The Storm; Make Me Kill You: Carla Larsen Mystery, #4

By charles fisher

The quest to find serial killer Jimmy Anders continues; two new girls are added to the Juvenile Division, and Carla chases Anders to Oklahoma where he is finally captured. Or is he? With Anders, you never know. You think you have him, but maybe you don't. Lots of pro wrestling action, too.

• Language: English
• Publisher: charles fisher
• Release date: Mar 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393270621

Book preview

Make Me Kill You

Larsen Residence

Laurel Dr.

Stratford, Connecticut

August, 1998

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I hear Jimmy Anders got away again, Mary said as she checked  the Prime Rib and Lasagna. You should invite him over for dinner, so I can bong him again with my cast iron skillet.

That wasn’t him, Mother, Carole smiled. It was an imposter.

Oh, I remember that show. Mission Imposter. It starred that nice man Peter Graves. His brother was James Arness. Did you know James played the monster in The Thing? I always thought you would have been better for the part, but you were only three years old at the time. Mrs. Calanetti thought so too; the first time her dog saw you, he ran away.

Thank you, Mother. Where’s Ronnie Lee?

Oh, her. She’s still asleep. I think she had a boy here last night; there were all kinds of screaming coming from the garage. Too bad you can’t get a boy, Shorty, Mary shrugged. It might improve your disposition if you got the old badda bing once in a while.

My disposition is just fine, Carole snapped. And stop calling me Shorty.

Then grow some legs, Mary smiled. Gloria Rasmussen from St. Paul had legs like nobody ever saw before. They went all the way up, too. They had to make special nylons just for her. I don’t know what she had up there, but boys were always trying to stick a mirror between her feet.

Why me, Carole sighed. Go wake up Ronnie Lee. We need gravy.

You need more than gravy, Harper giggled. You need a personality transplant. New tile will get laid in the bathroom before you will.

That will do, Detective, Carole smiled. You are still on probation, which means I can terminate you any time I want.

Try it, Harper grinned. You ain’t never gonna get rid of me, Tiny. I am the best there is, and the best there will ever be.

Carla and Mike Capri came in, followed by Vito Antonelli. Vito saw Harper and headed back for the door.

Get back here, Carole snapped. If I have to listen to her shit so do you, Antipasto.

I ain’t on duty, Vito scowled as he sat down. I gotta stop doing this Friday dinner bullshit. Marie went nuts since that creep Becky showed up. She dresses like the slobovator over there, spends money like she works like a man, and won’t cook no more. I gotta stay home and give her some good old fashioned Italian what for.

What for? Harper smiled.

Whaddaya mean, what for? Youse know what for. All youse dames gotta toe the line so’s you can take care of the man of the house. That’s me, he beamed.

Becky came in, looked at Vito, and burst out laughing.

The Dago is still cryin’ in his beer, she said as she set bags on the counter. Had to spend a few thousand to bring his house up to twentieth century standards, and get his wife some decent clothes and a new car. Damn near killed his cheap hearted ass, it did.

That shit was over the line, Vito said. Friggin’ thirty seven grand for a new Caddy, and air conditioning in the house? Italians was born to sweat.

Tell me about it, Carole said, holding her nose. They weren’t born to shower, though, were they?

Shaddup, you dummy, Vito laughed. I seen what youse can do to a bathroom. We almost had to call the SPA because of you.

EPA, Carole giggled.

So you say. I was gonna call the Swedish Poop Agency. Youse contumorated the whole building with what came out of your ass.

I had gas, Carole snapped. It wasn’t my fault.

Yeah, and Pearl Barber wasn’t the Japs’ fault.

Who? Mike laughed.

You heard me, you half a fag Guinea wannabe. No real Italian man shaves his legs and wears nail polish. Youse is a fanook, he grinned. Youse take it in the pipe.

I am not gay, Mike snapped. I have been married for over thirty years.

Yeah, and Liberace cried all night because he was second in line, Vito grinned. Lo prendi nel culo.

My my, the party is getting rough, Mary said. That reminds me of the time when Moira Johnson went out with Stash Regersson in Duluth. She complained something awful the next day about how her behind hurt after she fell asleep in the drive-in movie. They never did find out what happened to her.

