30 something author/screenwriter. Also, a proud cat lady.
The world as I knew it would change in the year 1997. I was 10 years old and obsessed over historical documentaries. I know what you’re thinking, “What a little nerd,” but it’s true. My family always thought of me as the “black sheep.” I didn’t act like the other little girls of the late 90’s. I would lock myself up in my room and pop in the newest A&E historical documentary VHS tape that I found at the library. I guess you could say, I was a little different.
FBI HQ – Las Vegas, Nevada October 16th, 1968 Special Agent Davis and Special Agent Henderson sit behind a long white table in the headquarters conference room. “Hey, Dale didn’t you bring your yarn and frills to fiddle with?” Special Agent Henderson shoots Davis an icy stare. “No Collin, I left it back at the hotel.” Davis lightly smacks Henderson against the arm and laughs. The sound of the heavy wooden door opening has both men quickly rise from their seats. A skinny balding man enters the room and nods at both men. He motions for them to sit and all three men slide down in their respective chairs in unison.
“Hey, can you give me a hand?” Collette struggles while pulling the body of an obese man from the driver’s seat of a dark green crew cab truck. Ben stands at the edge of the road nervously looking back and forth watching for other drivers. He slowly turns and walks over to the truck. He grabs the silk pantyhose that is wrapped around the man’s neck and tugs with all his strength. The body doesn’t budge. Frustrated, he places his hands around the man’s head and begins to pull. Collette grabs the now bluish-green arm of the dead man and leans back while pulling. A sudden loud pop and the head detaching from the spine sends Ben flying back and onto his bottom. Collette bends down slightly and looks in the cab, “There I see the problem. His large belly is getting caught on the steering wheel.” Ben struggles to his feet and looks back at the red town car they left together in from the diner. The front tire shredded from running over an unfortunate armadillo. Ben turns his attention back to the dead fat man and sees Collette pulling a large knife from her purse. She places the blade on the man’s large belly and gives a wink at Ben.
Cincinnati Ohio – October 2nd, 1968 FBI Special Agent Collin Davis walks down the brightly lit hallway of the District 5 Cincinnati Police station. He passes several male officers who are clean-cut and look like they just graduated from High School. He hears them whispering as he turns and knocks on the door of Cincinnati Police Chief, Stanley Buck. A loud, “Enter” beckons from the other side of the door. Special Agent Davis turns the doorknob slowly and opens it slightly. He slides in and shuts the door quickly. Chief Buck stands slowly with a nervous grin on his chubby face. He reaches his hand out offering a friendly, but professional greeting. Special Agent Davis extends his hand and grabs the sweaty palm of the Chief. He lets go immediately and wipes the residual moist onto his pants. The Chief motions for him to sit, but Davis continues to stand. “So, what brings the Feds to come visit me on this fine Wednesday morning?” Davis clears his throat loudly and straightens his tie, “ I am here to discuss the bank fire from four weeks ago and the residential fire from last week. I believe they are related in some way.” The Chief leans forward, a concerned grimace spreads across his face. “Do you know the whereabouts of Mrs. Collette Martin?”
“Direct from our newsroom in New York City, this is D.E.F News with Richard Cronenberg.” Collette Martin sits upright on her cherry-red loveseat devouring a mixing bowl full of vanilla ice cream. Her nightgown is heavily stained from not being washed in weeks. She brings the heaping spoon towards her mouth and the melting contents plop down on her chest. “Dang it!” She scoops the mess up with her fingers and into her mouth.
An average looking woman with an average shaped body leans against a marble post smoking a cigarette. She is so unexceptional that no one notices the bulging tan bowling bag lying next to her feet. Her light brown eyes scan the lobby of Oakwood National Bank. Happily married couples sit side by side discussing mortgage loans with their plump and grumpy male lenders. Male tellers are discussing the outcome of the Cincinnati Reds game the night before. It was a shame Pete Rose had to miss the All-Star Game. A tall blonde with a nice bust comes prancing over to the woman. "Mr. Montgomery will see you now." The average woman smirks and drops the half-finished cigarette on the marble floor. She gently snuffs the life out of it with the heel of her cherry bomb Mary Janes. She lifts the bowling bag struggling to keep it up and follows the blonde to an open office.