I have no recollection what this story was supposed to be about, but this is as far as I got with a screenplay script I was working on many years ago...like 2008-ish

ACT ONE

Ext. White Sandy Beach @ Coast

We see in PANORAMIC VIEW, small wild birds scurrying for midday meals in shallow water on a bright and sunny day, cloudless day.  This sky is so blue.

CUT TO CLOSE UP of birds feeding (low shot)

Enter 2 tan, smooth, and femininely alluring feet with perfect toes and ankles in shot.  A tribal tattoo is around her left ankle.

ANGLE UP Slowly to reveal her whole body.  Decked in tribal garbs with tan, toned muscle structure, her beauty is uncanny.  Her long, ebony, and curly hair is blown by the balmy breeze as she gazes silently at the sea.  A dolphin performs an aerial stunt before a loud booming voice draws her attention off screen.

KING FITZ

(Voice Over)

Ariel!  Ariel!  Ariel!  My dear, I know you can hear me.

(Ariel finally turns to look in his direction.)

Gleemoura expects you in the village soon.  Do not keep her waiting.

Enter KING FITZ, the epiphany of a powerful and confident ruler.  He’s the King of the island villagers.

ARIEL

I know father.

(She sighs)

KING FITZ

What troubles you, my dear?  I can hear the anguish in your voice.

ARIEL

It’s nothing, Father.  I just….Never you mind.  It’s not important.  I must get to the village right away to see Gleemoura.  I don’t want to leave her waiting.

CUT TO

Int. Gleemoura’s Office Hut

At first glance, the hut appears cluttered and unorganized.  Bones and plants hang from the ceiling.  Piles of rags and leather hides litter the floor.  GLEEMOURA is lying in a makeshift hammock in the corner smoking a long wooden pipe.  She is silent and content, but the wailing cries of a young girl at the threshold of her hut stirs GLEEMOURA.

ENTER ARIEL carrying a female toddler no more than three or four years old in her arms.  The kid is weeping uncontrollably.

ARIEL

Shhh, boo boo…shh

(She pats kid on back to try and sooth her, but to no avail)

GLEEMOURA

(Approaches and speaks)

What is wrong with the little one?

(She strokes the girl’s hair and the full weep recedes to mild whimper)

ARIEL

I am not certain, Gleemoura.  I stumbled upon her on my way here from the coast.  Literally, I fell to the ground.  I was in a full sprint through the brush, and I tripped over her.  I pray I am not the cause of her affliction.

GLEEMOURA

Let me see her.

(She takes toddler and sets her on a small stool)

No, this is not your fault, dearest Ariel.  Look here at the bottom of her heel.  These two pricks here, snake bits.

(long pause.  Gleemoura takes a deep breath that makes her nostrils flare and eyes widen, then she whispers)

Snake bite, a cobra.

ARIEL

Is it a lethal bite?

GLEEMOURA

(Snaps back to reality and springs into action)

Of course not, I can handle this right away

(She pulls a leaf from one of her plants and rubs it on the tots wound.  Then she dumps the contest of her pipe in a bowl of water before putting it in a guaze to wrap around the little girl’s heel.)

That ought to do it.  Are you better now, little one?

(The girl nods.)

ARIEL

I don’t want to get sidetracked, Gleemoura, but I’d like to walk the little one home and assure her parents are at ease.

GLEEMOURA

Fair enough, Princess.  I’ve seen this girl before around the village.  Her name is Tink, daughter of Sheena and Phellepe the fisherman.

ARIEL

(looking down at girl)

Is what she says true?

(girl nods)

Very well, off we go.  I’ll be back soon, Gleemoura.

GLEEMOURA

There’s no need to rush.  My business with you today is not urgent, no matter what your father says.  His Highness has always had melodramatic tendencies since his early adolescent years.

(She chuckles.)

ARIEL leaves GLEEMOURA alone in her hut.  After taking a deep breath, she sprawls her arms out to her sides with her palms facing upwards.  

GLEEMOURA

Oh, omnipotentness, Mighty Delphonte, your prophecies are finally coming to fruition.  The time is upon us.  May Runyan and Vexton help us and protect us.  Fleestour, give and power, and may Delphonte’s blessings pour over us.  Sheevam.

CUT TO

Int. Royal Quarters

A large and extravagant by comparison, yet modest and quaint clay/mud and stone structure serves as the royal palace for the King and Queen of the Chromitians.  It is divided into 6 sections or rooms, and it also houses their daughter, one servant, and one elderly spider monkey named Lava along with a jaguar named Jackie, the royal pets.  King Fitz and Queen Ellesta sit alone in the dining area eating a small salad composed of berries, vegetables, and nuts.  They join hands for a quick, silent prayer before digging into their meal with hand made wooden utensils.

ELLESTA

Fitz, darling what’s with that stern look on your face?  You’re on the verge of running my appetite.

(Fitz doesn’t respond, but continues to devour his meal.)

Hmm, there’s nothing that can quill your appetite as usual.

FITZ

As King, I must eat right so I can sleep right, and wake up in the morning daily to preside and rule this land accordingly.

ELLESTA

(in a mocking tone)

“rule this land accordingly.”  There’s more to this monarchy than ruling.  I’ve expressed my concerns regarding our daughter, Ariel, and the Arzink prophecies.

FITZ

And I’ve done what I can to dispel those concerns.  I sent Ariel to speak with Gleemoura.

ELLESTA

You can’t delegate every delicate family affair to Gleemoura and depend on her to deal with them.  She’s a medicine woman, not a therapist.

FITZ

Therapist, village healer, they’re one in the same as far as I’m concerned.

ELLESTA

Are you concerned at all about Ariel at least?

FITZ

My daughter, my precious princess Ariel.  She is my heart and soul, so “concern” is a gross understatement.  She is the rightful heir, and maybe someday she will find a man worth and capable of presiding and ruling over this land accordingly.

CUT TO

Chapter 1 of my romance novel "Fetishes Fantasies Fatalities" is about 70% complete. Check it out.

Chapter 1

                     

As a ten year veteran of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Gary Black was accustomed to, but not desensitized by the amount of death he was exposed to in the field as a special agent.  There he stood on the edge of a grassy marsh in Middleburg, Florida.  The weather was muggy, but not near the unbearable extremes one can come to experience at the end of a summer in North Florida.  Yet another corpse was sprawled out before Gary and his partner Rhonda Banks.  The decomposition of the dead body was obviously advanced by the humidity of the First Coast Region.  Rhonda surveyed the scene with a stern look of concentration on a face filled with such delicate and attractive features while Gary stood in silence for a moment.  He found himself drifting off into a daydream themed with an all too familiar forbidden fantasy. 

