The Serial Killer of Bush Street Part 47

Copyright 2018 MillieAnne Lowe, Oceanside, California

Johnny had seen men in an alley beat up and old man before but he had not ever been so close to the danger of a possible murder. When he saw his new friend crash through the apartment door, a strong chill passed through his body. This feels like the night my father died. Death is near.

He heard the sounds of men fighting and furniture screeching across a hardwood floor. I heard a girl scream. Why is she not screaming anymore?

Johnny had always been aware of his short stature and physical abilities. Having lost several fights against men larger than his own size, he was afraid of physical confrontations. I have not been strong enough to beat anyone up, but I can use my brain. Just like my father taught me.

He then turned around and ran out of the building. Heading for the batch of police cars blocking the way to the Murder Building, Johnny yelled, “Police! Police!”


No one paid attention to him until he crashed into a Patrolman at the perimeter of the small crowd. “Whoa there. Where do you think you’re going?”

“Friend needs help. Fighting on second floor of building up there.” Johnny pointed to where light was shining out of his yellow cab.

“Is that your cab up there?” asked the Patrolman. He signaled for Martino’s attention.

Martino came over. “What’s up?” he said in a low voice.”

“This kid here says his friend needs help up there,” the patrolman said. He pointed up Bush Street where the lighted cab was but a small sight.

“Yes. Please, come quick. He is fighting. I think I heard a girl scream first.”

“Ah baloney!” said Martino, “And this is happening two blocks from where we stand!”


George overheard the conversation and started running to where Johnny pointed. Johnny turned and followed him. “Tell me exactly which building,” George said to the young kid running behind him.

“Cross over next street,” said Johnny out of breath. “Then on left side where my taxi parked.”

George sped up, leaving a larger distance between himself and the young, scared cab driver.

At the point where the taxi stood, George dashed up the steps and pushed through a group of people in bathrobes. He saw the brown bags and could smell the flavors of Chinese food on the floor. A slovenly dressed old man, unshaven and semi-bald, was looking into one of the bags that had toppled over.

“Up on the second floor. Down the hall by the window!” said a frail old man wearing a brown bathrobe. He pointed a bony finger toward the stairs.

“She screamed,” said a woman in pin curls. “I heard her scream, the poor dear.”

Johnny ran up the steps, into the foyer, and headed up the steps.

“They don’t need a taxi, Kid. They need the police!” said someone among the other tenants.

“They coming!” said Johnny as he turned at the landing to the second floor.

“Frank, shut up. You’re drunk again. Don’t you know it can be that sweet blonde girl that lives at the end of the hall?”

“You mean the one who gave me cookies?” Frank said. “Hell, let me through so I can go help,” and he staggered forward toward the stairs.

“Wait a minute. You’re too full of drink, you’ll do better sitting down and saying a prayer for her. I’m the manger here and I say you need to stay put.”


George took sight of the broken apartment door and saw blood and chaos everywhere. Amid the rubble of torn pictures and broken glass, he spotted the half of the broken scissors Marilyn had used to stab Steele. He knelt by the girl on the floor and found no pulse. A young man in a tweed jacket lay on his back by her side, the look of shock still in his dead eyes. Then George heard the noise of a window scratching in its frame from the bedroom. He looked up and  saw the shadow of a man climbing out the window to the fire escape. George followed.

Copyright 2018 MillieAnne Lowe, Oceanside, California

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