smackenzie (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
smackenzie) wrote2009-11-03 04:52 pm
smackenzie) wrote2009-11-03 04:52 pm
wednesday
Wednesday morning brought pouring rain, which brought an accident on Storrow Drive when an SUV, whose driver was talking on his cell phone, slid into the next lane and nudged an old Chevy, whose driver was arguing with his passenger, into the path of an oncoming taxi. The cab and the Chevy were both a little banged up, as they both tried to brake at the very last minute and clipped each other, but no one was hurt. The driver of the SUV, in an attempt to compensate for his lane drift, swerved too far back across his own lane and bumped up onto the sidewalk. The driver of the Chevy yelled at the cabbie - who was too busy calling dispatch to yell back - and stomped over to the SUV to yell at that driver too. An actual fight was averted when both the cab driver and the Chevy's passenger managed to get across that they'd called the cops for accident insurance purposes and bloodshed would only make things worse.
Across the river, at Boston University, the appropriately named Rain Belmont (his birth certificate said "Raymond") got splashed by a bus as he was waiting to cross the street to meet his friend Karsten for breakfast at the Trident Cafe, which made him cranky, which was made worse by Karsten being twenty minutes late, the cafe being unreasonably cold, and the coffee being not that great. But apparently there was a really cute waitress working there who Karsten wanted Rain to see, as Karsten explained when he finally showed up. She was indeed cute, if not quite Rain's type, and Rain make Karsten pay for his omelette to make up for getting soaked by a bus and being forced to wait twenty minutes in a cold cafe with wet jeans and even worse, wet socks.
"You need to buy boots," Karsten said. "They'll keep your feet dry."
"I like my Chucks," Rain grumbled. "You, not so much."
"I told you, I had a computer emergency. Are you going to eat your potatoes?"
While Rain and Karsten were discussing weather and cute waitresses and classes and food, Rain's roommate Christian Sachs was failing a German pop quiz, and Vera Toro, sister of yesterday's shooting victim Martin Toro, was driving to Boston from New Jersey. Someone from the Pine Street Inn had gotten ahold of her, and early that afternoon she arrived to identify his body and take him home. They hadn't spoken in almost three years but Martin's brother had apparently stopped contact with him twelve years ago, so she was the only person for the Pine Street Inn to call. The volunteer who helped Vera out mentioned later that day that she'd seemed resentful that Martin had made her come to Boston, but also regretful that they hadn't had a chance to really restart their relationship before he died.
If she'd given it any thought, Vera might have hoped her brother's death was a fluke, and in a way it was. There was no particular reason for someone to shoot Martin Toro. He hadn't pissed anyone off, he didn't owe anyone money, he hadn't run afoul of dangerous people. He was to most people's way of thinking just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
But to a very small number of people, he was in the right place at the right time, and his inexplicable death Tuesday morning was followed by the inexplicable death of one Augustin Decker Wednesday afternoon.
Augustin was waiting for a bus in Roxbury when (according to a witness) he was shot in the back of the head by someone wearing black pants and a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. Augustin was a cook at Bob the Chef's, but Wednesday was his day off and he was going to help his cousin with some home repairs. He was taking the bus because his wife had the car. He had two daughters, an ex-wife, and a stepson. He was about to be a grandfather. Like Martin, he didn't have any enemies who'd want to kill him, and also like Martin, his death seemed more a fluke than anything else.
But the bullet that killed Martin Toro was fired from the same gun that killed Augustin Decker, a Ruger semi-automatic pistol that had been reported missing after a home burglary four years ago in Murfreesboro, TN. However the authorities wouldn't learn this for a few more days.
words: 745
total words: 4335
(i gave up "pt 1, pt2" type subject headings. i'll probably change my mind again later on.)
Across the river, at Boston University, the appropriately named Rain Belmont (his birth certificate said "Raymond") got splashed by a bus as he was waiting to cross the street to meet his friend Karsten for breakfast at the Trident Cafe, which made him cranky, which was made worse by Karsten being twenty minutes late, the cafe being unreasonably cold, and the coffee being not that great. But apparently there was a really cute waitress working there who Karsten wanted Rain to see, as Karsten explained when he finally showed up. She was indeed cute, if not quite Rain's type, and Rain make Karsten pay for his omelette to make up for getting soaked by a bus and being forced to wait twenty minutes in a cold cafe with wet jeans and even worse, wet socks.
"You need to buy boots," Karsten said. "They'll keep your feet dry."
"I like my Chucks," Rain grumbled. "You, not so much."
"I told you, I had a computer emergency. Are you going to eat your potatoes?"
While Rain and Karsten were discussing weather and cute waitresses and classes and food, Rain's roommate Christian Sachs was failing a German pop quiz, and Vera Toro, sister of yesterday's shooting victim Martin Toro, was driving to Boston from New Jersey. Someone from the Pine Street Inn had gotten ahold of her, and early that afternoon she arrived to identify his body and take him home. They hadn't spoken in almost three years but Martin's brother had apparently stopped contact with him twelve years ago, so she was the only person for the Pine Street Inn to call. The volunteer who helped Vera out mentioned later that day that she'd seemed resentful that Martin had made her come to Boston, but also regretful that they hadn't had a chance to really restart their relationship before he died.
If she'd given it any thought, Vera might have hoped her brother's death was a fluke, and in a way it was. There was no particular reason for someone to shoot Martin Toro. He hadn't pissed anyone off, he didn't owe anyone money, he hadn't run afoul of dangerous people. He was to most people's way of thinking just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
But to a very small number of people, he was in the right place at the right time, and his inexplicable death Tuesday morning was followed by the inexplicable death of one Augustin Decker Wednesday afternoon.
Augustin was waiting for a bus in Roxbury when (according to a witness) he was shot in the back of the head by someone wearing black pants and a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. Augustin was a cook at Bob the Chef's, but Wednesday was his day off and he was going to help his cousin with some home repairs. He was taking the bus because his wife had the car. He had two daughters, an ex-wife, and a stepson. He was about to be a grandfather. Like Martin, he didn't have any enemies who'd want to kill him, and also like Martin, his death seemed more a fluke than anything else.
But the bullet that killed Martin Toro was fired from the same gun that killed Augustin Decker, a Ruger semi-automatic pistol that had been reported missing after a home burglary four years ago in Murfreesboro, TN. However the authorities wouldn't learn this for a few more days.
words: 745
total words: 4335
(i gave up "pt 1, pt2" type subject headings. i'll probably change my mind again later on.)