The Cover Design of My Latest
The book will be out about the end of June.
Month: May 2013
A Time Has to Come (With Apologies to Blodwyn Pig)
Dear Lord please let this trial pass. A time has come to change. If you lift this burden from me I’ll never kill again. I thought I was doing your work. I thought sinners had no place on this earth. Now that I am a sinner myself, I now know that I should not have done what I did in Your name.
A man has to change. Some things around me keep moving, some things keep the same. If You will remove this dark cloud from over me I will do right until I lay myself down at my judgment. I got no more in me to fight the good fight.
I entered this town three days ago and proceeded to dispatch the sinner who called himself Boyd. But after, as he lay in the street and his wife and children gathered round him, I thought for the first time that I may be doing wrong.
I am now scheduled for the scaffold at first light. Oh, please. oh please my Lord I do not want to die. Like the sea and the tide I kept moving. Now I am to go the way of all those I have killed. As I’ve said, a time has to come when a man will change and take the road that will clear a troubled mind. Oh Lord help me stand up and face what I have done.
Yes, my time has come. Thank you my Lord for showing me the way. This day I will be with you in heaven.
Night Moves
They are always with me. At times, they appear out of the ethereal mist and at other times they speak directly to my mind. I wish they would leave me to myself, but that they will not do. No, first I must do their bidding.
They come at night and stay until the black sky fades to gray. When the stars leave the sky and the clouds to the east turn pink I am allowed to rest. But I ask you, what respite can a murderer have? At their behest, I have killed again this night. And I will continue to kill until they go back from whence they came.
I remember the first time they came to me. It was a little over a year ago and since then I have killed twenty-nine people. Please do no think me insane. I assure you these beings are real and are not immanent. At first, I too thought myself demented when they stood before me telling me they came to save the human race, and to accomplish their mission certain people must die. They explained that the demise of the race was not imminent, but if action was not taken, and taken soon, it would be too late to set things on a course to ensure the continuance of mankind.
You are probably wondering, if you do not think me crazed, why they cannot do their own dirty work. And it is a good question, one I have asked. They, of course, are not of our time and space. They appear, when they appear, as diaphanous specters, they cannot manipulate physical matter. Thus I have become their instrument here on earth. Where or when they are from I do not know. And why, out of all the billions on this planet I was chosen, I know not. But it has been a long night and I must sleep, I will continue this at a later date, and continue it I shall, for I want there to be a record of my actions and the reasons for them.
I am back. It has been two days since my last entry, and tonight they had me kill again. That makes thirty people, thirty innocent people, men, women and children I have dispatched from this world. Yes, I am sorry to say that they have had me kill children. However, I was told that after tonight there would be no more need of my services, the human race was safe for the foreseeable future.
I refer to my tormentors as they or them because I do not know what they call themselves. Their form is vaguely human, two arms, two legs, and a head of sorts atop a torso, but their gossamer appearance precludes calling them human.
Tonight’s victim was a man in Moscow. I was directed to him and given his name. I then I set about their business. I was told that his son, yet unborn, would one day invent something that would cause the death of billions. Being told the basis for this particular death was a departure from the norm, I had never been given rhyme nor reason for any of the others. The man’s name and the names of the other twenty-nine, with where and when they died, are in the addendum attached to this missive. I remember every one of my quarry.
I guess I should have mentioned this earlier, but my victims were scattered around the world. I do not know how they did it, but one minute I was in my room behind a locked door and the next minute I was standing in a foreign locale with the name of that night’s victim swirling through my brain. Then into my mind came the place I could find him or her in the city, town or hamlet.
Now, the thirty-first person will die. They, at last, have left me to myself. I am now free to end this the only way it can be ended, with my death. I’ve been saving and hiding my medication for quite a while now, there is enough to kill me three times over. May God have mercy on my soul.
I affix my hand to this document this 30th day of June in the year of our Lord 2011.
Signed,
Francis Fitzgerald
When Dr. Allen had finished reading the above, he turned to Dr. Harris and said, “Interesting, but why have you brought it to me? We both know that the man was a certified, delusional schizophrenic. How long have we had him here at our institution?”
Dr. Harris hesitantly answered, “He’s been here at Oakwood twelve years sir.”
