tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76410119645510745722024-03-18T02:47:42.630-07:00Don TravisAuthor of the BJ Vinson Mystery SeriesDon Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.comBlogger644125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-70828181204848028692024-03-14T04:00:00.000-07:002024-03-14T04:00:00.169-07:00Bearclaw Summons (A Serialized Story)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #645</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of Pinterest:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiHkHg0YOcvPY6qRwIoEQp_s-fjAfwKeV3uvGuCf-69L-0MHeZp1F99VaY-mlVj3K90eAHvabdlmRQEldp2RZKVlRXrDG89bYTQ8S4WLpXDCuNKU-FUlrqGTNMBiBCwLg3pO-a90weHHCVHAv6aBjkNsGmiOS-UGZ9Nz8ILHXVZZCHg6U_lc0BdER8Tyvg/s252/Bearclaw.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="200" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiHkHg0YOcvPY6qRwIoEQp_s-fjAfwKeV3uvGuCf-69L-0MHeZp1F99VaY-mlVj3K90eAHvabdlmRQEldp2RZKVlRXrDG89bYTQ8S4WLpXDCuNKU-FUlrqGTNMBiBCwLg3pO-a90weHHCVHAv6aBjkNsGmiOS-UGZ9Nz8ILHXVZZCHg6U_lc0BdER8Tyvg/s1600/Bearclaw.png" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Although
this story started out as a short story, it looks to be turning into a mini
novella. Hope you stay with me on this. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">BEARCLAW
SUMMONS (Part 4)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 62.45pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Bart was
pleasantly surprised by Mark’s method. The lawyer took a long time making Willy
feel easier before getting around to asking what he wanted to know. He seemed
to understand that it would take the young Apache awhile to grow comfortable
with a stranger from the outside. He spoke slowly, almost in a southwestern
drawl. Dropping hints about his own personal experiences to give his client
some insight into his new lawyer, Mark eventually led Willy Spurs through the
story, exhibiting unsuspected patience while he waited for the other man to
sort out answers to his questions. Bart smiled on the inside of his mouth. Old Mark
had learned something from their long friendship after all.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">At length, the
lawyer ran out of questions. “Willy, there are a couple of points of law I want
to check on, and then I think we should go to the base for a talk with the
commandant. I’ll do your talking for you. I’ll tell him exactly what I want him
to know. If there’s something I don’t tell him, then it’s something I don’t
want him to know, and I don’t want you to volunteer it. Do you understand?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in .85in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Yessir. “<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 60.25pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“But if you hear
me tell him something that’s wrong, I want you to stop me right there and put
it right. I don’t care how small a thing it is, if it’s wrong, if I’ve
misunderstood, you stop me and correct me. Do you understand that?” Willy
nodded. “Do you trust me, Willy?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in .85in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Y... yessir. “<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 60.9pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Don’t say it if
you don’t mean it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 60.9pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Bart Shortlance trusts you,
so I guess I do too.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 60.25pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Fair enough. If I
tell you to go home tonight and come back in the morning, will you do it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in .85in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">They all waited in
silence while Willy chewed that one over. Finally, the young man nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 60.25pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“All right, then I
trust you too. Be here at nine o’clock in the morning. And if something should
happen in the meantime, simply ask them to call me. Here’s a card with my
office and home phone numbers on it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 60.25pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Willy swallowed
manfully and put the card in his shirt pocket. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 60.25pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">All the way back
to the reservation, Bart fought a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach. He
wished he understood why it rode there.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">****<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 109.2pt 235.95pt right 287.05pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">A smartly‑uniformed,
blue‑scarved airman smartly processed the car through the main gate of the
airbase. An attractive WAF non‑com smilingly saw to their needs as they waited
until the commandant was available, but as soon as he saw the colonel’s face, Mark
knew they had problems. He was willing to bet that if he opened the door that
had just closed behind them, there would be an Air Policeman within easy
hailing distance.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.45pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Mr. Charles, Mr. Spurs.”
The colonel indicated a man dressed in civilian clothing. “This is Special
Agent Hill of the FBI. I’ve taken the liberty of asking him to join us. I hope
you don’t object.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.45pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Not at all,” Mark
said quickly, aware of Willy’s growing alarm. “I thought of this as a purely
military matter, or I would have invited Mr. Hill’s office or ATF myself.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.45pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Well, it’s true
that this is a military base, but Mr. Spurs is a civilian employee as well as a
member of an Indian tribe, I believe.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.45pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“We’ll figure out
the jurisdictional considerations later, Colonel Marsh,” the agent drawled
easily.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.45pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Right. Shall we
be seated? Around the table, I think,” the officer indicated chairs clustered
around a walnut coffee table in one corner of the room.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.45pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mark picked up the
reins when they were all seated. “As I indicated on the telephone, Mr. Spurs is
my client. He has brought a matter to my attention which I felt should be
discussed with you. Mr. Spurs believes that the theft of government property
has taken place and that he has been manipulated so that he unwittingly
assisted in the crime.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.45pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mark told them the
facts as related by Willy. “At the end of the shift on the day the threat was
made when he refused to take out the third case of rifles, Mr. Spurs left the
military reservation and has not returned until I brought him here today.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 60.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Mr. Spurs,” the
colonel addressed Willy directly. “You should have immediately advised your
supervisor of the situation and‑‑”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 60.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mark interrupted.
“Colonel, Mr. Spurs had been on the job for a total of three months. As I
understand it, Mr. Burke <u>is</u> one of his supervisors. Nothing like this
has ever happened to him before. He had no experience upon which to draw. Given
the circumstances, I consider that he acted in a prudent manner. We are now
advising the proper authorities that we have reason to believe that a number of
military rifles have been stolen.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 60.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">The colonel rolled
his eyes over to the FBI agent who picked up the conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 60.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That may be, but it would certainly have made
life simpler for Mr. Spurs if he had acted as Colonel Marsh suggested. You see,
someone has already reported the theft. A total of one‑hundred‑thirty‑six
rifles have, in fact, been removed from Warehouse B‑15 where Mr. Spurs worked,
and he has been named as the individual who took them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.6pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“By whom?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 60.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">The agent
consulted a folder he held in his hand. “A Mr. Harlen B. Burke, the Day
Supervisor at Warehouse B‑15—”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 62.3pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“When was this
allegation made?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 62.3pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Yesterday
afternoon at the end of the shift.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Has a warrant
been issued for my client?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Not at this time,
but that is merely a formality.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.25pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Perhaps so, but
it’s a rather important formality. I want to advise you right now, Mr. Hill,
that if one is issued, I want to be told so that Mr. Spurs can surrender
himself rather than be subjected to the indignity of an arrest.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.25pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“He can avoid that
easily enough. He can surrender himself right now. “<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.25pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“At this time you
don’t know that you are going to arrest him. As soon as <i>you</i> know, let <i>me</i>
know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Well now,
Counselor, I don’t know if I can do that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.25pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Of course you can.
But if the allegation was only made yesterday afternoon, you haven’t even had
time to conduct a decent investigation of the facts.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.25pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Well, we’ve
determined that the weapons are missing<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">,”
</b>the colonel snorted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.25pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“And that’s about
all. An obvious question comes to mind. Mr. Spurs was employed for only around
three months. Unless security simply doesn’t exist in this place, I should
think that it would be very difficult to remove a hundred and... how many?...
thirty‑six? A hundred and thirty‑six rifles in that amount of time.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.25pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Difficult, but
not impossible. He admits to removing two cases,” the agent reminded him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.25pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Two cases hauled
out as a favor to Mr. Burke, his direct supervisor who did not have room in his
own vehicle. Two cases are one thing, Mr. Hill, that’s what ... a dozen rifles?
That’s a far cry from a hundred and thirty‑six.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.35pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“There’s a
witness, Mr. Charles.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.35pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Let me guess...
his name’s Avila.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.35pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“That’s right. Mr.
James V. Avila.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 60.75pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“And why didn’t
Mr. Avila, sterling citizen that he is, immediately report this crime to his
supervisor so that the culprit could be apprehended at the gate?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 60.75pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Claims that he
thought the case he saw in Mr. Spurs’ pickup was empty. He thought Mr. Spurs
was taking it home to make a table or something out of it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 61.35pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Are these cases
free for the asking?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 60.75pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“No, but Mr. Avila
didn’t feel it was necessary to blow the whistle on a new man for carting an
empty wooden box out. But when the missing rifles came to light, well, that was
another matter. He stepped forward immediately.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 60.75pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I’ll bet he did.
Well, we can all take comfort in one thing. With the United States Air Force
and the Federal Bureau of Investigation looking after things, we can be
confident that there will be no attempt to take the easy way out and pin this
thing on a fellow who doesn’t have the money or the moxey to take care of
himself. We can rest assured that nobody’s going to simply try to wipe the
slate clean with Willy Spurs as the eraser. I take great comfort in that. I
think it’s time to go now, Willy. These gentlemen are going to want to get your
statement in writing so that they can use it in their investigation, and we’re
anxious for them to have it; but you will not answer any questions for them or
anyone else about this matter unless I am present. Do you understand?” Willy
nodded. Mark doubted that the man could have uttered a word if called upon to
do so. Willy’s eyes would have made respectable dials for a pocket watch. “I
think that’s all, then.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 59.7pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Willy did not need
to be told twice. He was on his feet and headed for the door before the rest of
them moved. No one tried to stop them, although the AP Mark had predicted was
standing in the anteroom. Nonetheless, Mark did not breathe easy until they had
passed safely through the front gate of the base.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 59.7pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">This was, he told
himself, going to be a very interesting case.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****</span></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">Interesting
case for Mark Charles, a lawyer, but probably not so pleasant for Willy Spurs. But
maybe between Bart and Mark, they can spare the young man real unpleasantness.
We’ll see.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you next
week.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Stay safe and stay strong until we meet again.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Now my mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say... so say it!</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Please check out my BJ Vinson murder mystery series starting with <i>The Zozobra Incident </i>and ending with <i>The Cutie-Pie Murders.</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;">My personal links:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Email: don.travis@aol.com</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;">X: @dontravis3</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;">See you next Thursday.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Don</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i>New posts every Thursday at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain Time</i></span></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-89520386491650093222024-03-07T04:00:00.000-08:002024-03-07T04:00:00.224-08:00Bearclaw Summons (A Serialized Story)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #644</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of Pinterest:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3t5hMoFq6jP9iUAaxgwd1CaeG6i40C4O4WPh3zvov3pMd53_Z68opvNU4fYRLfBB05C3grlu8hAjugcdR-n-eZtMDn98NP3xQrTGlKBx9bAODOq5aWgoVmppV1o6MNXL_vPdxayPjn7q1bWtPIR0-edZrRWFovgneb6kGCkP92BJrm-uujLa_GKwJdDfV/s252/Bearclaw.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="200" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3t5hMoFq6jP9iUAaxgwd1CaeG6i40C4O4WPh3zvov3pMd53_Z68opvNU4fYRLfBB05C3grlu8hAjugcdR-n-eZtMDn98NP3xQrTGlKBx9bAODOq5aWgoVmppV1o6MNXL_vPdxayPjn7q1bWtPIR0-edZrRWFovgneb6kGCkP92BJrm-uujLa_GKwJdDfV/s1600/Bearclaw.png" width="200" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Our
story continues. Hope it’s holding your interest. Let me know.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">BEARCLAW
SUMMONS (Part 3)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Bart elected to tow a horse trailer to
Rising Rock and then enter the mountains horseback. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Years past, Bart<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>had often used Lead Scout Canyon as a refuge, believing himself
sheltered from everyone except He‑Who‑Created-All‑Things. Now, he recognized his
childhood haven had served him poorly. Narrow and slab‑sided, the ravine was
neither remote enough nor high enough in the mountains to discourage traffic
from the reservation or trespass by outsiders. To make matters worse, the soaring
walls at the upper end formed a trap. He had no trouble finding Willy Spurs in
the box canyon.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">The young man, clad in denims, hair held
out of his eyes by a bandana serving as a headband, gave his total
concentration to the canvas he worked. The artist did not appear to hear Bart
until he<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>was close enough to see the
subject of the work was a spectacular rock formation known as the Stone
Medicine Pipe. Willy turned sullen when Bart greeted him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Ain’t got time to talk right now. Light’s
changing fast,” he mumbled.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Bart decided to put him in his place right
away. “You sound like a white man, Your grandfather taught you better than
that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Willy’s wide mouth formed a straight line.
He dabbed furiously at the canvas.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Bart dismounted and studied the situation.
The box containing Willy’s paints and the easel holding the stretched canvas
looked new and expensive. Two blank canvases lay propped against a nearby rock.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You ever been up on it?” Bart asked,
pointing at the formation with his chin.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Willy shook his head, refusing to
interrupt his work.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You ought to,” Bart went on. “From up
there, it doesn’t look anything like a pipe. That’s what happens when you get
too close to things. You can’t really see what they look like.” Bart waited to
see if he got through. He didn’t want to beat the other man over the head with
his meaning.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“That’s what’s happened to you on this
other thing, Willy. You’re too close to it to see what it can do to you. Not
your uncle. Big Jack sees it all right. And so do I.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">The artist continued to paint with a
stubborn intensity.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“These fellas, this Burke and Avila,
they’re going to see you get the blame. You’ll lose your job and get arrested
and go to prison.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Not gonna have nothing to do with them no
more,” the young man finally answered. “Ain’t going to have nothing to do with
no white man at all.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“That’d be good, if it could be.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“It will. You wait and see.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“‘What are you going to do, stay up here
all your life?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Why not? It ain’t a bad place.<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Willy, don’t be a fool.<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b>You’re going to be accused of stealing
guns. If there’s anything worse than stealing a white man’s money, it’s
stealing his guns. It’s a bad rap. They won’t stand still for that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Have to find me first.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“That’s not going to be hard. They’ll put
a hundred men in here if they have to, but shit! They won’t even have to do
that. A dozen men with a few dogs, and you’ll be treed within a day. They’ll
haul you down in irons in front of your family and your friends. Don’t you
understand, man! Your kids are going to see you chained up like a fucking
criminal! Do you want that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Only have one kid. A boy. And he’s too young
to know anything. Besides, Amadeo says to stay away from them. The whites. All
the whites.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">And there was the problem. He had to be
careful. Old Amadeo had been a medicine man since before Bart was born. He was
good with bear sickness and the snake sickness and colds and warts, and he was
smart enough to know what was likely to happen, but for his own reasons, the
old shaman had counseled Willy’s mother to avoid contact with white men however
unlikely that eventuality appeared. It would be hard to get around the old
bastard. Bart could not tell if Willy believed in the medicine man or if he
simply took the advice because it was what he wanted to hear.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Amadeo is a wise man,” Bart conceded
carefully. “He knows all there is to know about the Tinneh. But he doesn’t know
much about the Indah. I do. And Big Jack does. We both know they’re going to
come and get you. Were you old enough to remember when Jimmie Littledog raped
that girl down in White Pine a few years back? Well, I was. They came right on
the reservation and hunted him down like a wild pig. They ran him to ground and
dragged him out and shamed him in front of everyone. It was bad for Jimmie, but
he was guilty and deserved it. But his family didn’t deserve it. And neither
did the Tinneh. Caused hard feelings for a long time.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I didn’t do nothing,” Willy said
placidly. “If they come drag me off, it oughta cause hard feelings. Besides,
you don’t know what them two snakes are gonna do. Why’d they try and lay it all
on me? Why’d they say anything at all? I go away and keep my mouth shut,
they’ll do the same thing and be glad I’m gone.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Think about it, Willy. What would you do
if you were them? Stand over in their moccasins and think like they would.
You’re a piece of good luck for them. One of these days somebody is going to
find out those rifles are gone. Willy, they had you bring out two cases of
guns. How many others have they stolen you don’t know about? If you were doing
the stealing, you’d know that someday somebody’s going to start counting and
raise hell when there aren’t enough rifles where they’re supposed to be. If you
had a poor sap you could lay it on, wouldn’t you? Especially if you thought
that sap was an Indian too dumb or too scared to let out a squawk.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I’ll raise a squawk. I’ll yell like hell
if they come for me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Yell like hell right now! You let the
Army know the rifles are gone. You be the one to point a finger. The white
man’s law is funny. If you don’t yell, you might be in cahoots with Avila and Burke,
guilty of doing it with them since you hauled out a couple of cases in your
truck.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Crazy white man’s law!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I won’t argue that, but it is the law.
And we gotta live with it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“A man ought to mind his own business,” Willy
spoke the words with a double meaning.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Ordinarily, he ought to. But when his
family’s going to pay if he doesn’t, then he better speak up. I’ll be blunt, Willy.
I don’t really know you, but Big Jack is my friend, and the Tinneh sure as hell
mean something to me. And since you’re Tinneh, I guess that means you do too. I
don’t want white men swarming all over this place causing everybody’s eyes to
go flat and chins to go firm. I don’t want our own police having to help hunt
you down and turning everybody against them for just doing their job. I don’t
want Big Jack’s people’s guts twisting while they watch you hauled off in
handcuffs. And it doesn’t have to be. It’s so fucking simple. Just go with me
to see Mr. Charles and let him help.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Go see Mr. Charles and it’s all over,
huh?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“No. Go see Mr. Charles with me today,
and even if you do exactly what he says, there’s a good chance you’ll be in the
county jail by tonight. You’re going there anyway, but this way, somebody’ll be
looking after you to see they don’t do something to you they shouldn’t. And
he’ll do everything he can to see that you don’t stay there a minute longer
than necessary. And he’s going to see that they don’t lay the blame on you for
good. You’ll only have to stay until he can show that you’re not the one they want.
Might not even have to go, but I can’t lie to you. You might have to.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Willy put down his brush and palette and
turned to face him. “Can’t get locked up like that. Go crazy. They oughta kill
me and be done with it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“That’s fool talk. A man can do whatever
he has to. When you don’t have a choice, you do what has to be done and make
the best of it. Being locked up for a little while isn’t the end of the world.
Hell, Mr. Charles can get you paper and charcoal. You’d have new pictures to
draw. An experience you’ve never had before, and”—Bart added hopefully—“and
won’t have again.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I’d die from the shame of it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Where’s the shame if you’re not guilty
and your people know it?” Bart watched the indecision in the other’s face
settle into determination. He experienced a sinking feeling in his stomach. Old
Amadeo had won… or lost, as the case may be.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Willy shook his head. “Uh-uh. Not going.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText2" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">For a moment, Bart seriously considered
slugging the younger man and dragging him down the canyon. He might have done
so, if Big Jack’s words had not come back to him at that moment. Instead, he
strode past Willy and began collecting his things.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 62.45pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Hey! What are you
doing?” Willy yelled in alarm. “Leave my stuff alone!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 62.45pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Bart laid the wet
canvas on a rock and turned his attention to collapsing the aluminum easel.
That done, he wrested the paint box from Willy’s hands. The artist put up a
half‑hearted scuffle before backing off and sullenly watching while Bart
destroyed the blank canvases and loaded the rest of the gear aboard his Princess.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 62.45pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">This will be at
Big Jack Bearclaw’s anytime you want to come for it.” Bart turned his back on
the man and rode down the canyon about half a mile where he waited in some
bushes until he heard the sound of hooves on the path. He urged Princess
forward and took his place beside the dejected young man.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: .5in 62.45pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">They rode to Jack’s
camp in absolute silence, a quiet that was bearing a load of strain by the time
they finished a meal Jack’s wife served them. The rest of the family, from
oldest to youngest stood or sat around owl‑eyed, offering voiceless support.
When they had drawn sufficient sustenance from the table and the communion, Bart
retrieved his jeep from Rising Rock and loaded Willy into the vehicle. He stopped in White Pine to phone Mark at his law office and drove into town.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p> <span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****</span></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">As they say…
the plot thickens. Will Willy behave himself or not?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">See you next
week.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Stay safe and stay strong until we meet again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Now my
mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so
say it! </i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Please
check out my BJ Vinson murder mystery series starting with <i>The Zozobra
Incident </i>and ending with <i>The Cutie-Pie Murders</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">My
personal links:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Email: </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7641011964551074572/5034309531260935226"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">don.travis@aol.com</span></a><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">X: @dontravis3<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">See you next Thursday.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">New posts every Thursday at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-56847137563654655152024-02-29T04:00:00.000-08:002024-02-29T04:00:00.349-08:00Bearclaw Summons (A Serialized Story)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #643</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of Pinterest:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYSNALItrLT_9eMTF5-xhiYCTTd_L45t2AGoG_Io7LjfbIAHsgtqQUqwDjxlxMe3mlQ0nYC9h8oX-ah43PN3a7nq1vj8-pNEg64FGbVh25Foyljnf-EgnAjohFh1GdrRD-Kuum9iuW-Qs5xXyW8qcytiAphScbvLfW0GCcHJNpqhtor64y9izBdJ-D4lYn/s252/Bearclaw.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="200" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYSNALItrLT_9eMTF5-xhiYCTTd_L45t2AGoG_Io7LjfbIAHsgtqQUqwDjxlxMe3mlQ0nYC9h8oX-ah43PN3a7nq1vj8-pNEg64FGbVh25Foyljnf-EgnAjohFh1GdrRD-Kuum9iuW-Qs5xXyW8qcytiAphScbvLfW0GCcHJNpqhtor64y9izBdJ-D4lYn/s1600/Bearclaw.png" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Did
the first installment grab your attention. If you have any interest in
multicultural tales, I suspect it did.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Here’s
the second part of the story.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">BEARCLAW
SUMMONS (Part 2)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“He’ll come in the
morning.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Maybe it’s not
smart for him to miss work. Might put them on guard. He loses his job, those
two will see the rifles are discovered missing, and he’ll get the blame.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“That might be,
but anybody can be sick one or two days. He’ll come see you tomorrow.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“All right. I’ll
be at Snakehead at noon.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Thank you,
nephew. Uh ... Willy’s the only one in his family working. He ain’t got much
money. You have any idea what it’ll cost?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Again Bart was
silent for a few seconds. “You say he paints?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">The man and his
wife both nodded. “Nora,” Big Jack said quietly. The woman went into the other
room and returned with two framed canvases.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">One was an Apache
Mountain Spirit Dancer, masked and wearing a headdress. The second was a view
of the Sacred White Mountain from the south. The dancer was done in a primitive
style, in stark, vibrant colors. The landscape was different; it had depth and
perspective and light and shadow. Bart’s eyes shifted back and forth between
the two oils.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">He sighed. “It’s
going to be expensive. Lawyers cost money. I’m afraid it will take both of
them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Big Jack and his
wife resumed breathing. They were satisfied. Their nephew would pay his own way
without swiping food from the family table.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“But understand, Jack,
I have to feel good about this before I go to my friend. Willy has to talk
straight to me, and I’ll have to test his words. You’re a good judge of men,
Big Jack Bearclaw, but in some matters, a man’s gotta take his own measure.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“That’s fair. Willy’s
words will sound right to you because they are right. I don’t doubt it, or I
wouldn’t put a strain on our friendship.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Bart ’fessed up to
his foreman and wrangled a couple of days off. He arrived at his old camp at
Snakehead Spring precisely at noon. A motor died somewhere beyond the trees. A
door slammed. Moments later, a short young man scratched on Bart’s wickiup. The
face was familiar from around the fringes of Big Jack’s camp.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">They greeted one
another warily, almost like adversaries entering an arena. Bart ignored his
camp chairs and sank to the rug on the floor he’d dusted a few minutes earlier.
They spoke awhile of people they both knew. Because he was needed for branding,
Bart acted like a white man and cut the polite conversation to a minimum. Willy’s
story was almost identical to the one Big Jack had related the night before
except Willy provided two names, Burke and Avila.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“How long have you
been working there?” Bart asked when the other had finished.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Three months next
week.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“When did they ask
you to do them the favor the first time?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“First week I was there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Next time?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Couple of weeks
later.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Why did you do
it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Willy Saltbush shrugged
eloquently. The young man wore his hair short. His nose and lips were fleshy,
the rest of him plain and dark. The eyes were bright, however. Bright and
constantly roving. It took some time to understand that it was the artist in
the man examining light and shadow and structure. Even when his gaze was on Bart’s
shoulder—never on his eyes—Willy’s pupils flickered as he studied plane and
tone. This was a man who both saw much more and much less than most. He would
spot a highlight others would miss, understand the darkness of a deep cavity,
but he would be less curious about the motives of another human. Others had
seen this in him and used it to advantage.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Abruptly, Bart
stood. “You’ll have to tell all of this to Mr. Charles. He’s an Indah, but he’s
a good man. He won’t know how to behave like you, so you’ll have to behave like
him. Open up to him. When he talks to you, look him in the eye. That’s not the
way you were taught, but it has to be. The whites think you’re not being honest
if you can’t look at them when you talk. I know it’s crazy, but that’s the way
they are. Speak up and don’t mumble. If you have to think about an answer,
that’s okay,<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b>but when you’re ready
to give it, be clear and firm.” He saw Willy’s Adam’s apple bob a couple of
times.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“When?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Tomorrow. Meet me
in front of the Mission Church at nine in the morning. Bring the two pictures
you painted with you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Can’t you do it
for me?” There was a plaintive note in the young man’s voice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 95.75pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“No. If you don’t
talk to him face to face, how can he tell what kind of man you are? Besides,
he’ll have questions that I can’t answer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Will you be there
with me?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“If you want. But
you’ll have to answer him yourself.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Willy gave a
short, choppy nod. His footsteps as he left seemed heavy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">****<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Bart waited in the
church parking lot until ten before admitting that it was not merely a matter
of “Indian time”, Willy was not going to show. He went to Mark Charles’ office
and claimed a chair.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“He chickened
out.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Maybe he just
needs more time to screw up his courage,” the lawyer suggested. “You didn’t
give me much when you called. Tell me all you know about it.” Bart complied. Mark
whistled. “You better get your man in here pronto. That’s a federal rap he’s
playing with. He’s not going to be able to shrug it off and hope it goes away.
