August Is Murder
Below is the first chapter of my novel, August Is Murder. The rest of it is available at http://renebooks.com
August is Murder
by Bob Liter
CHAPTER ONE
The first time they tried to kill me I was asleep. Coughing, my own, jarred me awake. I rolled to a sitting position from the sweat-wet bedding and continued choking on hot, acrid air. The sweat was no surprise. My air conditioner had quit. But this was more than August heat in Central City, Illinois.
A flip of the light switch near my bed did nothing to eliminate the darkness. I went to hands and knees and felt around until I found my pants and shoes. I sat against the bed, squirmed into the jeans, and put on much-used Reeboks. Heat from the floor roasted my rump.
"Don't panic, Nick," I said aloud. My office and apartment were on the third floor of a partially abandoned building. Should I try to save anything or just get the hell out? My files, I had to save my case files. The dented metal filing cabinet in the office contained stuff from the previous owner, but I just wanted my own files in the top drawer. I crawled into the office, stood, and pulled out the top drawer. I felt my way to the office door and opened it. A swish of even hotter air swept against my face. The drawer slipped from my hands, but I kept it from falling to the floor with a knee.
What about Maggie? She might be in the office on the second floor. It was well past midnight. Why would she be there? I assured myself she was not. She was the reason why I now had a stray cat and a cracked heart. What about the cat? No need to worry about it. Any cat that came and went when the office door was locked wouldn't be trapped in that old building.
Flickering light appeared as I neared the stairway. Hungry flames licked at the air below, daring me to try to escape in that direction. Blazing noise rose like the vicious growl of a watchdog.
"Don't panic," I repeated.
My lungs felt as though they were melting. Heat pushed me back like an unseen hand. The fire escape! Where was it? On the side of the building at the end of the hall? Beyond my office and all that unoccupied space? I remembered rust, lots of rust. What a choice. Walk down the stairs into an inferno or risk falling three floors from a fire escape that probably hadn't been used in twenty years.
I felt my way to the end of the hallway. The door leading to the fire escape wouldn't budge. Could I crawl through the door window? I smashed the file drawer against the glass, shattering it. Hot air swished out of the building through the opening.
I placed the drawer on the floor and removed shards of glass until I figured there was enough room to climb out. I felt around outside trying to locate something solid. Nothing. Light from the fire had not yet penetrated the darkness on that side of the building. Was the fire escape really there? I picked up the file drawer and dropped it outside the window, hoping it would hit the fire escape landing, if it was there. The file drawer thudded against something almost immediately.
I used the doorknob to steady myself and raised one leg through the window. Muscles complained as I maneuvered the other leg through. Broken glass ripped my pants and cut into my legs and stomach as I wiggled out into the darkness.
I grasped the base of the window frame and rested my knees against the outside of the door. I lowered my feet an inch at a time. If my legs extended completely and my feet still hadn't touched anything, could I pull myself back up?
My feet made contact with something solid. The platform? I tested it with my weight as I held onto the window ledge in case the thing below me, whatever it was, gave way.
I released one hand from the ledge. It was sticky. I reached down and tried to feel whatever was supporting my feet but I couldn't reach it unless I let go. I took a deep breath, released my grip on the window ledge, and sank to my knees on metal -- crusty metal. The fire escape landing.
The file cabinet drawer sat near steps leading down. Holding the rail with one hand, I carried the drawer in my free arm and made my way down, a step at a time, toward a glow coming from inside the building. Flickering light cast shadows on the second-floor fire escape platform. I put the file drawer on the landing and crept onto the fire escape extension straight out into the night. Would the rust give way and allow my weight to swing the extension down to the ground? About halfway out the damned thing dropped without warning. I squeezed the railings until pain in my blood-soaked hands forced a scream from parched lips. The noise evaporated into the smoky night. The extension jolted to an abrupt halt. It was headed downward at an angle that left me about 20 feet above the ground.
I climbed back up, retrieved the file drawer, and climbed down cautiously, a step at a time, fearing the ladder would drop farther at any moment. When I was almost to the end it descended at a slow, comfortable pace and stopped about two feet from the ground. I stepped onto the blessed gravel and expected the ladder to spring back up. It didn't. Firelight made it easy to make my way to the front of the building. I ran awkwardly away from the heat and flames.
The hungry blaze ate at the building and its contents. My stuff was in there. My clothes, a couple of bowling balls I no longer bothered to keep in the rear of my car, a radio, an old wooden chair, my bed, and a refrigerator. And the desk. My good old desk. The fire would consume them all.
