A Sure thing. (part 2)

             His mind raced, if he could pawn this thing whatever it was, and get out unseen then he could still make his escape.  Running as far as the storefront he paused noticing for the first time the strange glow of the street lamps, it was unsettling.  As if an unseen fight were being waged.

            The shine of headlights reflected off of windows, ending his hesitation.  Pushing through he was met by the jingling bell above the door, and it made him jump.

            “Well howdy.”

            He spun around to the sound of an older man’s voice.  “Hi.”  He said.

            The man grinned, “Sorry if I startled you, but we were just about to close.”  The man was indeed older, but somehow seemed far more vibrant.  He stood behind the counter, wiping down the glass case.

            “Are…are you the owner?”  Alex asked.  He hurried over.

            “I sure am, name’s Gus, Gus Oswald Douglas, to be specific, but just Gus will do.  How can I help you?”

            “I’d like to pawn this.”  Alex said placing the silver case on the counter.  “How much can you give me for it?”

            “Well that depends, mind if I have a look?”  The old man who seemed out of place in a pair of battered overalls, and faded red shirt motioned to the case.

            “Of course, yes.”  Alex looked back to the door.

            “It’s a nice case isn’t it, but we have a lot of those-not much call for them.”

            Alex felt each the ticking of every second now, expecting each to have Nicky barreling through the shops’ door.  Not the case, what’s in the case you idiot.  He thought.

            The old man’s smile faded as if he’d somehow heard Alex’s thoughts.  “I suppose though that you want to sell what is in the case.”

            “Yes, that’s right sir.”  Alex said adding in his friendliest tone, “I’m sorry, I’m not used to these late hours.”

            “I understand.  I have to force myself to take a day off during the week.”  He studied the case for a moment.

            Alex watched, and waited.  The man was taking too much time; he looked again to the door.  When turned around again, he found Gus studying him, as if he were looking for something, something he apparently didn’t find,  I just about sell my soul, if this jerk would just hurry up.

            Gus looked at the case, and then again at Alex, “I’m sorry son, but I think that I’ll hand this one over to my assistant manager Lucy, this is more her area of expertise.  I really am very sorry.”

            “Finally.  I was beginning to think you were ignoring me.”  A girl’s voice chimed in.  She lowered the newspaper she’d been reading, the head line of the Dorris Bridge Record read STRANGE LIGHTS SPOTTED OVERHEAD!!!

            She’d been sitting on a stool a few feet away, it was a strange thing, Alex was sure they had been alone, but she was just there.  She popped down, and hurried over.  “Move over old man, this one’s mine.”

            Lucy’s appearance was strange one moment she looked like a normal little girl, the next a psychotic imp.  It was disturbing.  “My, oh my, what have we here, a shiny metal case, what could this be.”  Moving her stool over to the counter she snatched up the case in her quick little hands.  Turning it over, and over again she mumbled to herself, “Very interesting, definitely something you don’t see everyday.”  She looked up to Alex again, “You have the look of someone running.  Are you? Running, I mean.”

            “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”  Alex said.

            She cackled, “No, I’m sure you don’t.  Why don’t we get down to business, we wouldn’t want Nicky catch you just standing around would we?”

            Alex gasped, “I…I…don’t know…”

            She cut him off, “We’ll take it.  All that’s left now is to settle on a price.”

            Wait, she hadn’t even looked inside, so how could she have the slightest idea how much it’s worth?  He thought.  Of course maybe she had no clue; maybe this was a good thing.  Yes, yes of course she couldn’t know anything about what was inside, hadn’t even opened it, so she must be basing her value on the case itself.  She would no doubt underbid any expectation he’d make, so all he had to do was give her a price well over what he really wanted and she’d come down to his number.  He put on his best poker face.  “I happen to know that it’s valued at fifty thousand dollars, but I could let it go for forty.”

            “Such a splendid case as well.”  Lucy said.

            “Ah, so it is.  I’ll tell you what; I’ll throw in the case for no additional charge.”  Alex said trying to sound smooth.

            “Such a deal, but I don’t think the old gas bag I answer to will loosen up the purse strings that much.  I might be able to swing, hmm…say two thousand.”

