Early Bird Special

By Jon Seawright

Linda Hartly was happy with her new life. She had recently relocated to Hollywood, California and found immediate employment as a food server at Scomas restaurant. There she met Sharon, a caring co-worker, with whom she shared rent in the bottom half of a Hollywood Hills home. Linda would gradually start up a relationship with Ken, another waiter at scomas, as she tried to put memories of unpleasant, past experiences behind her, and begin to enjoy her still youthful life.

She had developed a repertoire with the various employees, including: the demanding head chef Sam; the agonizingly slow-moving, bartender Jimmie, and the unemotional, aloof manager Dan. The Bloombergs were about to come in this evening to request a table in Linds section and order their usual early-bird special. But Linda never showed up for work, as she suddenly started to experience brief periods of blacking out. These moments of memory lose would create horrifying situations for Linda, as she would awake in strange places with no recall of her actions. She manages to conclude that something had to be done. She had to seek professional help.

Across town, lead-Detective Robert Byers was becoming more desperate in solving the case of a possible serial killer. As each murder mounted in numbers, Byers placed more personnel on the case, particularly under-cover agents, to try and catch this assassin, of mostly prostitutes; a killer who dismembered his victims as well.

As his last patient of the day slowly disappeared from sight, psychoanalyst, Dr. David Grossman, withdrew from his side window and sank back into his easy-chair. It temporarily relieved the weight of his heavy body, but the weight of his mental bewilderment continued on. He had become more alarmed, as he now realized that, against all odds, he was possibly treating two cases of multiple- personality disorders at the same time. A doctor of his status would probably not have the occasion to treat just one such case in their entire life time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 20, 2007
• ISBN: 9781462825790

Jon Seawright

Born and raised in Hermosa Beach, California, Jon Seawright graduated from the University of Arizona in Tucson where he lives today with his wife Gail and their two Goldendoodles. From his diverse style of living, Jon’s writings revolve mainly around his various types of employment, mixed in with his world-wide travels. Jon’s other books include “In Dire Need,” “Early Bird Special,” and “A Can Of Worms.”

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

HOLLYWOOD BLVD. WAS very busy this night. The constant flow of potential customers snaked its way along the street like a never ending parade. Periodically a car would slow down, and the driver would give them a casual glance, like shopping produce in a market, or checking out the latest football score on a large-screen television. Their glances were always casual, as well as their demeanor, and usually came from behind dark glasses, or tinted windows.

Many of them were people that really had nowhere to go but simply appeared to be headed somewhere, and in a sense, they were already there.

They cruised.

Holly knew all of them, and they all seemed to know her, because they honked a horn of recognition as they drove slowly by. She and Kiki were hosting a party, and each night this was where they sent out the individual invitations. Like checking off a guest list, they checked off the cars that slowed to inspect them, and if one stopped . . . then the party began.

Tonight Holly felt hot, modeling her tight black, crushed-velvet cocktail dress that fell short of mid-thigh, complete with matching stiletto heeled shoes. Her long straight black hair fell to her hips. The sides of her hair were pulled up, forming a bun that fanned out over the top of her head, looking much like a poor version of Pebbles of the Flintstones.

She had brought along her favorite fake sable fur wrap, one end of which she now twirled in the air. It mimicked an eye-catching fish lure that tested the waters for gullible takers, when suddenly the line tightened.

A silver Mazda slowed and then pulled over to the curbing. A youthful looking man rolled down the passenger door window and sang out to her. Hey Babe, want a ride?

Apparently this night her name was to be Babe. On other evenings it had been Doll, Honey, Angel, and Sweet Cheeks. Holly liked Angel the best.

Where’re you going, handsome? Holly said, draping a breast slightly over the car window as she leaned down to peer in at him. He was good looking, in a boyish way, with medium length hair that divided in the middle and pulled gracefully behind the ears. He wore small round, wire-rim glasses that gave him a professional touch; young yuppie executive on his way up, Holly surmised.

Nowhere special, he responded. You looked like you’re trying to hail a cab, so I thought I would offer you a lift, he lied.

Giving the John a skillful shake-down with her eyes, Holly took notice of his clothes and especially his finger nails. Undercover vice usually wore loose fitting coats or jackets and never manicured their nails. This guy wore a well tailored long sleeved Ralph Lauren dress shirt and his nails were neatly polished. Holly approved.

Yea, I was . . . but ya just can’t seem to get one when you need one, she said as she opened the side door and slid onto the seat, in one singular motion.

What’s yar name . . . ? Mine’s Holly . . . like in Hollywood, she cooed, but the John wasn’t listening as he jerked the car away from the curb and back out into traffic.

Ignoring her question, he simply asked, Want a cigarette? and tossed a half-empty, soft pack of Marlboros on her lap. He had already slipped one out and into his mouth and was waiting for the car lighter to pop out.

Yea sure . . . thanks. I’ve been trying to quit, but each time I do, I gain so much weight, that I have to smoke twice as much to lose it. In the end, I’m smoking more than before, so I’ve quit quitting, Holly said as she felt around in the pack with her finger, trying to trap a cigarette.

Funny thing is, she continued, I really do enjoy it and can’t quite figure out why I would want to stop . . . except for better health . . . and I’m in great health.

You look just fine to me, Doll. What if we make a fast stop at my place? It’s just a few blocks away? the driver suggested.

Holly noticed that she was now Doll. Maybe, before the night was over, he would get around to Angel, she hoped.

