Who in Oyster Ponds would believe they are living in close proximity to a famously successful real life novelist? A writer who cranks out New York Times best sellers like they were sausage in a butcher shop. Surprisingly, all in Oyster Ponds are unknowingly living with a famous mystery author in their very own community.
Mrs. Morrison’s nom de plume is Spike Donovan. Yes, Spike Donovan, the prolific world famous mystery novelist.
It is no coincidence that her friends and neighbors know nothing of Spike Donovan’s connection to Oyster Ponds; And her publisher, Federico Fernando, has never even met Spike Donovan. Then again, he knows nothing of Mrs. Morrison. All this by Mrs. Morrison’s clever design.
Strange, but true.
The publisher had no idea from day one he was dealing with a seventy something year old lady from the most Northeastern tip of Long Island. This, all thanks to her sly manipulation of the Internet.
Short version: Spike Donovan has been around, frequently posting her writing for a few years on the Internet. Federico discovered this unrecognized and untapped talent. He was overwhelmingly mystified by the stories and the personal aura spun by Spike Donovan.
The publisher went with his gut instinct. He decided to build his fledging publishing empire on Spike Donovan’s conventionally ignored, but unique writing talent and mysterious existence.
Good move. But even before the first attempted negotiation, Federico found out quickly that Spike Donovan was represented by Spike Donovan.
Federico barely understood the sophisticated electronic financial arrangement and strict anonymity agreements dictated by the mysterious Spike Donovan. But he eagerly complied.
“One fucking novel at a time, no other contact. Money upfront.” Said the tough but pithy original e mail from Spike. No hint of gender was ever utilized or inferred.
“No questions asked,” Spike would always communicate. “Edit it any fucking way you want as long as I get the fucking royalties. AND......Don’t you ever try fucking me!” That’s the extent and tenor of the cyber only communications that exists between Spike and Federico.
Federico would give Spike a deadline and it would be met, always ahead of time. Federico once praised the lack of tardiness in a friendly e mail to Spike. Spike’s cursory cyber response was short and sweet: “I don’t fuck around.”
That iconic line from Martin Scorsese’s film Goodfellas sums up Spike’s attitude: “Fuck You, Pay Me.”
As far as anyone knew, Mrs. Morrison was living a quiet life and did extensive traveling. Spike Donovan was a tough street wise prolific writer. Who would ever guess Mrs. Morrison was really Spike Donovan? “I will never want to be considered a Jessica Fletcher, that woman on “Murder, She Wrote!” referring to the successful 1980’s television series.
That’s the way Mrs. Morrison wanted it.
True justice always intrigued Mrs. Morrison and that was reflected in her Spike Donovan writings. The irony and satisfaction of ultimate revenge skillfully textured the nuances, actions and thoughts of her colorfully memorable characters. The bad guys always got way more physical and emotional payback in Spike’s world of justice.
But there was more, so much more that just wasn’t kosher about this Spike Donovan, even beyond the writing. Federico sensed this, but his imagination was overruled. Common sense dictated for his own physical well being and financial self preservation, he should “Dummy Up.”
Mrs. Morrison was a librarian. That’s when she met her husband, Marcel. They met when a young Miss Smith first came to New York City; Two twenty four year olds working as librarians at the New York Public Library at 42nd Street and Fifth Avenue. They became fast friends and lovers. They married a year after meeting.
Miss Smith grew up in an orphanage in Regina, Canada and always fantasized about living in New York City. Her past was her past. Mr. Morrison knew to never ask or talk about her past. They lived for today and tomorrow with no concern for yesterday.
That was her one rule: Don’t ask, don’t tell.
The couple sold their Manhattan Co-op apartment and retired to their Craftsman style house in Oyster Ponds on the North Fork of Long Island, New York.
Mrs. Morrison, considered herself a writer first, then a librarian. Her professional experience as a librarian combined with her observant eye while working at the 42nd Street library became quite an asset. This exposure expanded her creative writing abilities. In addition, living in New York City enabled her overall knowledge base to grow as she became an even more prolific writer.