Gary worked closely and in conjunction with Rhonda for the past six years.  All the while, he tried his best to conceal his secret admiration for her.  What started as an innocent crush turned into a lurid obsession and even he was ashamed to admit that to himself, so he kept these desires for her pent up inside him as best he could.  Everything about Rhonda was so alluring and attractive to Gary.  She was brilliant, beautiful, and something about her attitude and the way she carried herself was irresistible to Gary.  He wondered if she ever noticed his longing stares.  He had the impression that Rhonda could be a subtle seductress if she wanted to be.  That desire to throw caution to the wind and conventional wisdom always festered inside Gary.  Everyone knows how complicated feelings like this could complicate work relationships.  Still, sometimes Gary wanted to hold Rhonda.  He wanted to caress her.  He wanted to sensually kiss her and explore her whole body with his tongue.  He typically didn’t see Rhonda out of her stark professional attire, but Gary imagined she would look absolutely stunning in lacey lingerie.

Rhonda was keenly focused during the initial phases of a murder investigation.  Gary was in a tantric trance.  Even at this early stage of investigation, Rhonda could sense that this current case would be of the atypical variety.  Rhonda’s sudden and curt remark snapped Gary out of his mesmeric daze.

“This is a new one for me, a dead and ball-gagged gimp in a swamp,” Rhonda said. 

“Damn, Agent Banks, it smells like day-old cabbage stewed with rancid road kill out here,” Gary remarked.

            “I won’t even ask how you know what that smells like, Agent Black,” Rhonda commented.

            Gary and Rhonda worked closely as partners for six years.  Gary was strapping and brawny man with a thick southern drawl.  He was raised in Moultrie, a small rural town in Georgia.  His humble upbringing on a farm was a stark contrast to the way Rhonda was raised.  She got used to that ephemeral and transplanting lifestyle that came along with being in a military family.  She couldn’t count how many times she was uprooted and had to pack up to move when her father was transferred to another Naval Base.  More times than not, they were coastal cities, so Rhonda grew up loving the beach.  Still, the country boy Gary and the beach girl Rhonda, although an odd pairing, worked well as a cohesive investigational unit.  They got on each other’s nerves sometimes and clashed on occasion, but they truly trusted and respected one another.

            The crime scene in Middleburg was cordoned off.  It was a muddy and wooded area not far from the northern flowing St. John’s River south of Jacksonville off US Highway 17.  The Clay County Sherriff’s Office, the local authorities, alerted the FBI.  Gary and Rhonda weren’t too far away in Daytona Beach investigating a high profile missing person’s case, so they were immediately summoned to the crime scene.  A week prior, Blake Adams, the eldest son of a prominent United States Congressman named Bill Adams from Miami, vanished without a trace.  Blake had travelled to Jacksonville from his home in Miami to attend the first road game of the Miami Dolphins’ 2014 National Football League regular season versus the perennially lousy Jacksonville Jaguars at Ever Bank Stadium.  Blake’s father Bill happened to also be in town at the time accompanying his wife Linda Adams, a published and renowned self-help author that had a scheduled speaking arrangement at a women’s empowerment conference at the Morocco Shrine Auditorium off Jefferson Street in downtown Jacksonville.  Reportedly, Blake hade made his way to Daytona Beach south of Jacksonville after the football game to celebrate the Dolphins’ thrilling 26 to 20 overtime victory over the Jaguars. Bill travelled in a convoy with some of the Dolphins’ players he was acquainted with.  Blake was last seen leaving an upscale gentlemen’s club called Emperors’ off the strip in Daytona Beach with an unidentified woman.

            Back in Middleburg, Special Agent Banks and Special Agent Black surveyed the area with local cops and crime scene technicians.  They examined the dead body which was dressed up in a full-body leather BDSM gimp suit, complete with mask and ball-gag strapped in his mouth.  There wasn’t an apparent cause of death that they could see.  The ankles were bound with chains, and the wrists were handcuffed behind his back.  There was a not lot of blood, and it wasn’t immediately evident whether or not part of an attack occurred on the scene, or elsewhere, or if the man was assaulted violently, and dumped severely injured to expire alone in the swamp.

            “Can somebody please remove that ball-gag from his mouth and take off that mask?” Rhonda asked.

            One of the CSI’s obliged Rhonda’s request, then Gary said, “Holy honeycombs!  That’s our guy.  That’s definitely Blake Adams.”

            This is was no longer a missing person’s case for Rhonda and Gary.  It was a homicide, and a weird one at that.  The uniqueness of this murder was evident.

            “Who discovered the body?” Gary asked.

            One of the police officers answered, “A man was walking his dog on a nearby trail when his dog got loose from the leash and ran into the woods.  The man gave chase then stumbled across this.  He phoned us right away.”

            “Where is this man now?” Rhonda asked.

            “Right over there,” the cop pointed.

            “Officer, we are gonna need you to escort that man to the station to get a detailed statement from him,” Gary said.  “Have your people finish securing the scene and take as many pictures as possible.  Collect and document as much trace evidence as you can.  Then, carefully bag up the body, and take it to the coroner, so they can conduct a detailed medical examination and autopsy.”

            “Officer Williams,” Rhonda read the name above his badge.  “We appreciate the assistance and cooperation of the Clay County Sheriffs’ Office.  Now, my partner and I must go to Jacksonville to give the victim’s parents the bad news.  Try to keep the press suppressed, and don’t give any official statements to the media until tomorrow.  We may have to handle that.”

            Alerting the next of kin: this was always a difficult and uncomfortable undertaking.  Bill and Linda Adams were still checked in at the Hyatt Hotel on Market Street near the St. Johns River in downtown Jacksonville.  Needless to say, they were absolutely distraught and grief stricken when Special Agent Black and Special Agent Banks delivered the about their son’s peculiar and violent death in person.  Gary and Rhonda expressed their sympathies and assured the Adams family that the Federal Bureau of Investigations would find whoever was responsible for such horrible atrocities and use all the resources at their disposal to bring the perpetrator of such an awful and inexplicable crime to justice.  After delivering the devastatingly horrible bad news, Gary and Rhonda stood on the Riverwalk outside the Hyatt.  Gary could see the anguish in Rhonda’s face. He wanted to comfort and console her.

            “Ronnie, we are going to catch this guy,” Gary assured her.  “We always do.”

            “I know, Gary,” Rhonda replied.

            Then, Gary made a suggestion, “Let me tell you what I like to do once I get to the meat and potatoes of a big murder case like this one here.”

