23 Precisely – Part III

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So, back to the story. Some book reviews coming to this space soon. Surely, a political rant as well. Heck, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?
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In the past six weeks, quiet had returned to the workplace. Janice and Jorge had gone undetected, Mark’s ravings were attributed to his psychotic break. Fortunately for all involved, his employer (if not his coworkers) was well aware that mental health problems were just that: health problems. Consequently, since there was no damage done and no physical harm to anyone except Mark, he’d been well cared for on an extended leave of absence vice facing any disciplinary action .

A long stay with a top-shelf care facility had given him a new life, some respite from his anxieties with the proper medication, and time to decompress. He’d been in a self-imposed exile from reality for years and was actually happy to have it brought to his attention. He’d adopted a cat, eaten good meals in nice restaurants, and begun a physical fitness program that included long walks along the base of the foothills.

Monday. Monday he would return to work. He reached out to his group on Thursday night, seeking affirmation that it was perfectly normal to be nervous about going back into that office with a few issues unresolved. Friday afternoon he’d met with his boss and the H.R. Director in a different branch office where nobody knew him. They read through his accounts of the episode, the doctor’s release, and chatted with Mark about how we was going to handle the stress that went with his very high-tech job.

Satisfied, they mutually agreed to a return on Monday morning.

Mark made it through the first day without any hitches being obvious to the multitude watching his every move. One good soul had even brought him a cookie-bouquet and a welcome card. Others stopped by during the day to say a kind word and let him know that they’d missed his help during the busiest time of the year.

To Mark, that sounded like a criticism instead of a laudatory reference to his sterling work ethic. He counted his numbers at the end of the day and realized he was 37% below his usual norms. That wouldn’t do.

Tuesday morning Mark had fed the cat and taken most of his medication when the phone rang. Another robo-caller letting him know that his non-existent student loan could be refinanced. When Mark returned to the kitchen counter where he kept his medication, he halted for a moment. This one, the last he was to take, this was the one. The doctor warned him that it might make him drowsy or a bit slower on the mark than usual. He had felt a little behind yesterday, 37% to be precise. Skip it. It was one of many, not that important.

The next three weeks moved into the rear-view mirror with no glitches. Mark gradually picked up the pace at work until he was back within 2% of his normal production. And down three of the prescribed medications to attain that lofty goal. He didn’t realize that even on his worst day he was 85% more productive than any of his peers. To him, he was just hitting normal three weeks into the game.

Next week he’d trim one more medication and the be back where he should be. He’d thought long and hard about it last night while taking his walk. Even the cat agreed: he was doing just fine. He’d asked.

The cat had answered.

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Come back Thursday for the next installment of 23 Precisely.

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Assault on Saint Agnes is now available. Just click this link to find all the options! (I recommend the autographed copy. It’s cheaper than from the big stores, I scribble in it, and you get it mailed within 5 days. We all win.

When you finish reading any book (especially mine) please review it at www.amazon.com, www.barnesandnoble.com, and www.goodreads.com. Your review increases the chances of someone looking for a new book greatly. Authors appreciate your review, even if it is just “I thought this was a good read and will give it to my dog to chew. I especially liked the ending, because it made me feel better when he killed all of the main characters. (no spoilers, please)” Those few words (more than 20, fewer than 1,000 is ideal), and a 1-5 rating, make or break how the search engines find us. Thanks in advance.

23 Precisely – Part II

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We will shortly continue with the story, but a bit of politics first.

If you are voting early, you probably fall into one of two categories: the hopeless party hack (on either side) who would vote for Satan’s dog if she had the right party affiliation. Or, perhaps, you are just confused, or unhappy, with the candidates and want to pull the trigger and be done with it this year.

I urge you to hold out until election day. One measly day every four years and you’re too busy to vote that day? Short of a planned trip out of the country, and casting your vote before you hop on the plane, you have no excuse. Wait. See what develops. Stand in line for a whole hour if you need to do so. At the very least, wait until the last moment before you leave to cast that absentee ballot. But for the love of your country, don’t just mark a box and put the thing in the mail to get it out of the way.

