Little Girls; How Dangerous Could They Be?: Carla Larsen Mystery, #2

By charles fisher

Carla continues her quest to find murderer Jimmy Anders; the adventure takes her to Vermont, Montana, and to the ends of her patience. Lots of action, wrestling matches, and new characters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: charles fisher
• Release date: Mar 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393493105

Book preview

Get up, little shitbird, Tara sneered as she circled Harper, who was lying on the basement floor covered in her own blood.

You cut me, ten year old Harper cried.

I do again if you no defend yourself, stupid infidel, Tara snarled, and kicked Harper in the ribs. I teach you this move; why you no learn? You tell us how smart you are; you just stupid little asshole.

There lies Harper Boone Cochran, Carla grinned as she sat back in her chair. She cut off twist and stuffed it into her cheek. Tough guy  who wants to be a copper. Don’t look so tough to me, layin’ there cryin’ like a little baby. What y’all gonna do when it’s some dude who wants you dead instead of us?

You’re supposed to teach me, not kill me! Harper yelled.

That’s it, douche bag; throw a fuckin’ temper tantrum like the baby you are. You are a disappointment to me, girl. I thought you had something. You ain’t got shit. Maybe I will send you back to your Mama so’s you can play with dolls and such.

Fuck the both of you, Harper nodded. I’ll fucking kill the two of you. She got to her feet and squared off with Tara. Come on, camel jockey. Kill me.

Tara circled Harper and lunged at her, the fourteen inch Bowie aimed at her throat. Harper stepped to the right, grabbed Tara’s arm, and dragged her to the floor. She clamped the captured  arm between her legs and fell across Tara’s back. She locked her hands under Tara’s chin and pulled back as hard as she could.

Tap, motherfucker! Harper  yelled as Tara strained against the pressure on her neck. She tried to rotate her hips to the left to get out of the hold, but the captured arm prevented her from doing so. Come on! Harper yelled. I’ll fucking snap your neck!

Tara tried again to get loose, but failed. She pounded the mat.

Let ‘er go, Carla said. She done gave up.

Harper got off Tara and slapped her across the back of the head. How you like that, asshole, she nodded. My Mama taught me that hold. The Crippler Crossface.

Damn, I think she done learned somethin’ of value, Carla said as Tara rubbed her neck. Had your Sandy Arabian ass in a sling there, she did.

Me Iranian, Tara snapped. No Saudi Arabian. This not what I teach her.

Worked pretty good, though, Carla said as she put a chalk mark on a board. One for the kid. Try somethin’ else.

Okay, Tara smirked as Harper guzzled a beer. I have gun, I want shoot you, she said, taking out an unloaded Smith & Wesson .38 revolver. Me four feet away. What you do, toddler?

Harper spat a mouthful of beer into Tara’s face; when Tara reflexively turned away, Harper grabbed the gun and twisted it upward, spraining two of Tara’s fingers. Tara screeched in pain; Harper swept her legs and put her down. She stuck the gun under Tara’s chin, grabbed a handful of her hair, and pulled the hammer back.

Say your prayers, creep face, she grinned. Go ahead. Move one fucking muscle, and you get yours.

Time, Carla called out. She put another chalk mark next to Harper’s name. Y’all ain’t doing so good today, Ayatollah. I think we done awakened a badass here. Girl got Moxie. Time for a pizza break.

They went upstairs, and Harper cleaned up. They sat down at the table.

What happened to you, Harper? Mary smiled.

Nothing I can’t handle, Harper said as she took two slices. It’s just a little harder than I thought it would be.

Getting the shit beat out of you for the last two weeks can’t be fun, Mary said. Are you sure you want to go through with this?

I am, Harper said. I made Tara tap out today.

She did, Carla grinned. Old camel face done pounded that mat like she hated it.

I do for make her feel good, Tara shrugged.

You do so I don’t break your damn neck, Harper grinned. Admit it. I had your ass; there is no way out of that hold.

Rasslin’ be one thing; street fightin’ be another, Carla said.  Ain’t no boy from the hood gonna tap out. If he got one hand free, it will have a gun in it before you can spell Tara gave up. You are not gonna lay in the street yankin’ on somebody’s neck. You got to finish the fight and get control of your surroundings.

