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The Spectre You Can't Go Home Again

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  • onlydavb
    Prologue 1 Guns Benson looked down at his watch one last time. Nine o clock at night in the middle of a crowded disco, full of plenty of witnesses. He smiled
    Message 1 of 3 , Nov 14, 2009
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      Prologue 1

      Guns Benson looked down at his watch one last time. Nine o'clock at night in the middle of a crowded disco, full of plenty of witnesses. He smiled because there was no way anyone could prove he had anything to do with the murder happening on the other side of Cliffland. Guns had plenty of cops and other people in authority on his payroll but one honest cop could ruin everything. As a matter of fact that was what was being taken care of right now an honest cop.

      James Grant was the policeman in question. He was a third generation police officer for the City of Cliffland. His father Wayne had named him after his partner and best friend Jim Corrigan. James was just a month shy of his fiftieth birthday. He had four by three wives from marriages that ended in divorce. He had this weekend off and had taken his kids to see their grandfather- his father, Wayne, who now lived in a nursing home. Wayne was widowed and had the beginnings of dementia starting.

      James took his sons to see his father every chance time he had his boys. His sons ranged in age from seventeen to ten. His oldest didn't like being with the older Grant's too terribly much, but James didn't care because a judge had given him visitation rights and as far as he was concern, a judge trumped a pouty seventeen year-old every time.

      James drove his boy home to their respective mothers and then stopped at the local bar that catered to the police like he did every weekend. James had a shot and a beer, same as always. He talked about the Indians chances this year. He avoided shop talk; talk about the Guns Benson Gang.

      He avoided that because it had become a sore subject for him. Guns Benson had been a small-time hoodlum until recently. He was always part of a gang, never the leader of recently. Then all of a sudden that mysteriously changed in the blink of an eye. Now the SOB was running most of the criminal activity in town and we can't touch him fumed Grant to himself.

      James had talked to his father about this just before his diagnose of dementia. Wayne still had many lucid moments and he told his son that Guns Benson was the son of a particularly vicious criminal named Gat Benson who disappeared back in 1940. Guns Benson wasn't any better than his father James mused, except that he evidently was a late bloomer in the world of organized crime.

      How or why Benson had suddenly been able rise to the top had puzzled Grant for a long time until he saw some recent surveillance photos of the man. Guns Benson had no shadow. Detective James Grant had spent the last day working combing through old surveillance photos of Benson, back when he was just a hood. He had a shadow then.

      Detective James Grant now knew that the lack Guns Benson lack of a shadow had something to do with the reason why the criminal now Cliffland top crimelord. He just didn't know what or how. That was for the state authorities to figure out. A small city like Cliffland didn't have the budget to deal with metahuman activities. Unfortunately for James Benson, his report had to go through his supervisor and his supervisor was on Guns Benson's payroll. James' supervisor was destroying James report, the photos and the negatives even while the detective and his sons were visiting his father.

      James was oblivious to all of this. As far as he was concerned, the information was on its way to Columbus. Somehow or someway Benson had gained some kind of super power or powers. The State of Ohio would investigate, maybe call the Feds in and they in turn would call in the boys in spandex if needed. James felt good about the job he did as he finish his beer.

      He said his goodbyes and headed towards his car. He thought to himself about how much easier police work was back in his father's day was, before the masks showed up. He didn't sense the danger of the car driving slowly up behind him. He was a police officer, leaving a known establishment where police officers gather. Nobody is that brazen to harm a police officer just outside a police bar; or so James thought.

      The car slowed to a stop right by James. The front passenger window opened. "Excuse" said a man with a heavy Spanish accent "We're lost. How do we get back to the highway?"

      James sighed because somewhere in the back of his mind alarm bells were ringing. He turned though because these folks really were lost because the highways was several miles away he started to bend down to talk to them man when the rear window rolled down and he saw that he was staring down the muzzle of a sawed off shot gun.
    • Frank Murdock
      A Spectre story. Interesting. I look forward to seeing how the 5EP handles such a cosmic level mystical entity. /FM ... From: onlydavb To:
      Message 2 of 3 , Nov 15, 2009
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        A Spectre story. Interesting. I look forward to seeing how the 5EP handles such a cosmic level mystical entity.

