Mystery fiction is a genre of fiction that usually involves a mysterious death or a crime to be solved. Often within a closed circle of suspects, each suspect is usually provided with a credible motive and a reasonable opportunity for committing the crime.
Interview day came and Frank found himself in the lobby of a very nice hotel waiting for Mr. Lark. Fifteen minutes passes in a black leather lounge chair, then a tall distinguished older gentleman wearing glasses and a dark blue business suite exited one of the elevators to his right and walked toward Frank. Frank connects his brown eyes to the gentleman’s blue eyes then stands up.
“Mr. Frank Nickels I presume?” he asked as he offered his hand.
“Yes that’s me. And you must be Mr. Lark?,” Frank said with a firm grip and shake.
“Yes, its nice to meet you. Here’s a brief rundown of the situation. There is an all Native American Boarding School in River City. You may have seen or heard of it, Herman Indian High School.” Frank politely nodded no. Mr. Lark continued on, “Well, the problem is that there are over 300 Windows 7 workstations, approximately 150 users, 400 students, and only one I.T. Support personnel. It’s simply too much work for one person. The systems are all antiquated and in dire need of maintenance and eventually a complete upgrade to Windows 10 along with Office 365. What you will be doing is assisting the I.T. person there with all of the extra work. How does that sound?”
“Excuse me Frank, someone is calling you!” a robotic voice resonated while the black smartphone flashed and vibrated on the nightstand.
It was a cold California morning and since it was Monday, getting to the phone in the dark was a slow process.
“This is Frank,” he finally answered in a deep phlegmy voice. Then he cleared his throat while listening for a reply.
“Special Agent number four, this is S.T.A.B.L.E. headquarters,” the serious tone was menacing. He demanded attention, “You will be getting a call from a contracting company for a most difficult and treacherous job. This is a major advancement in our war against the enemy, the insidious C.L.O.W.N. organization. You will be on your own for the most part, but there will be a contact to assist you from time to time. Please contact your Surveyor with any questions,” the line cut immediately.
“There’s a guy named Joseph Atwill. He wrote a book called
Caesar’s Messiah proving that Christianity is a concoction created by Titus Flavius
Caesar of Rome to get people to worship Caesar, and pacify the Jews by getting
them to turn the other cheek when they get attacked in their own land. The same
land that Rome was trying to completely takeover. So, your religion is a myth.
There is no Armageddon coming and the Rapture has already taken place in seventy
A.D., to the Jews of that time period around a generation or two after the
mythical Jesus disappeared. There’s no reason why you should even be doing
this,” painfully he yelled.
On a chilly gusty evening, underneath a blood moon, a lone, old and worn Good Year Tire rolls into the Welldun City Veteran’s cemetery. It settles against a burgundy granite tombstone that happened to be the final resting spot of a long piece of red ribbon.
ONE WEEK LATER:
“Mrs. Griswold, if you can’t keep up your mortgage payments, then we will have to take the house?”