‘Well there you have it. It’s too bad he took his own life, it doesn’t help our reputation any, but these things happen.”
“Yes sir; however there is something I think you ought to know.”
“Yes?”
I’ve taken the liberty of investigating a few of the names on Fitzgerald’s list. It’s taken me three weeks, but I’ve verified eleven of the deaths and their time and place. They all correspond with what Fitzgerald has written.”
Dr. Allen straightened in his seat, glanced at the papers in his hand, and then looking Dr. Harris in the eye, very forcibly said, “Preposterous! If there is any correlation, he read of the deaths in the newspaper or heard of them on the television.”
“Excuse me sir, but Fitzgerald had no access to newspapers, he was denied them because they would agitate him to no end. And the only television he had access to was in the day room where the set is perpetually tuned to a movie channel.”
“That still does not give credence to this fairytale,” said Dr, Allen waving the Fitzgerald papers at Dr. Harris.
“No sir it does not. However there is one thing I think I should make you aware of. My sister is married to a Russian physicist, speaks fluent Russian and lives in Moscow. I called her about the last name on Fitzgerald’s list. She made a few calls for me and it turns out that Fitzgerald was dead before the body of the man he mentions was discovered. And just one more thing sir, the man’s wallet was found in Fitzgerald’s room. I have it if you’d like to see it.”
Turning a color red that is not in the spectrum, Dr. Allen shouted, “NO! I DO NOT WANT TO SEE THE DAMN WALLET!” And then handing the Fitzgerald papers to Dr. Harris, he said with ice in his voice, “Burn these, burn them now. And if you value your position here at Oakwood you will never speak of this matter again, to anyone. Do I make myself clear?”
Dr. Harris accepted the papers, and with a meek, “Yes sir,” walked out of the room. When he was in the hall, and by himself, he let out with a, “I’ll be goddamned, the old bastard is afraid.”
But Dr. Harris did not burn the papers. He placed them with the wallet in his desk drawer and then locked it. He had some thinking to do. And as he started on his rounds, a quote of Shakespeare’s kept repeating itself in his head. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, then are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
Danny and Andrew
Hello fans, It’s me Danny the Dog again and today I think it’s high time I told you about how my human and I met. His name is Andrew. I found him eleven years ago down in Miami. Nowadays we live on a boat in Fort Lauderdale, but I’m originally from Miami. Andrew, as far as I know, has always lived in Fort Lauderdale.
I was six months old and I wanted to go out and see the world. I wasn’t getting any younger and the lure of the road called to me. So one day when no one was looking, I just took off. At first, I had a grand time. I’d sniff my way down one street and then the down the next. I met up with a few other dogs, chased a few cars and thought to myself that that was the life. But after a day or so, I started to get hungry, and unlike the home I had left, the humans I ran into had no desire to feed me. I did get into a few garbage cans, but the pickings were slim.
Then on the third day, I’m running down the street and a white pickup truck stops and this guy gets out and talks to me. I forget exactly what he said, but it was something along the line of buying me a hamburger. So naturally, I jumped into the truck and off we went. About now, you are all thinking that the person was Andrew, well you are all wrong. The guy’s name was Don.
He took me to McDonalds and bought me two hamburgers. Then we went to his house and I stayed with him. I had tired of being on the road. It was nice to be fed every day, and to be loved wasn’t bad either. The only down side was that Don kept calling me George.
Now this is where Andrew comes into the picture. About three times a week Andrew would drive down to Miami to do some business, Don was a friend of his, and they’d get together for lunch whenever they could. So about a week after I found Don, he took me to breakfast where he met up with Andrew. We were introduced; Andrew and I, and the three of us had drive-thru McMuffins. Whatever they are, but they were good.
While we were driving back to Andrew’s car Don said, “I can’t take care of George anymore. I’m going to take him to the Humane Society this morning.” He was? That came as a surprise to me! I thought he liked me, but as you will shortly see there were bigger things happening here, cosmic things.
Then Andrew spoke up, “Look, I live almost across the street from the Fort Lauderdale Humane Society, I’ll take the dog in for you and save you a trip.” So I was put in Andrew’s car and away we went. It’s about a twenty-minute ride from where we left Don to the Humane Society.
