr. Dakuten for two dollars on the barrel head. I got a bill of sale signed by him. He can think what he wants. Tripod ain’t for sale!” Orrin said.
“I heard last year he goes down to Brazil and buys two horses different from salt and pepper. Zeus is four years old and won no race he’s been in. He earned seven hundred and change the first year he runs. I hear Cash buys him for twelve hundred dollars. The other horse he buys named Jupiter, a world-class sprinter. A winner of seven out of eight this year. He lost by a nose to Starlight, the Pan American Champion his last time out. He plunks down eighty-five thousand dollars and has both shipped back here. The thing most people find odd is those horses are identical.”
That night Cash was on a ship headed to New York. He sent a cable to Ziggy Franks, a has-been trainer who gets a Western Union Check for Ten thousand dollars. Franks hooks up with a multi-millionaire named Justine Calloway, who lives in Bayshore, NJ. He arranges the sale, sight unseen for two-hundred and fifty thousand bucks. They shipped both horses to Calloway’s farm. The night both horses arrive, Jupiter dies of croup. Before they report it to the insurance company, they whisked away Jupiter to the dog food factory. Calloway collects on a two-hundred-thousand-dollar insurance policy.”
What happened to the other horse… Zeus?” Orrin asked.
Part two of story tomorrow: Zeus
This is a month long journey with the A to Z challenge. Each day the letter is the prompt for my short stories themed: “Thirty Ways to Kill …”
And keep on the lookout for my upcoming novel – “Lifeblood of the Dragon.” Lifeblood is set in the seedy alleys of post-war Los Angeles. The morgue is full more often than not. Cameo appearances by the well known gangster Mickey Cohen and his goons.
I’m Andy Kali. I work as a bartender on the strip. I like my job; tips are great and the people are mostly…
To the right of my station is the Craps table. If you like people watching, Craps is solid entertainment. It’s a simple game – really. You put down money it goes away; you play it safe you may come away with some bills in your wallet. If you’re an adrenaline junkie, you can make all the crazy bets you want. And if you think you can win, you might be right, but the gods of luck rarely make that happen.
There are customers who play hard and make bets that would bankrupt small countries. One such gambler is Texas oilman Johnny Quinn. He’s a giant of a man at six foot seven He makes bets, throws the bones and wins. He whoops and hollers. He hits us for over hundred-grand a week. I’ve learned that the fastest way to get the attention at the casino is by being a Johnny Quinn.
One girl who works here is a floor server who fills in at the coat-check. She’s the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Her name is Jayna Lau. Her coal-black, straight hair cascades down her back and her dark brown eyes are captivating.
One night she stopped by my bar on her break to pick up a coke. I was glued on the action at the table.
“Hey! Who does a girl have to kill around here to get a coke?” She snapped.
“Sorry, I said. I guess I get caught up in the tables,” I was caught off guard.
“I’d keep my eye on that shit-kicker if I were you.” She pointed to the big guy.
“Why?”
“He’s too lucky. He’s hit sevens on his first toss of the bones every time. There’s a 6.2 to 1 odd that he’s going to hit a seven. He hits a seven every time on his first toss,” she said.
“I don’t know enough to know what to look for. Where’d you learn so much about the game?” I asked.
“China. I used to work at the Big Six casino in Macau. I dealt the Baccarat and Craps tables. In China, if they suspect your cheating, they take you into a back room and mark your face or cut a couple of fingers off. If they catch you cheating, they’ll take you on a tour of the South China Sea and toss you overboard.” She smiled.
“Sounds like a rough game. I’d like to get a spot at the table as the dealer. But I don’t know enough about it yet,” I said.
“You rake in more money in tips as a bartender. If you tell me your name, maybe I can teach you craps, and you can teach me how to make a drink,” she winked.
“Andy,”
“Jayna, she thrust out her hand and gave me a smile that made me melt. What’s your schedule look like?”
“Mornings free, Saturday is my night off.”
