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Free Excerpt From Kindle Nation Daily Thriller of The Week: Christopher McDonald’s Suspenseful and Spellbinding The Interview

On Friday we announced that Christopher McDonald’s The Interview is our Thriller of the Week and the sponsor of thousands of great bargains in the thriller, mystery, and suspense categories: over 200 free titles, over 600 quality 99-centers, and thousands more that you can read for free through the Kindle Lending Library if you have Amazon Prime!

Now we’re back to offer our weekly free Thriller excerpt:

The Interview

by Christopher McDonald

The Interview
5.0 stars – 2 Reviews
Text-to-Speech: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:
George started his day like any other. As he headed to work, the events of the previous night whirled in his head. He had finally had a date with the girl of his dreams and it had gone terribly wrong. Feelings of sadness and anger coursed through his veins. He had no Idea that these emotions would lead to the death of so many.

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

“What happened next, George?” Angelica inquired. “What happened when you left the office?” She was into the story now and stopped analyzing him. She got out of the chair and stretched. She poured more coffee for her and George.

“Well, I just began thinking of all the things I had gone through in that office. I began to notice how everyone was looking at me. It seemed that everyone knew already. The whole office looked at me when I returned to my desk… Thank you for the coffee, Dr. Williams.” George took the coffee in one hand and took a sip. He made a slurping noise when he sipped his coffee. “This is good coffee, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is George. What did you think about while you were collecting your things from your desk?” Dr. Williams took a sip of her coffee. There was no noise when she took a drink. George noticed and decided not to make a noise he next time he drank.

“When I got back to the desk I thought back on my life. I wondered if there had ever been a situation where I had ever felt worse.”

“Well, was there a situation where you had felt worse?” Angelica took another sip off coffee. No noise.

“Yeah, there is just one other time in my life where I felt worse. Not even the death of my parents can top this experience.” Dr. Williams noted the death of his parents on her paper. George began, “It was back in high school. I went to Cass Comprehensive High. There was a large group of friends that I hung out with. I had an incident with them that was worse than what I went through yesterday. I think that was the only time in my life. If that is, there was another time I can’t remember.” George paused to take another sip of coffee. No noise.

“What happened to you George?” Angelica asked.

“What happened that summer is buried now. We don’t need to dig it up.” George took another soundless sip of his coffee.

“George, this thing that happened in your past, may have some relevance to the case, and in my decision in diagnosing you. This thing in your past may have been something out of your control. Just give me a shot with this I may even be able to help you cope with the situation. That’s my job you know…”

“Ok. Ok. I’ll tell you if you stop babbling.”

“Thank you George.” She replied.

“There is a cemetery in the town I grew up in called Oak Hill. As kids, we were sacred of this cemetery. No one wanted to get near it after dark. It was the kind that was over a hundred years old and had lots of old tombstones and crypts. This place was at least a hundred acres or more. We all went in there during the day to just play around and see if anyone could conjure up some spirits or something. This was a large cemetery with miles and miles of graves and of course oak trees. This one had, for some strange reason, a large fence around it, and big cast iron gates that had huge locks on them. We all guessed that it was to keep the vandals out at night. The local police department closed the gates every night and locked them. There was even a sign as you went into the gate that said ‘Gate Closes at Dusk.’ There were always stories on how they locked them at night to keep the ghouls and goblins in.”

“Sounds scary George,” the doctor observed.

“Yeah, it was a frightening place. I had many nightmares about that place as a child. There were some friends of mine that talked about going on the grounds after dark. The sign on the inside gate read ‘Gate Closes at Dusk.’ There was no reason to go in, in my opinion.

One night after a football game the three of them asked me if I wanted to catch a late flick with them. Of course, I said, yeah, recognizing their popularity. On the way to the movies, we had to pass by the cemetery. It was still daylight then, and there was a good hour till dusk so they decided to drive through the cemetery. I was ok with it because I was only frightened at night. We drove through and around the bin to where I recognized the plot where my great-grandfather was buried. We drove to the other side where the other entrance was; there are only two entrances to the cemetery. We drove out and went to the theater.

When we got out of the movie, we went back to the school where all of the passenger cars were parked. I remembered looking up at the sky that night. I looked up in that open convertible at the beautiful moon. There was the largest most beautiful full moon that night.

When we made it back to the gate, it had been left open. The guys wanted to go in to be one of the only few to have bragging rights to the whole going in at dark thing. It had been dark for about an hour and thirty minutes now. I agreed with them just to not be the only one to be a bore or a party pooper, you know. Peer pressure can do marvelous things you know.” He took another drink of coffee with no slurping sounds.

“Yes George I do know the power of peer pressure.” Angelica drank more coffee and said, “Go on what happened when you got in there.”

“Well, nothing we got to the other side and the gate was closed, so we decided to go back around the long way to get out of the place. We got to side we had entered, and there was a police car pulling out of the place with a locked Gate. He must have been locking the other side while we entered this side. And when we took the long way around he locked the only other entrance and exit to the place.”

“Oh my god, George,” Angelica said.

“Yeah, we were in some deep shit. I was about to die of fright. Here we were in a cemetery at night with two locked gates and a twenty-foot tall brick fence. I didn’t know what to do. Everyone around me tried to act cool, but it was obvious that they were scared shitless. The sign on the other side of the gate read gate opens at dawn and closes at dusk. All we could do is pace outside the car and yell at each other about whose fault this whole thing was.

I said to the other guys, ‘we need to stop blaming each other and devise a plan to get out of here. There is no good going to come out of yelling at each other.’ After I said this, we decided to walk the fences’ perimeter and find some way of getting over it.”

“How did that go? There must have been some animosity still in the group.” Angelica asked.

“There was some hostility still among us but we all left anyway to find a way out. We left the car at the gate so that if anyone were to pass by the road they would hopefully look for the people the car belonged to.

Although we thought this would be a good idea, we soon found that there was a little light and a long ways to walk. There were several times where we all had to stop to check out if we could climb a tree to get to the top and over the fence. The trip had to have been six or seven miles around the perimeter. We only found one promising spot where we could have had a chance to get over. The bricks as I said were twenty foot tall from the inside. Where we found a spot where a crypt and a tree helped us climb to the top of the fence. When we got to the top, we looked down to find the twenty-foot drop and another thirty-food cliff.

There was nowhere to go. We walked the rest of the perimeter back to the car and began to panic. Ron, the guy that owned the car, took it and slammed it into the Iron Gate resulting in a busted front end. The gate sustained no damage. This was the moment where we realized that the gate was meant to keep someone in and not vandals out. There were several points in the night where we were convinced that we were not getting out alive.”

What happened during the night that would convince you that you would not get out alive? This situation sounds like there are some conditions of the night that were dangerous.” Angelica pointed out.

“Oh yeah, there were. There were many things that happened to us before we blacked out.”

Dr. Williams jotted down many things in her notes while asking questions. “You blacked out? How do you mean?”

“Well, about half way through the night I can’t remember anything that happened. I lost about a week. I woke up in the hospital, or came to is more like it. My parents were there and said that I lay there all week in bed with my eyes open. The doctors described it as a type of catatonia.”

“Wow… so tell me what happened that you can remember?” Dr. Williams was still writing this whole time on her pad.

“Well, where do I start? I guess from when we got back from our long walk around the perimeter. We got back in the car and began to ram it again. I guess we rammed the gate another four times before the power died, and the headlights went out. Shortly after we got out of the car it began to smoke. I guess it was from the steam coming out of the radiator. I told the guys that we must have busted it ramming the gate.

We all just stood there next to the car and tried to figure out what to do next. Dustin asked me for the time. I was the only one there that had a wrist watch. It was midnight. We all could not believe it had gotten that late. We also realized that we had just broken the car at the gate on a road least traveled. We also came to the realization that this one-horse town closes down at eleven o’clock. The only store that even stayed open that extra two hours was Wal-Mart. I lived in a very small Podunk town that even today Wal-Mart closes early. I think it is the only Wal-Mart in the company that isn’t open 24-hours.”

“So you were stuck, for the night that is.” Dr. Williams observed.

“Yep, we didn’t get out until the gates opened by the police six hours later. I can only remember about another hour though. This was the longest hour of the night it seemed that we were in there for six days inside of that one-hour. It was like we had entered a time warp inside of the Oak Hill Gates.

We all stood outside the car planning our next course of action. We all agreed that once we returned to school on Monday that we would be famous not that we had accepted that we were to spend the night in there. I must have been the only one in the group that thought this was not a cool thing. But I guessed that this type of thing is what made these boys so popular. I was truly scared shitless. My stomach was doing cartwheels. Dustin the leader of our posse said we should roam the cemetery and look around. So we did, and this is where things begin to go wrong.”

“Wrong, how so?” the good doctor interjected.

“Well, just sit back and keep your mind open. This gets choppy and weird. You know I told you that the cemetery was named Oak Hill right?” Dr. Williams nodded “Well it consisted of many hills with Oak trees covering the hills. The graves were arranged on the hill on built up leveled off spots. Rock walls held up these plot areas. From the bottom of the hill, it looked like a short fat pyramid. To get to the top of the hill you had to cross many large grave plot areas. Many people on these hills erected large monuments and tombs above ground. And also many people just were buried with a large marker stone or headstone.

We all decided to take a walk up the first-hill close to the entrance of the gate. We started up stopping to look at some names on the graves also to look at dates. We had a decent time going through the plots looking at names. We got to some areas that that were very educational.

Close to the top but not quite to the top we noticed graves got older, much older. The one that made us stop and reflect for a while was a grave with no name just a year of death and the cause of death. The headstone very simply read here lies the female witch hanged 1799 at Oak hill cemetery.’.” Dr. Williams took her eyes off here paper for this one and stared blankly at George. “Yeah, it creeps you out too huh? Here we are stuck at a place used not only to bury the people of the town, but also used to hang the criminals.

Everyone looked at each other shrugged it off and began to climb to the top of the hill. This particular hill was the oldest and largest with a very old oak tree at the top. We continued to the top looking at the stones on the way up we saw many more and criminals and witch trial stones. We also passed on the way to the top a large obelisk labeled here lies Judge Jones 1810. I thought it was kind of strange all of these people sentenced to death by Judge Jones surround him on the hilltop he laid.

After what seemed like an hour we finally reached the top and Dustin asked for the time again. I looked at my watch, and it hadn’t moved. It still read 12 o’clock. Dustin just cursed my peace of shit watch. I couldn’t figure it out; it was a new watch I had just gotten for my birthday. So we were timeless and didn’t know what would happen next. From the top of the hill, we could see many other hills like this one throughout the cemetery. All were smaller than this one. We all sat on the ground under the great Oak tree of the cemetery. Joe pointed out that this is where many of those people we passed on the way up had been hanged. We all had a full body cold chill come over us.

At the top of this hill is where we found a little glimmer of hope. We could see most of the cemetery well the full moon lit most of the grounds. There was this large area in the rear next to the far wall that was dark. Now I’m not talking a shadow over the area I’m talking D.A.R.K. dark. Dustin noticed this area first and pointed out that someone was down there. Whoever was in this dark portion of the cemetery had a light. It looked like an old lantern for mining or something we could not make a person out because of how dark it was. He would have looked like an ant anyway.

Dustin yells at the top of his lungs down to a glimmer of light, ‘Hey you there we need help.’ There was no response no one yelled back, but the light seemed to move to the right some as if moving from one grave to another. We all agreed that someone else must have been trapped in for the night as well. So we began to run and run quick. The one or two miles from the hilltop down through the valleys between the hills alone the curvy roadways to the darker portion of the cemetery. Once we started to approach the dark portion we noticed it getting darker. Like the darkness started to expand to meet us on the way to the man. All while running we all were yelling at him to help us “Hey you there Sir.’ The man did not turnaround as we got within a football field’s length of him we all stopped. We were inside the darkness now, and the man appeared to be digging.

‘Hey, you dude can you help us?’ Dustin just yells out at the man. I told the group that I thought he is a grounds keeper, and that he was digging a grave. The man was dressed in blue jean overalls with a dingy shirt under them. He looked as if he had a hunch in his back from doing this job for many years. He wore old leatherwork boots with the laces undone on them. He also had a lantern made of cast iron on a large hooked stick stuck in the ground next to the grave. He had a large shovel and dug one scoop at a time.

We all looked at each other and noticed that about a hundred yards from him was a stone hut with one-window and a door, and there was a light on inside. We all agreed that this was the grounds keeper and chief gravedigger. And the hut with the light on was his office of-sorts. Dustin told us that we needed to go talk to the gravedigger and see if we could use the phone in his hut. I objected and said that we needed just to go to the hut and use the phone this man wants nothing to do with us obviously, or he would have answered us by now.

Dustin, the apparent group leader just, said ‘Look dude he is obviously an old man and just can’t hear us. He will understand once we get closer and tell him our story. Now come on we can’t do anything until we go talk to him. I know he will help us.’ So we all walked the short distance to the grave keeper. As we approached the man, we noticed he must have been working for some time. There were three graves he had dug in a row, and he had just begun on his fourth.

We finally got up to him to see his face and if you didn’t find him creepy yet you will now. He was old, and I’m talking late 50’s to a teenager this was ancient. His face pale his hair was, long, stringy, and grey. It looked as if he hadn’t washed it in a couple of years. Dustin said in a loud voice ‘Sir; we got locked in here tonight. Can we use the phone in your hut to call our parents to come get us?’ The caretaker just kept digging as if he hadn’t heard a thing. I remember the sound of the dirt sending chills up my back as his shovel sliced into the earth.

Dustin, getting a little frustrated, goes over and stands in the grave in front of the gravedigger. I yelled over to say I don’t think that’s such a good idea. He lowered his head to say ‘can you hear me?’ The man didn’t flinch he just dug more and more. Dustin then taps him on his forehead and said ‘I know you can see me dude. What the fuck is wrong with you?’ When there was no response from the man digging, I suggested we just go over to the hut and call he obviously didn’t give a shit that we were there.

We left the man to his digging and walked to the hut where the light was shining bright inside. Before we went inside we looked in the only window in the hut. Joe had to wipe the dust off so that he could see in. it was like a little house there was a fireplace with a fire burning, a cot to sleep on, and a little kitchen area with a sink a mirror and toilet. There was no one inside, so we let ourselves in. there was a strange musty smell as we went into the hut. There was no phone that we could see and no other doors or windows.

We started to look around to notice the little details of the hut.” Dr. Williams flipped the page over and began writing on a new page. She also picked up the recorder to make sure it was still recording. “We noticed things like the wood next to the fireplace and books on the table. The books we found were strange. There was a textbook on human anatomy and books on autopsies.

While examining the books, we found a critical item under them. It was a newspaper that was dated in 1801 and looked like a new paper though. We were paralyzed in fear to what we saw on the front page. Dustin dropped the autopsy book on the floor to give a loud bang. We all jumped at this noise. ‘No fucking way. There is no goddamn way.’ Dustin yelled out. On the cover of the paper was a picture of us. All four of us were pictured on the front. Also, there was a title equally disturbing. I will never forget it ‘Sentenced to hang’.”

“Wow…. That would scare me to death. What else did it say?” Dr. Williams asked while pouring more coffee.

“Well, here’s the thing. It said that Judge Jones the grave we passed on the top of the hill had convicted us of Loitering, Breaking and Entering, and this is the kicker vandalizing the Oak Hill Cemetery with some unknown horseless buggy contraption. As I read this aloud to the group, our jaws dropped. The paper stated that we were to be hanged at dawn of that very day only in 1801.

Now Doctor, just sit back, there is more unbelievable shit. We all started pacing the small hut cursing all sorts of obscenities. As you can understand, after seeing that paper were scared to death. Johnny who was the quieter one of the group pointed out that there were four graves that man was digging and that there were exactly four of us. We all paused and looked at one another. Shaking my head in disbelief, for whatever reason, I finally looked at my watch again. It was 12:15 only fifteen minutes had passed since we had left the car. Dustin just said that my watch was just slow the battery had gone dead.

As we were pondering over the battery in my watch and wondering what to do next, the door to the hut opened. It was a man digging the graves. In the most horrifying voice, something like how the crypt keeper on that show, Tales from the Crypt, would say it. ‘You boys don’t go too far now. The plots are almost ready for you. The dawn is coming, just you boys wait.’ Then came the cackle. It would have sent chills up the back of an infant. As he made this horrifying cackle with his green teeth showing we all at once pushed the old man out of the way and ran out the door. As we ran, we could hear that horrible cackle in the background echoing through the cemetery.