Things will happen between now and election day. Don’t be like the primary voters in Arizona who voted for a candidate on the early ballot, and found out that he was no longer a candidate on the actual voting day. Make your vote count. Read something other than the Huffington Post before you decide. Watch another channel besides Fox News. Get out of whatever mental box you live inside.

Then, and only then, on election day cast your ballot. A lot of good people have given their lives over the years to give you that right. Don’t blow it so that your convenience needs are satisfied. Work to keep earning that right every day.

Please follow me on Twitter, and “Like” the Facebook author page. Don’t forget to subscribe (the box is on the right side of the page) to be eligible for free e-books and other benefits! Oh yeah – grab a copy of Assault on Saint Agnes if you’re of a mind.

Mark Alveson stood in front of the bulletin board and stared. His heart thundered in his ears and he started to sway like a stalk of wheat in a high wind. Before he fell down, he managed to plop into a chair and progress to hyperventilation. Within a minute, he was able to once again focus his eyes, which were immediately drawn to the bulletin board. It was exactly what he thought he’d seen: someone had replaced all of the thumbtacks with staples.

Each document was in the exact same place it had been at the beginning of the shift, but instead of being held by a 7/16 steel thumbtack they were stapled with red-plastic coated staples. Panic welded him to the chair as he evaluated the situation. Exploding from the chair like a cork from a bottle of cheap sparkling wine, he ran out of the lunch room door, proceeded along route “G” and sprinted to his desk. Every head in the office turned to follow him as he thundered down the aisles, apparently at random, hardly in a straight line, but with a purpose.

The top, right drawer in his desk left it’s rails and emptied its contents on the floor with a tinkling noise. Thousands of 7/16 and 3/8 inch thumbtacks spilled from the two special jars he’d bought for them on a trip to Belize several years before. Intermingled on the floor, grabbing at the carpet, they tore minuscule ravines in his fingers and palms as he scooped them back into the now blood-stained jars. He’d sort them later, but right now he needed to fix the board.

Running back to the lunch room, this time along route “E”, he narrowly avoided knocking down the IT person lugging a monitor down the aisle.

With a splatter of blood, he grabbed the door frame and spun into the lunch room where he remained for seven minutes and sixteen seconds. When he emerged, his bloody fingernail stumps revealed the price he’d paid for forgetting the staple puller on his desk. The pain was soon forgotten as the warmth of satisfaction spread across his face. A quick triple-wash of the hands in the restroom, and the used towels taken to clean the door frame, and he was done. He now strolled down route “M” to his desk where he gingerly inserted the drawer once again, and loaded his Belizian jars into his backpack to be sorted out at home.

He barely felt the gentle hand of his manager Ann as she asked him to step into the conference room. He certainly didn’t notice the look of glee on Jorge’s face, nor the look of panic on that of Janice.

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Come back Tuesday for the next installment of 23 tacks.

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Assault on Saint Agnes is now available. Just click this link to find all the options! (I recommend the autographed copy. It’s cheaper than from the big stores, I scribble in it, and you get it mailed within 5 days. We all win.

When you finish reading any book (especially mine) please review it at www.amazon.com, www.barnesandnoble.com, and www.goodreads.com. Your review increases the chances of someone looking for a new book greatly. Authors appreciate your review, even if it is just “I thought this was a good read and will give it to my dog to chew. I especially liked the ending, because it made me feel better when he killed all of the main characters. (no spoilers, please)” Those few words (more than 20, fewer than 1,000 is ideal), and a 1-5 rating, make or break how the search engines find us. Thanks in advance.

23 Precisely

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Some of you wonder where I get my ideas when I write. The short answer is a very strange mind.