You never told me your name. If we’re stopping at your place, I need to know who lives there . . . . Don’t I?

Greg . . . . Greg Greenville, he said with a slight tone of irritation in his voice, as he pulled the lighter from the dash and held it out for Holly to light her cigarette.

She cupped his hand with hers, as if to protect a flame from the wind that wasn’t there, and drew in a large breath. The lit end of the cigarette responded with a bright glow.

Have ya lived in Hollywood very long, Holly asked, out of a desire to stimulate conversation. Although most of Holly’s tricks never like to divulge much about themselves, she liked to try and create a sense of ease and familiarity, even if the names and stories were all a bunch of lies. She felt better in attempting a normal communiqué, which in turn, made the situation feel like a normal relationship.

Part of me feels like I’ve been here all of my life, while the another part feels like a complete stranger, Greg said without answering her question.

Rolling down his window slightly, to allow some the smoke to escape, he said, I’m originally from the east coast, and there’s a bit of me that never left. I guess that’s true for most people who relocate, but for me, at times I feel that I’m only half here; that there is another half of Greg going on about life without informing the rest of himself.

Not sure, if she knew what he was talking about, Holly changed the subject, and stated, I just love Hollywood . . . with all of its glamour and sparkle. I feel like I’m famous, simply because I’m surrounded by fame. That probably sounds dumb . . . but it’s . . . as if . . . the city gives me notoriety . . . that all I have to do is to inform the tabloids of my activities, and they’ll print it. I feel special just by being here.

The car suddenly made a sharp right turn and continued half way down a block of three-storied apartment buildings. Holly knew most of Hollywood fairly well, but where they were now, she wasn’t sure.

Greg guided the Mazda into a parking space adjacent to a small park that wedged itself in the middle of small apartment complexes. They were of Hollywood’s traditional architecture . . . circa 1940.

Without the need of any instructions, Holly instinctively got out of the car and followed at a close step behind him. He led their way into the park, as a short cut to the residences that lay just beyond it, but then he suddenly stopped and turned as if to hold her. She anticipated a little fore-play before moving on to his flat, but as she looked into his face, it appeared to have lost its boyishness, and his eyes now widened in a wild-like stare. As if on cue, his hair even seemed to be messed.

Many of Holly’s clients in the past were able to change their demeanor, without the slightest provocation. She had become quite use to adapting to these mood swings, but Greg’s sudden change in posture startled her, as it seemed to hold something foreboding to her. She had never felt this before and it scared her now.

Are you alright? she started to ask, but he had quickly side-stepped around behind her, bringing his forearm up against her throat. Holly tried to scream out, but the pressure to her thorax made it impossible. She began to kick and swung her arms around in a flaying manner to free her, but his strength over-powered her, and she fell backwards, sinking more into his grasp.

Like acting out the part of a wild animal that had captured its prey, Greg dragged her into the nearby bushes and wrestled her, the rest of the way, to the ground. He managed to roll her over, onto her back, and pin her arms to the dirt with his knees. Then he threw three solid punches to her head; the first one broke her nose and sent out a spray of blood. The following blows cracked her jaw and she went instantly limp.

Looking down on her, he allowed some spit to drool out of his mouth and drip on her face. You funkin’ whores are all alike, he whispered. You make me sick. You think you can just go around, fuckin’ people . . . thinking the whole time . . . . God will save you in the end . . . that he’ll simply give you redemption and all will be forgiven . . . . Just listen for the sound of Gabriel’s trumpet . . . and ye are free to enter the kingdom of heaven.

Lowering his voice, he continued, But instead, you might just miss that calling as I’m going to fulfill a dream of yours . . . you know . . . so that you’ll get written up in the movie rags. Just like you want . . . . I’m going to make you famous!

Shoving one hand against her chin, and cramming the back of Holly’s head deeper into the soft dirt, he withdrew a 5" blade from inside his boot with the other hand. And in one swift, smooth, motion he ran it across her throat, severing the right jugular vein, and nearly all, of the left one. A gurgling noise came from the huge gaping hole in her neck, as her body slightly quivered. Blood started to spurt, as if it came from a tiny spigot inside of Holly’s neck. Her eye lids fluttered, and then came to rest in a position that allowed her a glassy stare.

Pulling back the hair on the sides of her head, Greg placed the knife there and began to cut, using it in a sawing manner. Then, standing up, he gently brushed the leaves and grass from his pants, and casually strolled back to the car. Inside he found the pack of cigarettes on the front seat and pulled one out. He felt like having another smoke.

CHAPTER 2

WAITERS . . . PLEEEEEEASE! PICK up your orders before they get cold! I don’t want to see any plates left on the pick-up shelf longer than two minutes! Or else you’re fired! the burly chef screamed. He was having a bad night and the waiters weren’t making it any easier for him.

Where’s Hartly, Goddam it! Someone find her out there and tell her to pick up these artichoke appetizers that she ordered! They’ve been here half the night! he barked.

Barbara grabbed her loaded tray and hurried through the swinging doors that lead into the main dining room. Setting it down on a tray stand, she doled the plates out on a table, like dealing a deck of cards. After asking, if there was anything else that she could get for her guests before she left them, she then made her way past the hostess stand and on into the bar area. She could see Linda at the service station, waving for Jimmie, the bartender.

Coming up behind her, God Linda . . . . Sam’s having a tantrum in there! I think your order’s up. You’d better get your tiny butt in there fast before he starts throwing things around, like he usually does.