            Rhonda asked him, “What’s that, Gary?”

            He explained, “You already know my routine.  It’s kind of a superstition.  After I find a body and have to alert the next of kin, I like to go to a Burger King drive thru to get a spicy chicken sandwich with tomatoes and a nice milk shake to wash it down.  Tomatoes are brain food ya know.  I vacationed in Jacksonville with my brother once.  I’m going to take you to that Burger King at the St. John’s Town Center on the south side of town to have some lunch and milkshake with me, my treat.  After that we can go to Massage Soleil at the Town Center.  According to Blake Adam’s itinerary he got a massage there Sunday morning.  We need to question the staff and review their surveillance footage.”

            Rhonda just nodded.  She had learned long ago not to reject Gary’s insistences.  He was very persistent and persuasive person, and sometimes he knew what was best for Rhonda.  That’s why they worked so well together.  Besides his primal physical attraction to Rhonda, Gary cared deeply about her physical and mental well being.  He vowed to always have her back and protect her in the field.  He hated to see her stressed out by all the rigors they encountered with their ever growing caseloads, and Gary always did his best to do things with Rhonda to help her decompress.

            The Massage Soleil spa was a great place to decompress and relieve stress.  Benjamin Hudson could have definitely used their services after nerve-racking day he was having.  He spent most of the morning arguing with Crystal who was the mother of his two year old daughter Destiny.  Things didn’t work out for Ben and Crystal as a couple and they had been separated for many months, but shared custody of their daughter.  Ben went to Crystal’s house to pick up his daughter, but Crystal informed him that their daughter was spending time with her grandmother for a few days.  Ben was upset and this led to a pretty heated argument.  Ben eventually stormed out of Crystal’s place before things escalated, but he was so distracted that he backed right into a passing and unsuspecting motorist as he reversed out of Crystal’s driveway.

            “Shit,” Ben cursed and punched his steering wheel.

            Behind the wheel of the car Ben backed into sat Cynthia Stone.  She was struck by Ben, literally and physically.  As Ben stepped out of his car to assess the damage and check to see if she was okay, Cynthia marveled at his toned physique and dashing good looks.  Handsome younger men like Ben always peaked her interest.  The minor collision was the least of Cynthia’s concerns.  After one look at Ben, the wheels in her head began to spin.  At her age of 45, the prospect of seducing a handsome and stylish younger man always aroused Cynthia. Her guess that Ben must be in his mid twenties was correct.  He had celebrated his 25^th birthday only two weeks prior.  Cynthia had immediately made up her mind and was intent on seducing Benjamin no matter what it took.  Unaware of this fact, Ben approached Cynthia’s driver side window and gave it a light rap with his knuckles.

            “I’m so sorry ma’am.  I totally spaced out and wasn’t paying attention.  Are you okay?” Ben asked after Cynthia rolled down her window.

            “Oh, it’s just a minor fender bender.  I’m all right, thank you,” Cynthia said as she stepped out of her car.

            “You shouldn’t thank me.  This is completely my fault.  I feel horrible,” Ben said.

            “Seriously, it’s okay.  There’s not much damage as far as I can tell,” Cynthia said.

            “Still, right about now is when we should exchange insurance information or something.  Maybe we should call the cops to make an accident report.” Ben explained.  “Lord knows I can’t really afford a hike in my premium, but I was in the wrong here.  I wanna do right by this whole unfortunate situation.  Hell, the old me would have just bolted on you honestly, but I’m not like that anymore.”

            “Well, I certainly appreciate your honesty.  Such upstanding character in young men is so rare these days,” Cynthia said.

            “So, my insurance card is in my glove box.  I’m just gonna grab it real quick,” Ben stated.

            “No.  Please, don’t bother,” Cynthia insisted.  “There’s no need to get insurance companies or the police involved.”

            “Well I don’t know any other way to resolve this.  I mean, you’re gonna need some bodywork at least, and those type of repairs aren’t cheap.  I’ve got decent collision coverage,” Ben said.

            “Oh, I’m not too worried about that.  I can send it to an old friend of mine who will fix it right up, no problem.  And he’ll give me a good deal.”Cynthia responded.

            “But it won’t be free, will it?” Ben asked.  “I still feel obliged to make sure you get reimbursed for the costs.  And where are my manners?  I’ve just crashed into your nice Lexus.  You are being so cool about this, and I haven’t even introduced myself.  My name is Ben, by the way.”

            “Oh, short for Benjamin.  I like that name,” Cynthia admitted to Ben.  “Benjamin was my second ex-husband’s name.  My name is Cynthia Stone.”

            “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Stone,” Ben shook her hand gently.

            “The pleasure is all mine, Benjamin,” Cynthia blushed, “and please call me Cynthia.”

            “Okay, Cynthia.  You seem intent on giving me a pass for smashing your ride, but I wanna take some responsibility in this matter,” Ben said.  “I’d fix it myself, but I’m just a lowly plumber by trade.  There aren’t any pipes or drains in cars I can fix.”

            “Ah, a plumber how interesting,” Cynthia said.

            “Not as interesting as you think,” Ben said.  “I learned the trade from my father and then took the family business over once he fell ill a year ago.  Cancer, but he’s doing better now.  The plumbing business though, isn’t as lucrative as I hoped it would be.”

            “Nonetheless, it’s good that you have a trade, and take it from me, running a small business is all about hills and valleys.  Things will get better for you soon I’m sure,” Cynthia said.

            “I hope so,” Ben said.  “You say you run a small business too?”  What is it that you do?”

            “Well, I own a couple of small novelty shops.  One is in Daytona and the other is in Savanah.  I’m thinking about expanding again and opening a third location in Jacksonville.  I’m actually on my way to check out a commercial lease property that’s near a place where I like to get a massage when I’m in Jacksonville,” Cynthia told Ben.

            “See Cynthia, now I feel worse,” Ben said.  “You were on your way to handle some important business until I backed into you.”

            “I told you already it’s no big deal, Benjamin.  I’m fine.  My car will be fine, but if you want to repay me some way for the damage, I may have an idea,” Cynthia said.

            “What might that be?” Ben questioned.

            “You say you’re a plumber, and I just happen to be having a problem with the some pipe leakage in the master bathroom at my home in Daytona,” Cynthia explained.

            “Ah, I think I see what you are getting at,” Ben understood.  “I can come down to Daytona and make those repairs for you, and we can call it even.  That sounds like a good idea to me, Cynthia.  I can live with that if you can.”

