Monthly Archives: August 2012

August 2012 Newsletter


My latest novella, The Zombie Show, was released on 6/20/2012. So far, the reviews I’ve been seeing have been pretty good. It’s now available on Kindle, Nook, Smashwords, iTunes, the Sony store, and just about everywhere else. You can even get a print version on CreateSpace that includes Fleshbags. So it’s two books together! I’m also doing a promotion with The Zombie Times

An undercover agent hellbent on bringing a drug cartel enforcer to justice by any means infiltrates a group of college kids out to have a good time across the Mexican border. But the enforcer has plans to disappear forever before he can be taken alive, putting together a big show that will culminate with a big ending. But as the agent closes in, one of the zombies in the enforcer’s stable half-devises his own plan for revenge. When things finally explode, not even the dead may survive.


Look for How to Get Your Self-Published Novel in the Library in the near future and I’m hoping to have Brain Juice out in time for Christmas.

I’m still working on that stuff, but writing is fluid and you have to go where the muse takes you. I currently have a short story on my website titled Do Not See Me. I’m cobbling ideas together, but I may be making that my next novel. Check it out, it’s free.


Nowhere so far. But I’m going to attempt to put together a class at a library on how to self publish electronically.

The ball is slowly rolling on this. I’ve contacted one library and I’m waiting to hear if they’ll accept my suggestion. More on that as soon as it’s available.


Project Nim

Just saw this docu Sunday and Monday night. In the 1970s a scientist took a baby chimp and placed him in a home to be raised like he was human. They teach him sign language to see if he can eventually make coherent sentences. But Nim’s story goes much deeper than that as he is transferred from home to home. Very touching, highly recommended.


Slay Me

Tales from an Apartment


UK Booklist



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May I Recommend…

My 2 free short stories, 30 Minute Plan and The Beggar’s Bowl?  I think they’re pretty great introductions to my stuff if you haven’t read them

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Do Not See Me

Please feel free to pass this around. This is my first vampire story of any kind and I may turn this into a novel or novella.

Jimmy sat in the back of the cruiser, waiting for the cop to take him in. They’d had them dead to rights, he wasn’t sure what he would have done with that gun even if he’d had the time. But this guy, this police officer, was some kind of magician. He’d appeared out of nowhere and all but plucked the gun right out of Jimmy’s hand.

He hadn’t even noticed until the gun was moving in his grip, the knurled metal handle wedging against his palm, and then saw the officer with a hand on it. Jimmy had panicked, felt himself reflexively squeeze—both his fingers and his guts—but the officer must have put the safety on with a bit of slight of hand. Fire had exploded across Jimmy’s cheek then and though he hadn’t seen it, Jimmy instinctively knew he’d been slugged. He spilled to the floor, his eyes rolling around in his head like pinballs, hearing the cries of the woman he’d been holding hostage. There was gunfire coming from the other room and that was either the guys shooting or being shot at.

Jimmy lost consciousness, but felt himself being hoisted up—out of the inky blackness and by the arm, and though he couldn’t see, knew he was being moved by the wind on his face.

But wind didn’t make sense unless he was flying or something. Jimmy hadn’t felt his feet on the ground, but didn’t have awareness of his extremities at all. He was more or less in a numb, grey area. He’d fully come to in the back of the cruiser with these cuffs on.

There was an officer sitting in the front.

“Morning, Sunshine,” the officer said, meeting his eyes through the rearview mirror. Jimmy said something, realized it was completely unintelligible, shook his head, and tried again.

“You the one that hit me?”

“The one who hit you,” the cop corrected. “And yes.”

Jimmy forced a smile, though the ache in the side of his face ratcheted up as he did so. “You’re gonna hear from my lawyer. You violated my Constitutional rights when you put your hands on me. Don’t you know anything above the collarbone is off limits?”