            Alex almost choked, “What? You can’t be serious.  As I told you before this is worth a hell of a lot more than that, you can’t just offer me two G’s.”

            “Mr. Stetson, worth is a funny thing for example this case to me is worth at most $2000.00; at least until depreciation begins, but to you of course it’s worth a great deal more.  Maybe even your life.”

            “What did you mean depreciation?”  He said trying not to stutter.

            “Why only the rate with which you test my patience Mr. Stetson, I do not like to haggle.”  Lucy paused letting the words settle, this was her favorite part; the moment when her mark realizes that they’re in way over their heads.  “I do however enjoy a good game Alex.”  Again another moment passed.

            “Game huh?”  He asked missing the use of a name he hadn’t offered.

            “Of course, I’m particularly fond of games of chance, how about you?”

            An uneasy feeling trickled down his spine, and a voice in the back of his head pleaded for him to leave.  Another voice, so much like his father’s whispered to go ahead, and only that when you raised the stakes did the pot truly paid off.  “I’ve been known to place a bet, or two.  What did you have in mind?”

            “I like you Alex, so I’m even going to let you choose the game, but the stakes are these; if I win then I get the case for my offered two thousand, and if you win then I will give you five thousand, but that’s the very highest I can go.”

            Without further thought Alex blurted, “OK, you’re on.”  Then his mind kicked back into gear, “one hand of poker.”

            She smirked, “Suicidal kings are wild.”

            “Sure.”  She said giving her that.  He pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and dealt five cards each.  “Don’t worry this is a regulation deck.”

            “I’m sure they are, after all you’ve got an honest face.” Lucy said picking up her cards.

            Alex picked up his own cards, and couldn’t believe his eyes.  Four out of five cards wore the suit of hearts.  Better still there sat a ten, a jack, a queen, and a king.  He tried to keep a straight face.  “How many discard?”

            “Four.”  She said.

            He doled out her four cards, “and the dealer takes one.”  He knew the fates were smiling on him when he drew the ace of hearts.

            “Full house.”  Lucy announced laying down her hand.

            He couldn’t hold back the grin anymore, “Sorry Lucy goosy, royal flush, read them and weep.”

            “Damn.”  She swore, “Well I guess I best go get the money, I had the cards, but it turns out yours were better I guess.”

            She turned to hop down, and get his money with a defeated countenance.  She paused, “I wonder though, no you wouldn’t be interested.  You’re too clever to chance it.  No, no I’ll just hurry along, unless…”

            “Unless what?”

            “Never mind, it’s nothing.”

            He grabbed her wrist, and immediately regretted it, he felt the flesh writhe beneath his, “Unless what?”  He repeated more insistently.

            Inwardly she smiled, so desperate, so very foolish.  “Ok, I’ll tell you, but there’s no point in my doing so.  If you are looking to make a quick escape, I have ways, and know people who can help.”  She shrugged, “Like I said no point in telling you, you’ll just want your money.

            “I didn’t say that.  What kind of stakes are we talking about?”

            She tilted her head, as if considering, “Oh, I’d have to say a bit like double or nothing. 

            “Double, or nothing huh?”  He absent mindedly roll the words around in mouth.  “Same game?”

            Again she appeared to consider his question for a long moment, “No, the trouble there is poker requires both chance, and skill.  How about something that depends totally on chance, what do you say Alex, are you a gambling man?”

            He wanted to resist, every fiber of his being told him that something was wrong, but then again the deck, his deck should be clean.  In the end he just couldn’t help himself.

            She could see he’d come to a tipping point, “I’ll tell you what, you can draw first, then I’ll draw, and then if you need it you can have a second chance.”

            The moment she finished speaking the war being waged in his mind was lost, “Ok you’re on.”  By now any thought if Nicky no nose, his goons, or even Nicky’s famed “shredder” vanished, consumed in the rush only addicts know.  He shuffled his deck once, twice, three times.  He heard his father voice again, only an idiot shuffles his cards more than three times.”  He watched as she cut the cards, careful to look for any slight of hand.  She merely split the deck in half replacing the top with the bottom set of cards.