As we exited the highway, Andrew turned to me and said, “It looks like I’m stuck with you. I just can’t drop you off to be put in a cage.” I figured that’s what he would do because I gave him a few licks during the ride up, and I tried to look both pitiful and cute at the same time. That ain’t easy, you try it sometime.
When we got to the boat, Andrew told me that he once had a dog named George, so I would need a new name. Hey, I don’t care what you call me; just don’t call me late for dinner! At first, he said he was going to name me Don, but then he changed it to Danny. My full name is Daniel J. Daniels.
Now here is where things get weird. A week later Don was dead. I don’t know if he knew he was going to die or if some cosmic force had him turn me over to Andrew. But here I am living on a boat with my human. He’s not really a bad sort, though it was a chore to get him trained just right. But it’s been worth it. Every morning after I take him for a walk he gives me a hotdog. What dog could ask for anything more? Well, there just one other thing. He loves me, and damn it, I love him.
Post Script: Below you will find a picture of me right after I found Andrew. I was a pretty good looking dog in my youth, if I do say so myself.
Danny, Cinnamon and the Kitten
Hi, it’s me again, Danny the Dog. Today, I want to go into more detail about my friend Cinnamon. She lives down the street and we visit most mornings. But she has this thing for cats. I don’t mean as a normal dog would have a thing for cats, like you and me. She likes them! I know, I didn’t believe it either until I beheld a mind-boggling incident with my own eyes.
I must admit there was a time, in my younger days, that I hung around with cats. Well, they were actually kittens. My human, whose name is Andrew, brought home a kitten one day and before you knew it, the damn thing was grown and had a litter of six, and shortly after they were weaned she disappeared. And guess who took over looking after the little monsters? I got no peace during the day because they would follow me around everywhere I went in the yard or inside the house. In those days, we lived in a house with a dog door, so I could come and go as I pleased. At night, the kittens would crowd me. One of them, Blackie, slept on my neck every night! But eventually they grew up and started doing whatever it is that cats do and I went back to being a dog, not a surrogate mother.
Now, what I am about to tell you is true, I swear it on Lassie’s grave. I was over at Cinnamon’s house and we were in the yard sniffing around, at least I was. Cinnamon had her nose in the air and it was twitching a mile a minute. I gave a sniff or two, but didn’t detect anything of interest, so I went back to a fascinating scent over by the corner of the house.
When I next looked up, Cinnamon was gone. The yard is fenced in, so I thought maybe she went into the house. But it was funny that I didn’t hear her human come and get her. I must have been engrossed more than I thought with the scent I was following. I think it was a raccoon. My human was in the house also, but I have him trained well enough by now that he lets me pursue my delights without too much interference from him.
So I’m scampering around the yard, running hither and yond. Sniffing this and that when who do I see outside the fence, but Cinnamon! She trotted over to the far corner, got down on her belly and squeeze under the fence. I didn’t even see that escape route. If I had, I’d be long gone. But then again, I wasn’t thinking of running away because Cinnamon came up to me, and she had a kitten in her mouth. At first, I thought the kitten was dead, but Cinnamon was holding her gingerly and the kitten didn’t seem to mind. Then Cinnamon did an extraordinary thing. She gently put the feline on the grass and put her big paw on it, to hold it in place.
I was thinking, “How nice, a present for me.” But she readily disabused me of that notion by licking the damn little thing. She was cleaning it! Just then, Andrew and Cinnamon’s human (her name is Maggie) came out of the house. They had been in there doing what humans do when there is one female and one male involved and they are alone. I don’t even like to think about it.
Maggie walked up to Cinnamon and said, “Oh no, not again!” Then she turned to Andrew and continued talking, “She did this a few months ago, she has this thing for kittens. She wants to adopt them. The cat you saw in the house, Roscoe, she brought home. I had to walk the neighborhood trying to find where he belonged, but I never did find out. So Cinnamon and I acquired a new member to our family.”
The upshot of the whole story is that Maggie never did find out where Cinnamon snatched the latest kitten from, whose name is now Fuzzy. Sometimes Andrew and I go over there and spend the night. These are the sleeping arrangements: Cinnamon sleeps curled up around Fuzzy and Roscoe, Andrew and Maggie sleep together, and me, the intrepid watchdog stays in the backyard and watches for marauding raccoons.