The cop’s eyes went wide and his eyebrows shot up out of the reflection. For a moment Jimmy thought he’d scared him until he saw the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and realized he was smiling. He adjusted the mirror so Jimmy could only see his mouth. Yeah, big ol’ toothy grin. Smug bastard. Jimmy made up his mind right then if he got the chance to headbutt him he would.

“Jimmy.” The cop shook his head, the mouth weaving in and out of the mirror. “Constitutional rights are for humans. You’re no human. You’re a wad of chewed up gum or some miscellaneous gunk sticking to somebody’s shoe. I’m just to finally scrape you off. Did you know you pissed yourself after I knocked you out? Me and Sylvia had a real good laugh after that.”

That pissed the Jimster off. He didn’t like being made fun of, dammit. He was a big deal.

Be cool, he told himself. Be cool. He looked down at his handcuffs, forcing the hard truth of his situation into his brain. He was cuffed. He was going to jail. They would take his freedom, but nobody got to take his pride.

He sniffed, smelled nothing and leaned forward and sniffed again. Jimmy had been in the sweltering heat of a building with no air conditioning for seventeen hours before he wound up in here and he stunk. But he didn’t smell like no peepee.

“I did not,” he said, flicking his eyes back up to the rearview. The cop shrugged. Jimmy looked at the back of the man’s head. It was like this person and the piecemeal rectangle he saw in the mirror were two different people. For a moment, he got a weirdo feeling like when he climbed up too high and looked down. Jimmy blinked and it was gone.

“What’s the matter? Still a little woozy?” A hand rubbed the chin underneath that mouth. “Maybe I hit you harder than I thought. You might have a concussion. Wanna go to the hospital?”

No,” the Jimster growled.

“Serious. I could have broken your brain or something. Might want to get that checked out by a professional.”

“I’m fine. Can you take me to jail now? What are we waiting for?”

“Eight forty-seven.”

Jimmy had no idea what that meant and had no intention of giving the cop the satisfaction.

“What’s your name, anyway?” he asked. “So I can tell my lawyer who hit me when I sue.”

The cop turned around for the first time, a slow, deliberate maneuver, and stared at him. For a moment, it was the most alien thing Jimmy had ever seen. There was absolutely no life to his features, like he had the head of a mannequin. The cop gave him a non-stare across the steel mesh between them for an interminable minute like he could have been looking at Jimmy or a thousand other spots in the rear of the cruiser. But then a smile broke across the cop’s face and but it looked too animated. His face twitched in places Jimmy didn’t know there could be muscles. His ears wriggled as his lips parted. The declining light of the day danced in his eyes, age lines deepened at the corners of his mouth and he could have tucked pencil erasers into his well-deep dimples.

“You can call me Bruce,” the cop said. “Because I’m the boss.”

And that’s when Jimmy heard the music on the radio that had to have been playing all along. It was “Pink Cadillac”, the only Springsteen song Jimmy had ever been able to stand. The Boss was really twanging it up with that pseudo-southern by way of New Jersey accent and as Jimmy twirled the words in his head—not what Bruce the cop had said, but the tone and depth of his voice—he knew he was in trouble.

Bruce had some kind of accent. Or rather, a lack of one. Jimmy guessed he was American, but Bruce could easily have been somebody from somewhere else who’d practiced the foreign accent away to in theory sound like anybody else in this country, but in actuality, not like anyone at all. Kind of like that blonde chick who was in all the movies nowadays. Charlie-something or other.

But there was something else about Bruce too. Maybe it was the hair that was a little too long or in the set of his face or how he seemed supremely confident in some secret Jimmy would never be able to guess, but it was clearly there. Jimmy had been arrested somewhere north of a dozen-and-a-half times in his lifetime and all of those cops had had something indescribably unnamable in common that Bruce did not. Maybe it was a looseness of manner, though several of them had tried to get buddy-buddy, giving him the off-the-record pep-talk, particularly in his younger years.

Bruce was no cop. And at 8:47, if that were a time, Jimmy would find out exactly what that meant for him.