        /FM

        ----- Original Message -----
        From: onlydavb
        To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
        Sent: Saturday, November 14, 2009 4:09 PM
        Subject: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] The Spectre You Can't Go Home Again



        Prologue 1

        Guns Benson looked down at his watch one last time. Nine o'clock at night in the middle of a crowded disco, full of plenty of witnesses. He smiled because there was no way anyone could prove he had anything to do with the murder happening on the other side of Cliffland. Guns had plenty of cops and other people in authority on his payroll but one honest cop could ruin everything. As a matter of fact that was what was being taken care of right now an honest cop.

        James Grant was the policeman in question. He was a third generation police officer for the City of Cliffland. His father Wayne had named him after his partner and best friend Jim Corrigan. James was just a month shy of his fiftieth birthday. He had four by three wives from marriages that ended in divorce. He had this weekend off and had taken his kids to see their grandfather- his father, Wayne, who now lived in a nursing home. Wayne was widowed and had the beginnings of dementia starting.

        James took his sons to see his father every chance time he had his boys. His sons ranged in age from seventeen to ten. His oldest didn't like being with the older Grant's too terribly much, but James didn't care because a judge had given him visitation rights and as far as he was concern, a judge trumped a pouty seventeen year-old every time.

        James drove his boy home to their respective mothers and then stopped at the local bar that catered to the police like he did every weekend. James had a shot and a beer, same as always. He talked about the Indians chances this year. He avoided shop talk; talk about the Guns Benson Gang.

        He avoided that because it had become a sore subject for him. Guns Benson had been a small-time hoodlum until recently. He was always part of a gang, never the leader of recently. Then all of a sudden that mysteriously changed in the blink of an eye. Now the SOB was running most of the criminal activity in town and we can't touch him fumed Grant to himself.

        James had talked to his father about this just before his diagnose of dementia. Wayne still had many lucid moments and he told his son that Guns Benson was the son of a particularly vicious criminal named Gat Benson who disappeared back in 1940. Guns Benson wasn't any better than his father James mused, except that he evidently was a late bloomer in the world of organized crime.

        How or why Benson had suddenly been able rise to the top had puzzled Grant for a long time until he saw some recent surveillance photos of the man. Guns Benson had no shadow. Detective James Grant had spent the last day working combing through old surveillance photos of Benson, back when he was just a hood. He had a shadow then.

        Detective James Grant now knew that the lack Guns Benson lack of a shadow had something to do with the reason why the criminal now Cliffland top crimelord. He just didn't know what or how. That was for the state authorities to figure out. A small city like Cliffland didn't have the budget to deal with metahuman activities. Unfortunately for James Benson, his report had to go through his supervisor and his supervisor was on Guns Benson's payroll. James' supervisor was destroying James report, the photos and the negatives even while the detective and his sons were visiting his father.

        James was oblivious to all of this. As far as he was concerned, the information was on its way to Columbus. Somehow or someway Benson had gained some kind of super power or powers. The State of Ohio would investigate, maybe call the Feds in and they in turn would call in the boys in spandex if needed. James felt good about the job he did as he finish his beer.

        He said his goodbyes and headed towards his car. He thought to himself about how much easier police work was back in his father's day was, before the masks showed up. He didn't sense the danger of the car driving slowly up behind him. He was a police officer, leaving a known establishment where police officers gather. Nobody is that brazen to harm a police officer just outside a police bar; or so James thought.

        The car slowed to a stop right by James. The front passenger window opened. "Excuse" said a man with a heavy Spanish accent "We're lost. How do we get back to the highway?"

        James sighed because somewhere in the back of his mind alarm bells were ringing. He turned though because these folks really were lost because the highways was several miles away he started to bend down to talk to them man when the rear window rolled down and he saw that he was staring down the muzzle of a sawed off shot gun.





        [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
      • The Time Trust
        You ve piqued my interest with this prologue. The atmosphere of a Spectre story is captured perfectly, and I like the villain. Makes me think of film noir.
        Message 3 of 3 , Nov 16, 2009
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          You've piqued my interest with this prologue. The atmosphere of a Spectre story is captured perfectly, and I like the villain. Makes me think of film noir. Looking forward to the next chapter!