We ran and ran until we couldn’t run anymore, and we were all out of breath. Huffing and puffing gasping for air. Joe said, ‘What the fuck. What the hell is going on here? Judge Jones’ grave is at the top of that goddamn hill, what the fuck are we going to do.’ By this point, I have to admit we all were shaking and scared for our life. ‘We have to go somewhere so we can think.’ Dustin told the group. So we went behind the nearest crypt and sat down to catch our breath and think about what to do next.”

“Whoa… Whoa… Whoa….” Dr. Williams started in. “What you are telling me is that your face was on the paper. The paper dated 1801 right?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Our face shot, or mug shot if you will. It was drawn but an exact likeness to all four of us. Under the picture was our name. We knew that something was going on. Even if this was a prank, and it would have been a damn good one, how would someone know that by chance we would drive through after the movies? It was an impossible scenario.”

“So you guys just ran out of the grave keepers hut and stopped behind a crypt? If you ask me, this sounds somewhat strange.”

George sighed. “So you don’t believe me?”

“I do but it’s hard to believe that this actually happened. If you say, it did then, I have no other choice, but to believe you. Did the other guys see the same thing in exactly the same way you did?” Dr. Williams returned to the notepad and began to jot some things down.

“Yes we all told the police afterward the same thing.” George took another drink of coffee. This time he forgot and made a slurping noise. He realized it once he heard it and tried to correct it mid sip.

“Well then, what did you do next after you guys stopped behind the crypt?” As she spoke, she changed the tape in the recorder and flipped to a new page on her note pad.

“Next we just talked and tried to calm down. Joe started to breath really hard and took out his inhaler to calm his breathing. I asked the guys if they just experienced what I just did. Dustin said, ‘You have to be shitting me. Was that really us on the paper?’ I just said yeah I think so.

Dustin told the group that we had to find some way out of here before dawn came. I, of course, agreed to this and just wondered how. I asked what the group thought we should do to escape the walls of the cemetery. No one had an idea on how we could do that. The car had been busted at one of the gates. We had walked the perimeter of the grounds and found no way out without killing ourselves.

John said, ‘We can’t just sit here all night let’s get up and walk around and keep moving so that creep can’t find us.’ I agreed with this and suggested that we go to the top of one of those hills to keep an eye on that grounds keeper. We all agreed with this, so we started up the nearest hill. We did not take the time to read stone names because of how creeped-the-fuck out we were. I can only say that once we got to the top I thought we would have some sort of relief from the situation. That wasn’t the case.

Once we reached the top of this hill there was one of those big oak trees we all stood under. We immediately located the man digging a grave with his lantern next to him. The grounds keeper was shoulder high in that fourth and final grave. We watched for a good while until we saw him throw out the shovel. It landed on the mound of dirt next to the last grave.

The old man climbed out and appeared to stretch and moan. We all stood single file next to one another watching him and only him. Then there it was again. That hell sent laugh. He was cackling again. Cackling while looking straight at us his finger extended toward us. He then took his pointed finger and slowly pointed to the neighboring hilltop. There

at the top of the hill was a crowd of people standing under the tree. There was one man in front of them all wearing a large black robe. He was dressed in a judge’s robe.

The next thing we saw was horrifying. It was Joe being dragged kicking and screaming to the noose. We all gasped and looked at one another to only discover that Joe was missing.” George then adjusted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Dr. Williams make no mistake as sure as I am standing here today that was Joe on that other hill top kicking and screaming.”

“Ok, hold on a minute. I thought you told me that you all had the same story to tell the police.” Dr. Williams sounded a bit on the confused side. “So if Joe was to be hanged here how does he tell the police this story?”

“Joe told the same story up until this point he even described them dragging and him yelling for help. He couldn’t remember any more after that point though. His memory of the experience stopped there. The three of us that was left recalled the event after that, but his blackout started there.”

“Ok then… I guess continue.” She said with a sigh

“We all witnessed them wrap the noose around his neck and pull him up high on one of the branches. He shook like a fish on a lure. After about a minute he stopped shaking and just as quick as we had seen him appear among the crowd yelling we saw him vanish off of the noose and off of the hilltop entirely.

We all looked around to see if he had all of a sudden joined us, but no it was only Dustin, John, and I left on our hilltop. The next thing I can remember is that fucking cackle ripping through the air again. We all looked back to the grave site again to see the man who dug the graves in the first place laughing and filling the first grave in. ‘Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh, my fucking god… Joe is dead. Dustin spoke for the whole group with that one.

WheeeHeeHeeHeeHeeeeeeeee ripped through the air of the night sky as he filled in the grave where Joe must have been. With that last laugh, we all in unison turned to run. We ran as fast as we could without stopping at the gate opposite where are car was. Without hesitation, we began to beat on the gate yelling for someone to save us. I mean we were beginning to go horse we were yelling so much. I found a loose brick on the column holding one side of the Iron Gate up. I grabbed it and began to beat it against the iron making a clanking noise. All the while we were hearing the echo of the gravedigger.

We all began to wear down as the adrenalin flow began to slow. I rested my head against the gate and began to pant from fear. ‘We are not going to get out of here alive are we?’ Dustin asked. My response was just I don’t think so…

As we rested against the gate hoping that someone would pass by to yell at when we heard a voice. This was a new voice. It was a grungy smoker’s voice. It was very deep and robust. ‘Hey boys you’re a-goanna be late for the next hanging.’ We look over to the column where I had pulled the brick from was. There is the judge figure from the other hilltop was standing there. He placed his green-tinted hand with long yellow fingernails on my shoulder. He had a greenish tint to the leather skin on his face. His robe was all dusty and musty smelling. It was like he had just been dug up for this freak show. We all jumped back and began to scramble.

I did the only thing I could think of at the time.” Dr. Williams readjusted in her seat as to be getting anxious. “I yelled out at the group to follow me. I ran to the next hill to find something to hide behind. I could tell that this hill was closer to the gravedigger than the gate was because we could hear his laughter getting louder, that horrible cackle. I found a rather large crypt to hide behind. It was a family crypt or a mausoleum; I can never tell the difference. The name over the stone door read DEVOROUX. The only thing I could think if at this point was to get inside.

The door was solid stone with Iron hinges holding it to the rest of the building. There was a latch mechanism that held the door closed. I finally figured out to twist the handle so that it unlocked the door from inside (there were two rods that held the door closed when you twist the handle on the outside the rods drew inwards and allowed you to open the door).

Once we reached the inside of the crypt I did a quick look around inside, there were two-stone sarcophagi on the floor. One had the bust of a lady on the top and the other had the bust of a man. Right before I closed the door behind us John yelled ‘Wait.’ I turned to look to see that John was standing between the two sarcophaguses alone. ‘Where is Dustin?’ he asked. I then realized that he must not have followed me. Instead of shutting the door, I looked out to see if I could see Dustin. He was nowhere in sight. I stepped out, and no one was in sight. Not the judge not anyone.

Of course, we still heard the occasional laughter from the man filling in the grave (By this time he must have been done). We decided not to lock ourselves in the crypt but to go out and find our apparent group leader. We found that going to the top of that hill was the best way to spot him. On the way up we could see the man who had filled in the grave standing there with his lantern, grinning an evil grin. I looked at John and said ‘What if they have Dustin now.’ He just responded with a sigh.

After walking a couple more steps, John had a somewhat good idea. ‘Let’s go to the other side of this hill to see if they have him on the hanging hill.’ I agreed rather than spend all of our time climbing to the top. Sure enough, we started around the base, and there was someone hanging on the noose looking very similar to Dustin. He was already dead; we had missed the show while in the crypt. The deed was done. As before the boy on the noose vanished, and just as before we heard that horrid laugh start up again. The man who once dug four graves was filling in his second one.

It happened to John the same way, and I was the last one. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. We were just picked out of thin air and hanged then buried. The cops that opened the gate went looking for us when they saw the busted car. They found us all under that great oak tree covered in Georgia red clay. We were all unconscious. We were taken to the medical center in town and monitored until we were awake. We woke up in the order that we were taken, and all had the same story to tell the police.

So I think you will think twice before asking me what was going through my mind again.”

“No George I won’t, this was quite a helpful story. Did you relive the whole thing before you left your desk with your box of stuff?”

“Nope… I was just comparing what had just happened to me to that incident. That night in the graveyard is still on the top of that worst things ever list. I gathered my stuff in my XEROX paper box and walked to the elevator to go home.

Continued….

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Christopher McDonald’s The Interview

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The Interview

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The Interview
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George started his day like any other. As he headed to work, the events of the previous night whirled in his head. He had finally had a date with the girl of his dreams and it had gone terribly wrong. Feelings of sadness and anger coursed through his veins. He had no Idea that these emotions would lead to the death of so many.

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Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:

Young idealist Zack Penny usually gets to work early to take in the surroundings and breathe in the crisp, mechanically filtered air, knowing that one day his own company will be very different from Display Technik. As he follows the vision of his highly successful, results-at-all-costs mentor and CEO Allen Henley,  Zack quietly nurtures a big dream–to create a new company of high morals and values, one that will revolutionize the world through the creation of wallpaper-thin displays to completely surround a viewer.

That dream is set into motion one morning when he realizes an important paper has been taken from his office. Moments later, Zack learns someone has turned him in. After his boss, who also happens to be the father of his girlfriend, Mary Anne, gives him one last chance to pledge his loyalty, Zack resigns. Determined to realize his vision, he soon steps into his new facility with high hopes and no idea that Henley has already put a plan into action with the intent of systematically destroying Zack, his perfect company, and, most of all, the relationship between Zack and Mary Anne, who is unwittingly caught in the cross-fire.

In this fast-paced thriller, a young entrepreneur faces moral dilemmas in Silicon Valley, a place where the inner working of the legal system favors the aggressor.

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

Prologue

 

When Mary Anne turned the knob, Zack’s home-office door swung open without a sound and was immediately swallowed up by the darkness inside. Standing in the dim hallway, she had to clench her hands to stop their trembling.

This was so stupid, she told herself. Despite her father’s claims, despite what he had shown her, she didn’t believe that Zack could be a traitor to DisplayTechnik. Ever the master manipulator, Allen Henley, CEO and founder of the family corporation, had backed her into a corner, and now she was on the verge of betraying her boyfriend to prove his innocence.

Although her father had soft-pedaled it as “counterintelligence,” breaking and entering while her lover slept in a nearby room seemed much less dignified than that—and far more shameful. And she wasn’t sure what she’d do if she found something incriminating: hand it over to Allen, or confront Zack with it?

If she turned back now, Zack would never know; and when Allen asked her what she’d discovered, she could tell him to go screw himself—though in words more carefully chosen. For once, she could end one of their arguments having taken the high ground.

But she knew in her heart it was too late to retreat. She had already crossed a line.

She closed the door behind her, exhaling at the soft click of the handle. She’d been holding her breath since she’d slid the key filched from Zack’s pants pocket into the lock. Oh, God, there’d be hell to pay if he walked in now, she thought. But maybe that would be better; maybe then it could all be out in the open.

A few weeks prior, Allen had brought up his suspicions in one of their father-daughter “debates.” He’d managed to get under her skin as always, and as always, she’d taken the bait. Before she knew what was happening, she’d agreed to search her boyfriend’s home office, determined to show Allen that he was wrong about Zack.

Earlier in the evening, she’d tried one last time to elicit the truth from Zack, but he kept dodging her questions about his future plans. Why couldn’t he just trust her?

She inched forward in the dark until her shin bumped the side of the desk. Afraid she’d knock something over, she carefully reached out, feeling for the lamp. Her fingers touched papers, a pen, and then bumped the lampshade—hard. For an instant, she imagined the lamp teetering over and shattering on the floor, but that didn’t happen.

She found the toggle switch and clicked it. The burst of bright light hurt her eyes. She leaned over the desk, cluttered with heaps of file folders and documents.

God, she thought, how do professional thieves do this?

#     #     #

Fifteen minutes later, she closed and locked the door behind her, a single piece of paper folded in her hand. She quietly retraced her steps down the hall. She’d left the bedroom door partially open. She slipped through it and tiptoed across the darkened room. Zack was barely visible on the bed, a long lump under the covers. After returning the key to his pants pockets, she picked up her purse and took it into the bathroom, closing the door after her. In the glow of the nightlight, she put the slip of paper in her purse. Then she flushed the toilet and turned on the water in the sink for a moment.

She shuffled back across the room and then got back into the warm bed. A carefully placed poke with her elbow made Zack roll over, and he wrapped a protective arm around her, giving her a gentle, half-awake squeeze before he sighed and slipped back to sleep.

Mary Anne lay beside her fiancé, muscles clenched, heart pounding. Maybe there was some other explanation for what she’d found, but she couldn’t think of it. The last thing she wanted was to be touched by this man, this sudden stranger, but if she got up and left, Zack would know something had happened. He’d want answers. Her father had convinced her that it was in their interest and the interest of DisplayTechnik to keep whatever she discovered a secret from Zack until the proper moment. And her father was always right.


 

Chapter One

 

Upon entering the mirrored-glass and stainless-steel lobby of DisplayTechnik, most people’s eyes were immediately drawn to the immense mobile hanging thirty feet overhead. It revolved ever so lazily, its burnished metal dazzling in the California sun. Ultrathin suspension cables concealed by the mosaic pattern on the wall behind the display created the illusion that the massive structure was simply hovering, perhaps by some trick of magnetism.

The mobile reminded Zack of scimitars and guillotine blades. As far as he was concerned, the truly magnificent work of art in the entranceway was the vast floor of highly polished black marble. Walking across it was like stepping into space: looking down at the pinpoints and streaks of glittering white, one strolled through the stars of the heavens, passing by galaxies, and the streamers of some gaseous nebula. Beneath the steel and glass homage to Allen Henley’s vanity was the constancy of the universe—immoveable, immutable, and terrible in its beauty. A plush burgundy carpet surrounded the receptionist’s area, which stood like an island in the sea of black.

Engineers like Zack weren’t supposed to use the main lobby entrance, and he didn’t most days, but it was only six thirty and any of the flock of senior vice presidents who might care if he were violating company protocol were probably still in bed. He usually got to work early, though not merely to avoid the crawl over Highway 680. He liked to take in the surroundings, soak them up, and breathe in the crisp, mechanically filtered air, knowing that one day his own company would never, ever look like this.

But he did hope to have someone as cheerful as Jan as his receptionist. She flashed him her beaming smile and waved him over to her island.

“Yes, okay. Hold, please—” she said, and put the caller on hold before he or she could object. “Hiya, Zack, how was your weekend? You look tired—didn’t you get in any sleep?”

“Of course,” Zack said. “Whenever I wasn’t working or awake.”

“You know, weekends mean taking time off, not just not going to the office.”

“I know, but the work doesn’t get done if someone doesn’t do it. I am planning on going skiing next weekend …” His voice trailed off when Jan disappeared behind the desk, and he leaned forward to see if she’d fallen through some sort of trapdoor.

She popped up with a rectangular block of aluminum foil in her hand. “This is for you,” she said. “It’s a loaf of banana nut bread I made. It was supposed to be for Jimmy, but you’re looking thinner and thinner lately. Haven’t you been eating?”

Zack knew better than to argue or refuse the gift. He was about to defend his appetite when Jan turned back to the flashing lights on her board. “DisplayTechnik, how may I direct your call? Oh! Have you been holding all this time?”

Zack mouthed a thank-you as he picked up the package. It was heavier than it looked. Jan gave him a wink and wave as he turned for the bank of glass elevators. He walked past them and swiped his access card to the door to the stairs. Walking up to the third floor, he sampled Jan’s bread. He hadn’t had breakfast, unless two cups of coffee with cream and sugar counted. The bread was worlds above the preservative-loaded cinnamon roll from the vending machine that he usually had around nine.

At the third-floor landing, he swiped his card again and walked down the hallway to his office. He fumbled in his pocket for the key, and when he couldn’t extract it while juggling everything else, he set down his briefcase. The heavy case leaned against the door, and it swung slowly open. He was positive he’d locked it. He always locked it before leaving on Fridays.

Zack nudged it wide-open with his knee, reached in, and slid his fingers up the wall until he found the light switch. The overhead fluorescent light flickered and then came to life.

Everything on his desk looked just the way he’d left it, but he immediately noticed that the pine bookcase stood at a slight angle away from the wall. The filing cabinet’s key lock appeared untouched. He’d been concerned that someone had been going through his things lately and it bothered him, even if he knew they wouldn’t find anything here.

Well, maybe it was the damn careless cleaning staff again, he told himself. It would have been the second time in three weeks that they’d failed to lock his door. The company had, after all, just hired some new staff. And it wouldn’t be the first time that they’d gone nuts with their massive industrial vacuums.