            “Your first go.”  She said.

            He drew, again luck appeared to be on his side; the queen of diamonds peered up at him.  He smiled as he laid the card down on the countertop.  “Your go.”

            “That’ll be tough to beat, heck you’ve probably already won, but just for fun let’s see what I can come up with.”  She drew the next top card, looked at it, her face remained constant, and set it on top of his.

            He had seen the fickleness of luck, hell he’d been on the short end of some pretty bad sticks, but all those experiences paled in comparison to this one moment.  The king of spades sat there in stark black and white.

            “Oh, bad luck.  I guess it’s a good thing you have a second draw.”

            Again he felt a change in momentum.  It was true, of course he’d have to draw an ace, but he was feeling lucky.  “So let me get this straight, I draw an ace I get double or nothing?”

            “Ha, if you can draw an ace, then I’ll find a way to get you the 50K, and I’ll even throw in that help I told you about.” Lucy clucked.

            Fueled by the promise of getting everything he needed he drew, his eyes closed and preyed every gambler’s prayer, Please, please let this go my way…

            He opened his eyes, and saw her face-there was a strange smile.  Then he looked down, a smiling clown face grinned back at him.  It couldn’t be; he always remembered to take the jokers out, that was rule one.  Yet there it was.

            “Oh, bad luck it seems. Pity, but look on the bright side Nicky no nose won’t ever find you.”

            “What…what do you mean?”  Alex stuttered.

            Lucy snickered at the fool, last words were seldom chosen well.  “We had an arrangement Alex.  Double or nothing, remember?”

            “Right, I leave here with nothing, you keep the case, and your money.”

            Still nothing noble spoken by this halfwit, “Oh no, my dear, stupid Alex Stetson, you misunderstood our arrangement.  You get nothing. No case, no body, no life, and no soul.”

            The impish creature raised her hand, and with a wisp of smoke reeking of brimstone snapped her fingers.  In a flash Alex Stetson was gone.  She retrieved the case, and placed it behind the counter.  A moment later an ugly dark suited man with a misshapen nose pounded through the door, she knew it was Nicky.

            “How can we help you sir?”  She asked, her voice sickly sweet.

            He regarded her for a moment, unsure why the hair on the back of his neck was starting to stand on end.  She sat behind the counter gathering a deck of cards, “I’m looking for a guy with a silver suitcase, you seen him?”

            “We see a lot of people everyday, we might have, but we haven’t purchased any suitcases today.”

            “Oh yeah?  Well if he comes here to sell that case, you’d better run him out.  Oh and you tell him Nicky is going to find him.”

            “Will do, and I’m sure you’ll find him.”  She saying still smiling as the gangster slipped back out into the night.  “Sorry, Nicky, but when you do find him, you’ll have much bigger problems.”

            She chuckled, picking up a single card from the pile.  The joker still wore that ridiculous belled hat, but the face it wore no longer smiled, almost as if its wearer had bet on a sure thing and lost.  She pulled her own deck of cards from an apron pocket, it was only half finished, but at least now it had a joker.

            She sighed and smiled, “So desperate, so very foolish.”

A Sure thing. (part 1)

To say that the place was located on the seedy side of town, would have been the understatement of the year.  The street lamps glowed, but their light could only hold the darkness of the night at bay, struggling only to come at long last to a stalemate.

            Of course wasn’t that always the way of things, you didn’t come to this area of town during the light of day, almost as if these places didn’t exist until the twilight of dusk.

            Alex Stetson laughed off this last thought; it was a sound that even to his ears reeked of nervousness, but what choice did he have?  After all he couldn’t be held at fault for the things that had happened, it was supposed to be a sure thing.

            You’re just like your father…his mother’s voice made rough by years of smoking rang through his mind.  What made them sting though, was that she was right.  From the moment they took up residence in that tiny two room apartment they situation failed to improve.  His dad always planning, and scheming did well to die young. The fact was you never saw an old gambler.  His mother on the other hand had only gambled once in her life, on his old man, and had lost considerably.  What money they’d had at the beginning of their marriage had been quickly squandered, flittered away.