          Cheers,
          Doc Quantum of The Time Trust


          >
          >From: onlydavb <no_reply@yahoogroups.com>
          >To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
          >Sent: Sat, November 14, 2009 4:09:04 PM
          >Subject: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] The Spectre You Can't Go Home Again
          >
          > >
          >
          >
          >
          >
          > >
          >>
          >
          >Prologue 1
          >
          >>Guns Benson looked down at his watch one last time. Nine o'clock at night in the middle of a crowded disco, full of plenty of witnesses. He smiled because there was no way anyone could prove he had anything to do with the murder happening on the other side of Cliffland. Guns had plenty of cops and other people in authority on his payroll but one honest cop could ruin everything. As a matter of fact that was what was being taken care of right now an honest cop.
          >
          >>James Grant was the policeman in question. He was a third generation police officer for the City of Cliffland. His father Wayne had named him after his partner and best friend Jim Corrigan. James was just a month shy of his fiftieth birthday. He had four by three wives from marriages that ended in divorce. He had this weekend off and had taken his kids to see their grandfather- his father, Wayne, who now lived in a nursing home. Wayne was widowed and had the beginnings of dementia starting.
          >
          >>James took his sons to see his father every chance time he had his boys. His sons ranged in age from seventeen to ten. His oldest didn't like being with the older Grant's too terribly much, but James didn't care because a judge had given him visitation rights and as far as he was concern, a judge trumped a pouty seventeen year-old every time.
          >
          >>James drove his boy home to their respective mothers and then stopped at the local bar that catered to the police like he did every weekend. James had a shot and a beer, same as always. He talked about the Indians chances this year. He avoided shop talk; talk about the Guns Benson Gang.
          >
          >>He avoided that because it had become a sore subject for him. Guns Benson had been a small-time hoodlum until recently. He was always part of a gang, never the leader of recently. Then all of a sudden that mysteriously changed in the blink of an eye. Now the SOB was running most of the criminal activity in town and we can't touch him fumed Grant to himself.
          >
          >>James had talked to his father about this just before his diagnose of dementia. Wayne still had many lucid moments and he told his son that Guns Benson was the son of a particularly vicious criminal named Gat Benson who disappeared back in 1940. Guns Benson wasn't any better than his father James mused, except that he evidently was a late bloomer in the world of organized crime.
          >
          >>How or why Benson had suddenly been able rise to the top had puzzled Grant for a long time until he saw some recent surveillance photos of the man. Guns Benson had no shadow. Detective James Grant had spent the last day working combing through old surveillance photos of Benson, back when he was just a hood. He had a shadow then.
          >
          >>Detective James Grant now knew that the lack Guns Benson lack of a shadow had something to do with the reason why the criminal now Cliffland top crimelord. He just didn't know what or how. That was for the state authorities to figure out. A small city like Cliffland didn't have the budget to deal with metahuman activities. Unfortunately for James Benson, his report had to go through his supervisor and his supervisor was on Guns Benson's payroll. James' supervisor was destroying James report, the photos and the negatives even while the detective and his sons were visiting his father.
          >
          >>James was oblivious to all of this. As far as he was concerned, the information was on its way to Columbus. Somehow or someway Benson had gained some kind of super power or powers. The State of Ohio would investigate, maybe call the Feds in and they in turn would call in the boys in spandex if needed. James felt good about the job he did as he finish his beer.
          >
          >>He said his goodbyes and headed towards his car. He thought to himself about how much easier police work was back in his father's day was, before the masks showed up. He didn't sense the danger of the car driving slowly up behind him. He was a police officer, leaving a known establishment where police officers gather. Nobody is that brazen to harm a police officer just outside a police bar; or so James thought.
          >
          >>The car slowed to a stop right by James. The front passenger window opened. "Excuse" said a man with a heavy Spanish accent "We're lost. How do we get back to the highway?"
          >
          >>James sighed because somewhere in the back of his mind alarm bells were ringing. He turned though because these folks really were lost because the highways was several miles away he started to bend down to talk to them man when the rear window rolled down and he saw that he was staring down the muzzle of a sawed off shot gun.
          >
          >
          >


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