Today I was inspired by another fellow with an equally strange mind. I hope you enjoy this flash fiction. It might be longer than most flash, or shorter, but it was certainly written on the spur of the moment at the local Caribou Coffee.

Please follow me on Twitter, and “Like” the Facebook author page. Don’t forget to subscribe (the box is on the right side of the page) to be eligible for free e-books and other benefits! Oh yeah – grab a copy of Assault on Saint Agnes if you’re of a mind.

Mark Alveson glanced to his left and cast a dirty look at the bowling ball sitting on his coworker’s desk. Grimy. But Eric had objected when he’d polished it three years ago on the day they moved into this office space. Personal boundaries indeed.

Mark stretched and pushed his chair back from the desk. Time to do it. He stood up, checked the alignment of his keyboard, and flexed both hands 11 times rapidly.Taking two steps to the left, he pushed his chair into the desk hole, aligned to the right of the hole, wheels precisely aligned with the line of the edge of the desk on the left and the right.

Seven steps to the right, 31 steps to the right again and the first one was directly in front of him. All was in order. Mostly. Third one from the left top was slightly higher than it should be. A quick adjustment. Four steps back to verify. Adequate.

Seventeen steps to the right, turn to the right and 11 steps before turning left into the lunchroom, immediate left, immediate left. 22. A quick recount. 22.

Mark could feel his sweat glands flooding his pressed khaki shirt and dark jeans. A salty dribble rolled down his nose and plopped on the floor before he was able to open the small container he kept on his belt and gather a single one of the silver variety – for the missing one was silver. All the others were there, albiet terribly askew. He spent the next 2 minutes and eight seconds aligning all of them to the proper standard.

With a flourish he removed a green (Tuesday) kerchief from his left rear pocket and snapped it open. With a puff of anxious breath he added a scintilla of moisture to the fabric, shined the newest member of the unit, and then swiped his forehead, neck, and hands.

He deposited the now soiled cloth in the third bin from the door as he forced himself to take route “L” back to his cube. He kept a list of the routes he took on his desktop, and could now check this one off. Like all the others it was 29 paces from his desk. A smile crossed his lips like an angry and furtive cat. Perfection in all things.

Before resuming his seat, he pulled a new, green kerchief from the pile in his file cabinet’s bottom drawer. Removing it from the plastic bag, he placed it in his left rear pocket, forced the air from the bag, folded it and closed the seal. It was then placed in the fourth pocket of his lunch bag, next to the lemonade packets, and the lunchbag was pushed to align with his nameplate, where it should be at this time of day. He gently sat down on the chair once it was 18 inches from the desk and at a 45 degree angle precisely. Mark spent the next 12 minutes and five seconds of his break with his eyes closed, head tilted back, doing isometric exercises to strengthen his core.

Two rows away, his coworker Janice smiled and went back to work after a quick glance at her main drawer. Tomorrow, if not the next day, three or four of those little beauties would be randomly placed on one of the boards. All had a small smudge of caramel on them. A waste, no doubt, but fun to watch as he polished.

The same thought, but with the number 7 attached, passed through Jorge’s mind as he furtively put the lid back on his special cookie tin. He smiled as well, careful not to let anyone see. Pushing his chair back, and leaving it in the middle of the aisle, he left the room. A quick stop at the vending machine in the elevator lobby and he’d hit the bulletin board before heading back to his chair.

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Come back Thursday for the next installment of 23 tacks.

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Assault on Saint Agnes is now available. Just click this link to find all the options! (I recommend the autographed copy. It’s cheaper than from the big stores, I scribble in it, and you get it mailed within 5 days. We all win.

When you finish reading any book (especially mine) please review it at www.amazon.com, www.barnesandnoble.com, and www.goodreads.com. Your review increases the chances of someone looking for a new book greatly. Authors appreciate your review, even if it is just “I thought this was a good read and will give it to my dog to chew. I especially liked the ending, because it made me feel better when he killed all of the main characters. (no spoilers, please)” Those few words (more than 20, fewer than 1,000 is ideal), and a 1-5 rating, make or break how the search engines find us. Thanks in advance.