This Burke and Avila are going to lay the dark deed right on his doorstep when
they’re found out.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Uh ... by the way,”
Bart said warily. “This one comes under the heading of gaining experience.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You mean it’s a
freebie.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Not exactly. The
kid’s an artist. You’re bartering for your fee. Two paintings. They’re good.
I’ve seen them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Oh, well. The
place needs a dab of color. You hogtie him, and I’ll see if I can still lay a
brand.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 375.55pt right 424.6pt; text-indent: 31.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Bart
detoured through the reservation, hoping to find Big Jack without having to
drive clear up to Bigrock and encountered the fat man working his way out of
the front door of the trading post outside of White Pine where he’d been trying
to phone him at Mark’s office.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Just found out he
didn’t show up an hour ago. Tried to catch you at the Charles boy’s place, but
you was gone. Glad you come by.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Bart followed the
fat man around to the shady side of the building where the mules hauling Big
Jake’s wagon eyed them like they were following the conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Willy’s mamma
went to old Amadeo yesterday, and that one told her to keep Willy away from the
whites... all of them.” Jack’s tone let it be known that he considered the
shaman to be a fake, but he didn’t voice the words.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Willy was scared,
and them’s the words he wanted to hear. He lit out for the high country. His
brother went out to find him this morning.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“They’ll come for
him, Jake. The FBI’ll come right in and flush him out no matter how high up he
goes. This is serious.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“So what are you
going to do about it, nephew?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Me? Hell, how’d
it get to be my problem?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“By way of knowing
more about the outside than most of us, I guess. Can you just walk away knowing
what’s gonna happen to him?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Shit, Jack, don’t
lay that on me! This is branding season.<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b>I’m up to my ass in slicks and hot
irons.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I guess so,” the
fat man wheezed, “but this is one of the People.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“All right,” he
sighed. “Send word to me when his brother gets back. I’ll go up early tomorrow
if I hear from you. Is he armed?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Yeah, with a handful
of paint brushes<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">.”<o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">****<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">The call didn’t
come until after eight o’clock that night. Bart picked up the receiver in the
bunkhouse, heard a wheeze, and knew that it was Big Jack. The man did not like
telephones, so he started right in without preamble.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Willy’s brother
didn’t get back till late, and I had to pry the information out of the son of a
bitch. Damned if he don’t act like I’m in cahoots with the white eyes.”
Indignation oozed over the wire. “Anyhow, he’s at the high end of Lead Scout
Canyon. They’s a balsam—”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Yeah, I know where
it is. Why would he hide out in a box canyon where anybody can trap him?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Damn fool’s been
wanting to paint something up there for a long time. Figgers, this is his
chance, I guess. Hell, I don’t know! Must be some Navajo blood in the kid
somewhere.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“That’s not as far
up or as hard a trip as I thought. I’ll ride up tomorrow and drag him back.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Just swipe his paintbrushes,
and he’ll follow you all the way back,” Jack said dryly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Okay, I’ll head
out at first light. Should be back by noon. I’ll take an extra horse.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">"No need. He'll be on his old paint. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Thank you, nephew.
I’ll be in your debt.”</span></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****</span></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">If Willy ever
ends up in the white man’s court, I wonder if the Judge will understand that a
shaman’s advice might cause a young man to simply paint pictures rather than
attend legal matters? Doubt it, don’t you?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you next
week.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">My Mantra: <i>Kee on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say... so say it!</i></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;">Check out my BJ Vinson murder mystery series published by Dreamspinner Press. The books are a good read... but then, I'm prejudiced.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;">My personal links:</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;">Email: don.travis@aol.com</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;">X: @dontravis3</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;">See you next Thursday:</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;">Don</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><i>New posts every Thursday at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-49050539499175195972024-02-22T04:00:00.001-08:002024-02-22T04:00:00.144-08:00Bearclaw Summons (A Serialized Story)<p><span style="font-family: times;"> <span style="font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #642</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of Pinterest:</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4eTfcOx3bTi6tgtL_0NtfCYe5UA4G_SJgUN-cKloatYK0yUkyUSLJPaz4q-_lhCll5jTSUm8PG7C4j3K1pRNckD5-rrJSfyPRfEdtGFfOHiivJUtiFsrfaNYNdIIYF9J6NwYUJh9ExlWmmDqpIhVt2WFxU8PR-Kqz55cvcHVLVt5_L4J2SdDm3fj74HjD/s252/Bearclaw.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="200" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4eTfcOx3bTi6tgtL_0NtfCYe5UA4G_SJgUN-cKloatYK0yUkyUSLJPaz4q-_lhCll5jTSUm8PG7C4j3K1pRNckD5-rrJSfyPRfEdtGFfOHiivJUtiFsrfaNYNdIIYF9J6NwYUJh9ExlWmmDqpIhVt2WFxU8PR-Kqz55cvcHVLVt5_L4J2SdDm3fj74HjD/s1600/Bearclaw.png" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Hope
you enjoyed the story of Pauly and Streak. Every short story writer needs to
tell the story of a kid and his dog… at least once.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Today,
we start on a different journey. Let’s get at it. This first installment is a little long, so please stick with it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;">****<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;">BEARCLAW
SUMMONS (Part 1)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">Dead tired from a
day of branding and cutting new stock, Bart Shortlance entered the bunkhouse,
pulled off his boots, and flopped onto his bunk. He didn’t know which side of
him was more exhausted, his white father’s or his Apache mother’s. Put them
together, and he was totally whipped. It was gonna be an effort just to hit the
shower.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">As he contemplated
that chore, Tex Duncan, another YWZ cowboy, entered and handed Bart a scrap of
paper.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“A Injun kid rode
up, said to give it to you,.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">Bart examined the markings
on the paper: a stylized bear claw.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Whut’s it mean?” Tex
wanted to know.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“A friend wants to
see me.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Why didn’t the
kid just say so?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">Bart grinned at
the Texan. “You know us inscrutable Indians.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I’ll say!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">He hauled himself up and rushed through a
shower to borrow the ranch’s Jeep for the half-dozen mile trip south. Darkness
was falling, but he knew from the proliferation of kids that he’d arrived at Big
Jack Bearclaw’s camp. One of the children ushered him into the house. No one
except Big Jack was there, but the place seemed filled. For as long as he could
remember, Bearclaw had been a large man, but Bart had never seen him this fat. The
man wheezed his way to a standing position as Bart approached.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Nephew!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Uncle,” Bart
played along with the courtesy. “You’re looking good, Jack.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“See you’ve
learned to speak with the white man’s forked tongue,” the man growled sourly,
rubbing his big stomach. Then he let go of a laugh that shook the walls. Jack
wasn’t a bigot, but neither was he above a little humor at the white man’s
expense. “Sit down. Sit down. Let me get you something to drink.” He let out a
bellow, and one of the older daughters served them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Hits the spot,”
Bart complemented his host on the whiskey the girl served.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“They may be
worthless sons a bitches, but the white eyes sure know how to make good liquor.
There ain’t no tulapai in the world as good as this.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I’ll have to
agree with you there.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“That was my
daughter, Dora. She’s next to the oldest. Smart girl, like her momma. Knows how
to sew and makes all her clothes. She can weave like a born Navajo and makes
better bracelets than a Zuni.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">Bart felt like a
young buck sitting before his prospective father‑in‑law. Instinctively, he
tucked his chin and inspected the far corners of the room. “Real beauty.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Surely, this was not why Big Jack had sent for
him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">The fat man motioned
with his lips to Bart’s battered face. “You been fighting them white men you
work for?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">Bart fingered a
bruised eye. “Naw. Party. Too much liquor about, and I had to straighten out
somebody who got outa line.” Bart lied with a straight face, knowing that it
made a better story than than getting tossed by a half-grown slick that didn’t
want to get castrated<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">. </b><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Just part of a cowboy’s working day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Damned Indian
bars,” Jack groused. “Ain’t good for nothing but getting our young men in
trouble. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In may day, wasn’t so easy. Got
drunk out in the woods or in a gully somewhere. Had to chug it down ’fore some
white man come along and took it away from you, claiming you didn’t have no
right to do what he done ever day of the week. Nowadays, a fella just go up and
plop down money and take a drink. Too easy. Don’t take no effort or no smarts.”
Jack switched on him again. “Been a while since you been back on the rez.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Yeah. Keep
thinking on it, then work or something gets in the way..”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“That mean you
ain’t coming back?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“One of these days. The‑One‑Who‑Was‑My‑Grandmother would want it that way.” He used the
indirect form of address because Jack would have had a heart attack to hear the
name of a dead woman uttered in his house.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You still working
up on that white man’s ranch, I hear. They treating you all right?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">Bart nodded. “I’m
fine, Jack.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Look good. Got
flesh on your bones, but you ain’t got no belly yet. Lean.” The man chuckled. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“When you was a kid, wasn’t nothing to you at
all. Arms and legs like sticks and not much else. We both come a long trail from
that pine grove at Rising Rock. That musta been a sight for tourists. A two‑room
cabin, a tipi, and one brush wickiup.” Jack laughed and went on down the memory
trail. “Then there was that old paint of yours. A real Indian pony ever there
was one. And the old woman. Shit! We was better’n a western shoot-’em-up movie.
Shoulda sold tickets. The Indah would have paid a nickel apiece just to walk
through,” Jack used the word for whites.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jack’s wife Nora
entered and took a chair at the kitchen table. Apparently, the time for polite
conversation was at an end. He would now learn why Big Jack had sent for him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jack started the
real conversation. “That rancher’s boy still good friend of yours?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">Bart nodded affirmatively.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“He’s a lawyer, I
hear. He a good one,” Jack probed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“He’s smart, so I
guess he’s a good one.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">The fat man
grunted his appreciation of the candor. “You figure the white man’s law works
for the red man?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Maybe I’m not the
one to ask.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I know who I’m
asking,” Jack said sharply. “It’s your thoughts I want.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Then honestly,
sometimes yes. Sometimes no.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“When is it yes?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“When a white man
with power is interested enough to see that it works.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Like your
friend?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">Bart hesitated.
“He has the knowledge, but I don’t know if he’s got the power.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">The answer stumped
Big Jack for a minute. He reflected before continuing. “Does your friend want
to see justice done for a Redman?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I call my friend
brother,” Bart answered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">Big Jack wouldn’t
accept such ambiguity. “There’s brothers and then there’s brothers.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“This brother
swears he can’t see a man’s color.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">Jack let out a
wheeze. “Nora’s brother’s boy got hisself in some trouble.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Tell me about
it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Willy Saltbush. He
works out at the airbase. Cleans up one of the big warehouses out there. Good
job. Couple of men he works with asked him to carry something out for them.
He’s got a pickup; and they was in a car. He didn’t think nothing about it. New
man on the job, he wants to get along, so he done it. Took out a box in the bed
of his truck where them two laid it and covered it up with a tarp. Delivered it
to one of the other men’s house. Week or so later, they wanted him to do it
again, so he done it. Yesterday, they asked him again. Didn’t look right to him
because one of them was in his van. Could’ve taken it out easy in the van. So
he said no. They told him he better because he already stole a dozen rifles,
and they’d turn him in for it if he didn’t do what he was told and keep his
mouth shut.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“Now Willy, he’d
rather paint pictures than eat, but that don’t make him a complete fool. He
knows one of these days, the base brass gonna find out about them missing guns
and start checking up. Worried him enough so he come to Big Jack wanting to
know what to do. Only thing I could think of was to ask you about the your
lawyer friend.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">Bart went quiet
for a few moments. Both Big Jack and his wife had better manners than to
intrude on his thoughts. At length, he spoke: “Did he bring out the other
case?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“No. They didn’t
press him on it right then. But they will.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">“I want to talk to him,” Bart said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: times; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****</span></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Interesting
situation. Mixed cultures always intrigue me. Anglo, Apache, and mixed-blood.
And now one culture’s clashing with another. Can Bart get justice for this
young Apache who only wants feed his family and paint pictures?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you next
week.</span></span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: times;">Stay safe and stay strong until we meet again.</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: times;">Now my mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something say... so say it!</i></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Please check out my mystery novels published by Dreamspinner Press starting with <i>The Zozobra Incident </i>and ending with<i> The Cutie-Pie Murders.</i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;">My personal links:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Email: don.travis@aol.com</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;">X: @dontravis3</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;">See you next Thursday.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Don</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><i><span style="font-family: times;">New posts every Thursday at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><br /></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-36684962718052256682024-02-22T04:00:00.000-08:002024-02-22T04:00:00.143-08:00Pauly Pittman and the Pit Bull (Part 3 of 3 Parts)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #641</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of Vector
Portal:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG_GaL56ZiWwEyYFcllsUh-ATE-EqEYt4wotiOlLwDBgwA0IoEdAO8ln6bZDW7gN3ERQnDwd7OPpdnh_Y_pw2WzR7S-sTD1RJROmisZnqF0OlTkX2QfJXcUsl0SnQHm5TTez9hWQ0LcsFvsCGxJdxpom_mNTXY5QTySR1hI4qCcnGEWBT8-HEpyYcnydVF/s224/Pauly%20Pittman-2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="224" data-original-width="224" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG_GaL56ZiWwEyYFcllsUh-ATE-EqEYt4wotiOlLwDBgwA0IoEdAO8ln6bZDW7gN3ERQnDwd7OPpdnh_Y_pw2WzR7S-sTD1RJROmisZnqF0OlTkX2QfJXcUsl0SnQHm5TTez9hWQ0LcsFvsCGxJdxpom_mNTXY5QTySR1hI4qCcnGEWBT8-HEpyYcnydVF/s1600/Pauly%20Pittman-2.png" width="224" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Today,
we have the conclusion to the story of Pauly Pittman and the feral dog that’s
been hanging around him. Hope you enjoy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">PAULY
PITTMAN AND THE PIT BULL<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Monday morning, Pauly wrapped
his sweater tighter around him as he waited for the yellow bus. Colder than it
looked. Only a couple more weeks before school let out, and he could stop
coming up to the road and waiting in the weather for it to show up. He glanced
at his Mickey Mouse. Dadgummit, he’d arrived ten minutes too soon.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">A big, black dog trotting down
the road interrupted his musings. Didn’t look friendly. Tail wasn’t wagging.
That and laid-back ears told him the beast wasn’t coming to greet a friend.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Whoa!” he called.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">To his surprise, the dog
whoaed. For a second. Then it took deliberate—and threatening—steps toward
Pauly. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He tried again. “Whoa!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“The dog ignored him this
time. His lips curled and a snarl came from somewhere deep inside him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">As the beast advanced, Pauly
backed away, managing to keep space between him and the threatening animal…
until he tripped and went down on his backside. Panic boiled up inside him and
he heard himself holler something unintelligible as ferocious growling and
snarling split the air. The dog! Two dogs?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Pauly lay half in the borrow
ditch at the side of the road with his head on the low end, so he couldn’t see
the road where the ruckus was coming from. By the time he managed to sit up, he
saw the black dog racing away with another on his tail. The pit bull? He
couldn’t tell.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Heart still pitter-pattering
like crazy, he picked up his schoolbooks as the bus came over the hill and
screeched to a halt. He scooted aboard and found a seat beside Billy. He
couldn’t talk for a moment until his breathing calmed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You won’t believe what just
happened,” he finally managed to get out.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Try me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“A big black dog attacked me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Don’t see bite marks on you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“That pit bull saved me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“That same pit bull from the
other day.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Yeah. Well, I think so.”
Pauly explained he’d ended up in the ditch looking up at his shoes, but he was
pretty sure that’s what happened.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Billy was doubtful.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">All during class, Pauly
glanced out the window, halfway expecting to see the pit bull in the shade of
the cottonwood, but the dog never showed. Had he gotten into a fight with the
black dog and was hurt? His heart dropped into his stomach, and his mood followed.
The school day took a long time passing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">When he said goodbye to Billy
at the bus stop, Pauly watched carefully for the dog—both dogs, as a matter of
fact. But all the way home, he saw nothing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He was feeding the chickens
when his father came roaring in from the fields on his tractor and headed for
the kitchen door.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Saw your pit bull,” he threw
over his shoulder as he barreled through the door. A minute later, he came back
out carrying his shotgun.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Wh-what’re you gonna do?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Shed the neighborhood of a
feral dog.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Wait!” Pauly yelled. His
father didn’t, but Pauly ran beside him as the man started across the field on
foot. “He saved me this morning. From another dog.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">His father listened as Pauly
told him what had happened this morning. His reaction mirrored Billy’s.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“So you didn’t really see
him?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Well… just a glimpse.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Can you swear it was the pit
bull you saw?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Swear? I dunno, but I’m
sure.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">His father started walking
again. “Not good enough. And if it was the bull, chances are the black dog was
rabid. If they tangled, he’d get bitten and catch rabies too. Be a mercy to
spare him that kinda suffering.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You don’t know that!” Pauly
protested.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You don’t know he saved you
either.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Pauly stuck to his father’s
heels as they crossed the field and entered the woods beyond.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Onery critter,” his dad
mumbled. “Come on, show yourself.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">After half an hour they broke
through to a little glen and started across. Out of the corner of his eye,
Pauly saw movement. He halted in his track as the pit bull came charging out of
the tree line heading straight for them. No, for his father. The dog was
attacking his father!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Dad!” he shouted.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He was too late. The tan and
gray form launched itself into the air and hurtled for Pauly’s dad.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">His father saw the dog at the
last minute and tried to swing his shotgun around, but the dog flung himself
sideways and barreled into the man’s side, sending him crashing to the ground.
The shotgun went flying.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">As his father scrambled for
the weapon, Pauly spotted something.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Dad! Wait! Look!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">In possession of the shotgun
again, his father hesitated. The dog stood twenty feet away, panting heavily.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">And there in the grass,
directly in what had been his father’s path, lay the coiled form of an agitated
rattlesnake.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“He saved you, Dad. You’d a
stepped on that rattler for sure.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">His father loosed an oath… but
it was a soft curse. “You may be right.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Just like he saved me from
the black dog.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The subject of their
discussion stood looking from man to boy as they spoke. His tail, stiff at
first, began to wag a bit.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Pauly fell to his knees and
held out his hands. “Come on, boy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Now wait—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">His father’s protest died as
the dog lowered his head and trotted to Pauly, giving his face a huge lick.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Pauly, you get away from that
animal. We don’t know if—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The pit bull moved to the man
and nudged his knee. Pauly figured things would turn out okay when his dad put
hands to the dog, sort of petting him, but Pauly understood he was actually
looking for bite marks. There didn’t seem to be any.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">After giving the man his
attention, the dog moved back to Pauly, who hugged him to his chest.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“All right,” his father said.
“What are you gonna name him?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Streak,” Pauly said promptly.
“He streaked to save me from a dog, and he streaked to save you from a rattler.
So Streak’s a good name.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Then Streak it is. And
speaking of rattlers….”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">But the snake had more sense
than to hang around and get blown away by a shotgun. It was gone.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****</span></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">So Pauly now
has a new dog named Streak. It appears that pit bulls have gotten a raw deal. From
all accounts, they are friendly, loyal animals. Sometimes might not abide other
dogs, but are friendly to humans. Mind you, I’m only repeating what pit bull
owners have told me and what I’ve read. I’ve never owned one, not have I sat
for one back in the days when Betty and I dog sat. She passed fifteen years
ago, and once the dogs we cared for faded away, I didn’t accept new animals.
Sometimes I really miss them.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">I have no clue
what’s coming up next week, but I’ll manage something.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you then.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">Stay safe and stay strong until we meet again.</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Now my mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say...so say it!</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Take a look on Amazon at my BJ Vinson murder mystery series consisting of <i>The Zozobra Incident, The Bisti Business, The City of Rocks, </i>and four others.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My personal links:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Email: don.travis@aol.com</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">X" @dpmtravo3</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you next Thursday</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Don</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><i>New posts every Thursday at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.</i></span></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-84393621341910593602024-02-15T04:00:00.000-08:002024-02-15T04:00:00.184-08:00Pauly Pittman and the Pit Bull (Part2 of 3 Parts)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #640</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of Vector
Portal:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbpFjqLeisaFSgKmFyUutzXkJCVdNZg0BELbjLe80Xo7d0D-LV0ZDlQvxTpKF9ia8fENIeRw7vt_6xcOrKW3GNIobqyH6aHupdf0GJqR_60zy-3UB-vxl-J-3yH0qFoRirucN0QO0i1TT96Z_1gKP06YE9jOFYhHW8MudY8sCFGZH3qlLXheCIkbLzrdfW/s224/Pauly%20Pittman-2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="224" data-original-width="224" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbpFjqLeisaFSgKmFyUutzXkJCVdNZg0BELbjLe80Xo7d0D-LV0ZDlQvxTpKF9ia8fENIeRw7vt_6xcOrKW3GNIobqyH6aHupdf0GJqR_60zy-3UB-vxl-J-3yH0qFoRirucN0QO0i1TT96Z_1gKP06YE9jOFYhHW8MudY8sCFGZH3qlLXheCIkbLzrdfW/s1600/Pauly%20Pittman-2.png" width="224" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Let’s
see what happens with Pauly Pittman and the mysterious pit bull today.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">PAULY
PITTMAN AND THE PIT BULL</p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Pauly glanced over his
shoulder, but Billy was on the other side of the room. Mr. Hasterton had
separated them at the first of the year when they wouldn’t quit whispering to
one another. He looked back at the tree again, halfway expecting the dog to be
gone, but there it was, as still as a statue made out of poured plaster.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">A stern voice brought him back
to class. “Mr. Pittman, I asked you a question.” Mr. Hasterton always called
his students Mr. This and Miss That when he was irritated with them.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Uh…”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Please give me the answer to
question number two on the blackboard.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Why did he always call it a
blackboard when it was as green as it could be?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Uh… False.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Correct. Now tell me why.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">By the time Pauly finished the
verbal dance Mr. Hasterton orchestrated for him, he glanced out the window. The
dog was gone.<o:p></o:p></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“A pit bull you say?” his
father asked after he mentioned the mysterious dog at the dinner table that
night. “Around here?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Well, it was at the bus stop
this morning. And I saw it again at school.” Should he mention Billy Bills’
shapeshifter? Nah.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You catch it around here
again, you let me know. We got enough coyotes chasing our chickens. Don’t need
a rogue dog too.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“How do you know it’s rogue?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You ever see it before?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“No, sir.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Belong to anybody you know?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“No, sir.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Me neither. Don’t know of a
soul around here who’s got a pit bull. Do you?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“No, sir.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“There you go then. Rogue dog.
You see it again, you let me know, and I’ll take my shotgun to it.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The hair on Pauly’s neck stood
up… but he didn’t know why.”<o:p></o:p></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The mysterious pit bull didn’t
show up again, making Pauly ponder if he was glad or sad. He liked the idea of
a dog. They hadn’t had one on the farm since Nosy, their golden retriever died
a year ago. He’d mentioned a pet to his father a couple of times, and while his
dad didn’t say no, nothing ever developed. Would a pit bull make as good a pet
as old Nosy. Take a whale of a dog to replace that one, for sure.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">And he’d heard things about a bull.
Mean. Vicious. Turn on their owners without provocation. But was that true? He’d
never had a pit bull. Didn’t even know anyone who had. And that raised another
question. Where had this one come from? He’d never seen one in these parts.
Maybe he got loose from someone passing through. Yeah, that made sense. Somebody
mean who mistreated his dog—heck, his whole family. Well, coulda been that way.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Curious, he cut lunch short
one day and headed to the computer room at school and learned the dogs were
developed in England, Scotland, and Ireland in the 1900s as hunting dogs, and
some said as herding dogs. Would one herd the chickens to him a feeding time. Course,
they didn’t need herding. Step outside and yell “Cluck, cluck, cluck,” and they
came running like they hadn’t been fed for weeks. But the pigs now. That was
another matter. When one of them got loose, it took a lot of herding.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">From everything he read, they made
good family dogs and good with children when trained properly. Properly trained.