But it begged the question, how had Bruce come with the other police officers? When they’d stormed the building, clearly he’d been there, otherwise Jimmy would not be here. He looked around out the windows of the cruiser. They were at least fifty yards off from the building, parked in the growing shade, a few stones’ throws away from the nearest police car.

“Where are you taking me?” Jimmy asked Bruce. He wouldn’t have believed it possible, but the horizontal hold on Bruce’s already wide smile lengthened, his lips tightening as if they would split in their middles.

“I’m gonna eat you,” the man in the front of the cruiser said matter-of-factly. “Split you up the middle and gobble up your insides. Poke out your eyeballs and pop ‘em like grapes between my teeth. Tear off your limbs and let you watch me drink you down.”

Jimmy’s reflex—per usual—was to be combative. He was about to say, “I can’t watch you tear off my limbs if you already poked out my eyeballs,” when something told him to hold his tongue. It was the absolute conviction in Bruce’s tone. And perhaps the hot plastic non-smell of his breath. Sure, the guy could be a cannibal, but more than likely he was just some sadist trying for a scare. Considering Jimmy was handcuffed and at the man’s complete mercy, he figured it was appropriate to be scared. The possibility of actual murder at that moment was a minor thought for him, but it was still on the list.

“What are you gonna do to me?” Jimmy’s voice was much smaller than he would’ve intended.

“I just told you,” Bruce said. He threw his head back and gave a hardy laugh. Maniacal or no, it didn’t seem like proper time to do that, but maybe that was the point for a maniac. To be inconvenient. It wasn’t like anybody made an appointment to be kidnapped. He pressed his nose against the hard mesh separating them and flicked his tongue in and out through one of the holes. That hot plastic non-smell almost burned in Jimmy’s nose. “I’m gonna eat you.”

Jimmy’s pulled back against his seat, his mind racing to the blank period between when he’d been in the building and winding up here. Had the police given him to Bruce? Were they trying to cover this up? There had to be a reason, this just wasn’t right. There had to be a way out. Bruce turned around in his seat.

“Right now,” he began, readjusting the mirror, “you’re thinking something like ‘how the hell do I get myself out of this?’. You’re wondering who the hell the psycho you’re locked in the car with is and how did he get me. Something like that. Probably how you’re not that bad a guy and you don’t deserve and blah-blah-blah-blah.” Bruce held up a hand and flapped the four fingers against his thumb in poor mock imitation. “Well, I don’t need to tell you life is unfair. Bet nobody needs to teach that girl you had the gun on, either. Or all the people you robbed. Or hurt. Did you know four of her friends died because of you people?” Bruce shook his head, disgust plain in his voice. “And what would their parents say? Do you deserve to be right here with me or with them?” He inclined his head in the general direction of where the police were. Jimmy’s blood ran cold at that moment.

“How did you… how did you get past them?” Jimmy dared to ask. Bruce turned around again and his face was entirely different. The eyes were darker and weren’t set in his head the same; the ridge of bone above them had even reoriented, becoming sharper. His cheekbones had risen, given him a mildly Asian appearance and his skin had turned almost blood red. Bruce didn’t look inhuman so much as he looked like he’d traded ethnicities, but the effect was terrifying in a manner Jimmy couldn’t quantify.

“You should have an idea how this all went down by now.” Somewhat-Asian Bruce gave him a look. Whether it had just appeared or Jimmy had only now noticed it, Bruce’s smile had one particular tooth—a canine—digging into a pocket behind and beneath his lower lip. It made a pinprick bulge and looked like it would poke through the skin of his face were he to clamp his teeth together. Bruce spoke without moving his mouth, looking like the lid of his rage were barely contained beneath his skin. “You didn’t see me because I didn’t want you to. I caught your eye across an incredible distance—a pretty fine trick even for me—and I told you the same thing I told all those cops I walked right by: ‘Do not see me’.”