John, Kris and Me (A True Story)
It was 1968 and I was eighteen-years-old. I was hitchhiking from Miami to New York and had gotten off the beaten track, so to speak. I should have stayed on US 301 (this was before the Interstate Highway System), but instead I found myself just south of Memphis hoping I could catch a ride into Nashville by noon and then catch a long haul out of that city.
It was early morning, the traffic was light and I wasn’t having any luck when suddenly a black Mustang screeched to a halt and the guy driving leaned over and said through the open passenger-side window, “I’m headin’ to Nashville, that do you any good?”
Of course, I said, “Yes,” and jumped in.
As he’s accelerating, he’s looking straight ahead and not at me. In fact he doesn’t say anything, which is strange, but not unheard of. So, I say nothing and stare out the windshield at the fast approaching skyline of Memphis. Then it hits me. I know this guy; I should have tumbled to him from the voice.
At that time in my life I was not into different forms of music, I liked rock n’ roll. Since then my taste in music has matured to encompass all types. But even though this guy wasn’t a rocker I knew him and his music, a couple of his songs had crossed over and were played on the top forty stations.
The driver was intent on what he was doing, but I think he caught me looking at him out of corner of his eye. I noticed he had a firm grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles were white. Finally after a few minutes he turns to me and says, “Howdy, my name’s John,” and raised his right hand from the wheel and stuck it out in my direction.
We shook hands, and I said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Cash.”
Once John and I shook hands, he became more talkative. Hell, he became down right verbose. He told me about his hitchhiking adventures and asked me about mine. We were three hours out of Nashville and I don’t think there was another quiet moment the whole three hours. We just bullshitted about life, women, and we even got into metaphysical discussions. He told me about his army days and the time he was arrested in Texas. Just to keep it even, I told him about shit that had happened to me while on the road. We didn’t talk about his music or anything like that. I’d been around enough to know that if I came off as a gushing fan that would have been a major turn off for him. Besides, at the time, I was not a fan, gushing or otherwise. Well, to be honest, by the time we hit Nashville I was becoming a fan; of the man if not his music.
As we neared Nashville, he told me he’s just gotten married a few months back and was dying to see his wife. “I’ve been gone two days and it feels like two years,” he informed me. Then he said, “It’s about dinner time why not stop in and get something to eat and then hit the road. June’s a great cook.” Dinner is what country folk call lunch.
I accepted his kind offer and we got off the highway and headed for his home, which was only a few blocks away. When we got to his house, and as we were pulling into the driveway, he said, “Looks like June is out somewhere, but don’t worry we’ll rustle somethin’ up.”
I told him not to bother, that I could cadge a meal down the line. But he just looked at me and shook his head, and in that deep voice, asked me if I had any money. I course didn’t and I told him so. Then he told me that he’d been on the road and hungry, and that if I didn’t get my ass in the house pronto, he’d drag me in.
So we went inside and walked right back to the kitchen. John told me to sit at the table and then he opened the refrigerator and looked around for a moment before saying, “Ah ha, I knew it was still here when I left.” Then he pulled out a platter with a ham on it. I mean a real ham, bone and all.
I’m sitting there and he goes back to the fridge and comes up with a jar of mustard and a hunk of white cheese. I remember this because I was not a big mustard lover and it was the first time in my life that I had ever seen cheese that was not orange or yellow in color. Then John starts to slice, or maybe hack would better describe it, the ham. As he’s doing so, he told me where the bread and plates where kept and asked me to get said items, which I did.
When the sandwiches where made, two of them, he asked me if I’d like a beer.
“Yes please.”
So there I am, sitting in the kitchen of a man I’d meet only a few hours before, and I’ve got two thick ham and cheese sandwiches and a can of beer in front of me. Not a bad score and the day was still young yet.
I asked him if he was going to eat, but he said beer would do him fine.
Okay, enough already with my long winded shit. Now to the part you guys wanna hear about. We’re sittin’ at the kitchen table, me eating and John’s drinking beer. We’re both shooting the shit when the doorbell rings. John gets up and before he leaves the table, takes a long swig of beer. “Be right back,” he said. A minute later, he came back into the kitchen with this guy who was a little older than me, but his hair was longer. In those days you were judged by the length of your hair.