What did that mean? Maybe they got a raw deal… being called vicious, that is.
Everything he learned just made him more anxious to see the animal again.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">But he didn’t. Until one
morning, he spied the dog standing in the tree line across the road from Pauly’s
school bus stop. His heart skipped a beat. Why? Everything he’d read said the
dogs were friendly. And why did this one seem to hang around him? Had the dog
chosen him as his new owner? Pauly wrinkled his nose. That was a new thought.
Getting picked by a dog instead of the other way around.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Where did the animal live? In
the wild? What did he eat? Small prey. He was a predator. That thought sent a
tingle down Pauly’s back. Well, the dog had to eat something.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He stooped down and clapped
his hands. “Come on, boy. Come on.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Pauly spent five minutes
cajoling the dog, drawing him closer and closer until the school bus came over
the hill and spooked the animal away. Darn, he’d been so close.<o:p></o:p></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">That afternoon, Pauly’s dad
picked him up at school. He’d had to stop at the feed store and do another
couple of chores and decided to spare his son a ride on the bus and the short
walk from the stop. As they drove toward the farm, his father spoke.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“That dog showed up again.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Dog?” he asked as his insides
quickened.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Your pit bull. Ralph down at
the café chased him away from the back of his place. Rooting for food, I guess.
And Joe saw him in the alley behind the grocery store.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">So maybe he was a scavenger
instead of a predator. Pauly wrinkled his nose. Most likely both. He kept an
eagle ye out, especially when they passed the school bus stop, but he didn’t
see any sign of the animal.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">When he fed the chickens that
evening, a chill went up his back, and he didn’t understand why. Then he
spotted the dog twenty feet away staring at him. No, it was staring at the chickens.
Good grief, was he about to attack them? Probably make a good meal.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">No, the animal shifted its
gaze back to him. And the tail wagged a couple of times. Maybe it’d be all
right.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Then his dad came barreling
out of the kitchen door, shotgun in hand, roaring, Damned chicken thief.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">No, Dad! Wait.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">But the bull turned tail and
headed for the hinterlands, followed by my dad’s buckshot.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Manuscript" style="text-indent: 0in;">
</p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Damn, missed!” he swore.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></span></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">Is Pauly ever
going to meet that pit bull properly? Sure looks like all the cards are stacked
against him. And why’s he hanging around so much? Let’s see how it ends next
week.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you then.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"> Stay safe and stay strong.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Now my mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say... so say it!</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;">Please check out the Don Travis mystery series, a series of seven novels starting with<i> The Zozobra Incident.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;">My personal links:</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;">Email: don.travis@aol.com</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;">X: @dontravis3</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;">Facebook: www.facebook.com.donald.travis.982</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;">See you next Thursday</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;">Don</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><i>New posts every Thursday at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-47661058770627531842024-02-08T04:00:00.000-08:002024-02-08T04:00:00.285-08:00Pauly Pittman and the Pit Bull (Part 1 of 3 Parts)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #639</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of Vector Portal:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwkoFLthONSttLyluMKsWmXU6vAFOLP76HDJEhhDwTbhYdbP2nNLwSWTCiGH-yr4kE1lQmzVmx2K5zRXgql3ITeN-rvsoLpcI3O9A3v3vz0h7wmNFvW9sIjwMTXaCdqnSfo_VG-0KZvIHdcGKinzlzdXM1CGwDrQMruOrFNjjUL-tl6rn3nlf7pv7F6U8_/s224/Pauly%20Pittman-2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="224" data-original-width="224" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwkoFLthONSttLyluMKsWmXU6vAFOLP76HDJEhhDwTbhYdbP2nNLwSWTCiGH-yr4kE1lQmzVmx2K5zRXgql3ITeN-rvsoLpcI3O9A3v3vz0h7wmNFvW9sIjwMTXaCdqnSfo_VG-0KZvIHdcGKinzlzdXM1CGwDrQMruOrFNjjUL-tl6rn3nlf7pv7F6U8_/s1600/Pauly%20Pittman-2.png" width="224" /></a></div><p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Hope
you enjoyed the conclusion of last week’s “Garlic and Crosses and Silver Backed
Mirrors.” Had fun writing it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Today,
we have the first installment of another three par short story. Without further
ado, let’s get to the story.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">PAULY
PITTMAN AND THE PIT BULL<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Pauly first noticed the dog late
in the school year when the worst of the winter was behind them—except for tricks
Jack Frost still had in store for them—but before the spring winds really
warmed things. Up on the county road waiting the school bus to come, Pauly
noticed an animal sitting on his haunches eyeballing him from across the road. When
the flesh on his back quit goose pimpling, he recognized it as a dog, not some wild
creature come to claim him as a meal. Unless it was a mad dog. Was this the
time of year for them? Did mad dogs have a season? He guessed it was a pit bull,
and from stories he’d heard they came in close behind a rabid dog. Pretty near
wolf level.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">But maybe the thing wasn’t an
ordinary dog. It had just appeared. Hadn’t been there one moment, and then
there he was big as you please. Pauly’s goose flesh reappeared, quelling his
urge to click his tongue and call the animal over. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">They studied one another from
opposite sides of the dirt road until a yellow school bus rolled over the hill and
came to a stop between them. For some reason, Pauly’s butt puckered as he
scooted through the bus door a little quicker’n usual. After finding a seat
beside his best friend Billy Bills, he twisted to look out the back window. No
dog. The roadway was clear.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“That’s weird,” he mumbled.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“What’s weird,” Billy wanted
to know.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“That dog.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“What dog?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Sitting on the side of the
road.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Didn’t see no dog. Kinda
dog?” Billy asked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Dunno. Big one. Probably one
of those pit bulls.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Oh, they can be mean. I hear
one tore an arm off a kid over in Middleton.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Pauly curled his lip. Billy
hadn’t heard any such thing. It was just one of his stories.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“What did it look like?” Billy
asked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Like I said, big. Kinda gray
and tan. This line went right down the middle of his face, and on one side it
was tan, and on the other, gray.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Yeah, sounds like a pit bull.
You said weird. What was weird about it?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Pauly shrugged. “Dunno, really.
I mean, it wasn’t there, and then it was.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You mean it just ran up?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Naw,” Pauly said with a shake
of his head. “It was just there. Didn’t see it come up or anything.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Uh-oh,” maybe it was a shapeshifter.”
Billy was part Navajo.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Do shapeshifters turn into
dogs.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Billy let out a breath. “They turn
into anything they want to.” He studied the seat in front of them a minute.
“But I never seen one turn into a dog.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Pauly punched his shoulder.
“Yeah, like you’ve ever seen one.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Well, my grandpa has. And my
uncle too.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">They argued over shapeshifters
all the way to Ecton Elementary some five miles down the road.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">That afternoon, Pauly’s mind
wandered as he fought to keep from dozing, thanks to too much to eat at lunch
and his sixth grade teacher. Mr. Hasterton spoke in a <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>monotone unless he was talking about football.
Then he sounded human, not like one of those metronomes in the band room that
went click-click in a measured beat. On the few nights Pauly didn’t drop off to
sleep the moment he got to bed, he wished his teacher had been there to give
one of his lectures. That woulda put him out like the light bulb in the barn
when Pauly pulled the string on it. A glance out the window brought him wide
awake.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">In the shadow of a cottonwood
at the edge of the schoolyard, he made out the shape of a big dog sitting and
staring at the window like a guard dog put on alert. The pit bull… if that’s
what it really was.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="tab-stops: 139.8pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">Well, here we
go again. Last week “vampires,” and this week “shapeshifters,” perhaps. Or
maybe it’s just an ordinary dog. But even so… a pit bull? Are they vicious or
big cuddle buddies? You can get into a big argument over that. At any rate, we’re
not sure exactly what the animal is yet. Let’s learn more next week.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you then.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px;">Stay safe and stay strong until we meet again.</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Now my mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have somethingto say...so say it!</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Please check out my BJ Vinson murder mystery series starting with <i>The Zozobra Incident </i>and ending with <i>The Cutie-Pie Murders.</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My personal links:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Emal don.travis@aol.com</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">X: @dontravis3</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you next Thursday.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Don</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><i>New posts every Thursday at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i> </span></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-38637317577221420272024-02-01T04:00:00.000-08:002024-02-01T04:00:00.343-08:00Garlic and Crosses and Silver Backed Mirrors (Part 3 of 3 Parts)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #638</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Images Courtesy of Dreamstime:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPXO9it10x808H1XjcEHihR5-PkffXy3GTsREjMJlouSHn3rzkps5RRbcHXKo5ngJXQ3ZQe4goHfSQ_z-h2fp_O3G3bf-p6LkdW7fgi5W6ah8IMJHWip_G7nXsZbeQ8dlX4DPO0-kSL09MtB0H2XMlf6DByrqmuWMUGwx1_XXuV2d-A2BA-vnLGfJO_IxL/s735/Garlic-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="735" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPXO9it10x808H1XjcEHihR5-PkffXy3GTsREjMJlouSHn3rzkps5RRbcHXKo5ngJXQ3ZQe4goHfSQ_z-h2fp_O3G3bf-p6LkdW7fgi5W6ah8IMJHWip_G7nXsZbeQ8dlX4DPO0-kSL09MtB0H2XMlf6DByrqmuWMUGwx1_XXuV2d-A2BA-vnLGfJO_IxL/s320/Garlic-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Aha,
loaded down with garlic and crosses and silver-backed mirrors, our hero is
walking up the hill toward the woods to confront his vampire… or werewolf… or
whatever. Let’s see what happens.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">GARLIC
AND CROSSES AND SILVER BACKED MIRRORS<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The forest seemed darker today
as I pushed through the underbrush and entered the trees. Other than the noise
I was making, they were absolutely silent. No bird calls. No squirrel chatter. Nothing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">But I caught the dying sway of
a scrub oak bush where someone—or something—had recently passed and headed
straight for it. And beyond it to another bush just going still. On a leaf of
this one, I found a scrap of leather… rawhide really. Long, like it was a
fringe off something. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I moved deeper into the trees,
feeling like the pathfinder in one of those James Fennimore Cooper novels
tracking his prey, especially after I found some long dark hairs on another
bush. As I moved on, I noticed the darkness lifting. Now <i>really</i> curious,
I darted from bush to tree as the atmosphere lightened more and more. Ahead, I
caught a ray of sunshine. A clearing. A clearing lay ahead of me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I broke through the last of
the trees and was so bedazzled by the pretty glen that I failed to notice the
figure standing at the far side at first. And it gave me a start when I did, I
can tell you. My heart hammered against the cross on my chest so hard that I’ll
swear it moved. I’m not sure, but I think maybe I gasped.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The creature raised its right
hand, palm out, and called out a word I didn’t recognize. Having nothing better
to do, I mimicked his hand lifting and yelled back, “Howdy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He stood dead still until I
took a hesitant step forward, and then he did too. As we performed a weird ritual
dance, he morphed into a human. Definitely a human. Man… well, boy. Probably
about my age. Not one of Ma’s Romny… but an Indian.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;"><i>That </i>puckered my
sphincter. Here I was alone in the woods with a wild Indian. Didn’t matter if I
was garlicked to the gills, what I needed was my rifle. Heck, I didn’t even
have my pocketknife. Forgot to pick it up when I left the house.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I tucked away my panic and looked
more closely as we neared. No weapons. That’s good. Wait! Knife in a scabbard
at his waist. Left side. Did that mean he was left-handed? Ma had some saying
about off-handers too, but I couldn’t remember what it was. Nothing good, I’m
sure.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">That glen musta been bigger’n
I thought, or else we were taking baby steps, because I had time to notice his
clothing. He wore what Pa called a hairbine around his forehead holding back
long, dark locks that woulda made Sara jealous. Came clear down past his
shoulders. No shirt, and his shoulders looked way broader’n mine. Guess Sara’s
not the only one in the family capable of envy. His trousers were buckskin with
fringes—that’s where that piece of leather on the bush came from. That almost
brought me to a halt.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He'd <i>lured</i> me here.
Pure and simple lured me in. Tore off a fringe and pulled out a few hairs for
me to follow. My scalp prickled like a duck’s behind.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Then I noticed his shoes.
Moccasins. But not just rawhide, the tops glistened when he walked. And when we
were close enough, I saw they were festooned with beautiful, colored beadwork.
Sara would’ve gone green over those too. Heck, I wouldn’t mind having a pair.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I was close enough now to make
out his features, and they were surprisingly pleasant. Dunno why I said surprisingly.
Maybe I thought all Indians were closed and dark and brooding. This one wore a beaming
smile that reached all the way to his black eyes. Never seen anyone with black
eyes before. Reminded me of a hawk staring at me. I almost snickered. A smiling
hawk.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He stopped just beyond arm’s
length, so I did too.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Those black eyes scoured my
person, and I figured he considered I was overdressed, laden with garlic and a
cross and silver backed mirrors like I was. He was focusing on them, I could
see.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">My “vampire” lifted a hand,
pointed at his broad chest, and said something that sounded like “Hookoyete.”
If that was his monicker, it sure was a heavy one.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I shoved a thumb at me and
said, “Jamey.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">That gave him some trouble
too. “S-shamey?” he stuttered.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I shook my head. “Ja-mey,
Jamey.” Then I tried out his. After a couple of tries, neither of which got it,
I gave up and pointed at each of us in turn, and pronounced. “Hook. You’re Hook,
and I’m Jamey.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He frowned, but his expression
cleared as he understood. “Hah! Hook—” He pointed at himself first and then to
me. “—Shamy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I nodded. If I was gonna
mangle his name, couldn’t object if he did the same to mine.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">We took another mutual step,
which put us nose to nose. He really was a pleasant looking fellow. Looked
clean too. Not dirty and smelly like some folks said the natives were. In fact,
I was the smelly one of the two. He reached out and lifted my amulet to his
nose and took a whiff before recoiling.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Garlic,” I said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He muttered an unpronounceable
word I took to be his word for garlic.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Yeah. Garlic. Scares off
vampires and werewolves but apparently doesn’t work on Indians.” At his frown,
I reached a conclusion. “You don’t speak American, do you?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“’Merican? Yes. No. Thank you.
Go now.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">As he made no move to leave, I
took that to be a recitation of his English vocabulary. “That’s more’n I can
say in your language.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He surprised me by lifting my
arm and laying his alongside it. Comparing our coloration, I gathered. He
confirmed it by moistening a finger and rubbing my forearm vigorously to see if
the light color came off. I knew better, of course, but he’d done it, so I did too.
His darker complexion didn’t change beneath my vigorous rubbing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">That unleashed us. Giggling
like teenagers—well, technically we still were, although well past the giggling
age—we examined one another. He lifted off my garlic and mirrors and cross and
made clear he wanted me to unbutton my shirt. I did, and he moved behind me to
take it off and feel and poke and mumble aloud. That’s when it dawned on me he
was trying to see if we were the same—other than the difference in our skin. He
wanted to know if I was human. That gave me a tumble. Old Mrs. Jarvis at the church
we sometimes attended loudly proclaimed that Indians were not. She held the same,
unshakable opinion of black people.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Now here was a Red Indian
trying to make the same determination of me… a white kid. I’d sure like to tell
Mrs. Jarvis about that, but the old bat would probably expire if she knew I let
an Indian touch me. Might be a decent trade-off.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">And touch me, Hook did. He
felt my back and my chest and my belly and inspected my underarms like he was buying
a boy at a slave market. If he tried to inspect my teeth, I wasn’t gonna put up
with it. But tit for tat, I brushed his arms away and went to work inspecting
him. He let me put my hands all over him. I pinched him here and rubbed him
there until I noticed something. When I touched one of his nipples, it stood
up. Curious I brushed the other one. It did the same. When my mind flashed on
Nettie Nixton’s boobs, I figured I’d crossed the line somehow.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Apparently, Hook wasn’t aware
of any such line, because he pushed my hands away and did the same to me. When
he fingered the left one, I almost jumped. I knew girls’ breasts were an “erogenous
zone,” as one book called them, but sure never figured that was true for a fellow.
But when hook fingered mine, I felt it down in my britches. Had he when reacted
that way when I did it to him?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Then he really took me by surprise.
He moved in and lapped his lip over one like he <i>was </i>a vampire going for
blood. Indians had witches, didn’t they? Was this guy a junior apprentice witch?
If so, I was a gonner. I couldn’t have moved if I’d wanted.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">When he switched to the other
one, I forgot about all of that and sorta reveled in the feeling. I couldn’t
believe sucking on my tit was affecting another part of my anatomy, but it sure
was. Down south, I was growing like crazy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He came up for air, and we
just sorta stared at one another. Sure wasn’t a smile on his face now. And it
was a darned good face too. <i>Better’n Nettie’s </i>flashed my mind before I
could stop it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">After a long moment of
examining one another’s pupils, Hook put hands to his waist and slipped down
his trousers. Did he want to see if we were built alike down there too?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I took a look. Lord almighty!
I wish! Without thinking, I slid down my own britches and didn’t even blink
when he reached for me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Hook wanted more’n just a good
look at it, lots more… and he got it too.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="tab-stops: 139.8pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">Looks like
this “vampire’s” after something other than blood. Let your imagination suggest
how many ways Jamey may have given it to him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">See you next
week.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Until then, stay safe and stay strong.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Now my mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Please check out my BJ Vinson murder mystery series, a series of seven books, all related but stand alone for readers. Still, better to start with the first <i>The Zozobra Incident.</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">My personal links:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Email: don.travis@aol.com</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis 982</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">X: @dontravis3</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">See you next Thursday.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">New posts every Thursday at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-50471736576503759492024-01-25T04:00:00.000-08:002024-01-25T04:00:00.131-08:00Garlic and Crosses and Silver Backed Mirrors (Part 2 of 3 Parts)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #638</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Images Courtesy of Dreamstime:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi0tEQhDwTTnEz470LY8k72i_XqD0ir2CBP7U1WU7_acWiyR6GiLTXL2geKmr4oMElwnL1AgvZFMO8sX6B_zQsomX4K1i_BUVoCMNbKJsMRTbUOWuXSPNqaFYzAZ1uKL70dBETKyGg6_sw6R4d1Z0druNA328ldF_hblR-C_EdIhy-AVRUuY8Sh7f5uUhd/s735/Garlic-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="735" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi0tEQhDwTTnEz470LY8k72i_XqD0ir2CBP7U1WU7_acWiyR6GiLTXL2geKmr4oMElwnL1AgvZFMO8sX6B_zQsomX4K1i_BUVoCMNbKJsMRTbUOWuXSPNqaFYzAZ1uKL70dBETKyGg6_sw6R4d1Z0druNA328ldF_hblR-C_EdIhy-AVRUuY8Sh7f5uUhd/s320/Garlic-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">The
Singaporeans were back last week. Welcome, and I hope you stick around for the
finale of the story. Speaking of which:</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Vampires?
Werewolves? Those are Eastern European things, aren’t they? Not here in
America, even frontier America. Or are they? Let’s read on and find out.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">GARLIC
AND CROSSES AND SILVER BACKED MIRRORS<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The woods always got to me…
you know, how dark they were. Out in the field, the sun made the rocks sweat.
But here beneath a thick canopy of leaves, the place grew gloomy and held a
different kind of heat… close and stifling. I searched the area around the bush
I’d seen quake, but I didn’t find a thing out of the ordinary.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Off to the west, I heard a
noise like a branch snapping or an acorn falling to the ground. Coulda been
natural, or might have been something sinister… like Ma’s vampire or Sara’s
werewolf. But I was garlicked to the gills and laden with silver backed mirrors
plus a clunky cross around my neck, so I was safe, wasn’t I? Then why was my
back puckered like a patch of goose flesh and my breath coming hard?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Then I saw it. A shape, an
indistinct form in the gloom. The thing, whatever it was, stared at me a moment
before vanishing behind the bole of a tree. I shoulda chased after it, but I
turned tail and ran for all I was worth… which apparently wasn’t very much. Not
so far as bravery was concerned, at any rate. I was so chicken, I felt like
clucking.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Of course, I couldn’t keep my
big yap shut and blurted it all over the supper table that night.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You actually saw it?” Sara
asked, her eyes mimicking two the ten pennies I’d managed to save and hide in
the toe of a sock.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Uh-huh. With my own eyes.” I
anticipated her next question. “Dunno exactly what I was looking at. Too dark.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Describe it as best you can,”
my pa urged.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Dark. Everything was dark.
Hair black as that oil you smear on the wagon’s wheels.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Was it a man?” Sara asked,
her eyes back to normal. “Or a beast or—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Best I could tell, it was a
man. Leastways, didn’t seem to be four-legged or have wings or nothing like
that.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Anything like that,” Ma
automatically corrected. “Many of them are Romany, and they’re all dark. Black-headed,
dark-skinned.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Yeah, like that.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“But what did he look like?”
Sara persisted. “Was he ugly like a warlock or—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Handsome as a prince?” I interrupted
to jab at her verbally. “Dunno. Like I said, it was dark.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“And you were too scared to
notice. Probably went cross eyed,” she struck back, demonstrating her point by
crossing her blue orbs and sticking her tongue out the side of her mouth.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“And right that you should be
frightened,” Ma interjected. “Vampires are vile and crafty and cannot be
trusted.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I’ll bet you took one look
and ran away,” Sara put in, not about to let me get away with my “handsome
prince” remark. “Did you wet your pants too?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Sara!” my parents exclaimed
in unison.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You bet I did,” I said. “Ran,
that is. Not the other. But he ran first. At least he disappeared behind a
tree.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You don’t go in the woods anymore,”
Ma said in a sharp voice. “You stay in the fields. You keep to the sunshine.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Kinda hard to hunt in the
fields,” Pa said. “But maybe it’d be best if we went hunting together, Son. So
your ma’s right. Stay outta the woods unless I’m with you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He didn’t need to tell me
twice.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I thought I’d be bothered by
dreams that night, but I guess I was tired, because the Sandman came early, and
the next thing I knew it was cracking dawn.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Pa and I usually worked in
different fields, and two days later, musta been mid-morning when I hauled Cloppy
to a halt and held up my hand to shade my vision. Movement had caught my
attention. It took a bit of searching before I spotted him. A figure. A human figure
stood at the northern edge of the field just outside the tree line… full in the
sunlight. Male, from what I could tell. How long had he been there? Apparently,
he could handle the bright sun, but for how long? Long enough to lope down here
and suck the blood from my veins? He’d have to catch me first. Oh, couldn’t
they turn into bats? Wouldn’t have any trouble catching me then. The hair on
the back of my neck rose.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">But for some reason, I wasn’t
afraid… not really, just anxious. Maybe it was the fresh garlic Ma’d fashioned
into my amulet. I’d started calling it that instead of a necklace. Necklace was
a word Sara’d use.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He watched me watch him for a long
moment before turning and entering the forest in a graceful, masculine stride.
