The Black Feather
By: O.D. Hall
The birds screeched their horribly high-pitched songs as if nothing in the world was a care to them. Twenty-one-year-old Allen Michaels rolled out of his single bed in his apartment on the fourth floor. He lived in modesty though he had access to over thirty thousand Benjamin's. He did not ask for the money, rather he had inherited it when his multi-millionaire father passed away two years prior. He had done nothing with the money except for investing it in the bank when he had been given it. It seemed like a crime to him to spend money that was not really his, a crime not worth committing.
He had no obsessions or goals. He was happy with the job he had. He was the Assistant CEO at a major Computer Producing Industry known as Macrotell. The only way he'd ever get a promotion at this point was if Wayne Watson, the CEO, either got promoted to Assistant Director, or died. Allen had considered that both possibilities, while still possible since Wayne was seventy-something years old, were still fairly unlikely. He would not really want Wayne to die though since as far as Allen was concerned, Wayne Watson was a real nice guy.
Allen hopped into the shower and quickly rinsed off after realizing he had woken up twenty minutes late and rapidly shampooed his hair. After his shower he popped a Pop-Tart into his toaster oven and pushed "Toast". Still with a towel covering his waist he reentered his bedroom and let the towel drop to the floor. He would pick it up after work. He slipped on a pair of boxer shorts and his favorite black slacks. He fumbled through his dresser a found a white crew neck shirt to his liking and put it on. He then moved to the closet and pulled out a dark blue collar shirt and a black tie and slipped them on. Smiling, he pulled out the new black business blazer he had picked up at the Dockers's department at the Ridgeline Mall. When he put in on he felt a rush of warmth enclose him like slipping into a toasty sleeping bag on a cold winter night. It felt good to be able to afford a bit more expensive articles of clothing. The blazer fit just right so that it did not minimize or restrict any arm movement.
Before rushing out the door, he grabbed his keys, his black shades and Pop-Tarts and shut the window. He went to the elevator and hit the down arrow and the door opened as if it knew he was coming. He pushed the first floor button and the door closed.
He stepped out of the apartment moments later and got into his obsidian Corvette and cruised down Galloway Street to the Macrotell Incorporated complex. The Macrotell complex came in the form of a thirty floored skyscraper with a large fountain in the front courtyard. He parked his car in the lot titled "Assistant CEO" and stepped out.
Angela was sitting in her desk when he entered the lobby on the twenty-fourth floor. Angela Hopewell was Allen's secretary and also a friend of his. She smiled as he entered and said, "Good Morning Mister Michaels. Can I get you anything this morning?" He smiled back noticing the overdramatic sarcasm in her voice. "Actually Angie if you could get me an espresso that would be great. Double shot…" "Drowned in milk, creamer, and hazelnut?" Angela finished having memorized his coffee preferences. Allen's smile widened and he said, "You read me like an old book Angie." She chuckled and left the lobby to go to the café on the third floor.
Allen opened the door to his office and sat down behind his desk. He hit Ctrl, Alt, and Delete and logged in to the computer. The first thing he always did each morning was check his e-mail. He had three emails in his box when he checked it. One was simply junk and he tossed it, the other was a memo reminding all employees that the Fourth of July party was tomorrow and that each department was to bring a certain listed on the table provided. Allen noticed that the twenty-fourth floor was to bring desserts. Allen smiled and knew exactly what he would bring. He would make his family recipe for chocolate chip cookies.
His last e-mail however, was from someone he did not recognize. The senders name was He thought nothing of it and simply deleted it. A text box came up that said, "Don't you dare delete my message." Utterly bewildered, he tried to click the "X" button to close it and another text box came up," Don't you dare close this until you read me!" it said. Frustrated, Allen gave in and opened the mysterious e-mail. It read:
"To Allen Michaels,
I know you have a bundle of money that you do not spend and I have a proposition for you. Information from your father's murder for 2.5 million dollars. I promise that I have enough information for the police to find his killer and prove he did it. All you need to is put the money on a check. Sign it. Put it in the suitcase next your secretary's desk, and deliver it to 685 Parkway Street Apartment D and the Police will get a major tip off. Trust me; you can rely on my sources to cut 2.5 million from your savings. By the way, once you have read this e-mail it will delete and your computer will crash as soon as you get to the period at this sentence."