He tossed his keys onto the desk and then set his briefcase on the chair. As he opened it, he took another look around. Everything seemed secure. Wait a minute! Panic fluttered in his stomach like he’d reached the crest of a roller coaster’s first climb and was about to go over the summit. Had he left the drawing here that Dimitre had scratched out at lunch on Friday, the one with the latest specs for the polymer formulation?

Jesus, if someone found that and realized what it meant, he was screwed. They were all screwed.

Then he remembered sticking it in his briefcase before he left. He was going to work on it over the weekend but never got to it with everything else he’d had to do.

As Zack turned to place the briefcase on his desk, his hand slipped, and the contents spilled onto the floor.

Damn it!

He got down on his hands and knees and started piling it all back in the case, checking each scrap of paper and CD as he went—overdue laundry second notice, trade magazines, candy bar wrappers, the latest bulletin from marketing about how they desperately needed specs and colors. He scooped together the half-dozen file folders containing reports he was supposed to have finished up on Saturday and flipped through them, thinking Dimitre’s napkin might have gotten mixed up with them. Boy, wouldn’t that have been sweet.

Zack sat in the middle of the floor, reconstructing events. Okay, the last place he remembered seeing it for sure was here when he put it in his briefcase. So, obviously, it still had to be here, right? No, wait a second. Mary Anne had shown up early on Friday night, and he’d slipped it into his desk drawer at home, along with some other papers he’d been working on that he didn’t want her to see. He remembered now seeing the edge of it poking out of the stack. He’d wanted to put it all in the safe later that night but didn’t get a chance to because she’d distracted him with that new nightie. He smiled, thinking what they’d—

“Hey, stranger.”

Zack jumped at the voice behind him. It was Phyllis, the administrative assistant for the engineering staff.

“So is that what you call filing?”

Zack stood up. “Did you come into my office over the weekend?”

“You kidding me?” Phyllis wrinkled her nose. “Come in here on the weekend? That’s not my idea of a fun time. I’m not as crazy as you boys from engineering.”

“How about this morning?”

“I don’t have a key, remember? Why?”

“The door was unlocked.”

“Maybe you didn’t lock it.”

“I always lock the office.”

“Uh-huh.” Phyllis waved at his cluttered desk. “And you always keep your office tidy as well.”

Zack bent down and started to clear the desk.

“Too little, too late,” Phyllis chided him. “Anyhow, you don’t have time for that. Julie told me to keep an eye open for you. Said to tell you Mr. Henley wants to see you as soon as you came in, but you were to swing into her office first. Think she has the hots for you?”

Phyllis winked at him. There were a lot of rumors about Julie Reynolds’s hots. She was a key member of the inner Gestapo of DisplayTechnik, exactly the type of person who would invade his office.

Zack ran a hand through his straight brown hair. It was usually a little ruffled and just long enough to make it difficult to manage. This morning he’d seen a unicorn staring back at him in the mirror, and even after a shower, it had still been sticking up a bit.

He hurriedly ushered Phyllis out into the hall, and he made a show of locking the door after him. Arms folded across her chest, she rolled her eyes as he turned for Julie’s office.

Why would the Human Resources manager want to see him? She only called in people when she was firing them, or fishing for reasons to fire someone else, or giving them a lower-than-deserved rating for their latest evaluation. In the latter case, she claimed she wanted to head off any problems with poor performance, but the twinkle in her eye hinted at sadistic pleasure.

And what the hell did their esteemed founder and CEO want? He wasn’t exactly the type to have personal chats with his engineering team, even though Zack was the head of the department. Maybe this was about the new line of monitors due out next month? They were still having problems with a residual flicker and didn’t seem to be any closer to isolating the problem.

Bill Bennet, the general counsel, came out of nowhere and nearly collided with him. Bill clutched a pile of papers to his chest and held out his coffee mug as it slopped over onto the rug.

“Jesus! Watch where you’re—oh, hi, Zack.” He clutched the papers a little tighter and then turned them upside down onto a nearby desk, shaking the coffee from his hand. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“I could ask the same thing. So, how are the plans coming along to get traffic lights installed on these dangerous intersections?”

“Seen Julie yet?” Bill said.

Zack frowned. “What, are they broadcasting my morning’s meetings on the Bay Area Early News?”

“Pardon?”

“You’re the second person who’s told me that Julie wants to see me.”

“Oh, well, you know. We’re all supposed to be communicating better.”

Sure, Zack thought. DisplayTechnik was such a warm, wonderful place, and management only wanted the best for employees.

“Actually, I was off to see, uh, Mr. Henley first,” Zack said. “You know, start at the top. Apparently he wants to meet with me too, in case that didn’t make the broadcast this morning.”

Bill stared at him blankly and then said, “I just came from the tower, and he’s going to be busy for a while. An interview with Silicon Valley Business, I believe. Why don’t you go see Julie first?”

Zack nodded.

“Hey, catch that Giants game?” Bill said as he started in the opposite direction.

Attempts at small talk by Bennet always seemed forced. The man was more comfortable talking about patent law than even the simplest of human connections. His eyes were cold and judgmental, constantly weighing just how valuable talking to you really was. And if at some point in the conversation you’d somehow confirmed that you were worth more than the carpet he was standing on, he always tried to end with something that would make him appear a real person, a regular guy. He was a perfect fit for DisplayTechnik.

“Yeah, I did,” Zack said, “the last four innings anyway …” He was instantly sorry he’d opened his mouth. Bill turned the corner and walked out of sight without a word.

Asshole. Asshole.

Zack took the stairs up one floor to the Human Resources department. He knew that a media interview with the CEO could easily take an hour or more, and it might even stretch on to lunch. Typical that Allen had made his stopping by a top priority and then failed to leave the time open for their meeting.

Julie was on the phone when he stepped into her office, which had all the pizzazz of a funeral home. The only bright spot was a calendar of Caribbean beaches. She waved him to a seat at the conference table.

The Human Resources manager could have easily modeled for a calendar herself—the kind usually found in a men’s locker room. As Zack sat down, Julie leaned back in her chair, arching her back, which made her ample chest look like it was erupting from her business jacket. He grabbed a nearby magazine. It was ironic that someone who inspired such anxiety in her fellow employees should be so irresistible to look at. She had the most wonderful skin, like Bernadette Peters, which made her blue-green eyes look like jewels in a milk bath. Her long dark hair, pulled back from her face by a clever assortment of clips, cascaded around her shoulders.

Julie shifted in her chair. Zack peered over the top of the magazine and watched her cross and uncross her legs, which were regrettably mostly hidden by the desk. He couldn’t help but smile remembering a recent, late-night, development-group engineering session at his apartment. Jimmy had recounted his latest Julie fantasy. He had it bad for her. “So, Mr. Morgan, now that you’re no longer an employee,” he’d said, imitating her voice in breathless fashion, “why don’t we get down to business?” With that, she’d cleared her desk for them in a single swipe. The room had erupted into a mix of laughter and catcalls. Someone threw a half a piece of pizza and hit Jimmy smack in the middle of the forehead, and it had stuck there for a good three seconds—

“Mr. Zack Penny. How are you?”

Zack flinched.

“Hi, Julie.” He cleared his throat. “So, what’s up?”

She joined him at the conference table. “You know Brett Davis, don’t you?”

Brett was the Southwest sales rep. “Of course. What’s going on?”

“Is he a friend of yours?”

His eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Why?”

“You stoutly defended him in your report after the HP deal collapsed last year.”

“I didn’t defend him because he was my friend; I defended him because we weren’t treating a valued employee right. Okay?”

“Sure, Zack,” she said quickly. “But we lost the account to a competitor with an inferior product, and Brett’s coming up for another performance evaluation.”

Ah, so this was a fishing expedition. Zack studied those blue-green eyes. “And your point is?”

Julie leaned forward, pressing her left hand against her jacket to keep the top from opening. “Are you familiar with our company’s employee handbook? It is, after all, considered an addendum to your contract, just as it is with everyone else’s.”

The contract he’d signed five years ago? Yeah, sure. Like he’d remember everything in a document the size of the New Testament. The first time he’d even glanced at the handbook was three years ago to look up rules for personal days when he’d managed to get tickets to a Monday night game between the Niners and Cowboys. [Since then, he’d only ever taken one other personal day, and that had been just a month ago.]

“As I’m sure you’ll recall,” Julie said, “the handbook clearly details that employees are to conduct themselves in a professional manner at all times and also to report any behavior that might be detrimental to the company. Our competitors come up with all sorts of ingenious methods of winning.”

“Are you accusing Brett of something?”

“Why? What do you know?”

“I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

She blinked slowly at him. She had very long lashes. “You should take this seriously.”

Zack could feel his cheeks heating up.

“I repeat,” she said, “what do you know?”

“You’re accusing Brett of what, conspiring with the competition to lose the account on purpose? Do you know how insane that sounds? Sales reps earn big bonuses by bringing in accounts.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time a competitor has paid someone to not make a sale, especially if they have a directly competing product that they might be trying to rush to market or to gain a foothold with. It’s an insane world out there. Our competitors are stealing our employees, and worse, stealing our ideas. My job is to ensure loyalty, to find out where our own employees stand. And if you can be honest and simply tell me what you know about the competition out there, then it would do a lot to reassure DisplayTechnik of your loyalty and commitment.”

The lilt in her voice made him decidedly uncomfortable. “My loyalty is to people,” he said. “I’m not going to backstab Brett because of some far-fetched suspicion of yours. And that’s all it seems you have—suspicion. As for my commitment, I easily work sixty hours in a slow week, so why don’t you just back off?”

The faint smile on her face was frozen in place. After a few moments of silence, she arched her eyebrows slightly, looking past him, as if she’d come to some sort of determination.

There was a tiny knock on the door, followed by Julie’s administrative assistant popping her head in.

“Sorry to bother you, but¾”

“Yes, Tiffany?” Julie said.

“You told me to interrupt the meeting when Mr. Henley was free. Well, he’s free. The camera crew is just packing up their gear, and Louise said that¾”

“Fine, fine. Thank you.”

Tiffany retreated, and Julie stood up abruptly. “So I take it that you won’t help us?” she said.

“If you mean, will I rat-fink on Brett to promote your excess paranoia, the answer is no.”

“Then I will see you later.”

Not if he could help it. Zack got up and walked past her, out the door, heading for management’s elaborate corporate offices.

God, he hated what this company had turned into. It was infected with warrior politics and the credo of questioning everyone if their motives weren’t completely aligned with General Allen’s objectives.

Zack took a shortcut through a cluster of gray cubicles. They were arranged so workers couldn’t see each other or the hallway traffic. He made his way through the beehive maze to the hallway that led to the Ivory Tower. He had no idea what this meeting was about, and that was unnerving. Despite the fact that he’d been in countless social settings with the man over the years, despite the fact that Allen made a point of telling others Zack might one day succeed him as CEO, Zack was still never completely comfortable in his presence.

He was dating the man’s daughter, and so it was only natural to feel scrutinized by him. He knew he’d be analyzing anyone his own daughter was seeing too, but it seemed Allen noted his every comment and action, evaluated and stored it away for future use. It had been more than a year since he and Mary Anne had started going out, and he’d hoped at some point the man would let up, but if anything, of late he had become even more intense. Perhaps word that he and Mary Anne had probed each other’s thoughts about marriage had reached him.

God, there was so much going on, he really didn’t have time for this. He looked at his watch. Good Lord. Eight fifteen, and he hadn’t even checked his e-mails yet.

He thought very briefly about swinging down to Mary Anne’s office to see if she could give him a heads-up on whatever it was her father wanted, but he knew that was out of the question. Fraternizing during office hours was strictly forbidden at DisplayTechnik and both of them were aware of the many eyes on them, so they limited their contact to only the most pressing of business issues.

Zack pushed down on the brass lever and pushed the solid walnut door open with his shoulder. The thick burgundy carpet flattened as the door swung inward, revealing a softer cast of light and a quieter mood. The grand-entrance foyer connected the rest of DisplayTechnik to the Ivory Tower, where long-range, strategic business plans incubated. Standing at the base of the stairs, he looked up eight stories to the domed top of the tower. Wind chimes played softly from somewhere; they had to be electronic–there was no breeze.

The gleaming, sculpted wood paneling, textured wallpaper, and avant-garde murals of historical battles, all floodlit from above and below, restated the obvious: there was money here—big money. It was the same feeling he’d had when he and his partner in the secret start-up, Paul Ryerson, had visited New York and California investment banks and venture capital firms last year on his vacation days—or when Mary Anne was out of town on her scuba diving trips to the Caribbean and Mexico.

Unlike most of their competitors, DisplayTechnik’s upper managers did not share office space with lower-level employees. Instead, the high-ranking employees were closeted here, like drones surrounding the queen bee, in cavernous offices appointed with deep, L-shaped mahogany desks and matching bookcases. Each spacious room had been meticulously arranged using the best feng shui consultants in the Bay Area. Water was featured prominently, but so too were the large potted plants cared for by invisible minions who only crept into the offices long after they’d been deserted for the night.

The Ivory Tower was only four stories, but each level was double the normal height. Tall, narrow, cathedral windows allowed solid angles of light to penetrate the reception area. The foyer, where Zack now stood, was the site for lavish corporate receptions and entertaining important guests, not for morale-boosting Christmas parties.

The system Allen Henley had created was downright feudal, and he ruled over it by what he considered his divine right. According to Mary Anne, her father had told the architect he wanted the top stories to dazzle prospective clients, creating an instant home court advantage, much like the White House. For his part, Zack found the ostentatious display of corporate wealth and autocratic power sickening.

He started the ascent up the stairway to where the executive management team resided. At the landing at the top was a nearly bare desk, behind which was the first gatekeeper, a woman who hardly glanced up at Zack’s approach. After all, he was expected.

Zack turned left and took the next set of stairs; these were much narrower and followed the circular line of the inner wall and mirrored an identical set of stairs opposite. The two staircases converged at the top, spilling out into an open area. A short walk along the balcony took him to another pair of staircases, which led to the highest level.

Allen’s executive secretary, Louise, gave him what appeared to be a genuine smile as he approached. “Go right in,” she said.

When Zack entered the palatial office, he was struck by the strong scent of tropical vegetation, coupled with the soft, white noise of the two waterfalls on either side of the door. This was indeed the holy of holies.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Please, have a seat.” Allen Henley motioned him to a deep blue, leather chair next to a large rubber tree plant. His head was closely shaven, a relatively new development intended to disguise the spreading bald spot at the back of his head. Abandoning his massive desk, which was off to Zack’s right in a recessed alcove, Henley sat next to a small pond filled with koi, the wide stone edge of which served as a side table to his chair.

The CEO and president of DisplayTechnik was one of the most recognizable businessmen in America, though not quite as successful as Bill Gates of Microsoft, Andy Grove of Intel, or Lee Iacocca of past Chrysler fame. He was a distinguished icon of corporate America because he actively sought the publicity. Some first-year MBA student could write a paper and argue that he hungered for media attention because he wanted to put the spotlight on DisplayTechnik, but in reality, the flat-panel display market was a relatively small field. Everybody knew everybody. Unlike the hamburger industry, where plastic toys and party packs¾not the actual taste or quality of the product—defined the market strategy, a mega advertising blitz wasn’t necessary to convince people to choose a particular product.

Zack sat down and was immediately swallowed by the chair. “So, I heard that the local news boys from Silicon Valley Business were here,” he said to try to head off the nervousness he was feeling.

“Yes. I believe that SVB might even do a follow-up piece on us,” Allen said. “They can’t believe we’re actually going toe-to-toe with the Japanese on the FPD market and gaining ground on Toshiba and the lot. The reporter said it was like the USA kicking butt again after we got reamed by the Asians in the DRAM memory market.”

Zack expected Allen to smile at the remembered compliment, but he didn’t.

“So what if Japan or Southeast Asia tries to ream us with their technology?” Allen said. “After all, we live in a competitive society. Sun Tzu, had he been alive today, would have said that the art of business is war. Yes, most definitely.”

Zack had heard this monologue before and knew once Henley got started, he could go on for a long time. He really should have been a televangelist, except that he had no beliefs in a higher power—other than himself. “Is there something in particular you wanted to talk to me about?”

A slight smile played at the corners of Allen’s lips. “Yes, Zack, I did have something particular in mind.” He gripped the arms of his chair and pulled himself out. He turned his back to Zack as he walked slowly toward the expansive window.

“When you fight a war against an enemy, generally he’s in front of you,” Allen said. “But then again, all warfare is based on deception.”

Zack had a hard time believing he was here for a lecture on Sun Tzu. He didn’t like the references to “an enemy.” What was Allen getting at?