Recalling my sister’s taunt about running away and forgetting Pa’s orders to
stay out of the forest,” I dropped Cloppy’s rein and walked up the hill toward
the woods.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="tab-stops: 139.8pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">Looks like his
little sister’s sniping put a little steel in Jamey’s backbone… but is that a
good thing or a bad thing. We’ll find out in next week’s finale.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Until then, stay safe and stay strong.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Now my mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say... so say it!</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Please take a look at my BJ Vinson murder mystery series published by Dreamspinner Press. The seven books are a series, but they can be read independently. Better to start with the first, <i>The Zozobra Incident. </i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">My Personal links:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Email: don.travis@aol.com</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">X: @dontravis3</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">See you next Thursday,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Don</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><i>New posts every Thursday at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-59053612412867126742024-01-18T04:00:00.000-08:002024-01-20T12:34:27.291-08:00Garlic and Crosses and Silver Backed Mirrors (Part 1 of 3 Parts)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #637</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of Dreamstime:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYCJr3Lfc7vRPAO0YlOMSWA18pmuDRhj8h0knncT75le3T9tmES6Noh2TOOJAd-I9oxcnOjI64tSW6LvMRJE2-1UDhoeQlQl4z4DTOoERkijXZvIoDSDNcp3O9RnFSKRWRUezV1YCO6VYZXfYixMB8dgAEvMCPciTdrLv-X9xuw1R33hrIenIpkw6fgAKP/s735/Garlic-3.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="735" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYCJr3Lfc7vRPAO0YlOMSWA18pmuDRhj8h0knncT75le3T9tmES6Noh2TOOJAd-I9oxcnOjI64tSW6LvMRJE2-1UDhoeQlQl4z4DTOoERkijXZvIoDSDNcp3O9RnFSKRWRUezV1YCO6VYZXfYixMB8dgAEvMCPciTdrLv-X9xuw1R33hrIenIpkw6fgAKP/s320/Garlic-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Here
we go with another short story this week, also a two-parter. Hope you get a
kick out of it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"><br /></span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"><br /></span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">GARLIC
AND CROSSES AND SILVER BACKED MIRRORS<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The thing—whatever it was—first
made its presence felt when I was out hunting in the woods. We lived so close
to Indian Territory, it was hard to tell if we were trespassing on tribal lands
or not. But the Indian troubles were mostly behind us, so Pa said it was of no concern
to us, so long as we didn’t go hostile on them. Me, I worried about the other
way… them going hostile on us.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I said I first noticed the
thing<i> </i>when I was hunting. And I don’t know what to call it other than the
thing. I’d never even <i>seen</i> what was creeping me out. I wasn’t normally a
scaredy-cat, but when a man can’t understand his surroundings, it tends to
worry on the mind.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The other day as I worked the
fields close to the wood line, I felt it, as well. Didn’t see it this time
either, just sensed something there, and heard noises like a twig on the forest
floor cracking or a swish of leaves. And some shadowy movement through the
trees and underbrush. That was enough to tell me I wasn’t spooking out over
nothing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Pa didn’t make anything of it
when I told him about it at the supper table that evening, just said to keep my
eyes open. Ma, who’s got some Middle Eastern European blood looked at it
differently.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You be careful you don’t
tangle with a vampire.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“No vampires over here in the
American territories,” Pa came back at her.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“How you know this?” When my
ma got excited, sometimes her English slipped. “They no law against it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">That was her measure for
everything. “No law against it.” She sure had more faith in the law than I did.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Maybe it’s a werewolf,” my
little sister Sara put in.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Don’t start that nonsense,”
Pa said with a slap on the table. “Now Suzie B.”—that’s what my pa called Ma—“you
know full well such creatures don’t roam around in the daylight hours, if they
even exist.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“They exist all right. My
uncle Vanya fell victim to one. Found him dead in his workshop with every drop
of blood drained. Besides, the woods are dark. No sunlight gets through that tangled
mess.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“That’s true,” Pa
acknowledged.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Ma pointed a dinner fork at me.
“Jamey, you don’t set foot outside this house without some protection.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“What kinda protection.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Garlic. That’s the best.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“That stinky stuff?” I asked. “I’ll
smell to high heaven.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Put up with the smell and the
heart keeps beating. Without blood, heart doesn’t beat. I make a necklace
tonight. You wear it when you go to work in the fields tomorrow.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Aw—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Don’t you <i>aw </i>me, James
Herrickson. Somewhere I’ve got some mirror buttons with silver backing. I’ll
weave them into the necklace. Wish I had a crucifix.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“We’ve got a wooden cross,”
Sara said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Have to make do with that.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">My mood plunged. Wish I hadn’t
mentioned the thing. “Hope I don’t see anyone I know.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Sara giggled. “Especially that
Nixton girl. She’ll hold her nose and run the other way.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Hush up,” Ma said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">That gave me something else to
worry about. Did garlic and that other stuff repel girls too? Seemed like it
was hard enough to sidle up to one of them without stinky and glittery stuff chasing
them off. And Nettie Nixton was morphing into quite a juicy plum.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Sara intruded on my introspection.
“What if it’s not a vampire? What if it’s a werewolf? They wouldn’t have any
trouble running around in the daytime.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“That’s okay,” Ma said. “The
Germans, they don’t believe it, but my people, they know the garlic works on
werewolves too. On vampires and werewolves and devils.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I took a hard look at Ma. She
was as educated as a woman got in the 1850s, yet here she was carrying on over creatures
that didn’t even exist. I hid a grin. She was a pleasing woman to look at. I
took some pride in the fact people said I looked like her… but in a manly way,
they always added in a hurry. I did have her red-gold hair and eyes that weren’t
quite green or weren’t quite brown. And her mouth, everyone said. Full and
pouty. Pouty? Why was that supposed to be good. I snickered to myself. For
pouting, I guess.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I made a good stab at it, but
I didn’t escape the house without a necklace of garlic cloves and shiny buttons
firmly around my neck, accompanied by a little cross carved out of oak and
stained brown hung on a string. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">By the time Cloppy—that’s our
plow horse—and I reached the edge of our property line near the timber, I kinda
liked the smell of the garlic and got a kick out of the way the mirrored
buttons caught the sun and sent sparks of reflected light dancing over the mare’s
rump. Didn’t get a blessed thing out of the cross, not even inspiration.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I stopped to swipe my face with
the red bandana that hung out of my overall’s rear pocket. Normally, I wore it
around my neck, but it would cover up the paraphernalia Ma had hung there. That
gave me a pause, I can tell you. Did that mean I <i>believed </i>her rant about
vampires and werewolves? Nah.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Then I went still as our old
setter when she was pointing at quail. There was something there. Something in
the underbrush near the fence. Dunno how I knew, I just did. That <i>thing </i>was
back. Goose bumps raced up my spine, and I went cold all over.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Hey!” I yelled, mostly to
make noise. “Show yourself. I know you’re there.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Nothing. Then I heard a twig
crack.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Hey you! Whatever you are, you
don’t walk out where I can see you, I’m gonna come looking for you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Crap! Did I really say that
out loud. I wasn’t about to enter those woods. Not by myself. Not without my
rifle. Oh, hell. Why hadn’t I brought my rifle?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I squared my shoulders. Why
not? Why not go see what was there. I had all the protection Ma could give me
hanging right there around my neck. So, fighting another wave of chill bumps
and a certain weakness in my knees, I dropped the reins, picked up one of the
rocks I was always throwing out of the field, and marched toward the wire
fence.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The bush swayed again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“All right, you bastard, I’m
coming, and I’m armed with a rock I’m gonna use to smash your fangs right outta
your head.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Nothing as I reached the
fence.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Nothing as I slipped through
the wire.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Nothing as I entered the woods…
except the pounding of my heart.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="tab-stops: 139.8pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">Sure hope
Jamey’s not biting off more than he can chew… or perhaps the bite will be on the
other teeth… or fangs… or whatever.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Did you ever
have Old World aunts and uncles or grandparents tell you spooky stories from
the old country when you were growing up? Did you believe them... maybe just a
little bit?</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Until we meet next week, stay safe and stay strong.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Now my mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say... so say it!</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Please check out my BJ Vinson murder series published by Dreamspinner Press. <i>The Zozobra Incident </i>is the first, but <i>Bisti Business </i>is my favorite.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">My personal links:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Email: dontravis@aol.com</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">X: @dontravis3</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">See you next Thursday.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Don</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>New Posts every Thursday at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain Time</i></span></p><p></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-17347597647350720112024-01-11T04:00:00.000-08:002024-01-11T04:00:00.153-08:00 Roberto Denofrio Kelly (Part 2 of 2 Parts)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #635</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Images Courtesy of Vecteezy:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">I
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEgvEvd0mpuDOb3ODHshkbFjZ0S3-O938TihrrUjJcnR8RJiFlSOA8-YYqO6ZFjCvnj0LtxJtRzKXVbb-Ln4aFAbaFEziaOGym1qLQjQ8SgtRfGRZwVzb1_beA8ukp7ejZnGkQZDO6XpD6Sr5O1QtHk1Dsl48nZK1NzyCrrO_p0xx2PYZFTuM3peurlQk/s260/Roberto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="260" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEgvEvd0mpuDOb3ODHshkbFjZ0S3-O938TihrrUjJcnR8RJiFlSOA8-YYqO6ZFjCvnj0LtxJtRzKXVbb-Ln4aFAbaFEziaOGym1qLQjQ8SgtRfGRZwVzb1_beA8ukp7ejZnGkQZDO6XpD6Sr5O1QtHk1Dsl48nZK1NzyCrrO_p0xx2PYZFTuM3peurlQk/s1600/Roberto.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><br />don’t know about you, but I’m curious about what lies behind Roberto Denofrio
Kelly’s lucrative offer to Bryce. Put up nothing but your name and reputation
and receive a lucrative remuneration. Sounds like the deal I’m always hunting
for.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">I
know the post is long, but stay with me to see what happens.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="tab-stops: 117.0pt center 3.25in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">ROBERTO DENOFRIO KELLY<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">After telling Bobo I’d mull over his proposition, I did
some digging around and learned what he’d told me was essentially correct. While
a new license would cost no more than five grand or so, very few were issued
each year, and likely only to those with political clout. Once issued, that
little piece of paper was instantly worth around half a mil. And they were leasable.
For a pretty good price. Since my alimony payments were fixed, not based on
income, I could pocket the entire proceeds, after sharing them with the IRS and
the New Mexico tax authority.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">The more I looked, the more attractive the deal became.
Of course, there was one little problem. It wasn’t my funds that would pay for
the license. And under the law, you usually couldn’t do indirectly what you couldn’t
do directly. So if Bobo couldn’t legally buy the license, how could his funds be
used to purchase one? And I certainly wasn’t about to obligate myself to him or
anyone else for that kind of money.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">Or would I? More and more, I found myself reviewing the
assets that remained after the plundering my ex-wife’s lawyer had given them.
Could I raise the money? I had some stock and bonds. I had a good reputation
and credit rating. Maybe I could leverage them and borrow enough to handle the
deal.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">But did I know Roberto Denofrio Kelly well enough to take
that kind of risk? We were friends, but I’d been in Albuquerque less than a
year, so it was still a shallow relationship.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">With that thought in mind, I set about sticking my nose
into his business, asking question of friends and business associates. I
checked police records, tax records, Better Business Bureau, other bar owners, the
Alcohol and Gaming Division, and even managed to meet his pastor at a function
and discretely mention I knew a member of his flock.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">What emerged was the picture of an upstanding citizen
anyone should be proud to be associated with. But—and there was a but—everyone
I talked to, except his pastor, left a “but” hanging in the air. Nothing said.
Only an attitude. When pressed, they stuck to their stated facts.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">At the end of it, I was still undecided. So I started
dropping by Roberto’s more frequently. Bobo always came over to say hello and
stay for a chat. He mentioned his proposition occasionally but didn’t push. He
probably knew what I was doing… background work. I met the kid he intended to
make the manager of his new place, a stunningly handsome and aggressively macho
Peruvian immigrant named Tonio Malvan. I wasn’t sure he was appropriate for
such a position until I watched him work the room. He was welcomed at every
table and booth whether occupied by beer-swilling sports fans or prim Long
Island Tea-sipping ladies.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">Bobo slipped onto the stool beside me. “You here to
accept my offer?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Getting closer, but not there.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Need an answer. Costing me money to hold onto the North
Valley location.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Pretty well answered my technical questions,” I said.
“But one thing’s bothering me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“And that is?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Why me? You know Joe and Brimley a lot longer than me.
Why not one of them? Or did you go to them and get turned down?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Came to you first. And for one reason. I know you went
through a divorce a year back that cleaned you out. Still, you’ve got a good
reputation and a sterling credit rating. You’re well regarded in law circles.”
He poked a thumb at me. “You’re the ideal candidate.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Checked me out, have you?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“About as thoroughly as you’ve checked me out. How do I
stack up?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">I paused a moment. “A-Okay.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">Bobo was a sharp cookie. “I sense a little hesitation
there? Let me tell you what you found. Nobody had a bad word to say about me,
not even my competition. But they left you with a question in the air. Am I
right?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Right on point.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">He nodded. “Okay, let’s reason this out. I’m in the
liquor business. The liquor business gets a bum rap in this state. Still
carries an odor around with it from the old days when the mob was deep in it.
Carryover from prohibition. As for my competition, they can’t find a damned
thing to say bad about me, so they just let a facial expression or a question
mark hanging in the air do the job for them.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Okay. Fair enough. So clear something else up for me. Who’s
putting up the money for the license, and how do they get paid?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“I’m springing for it. You’ve got no obligation at all.”
He grinned at me. “And in the normal world, I’d cut your lease fee in half and
consider I was doing you a favor. But this is the highly regulated liquor world
we’re talking about here, so you get the full ride.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“And now we’re at the nub of it. I’m a lawyer, Roberto,
schooled in the proposition you can’t do indirectly what you can’t do
directly.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">He frowned. “Are you kidding me? Happens every day in and
out of the law profession.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">I thought for a moment. “You separately incorporating the
North Valley operation?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">Bobo nodded. “Yeah.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Give me the papers so I can look them over.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“I’ll send you the info. Okay?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Sounds fine.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">The first wrinkle came when I received the incorporating
papers he sent me. Papi’s Inc. didn’t mention Roberto Denofrio Kelly anywhere. I
recognized Tonio Malvan’s name as president, but not any of the others. Nor did
Bob’s wife show up anywhere. Off putting to say the least.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">Then there was that name. Papi’s. I didn’t speak a lot of
Spanish, but I’d heard the word used as a term of affection for men. Was this
going to be a gay bar? Did I care? Not really. Just because it wasn’t my cup of
tea wasn’t any reason to go ballistic over it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">But that plus the absence of Bobo’s fingerprint on the
deal put the pause on my enthusiasm. The next time I was in Roberto’s <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I swiped the shot glass Tonio placed on the
coaster in front of me at the bar. A friend at Albuquerque PD came back to me
with some interesting information.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">Tonio Malvan wasn’t Tonio Malvan at all. He was a
character named Antonio Galveis y Humberto, a forty-year-old with good genes
and a bad record. Convicted of burglary, assault, and indecent exposure in
Lima. Worse yet, manslaughter in Cusco. He’d spent a good part of his life in
one prison or the other.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">Did that bother me? Well, yeah, both as a lawyer and as a
human being. Was Bobo aware of his protégé’s background? If so, what did that
say about him? Nah, he couldn’t know. He wouldn’t make a half a million dollar bet
on such a shady character.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">So that evening, I stopped by Roberto’s after work. Tonio
looked—I dunno—somehow more sinister. Still, as I watched him work the room, I
couldn’t help but admire the way he interfaced with his customers. I mentally
shook my head. That was surface. What lay beneath was what counted.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">Therefore, when Bobo plopped down at my side, I confided
what I knew.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">His steady gaze right into my eyes before he spoke disconcerted
me somewhat. “Is that right?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">What did that mean. Had he known? I took a guess. “Take
it you knew all about Tonio’s background. You wouldn’t gamble on him unless you
checked him out from top to bottom.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">The green eyes fell away. “Yeah, I know all about him.
Don’t you believe in giving a guy a second chance?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Looks to me like this one’s been given several.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">Bobo shrugged. “He’s clean up here. And he’s good with
the customers.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Until he assaults one of them.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Been plenty of times somebody’s got rowdy, and Tonio’s
handled it okay.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">“Bobo, you may be willing to take a risk on him, but I’m
not. I’m gonna pass.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">He shook his head. “You need to think about that. This
deal will put a lot of green on your plate.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">That comment made my mind up for me. “No thanks, It’s not
for me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">Roberto Denofrio Kelly dropped off my radar after that.
He stopped coming to our rat pack get togethers, and I stopped going to his
bar. In a weird sort of way, it bothered me. I knew he still saw the other
guys, but in time I recognized it would have remained awkward between us and
accepted the situation.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">Papi’s opened within three months of my last meeting with
Bobo. I avoided the opening, although the other went. I couldn’t help but
wonder who fronted for the license, but wasn’t interested enough to probe into
it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">A year to the day of my last meeting with Roberto
Denofrio Kelly, I opened the Albuquerque Journal to devour with my coffee and
bagel to find headlines screaming at me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><i>Prominent
local lounge owner arrested.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><i>Local
attorney apparently involved in scheme.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">According to the article, Papi’s was a front for moving
large quantities of liquor to a couple of shady outlets. Apparently, under New
Mexico liquor control laws, it was illegal to resell large quantities of alcohol
to parties at a fixed price. I didn’t understand the mechanics of the thing,
but somehow it involved avoiding taxes on alcohol.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">What really hit me between the eyes was that my buddy,
Joe, had apparently fronted for the Papi license, and was now ensnared—innocently
or otherwise—in the case.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner">Damn Roberto Denofrio Kelly to Hell and back twenty
times!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="tab-stops: 139.8pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">Well there it
is. That fishy smell can sometimes save a guy a lot of headaches if he pays
attention to it. Hope you enjoyed the story.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Until we meet next week, stay safe and stay strong.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Now my mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say... so say it!</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Please check out my BJ Vinson murder series starting with <i>The Zozobra Incident </i>and ending with <i>The Cutie Pie Murders.</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">My personal links:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Email: don.travis@aol.com</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">X: @dontravis3</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">See you next Thursday.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Don</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">New Posts every Thursday at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.</i></p><p></p><p></p><p></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-39088016204977010412024-01-04T04:00:00.000-08:002024-01-04T04:00:00.136-08:00Roberto Denofrio Kelly (Part 1 of 2 Parts)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #635</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of Vecteezy:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqlBLrXNdXn74sz2EJxu4UNCqyeyd8x4_NhfCv-4Bm94tRFFclHF1SouffoLNzjkiEAjJVXt2OHymiyB5KA_eu0UrX_gtgJR4tOR1KDbVsJb2yMZKynJUt8jaiGzeYIifuexcEgWMnE0IKvLuVp2CqZgFHdsQhzTBHoHCmAmwtoOwOF779wruAivuy2LlR/s260/Roberto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="260" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqlBLrXNdXn74sz2EJxu4UNCqyeyd8x4_NhfCv-4Bm94tRFFclHF1SouffoLNzjkiEAjJVXt2OHymiyB5KA_eu0UrX_gtgJR4tOR1KDbVsJb2yMZKynJUt8jaiGzeYIifuexcEgWMnE0IKvLuVp2CqZgFHdsQhzTBHoHCmAmwtoOwOF779wruAivuy2LlR/s1600/Roberto.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Last
week Monday met Wednesday and Friday, and they got something going together.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">This
week, a totally different tone. Hope you enjoy it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="tab-stops: 117.0pt center 3.25in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">ROBERTO DENOFRIO KELLY<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Anyone else would introduce
himself as Robert or Bob Kelly, but not Roberto Denofrio Kelly. You got the
full moniker every time. And to top off matters, if you used the familiar with
him, he insisted on Bobo.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“If my proper Christian name
is Roberto, not Robert, then my proper nickname is Bobo, not Bob,” he endlessly
explained.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Roberto always had a flair for
the dramatic, so this affectation should have come as no surprise. It was
easier to tack on the “O” than to argue with him. But I had to get back at him…
just a little bit.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Well, my name’s properly
Bryson Charles Haggerty, but it’s okay if you call me Bryce.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He’d been a part of the social
set I ran with long before I moved to Albuquerque, so putting up with him was a
must if I wanted to hang with the others. I often wondered how his wife Estelle
put up with him, but she was a mousy thing who seemed to let a lot of things
sail right over her head… which was probably the answer to my question.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">My friends threw me a birthday
party—the first one in my new habitat—at my house this past week. Wasn’t a
surprise. They’d openly planned it for a couple of weeks. I had the grace to be
born in late June so we were able to grill steaks and eat a decorated cake on
the patio. Joe the Jock—probably my closest friend since we worked in the same
law firm—and his wife Francine, Brimley the intellectual—appropriately a
professor of history at UNM—and his wife Nancy, and the Kelly couple laughed
and joked with me for two solid, pleasant hours. I was solo since I’d moved
here last year from back east following the termination of an unhappy marriage.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Did I fail to mention Bobo
owned a popular neighborhood bar not surprisingly called “Roberto’s?” So
naturally, there was a surplus of alcohol at the party. Joe got snockered,
which was unfortunate because he had a court date at ten the next morning. Brimley
drank steadily, but booze seemed to have no effect on him. Bobo didn’t drink
more than the birthday toast. I guess being around alcohol so much left him
looking for other outlets. Oh, I exaggerate. He usually had a glass in his hand
or on a nearby table at the party, but I seldom saw him sip from it. Me, I
simply got pleasantly looped. I had neither a drive home nor a morning court
date, so I was okay.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The ladies pretty well stuck
to their end of the patio, gossiping among themselves, except for the occasion
foray to our end to say hello or plant a peck on an appropriate cheek,
including mine as the birthday boy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">As agreed, the gifts were minor
and jocular—an awful, psychedelic tie that would never adorn my neck, a pair of
equally scandalous socks—but Bobo handed over a bottle of twenty-five-year-old
Laphroaig Scotch that must have cost five hundred bucks. Despite my protest it
was too much, he refused to take it back. So I popped the cork and allowed my
guests to partake of the excellent whiskey or whisky—Bobo informed us that
while Scotch is whiskey, it’s whiskey without the <i>e</i>. Hey, I’m a lawyer,
so I know the law. He’s a barman, so he knows his whisky. However you spell it,
it was outstanding, and probably wasted on that lot.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">A week later, I returned home
from the office at the same time Bobo pulled up in front of the house in his
Mercedes. We met on the sidewalk and shook hands.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Bobo,” I acknowledged him,
trying not to smirk as I did so.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Bryce,” he accordingly
responded. “Glad I caught you. Wanted to talk a little business if you’ve got
the time.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Business? Isn’t the place for
that in the office.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He shook his head. “Not law
office business. Business between you and me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Curious, I waved. “Come on in,
and I’ll serve you a drink of twenty-five year-old Scotch some generous soul
gave me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">We mentioned the beautiful weather
and the state of the union and other tidbits while I poured. Then we took seats
in my den.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">As he settled himself into an
easy chair across from me, it dawned on me he was a good-looking man with an
easy manner. Perfect for a lounge owner. He could put his customers at ease and
in a drinking mood without breaking a sweat. “What can I do for you?” I probed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Appreciate it if we can keep
this confidential. Just between us.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I went on guard. “Sure, if I
can. I mean—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I know what you mean. Shouldn’t
be any problem.” He paused for a sip of his drink. “I’m not certain how much
you know about New Mexico liquor laws.” He hesitated.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Not much,” I filled in the pause.
“My practice hasn’t rubbed up against the Alcohol and Gaming Division much so
far.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Well, to put it succinctly, I’d
like you to obtain a dispenser’s license. You get it, and I’ll lease it from
you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Why?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I want to open a new place.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You have a license.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Yes, but in New Mexico you
can’t split licenses. Need one for each place of business. But you can lease
them. That’s what I want to do.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Have your wife or son get
one.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I don’t have children, and I
don’t involve my wife in my business.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Not even as a place holder?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Not even as a place holder.
Let me tell you what I have in mind. I’ve got a prime spot in the North Valley
on hold. It’ll attract a totally different crowd from Roberto’s. I’ve got a
young Latino on salary as my assistant manager. Bright young fellow in his
thirties. Good at working with the crowd. Understands the business. He’ll
manage it for me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Then have him get the
license.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Bobo wrinkled his brow. “I’d
rather risk half a million on a solid, reputable professional man.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I felt my eyebrows climb. “It
cost’s half a million dollars to get a license in this state?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Naw. Costs between five and
ten grand, depending upon the type, but we’re limited to the number of licenses
the state can issue, so that means new bars have to buy or lease existing licenses.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Where would I find one?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I’ve located one.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Then lease it from the owner.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“The old boy’s in his nineties.
Doesn’t want to lease. Wants to sell, but I already own a license and can’t buy
it. That’s where you come in. Interested.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I don’t have five-hundred
thousand to invest.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Don’t have to. I’ve got it
worked out. That way, your lease fee is pure profit.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Both my interest and my
antennae rose. My ex took a hell of a lot of my assets with her in the divorce…
but for some reason this just didn’t seem right.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="tab-stops: 139.8pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">Smells fishy
to me too, but the liquor license game has been going on in New Mexico for a
long, long time, so I guess we shouldn’t rush judgment. Let’s let it play out
next week.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Until then, stay safe and stay strong.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Now my
mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so
say it! </i><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Please
check out my BJ Vinson murder mystery series starting with <i>The Zozobra
Incident </i>and ending with <i>The Cutie-Pie Murders</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">My
personal links:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Email: </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7641011964551074572/5034309531260935226"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">don.travis@aol.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Twitter: @dontravis3<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">See you next Thursday.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-1051814744345150182023-12-28T04:00:00.000-08:002023-12-28T04:00:00.255-08:00Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, a Repost<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #634</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Images Courtesy of ClipartMax.com:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTHMUdSFbIYgbs42NCm6caAfTfA-4t123WUzGRuzlGqSW2S07li400BjN2jH-nx4HAUv5WPYuOPfKmPeODYlVOhOimBAJE1jahiyx8soDMXAPlZlFCJlIQvZ7lrhy_z9fM-IjKA7_RuD0KCvIqogk64l2NtW3BQuyhR6DQwTxDhWTLQYuwEhdD35yOWtQV/s200/Monday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="144" data-original-width="200" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTHMUdSFbIYgbs42NCm6caAfTfA-4t123WUzGRuzlGqSW2S07li400BjN2jH-nx4HAUv5WPYuOPfKmPeODYlVOhOimBAJE1jahiyx8soDMXAPlZlFCJlIQvZ7lrhy_z9fM-IjKA7_RuD0KCvIqogk64l2NtW3BQuyhR6DQwTxDhWTLQYuwEhdD35yOWtQV/s1600/Monday.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Well,
our nameless hero got his petty revenge on Graciela last week. Didn’t
accomplish much except bring some satisfaction into his dim life, and that was
worth something, right?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Swore
I wasn’t going to do this again, but the week got away from me—life intruding,
you know—and I’m going to repost a story again. This one was originally
published on May 8, 2018, and it’s one I forgot about and rediscovered. I like
it. I hope you do too.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">MONDAY,
WEDNESDAY, AND FRIDAY<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">I left the chapel following Charles
Farrelson’s memorial service somewhat spiritually fractured. Chuck, thirty
years my senior, had been both father figure and lover for the past five years.
