by VJ Miller Sr

If you missed Part Two

Last time we left with a Question: Who is the dead man in that dark damp alley?

Fred screeches up to the alleys mouth. Pausing, he speaks to the officer on duty who points to Owens deep in the interior. Long strides carry the taught body ever nearer. Hobnailed boots click in rhythm on the brick paving; echoing hollowly off the walls of the alley’s confines. In the gathering mist he walks straight to Sgt. Owens, paying no mind to the other officer.

“What happened Greg?” came out ice encrusted.

“I… I don’t know how to say this…”

“It’s Charlie… isn’t it?”

Nodding solemnly, Owens kneels to pull back the shroud, followed by Fred, removing his helmet.

Nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing, he examines the crushed body that looked as if he’d died very slowly, extremely painful; beaten to death with some heavy object, or objects. Close scrutiny shows the left pinky missing; neat, purposely severed rather than torn off in the execution. Stoic, sickened, Fred slowly rises, followed by Owens who replaces the shroud.

“I hated to do it this way… but I couldn’t over the phone.”

Silent, staring vacantly, Fred turns his back without a further word to stalk off into the thickening fog toward his bike.

“Fred… Fred. What are you gonna do?”

Fred halts, ponders, then turns half around at the waist; his voice cold as a Siberian winter. “Fred Sinclair… is dead...” He tugs on his helmet. “Only the Ice-man lives.”

Bewildered, the two detectives behold Fred’s departure into the cloying mist; of the roar and screech of tire of his rapidly receding motorcycle. Continue reading Iceman Series – Part Three- →

by VJ Miller, Sr.

An interstellar bounty hunter is lured into a deadly game of hide & seek on a desert mining moon. He must survive burning sands and intense heat to capture an assassin or die trying

Last time: Iceman took a cab to the Security Bldg. and accused                                   the cabby of trying to swindle him…

The interior of the Security Bldg. building belies the ancient appearance of the exterior. High tech, sleek lines, polished finish. Electronic equipment rests proudly from every nook and cranny. Everywhere it is well lit and clean.

On approaching the Info Officer, Iceman is put in mind of a scrawny chicken in baggy clothes. This guy looked like he hadn’t eaten in a long while which was a paradox in itself.  As a matter of fact, he was stuffing a foot long sandwich in his mouth.

“I’d like to speak to the Security Chief.”

Chewing and swallowing he answered with half a mouthful; little bits of roll, lettuce and tomato spraying freely. “I’m sorry but—”

“You just tell him Iceman wants to see him.”

The wad in the officer’s mouth hangs half in transit as he forces it down. Ashen faced, he fumbles with the intercom while Iceman stands stoically. Continue reading Iceman Series – Part Two- →