Murder Book (working title)
an excerpt

Murder Book

Chapter 1

Henry Maddox was in heaven, or at least as close to heaven as he wanted to be at this stage in his life. Front row, center of the Ryman Auditorium, the noise of a sold out crowd washing over him, Frankie Valie and the Four Seasons on stage belting out "Rag Doll" and a beautiful blonde on her knees, between his legs, busily sucking his cock.... Yeah, he thought, this had to be heaven.

The people around him paid absolutely no attention to the oral machinations of his date, they were all into the music. Henry had a small moment of wonder then at the fact that the Four Seasons were actually playing the Grand Ole Opry but that quickly passed as he felt himself building toward climax.

Stealing a quick glance up to the stage, Henry was gratified to see Frankie Valie staring down directly at him, a look of envy on his face. Henry just smiled up at Frankie as the feeling continued to build.

Suddenly, from somewhere a phone rang. Henry ignored the incessant noise of the ringer that was beginning to sound more like the "Abandon Ship" alarm on the Titanic. That wonderful feeling of climax, which had almost reached its zenith, began to recede as the ringing got louder and louder.

People around Henry had stopped cheering the music and were starting to stare at him and his date. Henry began to panic.

His beautiful, blonde date suddenly took him out of her mouth and looked up at Henry.

"Hurry up and answer the phone, Asshole!" Her face was screwed up in that hateful look he was all too familiar with and her voice held that same shrill, harridan quality of the woman he was trying very hard to ignore, even in his sleep..

Just like that...in the blink of an eye...it was over. Henry Maddox was lying in his bed. His wife of fifteen years was digging her sharp elbow painfully in his ribs.

"Well," she repeated, "Are you going to answer that damn phone or not?"

Henry groaned and turned over, away from the assaulting elbow of his wife, and groped blindly toward the ringing phone on his nightstand, next to the bed.

His hand finally snagged the phone and he snatched the receiver up to his ear.

"WHAT?" He yelled, still upset at having lost his blonde.

Henry listened for a moment in silence.

"Yeah, okay. Come by and pick me up then. Give me about twenty minutes."

Henry was about to hang up when he looked back at the scowling continence of his wife who looked as is she might explode any minute and he spoke quickly, before the other party could hang up.

"Make that ten minutes, okay? I will meet you outside by the street."

Without another word, Henry slammed down the phone and vaulted out of the bed. He quickly headed toward the bathroom. The “sweet” voice of his wife, Vivian followed him as he moved across the room.

"Henry, where the hell are you going? It's three in the morning for God's sake."

Maddox wondered, fleetingly, how like finger nails on a chalk board his wife's voice was, then he called over his shoulder to her: "Sorry Viv, but crime doesn't keep regular hours, you know."

This had been his stock answer to his wife's complaints every time he received one of these late night-early morning calls since his ill-fated move to Homicide, three years ago.

He slammed the bathroom door more to shut off any further debate, than any thought of privacy.

Eight minutes later, Henry Maddox was dressed and standing next to his mailbox on the deserted street in front of his house. His partner, William Huxley, pulled up in front of Henry exactly two minutes later. Huxley knew from experience that his partner would be waiting on him...he had met Vivian. As soon as Maddox had settled into his seat, Huxley had handed him a coffee in a Styrofoam cup and a large Danish which he had bought at the all night bakery next to the Freeway.