the last one last job, part 8: dupre

based on an original proposal by Prof. Dan Leo

script by roy dismas and roger "peg leg" wilson

illustrations by eddie el greco and roy dismas

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mona began reading serendipity sanchez's report. 150-3 dupre : the body of "wendell dupre" was discovered behind a dumpster behind the safeway on --------- ocean boulevard on the morning of october 11 ------ by laura sanchez, an assistant manager who was first to arrive at the store that morning. ms sanchez stated she arrived at the store around 6 a m, in order to open the store at 7 a m. ms sanchez stated she called 911 on her personal phone immediately on discovering the body. she then waited for the respondent officers outside and did not open the store. responding officers were ruby ghandi and falcherbia johnson, from station 68. they confirmed the body as a probable homicide and notified station. ms sanchez told the officers she had found three bodies previously on the grounds of this store, and others at other stores she had worked at, and described herself as an "old hand from the rio grande" at finding them. ms sanchez also joked with the officers that she would be accused of murdering the victims themselves, if she kept finding them "piled up liked this". detectives robert roberts and jing chan arrived with a full crew and sealed off the area at 6:37. ocean boulevard was quiet. no spectators had gathered. at 6:45 two joggers passed on ocean boulevard. detective chan stopped them, took their names and addresses and photographed them. they claimed they had not passed the store since the previous morning. they declined to be fingerprinted or give a dna sample. detective chan allowed them to go. (see appendix a) another employee, anna marshall arrived. the detectives asked ms sanchez to open the store and detective chan entered the store with anna marshall. detective roberts remained outside with the crew processing and searching the area. ms sanchez also remained outside. she told detective roberts she did not “want any surprises” and lit and smoked a cigarette. detective roberts asked ms sanchez for the butt when she finished so that it could rechecked against any others found in the area. ms sanchez professed to find this request hugely amusing. detective chan made a search of the store, including the storage areas and the employees areas but found no bodies or anything immediately identifiable as indicative of violent or criminal activity. technician-2 jennifer o’hara made a quick match of the victim’s dna. with “wendell dupre”, an individual who had been booked for indecent exposure by the bart police on august 31 of the same year. at that time no dna matches had been made for him and he had no federal or state i d. he had been released on september 7 after the original complainant, who had given her name as “charity jeffetrson” could not be reached at the address - 653 19th street, oakland - that she had given the bart police. ( enquiries after the discovery of “wendell dupre’s” body would fail to find any trace of either “wendell dupre” or “charity jefferson” - see pp 19-23 for enquiries on “dupre” and p 31 for enquiries on “charity jefferson”) detective roberts asked ms sanchez if she was certain as to the discovery of the previous three bodies and if she remembered the dates and if she remembered the names of the detectives who had responded to those incidents. ms sanchez confirmed the three findings, was not sure as to the dates - she thought the most recent had been about 14 months previously, but could not remember the names of the detectives on any of the incidents. detective roberts thanked her and then made requests to db re the three incidents. first prior incident - ocean boulevard safeway - (pi1-ob): deceased was an african-american male, approx. 33 years old, unidentified at the time. of discovery. probable homicide. stabbed in chest. no weapon recovered. further research has identified him as claude jones, born in massillon ohio, served in the united states army from 20—— to 20——, received honorable discharge. numerous arrests for drunkenness and vagrancy, possession of class 4 drugs, and level 5 - 7 sex offenses in the cities of cleveland ohio, columbus ohio, and memphis tennessee . last recorded was 2 years ago. jones was a regular at the holy ghost mission on 18th street and the jerry macdonald homeless center on turk st and pierce st. he was last seen at the holy ghost mission two nights before his body was found. staff at both places could not recall seeing him more than a year before decease. investigation is ongoing as to jones’s whereabouts between his last arrest in memphis and his surfacing in san francisco. *** with her red pen, mona circled the words “further research” and “wrote above them “when/by who” and circled “investigation is ongoing” and added “by who”. *** second prior incident - ocean boulevard safeway - (pi2-ob): unidentified asian male, approx 26 years. dentistry indicates native chinese, probably szechuan. clothing indicates recent arrival in usa - probably very recent. no evidence of homicide. *** third prior incident - ocean boulevard safeway - (pi3-ob): caucasian female, identified as stella simmons, 42, extensive record for vagrancy, possession of drugs and paraphernalia, prostitution, indecency, child endangerment. drug overdose. no evidence of homicide. *** detectives roberts and chan did not follow up on ms laura sanchez’s statement - made voluntarily without questioning - that she had found other bodies at other stores. in light of further developments this may be worth pursuing. serendipity sanchez had initialed this “ss”. mona annotated it “maybe”. *** no money or wallet were found on the body of wendell dupre. his pants pockets had been turned inside out. several photos and pieces of paper with writing were found on the site, and fiber analysis confirmed they had been in his pockets. these items were the first that were later determined to indicate the existence of the possible serial murderer “zombie 5.748” to be designated hereafter as z-5. *** all this was mostly familiar to mona, and she was tempted to skip ahead, but she kept on. she wished she could have a cigarette. but she did decide to have another cup of coffee. to be continued

