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Short Story: Smokin’ Potato by: Eric Blair

Short Story: Smokin’ Potato by: Eric Blair

The Set Up

Good day! It’s your friendly neighborhood narrator; back again with another tale to share. Today I…Well, today I am taking the backseat and letting a private dick tell you guys this story. Before I go; the Private Eye, Frank Deckard has a good ole tale; allow me to set the scene for you guys. On a clear, crisp fall night a beautiful African-American young lady named Staci is sitting behind a desk in Frank Deckard’s office. She’s focused on filing the nail on her ring finger with a determine look on her face. Door swings open as a tall, good looking, African-American male named Deckard enters the office wearing grey pants, black suit jacket and, blood on his once white shirt; he looks really beat up with his right arm in sling. With a bullet hole in the right shoulder of his jacket, he looks like hell. He approaches Staci’s desk with a little smirk on his face. Staci isn’t paying him any mind; she’s still filing her nails. Deckard says, “Any messages?” Staci looks up at him with a blank stare on her face and says, “Yeah, the Commissioner called, he wants to see you for questionin’.” Deckard says, “Figures. I told him all that I know and he still wants more. Sooooo?” Staci looks him up and down from head to toe with a hint of attitude on her face. She says, “So?” With an exciting look on his face matching his voice, Deckard says, “Are you gonna ask me what happen?!” Staci places her nail filer on the desk, rolls her eyes, sighs then says, “What happened this time?” Deckard says, “Okay! Ya know I had this Rushmore case?” Staci says, “Yes! You do know I am your assistant?”

PAUSE!  And this is the moment when narration switches and Mr. Deckard takes the story away…

The Crime: Why was he here when he was here?

Deckard, “So, I went to the scene to meet The Commissioner. I was thinkin’ I was gonna meet him on some random street corner; I met him at his old, creepy warehouse on the docks. I entered the warehouse and it was like a fuckin’ Transformer, it looked like the club from the Smooth Criminal video. Very nice, I could see myself livin’ there—

Staci, “Can you please get to the point?! You do not pay me enough to listen to your adventures.”

Deckard, “Okay. Okay. I walked down a long hallway.  Each room I passed belonged to a police officer with men or women cuffed. So, before I entered the room Sgt. Briggs told me to enter… it suddenly hit me.”

Staci, “What?! A bullet?!”

Deckard, “No that comes later. The smell of death, once you smell that bitter stench you’ll never forget. When I entered the room, Commissioner was standin’ at the window smokin’ a cigar. CSI was there takin’ pictures and blood samples from a pool of blood on the floor. The victim was Andrew Rushmore, the famous defense lawyer. Andrew was bent over on his knees in a full size bed with white sheets; naked with urine and defecation surroundin’ him. The position he was in was very gay and strange but the crazy part was he was shot in the back of his head execution style. His face was gone, just a big splat on a pillow.”

Staci, “Oh God.”

Deckard, “Commissioner told me that CSI identified Rushmore’s teeth and the place we were standin’ in was a house of sin.”

Staci, “What’s that?”

Deckard, “A place where prostitution, drugs, and most shockingly, child prostitution is allowed and here is where the blues found Rushmore’s body. I noticed a used condom on the floor but it wasn’t Rushmore’s.  I also saw a smokin’ potato under the bed that was used as a silencer.  I then saw two acrylic finger nails in the sheets next to Rushmore’s leg. I was kinda confused, I asked the Commissioner how long has his body been here. He told me about an hour. Commissioner gave me the okay to go around town and ask questions. The most important person was Rushmore’s wife, Asia. Fifteen minutes later the coroner came and dealt with the body. The body started to smell like fired mole. One of the officers threw up in the hallway on another officer. I guess the smell of new death was new to him. Go figure. An hour later I visited Dave Thompson downtown at the morgue. Rushmore’s Autopsy was insane.”

Staci, “What? What happened?!”

Deckard, “Dave told me the last time Rushmore have had sex was at least twenty-four hour ago via his butt.”