Oh God, Carole sighed, putting her head in her hands. Why was I born into this idiocy?

You didn’t have any choice, Shorty, Mary said. Abortion wasn’t legal back then.

Oh, so I’m so bad you would have aborted me? Carole shrieked.

Well, I had no way to know at the time that I’d give birth to a midget who would grow up to try to cook a turkey in the clothes dryer.

I explained that fifty times! Carole yelled. The dryer and oven  look exactly alike!

She tried to heat up leftover Beefaroni in the microwave one time at the station, Mike smiled. It was still in the can. The microwave shorted out and caught fire.

Nobody asked for your two cents, Miss Capri, Carole snapped.

Y’all got brain damage, Carla sighed. Carryin’ on about food and such. You do not know how lucky you are to have a meal like this here we got tonight. Back in the orphanage, we et possum’s ass and.......

Shut up, Carole snapped. You and your crazy orphanage stories. Explain how you were just a poor little seven year old kid when you went into the system, and four years later you had over a million dollars in the Bank of Kansas.

Card playin’, Carla grinned. And no gag reflex.

See that? Vito exclaimed. She’s a detergenated pig who goes down for two bucks.

Forty, Carla snapped. I got standards. They be a mite low, but I got ‘em.

Ronnie Lee appeared in her bathrobe, a mean look on her face.

What in the damn hell is all the ruckus about? Cannot a girl get a decent night’s sleep around here?

It’s six O’clock, Mary smiled. You’ve been in bed for fourteen hours.

You would be too if you done what I done last night, Ronnie Lee grinned as she started the gravy and a pitcher of Lemon Death. They didn’t find that boy’s body on the front lawn, did they? I put up one hell of a fight, but he licked me in the end. I do not remember anything after that.

Yes! Carla yelled, throwing her hands in the air. Praise Jesus, and the Boner Bob Show on the Pervert Channel. Pixie knows all about that.

I do not, Carole huffed. I never watch that. I’m pure, she said, looking up.

Oh, him, Mary said with a wave of her hand. You should have seen Long Lars Lindstrom. He made Boner Bob look like Two Inch Tommy Thompson from Minneapolis. I don’t think Tommy ever did get a date, she mused. I bet Lars did, though, she grinned. The NFL offered him  job. They were going to use him to measure a first down.

That’s ridiculous, Carole said. Is he still around? I might want to contact him in case we need an expert witness for a sex crime.

Only sex crime hereabouts be if you actually wind up on your face with that big old cottage cheese butt of yours up in the air, Ronnie Lee nodded. That be a crime against humanity.

If you saw Shorty’s underwear you’d think twice about that, Mary smiled. She keeps ordering new ones because I burn the old ones in the wood stove.

I don’t believe this, Carole said. Must you broadcast every intimate detail of my life at dinner? I know some shit about you too, Miss Rolling Pin and Satan Panties.

Oh, those, Mary said. Everybody has those. Not you of course, because they don’t make panties or rolling pins that big.

Y’all got Canyon Cootchie, Carla grinned. Fear not, girl. You can make a paste of alum and water and shove it in there, and that bad boy will shrink back to normal human size. Might even need  you a little Crisco if y’all hook up with a boy who got the Super Sausage.

No more of this, Carole said. This is Friday night dinner, not pick on Carole night.

Dinner, Becky Campbell sighed as she sat down. Girl ate three large pizzas today and a tin of Ziti the size of one of them cattle waterin’ troughs, and she wants dinner?

I was hungry, Carole pouted. I have a high metabolism.

Aye, Becky nodded. And an arse that is about four inches from draggin’ on the ground.

Watch it, Detective; you’re still on probation yourself.

Maybe, but I ain’t a big tub like you. Ever take a physical, Chiefy?

I am exempt, Carole said. I’m an administrator.

Youse is a former menstruator, Vito grinned. If youse had to run fifty feet, your fat clogged heart would give out. Face it, Larsen; youse is an out of shape slob.

Oh, and you’re some symbol of physical fitness? Carole smiled. You got your ass kicked by two girls in a wrestling ring not too long ago; Carla and  twelve year old Harper here.