            Still Alex had watched his father, noted every mistake with the keen interest of a second season lemming.  He’d learned the real rules of the game, and wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

            He succeeded in that; his father had never gotten in deep with a loan shark, let alone several.  His life at this point was hardly worth the cost of a cup of coffee, probably less.

            It got worse when Nicky no nose had offered to let him recoup some of his losses accrued from Nicky’s bookies, and from there it was one loss after another.  Things leapt up to the next level of trouble when he was rounded up by some of Nicky’s associates, and given a ride down to the docks.

            Of course Nicky had been waiting, not looking at all pleased to see him.  Neither had it been a surprise that Nicky’s favorite accessory, a Louisville slugger, leaning against the desk in the middle of an empty warehouse.  While these things were troubling, the twin five gallon buckets at the other end of the desk were cause for concern; one held a low grade adhesive, and the other broken glass.

            Depending on the mood he was in, Nicky would hit you with either just the bat, or as he called it the “shredder”.  You could rest assured though that the presence of the bat meant you would be hit-guaranteed.

            “Hey there Nicky, what’s up?”  Alex said.  He tried to be likable, so much more so at that moment.

            Without preamble Nicky snatched up the bat, and buried its end in Alex’s soft gut earning an Umph from his victim.  After that, the meeting was a blur of begging, pleading, and poundings sometimes with the bat mostly with fists.

            Fortune though smiled on Alex, the bat never ended up in the glue or the glass. Instead Nicky asked a favor of him, though there was no room for no.  Alex agreed, and found a silver metal briefcase shoved into his hands.

            Nicky’s goons hustled him back into the car, and drove him back to where they’d picked him up dumping him like any other stray.  While he lay on the ground coughing, one of the goons brought the case around, and placed it gently next to Alex before stepping back a few feet.

            “Nicky says that you need to get this to our buyer down at the 3^rd street subway station by seven o’clock tonight.  He also said that you should be careful with it, very careful.”

            With that they got back into their car, and left, it took a moment to struggle to his feet, however unsteadily.  Retrieving the case he idly wondered what was in it, then considered tossing it off the parks brothers’ bridge, but thought better of it.  If there was any such thing as a sure thing it would be that Nicky no nose wouldn’t look too kindly on that, most likely he would have the goons come back to cure his gambling permanently.

            No the prevailing wisdom would be to do as he had been instructed.  He looked around, searching for a street sign.  Walking to the end to the block he found was he found the sign.  They’d done him no favors dumping him were he had been, on 23^rd street, if he wanted to live another day he’d have to run.

            Horns blared, other pedestrians swore at him as he blasted through, and there were a few moments were the grill of a car or bus threatened to finish the job Nicky no nose had started.  Still block after block whizzed by, he felt his heart thunder in his chest, and lungs burning threatening to burst.

            By the time he reached the entrance to the subway station Alex had to cling to the handrail to keep from falling down the stairway.  He looked down at the worn Rolex watch, the only memento his father had left to him, the hands on the face read a few minutes after seven.

            It’s only a couple of minutes; those trains are always…they’re always late.

            Any hope those words had given him died once he made it down the stairs and found the station empty.  There was no one waiting to receive the briefcase, and no chance that Nicky wouldn’t kill him.

            Staggering over to a bench he collapsed, his mind spinning, trying to figure out his next move.  Surely he would have to leave town, but to where?  He’d have to move very far away, and no doubt would probably have to change his name.

            Another thought crossed his mind; I’m going to need money.  He felt the case’s weight again for the first time since he’d been given it.  Whatever this thing is it’s valuable, maybe it’s valuable to sell?  He felt a buzzing in his pocket, his cell phone.  Without looking he knew who it was, in this age of lighting fast communications the man he’d been sent to give the case to left, had called Nicky, and now Nicky was calling him.

            He stood, phone now in hand considering weather or not he should answer, what are you stupid?  Alex thought.  Instead he walked to the stairway; his legs still trembled from his earlier race, and climbed them.  The phone went silent for a moment, only to begin ringing again.  “Yeah Nicky’s pissed.”  He dropped the cell phone into the garbage can as he made it to the top of the stairs, and hustled down the street stealing glances over his shoulder as he went.