“Me too. I’m a full-time student at UNLV. I’m on holiday break. Let’s hang out on Saturday,”
“I’m all in,” I smiled. “What’s your major?”
“Entomology,”
“Ants?”
“Close, insects. I’m fascinated with arachnids and scorpions.”
“Promise me you won’t bring any of your specimens on Saturday.”
“Most of them aren’t any near as dangerous as you think. A scorpion only uses venom to capture food. The venom neutralizes prey and starts the digestion process. ”
“If it’s all the same, I’ll carry my Benadryl.”
“There are spiders and scorpions that are so toxic, you’ll croak before you can take your Benadryl,” she smiled. “Here’s my phone number.” She walked away.
I watched her glide across the floor. She glanced back and caught me watching her.
Saturday took long coming. Jayna showed up at my door and looked great.
“You told me you wanted to learn how to play Craps.”
“I do. I think being a dealer at the table would be exciting.”
“The excitement wears off somewhere around the hundredth game. Then it’s just a job. I can teach you in a couple of weeks.”
“Sounds like I have a lot to learn.”
“I’ve been watching your friend play. He cheats.”
“How does he do it?”
“Not every player cheats alone. I think the dealer is in collusion with him. Every time he wins by throwing a seven. He cheats one time after thirty throws. That’s when he makes big bets.”
This is a month long journey with the A to Z challenge. Each day the letter is the prompt for my short stories themed: “Thirty Ways to Kill …”
And keep on the lookout for my upcoming novel – “Lifeblood of the Dragon.” Lifeblood is set in the seedy alleys of post-war Los Angeles. The morgue is full more often than not. Cameo appearances by the well known gangster Mickey Cohen and his goons.
many thanks to my editor: Leslie Moon aka Moondustwriter
Dolores had been married to William Fletcher for ten years. She seldom lost her temper but her rage once resurrected was like the fury of a Scottish ghost. William was a reserved man exhibiting occasional spells of passion. This lack of real love was annoying, but Dolores never complained.
Dolores, out of boredom and in want of a child, would take long walks in the countryside. One bright sunny day, she saw William picking a bouquet of wildflowers. She blushed and ran home hoping that it might lead to an afternoon lovemaking. Willian returned to the cabin several hours later, exhausted, and ambled off to bed.
Two weeks later, Dolores watched William picking another bouquet of wildflowers. He seemed to have a cheery disposition and a spring in his step. Staying out of sight, she followed him up the lane to a widow’s cottage. The widow accepted the flowers, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Dolores sat on a log heartbroken, trying to think about what she was going to do. The more she thought, the angrier she became. She called her childhood friend Molly Figgins, who still lived in Scotland.
“Hello,” a mild, high-pitched voice came over the receiver.
“Molly, this is Dolores in America.”
“Is anything wrong?” Molly asked.
“I need to hear a friend’s voice from home.”
“Is William well?” She asked.
Dolores could feel the heat of anger boiling in her blood.
“Aye, he and his mistress are just fine.”
“A scoundrel!” Molly spat.
“Aye, I discovered his indiscretion today.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Remember when we were girls and we used to read the poetry of David Mallet?”
“Yes, I do. I remembered you were always fond of William and Margaret.”
“Aye, I remember too. I must admit missing Corn Cockle the most.”
“Do you have a garden?”
“Aye, a bonny one. If I say so myself.”
“After a travesty like the one you just experienced, nothing will set you straight faster than a reminder of Scotland. I’ll pop a package in the mail. It should be there within a week.”
“I appreciate your friendship as always.”
“It’s the least I can do to cheer up my best friend.”
A week later, a small parcel arrived at Dolores’s door. She opened it and found a bag of dark seeds and a pair of rubber gloves. An hour later, she had mixed the seeds with a large bag of birdseed, and poured the mixture into the feeder.
Springtime arrived. A new aqua marine wildflower no one had ever seen bloomed in the grassy fields around the cottage.