“When able to attack, we must seem unable,” Allen went on, hands clasped behind his back as he paced the floor. “When we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away. When far away, make him believe we are near. Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder—then crush him.”

Allen turned abruptly to face Zack. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Zack didn’t, but he nodded in the affirmative anyway. It seemed to satisfy the CEO, at least momentarily. Wasn’t there anything in Sun Tzu that addressed taking care of your troops in order to assure victory? This was a man who thought nothing of his own employees; they were mere commodities to him, expendable and replaceable. And yet, Zack thought, how could he have raised a daughter as wonderful as Mary Anne and be all bad? If there was a small seed of good in Allen Henley, he hadn’t seen it yet.

“The military devices that lead to victory must not be divulged beforehand,” Allen said. “Are we clear?”

“Not really,” Zack said, standing up. “To be honest, I really don’t put much stock in Sun Tzu. I just don’t think that’s the way things need to operate anymore.”

“You don’t?” Allen chuckled. “Well, you should. You should.”

The scalp on the back of Zack’s head started to tingle.

“Sun Tzu is business, young man. You’d best learn that, and soon. Anyone who wants to start a business had best learn that.”

Start a business?

Allen laughed at the stunned reaction he could not hide. “You see? Sun Tzu is working. Appear when you are not expected; attack the enemy when he is unprepared.”

Had Allen Henley somehow found out about his plans to leave DisplayTechnik and start his own company, Imagination? But who would have told him? Zack’s partner, Paul Ryerson, had been careful to get nondisclosure agreements from the potential investors he’d lined up, but he knew they weren’t truly binding. Paul had also picked venture capitalists who had no ties to Allen. Could it have been someone on their design team? Zack doubted that. Every one of them had a serious grudge against Henley and DisplayTechnik. They wouldn’t have revealed anything, at least not intentionally. Had he somehow slipped and said something to Mary Anne? No. He was positive he’d never even hinted at it.

Allen was watching him, clearly enjoying his consternation.

“I called you in here to verify if what I thought was true,” Allen said. “And I can see by your face I’m right, you ungrateful bastard. I made you who you are, and you repay me by stabbing me in the back! You were nothing. Right out of college, and yet I brought you here and put the world at your feet, eventually promoting you to director of new technology. For Christ’s sake, I even gave you my daughter, my own flesh and blood, and look how you treat my gifts.”

Say something, Zack told himself. But his mouth was so dry it was hard to swallow. He dropped back into the chair. There was no doubt about it: someone had turned them in.

As though reading his thoughts, Allen said, “Just as you can be surprised by your enemies, you can also be surprised by your allies. Sun Tzu said that the best way to defeat your enemy in a battle is to never fight the battle at all. Break your enemy before he can mount an attack. Try to find alliances with parties or people or even a single person that your enemy trusts the most. If his forces are united, separate them. Try to create confusion in your enemy’s ranks to drain the will of your enemy to fight. Do everything you can to destroy your enemy before you must resort to taking to the battlefield and risking harm to yourself or your friends.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“I am giving you a last chance,” Allen said. “So we can stop this battle before it starts. Renounce it. Renounce your plans, and I’ll let it go. I will, I really will. I just need your word that you’re with us. That you’re with me.”

Screw the pompous ass. The whole point was to get away from him.

“I quit,” Zack said and walked out of his mentor’s office.

“Come back here! Come back here this instant!” Allen shouted at his back. “If he is taking his ease, give him no rest. Do you hear me, Zack? No rest!”

Zack ignored a wide-eyed Louise, making for the staircase.

“You’re history!” Allen bellowed down at him as he took the steps two at a time. “I’ll destroy that silly little dream of yours, and you’ll never work in the Valley again. Never! I’ll bury you, you son of a bitch!”

Zack sidestepped the foyer’s gatekeeper, who had risen from her desk. As he reached the walnut doors, they burst open in front of him. In stormed Julie, flanked by Frank, a security guard who ran a football pool that Zack participated in, and another, beefier security guard that he didn’t recognize.

“Mr. Zack Penny …” Julie began, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“Shut the hell up!” he said. “I don’t want to hear it.” He tossed his employee access card at her feet. That wiped the smug grin off her face. “You can’t fire me; I already quit.”

“So I’ve been notified. I’m here to escort you from the building. Follow me, please.” She turned on her heel.

Zack hustled to keep up with her while the security men brought up the rear. The little convoy plowed down the hall. Astonished employees ducked into side corridors or tightly hugged the wall when there was no escape.

When they reached the engineering section, Phyllis sat behind her desk, a sad, worried look on her face. She didn’t say a word. Someone must have tipped off the engineers because their doors were all closed. All except Zack’s.

Inside, Bill Bennet was sitting in his chair, scrolling through the files on his computer. There was an empty cardboard box on the floor at Bill’s feet.

Julie pointed at the box. “Put your personal things in there.”

“If you don’t mind,” Bill said, “while you go through your desk, I need to take a look in your briefcase to verify, of course, that no company property leaves the premises.”

“Knock yourself out,” Zack said.

He started piling things in the box: Jan’s loaf of bread, pictures, paperweights, books, and a matched set of bookends. From the shelf by the window, he retrieved a small sculpture of a mermaid arching her back, arms gracefully extended as she rose to the surface. Mary Anne had given it to him ten days ago as a one-year anniversary present. It was a beautiful piece that captured a moment of motion. He’d smiled at the time, thinking it a bit ironic that it was titled “Imagination,” and had looked forward to being able to share the private joke with her when it was all out in the open. Now the mermaid went ingloriously into the box with the other remnants of his DisplayTechnik career.

He opened the middle drawer and grabbed a fistful of pens, including a fountain pen from his father.

“Wait a minute,” Julie said. “You can’t take those.”

“What do you mean? These are my pens.”

“Bill?”

“According to your contract,” Bill said without looking up from his task, “unless items deemed personal can actually be verified at the time of dismissal, all such items shall be assumed to be the property of DisplayTechnik. Do you have a receipt?”

“What? Who the hell keeps receipts for their pens at their desks? And you’re telling me the company hands out fountain pens now?”

“I can’t say we don’t. Tell you what. We’ll hang on to these for now, but if you can show us a receipt for it, we’ll happily return them.”

Bill held up a stack of rewritable CDs from the briefcase. “And these are …?”

“Those are all company files except for the one that doesn’t have a label. It’s music.”

“Is it now?” Bill suspiciously eyed the blank silver side.

“Yes. Now if you don’t mind—”

“According to your contract,” Julie said, “DisplayTechnik retains the rights to search your personal property before you leave the building.”

“How about we just take a little look at it?” Bill said. “If it’s yours, we’ll know soon enough.”

When Zack made a step toward him, Frank clamped a hand on his shoulder. He shook his head, his lips tight.

Bill put the CD in the drive. The autoplay engaged, and a Santana tune started to play. Bill frowned. “You realize,” he said, staring straight ahead at the screen, “that music piracy is an extremely important issue. Companies lose millions over it.” He slowly turned his head and looked at Zack. “I could report this, you know.”

“Be my guest,” Zack said. “I own the CD. I’m allowed to make copies for my own use, thank you, and I always keep the originals at home.”

Bill closed the window and ejected the CD. He placed it in the box with the other items for DisplayTechnik.

“You put it in the wrong box,” Zack said.

“No, I think we’ll keep it too. It looks a great deal like the other CDs that are DisplayTechnik’s, so I imagine it came out of the company storeroom.”

“This is ridiculous. I’m sure that’s my disk; I have stacks of them at home. Hell, probably all those disks with DisplayTechnik files are actually mine.”

“Show me a receipt, and I’m sure we’ll reimburse you,” Bill said, staring at the screen as he searched through Zack’s files on the computer. “Besides, you shouldn’t use personal property for company business. Bad for tax purposes.”

“Jesus! You people really have gone nuts. What’s come over this place? I’m not talking about a fifty-cent CD; I’m talking about the principle of all this.”

“Yes,” Bill said, appraising him through narrowed eyes. He snorted derisively. “We all know about your high principles.” He turned back to the computer. “Well, fifty cents times a thousand employees every week can add up rather quickly. Show me a receipt, and you can have it back.”

“Are we done here, or are you going to want to do a cavity search?”

Bill visibly stiffened. “Julie, see him out of the building.”

Zack snatched up his briefcase and the box. Julie led the way while Frank and the other guard bracketed him. He was surprised when they didn’t take the stairs but instead headed for the lobby elevators. It occurred to him that the idea was to make an example of him, parading him past as many employees as possible.

Fortunately, the lobby was mostly deserted. Jan met his eyes as they crossed the floor, tears brimming. The few other employees who were there looked away. The only person who stared was a visitor just leaving the receptionist’s desk. He stopped in his tracks. The beefy guard sidestepped the man and in the process bumped Zack’s arm carrying the box. It tilted, the contents slid awkwardly to one side, and as Zack made a grab for it, his foot caught on the corner of the rug.

The box slipped from his hands as he stumbled and fell. He landed heavily on the marble floor, and the box’s contents scattered. He remained there, motionless for a few seconds, his face inches from its glossy surface. His elbow screamed in protest as he pushed up.

“This is far enough,” Julie announced. With that, she turned and left with the guards in tow.

Zack knelt on the floor, sweeping up his spilled property. The mermaid’s decapitated head was halfway to the front doors, still slowly spinning.

Continued….

Click on the title below to download the entire book and keep reading Glenn Ogura’s Startup>>>>

“…reminiscent of John Grisham’s THE FIRM. A solid business thriller…”- Kirkus Reviews
STARTUP by Glenn Ogura

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Startup

by Glenn Ogura

Startup
4.2 stars – 31 Reviews
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:

Young idealist Zack Penny usually gets to work early to take in the surroundings and breathe in the crisp, mechanically filtered air, knowing that one day his own company will be very different from Display Technik. As he follows the vision of his highly successful, results-at-all-costs mentor and CEO Allen Henley,  Zack quietly nurtures a big dream–to create a new company of high morals and values, one that will revolutionize the world through the creation of wallpaper-thin displays to completely surround a viewer.

That dream is set into motion one morning when he realizes an important paper has been taken from his office. Moments later, Zack learns someone has turned him in. After his boss, who also happens to be the father of his girlfriend, Mary Anne, gives him one last chance to pledge his loyalty, Zack resigns. Determined to realize his vision, he soon steps into his new facility with high hopes and no idea that Henley has already put a plan into action with the intent of systematically destroying Zack, his perfect company, and, most of all, the relationship between Zack and Mary Anne, who is unwittingly caught in the cross-fire.

In this fast-paced thriller, a young entrepreneur faces moral dilemmas in Silicon Valley, a place where the inner working of the legal system favors the aggressor.

Reviews

“…a stellar cast of characters…a highly gifted writer. It is this reviewer’s hope that STARTUP will be the first of many Ogura bestsellers.” –Pacific Book Review

“…author Glenn Ogura demonstrates a rich woven and adroitly capable storytelling talent that is ideal for suspense laden thrillers that engage the readers total attention from beginning to end. Very highly recommended. STARTUP would prove an enduringly popular addition to personal reading lists and community library collections.”-Midwest Book Review

” … the hype surrounding new author Glenn Ogura is right on the mark… if you love fast-paced fiction that will keep you reading into the wee hours of the night …”-Create with Joy

About The Author

Glenn Ogura earned a degree in electrical engineering from Queen’s University in Canada and is currently the executive vice president for a New Hampshire-based laser micromachining company. Glenn lives with his wife in California. He loves watching football. He is an avid New England Patriots fan. Asides from his love of writing, talking technology and the study of business ethics, he plays tennis. “Startup” is his first novel.

You can reach him at www.glennogura.com.

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Viral Intent: An Alexandra Destephano Novel

by Judith Rocchiccioli

Viral Intent: An Alexandra Destephano Novel
5.0 stars – 22 Reviews
Or FREE with Learn More
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:
An unidentified virus in the CCMC Emergency Department is killing dozens of people, a horrific death of a popular politician in the French Quarter has the NOPD hopping, and internet chatter suggesting the unspeakable has chilled the hearts of law enforcement all over the world. Read how Alex and Jack learn to play well with the CDC, FBI, and Secret Service to save the streets of New Orleans.

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

Chapter 1

“Sandy! Sandy! You have got to come here right away! Something horrible’s happening to the guy in bed three. I have no idea what’s up with him but I think he is going to die,” Kelsey Saunders exclaimed, her voice shrill with anxiety as her vivid green eyes exploded with anxiety.

Sandy Pilsner, emergency department nurse manager of Crescent City Medical Center’s level one emergency department, looked up from the nurses’ station and said, “What’s up, Kelsey? I just saw him 20 minutes ago when I was making rounds.”

Kelsey’s face was white with fear. “It’s awful. He has blood coming out of his eyes and his blood pressure is low. He’s also shaking all over. I don’t know if it is a seizure or his fever. He’s having trouble breathing too. ”

Sandy rose from her seat so she was eye level with the almost hysterical Kelsey, her new nursing graduate intern from LSU, and said gently, “Kelsey, it’s OK. I just checked on him a few minutes ago. He seemed fine, except for his fever and the fact that his blood work is really screwed up.”

“I know, I know. But I’m telling you that things have changed quickly.”

Sandy shook her blonde hair emphatically. “Hurry up. I think he’s gonna die any minute. There is just something very wrong! He is totally going bad.” Kelsey’s green eyes were huge and Sandy could see anxiety and worry reflected in them.

“All right, let’s go check him out,” Sandy said as she thought of the ideal teaching moment they would have.

An urgent voice barked over the hospital voice system, “CODE BLUE, CODE BLUE, ED, Bed 3.”

Sandy grimaced and said, “Well, Kelsey, you called that one right! Let’s see what we can do.” Both nurses rushed toward the opposite end of the ED, pushing an extra crash cart.

The code team was in action, and two amps of bicarb had already been administered with no response. The patient was blue, with circumoral cyanosis surrounding his mouth. His nails looked as though someone had painted them with a pearly blue nail polish. His eyes, open and staring, were blood red from petechiae and broken blood vessels. A bloody drainage seeped from the right eye, staining his cheek.

Sandy noticed the flat red rash on his chest. She could swear he hadn’t had that rash 30 minutes ago.

The ED doc in charge, Dr. Fred Patterson, saw Sandy and hollered, “What the hell is happening to this guy? He’s bleeding from everywhere and I have no idea what’s wrong with him! Give me a history and for God’s sake, get us some protective gear in here.”

Sandy stood quietly, transfixed. She had never seen Dr. Patterson anxious or even tense. She panicked for a moment but didn’t know why. A dark sense of foreboding fell over her and she was afraid.

Dr. Patterson glared at her. “For God’s sake, Sandy! Give me something. What’s the history? He’s bleeding out and I don’t know why. This is, at the very least, malaria, typhoid or perhaps one of the hemorrhagic viruses – maybe even something worse. Holy Shit, I don’t like this! Get us some protective gear, NOW!”

Sandy’s stress soared exponentially. Fred Patterson was their calmest ED doc and he was freaked. She grabbed the chart from the medication nurse and said, “Fred, not much to tell. The guy came in several hours ago from the Hotel Burgundy in the Quarter. He’s part of the staff for the Democratic Caucus that starts tomorrow. The friend who bought him here said he starting feeling sick last night, had some nausea, some vomiting and a sore throat. Then, this morning, his temperature got higher and he couldn’t stop vomiting, so he brought him in. We started some IV fluids and gave him some Tofran for his nausea. That was several hours ago. He was OK an hour ago.”

“Well, he sure isn’t OK now. I think he is in liver failure at the very least and probably multi-system failure. Any recent blood work? Does he have any friends or family here other than the guy who bought him in? Any idea where he’s been? Do you know if he has been traveling?”

Sandy shook her head, watching the Code Team continue CPR compressions as the Respiratory Team intubated the patient. There was no cardiac response at all. Flat line! A nurse rolled the defibrillator closer.

“I’ve no idea. His friend stayed about 30 minutes and took off. Said he had a bunch of stuff to do. You know the politicians are here for the next few days, right? They are trying to clean up their act in Washington, you know, Operation Fix America,” Sandy added in explanation.

“Yeah, goody, goody and the President is coming over the weekend, right?”

Sandy could detect the sarcasm in Fred’s voice. She really couldn’t blame him for his jaded and sarcastic nature. Just this year his twin brother Ron, also at ED doc for CCMC had died working in the ED. No one had recovered from it, particularly Fred. Nevertheless, he was a great ED doc and he knew his stuff. Besides, almost everyone in America had lost respect for the politicians in Washington D.C., and Fred wasn’t any different.