            “Most definitely.  Here, Benjamin, take one of my cards,” Cynthia handed it to Ben.  “At the moment, I must run along so I’m not late for my meeting with that landlord.  Give me a call in a couple of hours, and we can hash out the details.”

            “Cool,” Ben took Cynthia’s card as he returned to her Lexus and drove off with a flirtatious wave in parting.

            Ben smiled politely and waved back at Cynthia.  Then he looked down and read her card: 

DTRT Novelties

2323 Jordan Dr. Daytona Beach FL, 32116

(386) 555-0107

Cynthia Stone, Owner

Here's another preview from my spy novel "The Smartest Phone". This project is an old favorite of mine, but it's on the back burner for now. I'm eyeing an early 2017 release for it direct to Kindle.

August 22, 2007-D.J.

            Otto and I sat next to each other in Dr. Mead’s (aka Bruin) class.  He handed out syllabi and immediately started discussing the first book on the list, Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes.  The interested and open discussion lasted the entire class period.  Afterwards, Bruin gave quite a quantity of independent Quixote reading for our first homework assignment.

            ”There will be a quiz first thing Thursday morning,” Bruin warned.

            I stayed behind after all the other students left to discuss my mission with Bruin.

            “So how are things going?” he asked me.

            “Okay, I guess,” I replied.  “I plan to put Otto on the Animal House Party Regimen.  He’ll be so party pooped, he won’t be able to pass gas or class.”

            “Not a bad idea,” Bruin noted, “but what’s your backup plan?”

            “I…uh,” I trailed off.

            “The party plan was my idea,” FLIP chimed in.  “We are still keeping our options open in regards to formulating a backup plan.”

            “Yeah, that’s right,” I said.

            “Well, you need to call Viper later today to talk to him about it,” Bruin said.  “I can’t tell you how to do you job.  You are the primary agent on this one.  You call the shots, and you need to take accountability for the success or failure of your mission.  I’ll do all I can to help by giving your class a rigorous course load.”

            “It will not be too rigorous for me,” FLIP gloated.

            “I know that, FLIP.  Just make sure you call Viper later,” Bruin repeated.

            Obviously, my next classes went as smooth as silk thanks to FLIP.  I met up with Otto again in the cafeteria for lunch.  We saw Christian standing with a friend by the desserts making a strawberry ice cream cone.

            “That young lady with Christian is Tenisha Hall,” FLIP spoke to me through my earpiece.

            “How do you know that?” I asked.

            “What was that, Trav?” Otto questioned.

            “Oh, I’m on the phone,” I pointed at my blue tooth headset.

            “I was able to hack into the hardrive on Christian’s phone and access her camera phone pictures,” FLIP revealed.

            “Okay, I’ll talk to you later.  Bye,” I pretended to end my pseudo phone conversation.  “Otto, let’s go see what Christian’s up to.”

            “Hey guys!” Christian always looked and spoke as if she was happy.

            “Hello,” Otto greeted.

            “What’s up?” I asked.

            “Not much,” Christian replied.  “I want you guys to meet my friend Tenisha.”

            “Hey, my name is Otto,” he introduced himself.

            “And I’m Travis,” I gently shook her hand.

            “Nice to meet you,” Tenisha smiled at Otto.

            “You guys got any plans for tonight?” Christian asked.

            “Nothing really,” I shrugged.  “Why?”

            “Tonight is college night at Rack Em Up,” Christian said.

            “What’s that?” Otto asked.

            “It’s a pool hall and hooka lounge up the street,” Christian answered.

            “It’s usually packed.  There will be drink specials and a beer pong tournament,” Tenisha added.

            “We’ll be there,” Otto said.

            “Yeah, it sounds like a plan,” I agreed.

            Otto and I sat and ate with Christian and Tenisha.  I finished my meal quickly and excused myself.  I phoned Viper on my way back to the dorms.

            “Hey, how are you, young Bat?” Viper asked me.

            “I’m fine,” I told him.  “I wish I was on a cruise like you.”

            “It is beautiful out here, but don’t get it twisted.  I’m on official ZOO business.”

            “Damn, when will I get to handle business like that?”

            “Sooner than you think, Bat.  You’ve heard about all those cruise ship high jackingers that have been seizing ships at sea this past year, right?”

            “Yeah, the media dubbed them the New Age Pirates.”

            “That’s correct, and they’re still at large.  We’ve been assigned the daunting task stopping them.  Right now, I’m undercover as Matt Valentine, a billionaire casino tycoon.”

            “Okay.”

            “Oncilla and Phoenix are stationed about eight miles away from this cruise ship.  I booked this cruise last week and let the word get out that I’d be packing loads of cash, gold, and diamonds.  Two suspicious passengers have been keeping a close eye on me since I boarded the ship.  I presume they’re scouts for the N. A. Pirates.  Now, I anticipate the rest of their crew is poised and ready to strike in larger numbers than I expected.  I need you to join Oncilla and Phoenix so we’ll have a bit of back.  If the New Age Pirates are as thorough and ruthless as it’s rumored, we’ll need all the extra guns we can get.  We need FLIP here to with his radars to watch for a scout ship they will likely send to scan the perimeter and assure the coast is clear for their ambush.  We know they have a few small boats, some jet skiees, and one large ship in their fleet and at their disposal, so they will likely coordinate their attack accordingly.”

            “What about my mission here?”

            “How are things coming with Otto by the way?”

            “My plan is to get too caught up with partying, so he’ll fall behind on his class work and flunk out.”

            “And?”

            “Bat and I are formulating some contingency plans as well.”

            “Alright.  You two won’t be out here at sea long.  I’ve got a hunch that these pirates will make their move soon.  The moon is new.  Bruin will meet you at 5 AM tomorrow morning to extradite you via helicopter at the practice football field.”

            “I’ll be ready.”

            “Okay.  Goodbye for now.”

            “Right, right., later Viper.”

“We’ll see you soon.”

            My classes were finished, so I got on the sticks to play a little bit of Madden 2007 until Otto got back to the room.  We played a handful of games on our franchise and got high to pass the time until college night started at Rack ‘Em Up.

            “So what do you think about Tenisha?” Otto asked me.

            “She’s fine, a dime piece in my book,” I was honest.  “See, what did I tell you about fish and bait, O?”

            “You were right, Travis.”

            “I know I was dammit.”

            “Do you think she likes me?”

            “Well, she was giving you the bedroom eyes in the caf.”

            “Really, you think so?”

            “I know so, bro.”

            “Whoa!  I might stand a chance with her, huh?”

            “No doubt.”

