Saturday, November 18, 2017

Chapter 5: Look What You Made Me Do _ “Who’s Eating Harry Dick?" _ dark comedy crime caper short story

Chapter 5: Look What You Made Me Do _ “Who’s Eating Harry Dick?" _ dark comedy crime caper short story
Copyright 2017 John A. Conte, Jr. &

Sara Morehouse has been dating Harry for 5 years now. Light-up Night in the city of Pittsburgh Friday November 17, 2017 was also their fifth year anniversary.  She still had not been inside of Harry’s house yet. That was a problem. Sara wanted Harry Dick to come home to a surprise.

Harry’s mother was a loving, dotting, caring matriarch of a family mostly made up of men. Henrietta Dick couldn’t wait for a daughter-n-law which therefore is why she was so pleased to see Sara Morehouse at her front door. “Oh what a delight!” Harriet had a smile across her face that was genuinely welcoming. Her eyes beamed as she let Sara inside, “come on in young lady!”

Being likable was never an issue with Sara. She was very likable. She dressed neat and her clothes complimented her healthy figure. Sara had on black slacks and high heels, an off white blouse and a light blue cashmere cardigan sweater and a pearl necklace. Her blond hair pulled back off her attractive face. She looked smart. And she was.

Sara Morehouse was employed as a forensic scientist working in a crime lab. She not only had a bachelors degree from California State University of Pennsylvania - she also achieved a PhD. Her salary was on the higher end making $91, 400 a year which in Pittsburgh went a long way. Her glasses were fashionable purchased at SEE on Walnut Street in Shadyside.

Henrietta didn’t have the opportunity to go off to college. Harriet married Sam Dick shortly after high school. Sam Dick came from a farming family. Sam Dick’s grandfather, George Dick, proudly pictured in an old black & white photograph, hung in an oval frame in the dinning room where Harriet and Sara were seated.

Over Earl Grey tea Sara excitedly shared her plans to surprise Harriet’s son, Harry, on their fifth year anniversary. “Sure, I’ll give you the emergency key Harry left with me,” Harriet still displayed her wide smile, “you know I’m besides myself waiting for grandchildren! And Sam and I all but have given up on that idea for our Chet.” Henrietta shouted out, “that boy won’t grow up! He’s just a big momma’s boy!” It was loud enough Chet may have heard from his favorite position on the couch in the family room, though, most likely the TV was probably too loud.

Sara Morehouse wanted kids too! Her first husband turned out to be a dud. He looked like a stud. Nevertheless, he was a definite dud. He had a herniated disc and became hooked on pain killers. Pills soon led to a cheaper more available solution that did not require a doctor’s prescription, heroin. Consequently, Sara hated drugs. Drugs were the cause of her divorce as far as she concerned.

At the training required for forensic scientist working in the county crime lab is where she met Harry Dick. The police academy training challenged Sara in new ways and that is what she needed at that time looking to start a new life. Harry Dick practically won her over instantly. Harry’s encouragement during the police academy training translated into a reaffirmation for Sara’s biological clock that kept striking with loud gongs at high noon.

Passing Pittsburgh’s newest and second location for a “cat cafe” Sara hurried along Butler Street in Lawrenceville. What a wonderful life Sara was living. She exuded happiness as she purposefully floated down the sidewalk with the holiday lights she purchased from the hardware store. What a surprise awaiting Harry Dick.

Harry was on the land of the person his folks bought hay from out in Evan’s City. He was squatting in a wooded thicket in a cattail slough. Against a downed tree Harry peeled a small pelt of deer fur from the log. He put the fur up to his nose and then pressed it to his cheeks and finally twirling it in between his fingers almost as if in some kind of trance. 

If that buck from the bed didn’t catch the scent of an impending threat, Harry did. Uncharacteristically, Harry Dick pulled out from stalking his buck. In his Ford F-150 pick up truck he sped down 279 toward the city. By the time he got to his home he was anxious, paranoid and uncomposed. Harry Dick rushed through the door. As he heard stirring from the kitchen, he drew his gun from its side arm shoulder holster. He tip toed lightly down that hallway.