Yeah, Harper grinned. Want another shot at the prize, douche bag? I figure there is still enough left of your Dago ass for me to kick, only this time I don’t need no tag team partner. You and me, tough guy. One fall to a finish. Guess who’s gonna get finished.

Youse cheated, Vito laughed. You and Popsicle Patty over there. And Becky the Scotty bailed on me. I got the shaft. Youse ain’t got a chance one on one with a real Italian man.

Let’s find out, Harper nodded. If I beat you, I get to be Captain of Patrol for a week and you go back into a squad car. If you win, I go on Patrol and you send me wherever you want.

Youse is on, Vito nodded. Bring some diapers to the match, because youse is gonna need ‘em when I kick your little ass all over that ring.

I will have a WWA contract on your desk tomorrow morning, Harper smiled. Put in for a leave of absence, Dude, because you are going to need it.

Don’t you love the way they make all these bets with my department’s efficiency as the wager? Carole said.

Uh, I’m the Chief of Police, not you, Mike smiled.

Sure you are, Carole said. Harper cannot run a department; she is a rookie on probation. Despite the awful odor, Vito is very good at running Patrol, to the extent that Clarence lets him, she grinned.

That spook got nothing to say about what I do, Vito said. He got that job  as Chief of Patrol because he got Buckwheat Syndication, or whatever that shit is that makes them niggers black.  Single Cell Anonymity, or some crap like that. We gotta do a DBA test on his ass some day to find out if he’s even a real human.

See what I have to listen to all day, Mother? It’s like being in a mental hospital where all the patients have badges.

Go ahead and complain, Larsen, Vito said. Youse would complain if Sandy Claus showed up and put a box of chocolates in your stocking.

It wouldn’t fit, Mary giggled. She uses knee highs for stockings.

Very funny, Mother. A short joke; I’m impressed.

Carole had a part in our Christmas play in high school, Mike smiled.

Shut up, Capri; I have a gun, Carole said.

She was one of Santa’s elves. Big Dumpybutt, as I recall.

Let’s see what you can recall when you’re in a coma, Carole smiled. There will be no gambling with departmental assignments as the prize. I have spoken. You’ll have to bet something you own.

Loser sucks a donkey dick, Harper giggled.

That will do, Carole said. Did you get one of those cable boxes where you can hack into the Boner Bob Show? You know entirely too much for a kid your age.

She been working with the Creamsicle Kid, Vito said. Now she’s been dehumidified and knows all this dirty shit.  By the time she’s fifteen she’ll either be in the joint or some V.D. hospital.

I will put up fifty thousand dollars cash money for this here fight, Carla said. Against the Eye-talian Scallion’s Packard.

Now youse is talking, Vito nodded. I can pay off Marie’s Caddy and all that new shit the Scotty done to my house. I might even get my shag carpeting back, he grinned.

They don’t make it anymore, Carole sighed. That crap went out of style with Mike’s wardrobe.

Good taste never goes out of style, Mike huffed.

Yours did, Carole giggled. Show me one store that sells that stuff you wear except that antique clothing dump you found.

That’s Mr. Jerry’s Flashback Shop, Mike said. A god among we men who  appreciate fine clothing. Everybody shopped at his store when we were in high school.

Yeah, so what. One more thing  for your little bet, you two. If anybody requires time off as a result of getting their ass kicked, it will be without pay.

Vito grabbed his chest and started mumbling to himself.

Y’all hit Vito in the wallet, Carla grinned. Tryin’ to kill the boy?

What’s wrong, Vito? Carole smiled. Not so confident all of a sudden? I thought you were going to beat Harper’s ass.

Girls cheat, Vito squealed. Anything can happen when youse fight a girl. And them WWA assholes got no rules.

Why do you need rules if you’re so tough? Carole said. You can do whatever you want.

Okay, Vito shrugged. Just remember, kid; youse asked for it.

WWA Monday Night Mayhem

The New Haven Coliseum

New Haven, Connecticut

September, 1998

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Good evening, you horrid, filth encrusted, nose picking  examples of what passes for  humans in America, Lord Ashton Creighton smiled at the TV camera. "Welcome to the World Wrestling Alliance and Monday Night Mayhem. This show is any American housewife’s worst nightmare, because her brain dead  husband might get to see what a woman is supposed to look like, and leave her where she belongs; in a fat rendering plant, or behind the local pancake house rooting for leftovers in their dumpster.