            Otto and I finished playing video games.  Then we got fresh and clean to go out.  We arrived at Rack ‘Em up fashionably late in style riding in Otto’s customized ’68 Impala with gold spoke rims.  I admired his taste in cars, and was a little envious that my dad, wherever the hell he was, didn’t have a bank roll like the Juan Olverado.

            The crowd inside the pool hall was thick.  We enjoyed ourselves.  Otto got a chance to talk to Tenisha and get to know her better.  From where I was watching, I swelled with pride because of the positive progress he was making.  Later, Oto and I formed a tag team to enter the beer pong tournament.  We faced off against a couple of goons in the final round.  The head goon in charge, Maury Drew, was a complete cheese ball.  I watched Maury hate on Otto from afar all night.  He even made a few futile cock-blocking moves as if no one would notice.  Other people at the pool hall informed me that it was common knowledge that Maury had a crush on Tenisha since their freshmen year at JU. 

            Otto and I played like a well-oiled beer pong machine.  We dismantled and defeated the dorky duo with ease.  It was a good thing I could read lips because Maury whispered a derogatory comment in his partner’s ear when they lost.

            “I can’t believe that silly nigger and his spec buddy beat us.  I want you to go and invite them back to our apartment later to drink and party.  I’ll call Bruce and tell him to brew up some Purple Punch.  I’ve got something devious in store for those punks!”

            We accepted their invitation, and I pretended to be unaware of their true motives.  I knew all about Purple Punch.  The secret ingredient in this bright-colored concoction    was a potent date rape drug.  I suspected that Maury and his crew of fools were going to dope us up and try to embarrass us with some kind of prank.  I had a fix for that.

            On our way back to campus, I told Otto to take me by CVS.  Thanks to my advanced pharmaceutical expertise, I knew that vitamin B-6 was a quick antic dote for most date rape drugs.  I also picked up a prescription of Oxycotin thanks to a phony script FLIP faxed to the pharmacy for me.  I went back to the care and passed off a vitamin to Otto as an Altoid.

            “Yuck, this is the nastiest mint I’ve ever tasted, Travis,” Otto said.

            “It ain’t that bad,” I said as I popped one in my mouth.

            We parked in front of Maury’s apartment building.  Otto went up to the second floor to join the party.  I stayed in the care to roll a couple of blunts.  The first one was standard spliff.  For the next one, I crushed up some Oxycotins and dusted it down thoroughly.  I emerged on the scene with a blunt behind each ear.  The atmosphere was lively.  Maury and his pals were already feeding Otto shots of Purple Punch.  An evil grin stretched across my face.

            “I brought you a little something to show my gratitude for your hospitality,” I offered Maury the dirty contaminated blunt.

            “You’re too kind,” he snatched it out of my hand.

            After an hour or so, Otto and I had single handedly downed the whole bowl of Purple Punch.  We were drunk, but unaltered by the added date rape narcotics.  Maury looked baffled.  He and his friend Black retreated to the rear room.  They locked themselves inside.  The feint smell of cannabis in the air told me they had fired up my gift of ganja.  Otto and I had already taken care of our blunt earlier on the balcony.  At that moment, we were lounging on a couch with Christian, her boyfriend Eddie, and Tenisha.

            “So, do you have a girlfriend, Otto?” Tenisha asked.

            “Uh, no,” Otto answered.

            “Why not?” she questioned.

            “Well,” Otto hesitated.

            Christian shot me a look that said, “They need a private moment.”

            Eddie, Christian, and I stepped out onto the stairwell.  Eddie offered me a Marlboro Red.  I accepted.

            “Those things are bad for you,” Christian cringed.

            “I know.  I need to quit,” I said. 

            “I’ve never been a quitter,” Eddie laughed.

            “Whatever, Eddie,” Christian said.  “So, Travis, I think Tenisha really likes your roommate.”

            “Otto’s in to here, too,” I admitted.

            “They’d make such a cute couple,” Christian said.

            “Yeah,” I agreed.

            I left Christian and Eddie alone in the stairwell.  Maury’s rear apartment window faced a small wooded area on campus.  I shimmied up a tree and made a daring leap from a sturdy branch onto the ledge of their balcony.  I braced myself on the rail and removed my belt.  I fastened the end to one of the loops on my pants and tied the other to the rail.  The belt was my support line while I leaned over to pry open Maury’s window.  After I unhooked the belt and pulled myself inside, I saw Blake and Maury passed out cold on the floor.

            “It worked like a charm,” I smiled.  “I’ll show these bitches not to fuck with me and Otto.”

            First, I stripped Maury and Black down to their underwear.  Next, I covered them from head to toe with baby powder.  Then, I set them on the bed in a funny, provocative, and sexually precarious 69 position.  Finally, I used FLIP’s camera to snap pictures of the perverted pair and instructed FLIP to send copies to every single student and staff member at JU through their school e-mail addresses.

            “You are one demented individual,” FLIP commented.

            “I know, but these goons deserve this,” I stated.

            I crept back out the window and lowered myself to the ground off the balcony.  I’d had enough partying and troublemaking for one night, so I went back to my dorm to play video games.

There's still a lot of work to be done to extensively rewrite The ZOO and turn it into The Smartest Phone. I've got a lot of NSA research to do and tweak some of the characters and maybe change the POV to rework the plot. Still feel free to enjoy this rough draft of my spy novel.

January 7, 2006-V.A.

            Charles Scott was my roommate at Wabash College in Illinois.  We were the best of pals.  After graduation in 1991, he enlisted in the Air Force and intended to pursue a career with the FBI, and I followed my dream to be a CIA agent.  We kept in touch over the years, and I even spent a few holidays with Charles and his family.  He was a typical family man, a loving wife and young daughter.  Charles and Tracey Scott wed back in 1992.  I was the best man.  His daughter, Brenda, recently celebrated her eleventh birthday. 

            During his downtime, Charles resided with his wife and kid in his hometown, Danvers, Massachusetts.  He always spoke highly of the small New England town when we were in college.  I had a chance to enjoy the Danvers experience first hand a few times since 1990.  Charles always took me to his watering hole, Ducky’s Pub.

            It was NFL playoff season.  I thought I could find Charles at Ducky’s watching his beloved New England Patriots on one of the flat screen televisions.  I was correct.  He was at the bar drinking a bottle of Heineken.  I sat next to him and ordered a Grey Goose vodka and Red Bull cocktail.  Charles did a double take when he noticed me.

            “Holy hell!  Victor, is that you?” Charles spoke with a heavy New England accent.

            I nodded and signaled to a booth where we could sit and have more privacy.  When we sat down, I said, “Let me guess, you thought I was dead, right?”