            Ducking into alleys and entryways Alex fled.  He knew the faces of most of the goons, but there were some he didn’t know.  Paranoia drove him now, moving from place to place more frequently until at last he found his way to towns’ end. It was an old name for an old neighborhood that had once been the towns’ center, but now sat all but forgotten except by the lowest of souls.  Those who still resided there did so only because they couldn’t afford to get out, and anyone who ventured there usually only did so out of some desperate need.

            He found himself with such a need, hurrying down crumbling poorly lit sidewalks his eyes searched for a damaged neon sign he’d only heard rumor of before.

            Checking his watch beneath a street lamps’ amber light he found it was almost one in the morning, surely whatever place he’d been searching for had closed hours ago.  Alex’s mind now worked feverishly, they would no doubt consider town’s end, but had they already had that idea, or was there still time?  In the end it didn’t matter, his apartment was no doubt being watched, so he couldn’t go home.

            He needed a place to stay until he could search again in the morning.  “Who knows, maybe there’ll be less heat tomorrow, yeah, maybe they’ll have figured I’d already skipped town.”

            Slipping again into the shadows he looked for any shabby motel with a vacancy.  Such wishful thinking perished, speared by twin beams of light moving slowly down an adjacent street.  There remained enough distance that the figures inside the sedan were still only vague shapes, but as the car made a turn the man sitting in the passenger seat bore a distinct profile, Nicky.

            Fortunately the car had turned away from his where he hid, but it would only be a matter of time before they doubled back.  He hurried in the opposite direction hoping that they would waste time turning over any possible hideaways while he put some distance between them and himself.  Alex had only turned the corner to the next street before he skid to a stop, ahead of him stood a little shop, it’s lights still blazing, a dingy window with a flickering neon sign.  He waited a breath watching the sign, while it typically read Pawn shop. Buy, Sell, and Trade when the neon tubing flickered, it became Pawn u.  It was the place.

Reading.

Hey everyone,

        In the process the learning the ways of a writer one of the most basic, and necessary traits is being at least an avid reader. I myself read quite a bit, and though I read a variety of things ranging from fiction to nonfiction I tend to enjoy the action/adventure genre best, (at least at the moment).
At present I am reading, or have finished in the last couple of days "The Devil Colony" by James Rollins, "The Lost Symbol" by Dan Brown, and "The Jungle" by Clive Cussler.
        I know that two of these titles have been out for a little while, but they're still fairly new. Let me tell you that in reading them concurrently it has been one heck of a ride!
        The first up is Rollins' "The Devil Colony" the latest in his Sigma series.  After an extended wait I found it to be a good read. It had all the standard race to save the world, puzzles, and historical features we've come to expect from the adventures of Sigma, but also had plenty of at the end twists. In all a very good read.
         The next two titles are still being read, but already show huge promise! "The Lost Symbol" the latest offering of Dan Brown sees the return f professor Langdon as he races against time, and a mad man with the emerging noetic science as a backdrop. As always Brown's writing style top notch! This is a novel which should be boosted to near the top of your reading lists.
        I've just started the last title Cussler's "The Jungle". As nearly always the novel starts out with some history or psuedo-history and goes from there. The Jungle is the latest of the Oregon files, now I Love these oregon books, but who wouldn't love a high tech vessel with revolutionary engines guised as an old tramp steamer. The crew of ex-members of  military and intelligence personnel who roam the globe taking on missions that lie outside the scope of normal operations, or stand almost no chance of success.
       I do have to preface these though, that while they are well written an in all good, the last two "Silent Sea", and "Corsair" fell short of the awesome bar set by earlier chapters.
       If any of these titles sounds appealing to you, then I urge you to give them a shot, you won't be sorry, but I would also suggest that you start at each series beginning. The first appearance of the Oregon can be found in Cussler's Dirk Pitt series in a book called "Flood tide."  The prequel to Rollins Sigma force books is called "Sandstorm." Lastly Langdon makes his debut in "Angels & Demons".
Thanks for reading.
D.L.