You may obtain the rest of the novel through http://renebooks.com
August is Murder
by Bob Liter
CHAPTER ONE
The first time they tried to kill me I was asleep. Coughing, my own, jarred me awake. I rolled to a sitting position from the sweat-wet bedding and continued choking on hot, acrid air. The sweat was no surprise. My air conditioner had quit. But this was more than August heat in Central City, Illinois.
A flip of the light switch near my bed did nothing to eliminate the darkness. I went to hands and knees and felt around until I found my pants and shoes. I sat against the bed, squirmed into the jeans, and put on much-used Reeboks. Heat from the floor roasted my rump.
"Don't panic, Nick," I said aloud. My office and apartment were on the third floor of a partially abandoned building. Should I try to save anything or just get the hell out? My files, I had to save my case files. The dented metal filing cabinet in the office contained stuff from the previous owner, but I just wanted my own files in the top drawer. I crawled into the office, stood, and pulled out the top drawer. I felt my way to the office door and opened it. A swish of even hotter air swept against my face. The drawer slipped from my hands, but I kept it from falling to the floor with a knee.
What about Maggie? She might be in the office on the second floor. It was well past midnight. Why would she be there? I assured myself she was not. She was the reason why I now had a stray cat and a cracked heart. What about the cat? No need to worry about it. Any cat that came and went when the office door was locked wouldn't be trapped in that old building.
Flickering light appeared as I neared the stairway. Hungry flames licked at the air below, daring me to try to escape in that direction. Blazing noise rose like the vicious growl of a watchdog.
"Don't panic," I repeated.
My lungs felt as though they were melting. Heat pushed me back like an unseen hand. The fire escape! Where was it? On the side of the building at the end of the hall? Beyond my office and all that unoccupied space? I remembered rust, lots of rust. What a choice. Walk down the stairs into an inferno or risk falling three floors from a fire escape that probably hadn't been used in twenty years.
I felt my way to the end of the hallway. The door leading to the fire escape wouldn't budge. Could I crawl through the door window? I smashed the file drawer against the glass, shattering it. Hot air swished out of the building through the opening.
I placed the drawer on the floor and removed shards of glass until I figured there was enough room to climb out. I felt around outside trying to locate something solid. Nothing. Light from the fire had not yet penetrated the darkness on that side of the building. Was the fire escape really there? I picked up the file drawer and dropped it outside the window, hoping it would hit the fire escape landing, if it was there. The file drawer thudded against something almost immediately.
I used the doorknob to steady myself and raised one leg through the window. Muscles complained as I maneuvered the other leg through. Broken glass ripped my pants and cut into my legs and stomach as I wiggled out into the darkness.
I grasped the base of the window frame and rested my knees against the outside of the door. I lowered my feet an inch at a time. If my legs extended completely and my feet still hadn't touched anything, could I pull myself back up?
My feet made contact with something solid. The platform? I tested it with my weight as I held onto the window ledge in case the thing below me, whatever it was, gave way.
I released one hand from the ledge. It was sticky. I reached down and tried to feel whatever was supporting my feet but I couldn't reach it unless I let go. I took a deep breath, released my grip on the window ledge, and sank to my knees on metal -- crusty metal. The fire escape landing.
The file cabinet drawer sat near steps leading down. Holding the rail with one hand, I carried the drawer in my free arm and made my way down, a step at a time, toward a glow coming from inside the building. Flickering light cast shadows on the second-floor fire escape platform. I put the file drawer on the landing and crept onto the fire escape extension straight out into the night. Would the rust give way and allow my weight to swing the extension down to the ground? About halfway out the damned thing dropped without warning. I squeezed the railings until pain in my blood-soaked hands forced a scream from parched lips. The noise evaporated into the smoky night. The extension jolted to an abrupt halt. It was headed downward at an angle that left me about 20 feet above the ground.
I climbed back up, retrieved the file drawer, and climbed down cautiously, a step at a time, fearing the ladder would drop farther at any moment. When I was almost to the end it descended at a slow, comfortable pace and stopped about two feet from the ground. I stepped onto the blessed gravel and expected the ladder to spring back up. It didn't. Firelight made it easy to make my way to the front of the building. I ran awkwardly away from the heat and flames.
The hungry blaze ate at the building and its contents. My stuff was in there. My clothes, a couple of bowling balls I no longer bothered to keep in the rear of my car, a radio, an old wooden chair, my bed, and a refrigerator. And the desk. My good old desk. The fire would consume them all.
You may obtain the rest of the novel through http://renebooks.com
posted by Bob Liter at 7:08 AM
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