            “Fuckin’ eh.  We at the FBI even investigated that fire you supposedly died in, but we did not discover any foul play.  What’s the deal?  Did the CIA fake your death for a special mission or something?  We do that at the Bureau sometimes.”

            “Not quite.  They actually sent an agent to eliminate me.”

            “What the hell did you do to deserve that?”

            “I didn’t do anything.  My boss’ wife came on to me.  I couldn’t help myself, Chuck.”

            “Well, you did help yourself, just like you helped yourself to our dean’s fiancé way back when we were in school.  You almost got expelled.”

            “These dashing good looks are a curse.”

            “So, what have you been up to lately?”

            “Jack shit.  I’ve been trying to keep a low key and be discrete.  I don’t want Paul to find out I’m still breathing.”

            “I understand, but what brings you to my neck of the woods?”

            “This kid named Dewaun from Okeechobee I saw on MTV said something that blew my mind.  He gave me an idea.”

            “Go on.”

            “With you help, we can start a private spy firm.”

            “What?”

            “Like private eyes, man.  A lot of agencies have sanctions which don’t allow them to carry out certain missions.  I know that the untouchable missions in the CIA are dubbed black missions.”

            “At the FBI, we put cases lake that in our Z-Files.”

            “Exactly, and I’m sure Interpol, ISR, and the UN are the same.  Imagine if we started a private firm that they could contract to handle their dirty work.  We’d be soldiers of fortune and offer assistance to the highest bidders when a plain old private eye won’t do.”

            “I don’t know, Victor.”

            “What do you mean, Chuck?  We’ve got the knowledge and expertise.  We can find people to recruit and train as well.”

            “Maybe, but this reminds me a lot of the ill-fated S.M.U.R.F.S. and the Grey Rangers’ fiasco.”

            “Yeah, but those guys were amateurs and poorly trained militias.  We won’t be insane vigilantes, Chuck.”

            “How do you plan on competing with high-profile private investigators and agencies with almost limitless resources.  You’ll need an edge.”

            “I knew you’d say that.  A few days after I faked my death in Japan, I was able to gain access to some privileged information from Imagine Enterprises.  Have you ever heard of biological artificial intelligence?”

            “Of course.  Who could forget the story of ol’ Dr. Monkey’s Brain?”

            “Right, Dr. Malcolm Brain was one of the pioneers of biological artificial intelligence, a real genius.  Still, people laughed at him when he said it might be possible to tap into unused potential energy of the brain.  He thought his concept could harness brain impulses of paraplegics to power robotic prosthetics.”

            “I remember.  That was back in 1995.  People thought he was a mad scientist who wanted to build cyborgs.  The media slaughtered him after a fire destroyed his lab in ’97.  He kept saying, ‘The monkey’s brain did it’.”

            “No one believed him, and biological A.I. suffered serious setbacks, especially when the phenom of the World Wide Web became mainstream at the turn of the century.  All the computer programmers capable of designing a brain powered computer chip lost interest in Brain’s research and shifted their focus to cash in on the internet boom.”

            “Don’t long-story this shit, Victor.  I’m missing half the fucking fourth quarter already.”

            “Oh, excuse me, Chuck.  I’m sorry, Chuck.  I didn’t mean to babble on, Chuck.  I forgot about your precious Pats, Chuck.  It’s the fucking fourth quarter, Chuck.” My mock New England accent was impressive.

            “You’re a fuckin’ asshole sometimes, Vick,” Chuck said and pretended he was more pissed of than he actually was.

            Charles knew I was just fucking with him.  We stood up and stepped back to the bar where we could see his precious New England Patriots on the big screen.  We ordered a pitcher of brew and watched the rest of the game.  The home team was victorious, so that put Charles in a good mood.  We ordered another pitcher and returned to your booth.

            “How ‘bout those Pats!” Charles beamed as we settled back into our seats.

            “Yeah, the pulled it out.  Big whoop,” I joked.  “Back to the story.  Imagine Enterprises is trying to use Brain’s technology in a cellular phone.”

            “Like Rosie Jetson, robot phone?  Damn them.”

            “More like a super computer in a cell phone with A.I. powered by a human brain.”

            “That sounds like some Frankenstein shit, Victor.”

            “Yeah, I thought the same thing at first too.  It’s not a dead human’s brain though.  It’s got something to do with a computer chip implanted in the brain that is powered by impulses, or something like that.”

            “That’s some heavy stuff.”

            “The techs at I.E. have been using Brain’s research to develop their first living prototype, a cell phone with A.I. and capabilities far beyond any super computer on Earth, The First Living Imagine Prototype.  The project has stalled because Brain never completed his research.”

            “I know all about F.L.I.P., Victor.  I see where you’re going with this, and I don’t like it.”

            “Crazy ol’ Malcolm ‘Monkey’s’ Brain, I should I say crazy ol’ Harold Butts.”

            “Ha ha ha,” Charles laughed.  “Harry Monkey’s Butts.  Ha, he begged us a thousand times to change his witness protection alias.  The prick even threatened to us for deformation until we reminded him that we were responsible for protecting his sorry ass.”

            “Even for a snitch, he’s one dastardly bastard.  I’ve heard he’s a high-maintenance head case.  I don’t know how you guys put up with him.”

            “Do you think he has any clue of what the Japs are doing with his research?”

            “You guys made Malcolm Brain vanish off the face of the Earth after his eye witness testimony sent Benny Banks’ baby boy Teddy up the river in ’98.”

            “The wrong place at the proverbially wrong time type of scenario.”

            “Exactly, now Imagine Enterprises is on the cusp of developing a new ground breaking type of A.I. with Brain’s research, and he won’t get any of the credit.”

            “That kind of shit would devastate him if he ever found out, Victor.”

            “Which is why it’ll be so damn fun to burst his bubble.”

            “Oh, hell no.  No, no, no!  I know what you’re thinking, and it’s a horrible idea.”

            “You do get my logic though, right Chuck?”

            “No shit I get your logic.  I always get your twisted ass logic.  It’s just my responsibility as the reasonable one to articulate the risks and such in all your hair-brained schemes, Victor.”

            “It’s more like a crazy Monkey Brain scheme.”

            “Very funny.  Did you stay up all night thinking up that one?”

            “Not exactly, but I know you’re intrigued by all this.  The F.L.I.P. will give us the edge we need.”

            “Let’s assume this is crazy enough to work.  Let’s assume putting the squeeze on Harry Butts, while he’s in federal witness protection mind you, is a good idea.  What makes you think he’ll go along with this crazy shit.”

