The Cowboy Detective: A Matter of Terror

By Greg Norgaard

TERROR IN THE CITY...

From the moment a crazed Nazi Doctor set foot in Chicago, he knew he was in the right place to finish the experiments he had started but never completed. His work began at a death camp, a camp of horrors in which he reigned with his own brand of terror. As soon as he committed his first act against an unsuspecting woman in the city, he knew there'd be a price on his head, and he didn't care. For this Nazi had the most beloved memory a man can have ... the feeling of exhilaration as another's fear turns to panic.

Below the rough underbelly of the city, there exists stalwart Detective Glenn Stroud. An efficient, dangerous, and committed cop who has always sought the evils that roam his town and threaten those closest to him. With his skills with a gun, his partner E Dent, and a souped up Pontiac Chieftain, Detective Stroud will search for the maniac while following the clues. His determination will lead to the end of this kidnapping and torturing psychopath ... that, or he’ll lose everyone dear to him.

The Cowboy Detective: A Matter of Terror by Greg Norgaard (Savage Noir). From Pro Se Productions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Nov 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310315954

Book preview

THE COWBOY DETECTIVE:

A MATTER OF TERROR

by Greg Norgaard

Published by Pro Se Press

This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters in this publication are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. No part or whole of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing of the publisher.

Copyright © 2015 Greg Norgaard

All rights reserved.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

About the Author

Chapter 1

—

Rita Simpson cringed at the knot in the muscle at the base of her neck. She took short steps as she slowly worked her way home from work, following the turns and straightaways. The route went away from the hustle and bustle of everyone going about their business. She knew a less crowded road that would take her north, just shy of Chicago Avenue.

Rita wore a raincoat, carried a brown purse, and, in her left hand, held a closed umbrella. She was in her late twenties. She had a wedding band and just a touch of makeup. The blush and lipstick were just enough for work but not enough to hope for extra attention from others. She had puffy dark eyes and a round face. It was a pretty face. The wedding ring was pretty, too. She glanced at her watch with a frown and whispered, It’s too early for the sun to be down. In order to prevent herself from sulking, she looked up and thought: at least it’s not snowing.

Across the street was the Elm Street diner. She stared at the restaurant before walking across and going inside. The plan all along was to eat there, just like every Thursday evening. And just like every Thursday evening, she stood outside as if her mind was working over the decision.

A waitress in a white apron recognized her, put a pencil above her ear, stepped up with a smile, and said, Hello.

Rita said, Hello, Sally.

The waitress guided Rita to a booth next to a window and made two place settings. One setting was for Rita and another directly across from her, as if someone would be joining. No one sat down across from her. It was like every Thursday evening.

Rita thanked the girl, waited, and stared at the place setting on the other side of the table. First came a bowl of soup, then a salad, and then some fried chicken with potatoes and green beans. She ate only a portion of her meal. She looked down at the empty place setting and scratched the red and white checkered tablecloth with her fingernails for a while. Her jaw tightened, she closed her eyes, and, just for a moment, the empty seat was occupied by a man with a kind face. She opened them to the empty booth and a piece of cherry pie. It was alamode with two forks. There was no verbal request for the dessert with two forks.

Rita took a bite of pie with a smidge of ice-cream and relaxed her face to a sad smile at the memory across from her. She stood up, put on her coat, and held out her hand for someone to take it. No one was there to do so. She paid the bill, thanked everyone, and turned to leave. She touched a cream colored hankie to the moisture in the corner of her eye so that its tender threads would absorb a tear.

Sally interrupted Rita before she could exit with a soft stroke of her hand on her arm, and, softly, she said, We all miss your husband, too.

Across the diner, the cook, who was wringing his hands dry in a white towel, and the busboy both smiled at Rita. The busboy nodded slightly.

Sally said, If you need anything.

With just a suggestion of a smile, Rita nodded and went out.

At the street corner, Rita stopped for a red light. She rested her hand on her forehead and sighed. A man next to her stood on the sidewalk as he waited to cross. He was slender with an overcoat and a walking stick. The walk signal turned, and she stepped into the street to cross. In the corner of her sight, she saw that the man had a white cane. He hesitated.

A car pushed into its turn to cut the man off. The gentleman with the white cane waited.

Rita turned and scowled at the car.

She said, Sir would you like some assistance?

He said, Yes, thank you.

The man’s eyes were mostly closed. He was a sixty something gentleman with a blank expression.

Rita walked the three steps back to the curb and put out her arm. He took it. She made sure the impatient car waited. She walked the blind gentleman carefully across the street. They stepped up and onto the curb.

Rita said, Some people are in such a hurry.

Thank you.

You’re welcome, sir, she said.

The man allowed Rita to step away. Excuse me, ma’am?

Yes?

I hate to bother, but would you help me up my steps? I’m only a half a block away.