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Fox 2 Interview

Okay, so I was going through some stuff and I found the CD with the interview I did with Fox 2.  I want to put it on my site, but when I went to upload it, something funny happened.  It pops up in Windows Media Player as 7 track, but each one flows into the other.  I’m not sure how to properly explain it, but when I go to the disc drive to see what kind of files these are, I see 6 files, 3 different types: .ifo, .bup, and .vob.  I think the .vob files are video files, but my site doesn’t recognize them and thus, I can’t upload them.  Anyone know a laymen’s method of converting these?

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I always get these notices of books from Amazon, but I’m never on them. Finally, they picked me and my book is first no less.

Connected by DROID on Verizon Wireless

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Every Day Horror- Follow-up

Okay, so it’s not quite working out the way I’d planned.  That’s fine, I suppose.  I’ve been pretty busy wrapping up an editing project.  But I do have my composition notebook and I have my second short story idea and I may even have a tie-in to it for a new novel.  I have to flesh everything out to see if it’ll work.  But I suspect later on today I’ll have this editing thing wrapped and I can jump on Bugs.  Once that’s through, I’ll circulate it to some reviewers and get to work on my cover.

I have two pretty good ideas for covers, but I’m having difficulty finding the artwork for it.  I may have to dig really deep and create something.  I haven’t drawn in a loooooong time, but if I have to, I have to.  The one idea is simple enough, but the other requires getting many different pictures of insects (considering the bugs in my story don’t exist, I won’t be able to find pics of them).

Hey, as an aside, if you’d like to get a review copy, drop me an email at  I’m always looking for new reviewers.

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Margins for Kindle Publishing

I had someone ask me today about margins for publishing on Kindle. I honestly don’t know how to avoid those translation errors like when a paragraph or a series of consecutive paragraphs get tabbed over too far. I haven’t looked through the whole thing, but so far, The Zombie Show looks pretty good. I used the same formatting for it as I did for the print version. Below are my margins:

And here’s my layout:

If this helps anybody, please let me know!

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Shame on Them!

If you’re an independent author who’s just starting out, it is really easy to get lost. You might be intimidated by the Big Boys like Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords and others. So you might think you need to hire a service to guide you through everything. The sad thing is you don’t, but that isn’t stopping companies from trying to take advantage of you.

I chanced across a company called Alpha Academic Press on Craig’s List. Now, I’ll be careful not to say anything defamatory, but according to their own ad on Craig’s List “We make your book available to the general public through”. I’m assuming they charge for this service, otherwise they are the nicest people in the world.

But if you have your own cover already and an edited manuscript in a .doc file, seriously, you don’t need them. The Kindle publishing process is super simple and absolutely free. I’m hoping to do a seminar at a local library just to show people exactly how easy it is (including setting up bank account information so you can get paid). I could see Alpha Academic’s service being useful to technophobes, but then again, technophobes are probably not reading on-line ads and don’t get the whole eBook thing.

An unnamed company on Craig’s List advertised much the same service, except they “…are an eBook publishing company that works with Amazon and Barnes & Nobel to get your book published!” Oh, well, they must be better- they work with two companies. Sorry, Barnes and Noble has just as easy a process to publish as Amazon. In some respects it may be even easier. I’m looking for the trifecta or maybe the fourfecta with a company that will publish on Smashwords and Lulu as well. These companies have no special relationship with these stores. They have a guy who knows the same as I do who takes your Word file, uploads it, takes your .JPG for your cover, uploads that, slaps some text in for a description that you provide and then cashes your check. That probably takes all of five minutes. Seriously.

I think I’m going to take some play-by-play screenshots to post on my blog for anyone who wants to see for themselves how it works. Maybe I’ll put my own ad on Craig’s List. Correction- I’ve already done that.


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Dead Right, ep 2

The outside of the building had been very non-descript.  The only thing that really stood out was the well kept and fenced-in grounds so out of place with the surrounding homes.