“I want you to meet a friend of mine. This here is Kris,” said John. I had my mouth filled with ham sandwich, so I mumbled hello. He waved and smiled, “Glad to meet ya.”
John then asked Kris, “How about a sandwich and a beer?”
The guy replied, “Just a beer, it’s my lunch hour and I’ve got to get back to work, but I have a new song I’d like you to hear and see what you think.”
By now, I’ve eaten my two sandwiches and was washing them down with the beer. I had nothing to add to the conversation so I figured I’d just finish my beer and get the hell out of there. But before I could say my thanks and hit the road, John leaves the room and returns a moment later with a guitar.
Prior to going any further, I’ve got to lay out the scene for you. We’re sitting at a round kitchen table. To my left is John and directly opposite me is this guy Kris Kristofferson. (At the time I thought he was Chris.) John and I were hitting our beers and looking at Kris tune the guitar. Then he picked at the strings and started to sing. Now I know ya’ all are going to kill me, but I don’t remember what the song was. I wasn’t really paying attention. In my mind I was rehearsing my good-bye speech to John.
When Kris was done, we all three sat there looking at one another. I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t my opinion Kris sought. Kris didn’t say anything because he was waiting for John to say something, which he finally did.
“It’s not bad. But I don’t know if it’s for me.”
I’ve got to hand it to Kris, he smiled broadly and said, “That’s okay, I just wanted you to hear it and get your thoughts.” Then he lifted his beer and said, “Prosit.” That was my cue to leave. I stood and told John I had to hit the road. He said he’d drive me back to the highway, but I told him not to bother, he had company and besides, it was only a few blocks. Kris said if I could wait a few minutes, he’d drop me off on his way back to work. I declined his offer. I didn’t want to wait around. I had a full stomach and New York City was calling to me. So I said my good-byes, walked out the front door, retrieved my case from the Mustang and headed off for further adventures.
Just one last thing. When I got to New York and opened my case Benjamin Franklin was there staring up at me from on top of my clothes. John must have put the C note in my case when he went to let Kris in.
http://huckfinn76.com
Danny and the Jogger
By now most of you should know me, but for those few who don’t, I’m Danny the Dog, and every once in a while, I chronicle my exploits. Today I want to tell you all of our morning walk of a few days ago. I always take my human out for a walk in the morning; his name is Andrew.
On this particular day, I was feeling feisty. I barked at a few cars as they went by, did some good sniffing and was enjoying myself to no end. We were headed to the neighborhood park where I can revel in the many scents. Usually it’s just dogs, but every once in a while I get a whiff of a wild animal, mostly raccoons, and that’s a lot of fun. I drag Andrew all over the place as I follow their scent. We usually end up at a tree and I get up on my hind legs and try to climb the tree because I know that there is a raccoon up there. But I’m not a very good tree climber, so I bark at Andrew to go up and chase the raccoon down. But he never does it; I don’t think he can climb trees either. But I’m getting away from my story.
So, we’re walking down the street minding our own business when this human female runs right past us. Because she didn’t stop to tell me what a cute dog I was, I barked at her a couple of times. I would have chased after her and bit her if Andrew hadn’t had me on that damn leash of his. You see, I’m used to females of the human species stopping to tell me what a cutie I am. I tell you, I was insulted, but I got over it quickly because just then I picked up a good scent off to the side.
A few minutes later, we got to the park, and who did we see but the female runner, and she was headed toward us. I was getting ready to let out with a loud bark when she stopped right before me, bent down and said, “What a little cutie, what’s his name?”
Now, I have to tell you about Andrew. He’s not very good around females. I think it’s because they always make a fuss over me and ignore him. Anyway, the female is waiting for an answer and Andrew is tongue-tied. Finally, he tells her my name and she rubs the top of my head. So I decided not to bite her.
She then told Andrew that she lived with a six-month-old dog by the name of Cinnamon and that she would like to introduce her to yours truly. For a minute, I thought Andrew was going say something stupid like we had to get home or something like that. Then I would have had to bite him. But he came through and told her we would like to meet Cinnamon. So the female invited us home for something called coffee.