“Yep, that’s what the papers say,” Sandy responded as she addressed Fred’s jaded remarks and continued, “I think a food service worker from the same hotel was admitted earlier with similar symptoms. I’ll need to check.”

“Find out where he’s been from his friend that brought him in. Call the hotel too. I think he has some kind of lethal virus. Get the infectious disease people in here too. I’m bringing in Tim Smith in Tropical Medicine over at Tulane as well. Those people over at the Tropical Medicine department are good with this stuff.”

Sandy could hear the tension in Fred’s voice. She paused for a second to respond.

He glared at her and said, “STAT, Sandy, we need to know what we are dealing with. If it’s bad, we need to contain it. Be sure we have gathered all available blood samples for diagnostic testing. Get a tube of everything.”

Sandy, an old hat ED nurse who thought she had seen everything working while in New Orleans, was disturbed and frightened by Fred’s behavior and the wild look in his eyes. She could feel her anxiety escalating, something she hardly ever experienced as an expert practitioner.

“Got it Fred, I’ll take care of it,” she calmly replied, pushing a reluctant Kelsey forward so they could get to work. Sandy could feel the slow but increasing thud of her heart. Oh my God, she thought, suppose we have an outbreak of Ebola or some unknown hemorrhagic virus.

She looked at Kelsey, who was, once again, white with fear and said, “Have central supply bring in full gowns, masks and booties for all staff in the ED. Get face shields as well. We need to start isolation on all patients and close the ED to further traffic. We’ll have to close down, and transfer what we can, and divert to other local EDs. I’ll call and let administration know. This could be bad. We don’t know what this guy’s got.”

Kelsey recovered and responded quickly. “I’ll take care of the gear, call the CCMC infectious disease docs here at the hospital and report back tom you.”

“Thanks, Kelsey. You’re the best,” Sandy said as she patted the shoulder of the young graduate and rushed toward her office to call administration and report a potentially biological threat to the medical center. En route, she had a near-collision with general surgeon Robert Bonnet, the interim chief of medicine at CCMC.

Robert smiled brightly at Sandy, “Whoa! What’s up, girl! Why all the rush? I heard the CODE BLUE so I came down. What’s going on?”

“Come into my office, Robert, so we can talk. We have a guy, the code, who looks like he has some type of really weird virus. Fred said typhoid or malaria at the best and perhaps something much worse. Maybe even a hemorrhagic virus of some kind. The patient works for the Democratic Party. He was bleeding out, has a significant trunk rash, and high fever. Also, his kidneys and liver are shutting down.”

Robert’s smile disappeared as he processed the information Sandy gave him. His handsome face reflected his concern and he said, “This could be bad. Get me Dave Broderick, head of infectious disease here at CCMC. If it looks like a hemorrhagic fever, we will need to call the CDC as well. Has anyone else been admitted with similar symptoms?”

“Yeah, but he was transferred to Intensive Care, which is where this guy was headed before he coded. I think the guy in the ICU is South African and I believe he was food service staff at the Hotel Burgundy. He had a temp of 103.2, as well as nausea and vomiting. His blood platelets were whacked and WBCs were way up. Short of breath, too, but we treated that with oxygen. Just like the guy that coded, but the South African guy stabilized and was transferred to ICU an hour or so ago.”

“Find out how he is and call me. I think we have a serious situation, a viral outbreak at the very least.”

Sandy nodded, noting the etched lines of concern on Robert’s handsome face as he left her office and started down the hall.

Damn, that man is hot…If I were a few years younger…Sandy had just picked up her phone to call infectious disease when Robert returned.

Framed in her doorway Robert asked, “Sandy, when does the political convention start, Operation Fix America? Do you know?”

Sandy shrugged her shoulders and said, “I don’t know, sometime this weekend. I think it’s mainly Friday and Saturday, but I think the President speaks on Saturday.” She gave him a reproachful look and added, “Really, Dr. Bonnet, you should know. Your father is a Senator!”

Robert cracked a half smile. “Find out,” he said as he stared at her steadily, his eyes unwavering and holding hers.

After several seconds, Sandy got the message and asked, “Dr. Bonnet, you don’t think someone is..?”

Robert interrupted her, “I don’t know, Sandy, but we have to think proactively. There are gonna be a lot of very powerful people in the city this weekend. We’ve got to consider it.”

“Oh my God, Robert. We’ve had enough this year, please not this.” Sandy’s voice was shrill with fear.

“Yes, we have, but I have a bad feeling that this may be the worst. Close the ED to further traffic, have everyone wear protective gear, and for God’s sake, don’t allow anyone to leave until we figure out what we are dealing with. Implement our full biocontainment protocol and close the ED to all incoming traffic, except patients with flu-like symptoms. It’s better to be safe than sorry,” Robert added.

Sandy stared at him, her eyes wide. She nodded and said, “I’ve already closed the ED and we are transferring everyone out that we can. I just need to contact administration.”

Robert smiled and said, “You have. These days I amadministration and trust me, I’d much rather be in the operating room. I’ll talk to Alex. We’re the administrators in charge while Don is away on vacation. Keep this viral thing under your hat. It may be nothing more than a bad bug. But just to be safe, I’m calling CDC.”

Sandy watched Robert leave for the second time as a dark, ominous feeling of dread permeated her body. Oh my God, what are we in for, shethought as she wiped the chill bumps from her arms.

Chapter 2

In the back of a shotgun house off Chartes Street in the Faubourg Marigny, a colorful revitalized neighborhood close to the French Quarter and the Mississippi River, Ali, a thin, frail, 23 year old Muslim graduate student stared at his older brother, 31 year old Nazir. Ali asked, “Nazir, are you sure we know what we are doing? I don’t trust Vadim at all.” Ali’s hair was a mess of tousled dark curls and his expressive brown eyes were intense.

“Ever since I hacked into his email and saw the exit plans he sent to his comrades in Russia, I have been suspicious,” Ali continued. “Maybe you should abort this mission or at least, postpone it.” His young face looked scared and uncertain.

Nazir’s face remained unchanged and he rolled his eyes with impatience. He looked at his little brother and said condescendingly, “Ali, stop it. I thought you were ready for this. I thought I could trust you to be strong. We are doing the work of Allah.”

Ali seemed to shrink in stature, to retreat into his skin, at his brother’s criticism and impatience. He felt very small as he stared at his feet. “I am ready, I really am,” Ali replied with all the bravado in his voice he could muster. “I just don’t like working with others, those that are not dedicated to our cause.”

Nazir’s impatience continued and it was clear in his voice. “You have been training for over three years, and I have been planning for a mission such as this for many more. Sometimes, in order to get the job done, we have to work with others. This is one of those times.”

Ali still looked doubtful, uncertain. His brother’s words did not sway him.

Nazir moved toward his little brother and put his arm around his thin shoulders. Ali certainly wasn’t a warrior, but he was a brilliant scientist and computer genius. “Vadim is OK. He’s just different from us. He is Russian, just as we are, and they do things differently. But he is a Muslim and worships as we do. He is one of our highest, most revered leaders in the Red Jihad movement in Eastern Europe,” he said gently.

Ali nodded as Nazir continued, “Remember, we needed Vadim and his connections to get us the virus. The Russians have been holding that strain for decades. It would have taken us years to produce a similar strain with the same kill rate. In fact, as I may have told you, the virus was mutated here in New Orleans in the 1960s. The Russians stole it, so the story goes.”

Ali nodded. He remembered the story well. There was even information on the famous virus in the archives in the schools of Medicine and Tropical disease at Tulane University.

“You more than anyone know we haven’t been able to produce the more virulent strain in our laboratories.” Nazir eyed him reprovingly.

“I know, I know,” lamented Ali. “But we were very close. If you had just given me six more months, I could have had the very same thing or perhaps something even better, with an even higher kill rate. Maybe even a virus that would be harder to detect. Nazir, you have to understand these things take time, believe me. I haven’t been doddering.” Ali’s dark eyes were brooding and angry.

“No, of course not, my little brother. I certainly don’t think that at all.” Nazir continued to talk softly and reassure his brother how much he and the local jihad cell appreciated his talents and contributions. “I know that, I know that, little one. But you know how the Americans are. Very seldom are there so many of them from all parts of their leadership gathered together in an iconic, easily compromised city such as New Orleans. This Operation Fix America meeting is a perfect time for us to strike. Washington is just too difficult to infiltrate. It is a fortress. But New Orleans? What can I say? It lives up to its name as The Big Easy for a terrorist attack.   Ali, the place is a sewer, and half-underwater. It cannot be secured. Besides, they’ll have a hard time figuring out if the virus is endemic to New Orleans.”

Nazir smirked to himself and continued, “They have so many bacterial and viral samples growing over there in Tulane’s lab, not to mention all that stuff they’re growing since Katrina, they’ll never detect us. Besides, we have hundreds of places where we can hide here, for years if needed.”

Ali was listening and nodded his head, but he was not in agreement with his brother’s message.

“The time is right and the place is perfect. Imagine the terror and fear it will cause in the hearts of Americans when we are successful so soon after Boston.” Nazir smiled and rubbed his hands together in anticipation of killing thousands of Americans, not to mention senior leadership and the President of the United States. “This mission will make 9/11 seem like child’s play.”

Ali was being stubborn. “I like New Orleans. I like our friends here and where we live. I have fun. I am happier here than I have been in anywhere since we left home after our parents died. I like going to school at Tulane, too, and studying with Dr. Smith.   I like being his lab rat, and he says he can get me financing for my PhD if I decide to continue my studies. He’s taught me a lot, and, in some ways, he has been helpful to our cause.”

Nazir’s face had darkened and he shook his younger brother violently until Ali’s teeth chattered and his dark curls danced in the sunlight. He gritted his teeth and barked at the slightly built young man in a hoarse voice, “Ali, for the last time, don’t you remember that it wasthe Americans who killed our parents and all of our friends.   It was their drone that killed them. These people are our enemy. We are here to KILL them, not become their friends and help them in their labs. Do you get it, or do you need to go back to the Cadesus?”

Ali was shocked at his brother’s words. “I get it. I get it, Nazir. I am sorry. Now let me go. I must get to work. My shift starts in less than an hour.” Ali pulled back and shuffled out of his brother’s arms, terrified, but trying hard not to show it. He left his Marigny apartment, quickly walking toward Canal Street and Tulane Medical Center.

As Nazir watched his brother leave the house, he shook his head in exasperation. What could he do to make his brother understand their cause? Perhaps he was too young to remember the death of their parents.

Ali’s heart was heavy on his way to work. He didn’t like the business of hurting others, even though his parents had been killed. Hadn’t the Taliban killed the parents of many American children during 9/11 attack? Weren’t the jihadist being just as destructive as the Americans had been over the years? He guessed his western education had made him question his supposed “mission”.

He was startled when his phone alarm sounded, signaling a text. The text was from Dr. Smith. It read, “ALI, CAN YOU COME ASAP? WE HAVE A VIRAL OUTBREAK IN ONE OF THE HOSPITALS. Tim.”

Ali quickly texted back, “I AM ON MY WAY. Ali.” He didn’t feel good about this at all. There was nothing about a viral outbreak that could be good for Nazir, Ali or even Vadim, for that matter. At least, not today. He wondered what was up. His heart began to thud with anxiety. Things were just not right and that bothered him.   It bothered him a great deal.

Chapter 3

Alex could hardly contain her excitement as she stared across the table at her dear friend and head of CCMC psychiatric services, Dr. Monique Desmonde. Monique was sitting quietly in her wheel chair, her shoulders surrounded by the big, beefy arm of Police Commander Jack Francoise. Only six weeks ago, Monique had been in a coma, having sustained a potentially terminal head injury when a psychotic CCMC employee attacked her with a lead pipe. But, that was six weeks ago, and Monique’s recovery was amazing. She was even better than last week when Alex had taken her to dinner and spent the evening while Jack was working.

Monique was alert and seemed to be back to almost normal. By her own admission, she was still a bit forgetful and knew she couldn’t return to her position as chief of psychiatry at the Pavilion, CCMC’s psychiatric facility for several more months, and frankly, that was fine with her. Her luxurious long dark hair was beginning to grow back from her craniotomy and her face was unblemished from the massive trauma she had sustained. She looked beautiful, happy, and content. Alex was thrilled with Monique’s progress and anxious to have her back full time at the hospital.

Jack was happy as well. The lines of worry, anxiety, and fatigue were temporarily erased from his face as he moved closer to protect Monique. In the background hovered Chef Henri, the executive chef of the Cajun Café who loved having Alex and her friends at the Café for lunch. Jack motioned Chef Henri, who immediately appeared at the table.

“Commander, Dr. Monique, Alex, it is wonderful to have you back. Dr. Monique, you look very lovely. My heart is happy for you and the Commander,” Henri gushed and continued, “No one would ever know you had been ill!” Henri’s sincere voice exuded warmth as he welcomed them to his café.

“Thank you, Henri,” Monique was gracious, but her speech was slow and focused, her smile a little crooked. “It is wonderful to see you, too,” she said in a halting voice. “I am so happy to be able to come in for lunch.”

Alex loved Henri’s subtle French accent and his long slender fingers, which could have been those of a great pianist. Instead, she could picture Henri slicing and dicing vegetables for his city-renowned French dishes.

Henri touched her shoulder warmly. “Dr. Monique, when will you return to work? We all miss you here.”

Monique appeared a little hesitant as she responded, “I don’t know for sure. I am still a little slow talking and remembering things. I hope by the end of the year.”

Jack glanced over and said, “Don’t worry, Henri, she will be back before you know it. Look at how well she has done and how quickly she has gotten better.”

Monique glared at Jack and said impatiently, “Jack, you know it may be a while. I won’t continue to get better as quickly as I have so far. I believe I still have quite a lot of work to do on my speech and ambulation, not to mention my memory. I cannot practice psychiatry with a short-term memory and who knows if that will ever come back.”

Although Monique was matter–of-fact, Alex could detect anxiety in her voice.

Alex nodded her head but was startled by Monique’s impatience. Prior to her injuries, Monique had been the most patient woman on earth, spending hours of time carefully listening to every word in group sessions of her acutely and chronically ill psychiatric patients. After listening to just one group session, Alex had wanted to shoot herself in the head.

“I know, honey,” the Commander said with assurance, “but it won’t be that long. We’ll continue to work on it every day and we’ll get there.”

Monique brightened a bit and nodded, “Sure we will, Jack, but just remember that it will take some time.”

Jack nodded and squeezed her hand in response.

Alex stared at the two of them and shook her head. “Wow, you all freak me out. Even now, I still have a hard time thinking of you guys as a couple. Remember, we had only known for several days when you got sick, Monique.”

In truth, Alex had been surprised, almost shocked, when the beautiful, elegant Monique Desmonde and the gnarly, often officious, tough, and stubborn Police Commander Jack Francoise had fallen in love. Of course, they were both old New Orleans and had dated in high school, but that still hadn’t prepared Alex or Robert, her former surgeon husband, for the unanticipated declaration of love between their two friends. They had happily celebrated the news just a few days before Monique had been critically injured by a sick and unhappy employee.

Alex noticed the confused look on Monique’s face as she said, “What do you mean, Alex? I thought you were happy with our relationship. You always said you were. Hearing this makes me kind of sad.”

Alex reached to take Monique’s hand in her own. “Of course I am happy, Monique. I couldn’t be happier for the two of you. I was just teasing. You took me too literally.” Alex felt guilty for failing to remember that patient’s with head injuries often don’t understand colloquial speech or slang. She admonished herself to be more careful until Monique could differentiate between the seriousness and teasing that occurred in conversations.

Jack backed Alex up. “Monique, you know she and Robert couldn’t be happier. Remember, they are standing up for us at our wedding! Maid of Honor and Best Man. Remember?”

Monique laughed, “Of course I do. You all had better go with us to City Hall. Nobody else even likes us.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, silly. Everyone likes you and besides, you’re covered. Just tell us when and we will be there.” Alex turned her attention to Chef Henri who remained patiently waiting by the table. “Henri, what do you have today that is good for lunch?” Alex asked, giving the Chef a bright smile.

“Why, Miss Alex, it is all good.” Henri looked hurt, crushed in fact.

Oh my gosh, I am really striking out today. Maybe I can hurt Jack’s feelings too and then I’ll be three for three, Alex thought. “Of course it’s all good, Henry, but what is the special? You know I eat here all the time because I love your food.”

Henri’s crestfallen face brightened. “Gumbo, Seafood Gumbo! It’s the special today. I made it myself. The roué is from scratch.” Henri beamed proudly.

Jack looked at Monique and Alex who nodded, and he said to Henri, “Three Gumbo and sour dough bread with ice tea. Then we’ll order desert.”