Wenton would have guessed Dell was taking him to meet girls, but this was something more.  He would have politely turned the one his brother had picked out for him down had that been the case.  Wenton still saw his wife’s face on just about every other woman he saw.  No, the fact his brother had brought him anywhere else showed true growth.  It also meant he might not know him as well as he thought.  Wenton was proud and disappointed at the same time.

He nudged his arm as they followed the lispy man in the Brookes Brothers suit.  “Where are we?”

“In a minute.”  Dell’s voice was distant.  He was uncomfortable with something and that made no sense at all.  He did know where they were, didn’t he?

They came to a security desk and the man spoke in a low voice to the guard sitting behind it.  Somehow, the security man was fixing him and Dell in the same stare.  It was impressive and intimidating until he blinked and nodded.

The man who’d led them in stood upright and turned around.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, I’ve forgotten my manners.”  He stuck his hand out between Dell and Wenton.  “Larry Nibor.”

“Oh, Dr. Nibor,” Dell stepped in front of the offered hand and took it, gave a few good pumps.  “Windel White.  This is my brother Wenton.”

“Pleased to meet you.”  Wenton took his hand.  It felt squishy, like if he squeezed it Nibor’s eyes might bulge out of his head and schloop back in when he let go.  He resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his pants.

“I appreciate you giving me the title, but I’m not a doctor.”  Wenton noticed that the man hadn’t stopped smiling since they’d arrived at the front door.  “I’m the director, though.”  He looked at the security guard.  “Lenny, we’re going to go in now.”

“All right, sir.”

Nibor went to the side of the desk and walked over to a door that occupied an entire wall.  It had to be ten feet by fifteen.  He punched in a code and slid his hand into a port.  The door beeped and a green light came on just above his head.  Things inside clicked and whirred and then the door began to slowly swing open.

Nibor turned and spoke to the group.  “We currently have three tanks in operation, with a fourth to come online sometime next month.”  He looked at Dell specifically.  “I believe you wanted Tank three, correct?”

Dell swallowed.  “Yeah.”  What was going on with him?  They followed Nibor inside.

“Y’know, we appreciate you coming down.  With the coming legislation, we could be potentially put out of business before we even begin.  A significant amount of money has been invested already and we’ll need to solicit more funds to go on to the next phase of the project.”

“Well, the mayor’s office is just trying to get ahead of this whole undead thing,” Dell said.  “We want to wind up on the right side of the fence.  I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule to… show us your research.”

“Research?”  Alarm bells started going off in Wenton’s head.  He hadn’t missed the ‘undead’ thing.  Wenton didn’t do well around the dead.  His grandparents, his uncle—he hadn’t been able to physically go to any of their funerals.  He was always grateful that his parents had been cremated.  But that urn with both their ashes in it… Wenton was glad Dell had taken it.  The only funeral he’d been able to attend—and even then just barely—was…

He turned to Dell.

“Who’s in Tank three?”

Dell shifted.  There was definitely something he hadn’t told him.

“It’s uhh… y’know, I was just thinking of you.  Y’know, you’ve just been so… y’know how you’ve been.  Not like you, but…  C’mon, it’s almost been two years!

Wenton took a step back from his brother.

“Is that my wife in there?  Is that Cara?”

Dell dropped his head.  He didn’t say anything, but Wenton had his answer.

“How could y—” he stopped short on his sentence.  Dell felt really small.

“Gentlemen?”  He took his eyes away from Dell, looking over to the man he’d forgotten was in the room.  “Is there an issue?”

“No.”  Dell was back on the clock, his face had none of the guilt from a second ago.  “Just having a little chat with my consultant.”  He turned to Wenton.  “You can examine her for yourself.  Get those answers you’ve been wanting.”

Wenton stared at his brother several minutes.  All the answers he’d been wanting were potentially on the other side of that door.  He finally looked over at Nibor.

“Shall we?”

He nodded.