Staci, “Wait! Are you sayin’—”

Deckard, “Yup, Rushmore was on the DL. Angie from ballistics told me that the gun was a nine. So, I decided to take another trip to the scene.—”

“Ding. Ding.”

Staci, “Hold that thought.”

The Suspects: Who is Mandrake?

Staci, “That was The Commissioner again.”

Deckard, “I’ll see him once I am done tellin’ what happened. So, I go back down to the warehouse and stake it out. I noticed some tall, skinny, creepy White guy scoping the warehouse out. After ten minutes he left, so I decided to follow the guy. I tailed him for three blocks and then I gripped him up in an alley. This guy was puttin’ up a good fight until I got him in an arm lock. So I asked him why he was checkin’ out the warehouse. He said he just was walkin’ by. I knew he was lyin’ cuz my fingers were on his wrist monitoring his pulse. Then I broke his index and middle finger for lyin’ to me. Then he was singin’ like a bird. He told me this guy named Mandrake owns that place and he’d never seen him before, just heard of him. Kinda like an urban legend. I asked him did he know anything about Rushmore’s death, he told me he never heard of him. He was lyin’ so I broke his ring and pinky finger. He told me Rushmore was his lawyer at one point and he kept him out of jail for child molestation. He begged for me not to take him to the cops.”

Staci, “So what did you do with him?”

Deckard, “I pumped a few hundred grams of morphine in him and drove him to the boondocks. I took his license, money, and cards. Jail would have been too easy for a perv like him, let’s see how he works out in the middle of no where.”

Staci, “Damn, that was cold, Deck.”

Deckard, “I visited Asia Rushmore, she seem almost sad about her husband’s death. She is pretty hot, imagine Kelly from “Saved by the Bell” but with a fat ass and big breast. I asked her if her husband had any enemies. She told me he had a five year affair with some lady named Marilyn Giovanni. I asked if Marilyn’s husband knew about the affair and she just simply shrugged her shoulders.

Staci, “Did you tell her husband was on the DL?”

Deckard, “No. She is already going through tons of grief at the time, no need to rub it in. BUT, she did tell me about this local mobster he represents, Nicky Lombardi. She told me that Nicky and her husband used to have business meetings almost every Friday. He also used to give Rushmore bags of money every week. She then asked me why I wasn’t writin’ any of this down.  I told her—”

Staci, “I remember everything, it’s a curse.” I know…I know. Get on with the story.”

Deckard, “I was about to leave and I noticed her right hand was wrapped up and I asked her if she was okay. She told me she burnt her self on the iron. I paid Nicky a visit or more like tailed him to Oliver Garden. Really, Oliver Garden, he’s supposed to be this big mobster and he goes to the fuckin’ Oliver Garden; but I digress. This big, fat, greasy, slick back hair wearin’ Italian man exits this black limo wearin’ a nice smoke grey suit. I then approached him and his two big cow eatin’, muscle men, Black body guards.  They then gripped me up before I could say one word. While his guards were tryin’ to drag me away I yelled out that I knew about the business between him and Rushmore. He waved his hand for his guards to stop. He walked over to me with a prickly smirk on his face and said that Rushmore was just his lawyer and then laughed and said “Hopes he rest in peace”. He told his men to let me go and said to me, “Have a nice night, little dick.”  I yelled out at him “Who is Mandrake?”  He turned to me with a calm look on his face and said, nothing but a tall tale; then entered the restaurant. So I waited for him to enter the restaurant and tailed him again. I was stopped by a host. When did Oliver Garden start havin’ a fuckin’ host?!”

Staci, “Since forever!”

Deckard, “So the host wouldn’t let me in without a reservation. So me and this small pimpled face dick we were bickerin’ for about five minutes.  I was about to lose my cool when I saw the most lovely thing in the world”

Staci, “What?!”