She never attempted to publish any of her work. She was satisfied with, and took pleasure in, the process and structure of writing. The internet thing just was a lark she began after retirement to Oyster Ponds.
Mrs. Morrison always had, and still maintains, her hidden mysterious past and uniqueness. That is the only part of her past that will be with her forever.
Marcel never knew it existed. But it always had, and to this day it still does. She didn’t want to share her burden with anyone, especially Marcel.
Since Marcel’s death, Mrs. Morrison has identified specific victims the criminal justice system has failed with devastating results. She also identified the guilty criminals who perpetrated said crimes who walked free and laughed.
Mrs. Morrison is determined to change what she could in her own unique and stealth way. She has the talent and she has the time. Mrs. Morrison also has the funds, thanks to Marcel’s superior financial investing abilities and Spike Donovan’s successful writing, which have both enabled this new avocation.
Mrs. Morrison uses strategic methodologies to institute revenge as the ultimate tactical weapon. This then instills a modicum of satisfaction for victims. The source and method remain unidentified to the victims who suffered at the hands of her targeted disdain, as it also remains unknown to the miscreants themselves.
This is Mrs. Morrison’s calling.
She knows one unalterable fact: The past has become an everyday intolerable burden for victims of miscreants. Mrs. Morrison wants to ameliorate the past for these victims. But, she still is aware of the fact the deep hurt they feel can never be entirely eradicated.
Mrs. Morrison’s actions are drawn to the criminal after he/she beats the underlying crime(s) either in the courts or by their nefarious own means. Then, with her intervention aka “The Morrison Twist” that same reprobate who beat the original crime(s) is convicted in a court of law of another concocted or real more heinous crime he/she had nothing to do with.
“An orcharested symphony of fictionalized evidence, circumstantial events, verified facts and true scientific evidence. All combined with actualities that create a crescendo of probable cause and a guilty verdict.” As Lou Levy, Spike Donovan’s fictionalized legal eagle sidekick would describe “The Morrison Twist.”
The following relates the "pièce de résistance” of “The Morrison Twist.”
Mrs. Morrison had never been to Texas. Now she had a reason to visit. She loves Texas because they sometimes execute criminals.
Her visits to New England for research show that a disgusting and reprehensible skell named Billy Karl Fressner beat a murder charge a few years prior in New Hampshire. Billy was heading back home to Texas, drifting through New Hampshire from a drug deal in Vermont when he committed his inhuman dastardly deed.
At his trial, Billy did his masterpiece tour de force. He was no stranger to the system and an expert on how to manipulate it. This professional liar beat the murder charge by charming his court appointed young female lawyer and dazzling the jury with his country bumpkin bullshit act. Being a meticulous expert at covering his criminal tracks didn’t hurt either.
Billy returned to Texas where his criminal ascent took off.
Now in his late thirties, Billy is a rising criminal Star in the Lone Star state. If it was illegal, he was into it, and was quite successful.
The District Attorney, the media and the cops took to referring to Billy by his self imposed handle: “The Teflon Cowboy.” That was Billy’s homage to one of his heroes, the New York Mafia’s “The Teflon Don,” John Gotti.
When Billy went to trial, he always won. “I must be part I-Tal-Yon” Billy would laughingly joke when he discovered the media dubbed him the “Godfather of Texas Organized Crime.” with his picture on the front page of every newspaper in Texas. He craved the public adulation, just as John Gotti had.
Billy Karl Fressner was the perfect candidate for “The Morrison Twist.”
Mrs. Morison’s surveillance and background research on Billy was meticulously done and included every insignificant detail. Everything was prepared by an elite and super discreet London based private investigations concern out of Singapore. Each detail had a three step degree of separation as its source and that final source was a non existent dead end. There was no way to trace it back to Mrs. Morrison, or in fact, anyone.
Mrs. Morison had a complete audiovisual library consisting, so far, of a month in the life of Billy Karl Fressner and his associates. Undetectable live and electronic surveillance observations were subcontracted out to an elite former South African Military Special Forces security company by the Singapore Security concern.