It wasn’t long before William noticed the beautiful blossoms growing along the path to his mistress’s bedroom. William plucked an enormous bouquet and presented them to his lover. That night, Willian did not return home. On his second day missing, Dolores reported his absence to the Constables. Four days later, the postal delivery officer described a foul smell coming from his mistress’ hut. The patrolman found the two of them lying in each other’s arms. The Detectives believed it was a suicide pact between the two lovers. No one noticed the garland of Corn Cockle in the vase on the nightstand next to the bed. As sure as the grim ghost came from the east of Scotland, the birds ate the birdseed and deposited the seeds in the fields. Agrostemma Githago was the most poisonous wildflower in Scotland. Human contact with the stems, leave, or flowers would cause imminent death.
This is a month long journey with the A to Z challenge. Each day the letter is the prompt for my short stories themed: “Thirty Ways to Kill …”
And keep on the lookout for my upcoming novel – “Lifeblood of the Dragon.” Lifeblood is set in the seedy alleys of post-war Los Angeles. The morgue is full more often than not. Cameo appearances by the well known gangster Mickey Cohen and his goons.
many thanks to my editor: Leslie Moon aka Moondustwriter
Part 2:
“Stories and tales, “ Junaid spit.
He tore away the carpet and clammored down the stairs. I followed out of curiosity. I saw the seal of King Sennacherib. Several men used rods to lever the slab. Junaid wiggled through an opening. Shining a torch into the tomb, he saw clay-casks, overflowing with gold.
“Praise Allah, we have found the treasure!”
I quietly walked back up the stone stairs as more men descended. I could hear their revelry as they jumped into the crypt to claim their prize.
“What is this?” I heard Junaid scream.
Another scream, “my skin feels as if it wants to peel away from my body.”
I heard more screams.
The ancient guard had covered the gold with anthrax spores. All the men had dropped into a cavern of death.
I filled the cavern with as much dirt and sand. I filled the hole with stones.
I went to one of the lorries and inside was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I cut her loose from the rope that bound her. Not able to return to my dwelling I took her to the unused hut belonging to my grandparents. I gave her wine and dates and gave her a rug to sleep on.
I removed every trace of the men who had disturbed my home. I sold the lorries to a man in the village next to mine. The woman was glad to be free and gratefully became my wife. In July, we had two fine boys. Both my sons will someday guard the king.
This is a month long journey with the A to Z challenge. Each day the letter is the prompt for my short stories themed: “Thirty Ways to Kill …”
And keep on the lookout for my upcoming novel – “Lifeblood of the Dragon.” Lifeblood is set in the seedy alleys of post-war Los Angeles. The morgue is full more often than not. Cameo appearances by the well known gangster Mickey Cohen and his goons.
many thanks to my friend and editor ~ Leslie Moon aka Moondustwriter
A call was made to a man known as ‘Jack.’
“Hello?”
“Hello, Jack. I was thinking of taking a stroll in the park. It’s lovely weather, care to join me?”
“One thirty, the usual spot.” The line went dead.
Sir Basil sat on a park bench on the east end of Saint James Park. Jack’s real name was Percy Roland. He was a retired member of Special Branch. A discrete member of the old boys’ fraternity. Always willing to do little errands for an old chum.
“You look well,” Basil extended his hand.
“As well as one can be when retired,” Jack huffed.
“Let’s walk.”
They walked along the trail where Great George Street intersects with Horse Guards Road. “Someone’s preparing to put the arm on me,” Sir Basil said.
“Do we know who’s involved?”
“I’ve been involved in a fling. The woman I’m seeing lets a room to a lodger. She claims he’s a South African. She found some negatives on her carpet. Said her roommate was seen scurrying around on his hands and knees trying to find something he dropped. The negative was from a Minox—.”
“Do you think this bloke is a spy?”
