Welcome to another Tuesday Tales. This week, the last one of August, gives us another look at The White Dahlia. Fear is an odd thing. Some people go to movies to be frightened. I don’t. My imagination can come up with tons of scary stuff all by itself. This week’s post is based on the word BARK. Enjoy.
Morelli, never one to keep his big foot out of his even bigger mouth, a man whose bark was worse than his bite, claimed she was either damn lucky or cursed. Even she had trouble trying to decide which one it was. She thought of the three dahlias—one for Colin, one for Saul, and one for Ben—three partners she’d lost. The last thing she wanted to do was add to the bouquet.
Killing a man was easier in simulations and training exercises than it was in real life. During her ten years on the force in Boston, including two seconded to the FBI, she’d never been injured nor had she fired her weapon in the line of duty. Five years in New York, and she’d been shot twice, had wounded one man, and had killed another. That didn’t bode well for the future.
While it was true she hadn’t initiated the first deadly conflict, she didn’t really know who was to blame for the second. The scene replayed itself every time she closed her eyes—another reason why she couldn’t sleep. They’d been like gunslingers in an old Western movie, her screaming at him to drop his weapon as Ben bled out at her feet, while the punk had cursed her, his eyes filled with hatred, his mouth spewing soul-destroying venom. He’d pulled the trigger once, twice, three times, or had it been four or more? She couldn’t recall. One of the missed shots had winged a tree, stinging bark reminding her that her head was unprotected, but the vest had shielded her heart.
The elevator dinged, and Beth stepped into the car, pushing the button for the garage level. Grabbing a set of keys from the night watchmen, she headed toward the dark blue SUV, mindful of the fact she was heading to an active crime scene unarmed. She would be lucky if Lieutenant Harris didn’t rip her head off for this, but honestly, one more day of nothing but paperwork, and she would scream. Maybe Papa Tom was right and it was time to move on—again. But running away from Boston hadn’t solved anything. There were some things that followed you wherever you went, and fear was one of them.
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.