For at least 250 of the last 260 Wednesdays, he’d filled my afternoons with
good food, sharp wit, and loving caresses. Yet the sorrow tugging at my
heartstrings felt selfish. It seemed more centered on what was taken from me,
rather than his life being snatched from him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">Feeling the need for
nourishment, sustenance… something. I walked past the cars in the parking lot
and struck out for the Famous Four Flavors ice cream shop across the street. A
tall hunky guy I’d noticed at the service entered before me. I’d picked up on him
not only because he was so handsome but also because he was Chuck’s son Drake.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">Restraining the impulse to
introduce myself, I fell in line behind him wondering how he’d feel about
meeting his father’s gay lover. Once he collected his chocolate shake, I
ordered a strawberry. Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I walked toward a nearby table
until a deep baritone brought me to a halt.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“I noticed you at the service.” Drake
indicated a chair. “Join me?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">When I was settled, he offered a
handshake. “Hi, I’m Drake Barstow.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">I grasped his hand and frowned.
“N-not Drake Farrelson?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">His eyebrows reached for his dark
hairline. “No. Why would you think that?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“I’ve seen you before. Last
December, I saw you and Chuck leaving Dillards. I asked him later, and he said
you were his son.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">His astonished look morphed into
glee. “That old dog! Now let me guess. You’re not Carl, Chuck’s nephew. You
see, I saw you with him once, too, at the University bookstore.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“I’m Carl, all right. But I’m
not his nephew. I was… uh, a friend.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Yeah, a friend. What was your
day?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“My day?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“When did you meet him? Was it
on a special day of the week?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Well… yes. We got together for
lunch or something every Wednesday.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Yeah, or something. I was
Friday. That’s the day we got together for… something.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“You… you mean you and Chuck…?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“That’s exactly what I mean.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“For how long?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Ten years. I was eighteen when
I met him. Got together with him every Friday after that except when one of us
was out of town. And that wasn’t often, I can tell you.” He arched an eyebrow
at me. “How long for you?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Five years. I was eighteen,
too.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Apparently, that’s the age when
we first grab his attention. But he was loyal, in his own way, I guess you
could say. Outside of Chuck, what do you do?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">I felt my cheeks burn. “No one.
It was just—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Sorry, that’s not what I meant.
What do you do to keep a roof over your head?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“I’m a commercial artist. You?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Photographer. And I’ll bet
you’ve got as many intimate drawings as I have photographs.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">My cheeks really flamed then.
“Uh, a few.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Yeah, I’ve got some scorchers,
too.” His attention strayed from me to the front door of the shop. “Hang on, I
think we’re about to meet Monday.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">I looked where his gaze was
centered and saw the other individual who’d caught my attention at the memorial
service. Impossibly young and blond, the kid was really cute.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“What makes you think—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Well, he’s not Chuck’s son or
nephew, and probably not even a cousin. But he was at the service. What are the
odds?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">We both watched the kid’s
coltish, self-conscious carriage as he ordered a coke and then turned to glance
uncertainly over the room. His eyes stopped on us before moving on.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Have a chair,” Drake said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">With only a moment’s hesitation,
the kid sat.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">We identified ourselves and
watched the newcomer’s reaction. His blue eyes skittered back and forth between
us as he sank into a chair at the table.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Confused?” Drake asked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Uh….”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Well, I’m not Chuck’s son, and
Carl’s not his nephew. Now let me make a couple of guesses about you. You’re
what? About twenty or twenty-one?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Twenty.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Your name’s Jake and you met
Carl about two years ago.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">The kid seemed flustered.
“That’s right. How did you know?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“I saw you with Carl once at the
Kimo. He told me your name later.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“You <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">saw </i>us?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Bound to happen sooner or later,” I said.
“Albuquerque’s not that big of a town.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">Jake looked as if he was about
to bolt.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“It’s okay,” Drake said. You’re
among brethren.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“What do you mean?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“What I mean is I’m Friday,
Carl’s Wednesday, and I’ll bet you’re Monday.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“I don’t know what you—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Come on, don’t play coy. You
met Chuck for lunch and playtime every Monday, right?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“I met him, yes, but—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Butt being the operative word.
You got it on with him. We all did.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">Now it was Jake’s turn to send
his eyebrows northward. “You mean…?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Yep. That’s exactly what I
mean. Old Chuck got his jollies every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday with us. Who
knows, we might be why his heart failed. Hell, he wasn’t even fifty-five yet.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That </i>comment sat on the table for a moment while we all digested
it. Then Drake took charge again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“Now what we have to do is
figure out the situation. You know” he turned pedantic. “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Let not what Chuck sowed be put asunder!”</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">Jake and I blinked back at him
for a moment before smiling.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">“How do you know we’re
compatible?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">Drake winked. “I’d bet on it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="line-height: normal;">After raising a silent toast to
our dear, departed Chuck, we put our heads together and started working out our
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****</span></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">That story didn’t
come out of any experience of mine. Reading it makes me wonder how my mind
works, but I’ll not delve into that too deeply. At the turn of the year, I’ll
try to do something original… although I am taking on a new project that’s
going to demand a lot of my time. Hopefully, it’s productive in the end.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Until next week, stay safe and strong.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Now my mantra. <i>keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say... so say it!</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Please check out my seven BJ Vinson murder mystery books published by Dreamspinner Press.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">My personal links:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Email: dontravis@aol.com</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">X: @dontravis3</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">See you next Thursday.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Don</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></p><p></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-87749723372386318912023-12-21T04:00:00.000-08:002023-12-26T23:36:47.125-08:00Sometimes Things Turn Out All Right, a Repost<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #633</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Images Courtesy of ClipartMax.com:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOqDx3R0MrTuOiamsVkzvaiamfzw1fC71mHdXtgiNEKiLMPjzucCh9e3FJgdDAzBxqen3wDpjS5j46bfIqcTDyB5amMqwhby2THqSXYEHV43RtckpQ6kNtypD7JRvKuaFFZR8t6Zq3zMyoa18bgmqjMuDbdMHK2bbTiXZwynAhlEPdVY7f_liYq3ohoYqZ/s227/Sometimes.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="227" data-original-width="222" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOqDx3R0MrTuOiamsVkzvaiamfzw1fC71mHdXtgiNEKiLMPjzucCh9e3FJgdDAzBxqen3wDpjS5j46bfIqcTDyB5amMqwhby2THqSXYEHV43RtckpQ6kNtypD7JRvKuaFFZR8t6Zq3zMyoa18bgmqjMuDbdMHK2bbTiXZwynAhlEPdVY7f_liYq3ohoYqZ/s1600/Sometimes.png" width="222" /></a></div><p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Hope
you enjoyed last week’s story about Chuck the Rock and Perry the Brick. Today,
I’ll wish everyone a Merry Christmas and happy Holiday Season and wimp out with
a repost. I’ll blame it on the busy season, although I don’t know what my buddy
Mark Wildyr will say because he told me he’s doing the same thing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">I
first ran the following story on Thursday, August 14, 2014. I’ve not edited it
a bit, so you can tell he how much my story-telling style has evolved. Enjoy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"> ****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">SOMETIMES
THINGS TURN OUT ALL RIGHT<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I
thought I’d die when she walked up to me. Guys aren’t supposed to admit things
like that, but, man, that’s the way I felt. Part of it was surprise, and part
of it was pure excitement.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Graciela
(I never called her Gracie like everyone else) and I had a history that
stretched back to grade school. We’d started out yanking hair and kicking shins,
but that switched to lipping off to one another as we got older. But I went
virtually mute the first time I noticed she had breasts. One day she was built pretty
much like me and the next, these knobby little <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">things </i>popped out on her chest. Kinda hard holding a casual
conversation while sneaking glances at those awkward protrusions.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The
real transformation took place our freshman year in high school. Those knobs
became balloons. Her rounded hips made my throat go dry. Imp-face became
Pixie-face. Right about then, Graciela discovered boys. Not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this </i>boy. Not the schmuck next door, but
guys older than me. Guys with shoulders and biceps and pecs and Adam’s apples.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I
used to hang around hoping she’d notice me. I’d head for school at the same
time she did. I went to school dances … which I loathed … just to see her
dressed up like a movie star. And in the privacy of my bedroom at night, I did
my best to render myself blind while holding onto a mental image of her. And
felt unclean afterward.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My
senior year I used some of my hard-earned savings and bought an old Ford, a jalopy
like you saw in the Archie cartoons but without the rumble seat. Guys that
hadn’t given me the time of day got to be buddies, but Graciela didn’t give me
a second glance.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">One
warm, pleasant Saturday afternoon about one-thirty, I breezed through the front
door heading for my car in the driveway. As I reached for the door handle,
Graciela materialized beside me. Surprised me. Scared the crap out of me,
actually.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Johnny,”
she cooed. Only person I knew who could speak and coo at the same time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Uh
… oh, hi. Didn’t see you there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“I
need a favor. Please.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She
had the prettiest “pleases” of anyone in town. “What’s that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“I
need a ride to the mall.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Our
only mall, The Eastside Mall, was – guess what – on the east side of town. I’d
intended to head in the opposite direction to meet a couple of the guys at the
municipal swimming pool. But screw the guys.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As
she settled in the front seat beside me, my mind’s eye saw us holding hands and
exchanging glances as I drove down Henderson Drive. Me, a man in control of his
powerful automobile, and she, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the</i> woman
at my side. My starter ground, shattering the image. Nonetheless, I got the old
jalopy started and backed out of the drive, almost clipping the mailman as I
did so. Anxious for something to say in the face of near disaster, I cleared my
throat as I followed her directions and parked as close to Dillard’s as possible.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“I
can hang around and bring you back home, if you want.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“That’s
sweet. But I don’t know how long I’ll be,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“I
don’t mind. I can just … you know, hang.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“I’m
meeting someone.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Who?
Marcy?” She and Marcy were as different as night and day, but they were tight.
“I wouldn’t mind having a pretty woman hanging off each arm.” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Did I really say that out loud?</i> My
cheeks felt like they were on fire. They actually burned. I didn’t dare glance
at her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Not
Marcy. Well, thanks loads.” She tossed the words at me as she flounced out of
the car and slammed the door.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">By
the time I got my voice-box to working she was walking down the sidewalk toward
a dork named Freddy Fleisher. Last year’s fullback … this year’s freshman at
the community college. All shoulders, biceps, thighs, and a real Adam’s apple. With
hair on his legs, to boot.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When
they hugged, I felt like something tore loose inside me. He planted a kiss on
her lips before opening the car door for her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’d</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">driven her to her date? </i>Why
didn’t he pick her up? My blood pressure dropped twenty points. I felt used. Like
a taxi driver who got stiffed for the fare. I sat there like dog doo on the
bottom of a shoe, my eyes watching the two-year-old Olds convertible fire up.
Freddie revved the engine before throwing the transmission into Reverse.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Movement
caught my eye. A vehicle motoring down the lane was invisible to the couple in
the Olds because of an SUV parked on their right. Mr. Flannery, the same
postman I’d almost nailed, was headed to the mall’s substation. I could
probably have honked a warning, but I didn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I
expected a big crash when Freddie came roaring backwards out of the parking space
but it was more of a thud and a crunch. Freddie must have been flustered –
decidedly uncool – because he slammed the Olds in Drive and shot forward, smashing
his front end into the Chevy parked on his left.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Graciela
and Freddie piled out of the car, both talking a blue streak. What I got out of
the rush of words was that Freddie was wrapped up in the wreck of his dad’s wheels,
while she was bitching about being late for an appointment.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I
took a deep breath, eased my jalopy in gear and rolled past the scene of the
accident. As Gracie tried frantically to wave me to a stop, I gave her a casual
salute and went on by. A swim with a couple of buddies – boring though they
might be – seemed like a good idea right about then.</span></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">We all get
petty now and then, don’t we. Can’t say I blamed him.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Until next week, stay safe and stay strong.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Now my
mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so
say it! </i><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Please
check out my BJ Vinson murder mystery series starting with <i>The Zozobra
Incident </i>and ending with <i>The Cutie-Pie Murders</i>. I may be biased, but
I still think they’d make great Christmas gifts for the right person.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">My
personal links:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Email: </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7641011964551074572/5034309531260935226"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">don.travis@aol.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Twitter: @dontravis3<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">See you next Thursday.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> D</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">on</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-15739428519962987672023-12-14T04:00:00.000-08:002023-12-14T04:00:00.142-08:00The Rock and the Brick<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #632</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Images Courtesy of IconScout
and PNGkey:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1tpwlSjRJwe10XcTKHhnnB9jI_gRjwNi-3Tp6uQfPrXUJB1WZK3SArNbru8O2b1JhetL0YmH72Hlmt-37rSfD8Z9Y8rZ2tYN9Dlc3ECufrPmXsQs4nKVivqAziJ0U8z-t6AXS6pB8scioHc2n_Qog3dAtHJdaCYrex63gHjS6DfiFm6mtvQUO5h9ksCFf/s225/Rock-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1tpwlSjRJwe10XcTKHhnnB9jI_gRjwNi-3Tp6uQfPrXUJB1WZK3SArNbru8O2b1JhetL0YmH72Hlmt-37rSfD8Z9Y8rZ2tYN9Dlc3ECufrPmXsQs4nKVivqAziJ0U8z-t6AXS6pB8scioHc2n_Qog3dAtHJdaCYrex63gHjS6DfiFm6mtvQUO5h9ksCFf/s1600/Rock-1.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">After completing “Boy for Sale,” we have an inkling what private investigators go through in resolving their cases. Wonder if that’s really true? Do any of you know a PI who’d do something like that out of a sense of duty?<o:p></o:p></p><div><br /></div><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpzUJjGz31MqUR0jKm6G7lVPlLFxsX3OMi6BeYRVsizA4bo3b1p5zvubLd5J6hBKI4oEGfa61lpps8aY9tn45BJXwy9CcaGryi2VjerHFuAnWKHvlqUUM7fdg7rt1t3dwPjamYUqS6pF7ed8Rw-Yf6C8MTcQi-PQWK8cfF8yyO0hwkYTdBw6zdxebYztW1/s228/Rock-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="221" data-original-width="228" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpzUJjGz31MqUR0jKm6G7lVPlLFxsX3OMi6BeYRVsizA4bo3b1p5zvubLd5J6hBKI4oEGfa61lpps8aY9tn45BJXwy9CcaGryi2VjerHFuAnWKHvlqUUM7fdg7rt1t3dwPjamYUqS6pF7ed8Rw-Yf6C8MTcQi-PQWK8cfF8yyO0hwkYTdBw6zdxebYztW1/w217-h210/Rock-2.jpg" width="217" /></a></div><br /><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Today, we’ll have a piece of flash fiction. Hope you enjoy it.</p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">****</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">THE
ROCK AND THE BRICK<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">My buddy spelled his name C-H-U-C-K
while his wife penned hers as J-U-D-I. Misspelled it is more like it. I know
for a fact she was plain Judy back when she was in pigtails. And so far as I
was concerned, that said everything about their union there was to say.
Charles, known to one and all as Chuck, was biscuits and gravy with eggs-over-easy,
while Judi was more Swiss rösti with smoked salmon. That pegged the two of them
perfectly in the mental envelope of my mind. I’d predicted domestic problems
from the beginning, but they defied my logic and seemed the perfect pair of
love birds.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">For three years.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The first apparent crack
appeared six months ago when Chuck let his mouth get away from him when four of
us were having our weekly boy’s night out at Steve’s Neighborhood Bar. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Chuck, Billy, Steve, and I had
gone to high school together, split up to attend different colleges, and
returned home to pursue careers. I’m Perry, by the way, but years ago high
school sportscasters dubbed me Brick—for that fabled brick outhouse—and Brick I
remain today. Chuck and I ended up in the same architectural firm, me as an
architect, and him as a draftsman and surveyor. Billy operated a first-rate
auto repair shop in town, and Steve owned the bar where we go to water once a
week.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Anyway, this one night, Chuck
bellyached about a dress Judi’d bought for an upcoming shindig at the office. A
way-too-expensive, filmy thing he didn’t even think was appropriate. Of course,
we needled him about being king of his own household, which didn’t improve his
mood any.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Over the next week, he showed
up at work late once, unshaven once, and grumpy the rest of the time. The
office shindig at the country club proved to be a big success, and while Judi
looked like a million dollars in a filmy, pink chiffon thing, I had to admit it
was a bit over-the-top for one of our affairs.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The second clue came when
Chuck showed up at my house one night and asked if he could spend the night on
my couch. I told him I had a perfectly good second—or even—third bedroom, and
he could have his choice of either. He hadn’t arrive until late, so neither of
us felt like talking much. I offered sympathy because I’d gone through all this
a year or so ago when my wife and I called it quits. I kept my house; she took
my money and moved out of state. You’d think that would be an open invitation
to glory in my new-found freedom and paint the town, but I chose to remain
monastic and concentrate on restoring my financial solvency. My Ex was capable
of earning as much as I was, so she took her pieces of my flesh in the form of cash.
I wasn’t saddled with alimony, thank goodness.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The next morning, Chuck and I elected
to have breakfast at a little diner we both favored. To make a point—we both
had biscuits and gravy with eggs-over-easy. He wasn’t very forthcoming, tending
to nurse his coffee afterward and husband his words. I did draw him out enough
to understand his brother-in-law had showed up, stayed the weekend, and cajoled
Judi out of five hundred dollars.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He kept his own counsel at
work, so I did likewise and didn’t mention the incident. But Friday night at
the bar, he let it all out to his three buddies. Seems like five hundred bucks
wasn’t all of it. Chuck’s wife had given her brother her car and was now
agitating for another. She’d never liked the Chevy she’d driven for the last
three years. Wanted something fancier, of course. Perhaps earlier I should have
used the simile, Chuck was Chevy while Judi was Cadillac to explain them.
Except, she was demanding something foreign. A Jaguar, I think. Who knew? I’d
never have pegged her for someone wanting anything to do with the jungle.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The upshot was that I now had
a houseguest at least once a week. Chuck’s golf game went to pot so badly he
had to quit betting with us… couldn’t afford the club membership <i>and </i>the
losses. Before the summer was out, it was clear to me his marriage was heading
the same direction mine had gone. To oblivion.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Chuck didn’t have my hindsight
and continued to insist they were just going through a rough spot. Mighty big briar
patch… better part of six months now. He’d forgiven the five hundred lost to
his brother-in-law, found a used Jaguar for Judi, and expected things to settle
down. Didn’t, of course, she’d wanted a new Jag. Since he was absolutely sure
she wasn’t running around on him in her new, used car, he considered everything
had worked out okay.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Yeah, right.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Football season had started
before my doorbell rang at night again. I opened the door, waved him in and
hurried back into the den and the television set. Nothing was said until one
team called timeout.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“So what’s up, Chuck? You in
the doghouse again, or did you come over to watch the game?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He almost broke up, which made
me regret my flip remark. “She’s leaving me, Brick. Told me so tonight.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“She doesn’t mean it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Yeah, she does. Already leased
a place. Showed me the contract.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Oh.” I swallowed all my
“you’ll be better off” remarks and took a good look at my friend. And he was my
friend. My best… my closest buddy in the world. When we were teenagers, I’d had
a crush on him. I would’ve been his slave, done anything he’d wanted, if he’d simply
arched an eyebrow. From fifteen to seventeen, that is. I was seventeen when I
met my future wife, and that changed everything.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The rest of the ballgame was
lost, my time taken up commiserating with my buddy in his time of trouble.
Didn’t offer advice. Knew from my own experience that advice wasn’t what he
needed at the moment. Time for that later. He just needed sympathy. Empathy.
Someone to be there for him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Then he lost control. I’d seen
Chuck grit his teeth at a broken ankle, take a brutal kidney punch in a teenage
brawl, and let someone put a dislocated shoulder back in place, all without so
much as anything beyond a groan. Never seen the guy shed a tear over anything.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Until tonight.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">When the dam burst, I
instinctively scooted over on the couch beside him and draped my arm around his
shoulders. For fifteen minutes, I sat—semi-holding my best friend—while he hemorrhaged
tears and words. Half the words so slurred I don’t know what they were.
Eventually, the words ran out, but the tears didn’t. He turned into me and
buried his head in my neck. I held him, not daring to move, for a long time.
Well, probably wasn’t over a minute, but seemed like half an hour.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">When he finally spoke again,
the words were muffled.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Thanks, guy… you know, for
being a friend. D-didn’t mean to fall apart on you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Don’t worry about it,” I
said, patting his back fondly.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Must seem like a pussy,” he
snuffled, his lips tickling my neck.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Nah. Seem like the same old
Rock of Gibraltar to me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">That had been what the
announcer called him when he was a lineman on our high school football team. We’d
been the Rock and the Brick.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Quivering puddle of jelly’s
more like it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Chuck, you’re more man than
anyone I know,” I said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“R-really? Hope for me yet?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You got lots of good times
ahead of you. Better ones than with Judi,” I quipped, stressing the <i>y </i>that
belonged on the end of her name. “You’ve got adventures you’ve thought about
for years to explore, experiences you’ve only dreamed about—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I lost the ability to speak
when his lips suddenly covered mine. Surprised, shocked, I started to push him
away, but relented.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Oh, what the hell! Might as
well see what I missed back when I was sixteen.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="tab-stops: 139.8pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">It isn’t often
we get to relive our sixteenth year, is it? Wonder how Brick enjoyed it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Until next week, stay safe and stay strong. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Now my mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say... so say it! </i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In case you haven't done so </span>lately,<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> please take a look at my BJ Vinson murder mystery series starting with </span></span><i style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The Zozobra Incident </i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and ending with </span></span><i style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The Cutie Pie Murders. </i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Perhaps one of the seven books might make a good Christmas present for someone you know. There are also three </span>standalone<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> books.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">My personal links: <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Email: don.travis@aol.com.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">X: @dontravis3<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">See you next Thursday.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> Don</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p>New Posts every Thursday at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain Time.</o:p></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-35768624494552573332023-12-07T04:00:00.000-08:002023-12-07T04:00:00.246-08:00Boy For Sale (Part 2 of 2 Parts)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #631</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of Way Up Gifts:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1wn6QLFrPEuFjghKBk4iO-W8pSEFKPy_Jd6YTIQriSxj5PoSdCedSSvKIWQQyuwNmJ2f54y1etqk2LsLlh5IeXBmyDChE0JSPN26tbIMlEShBk5YEUtckfG1sC5Rhx1lRBe30SUMighF5J-ANRmBXDn6vLzNPgH7K-EdExdY3drt1JbLuazii6wsw6_bv/s600/Boy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1wn6QLFrPEuFjghKBk4iO-W8pSEFKPy_Jd6YTIQriSxj5PoSdCedSSvKIWQQyuwNmJ2f54y1etqk2LsLlh5IeXBmyDChE0JSPN26tbIMlEShBk5YEUtckfG1sC5Rhx1lRBe30SUMighF5J-ANRmBXDn6vLzNPgH7K-EdExdY3drt1JbLuazii6wsw6_bv/s320/Boy.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">So
last week, we saw Colin Ragner, who obviously dislikes gays, arranging to buy a
boy from a young, blond, obviously gay man called Kevin Tolliver. What’s up
with that?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Let’s
find out.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">BOY
FOR SALE<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Colin was a patient man, but
Kevin Tolliver wore it to a frazzle by dawdling over dinner, and dessert, and
an after-dinner drink. What was that kid Barton doing while they were wasting
time here. He wanted to pay for the goods and then depart with the “package,”
nothing more or nothing less.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He mentally shook himself.