“I don’t know enough yet to make an educated guess. That’s why I called you,” Sir Basil reached in his pocket and handed Percy a thick, sealed envelope. “All the information I could get is right here. Driving license, passport, both names. She told me she’s known him since she was a child. There’s twenty-thousand pounds and a first-class, round-trip ticket to Cape Town. There’s the number of one of our agents who works at the embassy. He has been relieved of his assignments to render any assistance you might need. He can supply anything the South Africans have.”
“Ruddy good of you. Thank you. I should be back in a week or so. Ring me up if you find anything else.”
“Of course. Good hunting,”
Fifteen days later, Sir Basil received an anniversary card in the mail. Signed by Jack. He picked up the phone and dialed the number.
It rang twice, “Hello.”
“How was your fishing expedition?”
“Interesting to say the least. I’d love to tell you all about it. Our usual spot at say two sharp?”
“I hope you hooked a whooper. I’ll love to hear all about it. See you there.”
Sir Basil was waiting at the same spot.
“Let’s take a stroll. The bad news is taken better if you’re standing up,” Jack said.
“I checked on our friend. Everything I found was routine… too normal. I found an arrest for public drinking. I reached out to one of my old mates who was from Rhodesia. He checked his files…Something awkward reared its ugly head.”
“Awkward? Do tell.”
“It seems that Stephen Cole’s real name is Arkadi Petrolav. I was able to learn that he’s a disgraced member of the East Germans HVA. Reported directly to Markus Wolf. As best as I could tell, he’s originally from Belarus. It’s no surprise to me that the fingerprints on file in South Africa were different than the set the Rhodesians had.”
“What do you think he’s after?”
“I’d say he’s trying to flip you to their side and get back in the graces of his old handler. Maybe a bit of blackmail. I checked against what the Rhodians told me and I checked our files. He was involved in three assignations after the second war.”
“Good work. How long do you think Arkadi’s been out-of-the-game?”
“At least fifteen years. I found out about the woman. They’re related; she’s his niece. She is from Chechnya. A beauty queen that took third in ‘Miss Europe.’ Her real name is Ruth Kuczynski. I read an intelligence file that she had an affair with Colonel Vitali Yurchenko. The relationship ended suddenly when Yurchenko took cyanide.”
“Oh, dear,” Sir Basil moaned.
“Both of these subjects are experienced, trained intelligence agents. If I had to decide on what to do, I’d insist that it contained a lethal option.”
“You’re right, of course. We can make a case of a conspiracy. The option will apply to both. I can lure Devon, or whatever her name really is, back to the Maldives for a three-day holiday.”
“Tell me when and I’ll collect some help and be on with it.”
Two weeks later, during the Christmas holiday, Steven Cole was accidentally struck in a crosswalk by a hit and run driver.
In the Maldives, Devon was killed while painting her fingernails. The police investigating the case listed it as suspicious, yet undetermined cause. They failed to check the desk lamp for the source of the TCCD that caused her death. TCCD is 170,00 times more poisonous than cyanide.
All the recording devices she had installed were discovered and removed. As a safety measure, Devon’s flat was burnt to the ground.
The link to the first part of this story: The Other Woman
This is a month long journey with the A to Z challenge. Each day the letter is the prompt for my short stories themed: “Thirty Ways to Kill …”
And keep on the lookout for my upcoming novel – “Lifeblood of the Dragon.” Lifeblood is set in the seedy alleys of post-war Los Angeles. The morgue is full more often than not. Cameo appearances by the well known gangster Mickey Cohen and his goons.
many thanks to my editor: Leslie Moon aka Moondustwriter
A black Jaguar with dark tinted windows was parked in the underground garage of a downtown London office. The chauffeur was standing in front of the car, smoking a cigarette. An attractive, twenty-something stepped off the elevator, looked around, making sure she wasn’t being watched. She made a beeline for the Jag.
The chauffeur scanned the car park, looked at her and gave a slight smile. She opened the rear door, and without saying a word, stepped into the rear passenger compartment.
“Thank you for meeting me on such short notice,” Basil said.
The woman shook out her long blond hair, leaned over, and kissed him.
