This will be the last sneak peek at a poem from Must Be Nice 2 before my highly anticipated book of autobiographical and contraversial poetry is released this spring...

I.  Repentant Shark in the Deep Blue Sea

When life gets dull, I do something exciting

I’m Randy moss, I’m not retiring

I express myself with writing

I’m not a star, but I’m aspiring

And I aspire to touch everybody’s lives

I like to make it look easy like juggling knives

Yet we foul up and get cut

A little blood is no reason to get down in a rut

Like a shark, if I stop moving, I’ll die

I don’t wanna die, and you shouldn’t ask why

Sometimes I ask God, why

Why am I surrounded by people living lies

I repent because I’m living in sin

I refuse to let Satan win

I want to reside in the Kingdom of Heaven

I should live better because my mother is a reverend

My tactics are shady, but my motives are pure

Am I the bad guy, I can never be sure

Am I somebody’s hero

Are you talking to me, I’m Robert Deniro

I’m talking to my own reflection in the mirror

I’m a certified psycho, I can’t make myself clearer

You can call me crazy, never lazy

I’m untamed and can’t be contained

Fetishes Romace Novel (Chapter 1 Rewrite)

           Fetishes

Fantasies

Fatalities

By Patrick D. Peay

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, “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 restaurant to eat a juicy steak with a glass of wine to decompress.  I vacationed in Jacksonville with my brother once.  I’m going to take you to Maggianno’s at the St. John’s Town Center on the south side of town to have some steak and wine 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… 

The Smartest Phone (spy novel sneak preview)

December 1, 2005-Victor Anderson

I watched Becky Pitt’s glistening, naked body sashay to the kitchenette of my suite in an upscale Japanese resort.  She retrieved a Tupperware bowl of vegetable beef soup and placed it in the microwave.  Something that felt so right couldn’t have been more wrong.  I’d had affairs with married women before.  That wasn’t new.  Becky and I just finished having wild, sweaty kinky sex, and now, she was preparing soup for me, my favorite meal.  Life couldn’t get any better than this.  Considering the twisted circumstances of our affair, I should have expected things to get worse sooner than later.

Becky Pitt was a married woman.  I could deal with that, but her husband, Paul Pitt, was my boss.  On top of that, Paul and I worked for the CIA for over a decade.  Screwing your boss’ wife was one thing, but if your boss was a spy, the idea was almost too idiotic to fathom.  We made our living uncovering secrets and highly confidential information.  If you install rotating blades on a toilet, though, it’s only a matter of time before the shit hits the fan.

Hooking up with Becky while I was undercover in the field was a bad idea, too.  She was a world renowned romance novelist, so she always had an alibi to leave home for long periods of time.

“I’ve got another series of book signings scheduled out of town, honey,” she’d tell her husband.

This was my ninth month on a mission in Tokyo.  I was undercover as Luke Miller, a human resource manger at Imagine Enterprises.  LME started to receive global attention two years ago when rumors leaked about a groundbreaking biological cell phone project they were allegedly working on.  The project was so hush-hush, and I wasn’t deep enough to gain any clout with the company to gain access to privileged information.  I even considered and suggested a covert intel reconnaissance mission to break into a couple of restricted areas in the Imagine Tower, but Paul would not authorize that kind of operation.  He was always very conservative-minded.

“Come to the table and have some soup, Victor,” Beck said.

I was not sure what was weirder, my soup fetish, or Becky’s quirk for eating nude.  I did not ponder too long.  I joined Becky at the table, so we could dine on soup in our birthday suits.

“How crazy am I?” I asked Becky.

“You’re not crazy.  You’re my Vicky Bear.” An enticing grin spread across her face.

“I’ll be a dead Vicky Bear if Paul ever finds out about us.”

“He won’t.  Don’t worry.”

In my mind, I cursed my animal magnetism.  At the same time, I knew Becky’s luscious, curvy body and irresistibly cute, pouting face was no match for my weak will power.  I was instantly aroused by her when we met in 1994 at a company potluck Independence Day barbeque.  She came out the pool wearing a scanty two-piece bikini with pinstripes.  I didn’t want Paul to catch me starring.  The angel on my left should said, “She’s your boss’ wife Victor.  She’s off limits.”  The devil on my right shoulder said, “Fuck that, Vick.  She’s giving you the bedroom eyes.”  I was able to resist temptation for seven long, hard years.