Okay; you’re surrounded by three thugs. What do you do?

Depends on where they are and what they have in mind. If they be on all sides of me, I got to move so’s I can see all three. If they do not obey my command to surrender, I shoot the sons of bitches, plain and simple. If it’s me or them that has to die, it will be them.

Is that legal?

Who cares? Carla laughed. You can’t argue no case of self defense from a slab in the morgue. Like George Patton said; No bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making some other dumb bastard die for his country.

I don’t know about that, Harper said. I’ve been reading law books.

Okay, Carole Junior, you read your law books all you want. When some gang banger sticks a knife in you because you were afraid of some damn statute writ by cowards who never wore a badge, I will see to it them law books get put in your coffin  so you got somethin’ to read on the other side. Always remember; a cop’s first duty is to finish his shift alive. There are lots of folks out there who want to make sure you finish it in a pine box. Jimmy Anders be one of them.

I hear he’s smart. I’m sure I’m smarter.

You are? It don’t take much brains to plant a bomb under somebody’s car, or shoot them in the back. That boy plays chess with human lives. He is always thinking six moves ahead. He knows how cops work, and he plans for every possibility. Boy beat a lethal injection. How’s that for smart?

Carla is right, Shifty, Mary smiled. Dead men can’t testify.

Shifty? Harper laughed.

Well, you are somewhat devious, Mary said. Like that bottle of Scotch you stole and thought nobody would notice.

She’s good, Harper nodded, indicating Mary. Pretty slick  for an old broad.

I raised three girls, Mary said. I’ve had every trick in the book pulled on me. Keep the Scotch, she sighed. You’ll just steal something else, she said, winking at Carla.

I gotta pee, Harper sighed. Can I have a beer when I get back? It isn’t cocaine, you know.

Sure, Mary said. Help yourself.

What did y’all do now? Carla said after Harper had left. Y’all gonna let her keep a quart of Scotch?

Sure, Mary shrugged. Carole tried that one, too. The six tablespoons of Epsom Salts I added changed her mind about drinking.

Damn, Carla laughed. Girl will shit herself inside out.

You mess with the bull, you get the horns, Mary smiled. Ask Mrs. Johannsen.

That night, the sound of pounding footfalls in the hall kept up all night, along with groaning, farting, and cries of I don’t remember eating that. The next morning, a drained and haggard Harper slumped into her chair for breakfast.

I can’t eat, she whispered. I’m going to die. I shit myself to death.

I guess Scotch isn’t your drink, Mary smiled. Would you like to try Vodka next?

No, Harper said, holding up her hands. I never want to see hard liquor again. I’ll stick to beer.

What did you do now, Mother? Carole said as she sat down. I couldn’t sleep at all because of the toilet flushing all night.

Shifty had some Scotch last night, Mary smiled. Like you had when you were a Junior in high school.

Oh, that one, Carole giggled. I caused Mr. Maynard to pull the fire alarm in sixth period.

I need a day off, Harper groaned.

No way, Carla said. You get your ass in that basement and do your duty. And eat that oatmeal. That will plug up your innards. You shit on me while we are training, and there will be hell to pay.

I have no strength, Harper sighed.

Then use that big brain y’all keep braggin’ about. You mean you can’t beat a punk ass thirteen year old kid from Kansas? I ain’t much bigger than you. Well, except for a couple of places, she grinned. Them be my money makers.

Be better off if you sent me to the joint with Tammy as a cellmate, Harper sighed. Is she still alive?

She is, Carole smiled. But not very happy about it. Three suicide attempts so far, and she complains about a weird tuna like taste in her mouth.

God works in mysterious ways, Carla grinned. The old Caviar Surprise be one of ‘em.

I bet Shifty never ate pussy, Mary smiled.

Mother! Carole shrieked. What’s wrong with you? My sweet, innocent mother from Minnesota has turned into Richard Pryor.

People from Minnesota know about sex, Mary said with a wave of her hand. Why do you think there are so many of us? Mrs. Nemmermeyer didn’t know much, though. I think she married a Norwegian who was too kinky for her. She kept asking if her butt could get pregnant.

I give up, Carole sighed. I have to go to work and catch bad guys.