A.M. Radio

12/22/2012

            The number two radio control room had the tight feel of a single-car garage with a pair of Winnebago’s squeezed into it.  The feeling was compounded by the wall-to-wall electronics necessary for transmitting a radio signal.  Sound boards, mixing equipment, consoles, transmitter gear, and a desk filled with switches, knobs, a boom mic, a computer and a half empty coffee mug.  Mountains of photo static copies threatened to topple into a blizzard of eight and a half by eleven sheeted flakes at the smallest whisper of moving air.  The pall of cigarette smoke floating in a haze never seemed to diminish.

            Among the ceiling tiles brown amorphous stains ran in random patterns, the tell-tale sign that at some time in the past rain has seeped through the aging tin roof above.  The ever lingering funk of greasy black molds refused to be excised by the gallons of bleach used permeated the air.

            Half a dozen government issued clocks circa, 1950, hung along the wall, each labeled with some far off, exotic city: Chicago, Tokyo, San Francisco, and London.  From Tacoma to Timbuktu-all remained silent, their hands still.  Coast to coast there was only Bismarck, North Dakota, time.

            The low prattle of the air conditioner did nothing to defy the stifling heat generated by the massive banks of electronics and complete lack of ventilation.  The streamers garishly tied to its grate waved languidly in the smoky air as if shimmering mirages of cool air promised, but never realized. 

            A battered office chair crouched behind the desk, its thread-bare cushions broken down to form an eternal impression.  It remained fixed, no longer able to adjust in height, forcing everything else to adjust to it.  Of its four casters three remained to torture the muscles of the back lest they momentarily forget the constant struggle to maintain balance.  The faded black plastic hinges groaned mournfully with each twist and change in position made by its occupant.  A disheveled man sitting behind the console appeared as if he hadn’t slept in days, his shoulders slumped, and his head drooping slightly as if from a bad headache.  His large Hawaiian shirt hung limply from his lanky frame as if it too was exhausted to be its customarily loud self.  His dull eyes reflecting little life, his voice, though, seemed to contradict his ragged, worn exterior blasting outward with an almost euphoric tone.  It was the only thing that didn’t fit the room.

            “Well folks it’s 15 minutes to the hour, and that means I’ve got to leave you for a few moments but in my absence allow me to offer you these manifestations of our capitalistic democracy.  This is KSFE 765 Bismarck.  Back in a few, sit tight.”

            The chair groaned loudly as its occupant leaned back, straightening his back; he momentarily wondered if he should give in, and go down to the vending machine, pick out one of those cake things; then again his diet was going well.  He shouldn’t risk it.  Instead, he reached over and fished out another cigarette from a pack sitting near an ash tray dangerously close to over flowing.  As it had before, his first draw of the tobacco caused a hacking cough to erupt.  He hadn’t smoked until recently.  Frankly, he didn’t like them; he started to rise and head to the men’s room but knew from experience that only another ten seconds remained for the break.  Taking a leak would have to wait.

            Outside, the dust storm still raged.  It had been the largest since anyone could remember, and no one could recall one that seem to glow dully, probably just some extra quartz the withered man thought nonchalantly.  At any rate it hadn’t seemed to affect the ability for the station to get a signal out, so he’d go on with the show.

            John Kane sat back down to the console in front of him and quickly adjusted the signal strength and amplitude before cutting back into the feed.

            “Well, people, we’re back.  So far the big story in the news is the tensions heating up between our own Uncle Sam, China, and the Middle East, specifically Iran.  All these hard feelings stemming from the rapidly dwindling supply of fossil fuels available to the industrialized countries of the world.  Let’s look at what’s going on here.  We need oil, and China needs oil, their economy is exploding, and, as a result, the militaries of both becoming more agitated.  In return, with the supply dropping at an unprecedented rate, the oil-producing countries in the Middle East are now commanding ever higher rates per barrel.”