That all changed in 2001.  Paul was in Afghanistan on a special mission after 9/11.  I was in the States on desk duty recovering from a gunshot wound I suffered in Ireland.  When Becky and I finally hooked up, it was like a poorly scripted porno flick.  She called me over to her home in a quaint Virginia suburb to fix her satellite dish.  Let’s just say she was very, very gracious to have her Sex and the City back.  Since then, we’ve been on a grand and dangerous charade.  That made is so much hotter.

“Can you take me to the airport?  My flight leaves in a couple hours,” Becky stated.

“Sure,” I said.

We got dressed, and I drove Becky to the airport.  The hotel suite was just a place for my trysts with Becky.  My official residence in Tokyo was closer to the Imagine Tower.  I drove to my high rise condo.  Something felt out of place when I walked inside.  Spies like met get a sixth sense about things like this.  An intruder emerged behind me.  I spun around in one motion and elbowed him in the Adam’s apple.  The masked man stumbled backwards and got tangled up in his own fiber wire.  I pounced atop the masked intruder and jammed my left forearm into his throat.  I un-holstered a .22 caliber pistol I kept strapped to my ankle under the right pant leg of my khaki Dockers.  I ripped off his mask.

“Marty?”

I was shocked when I unmasked young Martin Blanks, a rookie in the CIA.  I kept my gun pointed at his face, but loosened my strangle hold so he could talk to me.

“Tell me what the hell you’re doing here, Marty!” I demanded.

“Mr. Pitt sent me,” Marty admitted.  “He knows about you and his wife.  He promised me a promotion if I eliminated you.”

“Son of a bitch.  He sent a rook to rub me out?  What about my mission here?”

“He no longer thinks it’s a priority.  I was supposed to burn this place down and make your death look like an accident.  I know Mr. Pitt will be checking the Japanese news wires tomorrow.  If he finds out I botched this up, I won’t have a job when I return to Langley.”

“You are lucky I like ya, Marty.  I’m going to help you out.”

“What?”

“Come on, get up.  We’re going for a ride.”

An hour later, Marty and I were in the office of Dr. Ann Ming.  She worked in the coroner’s office and handled a lot of cases as one of the most reputable medical examiners in Tokyo.  We met three months ago at a sushi bar and hit it off immediately.  We hooked up often of casual sex encounters whenever our schedules would allow it.  She was really into role play.

“Long time no see, Luke Miller,” Ann said.  “What brings you through my neck of the woods?”

“I will cut to the chase.  My name is not Luke Miller.  I’m Victor Anderson of the CIA,” I said as I flashed my CIA ID credentials.  “I need a favor.”

“Wow.  That’s quite a bombshell to drop on someone.  I don’t know what to think,” Ann said.

“You’re not supposed to compromise your identity while in the field.  What are you doing, Mr. Anderson?” Marty asked.

“You’ll learn soon when time is prime to break some of those rules you learned in the academy,” I told Marty.  “Let’s not forget that our superior ordered you to kill me.  I’m working on a solution.”

“I’m confused.  Am I in some sort of trouble, or is this some new role you’re playing.  If so, I’m turned on,” Ann commented.

“Kinky sex is not a crime,” I joked, “but I really need you to do me a huge favor.”

“What kind of favor?” Ann asked.

“I need to borrow an unclaimed and unidentified male corpse, on of those you usually ship off to medical schools as experimental cadavers,” I explained.

“Why?  I don’t’ understand,” Ann said.

“This is urgent, Ann.  I need to disappear.  I’m going to torch a corpse.  When it comes back across your table tomorrow, I need you to ID it as Luke Miller in your report.  Can you handle that?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” Ann was reluctant.

“This is a matter of national security,” I fibbed.

“All right, I’ll do it,” she finally agreed.

Marty helped me transport the corpse back to my condo.  We snuck it into the building inside a large duffle bag.  Marty and I dressed the corpse in one of my spare outfits.  Then, I planted a wallet with my forged identification cards bearing the alias Luke Miller.  I lit a candle and placed it precariously close to some draping curtains.  Forty five minutes later, Marty and I stood outside and watched as the building evacuate when the fire alarm sounded.

“What are you going to do now?” Marty asked me.

“I don’t know, Marty.  I’m dead.”

Spy Novel will be put on the back burner while I complete my romance novel to enter a contest by Feb. 23, but enjoy this excerpt...

August 23, 2007-D.J.