You have to go to work and eat pizza, Mary smiled. The cleaners keep complaining; tomato sauce costs extra to remove from khakis.

Eating is how I relieve stress, Carole snapped. Screw the cleaners.

Maybe you’d relieve more stress if you screwed the cleaners and ate less pizza, Mary muttered.

Some family you got here, Harper smiled. Gooley couldn’t do better. Which reminds me; we got to go to Mayhem next Monday. Mommy Dearest is making her return. You ain’t seen nothing until you see her.

WWA Monday Night Mayhem

The New Haven Coliseum

New Haven, Connecticut

October, 1997

––––––––

Good evening, you filthy, ugly alleged humans, Lord Ashton Creighton smiled at the TV camera. Welcome to the World Wrestling Alliance.  If you have never seen Monday Night Mayhem before, perhaps you might want to rethink watching this senseless, mindless extravaganza of violence, nudity, and debauchery. But then again, most of you can’t even spell your own names, much less the words I just spoke. That is because you are mere crawling scum, and I am a British gentleman of inestimable proportions. I can trace my heritage back to Richard the Lion Hearted.  Most of you are lucky to be able to trace the filth that produced you to a DNA stain on a whorehouse mattress in Cuba.

How does he get away with that? Vince McMahon said as he watched the TV in Gooley’s office.

Bullet proof vest, James J. Gooley smiled. And the New Haven pigs provide Snipers now. After that last show, they insisted on having permission to kill the fans.

I should bring Linda, Vince grinned. Front row seat, and encourage her to throw things at the ring.

You ain’t got the balls, Lola Avon said with a wave of her hand. She stretched mightily, eyeing Vince. Do my tits look bigger? she grinned.

I doubt they could get any bigger, Vince said, pulling at his collar. Is it hot in here, or is it me?

It’s me, Lola grinned. But you ain’t got the stones to take my offer, so suck it. You can die wondering what it would have been like to climb Mt. Lola. And don’t eyeball me, Jimmy. You ain’t no super stud either.

Thank you, oh Queen of Sloppy Seconds, Gooley smiled. Are you going to wrestle tonight? That is what I pay you for, you know.

You pay me to eat Italian food and break your balls, Lola smiled as Ziti dribbled onto her chest. Oh, look. Zitis on my titties. You want to lick it off, Vinny Mac?"

Watch the show, Gooley sighed. Maybe something will come back to you, like how to wrestle.

I can wrestle, Lola shrugged. You got to make it worth my while.

I pay you half a million dollars a year! Gooley laughed.

Yeah, but that’s for my other talents like answering the phone, ordering food, ordering lingerie, making sure Murray has lots of singles for the strip clubs, having the biggest tits on the roster, and telling bible stories.

Bible stories! Gooley exclaimed. I forgot; how stupid of me. Surely that’s worth half a million a year.

The way I tell them it is, Lola said. And you ain’t gave me no title matches, so screw you.

You haven’t been a contender since you got here, Gooley said. Tell you what. I’ll give you a shot at Tara next week for the TV Title.

I’ll stick to bible stories, Lola said. She cheats.

The last match you had, you rubbed pizza into Maria Sanchez’ face and hair. That was three years ago.

And Murray better have taken that out of that beaner’s check, Lola said. That shit costs money. I watch out for the company’s finances.

Sure you do, Gooley sighed. Six diamond bracelets from Zales last month? What were those for?

The girls. You gotta keep them happy, or they’ll quit and go to work for Vinny.

See? Vince smiled. I warned you years ago about having a women’s division.

If I didn’t start a women’s division I’d be on welfare, Gooley sighed. I’d still have Iron Head Smith as my champion, and Diamond Jim Barnes would still be on the roster.

He is still on the roster, dummy, Lola grinned.

He is? I haven’t seen him in three years.

That’s because he was in rehab.

For three years? Gooley exclaimed.

Hey, it ain’t easy to beat heroine, crack, pot, coke, and booze.

When is he going to wrestle?

Tonight. First match.

