CHAPTER ONE
Carlton slung the bow over his shoulder and adjusted the quiver of arrows. As he pulled
the night vision goggles down over his eyes, the murky blackness of the woods lifted,
revealing trees and shrubs and a path leading up a steep hill. Fairmont Park lay before him as
naked as a stripper in a spotlight. He looked back to the street one last time, saw nothing
moving, and strode into the dark.
He climbed the hill, the yawning night embracing him and his dark purpose. His leather
moccasins fell silently on the earth, the day’s cold rain having softened the leaves. He would
bring down his prey without a sound, the razor-tipped arrow penetrating flesh. Splintering
bone.
Death would come quickly.
He found a spot on a broad granite outcropping with a tangle of evergreen boughs
forming a screen. Sitting cross-legged on the flat rock, he glanced at the luminous dial on his
watch: quarter past midnight. Time advanced indifferently, like the decay of the woods. Far
above the leafy canopy, the moon shoved a cloud aside, illuminating the winding path. He
watched the trail and waited for a target.
Carlton felt a deep satisfaction with his place in the greater scheme of things. Fairmont
was overrun with deer; everybody knew it. They stripped the bark from the young saplings,
tore hell out of the woods. And in the summer:West Nile virus. The animals made the park a
hotbed of contagion. They were a serious public health menace, but killing them was illegal. It
was crazy.
They should bring back the wolf. That would cull the herd in no time. Be tough on the dog
walkers, though, the pack would tear those little poodles and terriers to pieces. Leave their
carcasses scattered along the jogging trail. Still, there’d be a lot less yap, yap, yap.
The Indians had it right. Honor the sacred hunt.
Suddenly a shadow moving among the trees caught his eye. The figure lurched forward
along the trail. It was large and hump-backed, not like any animal he’d ever seen. It was no
deer, that much was certain. Carlton pulled an arrow from the sheath and slipped the notched
end into the taut gut. He pulled back. Felt the elastic strength of the bow.
As the shadowy person climbed the hill, Carlton saw that it was two figures, not one. A
man, not overly tall, with another individual hanging limp over his shoulder. Unconscious?
Dead? At this distance Carlton couldn’t tell, even with the night vision goggles.
Leaving the trail, the figure lurched toward a stand of tall trees. He bent forward, dumping his
burden. The victim lay on the damp earth as limp as a sack of grain.
Carlton stood to get a better look at the body. He saw long hair falling from the face and the
outline of a bosom. He was glad she wasn’t naked.
As the figure stood over the woman, Carlton lifted his bow, pulled back hard on the arrow
and took aim. He held his breath. Felt the silence in the woods.
How the fuck can I shoot somebody I don’t even know? He realized it would be crazy to kill
the guy. How many times had the cops arrested somebody for shooting a burglar going out
the window? The tension in the bow echoed the powerful temptation to release the deadly
arrow.
Shoot? Don’t shoot? What the fuck. . .
He slowly lowered the bow. Waited. Watched as the perpetrator turned, found the trail and
continued down the hill until out of sight.
Clambering down to the figure, he took out a small flashlight and shone it on the girl’s face.
She was a looker. Early to mid-twenties. Blonde hair, bleached, he could tell by her dark, hairy
arms. Nice teeth. There were nasty bruises on the side of her face and a pool of fresh blood
oozing through her blouse right over her heart. He didn't have to feel for a pulse to know she
was dead.
He knew he should call the police, but they would ask what was he doing in the park in the
middle of the night with a Mongolian bow, night vision goggles, and a hunk of rope. They’d
find his van and realize he was poaching on the king’s land.
Confused, scared and pissed off big time, Carlton made his way back toward the van,
going over his options, wanting to do right but afraid of the consequences. He felt as
helpless as a suspect in handcuffs. Seeing the street light ahead, he pulled off the goggles
to wipe sweat from his face and cursed his bad luck. Fucking dead girl. I got ‘t find a fucking
dead girl.
By the time he reached the street he knew only one choice made sense. There was just
one path to take, case closed. Stowing his gear in the van, Carlton settled into the driver's
seat, pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial.
CHAPTER TWO
In his dreams Lenny Moss dimly heard a far away chirping. The sound pulled back the
blanket of sleep, leaving him nakedly awake. He felt for his glasses, focused his eyes on the
alarm clock. Quarter to one.
Struggling awake, he picked up the obstreperous phone, saw Carlton's name on the caller
ID. Christ. What kind of trouble is that bozo in this time?
"Hullo?" Lenny croaked.
"Lenny! It's me, Carlton. I gotta problem!"
Seeing Patience lift her head from the pillow, Lenny cursed into the phone, annoyed that
his friend had wakened his wife. He left the warmth of the bed and stepped into the hall.
"Lenny! You still there?"
