The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

The bathroom was simply an excuse.

Livingston caught the entire incident in the alley from behind the safe confines of a cozy corner. Just as the two men were breathlessly sprinting down the long alley Livingston managed to cut right in front of them.

"Just a second, boys," he said in his usual dialect. "I have some questions for you."

"Move out of our way, whitey," one of the men anxiously shouted.

Promptly, Livingston pulled out a wad of bills and waved them in front of both men. "Now, like I said, I have some questions for you." He calmly stated.

Gradually, both men came down and glanced at each other before going back to drooling over the money that was staring back at them.

"I need to know why you were talking to that girl."

Huffing and puffing, one of the men said, "Hey, mon, she American. She won know 'bout someone named...Bushard."

"Yeah, we give her some bullshit directions." The other man stepped in. "She pay us and we send her on a wild goose chase!" He giggled.

Livingston examined both men who appeared more delighted in their deception. "Why did you do that?"

"She a stupid American girl, mon," one explained. "We need de money! We know no Bushard, but we know money! She desperate, mon!"

"Hold it!" A megaphone rang out from behind.

Immediately, Livingston spun around while the other two men turned tail and took off down the other end of the alley.

Casually, three police officers all dressed in blue, short sleeved shirts and black shorts came towards Livingston. The man made sure to stuff his money back into his pants pocket before placing a polite smile on his blushing face.

"Good afternoon, Officers!" He reverted back to his 'nobleman's' English. "Would there be a problem?"

The three officers all surrounded the man and inspected him from top to bottom as though it were the first time they had ever laid eyes on a white man before. One by one they pulled out their batons and began slapping their left hands with them. Livingston on the other hand simply stood and watched as the ever so curious men circled him like vultures around rotting meat. He was sweating, but not from fear. He had Lynnette on his mind; the police were a meager annoyance.

"What's your name, sir?" One of the officers stood in front of Livingston and asked.

"The name is Livingston, sir." He respectfully replied.

"Is dat a first or last name?"

"Just Livingston, sir," he remarked in a cavalier tone.

Soon, the other two officers stopped swirling about and stood behind the man. "What were you saying to dose two boys?"

"Well, we were just having a bit of a discussion about what good places to eat around these parts, sir."

Appearing suspicious, the officer began rooting about inside Livingston's pockets before he managed to pull out his wad of bills.

"You must be a rich mon, Mr. Livingston." The officer purred.

Livingston stiffened his upper lip as the red in his face increased. He stood and watched as the officer counted each and every bill before taking and planting the wad into his own pocket.

"Ya sound like you're from Britain or somewhere." One of the other officers said

"Just from somewhere, sir," Livingston

front of him approached Livingston face to face and sneered, "We

Livingston eye-balled the man right back. In his heart there was only contempt, the kind that longed

"I shall be more careful where I tread, officer."

on all the way around the corner. But as he stood in complete and utter revulsion, there remained only the young lady that served him back at the restaurant named Lynnette. For the time being Livingston could withstand the

stumbled backwards and watched quietly from a

the street with her three children and the basket of fruit that she was carrying on top

complete stop in front of a particular backdoor. The man pressed on the truck's horn repeatedly until Philippe came out. Livingston unlocked the passenger door and waited for the man to climb

"I just saw the girl you were talking about." Livingston said. "I'm not quite sure what her angle is yet, but I just got through speaking with a couple of blokes.

studied Philippe who had the most empty and hopeless appearance on his

your knickers in a

But Philippe couldn't seem to answer, he just sat and stared out the window ahead of him as

fingers in front of Philippe's

Slowly turning his head, the young man responded in a skittish

like I have the ability to carry

Shaking his head in dismay, Philippe explained, "I was speaking wit Ejo, and he told me last night he was down at de old warehouse past Tunston, trying to buy some

"Ok, so," Livingston grew even

dat dere was someone

"Probably a squatter," Livingston irately hollered.

mon." Philippe's eyes began

rolled his eyes and stared at Philippe before an unsettling growl settled down inside his own stomach. Ever so steadily the man turned away from Philippe. His bottom lip started to quiver,

"Is it a bloke?"

"Yeah...yeah, it

his forehead which had suddenly exploded into a violent sweat before saying, "Okay...I want you. I want you to find out

"But what

"Do as I tell you!" Livingston screamed. "You take care

back into the building from which he exited. Livingston kept his eyes on the glove compartment a bit longer before eventually reaching over, opening

sky before

were located. His truck bumped up and down across various potholes that lined the lonely road

for at least five whole minutes before mustering both the energy and bravery to get out and tread ever so carefully towards the broken down building. His stride was methodical if

it to the ground before sliding through the halfway opened steel door. The entire building, which consisted of two large floors, smelled of musty rain. From one corner to the

a black liquid that was lying on the floor in front of him. He knelt down and poked at it with the tip of his weapon while noticing a shard of broken glass right beside him. Livingston picked up the glass and scraped at the ooze before

"Are you really here, mon?" A deep voice echoed clear from

the floor, but before he could even attempt to reach for it he managed to gain a glimpse of the individual that was slowly making

raggedy looking man who appeared as if he were in his late seventies. He had a grey beard and a pair of bare, crusty feet that looked

"You there," Livingston

But the man continued on until he finally stopped just seven feet away from Livingston. Both men stood opposite the other in what was a nervous standoff,

"Is it really

that moment. The shaking gun that was inside his hand slowly dropped to his

the bleeding hell is this?"

"I am here, mon." Arthur announced

stunning appearance in the most flabbergasted

way to his withered

hell have you been?"