I, on the other hand, will dine in the best restaurant in Connecticut tonight and eat lobster with all the trimmings, and get pleasantly drunk on a  fine rare Scotch. Then I will cavort with a British debutante just out of finishing school. You, deplorable vermin that you are, will swill down Mac and Cheese with a two dollar bottle of wine, and vomit all over yourselves in your sleep while the creature you married sweats through the mattress.

Dude got brain damage, Lola Avon said in the back as she ate her Veal Parm.

Veal is a bit pricey, isn’t it? Jim Gooley smiled.

Yeah; so what? Lola said. What, I ain’t worth the best after all I do for you?

What exactly do you do for me? Gooley said.

Order horny shit for the girls to wear so your ratings stay up better than your little Hebrew penis, answer the phone and tell people you ain’t here, and fuck with Murray. Oh, and I tell Bible stories. You like those.

Indeed I do, Gooley said. I’ve never heard anything like them. You might be of more value to the company if you wrestled more than once every four years.

Wow, you are like so fucking picky, Lola said. I beat Stephanie McMahon’s ass so bad last month even her mother  didn’t recognize her in the hospital. You got a six point bump in the ratings over that. You scored, Jimmy. Don’t complain.

But the fans adore you, Gooley smiled. Both of you. They would like to see as much of you as possible.

Yeah? Then they can go to my web site, Lola shrugged. If they got the cash, they can see one of my live shows. It’s Lola40DD.com. I bet you look, too.

I’d rather see you in the ring. Get it? Ring? As in ring the register?

Gooley’s poodle Manachem, better known as The Joodle, began to howl.

See? Lola said. Even the Joodle knows about that trick cash register shit. And you owe me twenty bucks. The Joodle picked my pocket the other day.

Menachem looked away, his floppy ears sticking through his yarmulke.

Menachem would never do that, Gooley huffed.

Yeah? How much cash does he have under that chair over there?

Three grand, Gooley grinned as Menachem started growling. When are you going to wrestle again? It’s in your new contract, you know. Tracy called you out. That would be a good match.

For you, maybe, Lola said as she opened a tin of garlic bread. What do I get besides an ass beating? I’m good, but I ain’t that good. Or that stupid. You gotta reign her in. That’s why she never wrestles; nobody wants to take her on.

"I’m working on that. The NWA is reconsidering their refusal to honor her contract, after I painted them as cowards in Pro Wrestling Today."

I bet that kid Harper could beat her, Lola grinned.

Harper is a cop, not a wrestler. And she’s twelve years old. Her mother might have  a chance against Tracy, but I don’t like using one champion against another. The kid does exhibition matches. She wouldn’t stand a chance against Tracy, and I would not let her try.

Okay, Lola shrugged. Just saying, you know? That little bastard is evil. She got a real mean streak, ten times worse than her old lady. I wouldn’t fight her, I’ll tell you that. She got a match tonight, right?

Yes. Against that cop Antonelli. Carla put up the money.

Carla, Lola sighed. She got a tumor, too. All that black belt crap. That’s hard to beat. They don’t get it. They think this shit is real.

It is real, to an extent.

Is real, Lola giggled. That’s where all you Hebes came from. Jew-ruselam. Where’s Vinny Mac and Cheese?

He’ll be here shortly, Gooley smiled. He loves to watch Mayhem.

I don’t blame him, Lola said. Monday Night Raw blows. He oughta call it Monday Night Half Baked.

He has some good wrestlers, but his format is designed to appeal to a different audience.

Not ours, Lola snickered. The average WWA fan did three years in the joint.

And look how many of them there are in good old honest, law abiding America, Gooley said. Like the man said; give them what they want and try not to get arrested doing it.

This shit don’t bother you? People get fucked up doing this job.

That’s the chance they take. Nobody forces people to wrestle. I take good care of my people; if they get hurt, they get paid for up to a year. Vince won’t do that unless you are a top five star.

You got them girls from California coming here  that Murray and your daughter fucked over?

Yes, Dear. They will be here the first of October. And you get your cage match with The Dude at the next pay-per-view. Try not to kill him.