That Nibor guy was a weirdo.  Dell had to wash his hands for a half hour to get the creep off after he’d met him two days ago and he’d had to resist the urge to recoil from it tonight.  Wenton was pissed at him, but in the end his little brother would come around.  He hoped.  But Dell had to try something.

It was all because of the kid.  Sure as shit Dell loved him and would take care of him if he absolutely had to, but there was no way little Toddy wasn’t going to get screwed up somehow, someway.  Dell didn’t know anything about taking care of kids.  He’d tried babysitting his nephew once and damn near killed him.  By the time Wenton and Cara got back home, Dell was sobbing worse than the baby.  It would have been one thing if they had never had any kids and Cara had died.  He could get a nurse or something for his brother, but foster care was no way to raise a child.

No.  He had to get his little brother back on track and this was the best—the only—way he saw how.  He watched Nibor punch in another code after giving Wenton the same explanation he’d gotten the other day, and then the door to Tank 3 lifted.

Wenton’s eyes slid over to him before going inside.  He looked like he’d already seen a ghost.

Not yet, little brother, he wanted to say, but no words felt appropriate just then.  Wenton went inside and Nibor closed and locked the door behind him.

“Why the lock?”

“Just a safety precaution.”  Nibor waved his hand through the air like he was conducting at the DSO.

You didn’t lock the door when I went inside, he thought, but didn’t say anything.  He walked back to the entrance to this big room.

This had to work.

Even if Wenton hated him for the rest of his life.

Dell could admit, even if only to himself, this was more for him than his brother.  It was selfish, but he would live with that.

He turned to the officer behind him.  Duvall, his name was.

“So how was your weekend?”

The wall of a man declined his head to him, his face as unreadable as a sheet of steel, especially behind those sunglasses.

“Went to Belle Isle.”

“Oh, that’s cool.  What was going on there?”

Another pause before answering.  Dell was sure that was his subtle way of saying he didn’t care for conversation.  “Family reunion.”

Dell gave several head pumps, nodding slow and long and folding his arms.

They stood in silence for a while, Nibor staying over by the door.  There was a coffee pot over by a wall and Dell made himself a cup.  Lots of cream,lots of sugar.

It was really terrible coffee and he had to sip small amounts of it for it to be tolerable.  He resumed his spot a foot away from the executive protection officer.

Dell was about three-fourths of the way done with the coffee when Wenton emerged.

Dell met Nibor at the door before the man could begin questioning his brother.

“You can expect a copy of the mayor’s report probably in a few days,” he said, taking the man’s hand and giving it a shake.  Nibor tried to look over his shoulder at Wenton and Dell side-stepped to block his view.

“Okay, I’m sure that will be excellent,” Nibor said.  “But could I perhaps have his initial impressions?”

“Well, that’s not really how these things are done,” Dell said, still holding Nibor’s hand.  “Maybe he can give you a first-blush sometime this morning.  I can give him your card.  But he’d have a report to you by Wednesday or so.”  He let go of Nibor’s hand and turned to his brother.  “You ready to go?”

“I want her,” Wenton mumbled.  He still had a look of dull shock on his face.


“I want her.”  Wenton looked at him.  Dell knew that look.  He remembered the tantrums when they were kids and Dell got something and he didn’t.  Wenton had put up a fuss then and looked like he was about to now.  If Dell didn’t think of something right now to placate both men this would turn south in a very bad way.

“Excuse me, what did he say?” Nibor asked.

“He said,” Dell slowly turned back, “he wants to take it with us.  To examine it in a more natural environment.”

“That’s absolutely out of the question.”

“Look, the mayor has a few million federal dollars of his own to ferret through this undead business.  Maybe your grant falls through, maybe it doesn’t.  It might be nice to have a safety net, don’t you think?”

Nibor licked his lips.  For the first time tonight, his cool exterior melted away.  He looked nervous.

“I will need to make a few phone calls.  But this is not what we were—”

“Make your phone calls, Mr. Nibor.  We’ll wait.”

Nibor retreated into an ante-room.  Dell turned to his brother.