“I hope you have missed me as much as I’ve missed you,” Devon flashed a wicked smile.
“I’d like to talk to you about that negatives you found. Where did you say you found it?” Basil asked.
“In the hallway of my flat,” Devon frowned.
“From the size of the negative, it’s from a Mino; that’s a spy camera. It looks like the bungalow where we stayed in the Maldives,” Sir Basil coughed.
“Basil there’s only one explanation. I found the negatives on the carpet outside of my lodger’s makeshift darkroom. I noticed him searching on his hands and knees looking for something. When I asked him what he was looking for, he told me he’d lost a screw from his glasses. He declined my offer to help.”
“Where did you say he was from?”
“South Africa. I’ve known him all my life.”
“I’m going to ask a friend to make some discrete inquiries. There may be more to your friend Stephen than meets the eye.”
“He’s a nice old man. Promise me you won’t do anything rash,” Devon looked worried.
“If he’s taking photographs of me, he’s angling on blackmail. Then, darling, he’s not a nice old man,” Sir Basil said. “I hope my wife doesn’t find out.”
“I just don’t want you to hurt him is all—.”
“And you’re sure he hasn’t hinted at anything?”
“No, I can’t think of anything,”
“Then we’ll have to wait for him to make his pitch.”
“I need to see you,” she said, moving next to him.
“And I you.” He smiled.
“I’d better get back before I’m missed.” She leaned over and gave him a passionate kiss.
“I’ve got an appointment with the foreign minister. Let’s plan to have dinner at my club on Thursday.”
“I’ll make sure I’m free. Ciao baby,” she winked.
Basil watched her as she intentionally sauntered for his enjoyment. The elevator door started to close. She gave him a little wave.
The driver asked, “Where to Minister?”
“Let’s stop at a discrete phone box. Something’s come up.”
“Right away, Sir Basil.”
*
Tomorrow’s end to the story: A Walk in the Park
This is a month long journey with the A to Z challenge. Each day the letter is the prompt for my short stories themed: “Thirty Ways to Kill …”
And keep on the lookout for my upcoming novel – “Lifeblood of the Dragon.” Lifeblood is set in the seedy alleys of post-war Los Angeles. The morgue is full more often than not. Cameo appearances by the well known gangster Mickey Cohen and his goons.
I had discovered that Shiro was going to be giving a lecture at the local Medical School. I would use this opportunity to assassinate the Doctor. The previous me would leave old blood at the scene of his death creating a false trail for the police to follow. Then the plan was to molt my old-skin and turn into someone that could not physically be connected with the murder.
My weapon of choice was a rusty, ice climbing ax. Imagine a long arching hook for grasping the ice; the other side equipped with a well-honed, sharp point. Quiet, efficient, and deadly. I was sure Dr. Shiro would get the point.
The planned location of the attack was two blocks from the lab. The urban concentration would allow me to use the rooftops to aid in my escape. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop would allow me to cover the two blocks in seven minutes. Have the procedure and be a newly minted human being before the police conducted the investigation. I smiled at the thought of them chasing their tails.
I even chose the weather pattern; there would be an off-shore wind. I planned to remove my clothing and stuff it into a waterproof bag. The bag would be attached to a weather balloon. I’d stuff blood-soaked clothing into the bag and release the balloon into the off-shore breeze. It would carry it many miles out to sea. I would be a “altered” by the time it disappeared into the Pacific Ocean.
I traveled the route several times both day and night and knew it by heart. The only thing was to wait for the guest of honor to arrive. I hoped he was not too old to realize the work I’d put into planning his demise. I’m sure it’s more that he had put into my father’s.
The day finally arrived. I donned janitor coveralls and coated the water pitcher on the podium with a film of Ipecac Syrup. He’d immediately feel nauseated and head for the bathroom. That’s where I’d be waiting. I knew he’d start to get sick four minutes after his first sip of water. I watched the monitor in the hall. I saw him take the first sip of water and pressed the countdown timer on my watch. I futzed around wiping the area down with alcohol, obliterating any fingerprints. He walked in, moving quickly to one of the stalls. I placed an out-of-order sign on the door and lock it. I removed the ice-ax from the refuse container.