Where Are The Dogs?

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Since I’ve been goofing off lately (on my sequel writing duties) I thought I’d give you all a taste of Kurtz to get you through the week. Yes, it’s original flash fiction time here at the blog. As always, I hope this scares the snot out of you all. That’s the point: Assault on Saint Agnes is based on reality, it’s just a matter of time. So’s the scenario for today’s fiction.

That having been said, thanks for dropping by. I hope you’re safe. Part of being safe is carrying concealed everywhere you go, whenever you can. Do it legally, but do it. 100% of terrorist deaths are caused by death. Don’t you want to help them out in pursuing martyrdom? Pull the plug today on a terrorist and I’ll send you my thanks.

Please follow me on Twitter, and “Like” the Facebook author page. Don’t forget to subscribe (the box is on the right side of the page) to be eligible for free e-books and other benefits! Oh yeah – grab a copy of Assault on Saint Agnes if you’re of a mind.

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Kurtz stood on the sidewalk outside the Hotel Saint Paul, surveying the park across the street. Jammed. Hundreds of hipsters, teens and tweeners staring at their phones, waiting for some Pokémon to appear. The dogs should have been here ten minutes ago, but the traffic was brutal tonight with the Wild Game just getting out, and Saint Paul P.D. was stretched thin.

Kurtz shifted to look around the food truck that had just parked across the street. These kids were packed in like sardines, and probably figured him for just another homeless guy waiting for a handout. His wardrobe, the subject of regular commentary from his wife in years gone by, was one notch below what the residents of the Gospel Mission received when they’d lost everything.

Until the sniffer dogs arrived, he was trying to profile the crowd to find the trigger man. All the intel whiz-kids had given him when they sent him the secure text was two words: bomb and Pokémon. He was at Mickey’s Diner when he got the message, and covered the two blocks at a run. He was playing the odds that this was the place. Suicide bomber? I.E.D. in one of the dozens of cars in the area? Or a device in a trash can? For all he knew, it was up in a tree, placed there days before and waiting for a command detonator.

Just as he came to the edge of the food truck and regained his view, the first device went off. It obliterated the TACOTRAILER and everyone within ten feet. The burning wreck landed on its side just four feet from where he had been standing a moment before. The next blast roiled up thirty feet to the left and Kurtz felt shrapnel sing past his head, lethal hornets seeking victims. Hitting the deck, he covered a small woman and her child with his own body just as the third and fourth blasts rolled down the street, perpendicular to the first two blasts. The bomber was herding the crowd toward the Landmark Center with the roiling flames and lung-shattering explosions. Trash cans. They had to be in the trash cans.

Kurtz struggled to his feet and hopped up on the retaining wall behind him to get a better look at the park. Dozens were down, most dead or working in that direction. He was looking for someone on the periphery who was filming the events and not moving to escape with the crowd.

There, on the steps of the public library. Two men, one with a cellphone and the other with a Gopro: the trigger and the cameraman. Kurtz was already on his Bluetooth, dialing a special tactical net number that brought him up live on the Police frequency, giving a description and requesting help. They weren’t done yet, and most likely were trying to bait the first responders in to the trap before detonating the last device.

Pushing against the crowd, Kurtz kept one eye on the two terrorists, and looked for the final device: it had to be big to make this all work. He found it without too much trouble: a semitrailer turned in from Fifth street and parked on the street near the Ordway. That shouldn’t be here on a Friday night, it was way after dock hours at the Xcel Energy Center. That, and the driver was running at full speed toward the two with the camera and the trigger.

Kurtz passed the information on and braced himself against the stop sign at the intersection. The laser dot from his Kimber squared up on the triggerman’s forehead. All it would take is a gentle squeeze, and his finger was already in motion.

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Well, if you liked that, go check out Assault on Saint Agnes. Thanks for dropping by.