            “Here’s the simple answer, money.”

Top secret and unauthorized sneak peek of Worth The Fight

   Contractually, I'm not supposed to share this for free online, but I've always been a literary rebel.  If you like what  you see below and want to read more, check out www.channillo.com  Serial Fiction can be fun.  Subscribe to keep up with my MMA Web Series Thriller "Worth The Fight" by Patrick D. Peay.  It is available on the site under the New and Notable tab.  Thank you for your support. #indieauthors #writerslife

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Prolouge

            Terrance Q. Hyatt Federal Penitentiary in Northern California was the closest thing to hell on earth for the 1500 inmates it housed.  T-Hy, as it was commonly known, was an infamous and dangerous maximum security prison for the most hardened of criminals.  The facility sat on 38 acres of land in the middle of a redwood forest.  It was encased by a daunting 12-foot electrified fence topped by razor wire as well as in impenetrable outlying 20-foot brick wall.  Prison guards escorted by trained and vicious German shepherds patrolled T-Hy’s perimeter.   An array of motion detectors and cameras kept a watchful eye on all inmates, and remote-controlled steel doors kept them confined.  There was no escaping T-Hy.  As a prisoner at T-Hy, if the confinement and ever hostile environment didn’t drive you mad, the lack of central heat and air in most of the facilities could snap even the most iron-clad psychos.

            Abdullah found solace in the Quran.  The holy text kept him sane.  He was serving a life sentence for a slew of charges including drug trafficking, extortion, and capital murder.  The year was 2013.  Abdullah arrived at T-Hy in 2000 when he was 21 years old.  On this particular day, Abdullah sat alone in his cell reading scriptures.  Over the past 13 days, he got to enjoy a bit of extra alone time.  Abdullah was assigned a new cell mate named Trey Zack Li two weeks ago.  Trey was the target of endless and aggressive ridicule from the get-go.  This problem was compounded by the fact he gained his fame as a fighter.  Trey Zack Li was not just a fighter, but the most renowned martial artist of his generation.  There were plenty of egomaniacal psychopaths in prison with nothing to lose that yearned to prove their toughness by squaring off against someone who had to register his hands and feet as lethal weapons every year like Trey.

Trey‘s first physical confrontation occurred during his second day of incarceration at T-Hy.  The other inmates had been clamoring about Trey Zack Li upon his arrival.  They dubbed him Mr. Mixed Martial because Trey had a prolific career as a big ticket professional mixed martial artist.  However, the inmates made it clear that Trey’s prowess in the caged ring as a prizefighter wouldn’t ensure his survival in the unforgiving and unrelenting pen.  Basically, Trey had a huge target on his back, but he was used to that.  The first bold prison contender to confront Trey was Robert “Blobby” Jones, a 6’2 ” 271 pound monster of a man whose aggression was fueled by his insatiable appetite and greed.  Blobby accosted Trey in the mess hall after lunch.

            “Mr. Mixed Martial, you owe me a tray a day or,” Blobby began to say.

            “Or what?” Trey quickly retorted.

            “Or you’re going to be in a world of p….gaaaaah!”

            Blobby violently gagged mid-sentence because Trey caught him with a swift crane punch to the Adam’s apple followed by a thrusting right cross to the chest that he put his hips into.  The bruising blow took Blobby’s breath away, made his heart skip a couple of beats, and broke his sternum.  Blobby collapsed in a heap on the concreted floor.  Trey mounted Blobby in a ground-and-pound position that was all-too-familiar to him.  Then Trey raised his left arm to deliver a hammer punch, but a corrections officer named Griggs appeared and caught his arm to mercifully prevent further damage similar to the way a referee would intervene in the caged ring after a knockout during an MMA bout.

            “God dammit, Li.  He’s had enough!” Griggs cursed.  He pulled Trey off Blobby and said, “We were hoping you wouldn’t cause problems like this.  You’re going straight to the hole, Karate Man.”

            So that is what warranted Trey’s first 14-day stay in solitary confinement.  Trey was whisked away to a 12 x 12 ft concrete box in the basement of T-Hy on a long corridor that housed a dozen identical cells.  Trey was only permitted to leave his cell to shower or phone his attorney, 23 hour lockdown.  The monotony of solitary didn’t get to Trey at first.  A disciplined workout regimen and meditation helped pass the time.  After the first six days, Trey decided to phone his attorney.  Trey’s attorney was Chauncey Levin, an old friend who was his roommate in college.

            “Hello,” Chauncey answered the phone.

            “It’s me, Zack” Trey said.

            “I know it’s you, Zack.  The first hint was, ‘You have a collect call from a Federal Correctional Facility from Trey Li’,” Chauncey joked.

            “That’s funny,” Trey laughed at how Chauncey mimicked his voice.  “I’m guessing you’ve heard about my little spat here.”

            “Spat?  Is that what you call it?  You damn near put that guy in cardiac arrest and caught another serious charge.  I’m guessing you were trying to send a message.”

            “Exactly.”

            “Well, how are things going besides that?”

            “They got me down here in the hole.  I been thinking about my daughter like crazy.  How is Faith?”

            “She misses you a lot, Zack, but she’s fine, a budding and bubbly four year old.”

            “What about Madison?”

            “She’s still a bitch.”

            “Hey, that’s still my wife, for now.”

            “You know I never liked that slut.  She called me to inform me that I should be receiving those divorce documents soon.”

            “Yeah, our relationship was doomed from the start.”

            “You’ll be better off without her.  I’m filing your appeal.  I’ll do my best to get you out of there ASAP.”

            “Do what you can.  Keep me posted.  My times about up on the phone.  I’ll talk to you soon.”

            “Okay, Zack.  Keep your head up.  Bye, love ya bro.”

            “I love you too, Chance.  Goodbye.”

            Time in solitary confinement lulled by for Trey.  Eventually, his time in the hole was up.  A guard came to release Trey.  Griggs told Trey that the warden wanted to see him, so Trey was escorted to the warden’s office.  He sat across the desk from Dr. Nelson Norris.  Dr. Norris earned his doctorate in criminal psychology and was a widely respected warden who was known for his unconventional methods.

            “Good afternoon, Mr. Li.  Welcome,” Dr. Norris greeted.

            “Dr. Norris,” Trey nodded.

            “After two weeks, I generally meet with new inmates to discuss how they are coping with and adjusting to prison life.  However, it seems like a run-in with Big Robert Jones landed you in iso for your first two weeks here at T-Hy.”

