"Murder Is But A Memory" drabbles by Christopher

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 30

Murder Is But A Memory

The cab pulled up in front of the Seaside Inn. Kerri raised her head up from my shoulder, where she'd rested it shortly after our journey began. She rubbed her tired eyes as I opened the door and helped her out. The cab driver didn't try to kill us on the way home so I gave him the full fare.

We walked into the courtyard of the inn. The moon was casting a pale, silvery glow all around us. I walked Kerri to the door of her room.

"Jake," she said ever so softly, "please don't leave me alone tonight."

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 29

Murder Is But A Memory

While we waited for the photos to develop I stepped over to the phone and called a cab. I collected Kerri and the photos and we exited the arcade and made our way off the pier and onto the street.

The cab pulled up to the corner. I helped Kerri in and then climbed in beside her. The driver was looking across the street as some concerned citizens were helping our former cab driver out of the trunk of his taxi.

The driver looked nervous as I said, "This is a rough neighborhood, pal. What's say we make tracks, huh?"

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 28

Murder Is But A Memory

I realized as we passed the arcade that if I was going to get anywhere toward identifying who Kerri was that I was going to need a photograph.

I saw the photo booth just inside the arcade, 8 pictures for two bits. That was seven more than I needed, but hey, you only go around once.

I dropped the coins in and we slid into the booth and pulled the curtain. The flash went off in short intervals, and we just smiled like a couple of lovers that has asked a passing stranger to take a few shots of us...

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 27

Murder Is But A Memory

What could I have said that triggered that memory? Vegas? Vic Stane? Gambling? I already knew there was some sort of connection to Las Vegas because of the bowling ball bag that housed the 250 grand she stashed in the bus depot locker. Did she win that money in Vegas? Did she steal it? Did Vic Stane have anything to do with this?

I picked her up off the pier. She looked up at me with teary eyes.

"Take me home, Jake," she said like a lost little girl.

We slowly walked down the pier in the cool night air...

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 26

Murder Is But A Memory

I knelt down and grabbed her by the sides of her face.

"Kerri? Talk to me!" I yelled in a panic.

She pulled back until my hands were off the sides of her head and then she buried her face in her hands.

"Jake," she said between sobs, "I'm in terrible danger! I don't know how but I know I am! I had a flash of overhearing a conversation where someone was ordering me killed!"

"Ordering you killed? Are you sure?" I asked.

She nodded quickly, still sobbing. I retraced my words to see what might have been the trigger...

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 25

Murder Is But A Memory

We turned, holding hands as we looked back out over the ever darkening water.

"You know," I said, "just before the war this whole coastline was littered with gambling ships."

"Really?" she asked.

"Yeah," I continued, "they were run by this Vegas mobster named Vic Stane, before the state Attorney General shut 'em down, and Stane retreated back to Nevada."

I felt Kerri's hand trembling. When I turned to look her whole body was shaking and she had a look of wretched horror on her face. She started sobbing uncontrollably.

"Kerri!" I screamed. "What's wrong?"

She collapsed on the pier...

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 24

Murder Is But A Memory

Kerri gazed out across the water like someone who'd been blind all their life suddenly being given new eyes. I wondered if it was the amnesia or if she'd never actually seen the ocean before. She turned, looking up at me and smiling. I suddenly had that respiratory trouble again.

I turned, putting my arm around her waist. I pulled her body against mine and touched my lips to hers. Our tongues began swirling around each other. I could feel her breasts pressing softly against my chest.

The sun slipped below the horizon, leaving only a souvenir in our minds...

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 23

Murder Is But A Memory

We stared at the horizon for a while, our hands resting on the railing. I slid my hand east a bit and she slid hers west, and before long the twain had met. It was like grabbing a live wire. I heard bells ringing in the distance, which was either coming from the arcade or they were God's way of telling me I just hit the jackpot.

I had to take things slowly. Kerri was in a very vulnerable state and I couldn't take advantage of her. Actually, that was not true. I could've taken advantage but chose not to...

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 22

Murder Is But A Memory

We moved through the crowd and down the pier to the end, out over the Pacific Ocean. You'd hardly believe that less than five years ago this ocean was raging with war; planes flying high above this beautiful body of water, ships cutting across the surface, submarines lurking in the dark depths.

That seemed like a distant memory at this moment. The sun was setting over the ocean, strips of clouds hanging like pink cotton candy tempting us to reach up and grab a handful. Purple, blue and orange shades streaked across the sky like a child's haphazard crayon marks...

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 21

Murder Is But A Memory

We walked to the pier, which was bustling with activity. We strode past the arcade, hearing the cacophony of bells ringing and loud voices. Kids were running around screaming. All was right with their world.

The same couldn't be said for Kerri's world. It must be a terrible thing to not know who you are. You can remember how to drive a car, how to play the piano, how to cook a meal, but any recollection of your personal world is blocked. It's like a house that looks familiar, but when you peer through the window the place is empty.