Settle down. Barton will be just as good later as he is now. So play this weirdo’s
game.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">And a game it was, with
frequent intimate touches on the arm, leaning forward and laughing intimately, and
occasionally dropping the voice to a whisper. Lots of raucous laughter that
brought eyes of everyone in the joint to their table.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Abruptly, Tolliver swept to
his feet—he apparently didn’t get up and sit down like everyone else, he did it
dramatically. “Ready? Let’s go to your place,” the blond said loudly enough for
most of the room to hear.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Colin stood, placed his napkin
on the table, snatched the bill, and headed for the cashier, muttering his
hotel room number to his tormentor. Buying a boy from some creep shouldn’t be
so involved. Hand over the money, get the boy and go, that’s how it should be.
And that’s all it would be from now on. The games were over.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Colin turned over his car for
valet parking and strode into the lobby of the Manchester Hotel feeling as if he
looked like the fool he felt. He’d lost control of the situation, something he
should never have allowed to happen. As he entered the elevation, he muttered
the words he should have said in the first place, “Pony up, buster, or I’m gone.”
He took his irritation out on the button calling for the fourth floor.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He'd barely shed his coat
before the expected knock came. He admitted Tolliver, turning his back on him
insolently and striding into the room.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Kevin Tolliver glanced around.
“Nice. Make a nice love nest.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I wouldn’t know. Let’s get
down to business.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“My, my, impatient, aren’t we?
You’re not even going to offer me a libation?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You’ve libated on all of my
time you’re going to.” Colin reached under a table and brought out a thick
envelope. “Fifty thousand, like we agreed.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Tolliver accepted the package.
“You won’t mind if I count it, will you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Count it, and then let’s get
going.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You’re really hot for this
kid, aren’t you?” the blond said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Stop the sleaze talk and
start counting.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You’re beginning to sound
like you don’t enjoy my company. Oh, well, let’s complete our business.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The room was silent for the
next few minutes as Tolliver counted the money… twice. Finally he looked up. “Looks
like it’s all here.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Great. Where’s the kid?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I’ve decided to up the ante,”
Tolliver said. “I want something else.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“A deal’s a deal. The James
family isn’t all that wealthy. You should have kidnapped a bigger fish if you
wanted more money.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Oh, the money’s quite
adequate. It meets my needs quite adequately. But you’ve been so insolently
charming, I want something else.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“If not money, what?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Colin’s eyebrows shot up.
Revulsion crawled up his spine. “Me? No way, you slime ball. You’re not putting
your hands on me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Oh, it’s not my hands I want
to put on you, sweetie. Look at it this way, you can just lie back and enjoy it,
and the James family gets their darling boy back no worse for the wear. Or we
can go to war and somebody gets hurt.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Meaning you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Possibly, but what about poor
Barton. He might not come out of this so well, either. Why make it hard? Just
give me what I want. After all, it is your fault, you know.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Mine? How in the hell is it
my fault.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Tolliver smiled, dimpling his
left cheek. “Well, first… you’re much hunkier than I expected. Downright sexy. And
second, you’ve been sort of rude to me. Not overtly, but still quite dissing. So
I want payback. And I can’t imagine any payback more distasteful to you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You’re a real bastard, you
know that, don’t you,” Colins said between clenched teeth. “How do I even know
you’ve got the kid.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Oh, I’m prepared for that.
Proof of life, isn’t that what they call it?” Tolliver took out his phone and poked
some buttons. A moment later, he spoke into the mouthpiece. “Hi, doll. Yeah,
took longer than I thought. He insisted we have dinner first. Oh, yeah, he’s
dishy. You’d eat him up. Remember, we’re on face time. I’m going to hand the
phone to him, you point it at dear Barton. Don’t say anything, and don’t show
your face. Might want to have Barton move so our private investigator knows he’s
alive. Then terminate the call. Understood?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">A moment later, he handed the
little instrument to Colin. After some dizzying movement, a youth lying naked
on a bed came into focus Anxiety was evident in the features, but they were
handsome, nonetheless. Good definition of the body. No gag, but the eyes had a
vacant look. Drugged, most likely.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Barton, are you okay?” Colin
demanded.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The boy started, then nodded
and muttered something that sounded like “Kay.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Tolliver snatched the phone
back and killed the call. “Satisfied?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Yeah.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Now, let’s satisfy me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Colin gritted his teeth. Why
the hell not? He’d done some screwy things while ransoming kidnap victims
before, but none as screwy as this.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">With a sigh, he tore off his
shirt.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****</span></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">Aha, so Colin’s
a private investigator paid to ransom the Jones family’s kidnapped son and heir,
Barton. Wonder how the kid got himself in that kind of jam? Some sort of a gay
threesome with the wrong people? Who knows… but we can imagine all sorts of
scenarios, can’t we?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Until next week, stay safe and stay strong.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Now my
mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so
say it! </i>And for those of you who also read Mark Wildyr’s blog, don’t forget
it was my mantra first!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Please
check out my BJ Vinson murder mystery series starting with <i>The Zozobra
Incident </i>and ending with <i>The Cutie-Pie Murders</i>. I may be biased, but
I think they’d make great Christmas gifts for the right person.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">My
personal links:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Email: </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7641011964551074572/5034309531260935226"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">don.travis@aol.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Twitter: @dontravis3<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">See you next Thursday.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-17152505145752532272023-11-30T04:00:00.000-08:002023-11-30T04:00:00.138-08:00Boy For Sale (Part 1 of 2 Parts)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #630</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of Depositphotos:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg07ohs76h-d55QwnOAKlIhdm7pv9XccAeUKJ5SVX5zlZtFJQK22j-x8pS0Va-XRuA71xp0zbEiw60v68liD1oLROEkhnVeeHl2ENfJpHlLNt92XYsR5R8tGQcpsD3bTENHzHB4M64stdazmWlKzLvsNPwcNadCfApC2_gXWg6IDvRcN-oVLGgvLtZ9l4_1/s600/Boy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="450" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg07ohs76h-d55QwnOAKlIhdm7pv9XccAeUKJ5SVX5zlZtFJQK22j-x8pS0Va-XRuA71xp0zbEiw60v68liD1oLROEkhnVeeHl2ENfJpHlLNt92XYsR5R8tGQcpsD3bTENHzHB4M64stdazmWlKzLvsNPwcNadCfApC2_gXWg6IDvRcN-oVLGgvLtZ9l4_1/w150-h200/Boy.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Hope
everyone survived Turkey Day and got a kick out of my oddball story last week.
Try to do better this week with another two-part short story. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">BOY
FOR SALE<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Colin Ragner didn’t like the
looks of the place. Side street bistros unsettled him. A middlin’ sized sign with
dancing lights identified it as the Lost Soul’s Bar and Grill. He’d stood in
the night shadows across the street for a quarter of an hour and watched the
traffic. Men and women—and some individuals hard to pigeonhole—arrived as
singles and departed as couples. If the joint wasn’t a gay bar, it was at least
gay friendly. Not his kind of place.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Colin sighed. Didn’t matter.
That’s where he had to go. He’d kept his mark waiting for fifteen minutes, now
he needed to go inside. Tossing the cigarette he hadn’t smoked, just toyed with
by rolling across his lips, he stepped into the street, avoiding a puddle.
Rained most of the afternoon, merely overcast tonight.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The blue door swung open at
the touch of his fingers. Oiled and balanced. Heavy and expensive. The entryway
was properly dark. Management wanted just enough light to make everyone look
good. Patrons wouldn’t see blotches and blemishes on their tryst for the night until
lights went on in someone’s apartment later. Confirmed his impression. A hookup
joint. Classy one, though.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">A hefty black man stood
unobtrusively near the door. Muscle on the lookout for hellions. Apparently,
Colin didn’t register on his trouble meter. The man nodded courteously and
allowed him through.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The bar—long, gleaming, and
probably ebony—stretched along the right side of the room while the seating
area opened to the left. No booths. Tables only. Linen covers. He’d hate to pay
their laundry bill. The band stage stood vacant at the far end of the big room.
Probably didn’t have live entertainment until weekends. There’d be a cover
charge if musicians were performing, and no one had collected a penny when he
entered.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">A decent crowd ranging from
black tie and gowns to poplin and denims sat around the place. Only six or so
occupied stools at the bar. He spotted his mark among them and understood the
meeting venue. The guy was blond and good looking, the kind who could lounge
around for half a day waiting for the right hookup. Briefly, he wondered if the
young man was really gay. Didn’t really matter. Colin knew a big sissy who
could take on the entire Redskins line one at a time and be standing at the end…
be it fighting or fornicating.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Colin took a seat at this end
of the bar. Let the guy come to him. Be interesting to see his approach.
Blondie had already spotted him, of that he was certain. He’d seen a flicker in
the guy’s eyes in the big mirror that ran behind the bar.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">His mark was not patient. As
soon as Colin was served, he picked up his highball and moved down beside him.
“Wagner?” An error or checking for accuracy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Ragner,” he said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Right, Ragner. I’m Tolliver.
Thought for a while I was being stood up. But you were just being careful,
right?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Could be.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You have what I’m looking
for?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Colin caught a glint of humor
in the blue eyes. Gay. Definitely. Okay, that fit.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Course not,” he answered.
“Not about to bring that kind of money to a joint like this. Got more sense
than that.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The look of amusement
deepened. “Oh, you want to get me off to yourself, do you?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Colin played the game. “Didn’t
figure you’d object to a hotel room.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The grin turned into a broad
smile. “Yours or mine?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Mine, I think.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Tolliver raised his voice a
bit. “So long as it has a bed.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Playing to an audience, most
likely. If not, there might be trouble in the offing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Well, Mr. Colin Ragner, I
haven’t eaten, and they have a great menu here. Let’s take a table and order
before we go to your place. On you, of course.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Colin frowned. “I didn’t come
to this joint for a meal. I came to do business. You have the kid?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Oh, you’re anxious to see our
boy, aren’t you. He is a delicious handful, I can tell you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Colin lifted his head. “He’s
okay?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Of course, I wouldn’t sell
you damaged goods. Barton—that’s his name, you know—is one good-looking kid.
Handsome of face and form, as they say. Just the right age. Eighteen. Gay but
not a fem. Matter of fact, he’s downright macho. Off hand, I’d say the price is
right.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Okay, then let’s stop screwing
around and go get him.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“After dinner. My first name’s
Kevin, by the way. You can contain yourself long enough to dine with me, can’t
you? Besides, you’re a hunky dude, Colin. I want everyone to see what a catch I
made this evening. Jason, that’s the bartender, he’s already giving me a thumbs
up. He might ask for your phone number before we leave. Not terribly handsome,
but a body to die for.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Keep your dirty mouth shut,
Tolliver.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Touchy, aren’t we?” The blond
stood. “Let’s take a table now. I’m in the mood for a grilled salmon steak.
With asparagus and sweet potato, I think.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Colin gritted his teeth and
trailed the man to a table in the middle of the room. At least, the guy didn’t
swish when he walked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="tab-stops: 139.8pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">What’s going
on here? Who is Colin Ragner, anyway? He obviously doesn’t cotton to gays, but
he’s buying a boy? Either the guy’s a monster, or there’s something going on we
don’t understand yet.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">All will be
revealed next week. Until then, stay safe and stay strong.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Now my mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say... so say it! </i>And for those of you who also read Mark Wildyr's blog, don't forget it was my mantra first!</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Please check out my BJ Vinson murder mystery series starting with <i>The Zozobra Incident </i>and ending with <i>The Cutie Pie Murders. </i>I may be biased, but I think they'd make great Christmas gifts for the right person.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">My personal links:</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Email: don.travis@aol.com</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Twitter: @dontravis3</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">See you next Thursday.</p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">Don</p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><i>New posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.</i></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><br /></p><p></p><p></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-709904201369407242023-11-23T04:00:00.000-08:002023-11-23T04:00:00.139-08:00A Bloodline of Saints and Sinners (Part 2 of 2 Parts)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #629</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of Tubi:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0EDbEfqNQsn-teIiG72JwdNPwX0V1GcYTVd4NT8AHg_x2HLv2Z_KvC68rk7iKLaSJv2AWhgsa8nrFoLhOT72f2IzFIbNVArI6HuG7hPtoEg5i52Vu4SovKTQIT8SQazPIfBwiTeSw_-Ry0gFlnMSGMCDyNyahEHxugWkdSFn8DIgqbQn32pATa7tnWATk/s512/Bloodline-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="475" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0EDbEfqNQsn-teIiG72JwdNPwX0V1GcYTVd4NT8AHg_x2HLv2Z_KvC68rk7iKLaSJv2AWhgsa8nrFoLhOT72f2IzFIbNVArI6HuG7hPtoEg5i52Vu4SovKTQIT8SQazPIfBwiTeSw_-Ry0gFlnMSGMCDyNyahEHxugWkdSFn8DIgqbQn32pATa7tnWATk/s320/Bloodline-2.jpg" width="297" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">First,
happy Thanksgiving wishes to all. Don’t overeat… too much. It’s a good family
day, so enjoy it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Last
week, we met Prince (Christian name, not a title) Drexell and determined there
was something odd about him. For one thing, he obsessed over his long bloodline
stretching back to Eastern Europe… but masked (masked?) by the German name
Drexell. Odd, right. At the moment, he’s on the hunt for blonde, pretty Miriam
Hindleson but not having much luck. Let’s see what happens next.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">A
BLOODLINE OF SAINTS AND SINNERS<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Prince grew agitated with
himself. What was taking so long? The woman was susceptible, he was certain of
that. He’d tested Miriam in a hundred ways since he met her at a cocktail party
six months ago. He’d played little games with the fetching blonde that very
first night. Suggesting that she really didn’t dislike Scotch, after all, and watching
her drink it for the rest of the evening instead of her usual bourbon.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">And he’d talked her into a
date or two, despite the feeling she was wary of him. He well understood there
were those who could sense individuals like him the moment they met. He’d run
into many of them over the length of his bloodline, but Miriam Hindleson did
not appear to be one of them.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He thought back over the past
few months. She did have a strong will beneath that polite, deferential
exterior. He hadn’t managed to get a moment alone with her despite escorting
her to a horrendously expensive—and mediocre—Broadway opening and an equally
costly dinner at the Four Seasons. Close, but not quite. She’d faltered before
closing the door to him the last time he’d taken her home. That was the reason
he’d invited her out this evening. But she obviously had other plans and
declined his offer. Let’s face it, she’d turned him down flat.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Perhaps it was the influence
of that brunette from somewhere in the middle of the country, that Loretta
Montrose who pulled Miriam another direction. Mayhap there was even a love
affair between the two women, although he doubted it. He was sensitive to
“those kinds” of people, and used it to his advantage when a particular young
man caught his fancy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">No, but there was something
between the two women. A closeness, an affinity that was unusual. Very well,
he’d just have to try harder.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Miriam came to her senses as
she walked the Avenue. Perhaps it was the rumble of traffic or passersby
hailing one another. Or perhaps it was an alarm buried deep in her own
subconscious. Whatever it was, she came to an abrupt halt and cried aloud,
causing nearby pedestrians to give her a strange look.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Watch it, lady!” one stroller
warned as he detoured around her. Prince! For a moment, she thought it was
Prince Drexell, but it wasn’t. Nonetheless, the conscious thought of the man
she found strangely abhorrent sobered her. Abruptly, she reversed direction and
fled back to her brownstone.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Prince refreshed his drink and
settled back into his hair. After a refreshing sip, he closed his eyes, concentrated
on a mental image of the lovely Miriam Hindler, and commenced his mantra.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Come, my dear. Do not be
afraid. Come to me. Come, come.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">It felt as if he were starting
all over again, and he divined that was true. She’d eluded him, but he’d
prevail yet.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Come, come, come….”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He was tiring and about to
give up for the night, when he sensed a response. Faint, but a response. Perhaps
the Montrose woman had been with Miriam. If so, she was likely gone now. Yes…
yes. The response was stronger, yet he sensed resistance. Concentrating harder,
he threw his net wider, farther. Wider than ever before. Was he that hungry for
this blonde vision? After all, he’d tasted many… a multitude during the course
of his bloodline. But for some reason this perfectly ordinary woman had become
an obsession.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He reconsidered his last
thought. Ordinary? Yes… yes, she was. Extraordinary in looks, but everything
else about her was rather common compared to other women he’d had. Highborn
movers and shakers had beaten the path to his doorway. So why was this woman so
resistant to his… embrace?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He didn’t know. And that was
what made her so fetching. He grimaced as he concentrated so deeply it was
almost painful. Muttering, whispering, repeating his mantra over and over
again. “Come… come… come to me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">While he felt he was making
progress, he was still taken aback at the ringing of his doorbell. A smile
broke across his features. Success. She was here. Strange that he did not sense
it. Usually he had forewarning. This ordinary woman was proving surprising in a
number of ways. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Prince took a final sip of his
drink, stood, adjusted his smoking jacket, and walked to the door, muttering
beneath his breath as the bell sounded again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Patience, my dear. I’m on my
way.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Prince opened the door and was
startled at the sight of the figure on his stoop. A tall brunette stood with a
vacant look in her eyes. The Montrose woman.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He recovered and took her
hand, leading her docilly inside. He would have to beware of casting such a
broad net in the future. But this Loretta creature would do for the time being.
She must have been closer to Miriam than he thought. Oh, well.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Wordlessly, he led the
befuddled woman inside, swept the coat from around her shoulders, and pulled
her into an embrace. Eyeing that long, lovely throat hungrily.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="tab-stops: 139.8pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">Now we see why
Prince is so obsessed by bloodlines.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Wonder what’s
coming up next? Don’t have any idea.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Stay safe and stay strong.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Now my
mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so
say it!</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don’t
forget to check out my BJ Vinson murder mystery series starting with <i>The
Zozobra Incident </i>and ending with <i>The Cutie-Pie Murders</i>:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">My
personal links:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Email: </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7641011964551074572/5034309531260935226"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">don.travis@aol.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Twitter: @dontravis3<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">See you next Thursday.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-65105137523710636712023-11-16T04:00:00.000-08:002023-11-21T12:14:24.959-08:00A Bloodline of Saints and Sinners (Part 1 of 2 Parts)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #628</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of Pinterest:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPCYQkYghYfKpXqoyvmHDw_VyyTCU3P1_iNMRUaOfUzoF1IrkbfyCDJ39SM7rwn5vpGdtNLgEl3OR81fd6fGSEmipiI0d_SgUuAke3q-j7oIGj9LJ0MO8KgnqDD4azsji2Dlp6JXa2DatRmSXoZUpk8-mcbaEOGq7sLeoLcOVHpRG736V0V8ss6uolyIFN/s512/Bloodline-2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="475" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPCYQkYghYfKpXqoyvmHDw_VyyTCU3P1_iNMRUaOfUzoF1IrkbfyCDJ39SM7rwn5vpGdtNLgEl3OR81fd6fGSEmipiI0d_SgUuAke3q-j7oIGj9LJ0MO8KgnqDD4azsji2Dlp6JXa2DatRmSXoZUpk8-mcbaEOGq7sLeoLcOVHpRG736V0V8ss6uolyIFN/s320/Bloodline-2.jpg" width="297" /></a></span></div><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /> </span><p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">I
hope you enjoyed the reading from Donald T. Morgan’s novel </span><i style="text-indent: 0in;">Mounds</i><span style="text-indent: 0in;">. If
so, let him know at </span><a href="mailto:dtm1332@aol.com" style="text-indent: 0in;">dtm1332@aol.com</a><span style="text-indent: 0in;">.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Today,
we’ll have the first installment of a new short story. Hope it provides some
entertainment, however brief. Here goes.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><br /></span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">A
BLOODLINE OF SAINTS AND SINNERS<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Prince Marcus Drexell sipped
his <i>fernet con coca</i> and replaced the snifter—his choice of glassware
despite the need for ice—on the table at his elbow before leaning back in his
easy chair. Prince was his Christian name, not a title, a sobriquet conveyed by
parents bewitched by a long bloodline stretching back to Eastern Europe but masked
by the Germanic name Drexell. Long though that lineage might be, it was rife
with both aristocrats and plebeians, saints and sinners. Prince had not
bothered to consider where he fit in such a hierarchy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Closing his eyes, he pressed
forefingers to temples and muttered, “Come. Come to me.” The mantra became a
chant to the ether. “Come to me, come to me, come, come….”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Intoning his command, he
envisioned a slender blonde woman, her hair worn long, heart face alternating
between a luscious smile and a pert, puckish frown. Most called her pretty, but
to him she was lovely. Lovelier than he’d met in… well, in a long, long time. Her
breasts, sharp and pert—not heavy and sagging like so many men admired—intrigued
him, commanding first glance each time he saw her. Her aquamarine eyes were as
green as the ocean off the coast of Miami. Wide, feminine hips, slender
shoulders… and that neck. Long and white and flawless. He liked long necks on
women. Graceful. Regal. Swan like. A sign, at least to his mind, of good
breeding.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He took another sip of whiskey
and cola before resuming his incantation.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Precisely one mile away, Miriam
Hindleson started in her chair in a third floor flat of a brownstone facing a
small, charming park softly lit by circles of lamp glow. She blinked. Had she
dropped off? After examining the book in her lap, she decided not. Her eyes
fell right on the place she’d last read. And Marta Molnar’s <i>The Secret Life
of Sunflowers</i>, the story of Vincent van Gogh’s sister-in-law, certainly
didn’t put her to sleep. Move her to tears? Yes. Rip unexpected laughter from
her throat? Often. But put her to sleep? No.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">After eating and bathing
earlier in the evening, she had looked forward to a calm night of reading. Now,
she was edgy, constantly shifting position in search of physical comfort. Miriam
laid the book in her lap and examined her arms. Horripilated. Why? What was
wrong with her? At times she felt as if a voice hovered at her ear, speaking,
calling, yet unheard.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">She shook her head. She wasn’t
prescient. Not given to premonitions, and certainly not that imaginative. “Go
away,” she muttered aloud, responding to something she didn’t understand.
“Leave me alone,” she added for good measure.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Deciding a cup of hot tea
might help her settle, Miriam rose, enjoying the feel of satin as the sleeping
gown moved over her knees. She made her way to the kitchen and puttered with
the tea kettle. Maybe she should have gone to the theater with her friend
Lorena. Or accepted Prince Drexell’s invitation for dinner. But no, she’d
craved quiet and relaxation this evening.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">An image of Lorena Montrose
brought a smile. The civil engineer Miriam met at work three years ago had
become her best friend. They’d bonded instantly, growing so close they seemed
to know what one another thought, finished one another’s sentences. Serious and
efficient at the office, the brunette from Nebraska morphed into a mischievous
pixie the moment they left the workplace. She was fun, and she attracted men
like flies.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Prince was another matter… one
a bit more unsettling. Unsettling how? If she could figure that out, perhaps
she would know if she liked or detested the man. At the moment, that was up in
the air. Handsome, erudite, witty, cultured. What not to like? But the lawyer
could raise chill bumps on her arms just as she’d experienced a few minutes
ago. Lorena impishly said that was what love did to a woman. But somehow that didn’t
seem to be the gooseflesh of love.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Enjoying the hot tea as she
returned to the book, Miriam sought to reclaim the calm of her earlier evening.
For a bit, she succeeded. Then came that insistent message… if that’s what it
was. At one point, she <i>did </i>nod off, waking with a start. Strange that
she could fall asleep while every nerve in her system seemed to be fired. It
must have happened again, because she grew aware that she was standing in the
hallway, fully dressed, a coat across her shoulders, handbag in her clutches.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">That frightened her. She’d
never walked in her sleep before. Upset with herself. Miriam determined to get
back into her gown, or at least a lounging robe, but, instead, sat back in her
chair, fully clothed. She was certain that was what she did, yet sometime later,
she became aware of standing on the front stoop, locking the door behind her. Why?
She decided to return to the house immediately. Instead, she found herself on
the sidewalk walking the long block to the Avenue. Why? That’s where she could
find a taxi, that’s why.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="tab-stops: 139.8pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****</span></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">What in the
world is going on? Strange things, eerie things… that’s for sure. Let’s see
what develops.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Stay safe and stay strong.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Now my mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say... so say it!</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don't forget to check out my BJ Vinson murder mystery series starting with <i>The Zozobra Incident </i>and ending with <i>The Cutie Pie Murders: </i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">My personal links:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Email: don.travis@aol.com</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Twitter: @dontravis3<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">See you next Thursday.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i>New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time</i></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-49358782837055874752023-11-09T04:00:00.001-08:002023-11-09T04:00:00.156-08:00Mounds, A Novel (Guest Post)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #627</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of Suncatcher Studio:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTilP4NsP0jY6pLbDa1ITWsTnZQ9DaqGtov6SaPFuoPAGzYvb54uZffvtyyJvMJziMmv6ixa-r0y25e78dqf5_qXYELZP8tDO0XUqIT_zd68dNzq4qGirZpwWJU6ObfTK2ouSC4ejdP_Q7GWcyuROHtygc3uGsPWfSsNSqZ4JGvQu3iikDD4PVe-5th0K0/s306/Mounds-4.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="164" data-original-width="306" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTilP4NsP0jY6pLbDa1ITWsTnZQ9DaqGtov6SaPFuoPAGzYvb54uZffvtyyJvMJziMmv6ixa-r0y25e78dqf5_qXYELZP8tDO0XUqIT_zd68dNzq4qGirZpwWJU6ObfTK2ouSC4ejdP_Q7GWcyuROHtygc3uGsPWfSsNSqZ4JGvQu3iikDD4PVe-5th0K0/s1600/Mounds-4.png" width="306" /></a></div><p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">I guess we left Larry Lovestock not yet sure where his love stick belongs.