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Assault on Saint Agnes is now available. Just click this link to find all the options! (I recommend the autographed copy. It’s cheaper than from the big stores, I scribble in it, and you get it mailed within 5 days. We all win.

When you finish reading any book (especially mine) please review it at www.amazon.com, www.barnesandnoble.com, and www.goodreads.com. Your review increases the chances of someone looking for a new book greatly. Authors appreciate your review, even if it is just “I thought this was a good read and will give it to my dog to chew. I especially liked the ending, because it made me feel better when he killed all of the main characters. (no spoilers, please)” Those few words (more than 20, fewer than 1,000 is ideal), and a 1-5 rating, make or break how the search engines find us. Thanks in advance.

It’s Not Walking Pneumonia If They’re Dragging You.

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Since I know most of you read this while you should be working, make sure your corporate LAN is up to the task, read the blog, and then get to work!

A gentle reminder first: if you’ve read Assault on Saint Agnes but not yet reviewed it on Amazon, please do so right this second. Your reviews are critical to my sales, and I appreciate your taking five minutes to do a review right now. Nothing special needed, but your honest input is highly valued.

A brilliant woman I know pointed out that Hillary wasn’t suffering from walking pneumonia. I quote, “She might have had pneumonia, but she sure wasn’t walking.” I wonder if there’s such a thing as “being dragged by the Secret Service pneumonia?” I checked www.webmd.com but they don’t list it.

Please follow me on Twitter, and “Like” the Facebook author page. Don’t forget to subscribe (the box is on the right side of the page) to be eligible for free e-books and other benefits! Oh yeah – grab a copy of Assault on Saint Agnes if you’re of a mind.

Thursday there was a kerfuffle when one of Trump’s kids said that “They’ve let [Hillary Clinton] slide on every indiscrepancy, on every lie, on every D.N.C. game trying to get Bernie Sanders out of this thing,” Trump Jr. said. “If Republicans were doing that, they’d be warming up the gas chamber right now.”

Now, being a student of American history, and smarter than Wonkette, I immediately flashed to the scene in My Favorite Brunette when Bob Hope is being marched to the death chamber and he remarks on how cheap the state is, as they’re still executing prisoners with gas and haven’t upgraded to the electric chair yet.

Yup. Sometimes a quote just gets misconstrued by the press – on purpose. I hate everything, and everyone, that trivializes the Holocaust. If you’ve been reading this blog for any time, you’d know that all in spades. I suspect that if young Mr. Trump had said “The lynch mob would be after him.” nobody would flash to Hang ‘Em High, but instead say that Donald Trump advocates lynching black men while giggling over the act. If he’d mentioned… well, no matter what he said, the rabid morons of the press would be on this like a rash.

The F.B.I. is at a new low in public respect. Efrem Zimbalist, Jr. must be spinning in his grave after a career boosting the agency has been undone with one political lackey (the current director) covering up for the democrat candidate – Monica’s ex-boyfriend’s wife. Standards of justice should be just that: standard. If I’d done it, you’d never have heard of me. I’d still be in jail. She’s getting away with it because…?

Eh. That’s it for the moment. It’s Friday and you’re all filling out your time sheets and getting ready for barbecue. Get going. And, have a great weekend.

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Assault on Saint Agnes is now available. Just click this link to find all the options! (I recommend the autographed copy. It’s cheaper than from the big stores, I scribble in it, and you get it mailed within 5 days. We all win.

When you finish reading any book (especially mine) please review it at www.amazon.com, www.barnesandnoble.com, and www.goodreads.com. Your review increases the chances of someone looking for a new book greatly. Authors appreciate your review, even if it is just “I thought this was a good read and will give it to my dog to chew. I especially liked the ending, because it made me feel better when he killed all of the main characters. (no spoilers, please)” Those few words (more than 20, fewer than 1,000 is ideal), and a 1-5 rating, make or break how the search engines find us. Thanks in advance.