it isn't only crocodiles that cry, part 9: dystopia 101

original story by horace p sternwall

originally appeared in the may-june 1945 through the jan-feb 1946 issues of throat grabbing tales

adapted for the 21st-century by chuck leary and roger "peg leg" wilson

illustrated by roy dismas

part nine of thirteen

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<>tr> the past is fragmented and contradictory the present is chaotic and incomprehensible but the future is always perfectly clear something has happened something final there are two versions in version 1, somebody - a bad somebody - has won the war totally won and has established a dictatorship in which they have total control over everything there are a few desperate remnants of the desperate opposition - these are the hero(ine)(s) of the story the hero(ines) take on the establishment sometimes they win, more often they lose ( this sends an "urgent message" to the present to fight whatever forces caused the final victory of the evil ones) the hero(ines) and the villains they encounter have decided opinions on the situation they find themselves in, and are intimately acquainted with all the events which led to the situation. both are able to clearly articulate their views and quickly summarize the recent history of the world. in an alternate version which could be called 1-a, the triumph of the villains is absolute, and the mass of humanity can only mutely suffer in quiet desperation. *** in version 2, all civilization has been wiped out, except for a handful of survivors who are the characters of the story. the survivors have strong opinions on what caused the catastrophe and spend much of the story expressing these opinions, and speculating on what went wrong. the survivors introduced in the beginning of the story may encounter other survivors, who may be counted on to have strong opinions as well, and to express them. they are never shown just trying to survive on a day to day or hour to hour basis. *** the sun was setting in the radioactive sky. another day had gone by. another day of searching for water and digging for grubs and termites in the red sand of the north texas desert. adam smith and friedrich engels, the last two humans on earth, began slowly making their way back to the base camp they had set up in one of the caves uncovered by the bomb that had obliterated dallas. adam carried the gallon canteen, half filled with some of the water they had found in their fourteen hours of patient searching. friedrich carried the sack, which contained two dozen locusts they had captured, as well as the best find of the day - a dead possum with some real meat - gray, to be sure, but meat - sticking to its exposed rib cage. all in all, a good day’s haul. or at least, better than average. they reached the hill just as the sun finally set and made their way up to the cave. with practice, they had learned to time their day’s expeditions to get in maximum search time and return to base just as darkness set in. adam entered the cave first, to check if anyone or anything had entered while they were gone. adam always did this - friedrich was convinced that there was no need, that nothing had survived that could hurt them (except the radiation that was everywhere) and that checking was a waste of time/ therefore it was always adam who entered the cave or other base camp first. as it had always been before, there was nothing there, and at adam’s signal, friedrich entered. this had now happened so often that friedrich no longer bothered to say “i told you so”. adam had a battered tin cup, friedrich a cracked enamel mug with the faded logo of the pga golf tournament. these were their most prized possessions. they divided the day’s water evenly between them. each had scooped a little hollow out of the walls of the cave, to sit in, and they took their places in them and began their evening meal. as adam was true to his vegetarian upbringing, friedrich had the whole of the possum, along with two of the locusts, and adam dined on the remaining locusts. after they finished eating - during which time they engaged in no conversation - adam meditated for half an hour, while friedrich stared into empty space. friedrich had formerly used this time to masturbate, but he could no longer summon the energy to do this . when adam finished his meditations they were ready for the serious business of existence - arguing about how they had come to this pass. friedrich considered himself a rationalist, and the events which had destroyed civilization had confirmed him in his beliefs. adam was a how-do-you-knowist, and felt that the catastrophic and unpredictable events of the recent past justified his stance. in recent nights, adam had claimed to hear large beating wings outside. this had strengthened one of his core beliefs - that radiation had produced a new race of giant insects which posed yet another threat - on top of hunger, thirst, heat. and radiation - to their precarious existences. friedrich had ridiculed his fears, pointing out that - in addition to the fact that they had never seen any of these creatures - the bodily structures of insects could not support more than a few ounces of weight and therefore such mega-insects were impossible, a ridiculous pop culture fantasy. to which the imperturbable adam had responded, yes, but how do you know? how do you know now? how can you be sure, after all that has happened? tonight, friedrich wished to move on from the discussion of monstrous creatures to a sublect more to his fascination. money. adam’s response was, “there is only one thing we need to know about money now and that is that it no longer exists.” “ah, but why does it no longer exist?” friedrich responded. “and more to the point, why did it ever exist?” in a good mood after absorbing the protein from the locusts, adam agreed to continue this discussion, fruitless as it seemed to him. tomorrow, or some other night, they could discuss the spiritual dimension and the role of religion in the rise and fall of human civilization. suddenly they both sat up. they had heard a noise outside the cave unlike any they had heard before - not the rustling of wings, but a whistling, a long, low whistling … “it is just the wind,” said friedrich after a while. “but what is it blowing through?” asked adam. friedrich just shrugged. “no,” said adam, “it sounds like a freight train. like old number 9 coming around the bend…” 10. mister big