As Henri hurried off to fill their order, Alex’s cell phone rang. As she checked the digital display, she noted it was Dr. Robert Bonnet, the interim CCMC chief of medicine who was covering for Dr. John Ashley who was on a clinical sabbatical.

“Hey, Robert, I am with Jack and Monique at the Cajun Café. She was here at the hospital for rehab this morning and now we ‘re having lunch. Can you join us? Henri just took our order.”

Robert’s heart quickened and warmed as it always did when he heard the soft, gentle, Virginia accent of his former wife, Alexandra Lee Destephano, the legal counsel for CCMC. Every day when he awoke, he chastised himself for divorcing her years ago when he had been a surgical resident at the University of Virginia Hospital in Charlottesville. He had been so young, dumb, and arrogant in those days. He had wanted Alex, a registered nurse pursuing a law degree, to quit school and stay at home to become a hausfrau like his mother had done for his father, a former Louisiana Governor, and current Senator.

For a brief moment, Robert shifted his thoughts to better days. Robert and Alex had married in a lavish wedding ceremony on the Lawn at the University of Virginia and had settled in Charlottesville. Their marriage represented one of the most powerful political unions in the South, the Lees of Virginia and the Bonnets of Louisiana. Alex’s grandfather was Senator Adam Patrick Lee of Virginia, and Robert’s father had been active in political circles in Louisiana for years and was currently the senior United States Senator from Louisiana.

“Oh, wonderful, how is Monique?” Robert asked, delighted that his friends were all together. Jack and Monique had known Robert for years, and even though Jack was older, they had all grown up together in New Orleans.

“She is wonderful, looks beautiful. Can you make it?” Alex persisted, even though her feelings about Robert remained unresolved.

“I can stop by, but I cannot eat. We have a worsening situation over here in the ED. I need to fill you in. I’ll stop by shortly.”

“Oh, no, not again,” Alex said dismally.

“Damn, now what,” Jack demanded, looking angry that someone could mess up his almost perfect lunch. When Commander Jack Francoise was angry, a big black cloud hovered over everyone in his presence and everyone was affected.

Monique gently touched his sleeve to calm him down, a frequent gesture for her in her constant effort to control his stress.

Alex looked apologetic. “I don’t know. There is something going on in the ED, and he said he needs to come over to update me. I am sure it’s nothing, probably some irate patients, someone screaming law suit, or complaining because they had to wait more than 15 minutes.”

“Well, I hope it’s medical and doesn’t concern police work. CCMC needs to hire me two new detectives to help solve their crimes,” Jack grumbled. “I spend more time here than I do anywhere else.”

“Except for the French Quarter,” Monique reminded him. “You were there again last night.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Damn stupid people getting themselves mugged and beaten up. At least we haven’t had any murders lately. If they would just follow the safety guidelines located in all the hotels and restaurants and stay out of the deepest parts of the Quarter after midnight we could cut the crime rate in half. Ain’t nothing good doing on the Quarter after one a.m. Trust me.” Jack’s face darkened as he remembered the mugging several night ago. It was particularly horrific. St. Germaine-like. The victim had survived but was still in shock and couldn’t tell the police anything. Damn, he’d like to get that bastard. He was brought back to reality after he noticed Robert Bonnet entering the café.

Tall and thin, with sandy hair and chiseled features, Robert was particularly handsome in his physician’s white coat. He was on the radar of every woman in the Cajun Café. Alex was well aware of the attention her ex was generating as he walked toward their table. She smiled brightly as he kissed her warmly on the cheek.

“Monique, you look good, great in fact. How is therapy?” he inquired, as he maneuvered around Jack to give her a gentle hug.

“Rehab is the hardest thing I have ever done, Bonnet. When I graduate, it will be better than getting my medical degree,” Monique lamented. “I’ve never known how painful fatigue could be. Sometimes, I get so tired I cannot remember anything, and that is so frustrating.” Monique had tears in her eyes.

Robert nodded his head in understanding as his grey eyes connected with Monique’s dark ones. “I’m sure, Monique, but it is paying off. You are doing incredibly well. What you are experiencing is normal, and I know you know that.” Robert smiled, his gentle eyes holding her green ones.

“I do. I am just ready to close this chapter in my life. I’m really OK, don’t worry,” Monique offered as she gave them all a hopeful smile. “Now, what’s up in the ED?”

Robert motioned Henri for some iced tea and looked at his friends. His voice was low.

Jack, half deaf in one ear from the rifle range and too stubborn to wear a hearing aid, leaned in close.

Robert looked worried. “I’m not sure, but it is potentially very bad. We have a man in the ED, probably dead by now, who has some sort of bad virus. He came in earlier this morning with a high fever, vomiting, and a sore throat. He just got worse and worse until he coded. They were working on him a few minutes ago, but they were about to call it.”

“What the hell did he have? The flu? I didn’t know the flu could kill you so quick,” Jack commented. The police commander’s eyes were wide with fear. Hospital germs and things he didn’t know about scared him, but no one was braver in a pursuing criminals and advocating for victims than Jack Francoise.

“I hope it’s only the flu,” Monique said. “We would be really lucky if that’s the case. Robert, what do you think it is? Are you thinking what I am thinking?”

Robert noted the intense fire in Monique’s eyes. She was absolutely putting it together. Robert briefly thought about just how well Monique was doing. Not many physicians recovering from a serious head injury could have put the possibility of a viral contamination together as quickly as Monique.

Alex stared at Robert and Monique, paralyzed with fear. “Oh my goodness, Robert, you all don’t think … Oh, no! Please tell me you are not thinking we have a hemorrhagic virus?”

Robert shook his head. “I don’t know, Alex. I certainly hope not, but we have called the CDC and the military. Jack, HAZMAT is on their way.”

Jack immediately stood and grabbed Monique’s wheel chair. “We’re getting the hell out of dodge, Monique. If there is something going around, I surely don’t want you to catch it.” With Monique’s wheelchair handles firmly in his grip, Jack turned to Alex and Robert and added, “Be back soon. This could be bad. Don’t forget the President is due here in two days. You know, Operation Fix America and all that crap. I’ve already met with the advance team and they’re rattling on about some terrorist stuff.”

Alex felt her stomach sink. She’d forgotten the President was coming. But so was her grandfather and half of Congress. Adam Patrick Lee was one of the most influential Congressmen in Washington and was part of a powerful bipartisan ad hoc committee assigned to clean up Washington. In additional, he was a critical member of almost all committees for national defense.

Robert nodded, turned to Alex, and said, “He’s right. The infectious disease docs are meeting me in a few minutes in the ED conference room. Can you gather up administration and attend? ”

“Of course. There’s not many of us. Don’s on vacation, but I will get the others. Pretty much it’s just Liz.” Alex smiled only for Robert. “Ain’t it nice?” she said jokingly, as she referred to missing CEO, Don Montgomery.

Robert gave her a half smile and said sardonically, “Don’s on vacation, huh, perfect. He’s generally a pain during these kinds of things anyway.”

Alex nodded and added, “Oh, Robert, what are we going to do if we have a bioterrorism threat?”

“The very best we can, Alex, just like we always do. Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

Alex followed him out of the Cajun Café, visibly upset about what might be happening.

Chapter 4

The mood in the ED conference room was highly charged and palpably tense. Seated around the table were Dr. Dave Broderick, the head of infectious disease at CCMC, Dr. Tim Smith from the Tulane Medical Center Tropical and Infectious Medicine Division, Elizabeth Tippett, media relations specialist for the hospital, Robert, and Alex. Missing were Dr. John Ashley, chief of medicine, who was on sabbatical and Don Montgomery, the supercilious and obnoxious CEO who was on vacation in the Caribbean. Also absent was the useless chief of nursing, Betty Favre. Rumor was that she was on the trip to the Caribbean with Don.

“Tim, what do you and Dave think we’re dealing with here?” Robert asked, his face grave. He was feeling the full weight of his responsibility as interim director of medicine for CCMC in John Ashley’s absence.

Dave shook his balding grey head. “I’m not sure, Robert. It is a viral outbreak of some type but it doesn’t appear to be Ebola or Marburg due to the onset of symptoms and hasty death of the one patient. Generally, it takes several days to develop and for the symptoms to become so severe.”

“Could it be rapidly mutating and that’s the reason the guy died so quickly?” Alex questioned.

“Possibly, but I don’t think so. And I certainly hope not,” Dr. Smith replied. “If it is, we’re in for a really bad time. There are currently six species of Ebola that are named for where they occurred. Bundabugo, Ivory, Cossi, Reston, Sudan, and Zaire. Of course, the very worst species, the one with the 90 percent kill rate, is Zaire. The Reston case is the only US outbreak and that occurred in Reston, Virginia in 2005.”

Robert nodded his head. “Yeah, I remember that well. I was a resident at UVA in Charlottesville . That outbreak was near DC and there was a childcare center next door. It was pretty hush- hush.”

“Yeah, it was, but they were quickly able to identify and control it. That’s what we have to do here,” Tim replied to Robert. “When does the CDC get here?”

“Should be here in about 20 minutes. They are coming by helicopter from Atlanta. The folks from the Special Pathogens Branch. They will also be sending their mobile unit up as well. The mobile unit can handle quick testing with the most current technology for virus determination and testing. That will take another five hours.”   Robert paused to answer his cell phone.

“Sandy, what’s up?” Robert’s faced grimaced as he listened to her words.

“What, Robert, what,” Alex persisted as she stared at Robert’s anxious face.

“There are two more patients who just came into the ED. Same symptoms of nausea, vomiting, high fever. Fred Patterson needs help so I’ll go over there if you guys will meet and direct the CDC when they get in. Their ETA is momentary.” Robert turned to Alex and Elizabeth, “Can you all figure out the best way to handle this with the staff and media? Frankly, I am more worried about our own staff than the media.” Robert headed for the door.

“We will, but we aren’t saying anything until we talk to the CDC,” Alex assured him. “We are doing this right!”

Just then the hospital overhead page center announced, “CODE BLUE, CODE BLUE, ICU.”

Tim and Dave stared at each other. Tim said, “Well, Dave, that’s probably number two, the second patient that was admitted.   Let’s get up there and see what we have.” Before he left the room, he turned and said to Alex, Robert and Liz, “Remember it could be many things other than Ebola. It could be Marburg, Lassa, Dengue fever, who knows? I feel pretty confident, at this point, that it’s a hemorrhagic fever, but it could also be something that we have never heard of.”

Alex and Elizabeth shared a stunned look. This couldn’t be good, Alex thought to herself.

“Alex, phone up there and make sure they are using HAZMAT including the positive pressure personnel gear with the segregated air supply.” God, I hope they are, Tim prayed to himself. “Also, make sure they have two extra pressure suits for Dave and me. Thanks.”

Chapter 5

The medical center was bustling. CCMC was going pretty well, under the circumstances, with a viral outbreak and potential bioterrorism threat. The medical and surgical units were quiet, but the emergency department was frenetic with activity. Emotions were intense and staff moved at a feverish pace. ED physicians, nurses, respiratory therapists and other staff were dressed in full hazmat gear, and while the hospital ED was closed to all outside traffic and only admitting patients with viral-like illnesses.

Alex was amazed as she looked through the glass at Sandy Pilsner. Sandy appeared relatively calm in the wake of a potential disaster. She seemed to have adjusted well to her hazmat positive air pressure suit and air hose, and seemed in control as she directed the ED and the Center for Disease Control personnel. Alex was convinced Sandy could handle anything, and she pretty much had over the past year. Boy, we are lucky to have skilled folks like her, Alex thought to herself.

“Hey girl, what’s up?” Sandy asked through the glass partition.

“You tell me, Sandy. How’s it going in there?”

Sandy shrugged her shoulders. “Pretty good, I guess, considering. The CDC team leader is Dr. Yvette Charmaine who is from, guess where, New Orleans.”

Alex was surprised, “Great, how is she?”

“Yep, she’s one of us. She’s an LSU undergrad, Harvard Medical School and an infectious disease residency at Johns Hopkins. Doesn’t get much better than that, huh?”

Alex, always the Virginia girl, gave Sandy a quick smile. “Well, not too bad, I guess. But a stint at University of Virginia wouldn’t have hurt her,” Alex smiled playfully. “Give me a report, can you?”

“Sure, CDC hasn’t named the virus. They are meeting with all of you, with administration, shortly with an update. We have three new admissions, one is currently meeting the criteria for the virus we saw earlier today and he has been isolated in the first trauma room. The other two are being worked up. We have a total of two confirmed, one dead and a total of five admissions, including the deceased patient. CDC decided to keep the known viral patients together to decrease any chance of contagion and have set up an infirmary in trauma rooms 2 and 3. Trauma 4 and 5 are available if we need them.”

Alex nodded. “I sure hope we don’t need then. How about the staff?”

“Stressed, but OK. They are getting tired. You know that no one can leave the hospital, right? We’re working 50 percent now and have let the others rest. The stress of the staff is the worse part.”

Sandy continued on seeing Alex’ prompt, “It would be good to keep the same staff working until we figure out what’s happening, less chance of cross contamination and besides, I am sure all of the lucky ED staff who are not working today will be happy to have a few extra days off, right?”

“Yep, I am sure. I wish I wasn’t here,” Alex admitted.

“Yeah, me too. How’s Don taking this? I know how he is in emergencies and he is probably beside himself with the impact of bioterrorism on our image.” Sandy shook her head.

Alex gave Sandy a great big smile and said, “Don’s on vacation, in Aruba. So help me, we cannot reach him and that’s just fine. Of course, he wouldn’t come back anyway because he is such a chicken.”

Sandy gave her a big, wide grin. “I think that’s a blessing for you, Alex.”

“Yeah, it is. Robert and I are running the place. Scary, isn’t it! Wish us luck.”

Sandy gave Alex, ‘the look’ that Alex immediately recognized as she added, “Al, you and Robert really need to be running a life together. You know how much he loves you.”

Alex cut her off. “Not now, Sandy. Let’s talk when this is over. I don’t have time for this right now. Anything else I can do for you?” Alex’s voice was curt.

Sandy looked a little hurt with Alex’s reaction, but said, “No, I’ll call you when the CDC wants to report.”

“Thanks, girl. Love you,” Alex said as she hurried off, aware she had been rude to Sandy. I just wish they would all leave me the hell alone about Robert. I am sick of it. But I shouldn’t have been mean to her, on this day especially.

Chapter 6

Ali ducked into an equipment storage closet and dialed his brother’s cell phone, a fearful dread thudding in his heart.

“Allo,” Nazir answered on the second ring.

“Nazir, there is a bioterrorism outbreak here at CCMC and it’s not us,” Ali said softly into the phone.

“Whatever are you talking about? How could there be?” Nazir was stunned.

Ali was careful with his response. “I don’t know who it is. We haven’t isolated the virus yet, but it has already killed at least one person that I know of. There are others who are sick. The CDC is here.”

“Who could do this?” Nazir demanded, fear in his voice.

“No idea but I’d guess Vadim. Gotta go,” Ali said, and hung up the phone.

Nazir could not sit, and paced incessantly around his Marigny apartment. Could Ali be right? Was Vadim not to be trusted? Surely, he wouldn’t be a big enough idiot to double-cross Nazir and the cell members. They were his countrymen. They were fighting for the same cause. Besides, a double-cross would be a confirmation of an immediate death. Should he call his fellow cell members and ask for a meeting? No, he thought. This was his mission and he didn’t want anyone to doubt his ability. Better to just wait and see what Ali finds out

He stuck his memory card into his cell phone and began to listen to Jihadist hymns to settle himself down, calm his fears, and renew his commitment. The real truth was that he would need to run away if this mission failed because they would murder him and his brother without reservation. He would no longer have any respect or trust. Allah, please guide me, he prayed. Finally, the jihadist hymns singing of victory and a new world calmed him and he dozed off.   It didn’t matter that the memory card was merely propaganda for recruitment into Jihad. To Nazir, it was a lullaby giving him comfort and confirmation of his cause.

Continued….

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5.0 stars on 20 straight stellar reviews! Judith Rocchiccioli’s Viral Intent: An Alexandra Destephano Novel
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by Judith Rocchiccioli

Viral Intent: An Alexandra Destephano Novel
5.0 stars – 20 Reviews
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Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:

An unidentified virus in the CCMC Emergency Department is killing dozens of people, a horrific death of a popular politician in the French Quarter has the NOPD hopping, and internet chatter suggesting the unspeakable has chilled the hearts of law enforcement all over the world. Read how Alex and Jack learn to play well with the CDC, FBI, and Secret Service to save the streets of New Orleans.