Creighton took the mike and stared down at the audience. He saw Shannon Flynn and Ann Coleman. Again? he exclaimed. Why are you two always here? Baskin-Robbins close down? Never mind; I’ll deal with you two later. Our first contest is for the WWA Heavyweight Championship. Introducing the challenger,  returning to the WWA after a lengthy absence,  from Hollywood, Florida, weighing 311 pounds, he is a former NWA United States Champion and WWA TV Champion, please welcome Diamond Jim Barnes. He is accompanied to the ring by the girl who has left more wet spots in cars than leaky windows, Miss Brenda Reardon.

Barnes came down the ramp, swilling  a pint of Vodka. He drained it and threw the empty bottle at a fan. He still had his trademark shoulder length black hair, black leather pants, and plain black boots. He staggered towards the ring and managed to climb through the ropes as the crowd yelled vile comments at Brenda.

He’s shit faced, Gooley sighed as he watched in the office. I thought you said he was in rehab.

He was, Lola said as she opened a tin of Lasagna. Until your cheap Jew insurance ran out.

Then why is he drinking?

Don’t you know anything? It’s re-hab. The hab stands for habit, and re stands for re-something, I forget. Anyway, they re-somethinged his habit, so now all he does is Vodka, no drugs. That’s better, ain’t it?

Of course, Gooley smiled. A falling down drunk wrestler. Just what I needed.

Well, you got it, so stop complaining. Sheesh; that’s all you Hebes do is complain.

Creighton watched as Barnes held onto the ropes to keep from falling down.

Well now, this should be interesting, he smiled. And his opponent, from anywhere he damn well pleases, standing nearly seven feet tall and weighing 335 pounds, he is a former NWA and current WWA World Heavyweight Champion, Psycho Sid Steinman.

Sid came down the aisle in his black chaps, beckoning to the audience for applause as he whacked away at a pack of gum. He ran a hand through his long curly blond locks and climbed in. He looked at his old nemesis and laughed.

You gotta be fucking kidding me, Barnes. Where the fuck have you been?

Rehab, Barnes grinned stupidly. You?

Beating up  assholes like you. And a thirty day stretch in the joint.

You look like a faggot wearing them chaps, Barnes leered. Midnight Cowboy.

You’re gonna get a  midnight ride to the hospital, Sid nodded. Gooley tell you the finish?

Nope. He don’t even know I’m here, Barnes gurgled. This Atlanta?

No, stupid, it’s New Haven.

Oh. I didn’t drive. Nobody said nothing about a finish.

Well then, we’ll just make it up as we go along. We got fifteen minutes, and you lose. How do you want to go down?

On your sister, Barnes grinned. If your Daddy is finished with her, that is.

Okay, Sid nodded. If that’s the way you want it, Jim, that’s the way you’ll have it. I tried playing straight with you for ten years, but it never works. You don’t want to work a match with me? Fine; I’ll fucking cripple you and put you out of your misery, you drunk asshole.

Step back, referee Mike Murdoch said. He took Sid aside. Look, the guy is still all fucked up from booze and drugs. He is a Medal of Honor winner. Cut him some slack.

He talked shit about my sister, Sid said. Nobody does that and gets away with it.

You don’t have a sister, Murdoch said.

He don’t know that, Sid said.

Okay, but take it easy on him. Don’t hurt the fucking guy, okay?

That depends on him. If he wants to take a pin like he’s supposed to, fine. Otherwise, he’s lunch meat.

Murdoch called for the bell, and Barnes lurched out of his corner. The two men circled each other.

You want some of this? Barnes grinned. Come get some. He reached out and slapped Sid hard in the face.

Uh oh, Gooley said as he watched the match. Bad move. Do we have life insurance on this asshole, Lola?

Did you call me an asshole, you Jew cocksucker? Lola said.

No, Dear; I asked you if we have life insurance on Diamond Jim. He’s the asshole, not you.

Oh, then that’s better. Ask Murray about insurance. That’s a Jew thing.

Sid wiped some blood off his lip and stared at it, then stared at Barnes.

You’re a dead man, he hissed. He rushed Barnes and tried for a headlock.

Barnes ducked down and shoved Sid as hard as he could; Sid’s momentum carried him through the ropes into the steel ring post. He staggered backwards, a big cut on his forehead. Jim executed a perfect belly to back suplex, dropping Sid onto the back of his neck as the crowd went wild. Barnes quickly climbed to the top turnbuckle and executed a huge elbow drop across Sid’s throat. He grabbed the monster’s right leg and rolled him up for the pin. He grabbed the belt and ran up the runway.