bob: a poem

by horace p sternwall

illustrated by roy dismas and konrad kraus

once there was a guy named bob his fellow humans thought him a slob even his mama didn't like him much and his brothers and sisters never kept in touch bob would go for long walks at night but was never blinded by a sudden light he was never mugged or accosted by strangers and was curiously immune to danger zombies and werewolves walked the streets but none of them he chanced to meet alien spaceships patrolled the skies but kidnapped other girls and guys he had a television in his little room but viewed it as the voice of doom and preferred, if you please his solitary fantasies sometimes when the weather was hot and his brain as usual was empty of thought or even when the night was cold and nothing in his mind would unfold he would put on his coat and hat open his door and just like that find himself outside in the street without a soul to meet or greet this night was a little different where had everybody went? you’d say, the streets are empty, not really true there’d always be some people, one or two but tonight the streets were really bare there was just nobody there bob thought it was sort of strange and wondered by whom it had been arranged bob had suspected from birth that he would be the last person left on earth the gypsy had told him he was fated and through the centuries he had waited he had watched other people grow old and die but kept his mouth shut, because he was sly and was afraid of how they would regard him if they knew his chances of dying were so slim and now the moment had finally come he thought he heard a distant drum the letters of fate would be unsealed and his destiny was to be revealed raindrops began to fall on his head as onward the street inexorably led he awaited a sign - a light - a token and yet the silence remained unbroken day later dawned in a swirling mist bob was never found nor missed other humans passed by in streams with even sadder and grander dreams

4 humans, an ice cream cone, and an automatic weapon

by bob brady

illustrated by roy dismas

bradley robinson sat at his window and watched the world go by. some of the things he saw, he approved of. other things he saw, not so much. there was one thing that really got to him. there was this guy who walked past two or three times or once in a while four times a week. he looked like a college professor. bradley figured he was a college professor because he wore elbow patches on his tweed jacket. and about half the time he had a big fat book under his arm. but here's the thing. you know what he was doing most of the time ? eating an ice cream cone. sometimes a candy bar or a doughnut, but mostly an ice cream cone. can you believe that shit? a grown fucking man, walking down the street licking a fucking ice cream cone like a little kid. it pissed bradley off, every time he saw it. finally he decided to take a stand. he went to the drugstore and bought a gun magazine and he sent away for an automatic weapon and some ammo. a real automatic weapon like freedom fighters use all over the world. this baby had some fucking firepower, and could kill you. he sat at his window and waited for the professor. he waited for a dark, rainy day, when there wouldn't be too many people outdoors in the street. finally the day came. cold and dark and rainy, and here came the professor , licking his strawberry ice cream cone like some kind of subhuman monkey. bradley put his weapon under his overcoat and went down the stairs and into the street. the professor was two blocks away but bradley kept him in sight. sure enough, he followed him to the edge of town, where the college started. where all the cocksuckers who thought they knew everything lived in their ivory towers. the professor came to a wide street and looked before ways before crossing it. bradley closed the gap. just before bradley caught up, the professor must have heard him because he started to turn around. bradley whipped his weapon out. "you've licked your last ice cream cone, you doofus motherfucker!" bradley screamed, and opened fire. he cut the professor almost in half with his blazing barrage of bullets. then he turned and walked away in the rain. bradley wasn't stupid. as much as he would have liked to keep the weapon, he took it apart and threw the pieces in the river that night. it was in the paper the next day. professor bradley johnson cut down by an unknown assailant on the outskirts of the campus. it seemed weird to bradley that the professor turned out to have the same name as him. it made him stop and think, like it was fate or something. bradley was ready for the police, because he thought they might question everybody in the street where the professor walked by, or even everybody in town. but nobody ever questioned him. the case remained unsolved. twenty-five years went by. elena mae gonzalez was a detective assigned to cold cases. one day, hannah baker, professor bradley johnson's granddaughter who was herself an instructor at the college, came to visit detective gonzalez and requested that she look into the case. detective gonzalez looked into such records as could be obtained of all sales of guns in the town and five surrounding counties around the time of the shooting. she found a record of the mail order sale of the weapon that bradley robinson had purchased three weeks before the shooting. the type of ammunition used by the weapon was consistent with the cartridges found at the crime scene. detective gonzalez, accompanied by detective martha marsh, visited bradley robinson, who was still living in the same room in the same house, and he confessed to the crime immediately. "i always knew this day would come," he told them, as they handcuffed him. although bradley pleaded guilty at his trial, the judge sentenced him to death, because of the "heinous savagery" of his crime. everybody understood that, given his age and the slow process of executions in the state, the chances that bradley would actually be executed were almost nonexistent. detective gonzalez and the prosecutor, jennifer martineau, expressed the hope to hannah baker that she would find some closure from the proceedings. ***