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Lunch Time Reading! A Provocative Thriller That Will Keep You Guessing to The Very End… Enjoy a Free Excerpt From The RoCK CLuB by Stan Thomas

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The RoCK CLuB

by Stan Thomas

The RoCK CLuB
4.8 stars – 12 Reviews
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:

In 1982, Clark Ralston was eleven years old, his beloved little brother was nine, and his gorgeous and precocious twin sisters were seven…

Fiends and monsters in most adolescents’ lives are conjured up fantasies or characters from a Grimm Brothers fairy tale or the like, which produce an occasional nightmare. The ogre that bedeviled the Ralston children was not a fleeting fantasy or a dark creature in a bad dream after a scary movie. Their antagonist was an ever-present alcoholic and abusive father.

In an effort to visit some retribution on the source of their fear and angst–something no child should ever feel in their own home–Clark initiates an innocuous little distraction called The Rock Club, an exclusive band of juvenile mercenaries determined to torment and befuddle their father…

Nineteen years later, commitment-challenged Clark is trying to distance himself from his stunning, hero-worshiping sisters. When his girlfriend accepts an internship at San Francisco General Hospital, he jumps at the opportunity to create space between himself and his suffocating siblings and moves from L.A. to the Bay Area.

Clark loves everything about San Francisco: the Victorian architecture of its urban neighborhoods, the cable cars, the eccentricity and diversity of its citizenry, and the plethora of different smells and unique ambiance of the city. He’s even beginning to feel like he’s getting over his fear of commitment until The Rock Club pulls an encore. And this time it’s not so innocent… this time it’s deadly.

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

 

Part 1

 

The Affliction

 

1982

“PSST… CLARK, YOU AWAKE? Ritchie says girls have babies from the same place they pee. That’s stupid stuff, huh. I told him it was stupid. Ritchie’s wrong, right?”

Clark Ralston tried to suppress his breathing, to refrain from making the slightest of sounds. He lay still, body rigid, eyes closed, willing his brother to lose the ability to speak.

The refrigerator motor clicked on in the kitchen. The dog next door whined, signaling it was time for their neighbor, Wong Li, to get home from work.

“Clark, you awake?” Mark repeated.

So much for mind over matter. Clark rolled to his side to face his brother in the twin bed against the opposite wall. “I am now, doofus. What’re you still doing awake? You’re supposed to be sick. Go to sleep.”

“Ritchie said–”

“I heard you.”

“You weren’t asleep,” Mark charged.

“Shut up.”

Due to a moonless night, the room was pitch black. Good thing, because if Clark could have seen his brother he might have just popped him in the nose.

“What about it?” Mark persisted.

“What?”

“What Ritchie said.”

“Why do you do this, man?”

“What?”

“Wait till I’m almost asleep and then ask a stupid question.”

“Don’t know. It’s like the light clicks off and my brain clicks on, just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

“I’m asking Mother for a night light tomorrow.”

Like a puppy with a chew toy, Mark wouldn’t give up. “Is Ritchie right?”

Clark gushed air through his mouth as he rolled onto his back. “He’s close.”

“Oh, I know where now.”

“Not there, that’s gross.”

“How do you know where they get out?”

“Learned it in school.”

“How come I didn’t learn it?” Mark asked.

“Cuz you’re only nine.”

“You’re just seventeen months older than me, man. How come you know?”

“You’ll learn it next year. Now shut up and go to sleep, or I’ll get Dad.”

“Too late, I already know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re dumber than dumb, Mark, if you think girls crap babies.”

“I’m not dumber! Take it back.”

“Shhh!”

“Take it back, or I’ll tell Mom in the morning.”

“Okay,” Clark said. “I take it back. You’re not dumber than dumb. Now leave me alone.”

“One more question, then you can go to sleep. I promise.”

Clark sighed. “One more, dude, and that’s it.”

“Think Dad will really buy a new car like he said? A Corvette would be cool, man.”

“I don’t give a fart if he buys a new car or not. Now go to sleep, and don’t pee the bed.”

“Clark?”

“What!”

“Don’t call me dude.”

***

The following Saturday Clark came to with a throbbing headache and Merle Haggard proclaiming he turned twenty-one in prison doing life without parole. He hated country. The music, blasting full-volume, stung his ears. He couldn’t think. Cracking his eyelids, he found himself face to label with the wine bottle that had flown from under the driver’s seat and smacked him square in the face when their new Chevy hit the curb doing sixty. His head lay wedged against the passenger door panel, the window lever practically shoved up his nose. A thin rivulet of blood trickled down his forehead from a small gash at his hairline. The shrill vocals and raging banjos of a bluegrass group replaced Merle on the radio, ratcheting up the pain in his head. Pure agony. He tried to reach for the on/off button to kill the music but couldn’t; his arms were pinned under his body. Still a bit disoriented, he thought he heard a different sound but couldn’t be sure. Sounded like high-pitched screams. Singing, or screams? Were his sisters in the car? He remembered now, they were in the back seat. At least they were when they left the bar.

Clark tried again, without success, to move his body. Paralyzed? Panicked, he began gasping for breath as if all the oxygen in the car had suddenly been sucked out. Willing himself to calm down, he filled his lungs with cool coastal air, held it for as long as he could, and then slowly exhaled. Dealing with his dad over the years had made him a pro at pricking the anxiety balloon. Regaining a measure of composure, he understood why he couldn’t move; something pinned him down. Something heavy. Where’s Dad? Must be close, he could smell him. MD 20/20 and Camels created a stink hard to mistake. With considerable effort, he turned his head a bit. No wonder the odor. His dad lay on top of him.

His ears pricked to a noise outside the car. A siren? Siren, or guitar chord? Hard to tell whether there was another sound in the whole world, save for the strident yowling of the bluegrass singers and his sisters’ screaming.

He felt movement against his back.

“Clark? Son?” Lawrence Ralston said. “Can you reach my bottle?”

“No, sir, I can’t move. Why’s the music so loud?”

The pressure lightened.

“Can you get it now?”

“I think so, but I’m bleeding and it’s in my eyes and why’s the music so loud?”

“Just get the damn bottle and give it to me.”

Following orders, he managed to free an arm, grab the half-empty bottle, and pass it over his shoulder. Due to Clark’s position and the blood, his dad appeared as a blurry blob in the peripheral vision of his left eye. The radio experienced momentary dead air, and in the relative quiet he heard the aluminum cap unscrew, the sound of a bobbing Adam’s apple, then the crash of the bottle as it landed in the roadside thicket.

He also heard the unmistakable wail of a siren. Close, maybe a block or two. A couple dogs somewhere tried to match its piercing pitch. He made an effort to shift his position again, but couldn’t.

“Dad, can you please get off me? I’m squished.”

“Need a cigarette.”

“Could you wait? The police will be here soon.” Stupid. He had never known his dad to smoke a cigarette that would make his booze breath disappear; not even Kools.

“And a light,” Lawrence said, stretching for the knob with a burning cigarette etched on it.

“Can you see Elizabeth and Elise? Are they all right?” Clark asked.

“They’re okay.”

“They’re screaming.”

“It’s not their hurt scream, they’re scared. They’ll be fine.”

A slight breeze blowing through the hole the windshield had occupied fifteen minutes earlier pushed Camel smoke into Clark’s nose. The resulting sneeze shot dagger-like pain through both sides of his chest, indicating broken or bruised ribs.

“Something’s wrong with me, Dad. I think I’m dying,” he yelled over an obnoxious car salesman extolling the virtues of a used Mustang.

“Calm down, you’re not dying, idiot.” Lawrence clicked the radio off and the girls’ screams subsided to weak whimpers, as if the same knob controlled them.

A flashlight beam began snooping around the wagon’s interior, exposing its occupants, and a commanding baritone asked, “Is everybody okay in there?”

Clark twisted his head just enough to recognize the emblem on the sleeve of a California Highway Patrol uniform.

“Yeah, we’re okay, Osifer,” Lawrence answered. “Check on my girls in the backseat.”

Clark groaned at his father’s failed attempt to speak without slurring his words.

 

“I can do that!” Elise exclaimed. “I wanna play that game!”

The children sat on the curb watching their father stand on one foot, count backwards, and walk a white line that, judging by his exaggerated balancing act, could have been two hundred feet off the ground. Intermittently his lurching, stumbling body became an eerie silhouette in the headlights of oncoming vehicles.

“He’s not playing a game,” Clark said, his chin perched on arms folded across his knees, tears rolling down his plump cheeks. The pain in his upper body was almost unbearable.

Elizabeth studied her father intently. The identical twin girls, though scared out of their wits, emerged from the demolished metallic-blue station wagon unscathed. “Well, what’s he doing?”

“It’s some kind of test and I don’t think he’s doing so well,” Clark said, his breathing labored.

After administering the sobriety test the officer began lecturing Lawrence nose to nose, his voice rising until he was flat out yelling. Words and phrases like “irresponsible”, “negligent”, “worthless excuse for a father”, and “I oughta kick your ass” were flung at the wobbling parent with stunning velocity. Clark sat staring in wide-eyed awe at their clean-cut, square-jawed, uniformed savior and decided this man would be a great father.

His tirade over, the officer instructed Lawrence to sit on the ground beside the patrol car and stay put, and then approached the children, squatting on his haunches before them. “Scary ride, huh.”

“Yes, sir,” Clark replied.

“My name is Officer Raddich. You guys okay?”

“I think my sisters are,” Clark said, wiping his shirt sleeve across his eyes. “But my chest hurts real bad.”

“Just sit still. That siren you hear is your ride. Your father said you live in the Airport Circle Apartments. That right?”

The children nodded.

“My daddy wrecked our new car, peaceman Radish!” Elizabeth blurted.

“That he did.”

“Mama will be mad,” Elise said.

“Is your mother home?”

“Yes, sir. You gonna call her? ” Clark asked.

“I will real soon, son, but first let’s make sure you guys are all right.”

The ambulance arrived, Officer Raddich huddled with the attendants for a few moments, and then all three of them returned to where the children sat.

“This is Mr. Steve and Ms. Laura,” the officer said. “They’re paramedics, here to take you to the hospital.”

“Is Daddy going to the hospital too?” Elise asked.

“No sweetheart, he’s going with me.”

***

“Darn it!” Clark whispered, failing yet again to reach the spot.

His left shoulder itched like mad, and the mummy-like bandages encircling his torso made it difficult to satisfy. He rocked from side to side. No good. Struggling to a sitting position, he rubbed against the headboard. There. That helped a little.

The hospital sucked. He hated it; too much pain, sorrow, and sad faces. He spent one night there for bruised ribs, the same amount of time his father had spent in jail for DUI. Something called bail. The policeman should have given him a year. The thought of three-hundred-sixty-five consecutive days without the man who brought so much stress and turmoil to their lives brought a fleeting smile to his lips.

He turned his head, looked across the moonlit bedroom at his nine-year-old brother. Like a brick. How could he sleep through their parents’ screaming and yelling? His mother’s high-pitched, weepy voice bounced off every wall in the house. Elizabeth and Elise would be in their beds curled up in balls, whimpering and shaking like newborn kittens. His father said he had drunk only two drinks yesterday and bitched about the inaccuracy of the Breathalyzer, whatever that was.

Two drinks, my butt. More like way over ten.

His dad was telling a lie. A lie Clark and his sisters would have to swallow or suffer the consequences. He buried his face deeper into his pillow, brought it up around his ears in an attempt to smother his mother’s anguish.

Yesterday pictured fresh in his mind. His parents had purchased the new car and his dad was anxious to give the children a ride. Since Mark was still on the downside of a virus, Irene, their mother, decided he would stay home. Undeterred, Lawrence loaded up Clark, Elizabeth, and Elise and assured Irene they would be gone an hour at the most.

Lawrence pulled into the Bamboo Room’s gravel parking lot at two in the afternoon. Rocks crackled and popped under the wagon’s tires as it cruised to the end of a line of vehicles along the south side of the building. They parked next to an oil-soaked red Ford F150, bumping to a stop against a creosoted railroad tie. Lawrence said he would only be a few minutes, that he needed to take care of some business, and ordered them to lock the doors. After he entered the bar, the girls climbed over the front seat and joined their brother.

“Why can’t we go in?” Elise asked.

“Cuz we’re too young. This place is for adults. I think you gotta be eighteen to go inside,” Clark answered.

“Why did Dad bring us here if we can’t go in?” Elizabeth asked.

“How should I know? Now stop asking me.”

“What’s this?” Elise held the cigarette lighter, its end glowing red hot.

“Gimme that!” He grabbed the lighter, burning his thumb. “Ouch! Darn it, Elise! See what you did?” He inserted the lighter in its hole in the dashboard then stuck his thumb in his mouth.

The twins chanted in unison: “Clark’s sucking his tha-umb, Clark’s sucking his tha-umb, baby, baby, ba-by.”

“Shut up! I’m not sucking my thumb. Both of you get in the back seat.”

 

“I’m going in,” Clark announced after three-and-a-half hours of naps, agonizing boredom, fights with the twins and overwhelming pressure on his bladder.

“You can’t go in there, you’re not eighteen,” Elizabeth said.

“It’s okay when it’s an emergency.”

“Then we’ll go with you. It’s our mergency too,” Elise said.

“No you’re not. You’re staying here. Don’t touch anything on the dash, don’t play with the steering wheel, and keep the windows and doors locked.” Before exiting the car, he extracted the lighter and stuck it in his pocket.

Neon Miller, Coors, and Michelob signs appeared to float in mid-air while cigarette cherries flitted about like fireflies in the darkened confines of the Bamboo Room. After his vision adjusted to the limited light he picked his father out of the about-faced line-up sitting at the bar, his familiar blue flannel shirt, brightened by the glow of the jukebox, catching his eye. He sat between a big-haired wrinkled lady and a man Clark recognized as Mr. Red, one of his father’s oilfield buddies. Nicknamed for the blazing thatch of wildness atop his head, the man possessed the biggest belly Clark had ever seen and smoked the longest, nastiest smelling cigars in the whole world; looked and smelled like large burning turds.

He zigzagged between varnished pine picnic tables littering the large smoke-filled room, the soles of his shoes making ripping sounds as he traversed the sticky floor.

“Dad, can we go home now?” he said, nudging his father in the back. “The girls have to go to the bathroom real bad, and I’m afraid they’ll pee on the brand new seats. I gotta go too.”

Big hair and Lawrence turned together, both displaying glazed eyes. “This your boy, Larry?” the lady asked, cigarette smoke exploding from her nostrils like a cow’s breath on a frozen morning.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Lawrence said, slurring words.

She extended a bony hand, roughed up his longish blonde hair. “Handsome little booger. Got them big goddamn eyes just like your daddy; blue as my favorite nail polish.” She thrust her right hand to within inches of his nose. “Look!” Her voice was dense and raspy. She sucked from the cigarette with Cruela DeVille-like puckered lips and exhaled another plume of white smoke. Clark coughed. His eyes stung.

“What you want, son?” Lawrence asked.

“I need to pee, and we wanna go home.”

“Why didn’t you say something? The john’s over there beside the cigarette machine.” He picked some coins from the bar. “Get me some Camels on the way back.”

“You need to check on the girls, Dad. They need to pee, too.”

“Yeah, ah… right. You just get to the pisser.”

Their new car ride culminated an hour later in the accident on US 101 after a harrowing trip that challenged any amusement park ride Clark had ever been on in his short life. The wreck was almost a relief.

He eyed his slumbering brother. “Please God,” he prayed, “make Mark stop peeing the bed. He’s getting whipped too much, and I can’t stand to hear him scream. It makes me hurt inside. And please make my dad stop drinking and cussing and being an all-around bad father. Amen.”

 

He glanced at his brother again, wondering if Jesus was listening this time.

 

Chapter 2

 

IRENE BURIED HER NOSE in the Bible for three days following the accident, searching it like a repair manual for divine guidance on how to mend her defective husband. Clark wondered why his mother even bothered to scold his father anymore. There had been a time when her strong and forceful rants ignited hope in him, but after hearing the same monotonous arguments and threats again and again and never seeing any change, he determined she was like the boy in the fairy tale who cried wolf way too often. Consequently his spirits no longer inflated when he heard her threaten to leave and take the kids.

At dinner he noticed his brother evil-eyeing the dreaded green beans and okra. Mark sat across from him, Elizabeth to his left, Elise across from her. A parent sat at each end of a scarred, rectangular picnic table that looked like it could’ve come from the Bamboo Room. The boys exchanged resigned expressions, knowing there was no way out. They would have to sit at the table and eat the nasty-tasting vegetables even if it took all night. Clark knew because he had to do it once before he wised up. He sat hunched over a plate of fried okra until three o’clock in the morning. That’s when he awoke face down in the crap. With most of the serving plastered to his forehead, nose, and cheeks, he had no problem swallowing whole the tiny portion left on his plate. The other part he just washed off. Now, knowing the futility of resistance, he swallowed (not chewing was key) everything he didn’t like without a peep.