“What the hell are you making me do?”

“I told you.  I want her.”

“You mean like want want?  What are we talking?”

Wenton blinked.  “No.  I know she isn’t my wife, but… she has her memories.”

“And?”  Dell shook his head, trying to understand or hoping common sense would sink into Wenton’s head.

“Look, it’s like I always said.  Something else happened.  Cara wasn’t even supposed to be on that side of the city.  She told me—”

“Who told you?”

“The she—it.”  Wenton pointed to the tank.

“So you were actually able to talk to it?”

“Yes, and—”

“Look, I set this all up for you to get peace of mind.  So you could say goodbye.”  Dell got really close to his brother.  “There was a lot of string-pulling to get you in here.  What you’re asking for is using good will I don’t have.  When Nibor comes back I’ll tell him we changed our minds about taking that thing.”

“No.  I meant what I said.  I want her.”

“Are you insane?”  Dell’s voice was a high whisper.  “Where are going to store that thing?  Are you going to put it in your basement?  With your son?”

“No… I—”

“You didn’t think about it.  I know.  But call this off now and let’s get home.  I can take care of the report.”

Wenton’s eyes had been roaming around the room.  They locked onto Dell.  “No.  I meant what I said.  Something else happened to Cara.  This thing can prove it.  Help me piece it together.”

“The police investigation is closed.  Nobody’s going to open it again on the basis of whatever it has to say.”

“I don’t care.  I need to know.”  Wenton beat his chest with his palm.  “After what you just pulled, bringing me here, you owe me.”

That stung in a way Dell hadn’t intended.  He wanted to argue more.  To try to get reason into his brother, but he was at a loss.

“Okay.  But two days.  No more.  Got it?”

Wenton nodded.

They stood in silence for what felt like at least ten minutes.  Dell could hear Nibor in there occasionally, but couldn’t make out what the man was saying.  Finally he came out.

He looked like he must have taken a moment to calm himself, like he’d been smoothing down the front of that expensive suit jacket until he’d recomposed himself.  Nibor was tall, easily six-eight, and strode across the room to them, looking like a well-dressed train the way he pumped his arms with each step.

“My superiors have acquiesced,” he began slowly, “to your request of lending you 38-X4.  You may take it now or in the morning, whichever is your preference.”

“It’s kinda late,” Dell said.  He felt his brother loom closer and sensed his objection coming.  “We need to make a few arrangements in preparation.”

“We’ll take her now.”


Dell forced a smile.  “Whatever works best.”

“Very good.  You will have a period of twenty-four hours from the time the 38-X4 is released into your custody.”

“I want three days.”

What the hell?

This time Dell did look at his brother, stabbing him as best he could with daggers in his eyes.  Wenton looked sheepish a second, but didn’t back down.  He looked back at Nibor.

“Three days.”

Nibor winced as if he’d been punched, but he held his tongue a moment before speaking.  What was this costing him?

“Very good.”  Nibor forced his own smile and extending that well-manicured paw of his again.  Dell shook it and found none of the soppy fish-hand the man had given before.  It was dry and firm.

“So, uhh, what do we do?”

“Wait in the lobby.  There is some information I need to give you and then the 38-X4 is yours for the next seventy-two hours.”  He escorted Dell and his brother to the door, with the executive protection officer firmly in tow.  The giant door shut behind them and they rejoined the other guard at the desk.

Dell was incensed.  Here he was, hanging his neck out for Wenton and his brother does almost everything possible to screw him over.  If he could have trusted the aside would have been for Wenton’s ears only he would have laid into him right now.  But he could wait until they got back in the limo.

It didn’t take long.

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Everyday Horror

I got this idea today and I’m going to try to do it.  Just Everyday Horror stories (don’t know if that’s the title or if that’s just how it feels right now) where I’ll take a real event in my life and inject horror into it somehow.  This idea may fail terribly, but it’s interesting right now and I’m gonna run with it.


Filed under News