Murphy Blue

By Linda Hahn

A cat murder takes place on the very first page. Although this is primarily a tale of crime and punishment, dark and unexpected laughs abound in this deadly serious novel. Insanity involving cats weaves a spell of symbolism in a lateral story. Can nothing stop the beasts? What's it all about and who wins the mini war between cat and man? The narrator is Nicholas, a straight arrow, part of the unofficial neighborhood watch.

When a crime is committed nearby, Murphy is the logical choice to take the rap. The law thinks so and the neighborhood agrees. Nicholas is horrified when charges are filed and does his utmost to get Murphy safely off the hook. But safety is not to be for the poor, hard-luck bastard Murphy, who's on the superhighway to death row. There is another major player in this drama, old man Nailor, a gossip who is at the top of his game and who disseminates information to deadly effect.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Hahn
• Release date: Dec 15, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458061188

Linda Hahn

Blogger, writer, best aunt in the world!

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Murphy Blue

Published by Linda Hahn at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Linda Hahn

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Murphy Blue

by

Linda Hahn

Chapter 1

Murphy remarked to me, Take a look at that damned cat, will ya? Runs like a thief in the night. He laughed as we watched it go. The small black feline was torpedoing across my lawn, somersaulting and leaping as it went. I was not amused, nor did I find its behavior irresistible, as did its owner.

When it drew abreast of me, the devil’s spawn paused to look me in the eye, arch its back, and hiss with an unmistakable malice. In return I merely looked at it thoughtfully.

Later that night I killed it. It was the principle of the thing that forced me to it. When a man lets his boundaries be broached, it is the beginning of his own undoing.

I prepared a simple sedative by mixing a small amount of sleeping medication with tuna. There was not a long wait; cats always go first where they are not wanted. The cat was at first suspicious when it located the treat in my back yard. I watched from an upstairs window as it sniffed carefully at the tuna. After circling it twice, it sat down for a moment’s consideration. Finally it raised its head and looked about the yard, most likely looking to see if I was in hiding somewhere and waiting to leap out.

Wise cat, though not wise enough. A few minutes after the bait was taken, when it grew too drowsy to escape me, I went outside and snapped its foolhardy neck.

The next day I buried it under a rosebush that I planted by the back porch. There was a ring of eight now surrounding my porch. They were beautiful and healthy and when they bloomed, they did so magnificently. My neighbors, indeed all passersby, enjoyed them immensely, as did I.

Chapter 2

Murphy was one of my neighbors and he always called me boss because I take it upon myself to police the area for garbage and strangers. He is the only ex-convict I have ever had occasion to meet. Certainly I have little in common with such a group; however, I could not help but like Murphy when I first met him.

Murphy himself was a squat muscular guy, full of suspicious sidelong glances and low-down opinions. As soon as I caught the whole effect, I invited him for supper right off. I’d had an inkling that the man would be a passable conversationalist if properly pushed; and indeed, he proved himself more than passable. Over the can of corned beef hash we shared, I was engrossed by his tales of senseless justice and by the splendors of graphic violence he was able to portray. And all this for my solitary amusement, I was duly impressed by his talent.

Particularly I had liked his lead-off story, a wild tale of rage and running. What happened was he’d just gotten out of the joint after a two year stretch, his longest stay so far, and he was still sucking down the clean air and springing off his toes. There he was, free and light, and ruined only by his flinching at any inconsequential noise.

It was a prison acquaintance that stopped him from further enjoying his freedom, a night guard with a hard reputation. This wheeler/dealer never stopped counting his money or scheming for his next eye of newt. Murphy said that he felt chills when he looked him right in the eye. Their earlier acquaintance at the prison had never brought them together to do business. Murphy added, thank God, prison had been hard enough without that happening.

As Murphy told it, he wanted no part of it, right from the start. Threatened and blackmailed he was. It was all a matter of doing the job as requested or being arrested, hauled off, and beaten cruelly. The cake’s frosting being a weapon planted on him to violate his parole. I told him it was a tough choice and he agreed.

It was also this first night that Murphy told me he would never risk going back to prison. He held up his left thumb and forefinger to indicate how small the space had been between him and lifer status. He said never again and I could see he meant it. Reform comes about for many reasons and Murphy had his.

And I greatly admired the way he handled the telling of it, squaring up his brawny shoulders and maintaining his broken dignity. It was just another job he said. But from the way he looked, I knew better. There was the hint of danger in his story, enough to make us tense as if to defend ourselves. We both felt it.

His beady eyes followed the imaginary guard as he walked away, smug and powerful. He wanted to run up behind him and kill the guard all over again I knew. I saw him relive it then – holding back the killing rage, smothering it, then swallowing the proposition because he had to. He had already found out the unfairness in living, reminders were unwelcome.

It was no more than a dirty common robbery he was required to do and it was accomplished in a twinkling with minimal pain. So he said. It was merely a necessity of circumstance to put the security man out of the way with a gentle tap to the base of the skull. His eyes removed themselves from involvement as he told me this. Some things are as painful in memory as they were in fact.

Then, in a flash of humorous insight, Murphy allowed that the headache must have been a real ball-buster. That was Murphy in a nutshell, mixing violence, humanity, and merriment like a maniac chef. He was a morose, black-humored man, and as quick with a story as he was with his fists.

At the end of his story, I asked if he’d been able to square accounts with the rogue and he’d growled a deep dangerous not yet in reply. After a short lapse for vengeful contemplation, he let go with a hearty laugh and ruefully conceded that the big ones always got away. Just my luck, I guess. He thought some more and shook his head, negating whatever revenge might have been lurking in the shadows. I’m all through with that kind of trouble he swore.

With no more pause for thought, he went on to tell me a wicked tale involving the creative way a friend had punished his adulterous wife. If I remember correctly, the abused husband managed to get inside the trysting place ahead of time. He installed a few extra lights and invited friends and family to a surprise party for his loving wife.

It was the surprise of her life too. The shock of the lights and people during a tender bedded moment changed the woman’s whole attitude. From then on she was a good wife. We laughed to the point of pain over that one.

Chapter 3

After that first night, Murphy and I were regular friends. Going on five years now I guess. I hadn’t been retired too long when I started taking more of an interest in the neighborhood. And one of the first things I noticed was Murphy, who had just moved in down the block. He is not exactly living down the street anymore, but I still think of him as being my neighbor.

The two of us happened to have equivalent warped views of the world around us. It’s been many a time we