The team even collected samples of Billy and his crews DNA for possible future use. Mrs. Morrison remembered the NYPD called it “flaking a perp,” better known as planting evidence.
Billy’s life was so completely microscopically Hi Def video and audio recorded. Mrs. Morrison even knew how his toes curled as one of his cowgirl bimbettes coached him to ejaculate. “Tammy Sue” employed digital anal stimulation simultaneously when she performed oral copulation on Billy’s pinga. He then made her lick and suck his feces off her fingers.
Mrs. Morrison watched, smiled and nostalgically thought, “just like Marcel did with his toes.” A sliver of the past had broken through. Surprisingly, she was not as upset as she thought she’d be about the past or the debauchery she was viewing.
The surveillance package continually gleamed much more than expected. It was analogous to Mrs. Morrison being General Dwight Eisenhower and present at the Führerhauptquartiere (Wolf’s Lair) while Adolf Hitler was planning a major World War II offensive.
Ach du lieber!
Billy talked total planning for each proposed criminal undertaking with his crew. Every detail was discussed and refined. Knowing this information gave Mrs. Morrison the details to set Billy up for a precipitous fall from grace. Unknowingly, Billy laid out the details for the successful set up of his very own demise.
Fat Jose was a Texas midlevel drug operator. He was a short, obese swarthy man with diamond gold front teeth and extremely bad breath. His jet black greasy dirty hair collected his massive furfuration production. All this, complementing a terminal case of putrid body odor.
Unwisely, and against the advise of his compadres, Fat Jose wanted to make a deadly and risky move on Billy’s control of the lucrative Tex-Mex Drug Supermarket. Once Billy got the word, that meant a slow and horribly painful death for Fat Jose.
Billy laid out a meticulous plan to make Fat Jose “disappear.” He wanted to be the one to kill Fat Jose himself. This would set an example for everyone of his ruthlessness. “The others will only imagine what happened to Fat Jose, their greatest fear is in their imaginations” Billy reasoned.
“The only thing left of that little fucker Fat Jose will be his fuckin diamond and gold tooth and I gonna hang it on the gold chain round my neck!” Billy boasted. All this planning, of course, was memorialized on Hi-Def video by the South Africans. Sensing it was important, they uploaded it before the daily upload feed.
But Billy wasn’t the only one who wanted Fat Jose dead. A dude named “Cholesterol” had made inroads into Fat Jose’s heart and would soon unpredictably pre-empt anything Billy would plan to do.
Luckily for the white skanky ninety pound meth head prostitute that serviced him by being violated in every orifice, Fat Jose was totally drained of semen. His taste in broads was the skankier, the better. Fat Jose paid and dispatched “Mary Jane Tomane” three hours earlier, he not being a big fan of cuddling after sex.
She was so happy to escape the stank of his bloated hairy body, bad breath and constant audible discharge of objectionable intestinal gas. All being recorded by the South African surveillance team; “Now, That’s Entertainment!” the Movie buff amongst them laughably said.
The team was still electronically watching Big Jose when he audibly died in his bed from an apparent heart attack. This all happened at 0545 hours and appropriately on “Taco Tuesday.” They immediately texted their unknown benefactor the details.
Mrs. Morrison advised them to go ahead with the operation to make it look like the planned murder and disappearance Billy outlined to his crew earlier that week.
The planning was detailed right down to driving the streets to and from Fat Jose’s house in a lookalike van with Billy’s duplicated Texas license plates. That specific activity was planned to be initiated, in case the cops collected private surveillance video to attach Billy’s crew arriving and leaving any potential “crime scene.”
They were also were instructed to set up the evidence package implicating Billy and his crew with their collected DNA to be placed at any potential “crime scene.” Translation: “Flake Them.”
And, of course, a copy of the Hi Def video of Billy and his crew planning the hit on Fat Jose will be anonymously and untraceably sent to the District Attorney in a timely and appropriate manner.
