Discreet Detective Agency – Chapter 1

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Chapter 1

Warning:  For mature audiences only

THE TALL, WELL DRESSED, solidly built man scouted the hallway of the upscale apartment building located near South Indiana Avenue and East Hyde Park Blvd.  His work and personal cell phones had been turned off and safely stashed in a Faraday Cage in the trunk of his car.  A white Buick Encore.

He pulled an anonymous cell phone, which he used for just such occasions, from his jacket pocket and began scanning the apartment building’s unit numbers for the apartment number in the ad he’d pulled off the escort service’s internet page.

Finding the right unit, he paused outside the door letting the wave of excitement, regarding what he was about to do to the occupant of the apartment, wash over him.  Excited yet calm, he knocked on the door.  The burgundy painted door swung open before he could knock a third time.

The girl, as promised by the ad, was young, petite, very pretty with a shapely slim figure, and a gorgeous smile.  Even more importantly, she was African American.  Black.  She had to be.  It’s what got his juices going.  He’d had enough of white bread.  He needed something spicier.

All day long he saw them.  Watched them as they swung their amply rounded asses back and forth across the streets of his city.  Low cut tank tops with no bras and short denim shorts worn without the benefit of underwear.  Their chocolate brown sweaty skin glistening in the hot Chicago summer air that smelled of reefer and Jew-town polish sausages.

By
Eliza D. Ankum

 

 

 

A Woman’s Voice: Book Of Poems

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A Woman’s Voice is a small book of poems that echo my inner feelings about my southern upbringing, living in the north, love, and growing older.

Excerpt from ‘A Woman’s Voice: Book Of Poems

My Mother’s Vegetable Garden

32

My mother’s vegetable garden grew in gray dry dirt
Pole beans twisted themselves around gnarled brown sticks
Stuck in that same gray dirt
Rows and rows of bushy headed collard greens
That were our relief from biscuits and beans
Pole beans, collard greens
Tomatoes ripe and juicy
Okra spiny and straight
I watched her from the window of the house
Skirt tied in knots at her knees
Bent over she worked pruning and weeding

Later, harvest time, I followed behind her
With basket in hand
As she pulled our very existence
From that gray dry dirt

Why goats in a tree? Listen.

Because most of the time women feel like they’re up a tree screaming for help. I Know I did.  And if you’re not one of these women, a bunch of goats up a tree is just funny.

Eliza D. Ankum
Author of
Flight 404
Ruby Sanders – A Novel
Jared Anderson – (The Ruby and Jared Saga)
OneThreeThirteen – A Presidential Agent Novel Series
Dancing With The Fat Woman
Thou Shalt Eat Dust
STALKED! By Voices