            Trey just grinned and shrugged his shoulders.  Then he said, “That run-in you speak of was fairly anti-climactic.”

            “Regardless, reports say you were the primary aggressor and instigator.”

            “I felt like I was provoked.”

            “This is prison, Mr. Li.  Every gesture and every word uttered is a provocation.  Big Blobby has quite a reputation on your cell block.  He’s put his fair share of people in the infirmary.  It’s nice to see him get a dose of his own medicine.

            “I only did it to prevent a problematic pattern from developing.”

            “I’ve been running this prison for a long time and studying criminal minds even longer.  I understand, Mr. Li.  You are not the first professional fighter or boxer to reside in T-Hy.”

            Another sly smirk ran across Trey’s face.  This time he simply smiled and nodded.

            Dr. Norris continued, “The inmates in here can be savages.  Not only are you fresh meat, but you’re a sultry piece of meat because of your reputation.”

            “That’s irrelevant.  That’s not my fault,” Trey stated.

            “I didn’t say it was.  Nonetheless, my responsibilities as warden entail providing a safe and structured environment to rehabilitate hardened criminals into functional and productive members of society.”

            “I know what a warden does, Dr. Norris.”

            “You must not consider yourself a hardened criminal.  Judging by your dossier, you’re definitely not a career criminal, but you have this one serious man slaughter charge.  Still I can’t have you going Kung Fu on everybody that looks at you funny.”

            “I’m willing to deal with the consequences of my actions, Dr. Norris.”

            “I can respect that, but I cannot keep you in solitary confinement for fifteen years.  Like most of America, I followed your trial very closes because of your celebrity.  In the interest of objectivity, I won’t reveal whether or not I agreed with the verdict.  When you were sentenced though, I was hoping they would send you to my facility to serve your time, Mr. Li.”

            “Why’s that?”

            “I’m in the midst of developing a special and innovative work-release program that would be perfect for you.  I’ll go into more depth about it with you at a later date.  There are still some details I have to hash out with my superiors.”

            “Hmmm.  Work release?  $1.10 an hour?  Even after paying all my legal bills and with my soon-to-be ex-wife’s spending habits, I haven’t blown my whole fortune.  I’d only consider something like that if I could get time off my sentence,” Trey said.

            “Of course.  That’s about all I have to discuss with you for now.  Try to stay out of trouble.” Dr. Norris pressed the button for the intercom on his desk to beacon the guard waiting outside and said, “Griggs you may take Mr. Li to his cell.”

            In mere moments, Griggs had taken Trey to his cell block.  Griggs called out a number which was followed by a loud buzzing sound that triggered the automatic mechanism to unlock and open the cell door.  Abdullah was inside sitting in his bed on the bottom bunk reading the Quran.  He looked up briefly when Trey entered.  This was nothing like two chummy college roommates reuniting after spring break.  The two simply exchanged cordial nods before Abdullah refocused his attention to the holy text.

            Trey took a seat in one of the cold metallic stools that sat across from one another near a small table that was affixed to the cell wall.  His personal affects were still sitting on his side of the table where he placed them two weeks prior: a composition book, bible, two pencils, a toothbrush, and a comb.  There were also four pieces of mail addressed to Trey Li that must have arrived while he was in solitary confinement.  The first letter was from Kelly Lynch, a deranged groupie that stalked Trey since 2001.

            Hello my love.  I want you to know that your incarceration will not abate the feelings I have for you in my heart.  I want to see you, so please make sure you put my name on your visitation list.  I miss you so much.  I often reminisce about all the moments we shared.  Memories of those moments are what I think of when I lay in bed pleasuring myself.  In fact I’m pleasuring myself as I write this letter.  Oh! Oh! Trey! Oh!  I’m cumming! Oooohhh!  I will love you until the end of time.  Your’s forever, Kelly Lynch-Li

            The second letter was from Vinata Concord, Trey’s best friend and confidant.  Vinata met Trey in 1985 when they were in kindergarten at Bradley Elementary School in Trey’s hometown, Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida.  When they were in high school, they both earned their lettermen as four year members of the varsity wrestling team and Nease High School.  Surfing was another common hobby they shared.  They caught countless waves together.  Besides dating for a couple years in high school their relationship remained mostly plutonic except for one night when they hooked up in college at UCLA. They cared deeply for one another. Vinata’s letter brought a smile to Trey’s face.

            Zack, you can rest assured that this will be the first of many letters I send you.  I will always be here for you and in your corner through thick and thin.  I’ll come see you as soon as I can.  You don’t deserve to be in there.  I’ve started collecting signatures for a petition that should help with your appeal according to Chauncey.  Things aren’t the same without you around.  You’ve been missing some big swells.  The waves have been awesome lately.  I also want to thank you for giving me the opportunity to oversee your companies while you are away.  I never thought I was CEO material.  Your record label is doing well.  The Blazers will be going on a big national tour next year, and I’m close to sealing the deal on a couple of big contracts for the clothing line.  Make sure you take care in there.  I’ll write you again soon.  Love, Vinata.

            The third letter was from Pedro Sanchez, commonly known as El Ladrillo (The Brick).  Pedro was the ruthless leader of a Mexican drug cartel.  Pedro followed Trey’s career for many, many years.  He was really impressed when Trey defeated Orlando Fernando, the pride of Mexico, in Trey’s first championship pay-per-view fight.  He also had to respect the bravery of a man with morals who could turn down the enormous bribe Pedro offered him to throw the fight.  Pedro was a bit of a bookworm who racked up several online degrees under the guise of his aliases.  He snorted and smuggled copious amounts of cocaine, but he was a lonely and reclusive man for obvious reasons.  Pedro and Trey eventually became friends through some extenuating circumstance.

            Greetings, amigo.  I was most disheartened to learn about the unfortunate events that landed you in prison.  I recently received news from my cohorts behind bars about an altercation you had in there.  You need not worry about anything like that in the future.  Anyone who has a problem with Trey Zack Li has a problem with El Ladrillo, and anyone with a problem with El Ladrillo as a problem with LLH.  I’ll make sure they watch your back.  If there’s anything you need while you are locked down, let me know.  Best wishes, Dro.

            The last letter was from the Wrigley Publishing Company.  It was concise and to the point.  Wrigley wanted the rights to Trey’s life story.  They urged him to pen his memoirs and promised him a hefty advance with respectably royalties for a complete autobiographical manuscript.  This offer intrigued Trey.  During his last session of therapy before he reported to prison, his doctor told him that writing and journaling would help him cope with being incarcerated.  Trey decided to get started right away.  He grabbed a pencil and opened his composition book…