The expert team carried out the plan exactly as Billy devised it. Except Fat Jose cooperated by already being dead. They immediately shipped Fat Jose’s body out of the country to be cremated in Brazil. His gold diamond tooth was strategically planted (“Flaked”) on a gold chain at Billy’s house. Everything was falling naturally and perfectly into place.
Mrs. Morrison scored big time on this one. Billy Karl Fressner was arrested, tried and convicted. He is currently at the Texas State Reformatory for Men. His first night of incarceration was spent being gang raped by Fat Jose’s incarcerated compadres who are currently residents of said Reformatory.
Billy is now made to dress like a hot señorita with lipstick and other sexy female make up, all at his own expense. Fat Jose’s compadres, out of respect for their deceased friend, designated Billy as their “Maytag” (cleaning lady, gofer and general all around bitch.)
Billy’s name is now “Yooooolanda.” He also answers to “Puta” (bitch). Billy has “Entrada” (entrance) crudely tattooed on his left buttock and right facial cheek along with an arrow pointing to his nearest orifice. He is pimped out 24x7x365 to other inmates for sex, the kinkier, the costlier.
Big Errol the seven foot, three hundred and ninety pound child molester likes gums, no teeth, for his oral sex and is willing to pay to have all of Billy’s teeth removed. The compardes are voting on which method of removal is appropriate: Pliers, steel toed boots or brass knuckles. In addition, Big Errol wants Billy dressed in a female Catholic School uniform. He ain’t into older hispanic chicks like “Yooooolanda.”
Billy everyday wishes he was sentenced to “The Needle.”
Payback is a bitch named “Yooooolanda”.
As Mrs. Morrison sat in her comfortable leather chair by the fireplace in the Oyster Ponds home Marcel lovingly built, she found herself struggling to let the past be the past. Mrs. Morrison attempted to review the intelligence package on Billy Karl Fressner before destroying it and forgetting he ever existed. But her mind drifted.
Marcel was a special one. She had realized that from their first encounter at the New York Public Library. Always knowing she outlasts her chosen companions, the fifty years of life with Marcel slipped by at a more rapid pace than the others.
Mrs. Morrison settles down, knowing her end is near and she has fulfilled her destiny. There’s another item in the past she will now never let go of, it’s her memories of Marcel.
Mrs. Morrison gently closes her eyes and with her last smile, she is gone.
There is no known count of the Mrs. Morrisons around us, but we probably unknowingly interact with them everyday. Every one of them thinks they are a totally unique being and is unaware anyone else like them exists. They feel alone in this universe.
Their instinctive nature is to serve us. This is not their only reason for existence, it’s just an ancillary ability or talent they and they alone eventually come to possess. That is what makes them continue, life after life.
An historical biological glue.
This ability must mature with each lifetime’s experience over the years before their ultimate self-actualization in that current life. We all unknowingly benefit from their aloneness. Who knows what course of history they might have changed over the years? They pay the price and we unknowingly reap the benefits.
Their lives are like perennial flowers, each lifetime they begin becomes a seasonal rebirth to flower again. It’s bringing some justice, beauty and happiness to a world desperately in need. And then, when they complete their task, they’re gone, but to return again with a new start in another life to begin the same process.
In Mrs. Morrison’s experiences, which she has repeated at least ten times, she knows in every life she will eventually physically die of natural causes. There will be a dark and regenerative period of approximately two years until her next “rebirth.”
Mrs. Morrison is always “reborn” an orphan. She is sometimes raised by a family, usually in North America. She does not recall her past lives until she is a teenager and instinctively knows to keep it all to herself. She knows not why or how this all works.
As Mrs. Morrison exits her teenage years, she realizes she is different and has to find her destined path in this current particular life. She is not aware that her past lives had the component of the “calling” to serve.
This awareness to serve matures into a realization as she heads toward the terminus of the cycle of life she is currently experiencing. Hopefully her lifetime experiences will empower her to better serve us when she reaches that point.
Mrs. Morrison never dies because she is to valuable and must live so we can endure.
For a more diverse selection of Frankie Neptune’s stories visit http://www.notpcfiction.com