Approaching the kitchen Harry Dick commanded, “freeze, right there!” Sara panicked. Whirling around her arm squarely struck her purse on the counter which bulldozed the mason jars from on top of the kitchen towel and onto the floor. Smash! Glass shattered upon impact. “What the fuck?!” Harry Dick demanded while backhanding Sara’s head with enough force down upon her to bring her to her knees. 

Sara knelt on glass as she coward frantically covering her head and face. Harry Dick towered over her and delivered another blow to the head. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” Sara was quickly pleading emphatically. Harry Dick was enraged, unhinged.  “Look what you made me do,” Harry powerfully screamed matter-of-factly, “look what you made me do!” 

Coincidentally, those were the same words Donald J. Trump whispered in the ear of Rhonda Darewyzki’s mother after she having jacked-him-off under the table at The 21 Club. “Look what you made me do,” Donald J. Trump grinned looking down at his wad of sperm ejaculated into Rhonda’s mother’s dinner napkin of The 21 Club. “Look what you made me do.”

Chapter 5: Look What You Made Me Do _ “Who’s Eating Harry Dick?" _ dark comedy crime caper short story
Copyright 2017 John A. Conte, Jr. &

Sunday, November 12, 2017

Chapter 4: The Baring of Rhonda Darewyzki’s Soul _ "Who's Eating Harry Dick?" _ dark comedy crime caper short story

Chapter 4: The Baring of Rhonda Darewyzki’s Soul _"Who's Eating Harry Dick?" _ dark comedy crime caper short story

Rhonda Darewyzki was peeling off layers. The morning of November 11, 2017 was a record breaking cold day at 18 degrees in Pittsburgh. She couldn’t believe the news she was overhearing from the television. How could Roy Moore and his loyal Alabama voters exist in her perfect world she’s so grateful for everyday? 

And to think that over the airwaves on every news station and in every newspaper what they’re describing in graphic detail. Roy Moore’s accuser is insisting the 32 year old man at the time touched her through her bra and panties and took her hand and guided it where he desired to be touched by the young 14 year old. Breakfast and slut shaming a 14 year old girl who didn’t want to report the incident back then after it occurred! 

Injustices were not tolerated by the moral fabric of Rhonda Darewyzki. She was not one to be her soul however she had an aura about her that was different from the everyday women her age that cluttered the sidewalks of Lawrenceville though she resembled them in many ways. Her jacket was coming off now after having unraveled her pink scarf. 

Rhonda’s dark black raven colored hair parted from a jacket of the same tone as she freed her arms from its sleeves. The black star showcased in the front of her handmade pink beanie shimmered from glitter catching the cold sunshine of a shivering morning. She removed her giant white framed Kurt Cobain sunglasses unveiling her expressive eye rolls. “What a douche bag,” Rhonda sighed out loud to no one but the wooden floors and exposed red bricks of her home. Well, maybe the cat & dog overheard?

Rhonda Darewyzki carried herself like royalty. She had a regale gait even when carrying about going on with everyday routines of life. Back in Russia she kinda was and would be treated that way. Rhonda’s father was what the American public was hearing so much about in the media ever since Donald J.. Trump stated running for president of the United States, a Russian Oligarch. Her father had ties to the Kremlin and direct ties to Vladimir Putin.

However, Rhonda Darewyzki was conceived out of wedlock which is understandable since her mother wasn’t married to the Russian Oligarch. Her mother was his lover. “There are things that a man with a family does not want to do anymore with the wife of his children!” Rhonda’s mother was blunt when providing this family history. 

In fact, Rhonda’s mother had weaponized her sexuality for a living. That’s how she met Rhonda’s father. She attended an exotic animal dining club in Moscow. Her sponsor had prepared her well. Rhonda’s mother knew her mark and knew inside his head already thanks to the keen insights of her sponsor. “For my country I actually tested the virility of men in my hands.” She further debriefed Rhonda matter-of-factly, "people can dominate you for power yet, if you play your cards well, you’re the one that can be in total control.”

