No Stuff Sherlock, a Short Story

Sudden awareness of a knock on the front door brought Serena back from the mystery novel in her hand. I wonder who that could be at this time of night, she thought. She cautiously looked through the peep-hole in the door and saw . . . nothing.

Humm, that's strange. Thought I heard a knock. Maybe it was my imagination. She went back to her comfortable chair in front of the fireplace and picked up her book. Before she could sit down, she heard the sound again. She returned to the door and called out, "Who is it?"

There was only silence.

As she stood there, the sound came again; this time it was more of a thumping than a knock. A chill ran across Serena's neck. Good God, I wonder if someone is out there.

She decided it was time to go get her gun and see what the problem. She started to turn toward the kitchen and heard the floor creak behind her. She spun around and gasped at what she saw.

Standing in the entryway to the kitchen was a huge, dark figure.

She couldn't see his face but his just being there was enough to petrify her. She leaned tightly against the door, slowly slipping her hand onto the doorknob, then realized the dead bolt was latched.

"Who are you? How did you get in here and what do you want?" She tried to sound convincing but was shaking so hard inside she thought she would fall apart.

A voice from the darkness answered. "I came through the back door. I used to live here a while back and my key still worked." He chuckled.

The figure limped forward and a face slowly emerged from the darkness. A large scar ran across the right eye and down the face through his mouth to the lower left jaw. It looked as if someone had tried to cut his head in half. His mouth curved up slightly showing missing teeth that formed a grotesque, grisly smile.

"You really ought to get yourself a dead bolt for that back doo too." A laugh came tumbling out of the Halloween face in front of her.

Serena asked, "What do you want?"

"Something to eat would be nice." He mumbled.

"Let me open the door and let the dog in. Then I'll get you something," she said trying to figure a way to escape. She fought to keep her cool as she turned, reached for the dead bolt and released it.

The stranger moved closer to her, reached out and took hold of her arm, as if he knew what she was planning. He watched her every move.

Tige, the dog from the neighboring farm was sitting on her porch, leaning against the door and scratching. He always came to her house for a handout when his owners were away. She gave a sigh of relief.

Serena slid the door open quickly and the big German Shepherd was glad to get inside out of the cold. It had been snowing and he looked half frozen. She reached down and patted his head. "Poor little fellow, you shouldn't be out on a night like this." It was a few miles to his owner's house and she suspected they were in town or Tige wouldn't be at her house trying to come inside. If she screamed they couldn't hear her anyway. It was to far away.

The big man stood staring at her, demanding, "OK! Where's the damn food! I want something hot and filling, you understand me?"

"Sure thing! Looks like you're not the only one that is hungry," she said trying to appear casual.

"What's your name?" She tried to appear friendly, hoping this would help and he would not suspect she had a plan.

"Rocky. What's your?"

"Serena."

He followed her into the kitchen; the dog trotted along beside her and stayed close.

There was silence as she pulled out a skillet and placed it on the top of the stove. Then she went to the refrigerator, took out some hamburger and slipped a handful of it to the dog. Next she chopped onions and garlic, added the meat to the pan and turned on the burner.

The intruder sniffed the air. "I like lots of garlic. It's my favorite. What you makin' anyway?"

"You said something hot and filling so I'm fixing chili. That will warm up your bones."

"Good! I like my Chili, like I like my women, hot and spicy." His laughter split the air.

She started toward the pantry.

"Stop! . . . Where you goin'?"

"To get some beans for the chili, what else?"

"Oh, OK!"
She also had a LM4-Simmerling American Derringer hidden there. She lifted it and slipped it into her bra, where her ample bust could hide the weapon. Unless he grabbed her, he would never know she had the gun. She brought out the canned beans and chili powder.

"Where are you from, Rocky?" She acted interested.

"Down the road apiece. Montana, to be exact."

"What brings you to Colorado, family?"

"Nope, no family!"

The chili bubbled wildly, the scent of garlic and chili powder filling the air. She turned the fire down to let all the ingredients blend well.
"How long before it's ready?"

"About thirty minutes."

"Then maybe we could go sit by the fire place and get to know each other better. There's plenty of time." He moved toward her, catching hold of her arm.

Tige didn't like him grabbing her and growled.

"Lock that damn dog up . . . NOW!"

She had no choice. . . . She swirled around. Using all her might she hit the intruder with her elbow in the middle of his stomach.

Caught off guard, he let out an "Ummph!"

She pulled the gun from her bra and pointed at him.

He laughed loudly. "That pee shooter ain't big enough to shoot a pigeon," he said as he lunged for her, once more.

She screamed at him, "Stay back!" He didn't listen.

She pulled the trigger firing at him not once, but five times, hitting him in the head and chest. He reached for her but instead fell toward the floor in a sort of slow motion. His eyes stared blankly in disbelief.

Tige ran to her side. "A lot of help you were," she said as she picked up the phone to call the police. "I just killed a man. I think you better come out here."
Serena told them where she lived and they arrived within fifteen minutes.

"I'm Detective Watson. Do you have a permit?"

"Yes, I do"

"That is a rather unusual gun you have there, not many of those around. Where did you get it?" The officer asked.

"I'm a gun collector, bought it at a gun show. Once I thought about being a police office. I even trained at the police academy in Denver but changed my mind."

"That training is probably why you managed to kill him. What's your name?" Watson asked.

"Serena Haslow."

Detective Watson looked at her strangely. "I remember seeing this guys picture on a posted. He is wanted both here and Colorado for multiple murders and rapes. You're lucky you didn't get seriously hurt."

"Yes, I know," she said.
"I seem to recall that some of his victims were named Haslow. Are you by chance related to any of them?"
"Yes, I'm the daughter and the sister of two of his victims. I was only twelve years old when he broke into our house and murdered them." She was frowning. "I hid in the closet or he would have killed me too. I could never forgot his face. It was engraved on my mind."

"Count your blessing that you had a gun to protect yourself. Strange how you ran into him again."

"Nothing strange about it, I figured he would show up here sooner or later."

"How in the name of God did you figure that?"

"Elementary, my dear Watson." She grinned. "According to his records, this is where the first murder occurred. It was here in this very house. Everyone knows a criminal always returns to the scene of their crimes. The bad part is I've been waiting for ten years. I'd about given up hope he would ever show up, that's why I wasn't ready when he did come."

"You were ready enough."

"I have a bottle of wine over there. Would it be OK if I have a drink?" She was understandably shaky. "It's not everyday I kill someone, even if they do deserve it."

"Sure, have a drink if you think it will help."

"You want to join me?"

"I'm on duty, I can't."

"Well, there is chili cooking in the kitchen if you want some. It will help warm your bones until the coroner gets here? If you don't eat it the dog will probably get it. I'm not very hungry now."

Her mouth tipped up slightly in a sad smile. "Funny, I thought killing that sucker would make a difference. After all these years of the waiting and hoping he'd show up; I thought I'd feel good about killing him. Somehow it doesn't solve a damn thing."

"Unfortunately revenge never does, but you may have saved some other women's life, so that is something to contemplate and be grateful for"

"Yes, I guess that will have to do." She tipped her glass up, took a long hard drink and said, "That one is for you Mom!"
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Authors note: The legendary Simmerling is one of the smallest .45 ACP's ever made. This incredible vest pocket pistol has a 5-shot capacity, and the first round is carried in the chamber ready for instant use just like a revolver or a larger frame .45 Auto. The LM4 weighs in at just 24 oz., and is only 5.2 x 3.7 inches in size with a thickness of 1 inch. This LM4 was only produced in limited quantities.