How does a young man go to the roof of his brownstone house to sun himself, and never wake up? Is there foul play? Did he owe money to the wrong people? Did he play around with another man's woman? It it is foul play, how do you find a murderer in a city the size of New York with no clues?

Murder on the Rooftop

By BILL COLES

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Bill Coles
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-8843-6

Chapter One

8 PM Tuesday evening found Bruce Adams entering the '69 Club' in Greenwich Village. Not that this should be a surprise to anyone who knew him, for this was his normal routine. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw a man motion for him to come and sit at his table.

"Hello Fats."

"Hello kid. You got sumtin' for me?"

"If your talking about your money ... no, I don't. You're gonna have to give me some more time."

Fat Willy was a part of the scene in Greenwich Village and the '69 Club was just one of his many stops. He was probably the biggest bookie in operation in more ways than one, tipping the scales at 385 pounds. When he sat down his ass hung over both sides of the chair like the ears on a basset hound. Someone once said, 'when Fats walked down the street his ass looked like two midgets fighting under a blanket'.

Fats looked at him with a scowl on his face, "Look you little shit, I don't have to give you nuttin'. I've given you just about all the time I'm gonna give ya. If you don't come up with the twenty grand by Saturday you're fuck-in history. Get the picture ass hole? History."

Bruce shrugged, knowing Fat Willy was not a person to be messed with. He's been known to have arms or legs broken just on a whim. Of course everything depended on one's occupation as to what would be broken. Fats never wanted to interfere with a person's ability to make money. Having bet on everything, even the dog races in a vain attempt to recoup his losses, Bruce was now at a loss as to how or where he could get the money by Saturday. Moving away from Fat Willy's table, Bruce finally realized he would have to go to his father, State Senator Walter Adams, for the help he needed. Bruce thought 'Fuck him,' I'm not going to worry about Fat Willy anymore today. He was out to have a good time and a good time he was going to have. Looking around the club he spotted a former girl friend and grabbing a chair from a near-by table sat down. At the same time he motioned to Jack, the owner, to bring him his usual drink.

"Hi Ruth baby, what's new? I sure have missed that warm body of yours. Where have you been keeping yourself?"

"Please Bruce leave me alone. I'm meeting my boyfriend and he'll be here any minute. He's not going to like it if he sees you talking to me." Seeing Bruce again brought back sad memories. It was Bruce who made her pregnant, then demanded she have an abortion. After that she never saw him again. Moving closer, he put his arm around her shoulder as she tried to move away. "Please Bruce, I don't want no trouble. Just leave me alone."

Getting bolder, he let his hand slide down inside her dress and started to fondle her breast. Struggling to get away, Ruth tipped over her chair and fell to the floor, just as Chuck her new squeeze, entered the Club. Walking over to the table he helped Ruth to her feet and then turned grabbing Bruce by the throat.

"You little bastard. I'm gonna break your fucking face wide open."

"Please. Please don't hit me. I didn't know she was your girl."

"Chuck, please, for me. He isn't worth it. Let's just go, Please ..."

Turning toward the door, Chuck and Ruth started to leave. Bruce seeing his chance, lunged for Chuck and a bottle placed on a near-by table with a candle stuck in it's throat became his weapon. As he tried to hit him from behind, Chuck turned just in time and caught a glancing blow to his shoulder. Two fast punches to Bruce's face, brought blood streaming from his nose. Jack made no attempt to interfere and let the fight continue. He was taking special pleasure in watching 'Master' Bruce get the living shit kicked out of him. A couple of more punches and he was unable to get up.

"If I ever catch you within a hundred feet of her again, I swear I'll kill you ... Do I make myself clear you no good son-of-a-bitch."

With that Chuck took Ruth by the arm and together they turned and for a second time started to leave. Throwing a wet towel at Bruce, Jack suggested "Maybe you should clean yourself up and call it a night."

Staggering to his feet, Bruce managed to clear some of the cobwebs from his mind and taking the bottle in his hand managed to hit Chuck on the back of his head dropping him to the ground. For the moment Chuck failed to move and Bruce in a fit of panic ran from the bar. He had no intention of being around when Chuck came to. In the meantime Jack had jumped over the bar and was at Chuck's side in a flash. Chuck started to come around as Jack examined his wound.

"How do you feel kid? You're pretty lucky, that bottle barely broke the skin."

"That no good bastard," mumbled Chuck, "I'll kill him if it's the last thing I do."

"Friend of yours Jack?" asked Fats with a half smile on his face.

"Not hardly. Personally, I can't stand the wimpy little bastard, but he does spend money and that my fine friend helps pay the rent."

Chuck had finally regained his composure and taking Ruth by the arm left without any further conversation.

Several hours had passed and now Bruce was stumbling up the stairs to his apartment. He made enough noise to stampede a herd of deaf elephants. In his drunken stupor he never saw the door to Edna Ward's apartment open slightly and the peering eyes that watched, nor did he see the cat until he stepped on it. With a loud howl, the cat drew up it's back and her hair stood on end.

"You little bastard". Bruce cried out, "You scared the living shit out of me." With one swift kick sent her flying down the stairs. No sooner had he entered his apartment, when Carmen, wife of Smitty the super, came tip toeing up the stairs, under the watchful eyes of one inquisitive neighbor. Using her pass key, she entered his apartment and locked the door behind her.

"Sweetheart, what happened to you?" she purred. "Here let me help you."

"Shut the fuck up Bitch, and get me another wet towel. Jesus Christ this hurts."

Carmen knelt next to him as he laid his head on the pillow. "Here baby, let me take care of you." Placing her full wet lips softly to his cheek and the sweet smell of a cheap perfume certainly had its soothing effect.

"Where's your ole man tonight?"

"He took the night off and is with some friends."

"Yeah ... when do you expect him home?" The wheels in his head had already started to turn.

"Not until tomorrow morning, baby. You know how it is when men play cards."

By this time he had just about forgotten his bruises and decided that Carmen was the best medicine under the circumstances. Turning his head he let their lips touch, softly at first, then their kissing became more and more fervent. His hand started to slide up the back of her thigh and over the soft mounds of flesh ending at the small of her back. As he suspected she wore nothing underneath. With one hard yank, he pulled at her dress. It came away from her body, as he knew it would, with little resistance and fell to the floor. A smile crossed his face as he realized the pleasure he was about to become a part of.

Hearing the moaning from behind Bruce's door also brought a smile across Edna Ward's face. Leaving the security of her apartment, she went in search of her cat and found his lifeless body lying at the bottom of the stairs. Picking up the still form, she walked to the rear courtyard and as tears rushed from her eyes and down her cheeks, took a small plant shovel and buried her beloved cat. Locking her door, she retired and...