             

            I had an all night Madden marathon.  It was 4:30 AM, and Otto hadn't returned to the room yet.  I was pleased and content.  FLIP reminded me about my scheduled helicopter flight.  Bruin was waiting for me at five o'clock in a black helicopter he landed in the middle of the practice football field.  I laid down in the back seat and fell asleep before Bruin finished taking off.

            The first words Bruin spoke to me when I awoke were, "Your mother just died."

            "What?" I was baffled.

            "Your mother just died," he repeated.  "That's your official excuse for classes you'll miss at JU."

            "Oh, okay," I said.

            "Your teachers will be e-mailing your assignments if your absence is extended, but I'll handle that," FLIP said.

            "Where are we?" I looked out of the helicopter window and saw that we were surrounded by glistening ocean water.

            "We are eight five miles north of Jamaica in the Atlantic Ocean," FLIP said.

            "Go ahead and strap into your harness," Bruin said.  "We're about 15 miles away from Phoenix and Oncilla.  You'll have to use the zip line to drop down onto their ship."

            "How did my mom die?" I asked while I strapped up.

            "We'll leave that up to you," Bruin said.

            "Brain aneurism," I said before I slid down the rope onto the boat below.

            "Hey, Bat," Phoenix met me on the deck.  "We missed you."

            "This is my houseboat.  Damn, y'all pimped my ship," I said.

            "You like the upgrades and modifications?" said Oncilla as she joined us on the deck.

            "I'm impressed.  I hardly recognized her, my own boat."

            "It is lavish," FLIP said.

            "Hey, FLIP.  We missed you, too," Phoenix said.

            "Did you miss me more than Bat?" FLIP asked.

            Oncilla nodded, and I said, "Hey, now."

            It's been pretty boring out here," Phoenix said.  "Did you know your television was broken, Bat?"

            "It's not broken," I replied.  "There are two loose wires in to back.  To turn on the television, you have to rub those wires together."

            I went down below the deck to fix the television.  We watched my DVD box set of the TV show Charmed until the sun went down.  It was tranquil and relaxing on the ocean.  We smoked a blunt and watched the sun set below the watery horizon.  After that, Oncilla and Phoenix gave me a debriefing for the mission.

            "I'd hat to put a damper on this reunion," FLIP said, "but my sonar is picking up a bogey heading our way at high speeds from the south."

            "It must be the scout boat," I said.

            "Estimated time of arrival is ten minutes," FLIP informed us.

            Oncilla, Phoenix, and I scrambled to turn all the lights and appliances off.  Then, we ducked off in some hiding spots.  After ten minutes, we heard a speed boat approach.  We heard footsteps on the deck, one set, they were alone.  Oncilla got herself into position to strike.  When our intrude came down the steps, Oncilla pounced him and covered his face with a thick dark bag.  I popped up and delivered a three piece punch combo to his rib cage.  The biscuit was a knock out punch, right cross to the temple.  By the time he awoke an hour later from the blackout, we had securely tied him down to a chair.

            "Wake up, sleepy head," Phoenix said. 

            He rattled of some crude Spanish and struggled violently in his chair to no avail.  I delivered a swift backhand slap across his face and said, "Cut all that shit out.  FLIP, what did he just say?"

            "Le me go, you bastards, or you'll be sorry," FLIP translated.

            "We'll see about that, Mr. You'll B. Sorry," I said.  "FLIP, translate what I'm about to say to him.  Check it out.  We found your walkie talkie and your weapons.  We know you work for the New Age Pirates.  No one has checked on you.  No body is coming to rescue you, so tell us where they are!"

            FLIP spoke to him in Spanish.  He didn't respond.  Then, FLIP told me it was likely that the pirates' ship was equipped with advanced stealth technology to jam his radar.

            "So, Mr. You'll B. Sorry, your giving me the silent treatment.  Take this, huuugh," I took a swing at him.

            The left jab connected with his jab.  Phoenix stepped in and pistol whipped him.  I punched him again. Phoenix kicked him in the head.  I punched him yet again. Phoenix cracked him in the skull with a large framed picture off the wall.  I punched him once more.  Then, Phoenix splashed him in the face with gasoline.  I restrained her immediately.

            "Hold it now," I said.  "Let's not get carried away.  Maybe he's ready to talk."

            "Fuck you," Mr. Sorry spoke English.