I asked, “Are you feeling alright?”
“I think so.” he said between heaves. Something I ate.
“Let me tell you about my father,” I said as I swung the Ax above my head.
“He was on your lengthy medical experiment list.”
I swung the pick deep into his thigh. I may have done that two or three more times.
“Your experiments were painful and purposeful.”
I chopped at his arm.
And when you had enough, you removed all evidence of your war crimes.
I lashed out all my fury into that final stroke into the man’s brain. I pushed it further as he gasped his last breath.
“What a mess you have made of your life.” I looked at the corpse scornfully. “You’ve’ ruined my uniform”.
I poured my donor blood around the body. I then dragged the wheeled trash barrel to the doorway, locked the door and taped the “out of order” sign to the door and casually make my way to the roof.
Stripping off my disguise, I stuffed everything into the bag and sent the balloon on its merry way. Now a dash across the rooftops which took me seven minutes. When I arrived for the treatment, I take several minutes to allow my heart rate to drop. I listened to the sounds of the city, not even one siren. I walked into the surgery, ready to become a new man. Five hours later, I continued my new life after the cleaning up the past.
This is month long journey with A to z challenge. I hope you are enjoying the blogging. This series of short Stories is called “30 ways to kill (or die)”
And keep on the lookout for my upcoming novel – “Lifeblood of the Dragon.” Lifeblood is set in the seedy alleys of post-war Los Angeles. The morgue is full more often than not. Cameo appearances by the well known gangster Mickey Cohen and his goons.
On Monday, I checked the mailbox and to my surprise the thing I most coveted had arrived. During the Covid-19 pandemic, I had volunteered for an experimental procedure, a method to convert my body into a virus-proof machine. There were only two downsides that the doctors could think of:
First, there were no guarantees that it would protect me from the virus. I was okay with that. The second issue was also the most controversial. There was a certainty that the procedure would alter my DNA. This procedure was so radical it was going to reshuffle the helix of my DNA, making me hyper-resistant to any disease. Dr. Wendel Fulbright was the master-mind; I would have to report to his lab in Lima, Peru. Where he could conduct the tests away from the prying eyes of the FDA or the AMA.
The Doctor said there were going to be some notable changes in my body because of the procedure. First, I would appear to be younger by approximately fifteen years. Testing on lab animals (which is now what they are doing to me) showed that I was going to be healthier and younger. Even my fingerprints were going to change. It was like a snake molting an old skin.
Anticipating the procedure, I had a pint of blood removed from my body. It was put in a special vault (in Peru) so there was no way to lose or tamper with it. I had special plans for this liquid.
Next, I had to find the whereabouts of the man I abhorred more than any other, Dr. Ishii Shiro. Dr. Shiro was the Joseph Mengele of the Pacific Theater during World War Two. This monster murdered many prisoners of war including my father. I found out by searching through freedom of information documents that my father was a prisoner held by Shiro in Unit 731. This I discovered was the Japanese Bacterial Factory at a place called Ping Fan, Manchukuo.
On testimony from Japanese doctors, my father was exposed to bubonic plague. He was the subject of many experiments on Biological Weapons conducted at the camp. He was more than murdered; it’s as if he was pulled apart one strand of DNA at a time. All evidence of the lengthy atrocities was destroyed in the camp crematorium.
This is a month long journey with the A to Z challenge. Each day the letter is the prompt for my short stories themed: “Thirty Ways to Kill …”
And keep on the lookout for my upcoming novel – “Lifeblood of the Dragon.” Lifeblood is set in the seedy alleys of post-war Los Angeles. The morgue is full more often than not. Cameo appearances by the well known gangster Mickey Cohen and his goons.
Writer of Wrong 