            He paused to swig from the chipped coffee cup; the space beneath revealed the darker colored patch where the layer of dust had not covered.  What the dust couldn’t cover, it settled into, giving the cold coffee a tangy metallic taste.  The space under the cup had provided cover for a cockroach that now skittered away, falling to the floor.  Kane watched it struggle for a moment across the dusty floor.  Damn vermin, he thought, bringing his foot down on the hapless insect with a satisfyingly wet crunch.  He continued.

            “There is also speculation that OPEC countries have been funneling money into Iran’s nuclear program in a militarized effort of their own. In the event they need to defend their most prized commodity.  I’m not painting a very pretty picture here am I people?  You know I can’t help but say I told you so; we had so many years to consider this moment.  To come up with something beyond the use of fossil fuels, but we chose not to and, as a result, we find ourselves hurdling toward the brink.”  He paused for dramatic effect.  “So here we are.  What do we do now?  I’ll tell you want we need to do.  We get off the oil, develop renewable resources and, thus, throw off the yoke of our old masters in the oil industry. 

            He lifted bloodshot eyes to the clock on the wall again, “Well, folks, it’s 15 minutes to the hour, KSFE 765 Bismarck.  Back in a few, sit tight.”  Flipping the switch beneath the dull glowing indicator light showing him to be on air, which now blinked off, he stood and made his way through to the hallway.  Kane’s steps kicked up some of the dust; damned stuff must be coming in through the vents he thought idly to himself.  His was an early show, so no one else was at the station just yet, and, as a result, the offices for some of the others lay open and darkened.  He wished that the left over decorations from the Halloween party would be put away soon.  He made a mental note to complain to the management; whoever thought up the idea to dress up desiccated mummies like the co-workers and leave them draped in so many profane postures needed a talking to.

            Finally making it to the restroom, he quickly used the facilities before moving to the sink to wash up, not that it made a difference now.  He’d already caught whatever cold was going around.  As if to confirm his diagnosis, Kane glanced up to the mirror; his brown eyes carried heavy bags underneath each.  His skin seemed pale, more than just a result of the flickering florissant lighting, and it itched he would resist scratching for a while, but eventually he gave, in running his nails over his arms and legs.  Admittedly, he’d never heard of the flu or cold linked to dry skin, but his flaked off in massive patches.  The good news was that the nose bleeds had seemed to have stopped. 

            “I’ve really got to drop by the doctor’s office after the show today,” he mumbled through cracked lips.  Maybe he could get some sort of lotion to help before anymore of his chestnut hair was affected.

            Kane slipped out of the restroom and began to make his way back when he noticed that along the hallway a set of footprints going in the opposite direction, the sight was reassuring; it was always comforting to have someone else in the building.  He hurried back to his chair and flipped the switch back into place, the light creeping to a soft glow.  “Ok we’re back. Where was I? Oh yeah, talking about today’s top story, the escalading tensions around the globe.  I know that a lot you listening are becoming more and more alarmed by the prospects of all out war, but I got to tell ya I don’t think it will happen, and even if it does, it won’t be anything like what’s portrayed at the movie theaters.  Maybe there will be some fighting, but remember, folks, America has yet to lose an all out war.  It’s 15 minutes to the hour, and that means more commercials.  This is KSFE 765 Bismarck.  Sit tight.”

            He lit another cigarette again he began to cough hoarsely.  His hand came back with a splattering of blood.  He started to crush the smoldering tobacco into the ash tray only to grind out the ember on the table’s laminated surface.  Damn cigarettes, he thought though some deeper fear momentarily flickered in him, flipping the switch again.  “And we’re back, so let’s get back to the topic at hand.  Like I mentioned before, even if we do head into that dark curtain of war, it won’t resemble at all anything we’ve seen on either TV or on film.  There will be some skirmishes, and, yes, there will be some casualties, but in the end they’ll call a truce, draw up some sort of agreement and we’ll go back to our day to day lives complete with baseball, weekend barbeques, and mama’s apple pie.  It’s 15 minutes to the hour; this is KSFE 765 Bismarck.  Sit tight.”