Deckard, “This frat boy hurled on this chick; I mean exorcist, projectile, meaty, green, sticky type of threw up. He threw up in her face, on her shirt, and on these lovely tities. It wouldn’t stop, so I start recordin’ it with my phone. She was yellin’ at me from her table as she was cryin’. Staci, it was beautiful! I am puttin’ this shit on Youtube later. Anyway, I was kicked out of fuckin’ Oliver Garden, can you believe it?!”

Staci, “Yes! You’re like a five year old who’s on sugar shots.”

Deckard, “Whatever! Outside, Lombardi’s guards was waitin’ for me. They start to kick my ass. That’s how I got this bruise.”

Staci, “Yes I see! Geez.”

Deckard, “I hit them both in their pressure points; one in the throat givin’ him that chokin’ effect and breakin’ his jaw. The other one was kicked in his nuts so fuckin’ hard that he cried. I mean the snot, droolin’ cry.”

Staci, “Oh, how classic.”

Deckard, “The next day I tailed Lombardi again, you know I never give a guy up. He was ridin’ to the airport. I was thinkin’ maybe I spooked him and he was tryin’ to get out of the states. His guards let him out of his limo, new guards, FYI. I tailed him through the airport, I almost lost him because this silly kid bumped into me and dropped his vase of roses. What idiot brings a vase of roses to the airport?”

Staci, “A sweet one, asshole.”

Deckard, “I found him openin’ a locker at the airport; I crept up behind him with my gun pointed in his spine. For a mobster this guy was sloppy or too comfortable. I told him if he goes for his gun I was going to shoot him in his fat ass back. I peeked into the locker and there were six bricks of cocaine. He asked me if I was there to rob him or arrest him.  I told him neither. I just wanted to know what your business with Rushmore was. He told me Rushmore took money from all the criminals and crime lords he represented in court and Lombardi funded him money weekly for a lucrative business. Then he told me he is always with some partner named, Alex Slow. Lombardi also tipped me off that he believed Rushmore was a fruity pants, his words not mines; he thinks Alex Slow was his lover. He asked me if I was gonna take him in. I told him no. I am in the business for names not crime bustin’. As I was walkin’ away he yelled to me that Mandrake is the invisible crime lord who runs the streets and takes bodies off the streets. I asked “where could I find him?”.  He shrugged his shoulders with a lost look on his face. As I was walkin’ by an airport cop I told him Lombardi has drugs in that locker. Fuck em!

Staci, “Slow up! I need to tinkle real quick.”

Deckard, “Uh! Hurry back!”

The Confession: Who killed Andrew Rushmore?

Staci, “I’m back!”

Deckard, “So I visited Slow’s place. He lived in these nice apartments downtown. Once I arrived to his place his door was cracked opened, it was dark inside. So, I slowly opened the door as I was going for my gun. With the help of the light shinin’ in from the hallway I spotted Slow’s body instantly. Dead on the floor, one bullet through the head and brains all over the walls; still smokin’. Once I realized the hole was still smokin’ I went to turn and then bang! The bastards comin’ out of Slow’s bedroom shot me in my right shoulder from behind. I dived to the floor and this bastard closed the door. We were shootin’ at each other in the dark. Just picture a room full of darkness with bullets illuminatin’ parts of the room. I figured that was dumb to keep shootin’ at each other when we can’t see each other; so I threw whatever I found on the floor crossed the room. His attention was diverted over to another side of the room. I crept up behind him and wrestled the gun out of his hand. We were bangin’ and fightin’ each other for like five minutes until he tripped over something and we both fall out of a three story window. I landed on top of him with my forearm jammed into his jaw causin’ his neck to be snapped.

Staci, “Ouch.”

Deckard, “After lyin’ on the ground for three minutes in pain I finally got up and went through his pockets. No I.D. or cash but I found a cell phone with only one number in it. After gettin’ patched up by the medics, Commissioner chewed me out for killin’ someone on the sidewalk. After takin’ an hour nap in my car, I came here ran some numbers, accounts, leads, and also called the number I got off the hit man.  It was a pager. I went over Mrs. Rushmore’s place around 3:00 pm and told her what I found out.

Staci, “What did you find out? You killed a suspect.”