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 20

Murder Is But A Memory

We reached Newcomb Pier despite the cabbie's best efforts to kill us along the way. When he told me the charge I gave him 75% of it, telling him he'd receive the balance just as soon as he learned how to drive.

When he exited the cab to strong arm me into coughing up the additional 25% I turned, giving him a one way fist to Snoozeville. I grabbed the keys from the ignition and rented him a room in the cab's trunk for him to sleep it off. I slammed it shut as Kerri looked horrified and aroused simultaneously...

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 19

Murder Is But A Memory

We stood there on the corner waiting for the taxi. There was a warm breeze blowing the salty smell of sea water through the air. The seagulls were having an intense conversation, perhaps even an argument. You could hear them over the roar of the traffic. Even over the incessant blowing of the cabbie's horn as he pulled up to the curb on the other side of the street. We crossed the busy road carefully and climbed into the back of the cab.

"Where to, Mac?" the greasy little driver said from under his cap.

"Newcomb Pier. And quickly, friend."

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 18

Murder Is But A Memory

She appeared wearing a yellow dress, her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her makeup was immaculately applied to her adorable face. She was the kind of beauty ancient wars were fought over.

I must have been drooling like a newborn with a mouthful of Mama's mammary, because a warm red glow slowly passed over that gorgeous kisser.

"You ready to go?" I asked, looking around aimlessly.

She smiled widely, "Boy am I! I've been cooped up in here all day!"

We walked down to the corner where I stepped into the phone booth and called us a taxi...

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 17

Murder Is But A Memory

I had a date to meet with Kerri. I was going to tell her what I had uncovered, which wasn't much. Harrigan dropped me off at the Seaside Inn on Route 101 in Santa Monica. That's where I stashed Kerri.

I told Harrigan I would keep him abreast of things, not true but I wanted to say "abreast," and went to Kerri's room, lucky number 7.

I knocked on the door and I heard a plaintive voice say, "Who's there?"

"Humphrey Bogart, shweetheart," I said playfully.

I heard a giggle as she opened up the door. I couldn't breathe again...

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 16

Murder Is But A Memory

There were two sets of tire skids, one from medium sized tires and one from larger tires. The larger set stopped about fifty yards short of the end of the curve. Almost as if someone pushed Kerri's car off the side of the hill.

I stepped to the edge of the hill and looked over. You could clearly see where the car went down and where it stopped and burned up. There were charred trees and shrubbery all around where the car expired and went to that great parking lot in the sky.

It's a miracle Kerri even survived it...

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 15

Murder Is But A Memory

I smirked, "For what? Withholding evidence to a crime that didn't happen? When did they pass that law?"

Harrigan pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned it off. He got out without uttering a sound. He pulled a cigar from his coat pocket, bit the end off, and lit the other end with a match he struck on his pants. I wish I could do that.

I looked at the road. There was a break in the guard railing where Kerri's car smashed through and went off the curve to the bottom of the ravine...

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 14

Murder Is But A Memory

As we rode toward Desert Canyon Road we caught up with each other on a personal level. Then the conversation turned back to my case.

"I have a hunch this has something to do with Vegas," I said, remembering where the bowling ball bag was sold from.

Harrigan tugged at the wheel as we turned up the winding road where Kerri had her accident.

"What gives you that hunch?" he asked suspiciously.

I shook my head, "Privileged information."

Harrigan got very business-like. "I hope it's not the kind of privileged information that will land your keister in the slammer."

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 13

Murder Is But A Memory

Harrigan nodded, "So, she took my advice, huh?"

"Yeah."

Harrigan went around and sat down at his desk. He looked tired.

"Well, I can't tell you any more than I told her. We could find no evidence of who she was. No driver's license. Fingerprints came up with nothing..."

I interrupted, "What about the car?"

"It burned up. The license plate was charred and if there was any registration in the car, it burned up too."

"Dammit!" I yelled out. "Where was the accident?"

Harrigan rose up from his desk, "Desert Canyon Road. Come on, I'll take you up there."

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 12

Murder Is But A Memory

Harrigan stepped into his office and closed the door. He turned and grinned.

"Randolph. What is it you want from me now? I saved your life in France, for crying out loud."

I shot him a disapproving look, "And I saved your sorry carcass twice as I recall, Harrigan. That means you owe me a lifesaver."

He smirked as he fished in the right pocket of his pants. He pulled out a roll of Lifesavers and threw them at me.

"Even Steven. Now get outa here, Randolph. I got work to do."

"Meet any Jane Does lately," I asked coyly...

Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 11

Murder Is But A Memory

At least I had one piece of the puzzle, a bag of money, which I proceeded to deliver to my safety deposit box at the bank for safe keeping. The money that is, not the bag. I examined it and found it was sold by a shop in Las Vegas, Nevada. Could there be some significance to that?

My next step was dropping in on Harrigan at Central Division to see if he could give me any information about Kerri's car accident. He was talking to an officer when he saw me. He pointed to his office in the corner...