"Yeah. What the fuck are you doing calling me at one in the morning?"
"I'm sorry, man, I didn't know what else to do, my back’s against the wall. If I call the cops
there's gonna be a whole lotta shit comin' down on me, and I don’t need the hassle. Not with
all the deer skins hanging in my garage and the meat in my freezer."
"Carlton, what the hell are you talking about? Why would you call the cops?"
"That's what I'm tryin' to tell you. I saw this dude dump a body tonight!"
"Say what? You mean in the ER?"
"No, man. I'm in the park hunting deer like I always do."
"Okay. . ."
"I'm in a blind, I got my bow and my night vision goggles and I'm minding my own business
waiting for a deer, and up comes some dude carrying a girl. He dumps her on the ground and
he splits."
"Damn. You sure the kid is dead?"
"Sure I'm sure, I'm a hunter, yo? It's a girl like in her twenties. I was scared to call the cops,
you can understand that.”
"No shit. Your hunting license doesn't cover Fairmont Park."
"So what I did was I got the hell out o’ there and decided to call. I figured you'd know what
to do."
Lenny thought a moment. Weighed his options. If he called 911 from his cell, the police
would want to know where he got his information about a dead girl in the park. The shop
steward-co-worker relation didn't carry any sort of attorney-client privilege. Secrecy was his
only protection. He wished he had a dollar for every time he advised a worker when the shit
was hitting the fan, "Nobody talks, everyone walks."
Besides, when they traced his phone calls the cops would see that Carlton had phoned in
the middle of the night and want to know why.
"Tell you what. Get your ass down to the Wawa on Germantown Ave, the one on the Mt.
Airy border. Use the outside payphone to call 911. Okay?"
"Yeah, I got it."
"Then go home and don't tell anybody, not anybody about what you saw. I'll catch up with
you at work later."
"Cool, I'm down with that. Later, dude.”
Lenny didn't know which irritated him more, Carlton's hipster lingo or his penchant for
getting into trouble. He claimed to be part Cherokee, part Louisiana Cajun, but Lenny didn’t
believe any of it. Carlton was white, Catholic, Northeast Philadelphia all the way.
Slipping quietly back into bed, he felt his wife wrap her arm around him.
"Is everything all right?" she said in a husky whisper.
"Go back to sleep, dear, it's just Carlton."
"Mmm. . ." Her voice trailed off as she drifted back to dreamland.
But Lenny was not so lucky. He was worried about the possible consequences to Carlton.
If the cops found out about his hunting deer in the park . . . Not to mention his butchering the
animals in his garage out in Manayunk and selling the meat to co-workers in the hospital. .
.
Lenny closed his eyes and snuggled up to his wife, hoping to get a few more hours of
sleep. Don’t worry, he told himself. Carlton would make the anonymous call and that would be
the end of it. No more problems. But knowing it was Carlton, he understood things could
never be that easy.
After hanging up on Lenny, Carlton drove along Park Lane, turned up Horter and made his
was to Germantown Avenue. He headed north, past Mt. Airy Ave to the Wawa at Allens Lane,
He stopped the van across the street, thinking he better not park in their parking lot,
somebody inside might remember the van. Probably they had security cameras, too. He
crossed Germantown Ave, the cobblestones wet beneath his feet, and went to the pay phone
at the front of the building.
“Don't be broke. Don't be fucked up,” he mumbled as he approached the phone. The hand
piece was connected to the box. That was a good sign.
He lifted the receiver and listened. A dial tone! Grrreat! He felt in his pockets for a
quarter, found them empty.
No change.
He slammed the phone down, swearing into the night air. Were there any coins in the
van? No, he'd used the last of them to feed a meter couple of days ago. Meant to fill up the
slots.
Then he remembered: It was a 911 call! You didn't need a quarter!
He picked the phone back up and punched in the numbers. A sleepy woman's voice asked
him what was his emergency. Carlton had rehearsed exactly what he was going to say.
“There's a dead girl in Fairmont Park. She’s fifty yards up the path from Park Lane
between Upsal and Clivedon.”
"Sir, did you say a dead girl? Would you repeat that again please sir, I'm not sure─"
Click. Carlton hung up the phone, knowing the police would replay the tape and get the
directions to the site.
Delighted at having stuck to his plan, Carlton decided he was hungry. A cold drink and
some beef jerky would hit the spot. He went into the Wawa, bought a yogurt drink juice and a
packet of beef jerky, and carried them back to the van. The dried beef was sweet and
satisfying and the drink cool and creamy on the ride home. It was the perfect breakfast for a
mountain man come in from the hunt.
He even looked forward to going to work in six hours and telling Lenny all about the dead
girl.