Happens to a lot of us.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Today,
we have a guest post from my Okie buddy Donald T. Morgan. Back in May of 2018,
I posted the Prologue and part of Chapter 1 for my readers. Since that back
beyond our attention span, let me remind readers the novel is a mystery set in
Southeastern Oklahoma. It is also the story of twenty-year-old, shy, retiring
Derek Monsum, a young farmer with failed ambitions to be an archaeologist. Derek
lives on a poor, clay-heavy farm with his alcoholic father (who lost a leg in
the Panama Invasion) and his young stepmother. He and his father’s new wife don’t
mesh well together. In Chapter 1, we learn the Oklahoma University anthropology
Department is sending a team to excavate an ancient Caddoan Indian burial mound
adjacent to the farm.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">We
pick up in Chapter 2 where Derek has gone to the town library to write a letter
to a Dr. Petersen, who’s coming down to dig up the mound. He’s asking for a job
on the dig crew.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Hang
on… it’s a little long. Here goes.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">MOUNDS<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">By
Donald T. Morgan<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Derek made a long-distance call from the
pay phone at the drug store. Getting through to Dr. Ericksen’s office ate up a
healthy portion of his emergency fund—money hoarded from last season’s corn
crop—but a secretary eventually provided the information he needed. That done,
Derek headed straight for the library at the north end of downtown. Mrs.
Lillian Greavy greeted him enthusiastically, as always. She was fond of him,
but then she liked anybody who read books.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The neat, blue-haired librarian—who’d
helped him earn his GED—nodded toward the stacks and chirped, “They’re back
there, Derek. Help yourself.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Maybe later, ma’am. First, I need to
borrow a pen and some paper and buy an envelope and stamp.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“We can manage that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Derek sat at one of the reading tables to
write a letter to this Dr. Ericksen who was coming to dig up his mounds. When
Mrs. Greavy found out what he was doing, she wrote a note, folded it, and told
him to put it in the envelope with his application, saying it never hurt to
have a local recommendation. She added the stamped envelope to the library’s
outgoing mail, sparing him a trip to the post office.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">His chore accomplished, Derek walked to
the shelf holding the library’s archaeology section to overdose on a load of
delightful dreams. O’Connor’s <i>Lost Cities of the Ancient Southeast</i> and
Fagan’s <i>From Black Land to Fifth Sun</i> stole minutes from the day so
smoothly he hardly noticed them slip by. He could have lived in those books.
For the hundredth time, he studied the color plates and absorbed the familiar
lines of text. Only when the librarian’s discreet noises intruded on his
consciousness did he realize it was closing time. As usual, he’d overdone it.
Cassie would give him a good scorching. So what else was new?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Derek breezed through the front door to
trip down three shallow steps to the sidewalk. Dismayed at how low the sun lay
in the sky, he didn’t notice the girl until they collided.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Whoops!” he exclaimed, trying to stem his
momentum.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Derek Monsum, you’re as clumsy as ever.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Sorry. Did I hurt you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Darla Morse’s brown eyes snapped as she
shook her brunette shag. She was tall for a girl, a smidgen shorter than his
five-ten. Still looked like a cheerleader, although she’d never been one,
disdaining such “airheaded” pursuits, probably because she had worked after
school for as long as he could remember.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, no thanks to you. Where you going in
such a hurry?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Late getting home.” He snatched a quick
glance at her pretty face before fixing his eyes resolutely on a crack in the
sidewalk and backing away a neutral distance. He swiped the itchy mole on his
upper lip, hoping she wouldn’t think his nose was running.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You’re always late. Late to every class
we ever took together.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
recollection, delivered with a laugh, drew an answering chuckle from him.
“Practically, I guess. Where you headed?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Home from work. That’s all I ever do. Go
to work. Go home.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You still at the insurance place?” he
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Still the glue holding the Ribbens
Insurance Agency together.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He noticed his dirty boots but didn’t know
how to hide them and ended up in a slow shuffle backward. “I’ll bet you are
too. You know, the glue.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You better believe it. One of these days
I’ll surprise everyone and make a change.” She grabbed his arm. “Buy me a Coke
and tell me how you’re doing. Been ages since we talked.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Ages? He couldn’t remember it ever
happening unless yelling at him from the bleachers when he fumbled a line drive
at third base counted as conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Got chores to do at home,” he protested,
his stomach knotting. He’d already spent thirty-three cents on a stamp and a
couple of bucks on the telephone call. Nonetheless, he allowed himself to be
dragged along when she reversed direction and headed back downtown. He still
had at least one dollar in his pocket, enough for a couple of colas.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’ll take mercy on you,” Darla declared.
“We’ll go dutch treat.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Conscious they made a spectacle with her
pulling him along, he matched his long farmer’s stride to her nice legs. “Okay,
I guess.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nina’s Café was busy, but Nina Gillette
took time to greet them by name and wave them to a booth. Ignoring their call
for a couple of Cokes, the sturdy proprietress bustled over and flashed a
blinding smile. She was pretty. For a middle-aged woman, that is.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Derek,” she roared in a voice accustomed
to calling orders to the kitchen. “Got a deal for you. I got four cracked panes
on the windows out back. They gotta be replaced and the wire mesh on the
outside cleaned. You do that, and I’ll treat you to a couple of burgers, a
large order of fries, two sodas, and throw in ten bucks to boot. How about it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Sure, but I can’t do it tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Sunday after church?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He brightened. “That’ll work.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Darla reminisced about their school days
while they waited for their order. Derek leaned back in the blue, padded booth
and listened, alternately worrying the mole on his lip and drumming his fingers
on a gray-speckled Formica tabletop worn thin by a thousand arms and elbows. He
and Darla had been in the same class from the first grade until Derek dropped
out of school in the twelfth, which gave her a lot to chatter about while he
called up images of a spindly girl filling out into something nice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Wish you hadn’t quit school,” she said.
“Missed you at graduation.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Me? You missed me?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Course, we did. All the teachers said you
could amount to something. You’re smart, Derek. You even wanted to be something
smart. What was it? Had to do with those hills you were always talking about.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Mounds,” he corrected. “They’re mounds.
You know, old Indian burial places.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Oh, I remember now. You wanted to be an
archaeologist.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He flushed at the pretentiousness of his
dream spoken aloud. “Yeah.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What’s so fascinating about a bunch of
old clay pots and dried-up bones?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Just interesting, that’s all.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">As Nina delivered their order, Darla shook
her head, allowing a trace of impatience to show. “Don’t do that. I’m trying to
understand, so don’t cut me off. You wouldn’t go dig up a cemetery and call it
interesting, would you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Savoring the aroma of freshly cooked beef
and pungent onions, he smeared mustard on his hamburger. “No, but we know all
there is to know about those folks.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“And we don’t about the people in the
mounds?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She sounded sincere, so he leaned forward
to answer her that way. “There’s lots we don’t know about them. For instance,
who were they? They were Indians, but which Indians?” He warmed to his subject,
shedding his usual phobia about coming across as a weirdo. “Some say they
weren’t Indians at all. Claim they were Canaanites or the Lost Tribes of
Israel.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Like in the Bible?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Uh-huh. Or some race of super beings.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She picked up her burger, took a small
nibble, and dabbed her lips with a paper napkin. “You don’t really believe
that, do you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Derek shook his head over a mouthful of
Nina’s delicious food. He didn’t know what the cook did to them, but her
burgers were the best in the county. A bunch of other patrons happily chowing
down confirmed his assessment. He swallowed before answering. “Those are just
some of the wild theories going around. They were Indians, all right.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">They worked on their meal in silence for a
few moments. He liked the graceful way her small hand gripped the soda glass.
When she caught him looking at her, he glanced away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Weren’t they Choctaws… like we have now?”
She put down the drink and took another bite of her hamburger.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, these people were a mounds culture.
Around here, I’d say Caddo. Lots of natives buried their dead in mounds back
then. There are mounds all the way from New York to Florida.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Are they out west too?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Mostly the eastern woodlands. We’re on
the western perimeter of the mounds civilizations. There’s a big Mississippian
culture complex up at Spiro in Leflore County near the Arkansas border. I hear
the earthworks are really something to see.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You’ve never seen them?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He gave a bitter laugh. “I’ve never seen anything.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She reached out and patted his hand. He
flinched at the unexpected touch. “You will, Derek. You hang in there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A sudden commotion at the door drew his
attention. Dale Ray Hawkins entered and headed straight for their booth,
surprising him. He and Dale Ray weren’t particularly friendly. The attraction
soon became clear.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Hello, Darla.” Dale Ray, a contemporary
of Bowie’s, verged on being good looking but was snatched back by a perpetual
scowl and a weak chin. The heavy thighs and wide hips that once made him a
decent lineman for the Hilton High Hornets now threatened to render him lumpy.
Derek noticed the man’s gaze rested on Darla’s hand atop his.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Dale Ray,” she responded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Hawkins ignored Derek. “Been looking for
you. Got two tickets to the Demolition Derby over in Clovertown Friday night.
Play your cards right, you can go with me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Darla’s answer gave Derek a start.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Sorry, but Derek’s already asked me to go
to the movie Friday.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Dale Ray’s dull, dun eyes flicked to him.
“You can go to a movie anytime. The Demo Derby don’t come around every day.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Darla leaned back in the booth with arms
folded over her breasts. “What makes you think I’m interested in watching
people smash up cars?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Dale Ray’s mouth dropped. He sucked in
breath before coming up with an answer. “<i>Everybody</i> likes the derby.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Not me. I’m going to the movie with
Derek.” Her voice held a finality even Dale Ray understood.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Whatever. Your loss.” He turned his back
and slouched off, his hips working about as hard as Cassie’s when she was in a
snit.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">As soon as Dale Ray was out of earshot,
Darla sighed. “Can’t stand that man, but he keeps hitting on me. Sorry about
the movie thing. I just needed an excuse.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Why don’t you like him?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“He’s creepy. Dale Ray thinks he’s God’s
gift to women. Some girls might find his caveman attitude sexy. Not me. But I
guess his dad’s money makes him attractive to some.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Darwin Hawkins owned the local auto parts
store where his son had worked all through school. That was how Dale Ray could
afford to drive a snappy blue ’98 Chrysler LeBaron convertible. What made the
family a standout to Derek were the hundreds—maybe thousands—of arrowheads and
lance points and stone hatchets old man Hawkins had scavenged over the years.
Derek hadn’t seen the collection, never even been invited to the Hawkins home,
but they claimed the governor was carping at the Hawkins family to donate the
treasure trove to the state museum up in Oklahoma City.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Darla’s voice snatched his attention back.
“And Dale Ray thinks he has to maul every girl he goes out with. Never did
understand what Bowie saw in him. They used to hang out a lot.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He met her gaze for a brief instant. He
liked her big elk’s eyes. Pretty eyes turned him on. He nodded and sipped his
soda, his cheeks burning when the straw made a slurping sound. He set the glass
down hard. “They bummed around in high school. Double dated some. Anyway, Dale
Ray’s too old for you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Darla gave him a pitying look. “He’s too
wild for me, but he and Bowie are only six years older than we are. Bet you
didn’t know I went out with Bowie once before he left.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Bowie left two years ago. You couldn’t
have been more than seventeen.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Just turned eighteen.” She frowned. “He
was sorta hard to handle too. Did you know Dale Ray and Cassie used to go out
some? Bowie and Cassie dated too… before your dad was in the picture,” she
hastened to add.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Aware it was dark outside, Derek glanced
at the illuminated wall clock advertising Coca-Cola in undulating shades of
crimson and was surprised to discover it was after eight. He had enjoyed
himself and lost track of time. Usually, he was so uncomfortable around a girl
every minute was an hour. Even when he about halfway went steady with Betsy
Bates his sophomore year, he’d never been completely at ease. What made Darla
different? Ah… because she hadn’t gone cross-eyed when he talked about mounds.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Inch by reluctant inch, he worked his way
out of the booth. “Didn’t realize it was so late. Gotta get home and finish up
my chores.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Darla collected her purse and got to her
feet. “That’s what happens when you’re having fun. Thanks for the burger.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A little tingle played up his back. She
had fun? “Glad to do it. Uh, and if you’d like to, we can take in the movie
Friday night. You know, so you won’t be fibbing to Dale Ray.” He frowned. Where
could he come up with ten bucks for two tickets to the picture show until he
could pay it back out of Nina’s ten dollars? Darn! Should he have left a tip?
Or was it included in Nina’s chore?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Once outside, Darla clasped his arm as
they strolled back to the library. “Glad I ran into you. Enjoyed our talk. See
you Friday night. About seven?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He tripped over his own feet but managed
to remain upright. “Uh, yeah. I probably bored you with all that mounds stuff.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Not at all. Maybe you can tell me more
about it sometime.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Can… can I give you a lift home?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Wouldn’t want you to miss your chores.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“They’ll be waiting when I get there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She permitted him to drive her, even
though the Morse place was only another three blocks up the street. Fighting
Red Rover’s grabby brakes, he hid his embarrassment at the jerky halt in front
of the Morse’s house by scrambling out and yanking open the squeaky passenger’s
door. Her hand, when he helped her from the cab, was softer than anything he’d
ever touched.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The motor stuttered as he herded the old
truck down the highway toward the farm. Daddy hadn’t got the carburetor working
right yet. Nonetheless, Derek caught himself humming an Elvis tune. Surprised,
he pursed his lips. Why in blue blazes did he feel so good?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****</span></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">Hope you saw
enough of Derek to figure out he’s a pretty good guy. Shy and socially awkward,
but a sound human being. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Next week, we’ll
probably be back to one of my short stories.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Stay safe and stay strong.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Now my
mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so
say it!</i><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don’t
forget to check out my BJ Vinson murder mystery series starting with <i>The
Zozobra Incident </i>and ending with <i>The Cutie-Pie Murders</i>:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">My
personal links:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Email: </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7641011964551074572/5034309531260935226"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">don.travis@aol.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Twitter: @dontravis3<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">See you next Thursday.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">
</p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-21017214572106522842023-11-02T04:00:00.001-07:002023-11-02T04:00:00.150-07:00Lovestick (Part 2 of 2 Parts)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #626</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of Freeimages</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 2.9in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSweiLwgI33Pyw8kaCmFSjd2caxfLrZ8qqoMq1wIuHpB7I_sYxUKJ4fan-2BfcJCz1hAYH_frSz0Lun1gDQBqkc9293YWDW4OV6zu3_TPRFFgYZUpIEmQL4yCoRmtgVl-TWnljSXl8tkggWZq7DWMPXklncxPZKedizrUBeVHseWgChgJOfCPoV_u9cv8u/s168/Free%20Stick.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="98" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSweiLwgI33Pyw8kaCmFSjd2caxfLrZ8qqoMq1wIuHpB7I_sYxUKJ4fan-2BfcJCz1hAYH_frSz0Lun1gDQBqkc9293YWDW4OV6zu3_TPRFFgYZUpIEmQL4yCoRmtgVl-TWnljSXl8tkggWZq7DWMPXklncxPZKedizrUBeVHseWgChgJOfCPoV_u9cv8u/s1600/Free%20Stick.png" width="98" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Today,
we’ll finish the story of Larry Lovestock (dubbed Lovestick by his mischievous
buddy Gil) and his discoveries about himself.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Here
goes.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 292.2pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>****</p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"> LOVESTICK</span></p><p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The next few days were agony
for Larry, especially after baseball practice—that was the sport this time of
year—because he was afraid he’d reveal his newly discovered self in the shower
room or while the guys were playing grab-ass with one another. And he was
certain the first time he spotted Gil naked, Larry would balloon up so there’d
be no hiding it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">But that didn’t happen, and he
gradually got over his fear and concentrated on acting super masculine. But
that grated a little too because that wasn’t who he really was. After earning a
couple of puzzled looks, he gave up and went back to being his regular self. After
all, it had been Gill who grabbed his dong, not the other way around, so maybe
Gil had the problem.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Nah. Gil <i>was </i>super
masculine by nature. And he was way too casual about that night. Been
interested in simply getting rid of his own nut-ache. Gripping Larry had just
been a spur of the moment reaction from a guy who did what he wanted and
thought about it afterward. If there was a problem, it didn’t belong to Gilbert
Robbins. Larry was willing to bet Gil didn’t even remember he’d touched his
dong. Probably didn’t even recall them whacking off together that night.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">So Larry set about restoring
his relationship with Gil. With one exception. He avoided going on double dates
with his best bud.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The following Friday night, Gil
wanted him to grab Helen and go with Marcie and him to the Roller Rink in the
town a dozen miles to the south. Larry managed to twist his ankle while running
for a fly ball that afternoon at practice and made out it was worse than it
really was.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">His buddy pushed him to go
anyway, saying he could watch while they skated, but Larry held his ground,
saying if he couldn’t get on the boards with Water, it wouldn’t be worth it.
Eventually, Gil got the message and let it go.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">That Friday evening, he
borrowed his dad’s car and took his girl to the movie. After the film, he drove
out to ‘their’ spot on the mesa for a little heavy petting. And it got heavy.
Real heavy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Before he knew it, things went
past petting and got down to the real thing. And there had never been anything
like it. Not for him, at any rate. The first time she touched his flesh, he
about embarrassed himself by losing control before they’d even begun. Boy! Talk
about an early bird.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">But he managed to get control and
soon drew moans and groans and squeaks from Water for a good quarter of an
hour. Getting dressed afterward was kind of awkward, but on the ride back to
town, she snuggled against him, making him feel like he never had before. Like…
well, like maybe he was a man, and she was his woman. That kind of stuff. It
was a good feeling.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Later in the garage, he
fretted over whether they’d made a mess in the back seat, but a search of the
interior later in the garage didn’t reveal anything. He had trouble keeping
from grinning when his mother asked how his date was but apparently didn’t give
himself away. He thanked his dad for the use of the car, took a long shower,
and went to bed where he promptly fell asleep.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Monday, Gil gave him a lift
home after baseball practice, detouring by the drive-in for a Coke on the way. As
they sipped colas, his buddy sat sideways behind the steering wheel and eyed
him thoughtfully. “You’ve come back.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Come back? From where?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Wherever you’ve been. You
were like your old self today.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I’m like my old self every
day.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Uh-uh. Last week or so, I
thought you weren’t the same guy. Not my old buddy, Larry Lovestick. What
happened?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Larry shrugged. “Nothing.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Don’t gimme that. Something
did. You’n Sweet go on a date?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Larry tried to be nonchalant.
“Yeah. Couldn’t skate on a bum ankle, but I could sit in the theater and watch
a movie.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">A grin as big as he’d ever
seen grew on Gil’s lips. “You scored! You dog, you scored. Didn’t you?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I don’t tell—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Come on, this is your pal,
Gil. Your buddy. Give. Tell me about it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Larry felt his own lips
stretch as a smile he couldn’t handle built. “Well, yeah. I did.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Son of a gun! Come on!
Details.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Larry tried to hit it lightly,
but Gil kept probing for more, and Larry got a little steamed describing details
he never thought he’d share with anyone. It got so bad that he switched
subjects.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“How about your date? Was it
relatable?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Gil shrugged. “So-so. Missed
you and Sweet. I dunno. Maybe the bloom is off the rose with Marcie.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Aw—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“No, I mean it. I was missing
you Friday night more than I was enjoying her company.” He gave a laugh. “That
ought to tell the tale. Time for me’n Marcie to part ways.” Gill gave him a
look. “You recall how hot and bothered we were a couple of weeks ago? And what
we did about it?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Larry was sure he blushed.
“Yeah.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I was planning on more of the
same if things didn’t go right last Friday.” He gave a smile—a rueful one this
time. “But I guess they went right for you. Not for me, but for you. Anyway, I
was gonna suggest, you know—” He made a suggestive motion with his fist—” helping
one another out. Bound to be better than doing it to yourself.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Gil gave a self-conscious
chuckle and ground the motor. “But guess you don’t need any help now.” He gave
a quick sidelong glance. “Unless you wanna come to the aid of your buddy… and
maybe collect an experience, you know, for comparison.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Larry swallowed hard. What in
the hell did he do now?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="tab-stops: 139.8pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">Well, Larry thought
he’d settled who he was to his own satisfaction, but Gil’s invitation left him
still wondering. At what age did you know who you were… for sure?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Stay safe and stay strong.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Now my
mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so
say it!</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don’t
forget to check out my BJ Vinson murder mystery series starting with <i>The
Zozobra Incident </i>and ending with <i>The Cutie-Pie Murders</i>:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">My
personal links:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Email: </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7641011964551074572/5034309531260935226"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">don.travis@aol.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Twitter: @dontravis3<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">See you next Thursday.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-80194295023878786232023-10-26T04:00:00.008-07:002023-10-28T13:48:46.441-07:00Lovestick (Part 1 of 2 Parts)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #625</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of GIF - Imgur</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs-GCaum4EPMoy0K3gLSW5ewvx0A4f5FWP_ybi1sMOQhG-Lh04HxT7JDakgnnWUO-6RTcW7M2EcqL7uGG9CJxPT6Jxux-HcfNKEqDSKm_Tz-HHcQ1RX8mxNWQVdVxc1zL8dBFzUtezQYUlhAbIhRrRMLtAREpiLwM9A0N5hULTt7J4C1-rVJs3b_dQ-paR/s168/Free%20Stick.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="98" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs-GCaum4EPMoy0K3gLSW5ewvx0A4f5FWP_ybi1sMOQhG-Lh04HxT7JDakgnnWUO-6RTcW7M2EcqL7uGG9CJxPT6Jxux-HcfNKEqDSKm_Tz-HHcQ1RX8mxNWQVdVxc1zL8dBFzUtezQYUlhAbIhRrRMLtAREpiLwM9A0N5hULTt7J4C1-rVJs3b_dQ-paR/s1600/Free%20Stick.png" width="98" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">I
hope you enjoyed the story of Buddy, the gray squirrel buddy of my childhood. It
brought back a lot of memories.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">This
week, we’ll go with a purely fictional piece—or is is?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 292.2pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 292.2pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2; text-indent: 0in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">****</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>LOVESTICK<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">By
Don Travis<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Hey, Lovestick, where you going?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Larry Lovestock gritted his
teeth and turned to Gil Robbins. Everyone thought it funny when Gil had corrupted
Larry’s last name into “stick” from “stock.” Everyone except Larry Lovestock. To
complicate matters, Gil was his best friend. Had been ever since the Robbins
family moved to town last year and the two of them met in homeroom and later on
the football field. They’d clicked right away.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">But Gil was also his greatest
tormentor, twisting his last name relentlessly. Wouldn’t have mattered a couple
of years ago, but seniors in high school—at Trinity High, at least—always
called one another by surnames. And it didn’t take long for everyone to follow
their quarterback’s lead and call him Lovestick.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Now he faced his friend, or
was it tormentor? Friendly tormentor? Tormentor friend? Didn’t really matter,
once Gil smiled at him, Larry’s resentment melted away. “Heading home.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Let’s hang.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“And do what?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Nothing. Just hang.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Got homework.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Me too, so let’s hang and do
homework.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Seemed reasonable, so they
went to the park and claimed a vacant picnic table, settling opposite one
another on stone benches.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Gil threw him a lopsided grin.
“Be the earliest I’ve got my homework done all year. Hope it doesn’t set a precedent
for my mom. Wouldn’t wanta get a rep as an ‘early bird.’”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Early bird was locker room
talk for a guy with no staying power, and Gil smirked at his double entendre,
unconsciously preening a little as he did so. Larry felt a shiver play down his
back, making him wonder once again why he reacted so physically to his buddy. A
bead of sweat popped on his upper lip at that uncomfortable thought. Was there
something wrong with him? Did… did Gil <i>mean </i>something by giving him that
suggestive nickname? Could… could….<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He swiped at his upper lip and
drilled the page of his algebra book with a stare that ought to have burned a
hole in it. Gil started bitching about one of the problems, and the world
returned to normal.’<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Larry looked forward to Friday
night because he and Gil were double dating. They were taking their gals to see
<i>The Lion King. </i>If past was precedent--or was it prologue?--they'd park out on the mesa and
smooch for a while before heading home before curfew. Given the way his thoughts
trended the other day, he wondered which meant more to him. Being with Gil—even
if it meant sharing him with Marcie—or his own date with Helen Sweetwater.