I guess coffee is just another word for dog biscuits because that is what I was given when we went into her house. Then we went to the back yard and I met Cinnamon..
As Cinnamon and I got to know each other, Andrew and the female sat on the porch and watched us cavort.
Now we go over there every day. I play with Cinnamon and Andrew plays with the female. But humans don’t know how to play. They just sit there and watch us, drink a brown liquid and talk. I tried to tell Andrew that there are great smells in Cinnamon’s yard, but he doesn’t seem to care. For ten years, I’ve been trying to educate him on the finer things in life, but he just doesn’t get it.
Good Bye Miami
For the first time in my life, I’m in love, and I think she feels the same way about me. That’s the good news. The bad news is that we may have to break up, sort of. Shit happens; allow me to explain.
Her name is Jill; we met early on a Sunday morning. I was jogging along the beach at the water’s edge one minute and the next minute, I was splayed out in the sand. I had tripped over a woman’s recumbent body.
After the requisite apologies, we started talking. One thing led to another and we ended up having lunch together. That was eight months ago and we’ve barely been out of each other’s sight since.
Today is another Sunday much like the one when Jill and I met, but things are different now.
I’m an FBI agent assigned to the Miami field office and I was awakened at five o’clock this morning with an urgent phone call to report in immediately. There was a terrorist threat. Hell this was the granddaddy of all threats. At 4:00 a.m., a phone call was received stating that there was a nuclear bomb planted within the city and at exactly 4:00 p.m., it would explode. The caller said there was a package sitting in the parking lot of the North Miami office that would authenticate the threat. It was a small nuclear bomb, minus the plutonium. An attached note said that plutonium was too valuable to give away. The note also said that if there were any effort to evacuate the populace, the bomb would be detonated the instant word hit the media.
Every law enforcement officer, city, state and federal, was called in. We were given gadgets that register radiation and we were assigned grids. Each person would drive his or her grid. If the meter went off, a team would be dispatched with equipment to pin point the emanations. Then the eggheads would dismantle the bomb. That was the plan.
We were ordered to tell no one of the threat, but there were many surreptitious phone calls made that morning telling family members to drive to West Palm Beach for the day. I made my own call, telling Jill that I had planned a romantic day for the two of us and asked if she would meet me in Boca Raton. I gave her the name of the hotel where I had made a reservation before calling her and said I’d be there by noon. She readily agreed, and now I know that she is safe.
So here it is nearing four o’clock and we’ll soon see if it was a hoax or not. The clock on the dashboard reads 3:59 . . . 4:00 . . . 4:01. Nothing! I’ll be damned, the whole thing was a . . .
Danny's Friend Chuck
Hello, my name is Andrew and I am Danny the Dog’s human. I will be writing his blog today because Danny went to the beach with his girlfriend. He wrote about her a few days ago, so you know all about her. Danny has asked me to tell you about Chuck the Wonder Dog. This is a true story.
Chuck roomed with a human by the name of Jeff. Now Jeff is a good enough guy, but we have different outlooks on dogs. Jeff thinks dogs should be well trained while I take a more lackadaisical approach to dog training. Actually, Danny has me pretty well trained after ten years of being together. Anyway, when Chuck and Jeff first got together, Chuck was just a puppy and Jeff started right in on the training. Once the basics were covered, he began teaching Chuck to count. Yeah I know, but Jeff is a boat captain and he has plenty of time on his hands.
The way he did it was to hold up one finger and get Chuck to bark once. When Chuck got the one finger, one bark down, Jeff went to two fingers and so on until Chuck would bark ten times when Jeff held up ten fingers. And that was as high as Chuck could count unless Jeff wanted to take off his shoes and even Jeff ain’t that anal.
So now, Chuck will bark the requisite number of times for the number of fingers held before him. Eight, six, four or whatever, got the picture? Then Jeff started in on teaching Chuck how to add, subtract, multiply and divide. No fooling! I don’t know how he did it; I think all the credit should go to Chuck for being so smart. But in the end, Jeff could hold up, for instance, two fingers and say, “Two plus three,” then hold up three fingers and Chuck would bark five times. Or Jeff would show Chuck seven fingers and say, “Seven minus three.” then hold up three fingers and Chuck would bark four times. Chuck could do any combination of numbers up to ten.
