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 grinded

him approached Livingston face to face and sneered, "We don't like

was only contempt, the kind that longed for only the darkest desires.

careful where I tread, officer." He

He could hear them laughing and carrying 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

her head hanging low the man stumbled backwards and watched quietly from a distance. In his eyes she appeared so lonely and destitute. She just plodded along as though her world had crashed into pieces. Livingston eyed her a few moments more before making sure she was out of sight, he then made his way

and the basket of

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

Livingston said. "I'm not quite sure what her angle is yet, but I just got through speaking with a couple of blokes.

moment. He sat and studied Philippe who had the most empty and hopeless appearance on his shockingly

"What's got your knickers in a twist?"

the window ahead of him as though he were anticipating something to

"Look alive, man!" Livingston snapped his fingers in front

the young man responded in a skittish voice,

himself, Livingston griped, "What is this, a science-fiction movie? Do I look like I have the ability to carry a phone around in my pocket at all times? What

told me last night he was down at de old warehouse past Tunston, trying to buy some

"Ok, so," Livingston

said dat dere was someone

a squatter,"

wasn't a squatter, mon." Philippe's eyes began to

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?" Livingston meekly

"Yeah...yeah,

had suddenly exploded into a violent sweat before saying,

"But

"You take care of

which he exited. Livingston kept his eyes on the glove compartment

country." He muttered at the hazy sky before

into a desolated section of the city where only tall, brown weeds and several abandoned warehouses were located. His truck bumped up and down across various potholes that lined the lonely road

both the energy and bravery to get out and tread ever so carefully towards the broken down building. His stride was methodical if not wary. He had his gun in his right hand and even that didn't seem to grant him a semblance of hope. The building was approaching far too fast for his

he reached the so called entrance Livingston immediately took off his blazer and tossed it to the ground before sliding through the halfway opened steel door. The entire building, which consisted of

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 managing to gather a few specs and lifting it to his nose. The mess had no smell to speak of, yet it felt so thick like molasses. Livingston dropped the glass back to the floor before rising up and resuming his

"Are you really here, mon?" A deep voice echoed clear from the other side of

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

clearer. He could see a 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 as though they had walked from one end of the earth

"You there,"

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

"Is it really you, my friend?" Arthur

Livingston's eyes nearly dropped right out of their sockets at that moment. The

bleeding hell is this?" He gasped for air.

mon." Arthur announced in a weary

appearance in the most flabbergasted manner.

Looking at himself from his feet all the way to his withered hands, Arthur

you been?" Livingston asked. "Where's your brother and