Carlton slung the bow over his shoulder and adjusted the quiver of arrows. As he pulled
the night vision goggles down over his eyes, the murky blackness of the woods lifted,
revealing trees and shrubs and a path leading up a steep hill. Fairmont Park lay before him as
naked as a stripper in a spotlight. He looked back to the street one last time, saw nothing
moving, and strode into the dark.
He climbed the hill, the yawning night embracing him and his dark purpose. His leather
moccasins fell silently on the earth, the day’s cold rain having softened the leaves. He would
bring down his prey without a sound, the razor-tipped arrow penetrating flesh. Splintering
bone.
Death would come quickly.
He found a spot on a broad granite outcropping with a tangle of evergreen boughs
forming a screen. Sitting cross-legged on the flat rock, he glanced at the luminous dial on his
watch: quarter past midnight. Time advanced indifferently, like the decay of the woods. Far
above the leafy canopy, the moon shoved a cloud aside, illuminating the winding path. He
watched the trail and waited for a target.
Carlton felt a deep satisfaction with his place in the greater scheme of things. Fairmont
was overrun with deer; everybody knew it. They stripped the bark from the young saplings,
tore hell out of the woods. And in the summer:West Nile virus. The animals made the park a
hotbed of contagion. They were a serious public health menace, but killing them was illegal. It
was crazy.
They should bring back the wolf. That would cull the herd in no time. Be tough on the dog
walkers, though, the pack would tear those little poodles and terriers to pieces. Leave their
carcasses scattered along the jogging trail. Still, there’d be a lot less yap, yap, yap.
The Indians had it right. Honor the sacred hunt.
Suddenly a shadow moving among the trees caught his eye. The figure lurched forward
along the trail. It was large and hump-backed, not like any animal he’d ever seen. It was no
deer, that much was certain. Carlton pulled an arrow from the sheath and slipped the notched
end into the taut gut. He pulled back. Felt the elastic strength of the bow.
As the shadowy person climbed the hill, Carlton saw that it was two figures, not one. A
man, not overly tall, with another individual hanging limp over his shoulder. Unconscious?
Dead? At this distance Carlton couldn’t tell, even with the night vision goggles.
Leaving the trail, the figure lurched toward a stand of tall trees. He bent forward, dumping his
burden. The victim lay on the damp earth as limp as a sack of grain.
Carlton stood to get a better look at the body. He saw long hair falling from the face and the
outline of a bosom. He was glad she wasn’t naked.
As the figure stood over the woman, Carlton lifted his bow, pulled back hard on the arrow
and took aim. He held his breath. Felt the silence in the woods.
How the fuck can I shoot somebody I don’t even know? He realized it would be crazy to kill
the guy. How many times had the cops arrested somebody for shooting a burglar going out
the window? The tension in the bow echoed the powerful temptation to release the deadly
arrow.
Shoot? Don’t shoot? What the fuck. . .
He slowly lowered the bow. Waited. Watched as the perpetrator turned, found the trail and
continued down the hill until out of sight.
Clambering down to the figure, he took out a small flashlight and shone it on the girl’s face.
She was a looker. Early to mid-twenties. Blonde hair, bleached, he could tell by her dark, hairy
arms. Nice teeth. There were nasty bruises on the side of her face and a pool of fresh blood
oozing through her blouse right over her heart. He didn't have to feel for a pulse to know she
was dead.
He knew he should call the police, but they would ask what was he doing in the park in the
middle of the night with a Mongolian bow, night vision goggles, and a hunk of rope. They’d
find his van and realize he was poaching on the king’s land.
Confused, scared and pissed off big time, Carlton made his way back toward the van,
going over his options, wanting to do right but afraid of the consequences. He felt as
helpless as a suspect in handcuffs. Seeing the street light ahead, he pulled off the goggles
to wipe sweat from his face and cursed his bad luck. Fucking dead girl. I got ‘t find a fucking
dead girl.
By the time he reached the street he knew only one choice made sense. There was just
one path to take, case closed. Stowing his gear in the van, Carlton settled into the driver's
seat, pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial.
CHAPTER TWO
In his dreams Lenny Moss dimly heard a far away chirping. The sound pulled back the
blanket of sleep, leaving him nakedly awake. He felt for his glasses, focused his eyes on the
alarm clock. Quarter to one.
Struggling awake, he picked up the obstreperous phone, saw Carlton's name on the caller
ID. Christ. What kind of trouble is that bozo in this time?
"Hullo?" Lenny croaked.
"Lenny! It's me, Carlton. I gotta problem!"
Seeing Patience lift her head from the pillow, Lenny cursed into the phone, annoyed that
his friend had wakened his wife. He left the warmth of the bed and stepped into the hall.
"Lenny! You still there?"
"Yeah. What the fuck are you doing calling me at one in the morning?"