“Mother, pass the corn, please,” Mark said.

She reached for the plate, but Lawrence intercepted it. “No corn or anything else, period, until he eats some green beans and okra,” he said.

Irene dished out a portion of each onto Mark’s plate. “Try your best, son.”

“Suck your thumb today, Elise?” Lawrence asked.

The kids, knowing she had, looked to their mother with wide, pleading eyes.

“She only did it a couple times,” Irene said. “She’s getting better every day.”

Lawrence reached for the Tabasco. “Gimme your hand, Elise.”

She hesitated, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks.

Clark’s eyes swelled with moisture. “Dad, don’t. Please?”

“Shut the hell up, boy! You’re getting a little too big for your britches. Elise, gimme your hand, damn it!”

She extended a quivering arm, and Lawrence shook a dozen or so drops of the hot sauce onto the digit.

“Put it in your mouth. Now!”

“Lawrence, there’s no need for this.”

“Shut up! In your mouth, Elise.”

With chest heaving and tears raining on her roast beef, she inserted the spicy thumb. At that moment Clark knew time had come to do something, anything, to strike back at their tormentor.

 

Two hours later the theme music to The Love Boat signaled bedtime. Clark wished he could stay up and watch it. Heck, it was only eight. Most of his friends got to stay up till nine. While Mark, Elise, and Elizabeth stood, he lingered on the sofa.

“Thought I told you to get to bed,” Lawrence said. “Think you’re somebody special, or what?”

“No, sir. I’d just like to see this show. All my friends get to watch it,” Clark replied.

“Well that’s too bad. Just go on and float your boat down the hall to your bedroom.”

“Yes, sir.”

After loving kisses for Irene and perfunctory pecks for Lawrence, the kids scuttled to their bedrooms. A question replaced the resentment Clark felt over not being allowed to watch The Love Boat: Would Mark wet the bed or not? Before last night, it was just a given. He always peed the bed. But yesterday was different; Mark’s bed had remained dry.

Clark’s aching ribs caused him to curtail his usual habit of waking at two o’clock in the morning, checking his brother’s underwear and bedding, and changing them if necessary. Expecting the worst the next morning, he was pleasantly surprised. Maybe this was the beginning of the end of the peeing thing. He sure hoped so. He was tired of deceiving his father, who labored under the impression Mark hadn’t wet the bed for over a week.

Clark came out of the bathroom after brushing his teeth and asked, “So you think you can make it two nights in a row?”

“I won’t do it tonight, guaranteed.”

“How can you guarantee it?”

“Never mind. Just wait and see.”

“Hope so. We can’t keep tricking Dad. Sooner or later he’s gonna find out, and we’ll both get the belt.” Clark killed the lights and they climbed into their beds.

Fifteen minutes passed, then: “Clark?”

“Yeah?”

“You asleep?”

Clark made a sound that fit somewhere between a sigh and a whine. “Does it sound like I’m asleep?”

“No, guess not.”

“Whataya want?”

“Just wondering.”

After a few moments Clark asked, “Whataya want, Mark? I’m sleepy.”

“Ever get tired of being the dad?”

“What you talking about?”

“You act more like our dad than Dad does.”

“You’re crazy. Now go to sleep.”

“See what I mean?” Mark said.

“Just cuz I told you to go to sleep means I’m like a dad? I don’t think so. That’s stupid.”

“It’s the way you say it and other things too.”

“What other things?”

“Like the way you help Mom do things without her even telling you to.”

“Any kid would help his mother.”

“Not just for nothing, without being told.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t, and the girls don’t, and none of our friends help without being told. But you volunteer.”

“So? Big deal.”

“And you try to take care of us,” Mark said. “Even Mom.”

“Mother takes care of herself.”

“Huh-uh. Remember that time she thought we had a plumbing leak and you went under the building to look when the maintenance guy didn’t show up?”

“That was no big deal.”

“I wouldn’t do it, spiders and snakes and remember that time Mom said she heard something outside the living room window and you went and got Dad’s rifle and clicked the bolt next to the window and we heard somebody run away? The girls and me were really scared, and Mom was too, but you weren’t.”

“I was scared,” Clark said.

“Really scared?”

“Really, really, scared.”

Clark turned his back to his brother. “Now go to sleep.”

“There you go again.”

Clark had just entered the ether zone when he heard, “What about Annie?”

“Who?”

“Remember Annie? How you saved her? Were you scared then?”

“Darn it, Mark.”

“Were you?”

Yawning, he said, “Not at first, but after it was all over I got real scared. Now go to sleep or I’ll get Dad.”

“O-kay. Seeya tomorrow.”

“Night.”

 

Just past two Clark awoke to a noise that sounded like a whimpering puppy. He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes, careful not to make any sudden moves that would cause pain to shoot through his sides. He looked at the other bed. Couldn’t really see anything at first, but then slowly his eyes adjusted to the muted light. Mark lay like a comma, facing the wall. Clark struggled to his feet, crossed the room, and sat on the edge of the bed.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, poking Mark’s back.

More whimpering.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?”

Mark rolled over. In the darkness, Clark could barely make out a look of pure agony on his brother’s face.

“It’s my dick,” he said. Sounded like he was trying to hold back tears.

“Whataya mean? What’s wrong with it?”

Mark shoved down his underwear. “Look.”

“Can’t see; too dark,” Clark said. “Watch your eyes; I’ll turn on the light.” He stumbled over a pair of shoes to the light switch, flipped it on, stood for a moment blinking against the attack of sudden brilliance, then moved back to the bed.

“Now what the heck’s wrong with your thing, man?” He gazed down at Mark’s penis and gasped. Its head appeared enlarged and dark purple. “Whoa…! Damn! Did something bite you? A spider? A wasp?” He’d slipped. He admonished himself for cursing.

“Put a rubber band on it.”

“You did what?”

“Can’t you hear? I said I put a rubber band on it.”

“Geez. I need a closer look. Hope the heck the rubber band doesn’t break.” Careful lest he touch it, Clark bent over till his nose hovered three inches above the wounded member.

Mark twitched.

“Don’t move, darn it!”

Sure enough, he had quadruple-wrapped a thick rubber band around his penis, now buried deep in the foreskin just beneath the head.

“Why’d you do that? That was stupid!”

“I’m tired of Dad going off on me.”

“You didn’t pee the bed last night, why’d you think you needed a rubber band tonight?”

“I didn’t sleep at all cuz I was afraid. I knew you couldn’t get up, and I wanted some z’s.”

For an instant Clark felt like crying. No way could he let his brother see that. “We’ve gotta get it off before your weenie dies, man. I’ll get some scissors.” He slipped out into the hallway, sneaked to the kitchen and found a pair in a drawer next to the refrigerator. When he returned his brother’s hands were cupped around his penis as if handling a wounded sparrow.

Mark’s eyes enlarged, the whites becoming dominant, as Clark approached his ailing member with scissors that appeared to him as big as pruning shears.

“You sure you can do this?” Mark asked.

Clark covered his eyes with one hand for a moment. “No. I gotta get Mother.”

“No way. Dad’ll find out, and I don’t want Mom to see it. She’s a girl.”

“If I try it, dude, you might end up peeing like a girl. You want that?”

“Go get Mom, darn it, and don’t call me dude.”

Irene twitched and repositioned herself when he nudged her arm. Lawrence’s raucous snoring had drowned out his murmured, “Mother.” He knelt beside the bed, having crawled on his hands and knees from the doorway. He nudged her again, harder this time, and she stirred, fighting to embrace consciousness.

“What? Who is it?”

“It’s me, Clark. Mark’s in trouble, he needs you. And don’t wake Dad,” he whispered.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’ll just have to see for yourself… shhh!”

Irene slipped out of bed and followed her son down the hall to his bedroom. One look at her youngest boy’s face told her something was terribly wrong. “Are you sick again, baby?”

Mark shook his head as his mother sat beside him on the bed.

“Well, what’s wrong?’

He reluctantly uncovered his crotch, exposing his strangled penis.

Irene’s hands flew to her mouth. “My Jesus, Lord!”

“I told him it was dumb,” Clark sing-songed.

“For God’s sake, Mark! Why in the world…?”

“You know how nine-year-olds are, Mom,” Clark blurted. “He was playing with the rubber band, fell asleep, and his weenie is paying the price big time.”

“Just shut up, Clark. Get me some scissors,” Irene said.

“Got ‘em.” Clark handed the instrument to her.

“Baby, it’s important that you stay perfectly still. Do you understand?”

Mark nodded.

The scissors neared his crotch and Mark’s eyes transformed into small kaleidoscopes of panic and fear. Clark rolled his eyes to the ceiling half-expecting to see a small purple penis lying on the floor, if he ever gathered the nerve to look. He held no doubt in his mind that blood would spurt freely from the place Mark always had trouble containing liquid. After a couple yearlong minutes simultaneous sighs from Irene and Mark signaled it was okay to look, and Clark watched relief displace pain on his brother’s face.

Irene rose to her feet, a wry smile on her face. “Let this be a lesson to both of you. This is not the kind of rubber to use down there.”

“What’d she mean by that?” Mark asked after his mother had left the room.

“Tell ya later.”

 

Chapter 3

 

IN A PREVIOUS INCARNATION the Airport Circle Apartment community was a bustling army/air force base. After the Korean War, the government closed it down and dropped it in the county’s lap free of charge. Santa Barbara County, in turn, converted the federal freebie into low-cost public housing. Rents were assessed according to each family’s means, and a population consisting of Caucasian, Latino, African American, and a dash of Asian contributed to a vibrant and congenial cultural stew; mostly because nobody had anything valuable enough to lord over anyone else.

Two miles west of the complex the main dirt road transecting the community became a paved thoroughfare that circled the regional airport, hence the name. A maze of smaller dirt roads meandered between the fifty-three lime green, multi-family buildings, and every evening around five the complex became engulfed in great brown clouds of dust spawned by hordes of homebound pickup trucks. Consequently, around four-thirty, women all over the neighborhood could be seen racing to communal clotheslines in a mad dash to rescue their laundry from the billowing grime.

Weller Memorial Park, named after a dead mayor, bordered the property on the north side. To the south, up the road fronting the Ralstons’ apartment, sat Olgrin’s family grocery and it seemed as if the store owner’s life mission was to make sure everybody knew everybody else’s business. Mrs. Olgrin had once been Irene’s best friend and Clark felt sure, as did his mother, that everyone in the neighborhood heard about Mark’s bed-wetting problem at her store from her big, fat mouth.

Fifth-grader Clark and fourth-grader Mark walked to Lakeside Elementary, located about half a mile east of their home. Walking to school posed no problems for them, they enjoyed it. Midway between their apartment and the school the highway department had cleared a forest in preparation for a new state road, and the boys loved to frolic in the giant Eucalyptus carcasses littering the landscape. They had liked the trees even better when they were living. Standing tall, straight, and majestic, they offered a wonderful environment for fantasy. On any given day the boys might’ve faced the Sheriff of Nottingham in Sherwood Forest, or the Tin Man, Scarecrow, and Lion in the Emerald Forest of Oz. But the bulldozers had destroyed their portal into other worlds, and now the imagination would have to run amok to think the place was anything more than an aromatic graveyard.

After school on a bright blue Tuesday afternoon, Mark and Clark rested on a fallen tree after jumping from trunk to trunk like bullfrogs to lily pads while firing dirt clods at each other. A cool breeze off the sea whistled through the dead limbs, rustled desiccated leaves, and mussed the boys’ hair. In the distance, earthmoving machines could be heard going about their destructive business.

“Why’s Dad so mean?” Mark asked between rejuvenating gulps of air.

“Don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t like kids.”

“Then why’d they have us?”

“Good question,” Clark said.

“Think he loves us?”

“Huh-uh. He doesn’t act like other fathers.”

“Whataya mean?” Mark asked.

“Like he’s only come to one of my ballgames and he was drunk. Stumbling all over the place. I felt terrible and told Mother I didn’t want him to come to any more games. Other fathers don’t do that.”

“What’d Mom say?”

“Told me to hush.”

They fell silent for a few moments before Mark began tossing dirt clods at a large knothole on a tree fifteen feet away.

“Clark?”

“Yeah?”

“Dad ever told you he loves you just for no reason?”

“Not for any reason. You?”

“Never.”

“Mother told me most men think it’s sissy to say it,” Clark said.

“I don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Think it’s sissy. It makes me feel good when Mom says it to me, and it makes me feel good when I say it back to her.”

“You love me?” Clark asked.

“No, silly. Boys don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I told you, cuz we’re boys. Boys don’t love other boys.”

“Dad’s a boy.”

“That’s different. Dads are supposed to tell their children they love them, boy or girl. I will when I have kids.”

“Me too.”

They watched as a large flock of scavenging blackbirds landed thirty feet away and began wreaking havoc on the felled forest’s insect population.

“Think you’ll ever stop pissing the bed?” Clark asked as he threw a clod at the feathered foragers. The birds hopped in unison as if skipping rope, parachuted back to earth on ebony wings, and returned to their arthropod feast.

“Hope so. I can’t take too much more of that belt.”

“Why can’t you stop?”

“Cuz I dream about it.”

“About what?”

“That I’m at the pot taking a pee, smiling, all proud of myself, and by the time I wake up me and the bed are soaked,” Mark said, exasperated.

“Try to dream about the desert or something.”

“The desert?”

“Yeah, there’s no water there.”

Both broke into spontaneous laughter, a good while since they had done that.

“I’m tired of the way Dad treats us. I’ve come up with a way to get back at him,” Clark said.

“How?”

“By stealing things from him. Things he likes.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t know; anything he likes.”

“He’ll beat your butt if he catches you.”

“Us,” Clark said.

Mark raised an eyebrow as his tummy turned. “Us?”

“Yeah. You, the girls, and me. He won’t know who did it.”

“I vote no. I get the belt enough as it is.”

“Listen! You never listen to me, Mark. Might as well be talking to that big fat ugly tree trunk over there, or Dad.” He sighed and continued. “You know those polished rocks Mr. Wilkes gives us every time we go see him?”

An old friend of their father’s, Roy Wilkes polished rocks of various colors into shiny beauties as a hobby. His son, Jimmy, was Clark’s best friend.

“Yeah.”

“We’ll steal his stuff and leave one of those rocks. It’ll drive him crazy.”

Mark frowned, then his flushed face broke into a big grin. “We’ll call ourselves The Rock Club!”

“Not bad. I like it. The Rock Club. Yeah, that’s cool. Now this is our secret. You can’t tell any of your friends or even Mother. Especially not Mother.”

“You got it. Clark?”

“Yeah?”

“Does Mr. Wilkes still drink? I mean like beer and wine and stuff.”

“No, he stopped.”

“I thought so, cuz him and Dad don’t go places together anymore.”

“Yep, he quit.”

“Just like that?” Mark asked.

“Jimmy said he joined a special club called AA, and they helped him.”

“AA? What’s that?”

“Jimmy said it’s kind of like Boy Scouts for men.”

“They go camping and hiking, things like that?”

“No, but Jimmy said it was because of AA his dad started polishing rocks.”

Mark’s face scrunched toward his nose. “Really? Why?”

“Jimmy said Mr. Wilkes is like a dirty old rock being polished till it shines. Said it was a meta something. Metaphor. That’s it.”

“Met-a-phor? That’s weird,” Mark said.

“Maybe, but it must work. Mr. Wilkes stopped drinking.”

“You think we could get Dad to polish rocks?”

“Probably gotta be a member of the club.”

“I wish Mr. Wilkes would invite Dad to join.”

“Me too,” Clark said. He pushed himself to his feet, stuck his hands in his pockets and extracted a dollar bill and some change. “I got enough for Cokes. Want one?”

“Yeah, sure. Where’d you get the cash?”

“Dad’s dresser. Want a Coke or not?”

“Let’s go.”

The boys dropped from their perch and picked their way through the debris field to the dirt road leading to Olgrin’s. Clark kicked a discarded Hire’s Root Beer can lying in the road toward his brother.

Mark kicked it back. “Wonder why some kids get good parents and some don’t.”

“Beats me,” Clark said.

They walked in silence for a while, ping-ponging the can with their feet before Mark said, “Brother Eddie says God can do anything, right?”

“Right.”

“So why can’t he help me stop peeing the bed? I ask for help every night.”

Clark didn’t answer his brother. “Last one to Olgrin’s is a nerd!” he said, then took off running as fast as he could.

Continued….

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