Next To Die

Status: 1st Draft

Next To Die

Status: 1st Draft

Next To Die

Book by: Sideman

Details

Genre: Mystery and Crime

Content Summary


Someone wants to kill Flossie May Campbell but she doesn't know who or why. She works as a reporter for the the Alamo City Tattler - an underground newspaper that prints dirt on high profile people
in San Antonio. The tension rises when her would-be killer informs her he's going to delay her demise and play some devious and evil games with her until he gets bored with it. Then he'll move in
for the kill.

 

 

Content Summary


Someone wants to kill Flossie May Campbell but she doesn't know who or why. She works as a reporter for the the Alamo City Tattler - an underground newspaper that prints dirt on high profile people
in San Antonio. The tension rises when her would-be killer informs her he's going to delay her demise and play some devious and evil games with her until he gets bored with it. Then he'll move in
for the kill.

Author Chapter Note


Any and all suggestions appreciated. Everything is fair game. Go for it!



Flossie may visits her mother and then goes to the hospital to visit the the woman who was shot. Conchita's broken English won't continue throughout the book - just for a few chapters.



Thanks in advance.

Chapter Content - ver.0

Submitted: September 01, 2018

In-Line Reviews: 4

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Chapter Content - ver.0

Submitted: September 01, 2018

In-Line Reviews: 4

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Chapter 3

 

Even though I had a key to her house, I chose to knock on Mom's door rather than barge in. The last thing I wanted to see was my mother naked or in the sack doing something kinky with some old dude from the Vietnam War. Or maybe a young stud muffin.

“Hey girl, come in and have a seat.”

I followed Mom to the sofa and plopped down beside her. She remoted the TV volume down. As usual, she was braless in one of her tie-died T-shirts. Her mother, Granny Blaylock, was a child of the sixties and Mom latched onto it. She had a cozy relationship with protests and peace signs. Weed, too.

Mom was creepy hyper. Bouncing her butt on the sofa, eyes mostly dilated, and making small lunges as thugh she were going to attack me. "Come on, Flossie May. Spill the beans. I want to know every little detail. Don't hold anything back."

A ‘How are ya? Anything I can do?’ would have been nice. Like I told Swamp, you have to read between the lines with Mom.

I gave her the details right up front; otherwise she'd keep at me until I did. I didn’t mention the note taped to my door. No need to worry her any more than necessary.

“That's some kind of job you got. Let's see. You get nasty emails, get cussed out regularly, and now someone's trying to shoot your ass. Have you considered Burger King? Or, maybe selling cosmetics at Dillards? To the best of my knowledge, their employees aren't normally used for target practice.”

“I like my job. A little danger goes with the territory. I can deal with it.” Actually, I was scared shitless.

“You need to start packing some heat, girl. Seriously. Get yourself a nice little Smith and Wesson.”

“I hate guns,” I answered almost before she got the last word out. “They’re used to kill people. I'm not a big fan of that.”

“You bet they do. That's why you need one. You need to kill the bad guys before they kill you.”

I hated being on the losing side of an argument. I offered a compromise. “I'll give it some more thought.”

“That's one of the few good things I can say about your father. He was always packin' and could shoot a freckle off an elephant’s ass at a hundred yards.”

“Ya know, Mom, the fact he was a cop for twenty-five years might have had something to do with that.”

The San Antonio Police Department involuntarily retired him as a Captain six years ago—a massive heart attack he almost didn't survive. He's a strict, by-the-rules, no nonsense guy who was devoted to his work. Dad was the epitome of a place for everything and everything in its place. Mom, on the other hand, was a total slob when it came to just about everything.

Mom opened a small wooden box on the coffee table and pulled out a pre-rolled joint. “He was a good cop. I'll give him that, too. But he was a terrible husband and a hard SOB to get along with. The best thing I ever did for myself was divorcing his little perfectionist behind.”

“So, if you two were so opposite, why in the hell did you ever get married?” Although I’d often wondered, I’d never before asked outright.

“That man had some serious moves in the bedroom and ...”

“Okay, I get the picture.” Mom often didn't know when to shut up.

“You asked.”

“Sorry I did.”

“So, you gonna get a gun and start kicking some bad guy ass?”

“Like I said, I'll give it some serious thought.”

“You do that.” She seemed to go into a trance for a few seconds and then a smile morphed onto her face. “I’m telling you, Flossie May, I'm gonna be the big dog at my bridge club tonight. Ain't none of them old bags gonna come close to matching my story about your attempted murder.”