"I'm sorry, man, I didn't know what else to do, my back’s against the wall. If I call the cops
there's gonna be a whole lotta shit comin' down on me, and I don’t need the hassle. Not with
all the deer skins hanging in my garage and the meat in my freezer."
"Carlton, what the hell are you talking about? Why would you call the cops?"
"That's what I'm tryin' to tell you. I saw this dude dump a body tonight!"
"Say what? You mean in the ER?"
"No, man. I'm in the park hunting deer like I always do."
"Okay. . ."
"I'm in a blind, I got my bow and my night vision goggles and I'm minding my own business
waiting for a deer, and up comes some dude carrying a girl. He dumps her on the ground and
he splits."
"Damn. You sure the kid is dead?"
"Sure I'm sure, I'm a hunter, yo? It's a girl like in her twenties. I was scared to call the cops,
you can understand that.”
"No shit. Your hunting license doesn't cover Fairmont Park."
"So what I did was I got the hell out o’ there and decided to call. I figured you'd know what
to do."
Lenny thought a moment. Weighed his options. If he called 911 from his cell, the police
would want to know where he got his information about a dead girl in the park. The shop
steward-co-worker relation didn't carry any sort of attorney-client privilege. Secrecy was his
only protection. He wished he had a dollar for every time he advised a worker when the shit
was hitting the fan, "Nobody talks, everyone walks."
Besides, when they traced his phone calls the cops would see that Carlton had phoned in
the middle of the night and want to know why.
"Tell you what. Get your ass down to the Wawa on Germantown Ave, the one on the Mt.
Airy border. Use the outside payphone to call 911. Okay?"
"Yeah, I got it."
"Then go home and don't tell anybody, not anybody about what you saw. I'll catch up with
you at work later."
"Cool, I'm down with that. Later, dude.”
Lenny didn't know which irritated him more, Carlton's hipster lingo or his penchant for
getting into trouble. He claimed to be part Cherokee, part Louisiana Cajun, but Lenny didn’t
believe any of it. Carlton was white, Catholic, Northeast Philadelphia all the way.
Slipping quietly back into bed, he felt his wife wrap her arm around him.
"Is everything all right?" she said in a husky whisper.
"Go back to sleep, dear, it's just Carlton."
"Mmm. . ." Her voice trailed off as she drifted back to dreamland.
But Lenny was not so lucky. He was worried about the possible consequences to Carlton.
If the cops found out about his hunting deer in the park . . . Not to mention his butchering the
animals in his garage out in Manayunk and selling the meat to co-workers in the hospital. .
.
Lenny closed his eyes and snuggled up to his wife, hoping to get a few more hours of
sleep. Don’t worry, he told himself. Carlton would make the anonymous call and that would be
the end of it. No more problems. But knowing it was Carlton, he understood things could
never be that easy.
After hanging up on Lenny, Carlton drove along Park Lane, turned up Horter and made his
was to Germantown Avenue. He headed north, past Mt. Airy Ave to the Wawa at Allens Lane,
He stopped the van across the street, thinking he better not park in their parking lot,
somebody inside might remember the van. Probably they had security cameras, too. He
crossed Germantown Ave, the cobblestones wet beneath his feet, and went to the pay phone
at the front of the building.
“Don't be broke. Don't be fucked up,” he mumbled as he approached the phone. The hand
piece was connected to the box. That was a good sign.
He lifted the receiver and listened. A dial tone! Grrreat! He felt in his pockets for a
quarter, found them empty.
No change.
He slammed the phone down, swearing into the night air. Were there any coins in the
van? No, he'd used the last of them to feed a meter couple of days ago. Meant to fill up the
slots.
Then he remembered: It was a 911 call! You didn't need a quarter!
He picked the phone back up and punched in the numbers. A sleepy woman's voice asked
him what was his emergency. Carlton had rehearsed exactly what he was going to say.
“There's a dead girl in Fairmont Park. She’s fifty yards up the path from Park Lane
between Upsal and Clivedon.”
"Sir, did you say a dead girl? Would you repeat that again please sir, I'm not sure─"
Click. Carlton hung up the phone, knowing the police would replay the tape and get the
directions to the site.
Delighted at having stuck to his plan, Carlton decided he was hungry. A cold drink and
some beef jerky would hit the spot. He went into the Wawa, bought a yogurt drink juice and a
packet of beef jerky, and carried them back to the van. The dried beef was sweet and
satisfying and the drink cool and creamy on the ride home. It was the perfect breakfast for a
mountain man come in from the hunt.
He even looked forward to going to work in six hours and telling Lenny all about the dead
girl.
New release!
Read the first two chapters of Slim To None,
the 4th and best Lenny Moss novel yet!
Read the first two chapters of Slim To None,
the 4th and best Lenny Moss novel yet!
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