Then the screen when black and the computer began to hiss and moan as if it had been strangled to death. Allen sat there and stared at the blank screen, either too shocked or too frightened to know what to do. He felt his head throbbing like a man was sitting in his skull banging a hammer on the top of his head and then on the bottom. Who was this Black Feather? More importantly, how did this guy know anything about his father? Allen didn't know but if what this Black Feather person had said was true, he wanted to know every little thing he could.
He pulled out his check book and began to write out the check to 'Wait' he thought suddenly. He hadn't known the persons name. So who would he make it out too? Black Feather? He didn't know. Then he thought of something. He opened the door to his office and saw the suitcase. It was black and there was a pink Post-It note on the side of it that read: "6-8-5". He guessed it was the combo to unlock the case. He brought it in and opened it. Inside was another pink Post-It that read: "Write the check to Larrice Black" So that's who the Black Feather was. Or was it? It was so easy these days to forge an I.D. and claim to be someone else and even harder to find out who some people really were. He could be dealing with someone who was taking on an alias. 'Oh well.' He thought and simply signed and filled out the check. He put it in the suitcase and closed it.
He managed to put the case under his desk right before Angela walked in with his coffee. "Here you go Allen." She said. "Err Angie? I think my computer crashed. Do you think you can call downstairs to bring me a new one. This one looks shot out." Angela frowned and examined the computer on his desk. "My God it looks like someone lit a match in there!" she exclaimed. "What happened?" Allen shrugged, "I think it had a virus and just couldn't take anymore." She had Allen unplug it and she took it downstairs to be replaced.
At about 4:00 pm, Allen drove out looking for Parkway Street. It ended up being in a Bronx style area of Ridgeline City. He found the apartment complex number "685" and got out of his car. Suitcase in hand he walked up to the doorstep of Apartment "D" and put the suitcase on the ground next to the door. He turned on his heel and hurriedly walked back to his car and drove off.
He was scared. What would happen tomorrow he wondered? Suddenly something caught his eye. A person was standing in an alley. It beckoned him to come. It didn't move but it seemed to call to him though Allen couldn't hear anything. He parked his car on the side of the street and opened his glove compartment. Inside, laid a 9mm semi automatic pistol. He had gotten it after he heard about recent shootings in the area. He never left home without it after that. He put it into the pocket of his blazer. His heart thumped like a stampede of raging rhinos as he got out of his car and slowly moved to the figure in the alley.
"You found the place then?" a female voice emitted from the figure in the alley. It was then Allen realized who he was talking to. "You're the Black Feather? You're Larrice Black?" The figure nodded. "Larrice is a pen name that I gave myself years ago before I met your father, much like The Black Feather. I am an informant that works on a freelancing scale. You delivered my money, so I will deliver your information to the Chief of Police. You, however never knew of my existence." Allen frowned. "Tell me please. Who did it? Who killed my father?" The shadow shrugged. "You did." She said. Suddenly, someone grabbed Allen's shoulder. In a instant, Allen spun around and pulled the trigger on the gun at the person who had grabbed him. "Dad?" he said in shock. There stood his father, with a hand still on Allen's shoulder, and another on his chest which was covered in blood. Horror shot through Allen like never before. He thought his father was dead and now as Robert Michaels, Allen's father, crumpled to the ground, he had. Tears began to fall from Allen's eyes and dived down his cheeks. 'It was me!' he thought. It was……
The birds screeched their horribly high-pitched songs as if nothing in the world was a care to them. Twenty-one-year-old Allen Michaels rolled out of his single bed in his apartment on the fourth floor. He lived in modesty though he had access to over thirty thousand Benjamin's. He did not ask for the money, rather he had inherited it when his multi-millionaire father passed away two years prior. He had done nothing with the money except for investing it in the bank when he had been given it. It seemed like a crime to him to spend money that was not really his, a crime not worth committing.
The End….