Wil A. Emerson WHo, Where, How, When

Wil A. Emerson: Who, Where, How, When

Excerpt from
"Just Call Wally"

A short story from Wil A. Emerson


Cover, Asinine Assassins ASININE ASSASSINS, published by SmartRino Publications, includes my short story "Just Call Wally, " which has been nominated for a Derringer Award..

Simpletons & Suspense - Welcome to ASININE ASSASSINS. Inept, brainless, daft, harebrained, loony, witless, lunkheaded, just plain stupid. Not exactly attributes you seek when employing a hired gun, right?

This is NOT your typical crime fiction. If you love a wonderful blend of suspense, humor, and general weirdness, expect to be surprised and entertained by these 23 great stories.

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Just Call Wally
by Wil A. Emerson

       The noise at the front door jarred Walt Mason’s head as if thunder had once again shaken the old rafters. He decided the time had come to look for another place to call home. He didn’t need to be in the same building where he conducted his business. As he pulled a pillow over his head, the pounding came again, this time with a voice.

       “Wally, let me in. Wally.”

       What the hell. Walt looked at his watch. Three in the morning. He wasn’t on night duty. What the hell. As brain fog cleared, he sat up in bed. Damn that Ollie.

       Mason pulled the door open, just enough to confirm the excess noise had been caused by the one and only Ollie Hanover.

       “It’s three in the morning. What the hell?”

       “I know what time it is. I need some help.”

       “Go home, come back at noon.”

       “Can’t. Please, let me sit for a while.”

        “Sit you can. Don’t say a word, don’t even breath.” Mason yanked the chain and let Ollie through the narrow space.

       As Mason slunk back to his bedroom, Ollie called out, “I need your help now.”

       “What the hell? Didn’t you hear me?”

        “I killed Danny Donnelly.”

       Mason turned around so fast, his neck bones crackled. “Why in the world did you kill Donnelly?”

        “Because Booster paid me.”

       “That crook paid you to kill Danny Donnelly?”

       “Yep, that’s what I said. I don’t know what to do with his body.”

       Mason scratched his head as he gazed at Oliver Hanover, the third. The last in a long line of Hanovers, Ollie was somehow missed when intellectual decision-making developed in the evolutionary human brain. Mason had known Ollie all his life. From kindergarten on, shared the same bus ride back and forth every day, ate the same bologna sandwiches their mothers made the night before. They had parted ways for a while, after graduating from high school when Walt went to state college. Ollie stayed behind to do various jobs. Sometimes a job actually included a paycheck from a reputable business. When Walt came back to Marlboro, Virginia, to continue his family’s business, he checked in on Ollie frequently.

       Then, Ollie’s parents died ten years ago, in the same month. Of course, their rental of the two-bedroom apartment ceased to be an option for their son. Ollie needed a place to call home. So Walt, like the older brother Ollie never had, rented him a flat in the adjoining building so he wouldn’t sleep out in the cold.

       Not that Ollie was mentally challenged. He was a math wizard of sorts, good with a paintbrush, but he just couldn’t make the neuron-dendrite connections to stick to a reasonable plan of action for survival. Walt loved him and hated him, too. An albatross around his neck for far too many years. He’d lost both wives because of Ollie. Or at least that’s what Megan and then Karla claimed. Didn’t question their motives. Walt took care of the payments at settlement time.

       So far, Walt had done well with his life. The family business grew, as did the surrounding neighborhood. Always a need for his service to the point he hired three equally capable employees who provided a sense of freedom from the twenty-four/seven requirements of the job at hand. Walt’s life wasn’t a long list of ongoing complaints. And it wasn’t Walt’s nature to begrudge his friend a helping hand.

       Walt gazed at Ollie. Good-looking, curly red hair always kept neat, blue eyes that begged for attention, a strong jawline. He stayed in the best of shape because Ollie walked or ran twenty miles a week. The women often swooned over Ollie—until they got to know him. It usually took about a week before the shine wore off. If only the motherly type would come along, fold her arms and heart around the guy, and forever protect him from himself. That would be a blessing, Walt thought.

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Woman standing in front of a low marble wall


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