A Book I Won't Write

I moved my parents into a very nice assisted living facility a few years ago. I read a lot of mysteries. One day I began to wonder what would happen to a successful hit man when he gets too old to care for himself? Imagine a guy that made a lot of money bumping people off in such a way as to not get caught. Maybe he wouldn't have a lot of family or close friends being in the kind of business that would discourage that sort of thing. Then imagine what he would do to a caregiver that was less than caring, mean or hateful, even. Suppose it isn't even his caregiver that is so bad. My mother had an instance of a man that pulled her from her wheelchair up to a standing position and then let her go. She fell to the floor and he threatened her. She told everyone at her table. I got him fired, but what if Mom wasn't able to tell me. And he heard about it. That is the premise. Here is part of the unwritten novel.


Meals were the favorite part of Vinny's day. (OK, so he's a Mafia hit man.) The Villa's had a great chef and he always enjoyed breakfast, but the dinners were great. Prime rib, lobster, shrimp cocktail, all his favorites. Sure the meals were less spicy than he was used to. Not so much garlic or salt or even pepper. On the other hand, his stomach didn't much care for those things any more. Just like the other old farts. Getting old sucked.

Vinny glanced around at his table companions. At least he didn't have to eat in the dining room where all the folks with walkers and wheelchairs went. He liked the views up here and nobody drooled or anything disgusting like that. He had his story down pat, too. Retired businessman, a plumbing store that went under because of the big box stores. He could rail against Home Depot and talk about the good old days. His dad had been a plumber, so he could bullshit his way through. Secretly, he wanted to tell about his real business. Would any one believe him? If they did, would they remember it long enough to tell someone? It gave him a chuckle to consider it.



So what do you think?? Is there a story here? He could take somebody out and use the dumpster to get rid of the body, after all, he can't drive any more. Damn cataracts. Would he require help? Maybe he could recruit the retired General. Or the sweet little old lady could be the look-out. Now for the real question. Do I need some hot police detective to investigate and maybe has a romance with the beautiful daughter of one of the residents? Or do I keep it strictly Jessica Fletcher-y. Suzann Ledbetter has a series where she solves mysteries with the help of seniors from a retirement development, check out East Of Peculiar. It's a great series.

If I get some encouragement, I may write it for a lark. A chapter a week, like the old time serials. Any suggestions? It could be a group project!