Did I just see what I think I saw? Gooley exclaimed.

Jim won, Lola grinned. Maybe he wasn’t as drunk as he looked.

Divine intervention, Gooley smiled.

Is that a Jew trick, like the cash register that adds ten percent? Lola said.

Fifteen, Gooley said. You forgot about inflation.

I don’t need no inflation, Lola said, sticking out her chest. I got forty double Ds. And I got another bible story for Vinny. It’s about the Virgin Mary."

Watch it, Vince said. That’s the Holy Mother you’re talking about.

Whatever, Lola said with a wave of her hand. When I get done, you might not think she’s so holy.

Watch the match, Gooley sighed. That crazy rebel is up next. Who hired her, anyway?

Billy Jo. Why? You got something against girls all of a sudden since you found out you can’t get one?

I could get one; I just don’t want one. I like coming home to my nice, quiet house and my dog.

Yeah, Lola giggled. The Joodle. He only barks when he hears the cash register ring.

Joodle? Vince laughed.

Yeah. That’s a Jewish Poodle. It wears one of them little beanies, and it steals your wallet when you fall asleep.

Linda used to do that, Vince mused. And she’s Catholic.

Creighton climbed into the ring and looked around.

What happened to poor Mr. Steinman? he laughed. Oh well, that is not my concern. The following contest will probably get us thrown off the air, but what else is new. It is for the WWA Women’s United States Championship. Introducing the challenger, from Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania, and I did not make that up, weighing 145 pounds, she is a Junior NWA Regional Champion, whatever the hell that is, she is movin’ on up to the East Side, the original Welfare Queen, she calls herself the Black Plague, please make welcome Miss Parker Washington.

Washington strutted down the aisle throwing replica food stamps, factory defective condoms,  welfare applications, and Uncle Ben’s Rice boxes into the crowd.

And her opponent, from Atlanta Georgia, weighing 130 pounds, the Pride of the South, the most beautiful thing God ever created, she is the WWA Women’s United States Champion, Bonnie Lynn Cochran.

Bonnie came  out in a stunning red bikini with the Confederate Flag on the back. Dixie blared over the P.A. system as the crowd went wild. She wiggled into the ring and powdered her hands with corn starch. She walked over to Parker.

What y’all doin’ up here, nigger? she smiled.

I come up here to beat your white ass and take that title, Parker said, whipping her head back and forth.

Y’all got brain damage, girl, Bonnie nodded. Only thing you’re gonna take is a first class ass kicking. When I come out here, you get plain old fashioned bone breakin’ rasslin’. I was trained by the Andersons and Magnum T.A. Who trained you? Oprah?

Don’t you worry about who trained my black ass, Parker nodded.

Okay, if the love fest is over, step back, Murdoch said. Twenty minutes. No rules.

Ain’t gonna take no twenty minutes to beat some swamp runnin’ nigger like her, Bonnie said. Maybe later on tonight y’all can come to Atlanta and watch us hang coons, girl.

Murdoch called for the bell; the two girls circled each other, looking for an opening.

Boot be untied, asshole, Bonnie laughed, pointing at Washington’s foot. When Parker looked down, Bonnie slammed her in the side of the head with a closed fist. Parker went through the ropes and crashed into the steel barrier, opening up a cut over her left eye. Bonnie rolled out and grabbed her by the hair, holding her up in front of several black fans.

See this? she yelled. This is what happens when you put a low assed porch monkey in the ring against a white girl. She slammed Parker face first into the barrier rail, opening up more cuts. Yuck! Parker yelled. I got nigger blood on me! Anybody got some Lysol?

You gonna die, cracker! a black fan screamed, and started to climb over the barrier. Bonnie tossed Parker aside and caught the fan with a spinning back kick, breaking his jaw and knocking out several of his teeth. The police ran over and separated them; Bonnie climbed back into the ring, her hands held high.

Parker staggered to her feet and managed to get back into the ring. Bonnie grabbed her by the hair and ran her face first into a turnbuckle, then hit her with a Karate