Everyone called her Sweet—because of her last name—but just to be different, he
called her Water—because of her last name—to which she responded, “That was
sweet.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Gil picked Larry up in his snazzy
maroon, ’ninety-five Chevy Baretta GT, and they headed out to collect the
girls. Their dates always liked to sit beside one another in the movies, separating
him from Gil so that they couldn’t talk much except by leaning across the girls
for a pithy comment now and then.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Afterward, they headed for the
mesa where Gil and Marcie proceeded to heat up the front seat while he did his
best to boil Water in the back. To be honest, he kept glancing up front to see
how Gil was doing… probably more than he should have. When the other couple disappeared
from sight, he figured Gil was gonna score at last. That revved Larry up enough
to give Water some quality attention.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Things were getting serious in
the back seat until Marcie’s voice from the front said she had to get home. When
called on to do so, Water agreed, although Larry thought she agreed a little reluctantly.
Nonetheless, in short order, they headed back to town for the goodnight routine
with the girls.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">As soon as they pulled away
after dropping their dates at home, Gil pounded the steering wheel in
frustration.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Stick, I was so close! She
was feeling me up something crazy, then she just demanded to go home.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Probably to keep from giving
in,” Larry said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“How about you?” Gil asked,
that loopy, crooked grin on his lips. “You close to scoring?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He nodded, feeling like one of
the guys. “This close.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Screw it, I gotta do
something about it!” With that pronouncement, Gil headed back for the mesa. Soon
they were parked in the same area, but this time without a girl in sight.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Man, I gotta take care of
this. You want me to get out of the car and give you some privacy?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Larry shook his head while
struggling to get the words out. “Naw. You just take care of what’s ailing you,
okay?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You too!” Gil said, ripping
open his Jeans. Before Larry could move, his buddy’s britches were down around
his knees, and his love knob waived around in the air as if hunting for
something.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Gil’s demand, freed Larry from
his paralysis. He undid his slacks and slid them down.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Man, that’s an awesome
lovestick,” Gil said, gripping him briefly.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Larry about fainted from the
touch, but Gil grasped himself and began working on his problem, so Larry
followed suit. No one said a word for a good quarter-hour. Nothing but grunts
and groans disturbed the night, until Gil let out a loud, heartfelt “Ahhhhhh!”
A moment later, Larry expressed his own pleasure.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He felt awkward as he cleaned
himself with a handkerchief, but Gil didn’t seem embarrassed at all. He
chattered nonchalantly about the clandestine event as if it had no real meaning
except as a means of relief.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">When Larry went to bed that
night, his head was full of misgivings. Especially when he physically reacted at
recalling Gil’s hand on his manhood for one brief moment. Larry’s breath caught
in his throat. Geez… was he one of those guys?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">Well, is Larry
learning something about himself? Wonder what next week brings.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Stay safe and stay strong.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Now my
mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so
say it!</i><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">A link
to <i>The Cutie-Pie Murders</i>:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7641011964551074572/5034309531260935226"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">My
personal links:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Email: </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7641011964551074572/5034309531260935226"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">don.travis@aol.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Twitter: @dontravis3<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">See you next Thursday.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-58963447993570428742023-10-19T13:20:00.000-07:002023-10-19T13:20:06.408-07:00Buddy the Gray Squirrel (Part 2 of 2 Parts)<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #624<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of Stockfreeimages.com</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv5XdED9T9K3tA_13P_9POtoLUYxTrRoQCWqXyyHaXX8by-nk7rUmPezTZyEPbFubUOF0SsUkfGijoM50iGYVeAzCEXrpeFF_xKwJVlLUGpcuWYmHe7djLMyPnWy3xzphhSMrTxjTl5ko05DG14icSa9Ok807G6Wm-S8qujJFL-ScwLC_rBGuhMl03DuUL/s260/Buddy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="260" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv5XdED9T9K3tA_13P_9POtoLUYxTrRoQCWqXyyHaXX8by-nk7rUmPezTZyEPbFubUOF0SsUkfGijoM50iGYVeAzCEXrpeFF_xKwJVlLUGpcuWYmHe7djLMyPnWy3xzphhSMrTxjTl5ko05DG14icSa9Ok807G6Wm-S8qujJFL-ScwLC_rBGuhMl03DuUL/s1600/Buddy.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">I’ve
been posting this blog for something over twelve years, and I can count on one
hand the times I’ve missed a posting time. It’s always been because of illness
or some other emergency, but this time, I simply let it get away from me. I’ll
blame it on my TV going out and an ongoing fight to get a new one delivered and
set up… no mean task for the electronically challenged. Took a solid week.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">You
have my deepest apology for my mistake.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">Here
we go again with my tale of Buddy. As I said last week, this is therapy for me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 292.2pt; text-indent: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"> ****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">BUDDY,
THE GRAY SQUIRREL<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">A
Biographical Story in Two Parts<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I only recall going on one
other squirrel hunt in my life, and that was in the following spring, which
seemed no less freezing at that time of the morning than the previous fall. We
didn’t bag any squirrels that hunt, although my father did find a baby squirrel
so tiny, it still didn’t have a coat of fur.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He held the naked little creature
in his hand. “You want it?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Why was it just lying on the
ground?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Something probably happened to
its mama, and the little guy got pushed out of the nest somehow.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“So the mama’s gone?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Most likely. You wanna take
it, or do you want me to put it out of its misery?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“No!” I said, a ripple of fear
rolling up my back. “Don’t kill him.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“If we take him home, you’ll
have to take care of him.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“How?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Feed him with a bottle dispenser.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Huh?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You know, the kinda bottle
cap you use to dispense medicine. Has a rubber thing on top to squeeze.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Oh. I can do that. What’ll I
feed him?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Milk, at first.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">So my dad put the helpless
little creature in his warm jacket pocket, and we headed home for an adventure
that lasted a couple of years.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">For the next few nights, I got
up almost hourly to take the little creature—which we named Buddy—and fed him
milk through a dispenser cap. Each time I crawled out of bed, I was certain the
squirrel would be dead, but he persevered… and grew.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">After he was weaned off milk,
my mom took over the task of feeding the little guy at more reasonable daylight
hours. I don’t recall what she used to nourish him, but it worked. He kept
growing. We were reluctant to let him outside for fear a hawk or something
would get him. So he lived in the house.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">He slept with me at night, and
roamed the house… usually hovering close as I played. Sometimes, he played with
me. Those were the days when I was fascinated by little plastic dinosaurs, humans,
and other animals. The dining room windowsill was my favorite hangout, and
Buddy liked it too. Often as not, I’d get into the swing of a play-story in my
head, when he’d butt in, scattering my story characters all over the place and demanding
his share of attention.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Surprisingly my mother put up
with this… until Buddy got so big that climbing the curtains tended to rip them
to shreds. Then she put her foot down. Outside.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">That was a catastrophe, at
least to me. How would he live? Something would get him. Eat him. (Surprisingly
enough, my father hadn’t suggested that we do exactly that.) She pointed out
that we had five oak trees in the yard, all of which could be reached from the
roof of the house except for one.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">So, sniffing back tears, I
took my four-legged pal and placed him on the bole of one of the oaks. He froze
for a moment, and then scampered up the tree and disappeared into the foliage. Convinced
I’d seen the last of my friend, I waved a sad goodbye and went back into the
house.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">How wrong I was. Buddy thrived
in that environment. There were more acorns than one squirrel could handle. A faucet
in the front yard leaked enough so a small puddle at the front afforded him water
whenever he had the need. He hid in the trees and chattered happily at anyone
who entered the yard.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">One day, as I played beneath a
tree, I was startled when something fell onto me. And there was buddy, perched on
my shoulder, as big as you please. And he stayed right there, adding his
chatter to mine as I went about whatever game I was playing. And that
established a pattern. I’d come outside, and he’d come for a visit… and a
treat, of course, something my mother concocted for him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I think Buddy had been with us
for something like a year when one of my mom’s uncles gave us Boots, a
beautiful collie that was reputed to be the best squirrel dog in Arkansas. (Don’t
know how she’d stack up in Oklahoma, where we lived.) Wherever she stood in the
world of squirrel dogs, she was down a few notches by the time she went back
home.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Of course, Boots discovered
Buddy the day—probably the hour—she came to the house. And Buddy discovered
her, remaining high in the trees and venting his spleen in agitated squirrel
chatter while she barked non-stop. No more riding on my shoulder or playing
with me. He stayed in the trees.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Then a game of another sort
began. One oak tree at the back of the house leaned quite noticeably. One day,
we heard Boots putting up such a racket, we went outside to investigate. There
was the dog jumping and wiggling in agitation, and there was the squirrel
sitting on the bole of the tree just out of reach, resting on his hind legs,
forelegs folded as if in prayer while he nattered at the frustrated dog. They played
that game often after that. I’d see Boots getting a running start at that oak
and run halfway up the slanted trunk while the squirrel scrambled to get out of
the way. The little rodent enjoyed the game. The canine did not. I’m sure she
was worthless as a hunting dog by the time she went home. Or maybe I’m wrong.
Maybe she was more determined than ever to help catch any squirrel she could.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Buddy was with us for around
two years or so. Then one day it dawned on me that I hadn’t heard any chatter
and hadn’t been joined at play for quite some time. We never found a body or
any clue to what happened to my childhood friend. I can only hope he expanded
his horizons and discovered a seductive female of his own species and lived a
long and fruitful life post his childhood at the Travis household.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****</span></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">And so ends
the story of me and my rodent pal, Buddy. At the time, I was a sickly kid and a
loner, so the little squirrel’s friendship was especially meaningful to me.
Thank you for living through it with me again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Again, my
apologies for missing my posting time.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Stay safe and stay strong.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Now my
mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so
say it!</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">A link
to <i>The Cutie-Pie Murders</i>:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7641011964551074572/5034309531260935226"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">My
personal links:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Email: </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7641011964551074572/5034309531260935226"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">don.travis@aol.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Twitter: @dontravis3<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">See you next Thursday.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-60496322851643886502023-10-12T04:00:00.001-07:002023-10-12T04:00:00.147-07:00Buddy the Gray Squirrel (Part 1 of 2 Parts)<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #623</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of Stockfreeimages.com</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 293.4pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTdM-rvvrSmQkpGJQMC4vx69CIzzlL1EjPUyroefGSTnClXaz784B-1axYcKNA51qnReDSMWr-QJ1CtkOHJ5E4T6Z83pjxVr-oLLauZFDpwkaHCk2yTqtxRfBkNGYQPKbJXH6DA9ocCIGi60m430MfEVa90t0Vr-vGhHigN-3IhyinonMI7D46lq8Tt0Wk/s260/Buddy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="260" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTdM-rvvrSmQkpGJQMC4vx69CIzzlL1EjPUyroefGSTnClXaz784B-1axYcKNA51qnReDSMWr-QJ1CtkOHJ5E4T6Z83pjxVr-oLLauZFDpwkaHCk2yTqtxRfBkNGYQPKbJXH6DA9ocCIGi60m430MfEVa90t0Vr-vGhHigN-3IhyinonMI7D46lq8Tt0Wk/s1600/Buddy.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><br /><span style="text-indent: 0in;">The
impetus </span><span style="text-indent: 0in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">of the story for the next two
weeks is sort of complicated. My father has been gone for many, many years (he
died of a heart attack when he was only fifty-three), but for some reason, he’s
been on my mind a great deal lately. Most of my memories of him are not great
ones. We all know some marriages are a mixed bag, but I don’t believe most of
us consider father/son relationships that way. Ours was. For the most part, I
blame it on my childhood tuberculosis and dismiss it as: he was physical; I was
cerebral. Naturally, it’s far more complicated than that. The following doesn’t
attempt to explain our tortured relationship, merely highlights a bit of it.</span><p></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Bear
with me. This is therapy.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 292.2pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">BUDDY,
THE GRAY SQUIRREL<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">A Biographical
Story in Two Parts<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 182.4pt center 231.75pt;">My
father was a sportsman. Football, basketball, baseball, it didn’t matter, so
long as it had a ball attached to the game.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I was not.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Dad was a man’s man, hunter,
fisherman, gambler, drinker, good-old-boy, hail-fellow-well-met.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I was not.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I was tubercular—at aged
six—and grew up as far away from sports fields as I could get. The library was
my dueling arena, not courts and turfs and fields. Any wonder then we grew up
with a strained relationship?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Not that he didn’t try. Tried
to make me into his image, that is. I don’t know how many times he dragged me
out of bed and hustled me off to sit—cold and unhappy—in some boat with a
fishing line over the side wondering what I’d do if some poor bass grabbed my
bait. Never happened. I do remember catching a sun perch once, but that was the
extent of it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The best fishing trip I ever
took—one I about halfway enjoyed—was on a warm summer day and extended
overnight. Turned out, it was an excuse for a poker game. Dad and five or six
of his buddies came in off the lake and started playing, with me left to stare
at the men, the woods, the water, or whatever. I was too chicken to go
exploring on my own, especially after nighfall. But I soon discovered something
to occupy my time and hold my interest. One of the players asked me to bring
him a beer from the cooler. I did, and was rewarded with a one-dollar tip. Someone
else asked, and rewarded me similarly. By the time I ran out of steam and headed
for bed in the back of Dad’s pickup, I had fifty of those one-dollar bills
stuffed in my pockets. That was more money than I’d ever seen in my whole life.
I was rich. But as soon as I settled into my blankets for what was left of the
night, my dad showed up and talked me out of it, saying he’d had a bad run of
luck and needed it to finance his recovery. Needless to say, that was the last
I saw of my fifty dollars. Last mention of it too.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Frog gigging (a big thing down
in my part of Oklahoma) was the worst. Somebody’d stab one of the unfortunate
creatures, and sometimes I’d have to crawl into the water to make sure it was
firmly impaled before drawing it into the boat. Then—ugh!—I’d have to rip the
poor frog’s carcass off the prongs. Not for me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">My father managed to get me at
bat in a softball game once—as a substitute for some other guy. The pitcher
threw, I closed my eyes and swung… and hit a two bagger. I was so shocked, they
had to tell me to run. The pitcher threw two more outs, so I never got past
second base.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Dad insisted I go him hunting
with him, and the worst jaunts were for squirrels. He hunted squirrels in the
cold of autumn, and in the mountains, the falls were cold. I was skinny as a
rail, and the wind whipped right through me, didn’t matter how many layers of
clothing I had on. Miserable from start to finish.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">On one such trip, Dad planted
me at the foot of a big oak and told me to go on watch for the squirrel we
heard chattering but couldn’t see. He went on to a spot he considered more
likely and was soon out of sight.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I sat on the cold ground, as uncomfortable
as could be, and concentrated on keeping warm. An impossible task, by the way. I
had no interest in or intention of watching for that noisy critter hidden
somewhere in the tree limbs. But after a while, when I caught movement in the
branches, I automatically threw up my single-shot, twenty-two rifle, closed my
eyes, and pulled the trigger.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">To my astonishment, the little
rodent fell out of the tree and landed on the ground with a plop. That’s where
my dad found me, standing over the dead squirrel gaping at it. He’d heard the
gunshot and came to investigate. Should have been a real moment for me. A
turning point for us. I’d been man enough (even though I was still a child) to bag
and carry home dinner for my family.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Not for me. I’d killed
something I didn’t want to kill, and now it lay still and stiff and bleeding on
the ground. He made me gingerly pick it up by the tail and put it in a bag with
another couple of dead animals, and we went home.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">That evening, we had squirrel
for dinner. And my poor victim was served to me on a platter. The critter was almost
inedible because my lucky shot had entered one eye and run down the spine, splintering
vertebrae throughout the pitiful creature. It’s a wonder I didn’t get lead
poisoning from the few bites I managed to get down. My dad, of course, ate my
victim with relish.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I only recall going on one
other squirrel hunt in my life, and that was in the following spring. Next
week, I’ll tell you about that one and introduce you to Buddy the Gray
Squirrel.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"> ****</span></p><p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">Hope you stuck
with me on my journey back into my past. The second part of this particular
trip is much lighter.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">See you next Thursday.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Stay safe and stay strong.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Now my
mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so
say it!</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">A link
to <i>The Cutie-Pie Murders</i>:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7641011964551074572/5034309531260935226"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">My
personal links:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Email: </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7641011964551074572/5034309531260935226"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">don.travis@aol.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Twitter: @dontravis3<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">See you next Thursday.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7641011964551074572.post-66360912323247452162023-10-05T04:00:00.001-07:002023-10-05T04:00:00.203-07:00Gotta Soldier On<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">dontravis.com
blog post #622<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Image Courtesy of Clipart Of:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2-jjFxwNh49HBehb9lBpPzmdHLdIcCF2mM2_iSajdT76hxT0rbXHWrQ2AnJodgLJzNhXc8vpwCODRi27cXCvjwZE1bm5MX4XRgXL_DsPnBAtiVZ7NQitZrU4Bz1iUl_JwCIEe7auZynuQifrbdatNEowE_zB23zD0VjZ0YXPsKCi5geysqu8h5JMXKPr/s470/Gotta%20Soldier%20On.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="470" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2-jjFxwNh49HBehb9lBpPzmdHLdIcCF2mM2_iSajdT76hxT0rbXHWrQ2AnJodgLJzNhXc8vpwCODRi27cXCvjwZE1bm5MX4XRgXL_DsPnBAtiVZ7NQitZrU4Bz1iUl_JwCIEe7auZynuQifrbdatNEowE_zB23zD0VjZ0YXPsKCi5geysqu8h5JMXKPr/s320/Gotta%20Soldier%20On.jpg" width="306" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;">The
lesson from last week’s post… don’t marry a harpy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">The
Singaporeans are still checking out the site big time. Appreciate their
interest and invite comments.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">This
week, just a short story. A little longer than flash fiction, but not much.
Hope you enjoy.</span></p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 276.1pt; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 292.2pt; text-indent: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 153.0pt center 231.75pt; text-indent: 0in;"> </p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"> </p><p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Manuscript" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">GOTTA
SOLDIER ON<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">Tweaking the bow tie and rolling
my shoulders to settle the tux jacket more comfortably, I inspected myself in
the mirror. Had to look just right for my retirement dinner. My wife Mabel had
elected to go ahead of me to the Windhaven Hotel with her closest friend, who
was the wife of one of my senior vice presidents. The one who would succeed me,
in fact. Joe Horgan was a good choice… my choice.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">After a final inspection, I
turned away from the mirror. Jacob James Childerson still cut a figure at something
under fifty. I still had a good number of productive years ahead of me. So why
retire, most of my friends asked. Because I’d had enough. Wanted to do
something else… what, I wasn’t sure. I liked to paint—landscapes mostly—and was
decent at it. Or maybe write. I had plenty to share after taking Childerson
Electronics from a small computer repair shop to a business with a thousand
employees and multi-million-dollar contracts spread around the globe. Not
repairing computers, of course, but by advancing their capacity manyfold
through a new chip I’d invented.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Satisfied with the way I
looked, I went downstairs just in time to see the limo the company had sent
pull up into the circular driveway. I called to our maid Hilda that I was
leaving and stepped outside before the driver could even get out of the
vehicle. He introduced himself—the limo was a rental—as I ushered myself into
the back seat, and we whisked away for the twenty-minute drive to the hotel.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Except it didn’t work out that
way. As we approached the bridge across the river, the motor began to knock. In
the middle of the structure spanning the waterway, it decided to quit
altogether. The obviously embarrassed driver bailed out and stuck his nose
under the hood. I joined him as traffic rushed around us.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Just call for another limo,”
I suggested.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Think I can get it running
before another one can get here.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">That didn’t work out either. My
wife had called twice, and I was on the verge of trying to hail a cab when the
motor finally caught. Didn’t sound too healthy to my inexperienced ears—I was
into electronics, not mechanics—but it moved the vehicle along okay. The driver
nursed it along until we were ten blocks from the hotel. Then it died with a
finality that was evident.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I’ll walk from here,” I said.
“Be quicker than trying to catch a cab.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Glancing at my watch, I exited
the limo and made it to the sidewalk safely. Deciding running wouldn’t look
dignified—especially in an expensive tuxedo—I high-stepped it toward the Windhaven.
I’d only gone two blocks when a black-clad man ran out of a store and crashed
into me, sending me flat on my back onto the rough concrete, my hand clutching
my right jaw where he’d elbowed me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I sat up to take inventory and
look for the careless oaf. He was nowhere in sight, and my fellow pedestrians all
scurried away, eyes averted. I got to my feet, lamenting a huge rip on the left
sleeve of my jacket. Brushing away the dirt as best I could, I took a few limping
steps before the cramps let up and then started to run. I was so late the dinner
would be over before I got there to make my speech.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The police sirens intruded on
my consciousness as I approached the alley at the back of the hotel. I’d cut in
there. They had a bell to summon an attendant at the rear entrance, so I could
save some time.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I heard a screech of tires and
a raised voice as I turned into the alley. More yelling. Loud footsteps. No
matter, the bell was within reach. I’d just given it a short ring when somebody
crashed into me, sending me to the ground. This time, I rolled and crashed
against a garbage can. The force of the blow popped the lid off the receptacle
and toppled it over, dumping smelly goo all over me. There was a perfectly good
dumpster just feet away, who needed a garbage can?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">While still dealing with that,
rough hands dragged me to my feet and pinned my hands behind my back.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“What’s going on?” I demanded.
“Let me go. Get your hands off me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“What’s going on is robbery
and murder, buddy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“What robbery? What murder?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The policeman, a pug-faced ape
running to fat punched a fist into my chest. “Robbery of the Diamond Liquor
Store, and the murder of the owner. And if the security guard dies, you’re
going down for two murders.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“I-I don’t know what you’re
talking about. Why are you arresting me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Witnesses saw you running
away from the store. Plenty of witnesses.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">A second cop grabbed my face
in his grubby hand and turned my head to the side. “Looks like Lou got in a
punch before you shot him. Lou Grissom’s a pal of mine, you dirty bastard.
You’re lucky I don’t handle this my own way.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Who… who’s Lou Grissom?” I
sputtered. It was getting hard to hang onto my dignity.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“The security guard,” the
first policeman said. “He was an ex-cop. Lotsa friends on the force. You shot
the wrong guy, you son-of-a-bitch.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“What’s going on here?” a
voice demanded. We all turned to face the manager of the Windhaven. The hotel
attendant who’d answered my ring and summoned him stood at his side.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“Just dealing with a robber
and a killer, Mr. Ratchet. We’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The manager stepped forward.
“You’ve made a mistake. This is Mr. Jacob Childerson, President and Chairman of
Childerson Electronics. I doubt he robbed or killed anyone.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The cops settled down and
allowed me to explain about the man who’d run into me outside of what turned
out to be Diamond Liquors. When they were finally satisfied, Ratchet had the
attendant brush me off as best he could.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">“You have to hurry, Mr.
Childerson,” he said. The dinner is over, and everyone is waiting for your
speech.” He stood back and frowned, his nose twitching. “They’ll just have to
wait a bit longer. That tux is ruined… ripped and stained.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I waved him away. “I’ll
explain what happened. Just get me to the ballroom.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">When I entered the big room,
packed with officers and employees of my company and their mates, everyone
stood and applauded. Then as I stepped to the podium, the applause died,
replaced by audible gasps.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Joe Horgan’s jaw dropped. He
frowned uncertainly, then smiled and let out a laugh. “Jake, you old dog,
you’ve only been out of a job for a day, you haven’t had time to become a bum
yet.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">The audience roared with
laughter. My lifelong reputation as a practical joker had caught up with me. Nothing
to do but go with it. Soldier on, you know.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">I stepped to the microphone
and told what had happened, putting a humorous spin on it. Everyone gasped and
oohed and aahed and laughed. It wasn’t the speech I’d intended, but it worked
well, I think. Like I said, a guy’s gotta soldier on.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Only thing was… when I glanced
around, everyone at the head table had retreated a safe distance. Guess they
figured I’d carried things a little too far by rolling around in garbage.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal;">Mabel told me later—after we
arrived home in separate cars I might add—it was my finest hour.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="Dreamspinner" style="tab-stops: 114.0pt center 231.75pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">****<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Dreamspinner" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">Birds of a
feather, I say.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Stay safe and stay strong.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Now my
mantra: <i>Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so
say it!</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">A link
to <i>The Cutie-Pie Murders</i>:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7641011964551074572/5034309531260935226"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">My
personal links:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Email: </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7641011964551074572/5034309531260935226"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">don.travis@aol.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Twitter: @dontravis3<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">See you next Thursday.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="text-indent: 0in;"> 1</span> </p>Don Travishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09586243319882264376noreply@blogger.com0