Yes, absolutely.

Oh, thank you. He smiled.

Rita again put out her arm. They walked.

The man said, I have not been blind long. I’m still learning my way around and finding the right steps is sometimes hard.

Oh, it’s no problem, don’t you fret about it. She gently patted his hand with her fingers.

Do you live in the neighborhood? he asked.

I’m actually on my way to the bus stop, I live on the north side, said Rita.

The man said, My number is 6-1-8, it should only be twenty paces forward. Hey, you know? Let me do it by myself. You could just follow me and make sure I get into the right house.

Okay.

The man chuckled. It’ll be kinda fun to see if I can get it. I lost my vision only a year ago and just moved here from Philly to be closer to family.

Rita smiled to herself. The man let go of her arm and walked purposefully ahead as if counting his steps. He was attempting to make each of his strides the same length. He swerved to the right ever so slightly. Rita reached out and was about to speak, but the man’s cane found the edge and he straightened out his path. She followed as he worked his way left into a metal fence and continued his trek using his hand.

Oh, this isn’t bad, he whispered.

Rita said, You’re doing so well. You don’t need me at all. Rita trailed the man to his steps.

He said, This is it.

Yes, it is. Rita forgot about her damp handkerchief.

The man turned and said, Oh, I’m sorry, I’m Carl. He stuck out his hand.

Rita shook it. I’m Rita, and it’s so very nice to meet you. A warm glow flowed into her deep hole of loneliness allowing her feelings of loss to subside, if only for the moment.

Not everyone is as nice as you, he said. It is a rather strange place that people wouldn’t want to be as nice as you. People need people as we push forward through this noncompliant world.

Carl reached into his pocket and pulled out a key, it slipped from his fingers and fell to the sidewalk.

Oh, my, he said. The key came to rest by his foot.

Rita bent over. I’ve got it.

Thank you, said Carl.

Let me help you.

Rita went up the steps, unlocked the deadbolt, and helped Carl into the front door. He flipped a switch and nothing happened.

Rita said, Carl, your light is out.

Laughing out loud he said, Oh, my, I never would have known.

Rita was getting used to seeing only a sliver of the whites of his eyes. At first it was disconcerting, but he was so open and friendly she didn’t think anything of it anymore.

I’m so thankful, my dear, said Carl. "Would you join me for some tea? It would be nice to have some company for a few minutes. I promise I’ll be sure to keep you too long."

Rita raised a brow at the odd sentence and brushed her hair over her ear with slender fingers.

She said, Sure, I will, that would be nice. Another night alone would be too much.

Rita stepped into a small foyer with a coat rack in the corner. Carl unlocked another door and opened it. Rita hesitated. She suddenly felt apprehensive. Uneasy. She changed her mind and opened her mouth to speak when the outside door shut behind her with a click and then a clack. A hallway extended into a kitchen. Off to the side was a set of stairs. There was no furniture, anywhere. She held her hands cupped in front of her. She rotated her wedding ring, once.

Rita said, Hmm, Carl, I’m sorry, I really must be going.

He grumbled sternly, You are a pretty picture. You could become a habit with me. He ran his hand down his face with force, pushing forward a wave of skin over the surface. Mind your P’s and Q’s or you’ll force me to be unpleasant.

Rita tried to scream but couldn’t make a sound.

I hope you like the silence, said the man.

Everything went pitch-black as terror filled the small room and panic struck its prisoner. Rita fainted.

* * *

E Dent swished the scotch around his mouth and swallowed hard. Scotch with two small cubes of ice in a highball glass suited him. E Dent never half-assed a single thing in his life. He wasn’t going to start when it came to booze.

A woman said, Would you still love me if I was homely?

The maple colored whiskey swirled around the cubes of his drink. E Dent stopped in his tracks after a double-take. Next to him was a bakers-rack with a glass front. On the shelf of the rack were a radio and some pictures. The glass reflected the light of the flashing red and blue neon sign of a hotel across the street. It read vertically Hotel, and horizontally underneath it, it read Delilah. The a twinkled in such a manner that you couldn’t stare directly at it without feeling queasy.

I might, but I sure as hell wouldn’t sleep with you, said Dent. He took a sip of scotch.

E Dent had stout thick legs and a round midsection with a strong upper frame. His red hair was the first thing people noticed. His facial stubble always looked like it was in a perpetual state of having been shaved, at best, 48 hours earlier. People who didn’t know him would think he had just stepped from his home without taking the time to clean himself up. But E Dent worked hard to keep his look exactly the way he wanted it. Which was the way his girlfriend liked it. He knew that.

Very funny. I’m serious, E, said the beautiful brunette.

She lay across the divan as if poured from a decanter. She was barely contained inside a long white dress and dangling from her neck was a string of large white pearls that rested sensually over her breast. Her black high heeled shoes were on the floor.