Showing posts from December, 2008

Jason Richard Wright, Chapter 7

Ruby painted her lips red, after slipping into some red leather. Her burgundy hair bounced outward, down and about as she flung her locks with her fingers--freeing them from the leather. Looking into a cracked mirror, in her rundown motel room that doubled as an apartment, she teased those black lashes. A little pink blush with a tap-tap-tap on one cheek, then the other. Not too much, otherwise she'll look like a doll and men today don't want a doll--they want a whore.

The door shutting behind her on its own, read Room 21.

Slipping her skinny biceps into black leather, the jacket clung to her torso. But she didn't zip up, that's where the moneymakers are hanging out. Walking barefoot, her feet adapted to the pavements and sidewalks they graced. It was the heels that hurt. She always carried them to her block, then put them on. A barefoot hooker just screamed hippie and that just didn't sell like it used to. This ain't no Woodstock, Mr. Walrus.

As she…

Jason Richard Wright, Chapter 6

David Spencer was sitting in his easy chair; Mercedes Masterson was making some coffee for the two of them. He looked upon her and admired the young detective who had followed in his footsteps. She too had joined the private sector after leaving the force. And, like he had hoped he would be, she was instrumental in bruising organized crime in Babylon. Spencer, on the other hand, wasn't young anymore. He was getting up there in years, but he still had his mind.

Mercedes had made these visits more common after his heart attack; it made him feel like he was the father no one wanted but one person felt obligated to visit him in his infirmities. But he didn't mind, she was good company. It was all just a little depressing. Deep down Spencer knew his life was quickly fleeting.

Sitting on his sofa, Mercedes handed him his coffee mug; and she smirked, "So you know this one was going to come up," after adjusting herself in the cushion, she looked to him, "Jason Richard…