Creighton looked at his clip board. This should be fun, he grinned. All you semi humans with outstanding arrest warrants might want to consider sitting near the exits for this one; it is a cop versus cop match.

Fuck the Cops! Fuck the Cops! Fuck the Cops! they chanted as the film crew cut the sound.

Charming, Creighton smiled. Introducing first. From Atlanta, Georgia, weighing 112 pounds, she is currently working for the Stratford Police Department, you saw her last month in a tag team match, the twelve year old daughter of our WWA U.S. Champion, please welcome Miss Congeniality herself, Harper Boone Cochran.

Harper came down the ramp, throwing arrest warrant forms into the audience. She had Lick the Crime Problem on the back of her singlet, with an arrow pointing down. She wiggled her butt at the crowd as she climbed into the ring and waited.

Excellent, Creighton sighed. It is so refreshing to know that such a stalwart, moral  young woman is protecting the public.

Protect this, you old bastard, Harper said, grabbing her crotch as the audience roared.

Hmm. I will take that under advisement, or the nearest raincoat. And her opponent, from the same department, weighing 189 pounds; The Master of Manicotti, the Genius of Genoa, the Big Sicilian Salami himself, Captain Vito Antonelli.

Vito came down the ramp, throwing pictures of Martin Luther King’s dead body into the crowd. Youse niggers should like this, he grinned as the cops had to beat back several black fans. Come on, Sambo, Vito beckoned. Youse feel strong? Come see what a real Italian man got.

Body odor, Harper muttered as Vito climbed in and flexed his flabby arms for the cameras.

Referee Mike Murdoch called them to the middle. Here’s the rules, he smiled. There ain’t any. You tap out or can’t continue, I stop  the match. You don’t stop when I tell you to, you get yours. Go to your corners. Jesus, he said, waving his hand in the air as Vito retreated to his corner. What the hell is that stink?

The sweet smell of success, Harper smiled. How would you like to work with that asshole?

The bell rang, and Vito charged out of his corner with his hands aimed at Harper’s throat. She sidestepped him, took him down with a leg trip, and proceeded to punch his face in. She let him up and stood back as the crowd roared.

She fucking broke my nose! Vito exclaimed as he staggered to his feet.

Let me fix that for you, Harper said as she attacked. She grabbed Vito’s nose between her thumb and first finger and twisted it as hard as she could. Vito went to his knees and started to cry.

Look at the real Italian man now, Harper leered as she delivered a series of strikes to Vito’s upper body, cracking three of his ribs. She kicked him out of the ring and grabbed a steel chair.

Beat his ass! Beat his ass! Beat his ass! the fans chanted. One black fan pointed at Vito. Kill that white cop motherfucker! he yelled.

Really? Harper smiled. How about I kill you instead, Toby? She grabbed the fan by his afro and dragged him over the rail. She gave him a vicious chair beating as the New Have cops ran down to ringside to prevent  a full scale riot. Harper grabbed Vito and threw him back into the ring; he staggered to his feet and looked around. Right here, asshole, Harper said, tapping him on the shoulder.

Vito spun around and took a wild swing at her head. She grabbed his arm and put him down; she locked on the Crossface. Vito immediately pounded the mat.

That’s it! Murdoch Yelled. Break the hold! You win.

Harper let Vito go, stood up, and had her hand raised as the paramedics came in and took Vito to the back. All of a sudden, Tracy O’Hara appeared on the ramp and headed for the ring. She climbed in.

Good match, kid, she nodded. Now beat it. It’s time for my promo.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, Harper said into the mike as the audience went silent. I know a little about how this place works. You are four minutes early, champ, she smiled. This is still my time, not yours. Maybe you’re the one who should beat it.

Why, you snot nosed little brat, Tracy laughed. I’m the WWA and NWA Women’s World Champion. Who the hell do you think you are, telling me what to do?

Just little old me, Harper smiled. I don’t sweat you, Stretch. You don’t like it? Do something about it.

Tracy looked down at the Floor Director. Get her out of here before she gets hurt, she scowled.

The Director looked at his clock and shrugged. She’s right. You’re early, he smiled. You want her out of the ring, do it yourself. Them’s the rules here. You know that.

Okay, Tracy shrugged.

She spun around and aimed  a wild left handed haymaker at