(NOTE: This is the 4th Short Story in my Detective John Dutton series. The other three editions posted to date are:

-Stiffs - Number One in the series - Detective Dutton terminates a sniper with a long list of victims

-Done Deal - Number Two in the series - Detective Dutton forces a murderer to confess at trial

-Seedy Yesterday - Number Three in the series - Detective Dutton clears an innocent young female serving a double life without parole prison sentence

All of them can be found in my portfolio.)


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Full of stout flesh that sagged downward like a bottom feeder, the Jefe shook his corpulent head and bellowed, "Sawn in half and stuffed inside a box. Then, tossed aside like yesterday's news!" He stopped long enough to puff his Fuente, savored its bold flavor, and continued, "Only, she was found...by kids hiking the Cumberlane Point Trail in the forest north of Marion County. Damnation, Dutton! What is this world coming to?"

Detective John Dutton noticed flames of fire, brighter than the tip of his lit cigar, glowed in the Police Chief's dark brown eyes. He recalled the Jefe's lineage could be traced back to Armenia, somewhere around Mount Elbrus. A history buff, Dutton knew that was Europe's tallest mountain.

Deliberated calculation cast aside, the Jefe's forceful assertion declared, "Dutton, you're a lone wolf and I despise you for that. However, you're the best damned detective on the force. That's why I gave you this case."

Dutton comprehended well the signs of smoke blown up his ass. He knew he received the cases all other detectives were too imperceptive to resolve. The Jefe's hollow jabber did not rouse a stimulation in him.

Chief McNamara thrust a sudden, fat finger in Dutton's face and launched into an intemperate tirade, "Hear me loud and clear!"

The animosity prompted Dutton's retort, "Your voice carries." He could give as good as he got. Even better.

A conspicuous glare emitted as the Jefe said, "I've got Mayor Hornsby breathing his dragon-hot breath down my neck on this one. The vic was the daughter of some friend or distant relative of his. Or something like that." He rested, gulped air, then added, "And, I don't care if you have to work non-stop around the clock, Dutton. Solve this murder!"

Thin on patience, Dutton waited for the Jefe to finish his irate rant.

The Jefe chewed three lint-covered Rolaids he extracted out of his shirt pocket. Impassioned, he continued, "Bring the perp in, Dutton. And, take that fresh-faced rookie partner of yours, Ballister, with you. It'll put some hair on the boy's chest. Now, get the Hell out of my office!"

Dutton stormed out of the room. He thought to himself, 'So much for your well earned light tackle fishing trip to the Conch Republic.'

Though a recent newlywed, Ballister made time with Imogene Ferguson from Booking. Her unobtainable chocolate thunder tantalized. He twirled the gold, filigree-inlaid, band on his finger around and bemoaned, "This circle reminds me of the way my life spins out of control sometimes."

Before Ballister could finish, Dutton breezed across the room and grabbed the wayward lad by the top of his shoulder. He said, "C'mon. We're gonna go see a boxer about the person who just ruined my excursion South."

Ballister blew a bubble with the wad of gum in his mouth and popped it. He looked at Dutton with a quizzed expression on his face and commented, "That's not good."

Dutton assured him, "Neither is what I'm going to do when I get my hands around their scrawny throats! You remember Marlena Dorsett, Curly Q?"

"Yeah, the queen of last year's Beauty Padgeant at the fair," Ballister responded. He recollected her voluptuous breasts and asked, "Who could forget those knockers?"

Dutton smiled and informed his partner, "She was murdered at the Westgate Mall. According to her fiance, George Popovich, they came out of the Pasta Fairre Italiano Ristorante into a hail of gunfire. He's in ICU at Marion County Regional with a bullet lodged in his spine. Before he went under, he claimed the triggerman was Frank Marscotti."

Caught off guard by Dutton's proclamation, Ballister wondered, "Her ex?"

Dutton punched the elevator button. A light lit up as he replied, "And, Marscotti left his residence this morning inside an oversized plywood box."

"Dead?" Ballister asked.

Dutton shook his head "yes" and said, "Therefore, we have a quandary on our hands."

(To Be Continued...)