Retail sample for a book called 'Looking For Henry Turner'
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
Caribbean (General) North American (Canadian-General) North American (General) US African AmericanTranscript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Ernie and I met on a massive troop ship, the Gray Ghost, just after it steamed out of Halifax Harbor in May 1940. Fortunately, it didn't get torpedoed. It carried us and 9998 other green stiffs heading for the war via a stopover in England. We bunk below the water line, and none of the other rookies wanted to share the cubicle where we slung our hammocks. That was fine by me. **** faces, all of them. I got my own back when I earned my stripes, I boxed in the military middleweight. Good way to let off steam Get your own back from the guys who stiffed you one way or the other. A light tap rattled the door. I barked at it after a moment creaked open and an elderly black woman poked her head in. She wore a Sunday bonnet, one with a tie under her sharp chin. Her cloth coat appeared to be worn, but well looked after. Carefully brushed, she got on her good shoes, the one she'd wear to church. That's the feeling I had. She had been praying recently, Mr Gold. That's me, Mrs. I stood up to shore. I had some manners. Turner, Ada Turner. She glanced quickly at birdie, then turned away and stared at the floor. Ah, my associate Arthur Birdwell. Birdie smiled at her. Won't you sit down, Mrs Turner? I offered. She nodded without saying anything else, and positioned herself in a half wingback chair I put out for clients. Birdie perched himself on the credenza beside me, swinging one leg that brush the floor with a soul of his size 17 brown leather brogue. What can we do for you, Mrs Turner? I asked. I want you to find my son. He's missing. How long has he been gone? I asked, lighting a sweet cap. Eight years, she said. I paused. That's a long time. What about the cops? They don't care. They told me he run off and he's gone for good, she replied. I nodded, taking in this bit of wisdom while I heard Birdie Tous King under his breath. They're probably right, I said. Listen, Mrs Turner, we don't take missing persons cases. It's still a matter for the police. Her back stiffened as she glared at me. I told you they gave up. They don't want nothing to do with it. I got to know what happened to my Henry. He's all I got, all I live for. Why now, Mrs Turner? After all, it's been eight years. She nodded like she expected me to ask the question. She took a gulp of air and swallowed.