Deckard, “I didn’t kill him; the fall did. I told her about Alex Slow bein’ her husband’s gay lover, Lombardi and several other criminals were fundin’ him money. Then I asked her if Mandrake had any other properties other then his home and office.  She told me that he didn’t.  I then asked if she knew Mandrake was gay or on the DL; she said she didn’t. Finally, I asked her if she knew Mandrake was into illegal activities; again, she said she didn’t. She asked what the point of this line of questioning was. I told her I believe her husband owned that warehouse; he was head of an underground crime organization with many of the city’s big wig players. His partner, Alex Slow, was the face of their empire. Andrew couldn’t show his face to some of the under bosses out of the fear they might snitch on him. Only the big bosses knew his name.  In addition, he took men like his lover to the warehouse to do things. I think I know who killed him. Then I asked her could I make a call. I called the pager I got off of the hit man and her waist start to beep. Behind me she was holdin’ the nine she used to kill her husband with. I told her I knew it was her after our first meetin’ and I also called her husband Mandrake three times and she never corrected me. I asked her why; she told me that her husband was a monster. He was the infamous crime boss, Mandrake. Her husband was conductin’ all the crimes he kept the people out of jail for. So she told Marilyn Giovanni’s husband that she was still cheatin’ with Andrew. She used her hired hit man to seduce her husband back to the warehouse and waited until they came back to the room; once they stripped naked she came up behind her husband and squeezed the trigger. BANG! The gun and potato burnt her hand.  Squeezin’ the trigger popped off her nails. She finally had to kill Slow because he was the last loose string to this monster. Tears started rollin’ down her face as she was tellin’ me he was a monster. The world needs to thank her she said; she sat by his side too many years knowin’ the evils he was doin’. She finally broke down and said their son was kidnapped and he opened a business for child prostitution. She utters to me through her broken voice, “I had to kill him”.

Staci, “Wow. This is some deep shit.”

Deckard, “I turned around with my hands in the air. I told her that I was sorry that all that happened to her but I can’t let you go. Asia kissed me on the cheek as she was still cryin’ and said “I’m sorry”, then pulled the trigger. The chamber whispered “click, click.” I smirked and said to her; when you’re sharin’ a cell with Big Bertha and she asks you how’d you get here, tell her you blinked. I punched her in the jaw and knocked her unconscious. Called the Commissioner and told him what happened and gave him the docs I stole from her place hours before—”

Staci, “Wait, you broke into her place?”

Deckard, “Yup. Her security system was shitty.  That’s how I replaced her gun with an empty clip. I also cracked the codes on Andrew’s computer and copied all his business docs as Mandrake. The gun that she used matched the bullet shards found at the crime scene. And now I am here.”

Staci, “Wow! That sounds so awesome! Okay, now can I continue doin’ my nails?”

Deckard, “Ya know what? Go play in traffic. Continue…”

About Mr. Blair

Eric Blair was born in August of 1984 in Philadelphia, PA, and raised in the North Philly section of the city. He has always enjoyed stories, schemes, and the complexities of plots. At a young age he discovered that he could create narratives full of adventures, creativity, and intrigue. It was this realization that caused him to fall in love with the art of storytelling. At age of twenty-one Eric began writing comic books. His first professional book “Hip-Hop Chronicles” was written for Space Dawg Entertainment in 2004. Eric’s writing style ranges from descriptive to expository writing, where the writing serves to explain and inform the audience. He uses thoroughly developed characters, clever situations, and witty conversation style and tone to keep readers engaged. Eric is inspired by authors who can evoke an emotional response from the reader, as well as authors who can blend elements of fact with fiction to construct a great piece. Eric is currently working on a series of comic books that are soon to be published, his recent writings have been guest featured on several online blogs. He works on perfecting his craft by consistently updating his work, editing pieces, reviewing the latest relevant material, and surrounding his self with like minded, creative, intelligent people.

One comment

  1. April 11th, 2011 12:00

    Short Story: Smokin’ Potato by: Eric Blair –


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