Nice to know I now had some social notoriety.

I grabbed my purse from the coffee table. “I gotta go, Mom. I have a couple of stories to follow up on.” I lied.

“You be real careful, Flossie May. And you need to tell your father about this. Of course he’ll overreact. You know how he is.”

“I’ll be careful and I’ll talk to Dad. Promise. Love ya.”

I slid behind the wheel of the Gray Ghost and backed out of Mom's driveway. She lived in one half of a three-bedroom duplex. Normally, no big deal. But, the fact that my father lived in the other half was just weird. They’d bought the duplex right after they got married. I grew up there.

The court ordered them to sell the duplex and split the proceeds if they couldn’t work out a mutual agreement regarding ther divorce settlement. Bullheaded as hell, neither wanted to give up the house. The judge, in a moment of profound idiocy, granted Mom ownership of unit “A” and Dad ownership of Unit “B”. It was a travesty from the start.

I didn’t see Dad’s F-150 parked in the other drive, so I assumed he wasn’t home.

 

 

I decided to check on the status of the woman who took the bullet meant for me. The morning news report said she was taken to Baptist Northeast Hospital and gave her name as Conchita Rios. I found a parking spot close to the main entrance.

When I stepped into Ms. Rios’ room, a nurse greeted me. “May I help you?”

“Hi. My name is Flossie May Campbell and I'm an investigator.” I left off the part about being a reporter. I pulled a badge from my purse and flashed it for a few seconds. It looked pretty convincing for an online, ten-dollar purchase.

Except in rare cases, private investigators aren’t allowed to have badges. It might cause folks to think they were police or federal agents and had similar prerogatives. In fact, private detectives have little more power than a regular citizen. But most people don’t know that.

“Make it brief. No more than fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks.” The nurse tucked the chart under her arm and departed the room.

I scooted a chair to the side of the bed and plopped myself onto it. My gentle tap on the lady’s arm caused her eyes to flutter a time or two and then open. She stared at me without blinking. She was a young Hispanic lady about my age.

“Hi. I'm Flossie May Campbell. I'm an investigator. If I make it brief, can you answer a couple of questions for me? I guess I should have asked first—do you speak English?”

She nodded.

“Do you remember what happened yesterday when you got shot?”

Her voice was soft with a strong accent. “I get out of my car. I parked next to big Cadillac with door and fender that were different colors from rest of the car. So crazy-looking.”

“I’ll bet.”

“I get out of my car just as lady driving Cadillac opens the door to get in her car. I remember she had ice cream. I hear a shot and glass breaking. Then everything goes black. I feel a real bad hurt in my shoulder, then nothing until I wake up here last night.” She looked at me kind of funny. “You know, you look a lot like lady in crazy-looking car.”

“I am the lady who was driving the crazy-looking car. I saw what happened to you and feel really bad that you got shot. That bullet was meant for me.”

“Meant for you? What you mean?”

“Someone tried to shoot me, but they missed and hit you.”

“Why someone shoot at you?”

“I wish I knew. Apparently I pissed someone off pretty bad.”

“Si. I think so.”

“Have they told you the extent of your injuries?”

“Doctor say have collapsed lung, so they put tube in my chest to make pressure not so bad. Something about letting extra air in chest get out. They also say I have cracked rib.”

“Sounds painful,” I said.

“Si. Mucho dolor. They do surgery and fix everything. They even let me have bullet they took out.”

“Nice.” I'm not sure I would want the bullet if it were me. Kind of unsettling to see something that was once inside a human body that God hadn’t put there. “I'm going to leave and let you get some rest. I was worried about you and came by to see how you were doing.”

“Thank you. That very nice of you.”

“Hope you’re out of the hospital soon and everything is okay.” I stood and walked to the door. “Bye.”

“Bye-bye. And muçhas graçias.”

 My stomach growled as I drove from the hospital parking lot. I guided the Gray Ghost toward Big Bubba's Bar-B-Q & Burgers. I turned south off Loop 410 onto Harry Wurzbach Road. The traffic light turned red as I came to Oakwell Farms Road.

I looked to my left when I heard the horn. The man behind the wheel formed his hand into the shape of a handgunl. He pointed it at me and mouthed the word ‘Bang!’

He drove a white Toyota.


© Copyright 2025 Sideman. All rights reserved.

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