Now we come to the kicker. As I said, Jeff is a boat captain and he hangs around the docks with the other captains. And if you know anything about boat captains, you know they are a languid breed. So while these lay-abouts hung out at the local bar, Jeff would entertain them with Chuck’s math skills, they were all duly impressed. All that is except on guy.
So one day this guy sees Jeff on the dock and comes up to him and says “I’ll bet you I can give Chuck a math problem that he can’t figure out.” And Jeff replies, “As long as it’s doesn’t involve a number higher that ten, Chuck can handle it. So they bet a case of beer.
Now picture this: the guy is in front of Chuck and Jeff is standing behind the guy. The guy bends down and says to Chuck, “What is the square root of nine?” Chuck looks up over the guy’s shoulder and Jeff holds up three fingers. Of course, Chuck barks three times. The guy turns around real quick, but not quickly enough. Jeff is walking away like he had nothing to do with anything. The guy scratched his head and headed out to buy a case of beer.
Well . . . it’s been fun taking over for Danny for one day, but he’ll be back on the computer tomorrow. And thank God for that. I’m not a very good storyteller, Danny could have told Chuck’s story so much better than I did.
http://huckfinn76.com
Everything's Jake
It was early in the morning when the man rode into town from the east, the sun at his back, his long shadow before him. The street was deserted except for an old mongrel dog sniffing its way home after a night on the prowl.
The man proceeded on the main thoroughfare, the town’s only thoroughfare, until he came abreast of the Blue Moon Café with its “WE NEVER CLOSE” sign hanging from the ramada. Spurring his horse over to the hitching post outside the café, he dismounted and entered the establishment.
At that time in the morning the chairs were placed on the tables, and the only inhabitants were a boy sweeping the floor and a disheveled, overweight man behind the bar wiping a glass with a dirty rag. The barkeep watched the stranger approach.
“How bout some whiskey?” said the stranger.
When the bar man was slow in responding the man grabbed his collar, pulled him down until he was bent over the bar and their eyes were staring into each other’s.
“I said whiskey,” growled the stranger.
“Yes sir right away,” was the barkeeps response.
When he was released, the barkeep placed the glass he had been wiping on the bar, grabbed a bottle from beneath the counter and poured a liberal amount of an amber liquid into it.
As he started to re-cork the bottle, he was told to leave it.
“Yes sir.”
Turning his back to the bar and placing his elbows thereon, he called to the youth doing the sweeping.
“Hey you, boy, come over here.”
Placing his broom against the nearest table, the boy did as he was bid.
“You got a name son?”
“Yes sir, it’s Billy.”
“Well Billy, do you know a man by the name of Jake Tapper?”
“Yes sir.”
Do you know where he lives?”
“Yes sir.”
Reaching into his vest pocket, the man withdrew a silver dollar and flicked it in the boy’s direction. “You go tell him Mac’s in town.”
Jake lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. It was much too early to be awake, but since she left him, he found it hard to sleep. It had been a heady eight months. He had never loved a woman as he had loved Jeanie. Yes, it was taking a chance messing with Mac Conway’s woman, but it was oh so worth it. Now that she had run off with that piano player from the Blue Moon, he thought he’d just stop running from Mac. Might as well get it over with, thought Jake.
Then there was a knock at his door. “Yes, who is it?”
“It’s me Mr. Tapper, Billy Doyle.”
“Whatcha want Billy?”
“A man down to the Blue Moon told me to tell you that Mac is in town. I think he wants to talk to you.”
“Alright Billy, you tell him I’ll be right there.”
Jake packed his few belongings and left the room. Instead of going to the Blue Moon, he went to the livery stable and saddled his horse. Then he mounted said beast and headed out of town as fast as the beast could carry him.
It is one thing to think brave thoughts in the seclusion of your room, but it’s another thing to face Mac Conway in a saloon. Hell, it ain’t healthy to face off with Mac anywhere. Now that Jeanie’s gone, there’s no reason to git myself killed.
The next day Mac caught up with Jake, and then went looking for Jeanie.