Veronica
The Architect
This is a short story that is written and posted in 13 parts.
Constructive criticism is wanted and appreciated.
Don't post on this thread, please send me a message if you have any comments.
These places exist and are geographically correct: Little Ben is near Victoria Station in central London as is the magnificent Roman Catholic cathedral. Only Joe's Place would be hard to find.
I rate this R for language and heavy themes. Read at your own risk.
With the best will in the world, I ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer--but even I can tell there's something wrong when I turn the corner into Villiers Terrace at 11 PM and see yellow light boiling out my front door, a police car sitting in front of the house, and hear Mama's sobs echoing down the street.
That nosy old cow Mrs. Carmody is on her front step, trying to peer over the snow-laden privet hedge to see what's going on. "Joe, where you been?" she wails, delighted to do her bit for the great street drama. "Your mother's been crying for you for an hour."
I ignore her and barrel into the house, fear eating at me like acid. I hear scuffling and crashes from upstairs but I follow the sound of Mama's voice into the front parlor. She is sitting on the best sofa, looking tiny and broken like she did after Papa died. My niece's arm is draped across her heaving shoulders.
"Joseph, what have you done?" Natalie asks, looking furious with me.
But that's just it, see? I've been in trouble with the law before. I've got a bit of a temper, I'm a big man and I used to drink a lot. I went a bit wild when I had to leave the Navy and I got into a fight with some geezer who hurt a girl I knew. Well, long story short - I didn't know my own strength and I hurt him right back. Got banged up for a three-stretch for GBH, but I swear to God he was asking for it.
Only since I got out I been straight as a die, not even a parking ticket. For the first time in years, I've done nothing wrong. Even so, I have a horrible feeling I know who this is about.
I touch Mama's cheek and tell her not to worry, I'll sort this out, just as a hefty man walks into the room. He is fat but smartly dressed, and looks as if he'd be pretty handy in a fight. Before he even opens his mouth I know he's the law. Sure enough, two little uniformed piggies come trotting in after him. He shoots them a look and the youngest one squeals: "All searched but no result, sir."
"I'm Detective Sergeant John Chisholm," the tub of lard says to me. "Are you Joseph Lipinski?"
"No, I'm Daffy fucking Duck. Of course I am, this is my house, ain’t it?" The swearing sets off fresh sobs from Mama and I curse myself for getting mouthy. "What do you want?"
"What can you tell me about Winona Fletcher, Mr. Lipinski?" Chisholm asks.
"Nothing, since I don't know who that is."
"Your niece has already told us that you do." I give Natalie the death stare. She's almost 18 now, she should know not to admit anything to the polizei.
"You do know that aiding an escaped felon is a serious matter for someone with your record?" He's bluffing but Mama stifles a wail and my anger boils over.
"You're upsetting my mother," I shout, not caring if Mrs. Carmody gets an earful to gossip about. "I've told you, I know fuck all, I never helped no one."
"Perhaps this will help."
He holds up a photograph of her and suddenly it all makes sense. I don't know her by that name and she looks younger and happier in the picture, but it's definitely her. I try to keep my face straight but my brain never was quicker than my muscles.
Fat boy's on a roll now. "Ah, I see it does, Mr. Lipinski. Perhaps you'd like to tell me what you know..."
Perhaps I'd like to tell him what I know, he says. Jesus Christ on a bike.
Tell him how I met her? Tell him what it feels like to fall for someone you hardly know? Someone you can't have? Someone you know you're never going to see again... despite the fact you saved their life?
Constructive criticism is wanted and appreciated.
Don't post on this thread, please send me a message if you have any comments.
These places exist and are geographically correct: Little Ben is near Victoria Station in central London as is the magnificent Roman Catholic cathedral. Only Joe's Place would be hard to find.
I rate this R for language and heavy themes. Read at your own risk.
XXX
With the best will in the world, I ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer--but even I can tell there's something wrong when I turn the corner into Villiers Terrace at 11 PM and see yellow light boiling out my front door, a police car sitting in front of the house, and hear Mama's sobs echoing down the street.
That nosy old cow Mrs. Carmody is on her front step, trying to peer over the snow-laden privet hedge to see what's going on. "Joe, where you been?" she wails, delighted to do her bit for the great street drama. "Your mother's been crying for you for an hour."
I ignore her and barrel into the house, fear eating at me like acid. I hear scuffling and crashes from upstairs but I follow the sound of Mama's voice into the front parlor. She is sitting on the best sofa, looking tiny and broken like she did after Papa died. My niece's arm is draped across her heaving shoulders.
"Joseph, what have you done?" Natalie asks, looking furious with me.
But that's just it, see? I've been in trouble with the law before. I've got a bit of a temper, I'm a big man and I used to drink a lot. I went a bit wild when I had to leave the Navy and I got into a fight with some geezer who hurt a girl I knew. Well, long story short - I didn't know my own strength and I hurt him right back. Got banged up for a three-stretch for GBH, but I swear to God he was asking for it.
Only since I got out I been straight as a die, not even a parking ticket. For the first time in years, I've done nothing wrong. Even so, I have a horrible feeling I know who this is about.
I touch Mama's cheek and tell her not to worry, I'll sort this out, just as a hefty man walks into the room. He is fat but smartly dressed, and looks as if he'd be pretty handy in a fight. Before he even opens his mouth I know he's the law. Sure enough, two little uniformed piggies come trotting in after him. He shoots them a look and the youngest one squeals: "All searched but no result, sir."
"I'm Detective Sergeant John Chisholm," the tub of lard says to me. "Are you Joseph Lipinski?"
"No, I'm Daffy fucking Duck. Of course I am, this is my house, ain’t it?" The swearing sets off fresh sobs from Mama and I curse myself for getting mouthy. "What do you want?"
"What can you tell me about Winona Fletcher, Mr. Lipinski?" Chisholm asks.
"Nothing, since I don't know who that is."
"Your niece has already told us that you do." I give Natalie the death stare. She's almost 18 now, she should know not to admit anything to the polizei.
"You do know that aiding an escaped felon is a serious matter for someone with your record?" He's bluffing but Mama stifles a wail and my anger boils over.
"You're upsetting my mother," I shout, not caring if Mrs. Carmody gets an earful to gossip about. "I've told you, I know fuck all, I never helped no one."
"Perhaps this will help."
He holds up a photograph of her and suddenly it all makes sense. I don't know her by that name and she looks younger and happier in the picture, but it's definitely her. I try to keep my face straight but my brain never was quicker than my muscles.
Fat boy's on a roll now. "Ah, I see it does, Mr. Lipinski. Perhaps you'd like to tell me what you know..."
Perhaps I'd like to tell him what I know, he says. Jesus Christ on a bike.
Tell him how I met her? Tell him what it feels like to fall for someone you hardly know? Someone you can't have? Someone you know you're never going to see again... despite the fact you saved their life?
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