            Kane leaned toward the microphone again resuming the signal with the flip of the control and began without preamble, “The good news here, people, is that I can safely say that there will be no all out world war, I mean, really, nobody wants that. Not us, not OPEC, not China.  I remember hearing somewhere some sobering words shared by Professor Einstein to a colleague many many years ago.  To paraphrase him, he basically said that he didn’t know how they’d fight world war three, but he knew how they’d fight the fourth, with sticks and stones.  It seems to me that in that sort of future that there’s nothing to profit from, and as we well know, if something isn’t profitable, it won’t be done.  It’s 15 minutes to the hour; this is KSFE 765 Bismarck.  Sit tight.”

            Kane decided he would take calls in the next hour, try to get people talking.  He tossed the switch again to cut out of the signal.  He flicked the switch again, cutting back into the commercials, the light above scarcely any more light than a moment before.  “It’s 15 minutes to the hour; this is KSFE 765 Bismarck.  Sit tight.”  With a click the switch cut out the signal.  Unnoticed, though, by its operator, the indicator light had already gone dark.  Kane reached again for the pack of cigarettes, wondering if the dust storm had died down yet.

            Outside the tiny radio station the earthy tempest had blown itself out, replaced now by darkened angry clouds and a blanketing unnatural silence.  Following the wind’s wrathful dirge, rain began to fall like tears from the torched sky, born from the poisoned atmosphere.  The drops too glowed and struck the ground, their soft pitter-patter betrayed as they landed, sounding with an angry sizzle, pitting the land and everything that lay on its surface.  Nothing moved.  Nothing remained.  Nothing heard.

            “It’s 15 minutes to the hour; this is KSFE 765 Bismarck.  Sit tight.”

Greetings!

Hey all!

I know's its been some time in coming, but please allow me to present to you The liars' truth.

The liars' truth is a blog dedicated to fiction in all its various forms. Since people began telling stories sitting around a fire surrounded by the dark of night, they used these stories to relate basic truths, facts, and ideas.

Fiction's single greatest advantage is that it marries what we know, and that which we can imagine.  From this we learn, and we grow.

The Rules.
As this is a blog there is naturally the give and take between myself and those readers who wish to comment, so it stands that for the common good some rules of conduct should be established.

(1) Respect. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, and no doubt there will be those who disagree.
(2) Don't be rude.
(3) Keep an open mind. If a character in a story is inclined to swear they are going to swear. I do not go out of my way to make a character vulgar, but I do abide by a character's nature.
(4) Be considerate.
(5) Etc. This includes anything that need be addressed in the future.

Anyway, enough of that it's time to get down to the business at hand. I hope that you, the reader, find a moments entertainment here, and if you do I encourage you to follow this blog and to add your thoughts or suggestions.


A taste of things to come.
This world spins around the sun, the sun about the galaxy, and the galaxy revolves around the outer most edges of the known universe, but this is only one level of things many, many things in fact.

All things twist and turn in the wind called change, and no one can say for sure what the outcome might be. Could reality be spooling out from the beginning to the end? Or has it been to the conclusion, and only now rumbles back to the beginning?

But in the end who should give pause, but gods and devils-angels and demons. That is those with something at stake, but for us there is only life-an inconsequential spark of divinity forgotten, shards cast off of the eternal-
Light, and dark…
Right and wrong…
Reality and illusion…rabbit hole, worm hole, pigeon hole, hell even Jeffrey Toll. The ramblings of a mad man gilded in prophetic words. 


What follows are the tales, the stories, the truths, and yes the lies. 
These are the beginnings, the ends, and most importantly the countless journeys between those two points. 
Let loose those moorings on what you know, they’ll do you no good where you’re going. Why is that you ask?  To see noble valor mingle alongside self righteous malice you’ll need all your courage. Be not deceived by fact, nor count all lies the same.  For all must play their part.
Pack up your six guns, and a holy book of your choosing, for even now the wind called change stirs, and will soon gust with or without your being ready
But you’ve asked why, and that too may serve to you well. Lastly, why worry about where you’re going? Look about you, you’re already there…
Oh and one last bit of advice not yet weary traveler, pick up a stone before you’re cast to the gale, for you’ll never know when you’ll be back this way again.
D.L.