Rhonda’s mother was elegantly gorgeous - dripping with refined charisma - and dangerously wicked smart. But she preferred to stay focused on subject matters dear to her heart. She was actually devastated when their affair got too hot after Rhonda’s birth and her father’s enemies knew he was compromised. There was evidence. 

Having a high value target in Manhattan with a highly classified assignment, as a result, Rhonda’s mother was actually appeased by it and she felt like she had won. Rhonda had no idea her mother was in Manhattan to compromise Donald J. Trump. Neither did Rhonda's mother until her sponsor's exact details were followed and she was at The 21 Club in New York City. She was seated at the table of a very important person. 

Her sponsor assured her that the booth was bugged and she was 100% capable of handling this job. After all, the particular booth was, "a favored spot of Mr. Donald J. Trump in 21 Club restaurant," she was informed by the pretty hostess - who incidentally resembled a beauty pageant contestant. The booth was bugged and Rhonda’s mother was doing what she did so well for her profession and her country. She was letting another powerful man dominate her while she was the one mindful enough of the long game to be in control. Donald J. Trump had inserted his hand in between her legs almost immediately after sitting down at the table. Now it was all falling into place like her sponsor promised. At the 21 Club, in Donald J. Trump’s reserved booth, she was clinically testing the virility of a man in her hands. The white heavy starched dinner napkin she casually placed in her in $250,000 Lana Marks Cleopatra Bag was evidence. 

Rhonda stood naked. She peered out the square window onto jagged rooftops of rows and rows of houses. Each one with frames painted different colors, such as, blue, red, white, black & yellow. Her milky soft white skin was well hydrated. Her black thick hair was in stark contrast with the cool tile she rested her hands on as she closed her eyes while the hot running water drenched her body. Her iPhone was going off annoyingly. “Can’t I have five minutes,” she muttered to herself. It was Harry Dick.

More detective work ran across her face when her eyes opened at the 3rd attempt to reach her by phone. Detective Harry Dick needed those hair clippings from her shop. Their relationship started when the then officer Harry Dick busted her for possessing 5 ounces of weed: Lavender, Blueberry Kush, Blue Dream, Diesel, and a hybrid cross pollination between Maui and Train Wreck called Maui Wreck.

The then officer Harry Dick was looking to become a county detective. He had smoked homegrown pot while pounding Ham’s Beer back in the countryside at a picnic table while playing the drinking game “Drug Dealer” in his high school days. Ironically, Rhonda Darewyzki was not a drug dealer. Rhonda was a connoisseur when it came to high quality marijuana. Straight-up, Rhonda just liked to smoke weed. It beat being strung out on heroin! It beat being an uncontrollable functioning alcoholic! Or a coke head!

With five ounces of marijuana Harry Dick could pursue charges that would trigger a mandatory minimum having Rhonda Darewyzki jailed. Rhonda insisted it was for personal use only. She was being dead honest. Officer Dick was working the flip. Asserting his power using the threat of serious jail time. Rhonda accepted and agreed to his terms to provide hair samples of her clients from her grooming & goods shop upon request. 

Rhonda knew her security clearance was equivalent to that of a senator’s son, on the other hand, officer Dick did not. She exuded an obtuse pain in officer Dick’s presence. 

Surely she would use this proposition to her advantage. Having a compromised cop might come in handy. Either way, Rhonda Darewyzki would not being going to jail. Unless she shot someone at point blank with a gun on Fifth Avenue that is. Harry Dick didn't know this though and Rhonda wanted it that way. Detective Harry Dick was exerting power however Rhonda Darewyzki was really in control. The more smug and unafraid Rhonda Darewyzki conducted herself the more agitated Harry Dick became. Thrusting his power. 

Rhonda would provide him with hair samples of targeted clients all right. And officer Harry Dick would be commended and promoted for having an uncanny knack for making drug busts. He busted more users buying from their dealers than any other cop on the force. There was a competition too! Police departments that made a lot of drug busts in return received a lot of money for fighting the war on drugs.

Chapter 4: The Baring of Rhonda Darewyzki’s Soul _"Who's Eating Harry Dick?" _ dark comedy crime caper short story

Copyright John Alan Conte Jr. &