            "A tough guy, huh?" I smiled.  "You know we were just warming you up, right?  Oncilla is the main eventer when it comes to this torture shit.  Let me tell what's about to happen.  I assume you're from somewhere in South America.  I know the Wu Tang Clan is popular down there.  Basically, there's been a wire hanger over there that's been sitting on the stove for like thirty five, forty five minutes.  Oncilla is going to bend you over and slide it in your asshole real slow.  Ssssssss."

            Mr. Sorry's eyes widened.  Oncilla kicked his chair over.  She used a small sharp blade to intricately cut a hole in the bottom of the seat to expose his rear end.  Thenm she arranged him with his rump facing the ceiling.  Oncilla put on oven mitts and picked up the hot hanger.  She started to slide it up his but, and Mr. Sorry cried out with an excruciating yelp.  Then, I heard a voice over the walkie talkie.

            "Shhh, hold on," I held the radio up to my ear.

             

I've got a lot of work to do transitioning my spy novel...

August 21, 2007-DJ

            Otto’s alarm clock woke me up at 6:30 AM.  I didn’t mind because I had to get up and ready for my 8:00 AM World Geography class.  I got up, showered, and dressed.  Otto and I were ready right around the same time.  He had an 8:00 AM Biology class, so we went together across the valley to the student cafeteria for breakfast.  We fixed our plates and sat near a window that overlooked the Alexander Brest Baseball Complex and the St. Johns River.

            “So are you nervous about your first day of classes?” Otto asked me.

            “Uh, I guess so,” I replied.

            “Me too.  So what did you get into last night?”

            “I went to get some wings with the Phi Delts, and then we came back to the apartments for a little party.”

            “Ah man, homes.  I wish you would have came and got me.  I was alone and bored in the dorm all night.  I hpe you don’t mind, but I hooked your Playstation up to my plasma television.  That football game is fun.”

            “It’s all good, Otto.  John will be appeased by your praise and commitment,” I spoke of Madden like he was an omnipotent god.  “Well, what team do you play with?  You can get in on my franchise.”

            “I’m an Arizona Cardinals fan.  My dad actually met my mother while he was on a business trip to Tempe.  My parents own half of the team now.  It was an anniversary gift from my dad to my mom because they both love American football.”

            “Your father owns the Cardinals?”  I almost choked on my toast.

            “Half owns, yes.  You’ve heard of Olverpirses, right?”

            “Hmmm….,” I played dumb and shook my head.

            “Well they deal in oil, and my pops runs the business.  He wants me to take it over someday, but…”

            “I understand,” I was ready to change the subject.  “but about last night.  I didn’t mean to leave you hangin’.  I didn’t figure you to be the party type.”

            “I’m not really, but I thought about what you said last night.  I’ve come all this way to get away from my father, so I might as well have fun too.”

            “What did I tell ya,” I was actually talking to FLIP.

            “You said my daddy ain’t here.  Don’t think I’m a total square, Travis.  In my country, if you can see over the counter, you’re old enough to drink.  I’ve been an alcoholic since grade school, homes.”

            “That’s wassup.  I’ve got a feeling this will be a good semester.”

            “Wow, who is that,” Otto almost broke his neck twisting around to gawk at a girl in the omelet line.

            “I don’t know,” I couldn’t put my finger on where I recognized her from.  “I see you’re into dark chocolate sisters, huh Otto?”

            “That’s an exotic rarity in my country.”

            “Well, go talk to her.”

            “I can’t.”

            “Don’t be a pussy, man.  So what if you’re shy.  You’re talking to me right now.  Now go talk to her,” I urged him.

            “I don’t know what to say.”

            “Anything’ll do.  Ask her if she’s a freshmen.  Compliment her pajama pants or something.  Small talk dammit, but hurry up before it’s too late.  I think she’s going to be sitting at a table full of sorority girls, and approaching her there will be like going into a lions den with steak strapped to your balls.”

            “Okay, I’m going.”

            Otto made his way over to the omelet line.  His back was to me, so I couldn’t see what he was saying.  He gestured at the girl to get her attention.  She turned to face him and smiled brightly.  I could read her lips.

            “Hey,” she beamed.  “Oh, I like mine sloppy.  I just like to put whatever inside of it most mornings.  For you though, I’d recommend ham, chess, peppers, salsa…..you must be a freshmen…..Wel it’s nice to meet you, Otto…..My name is Chrisitan……Do people ever call you Automobile……Okay you’re welcome.  I hope you like your omelet.”

            Otto returned to the table looking like he accomplished something noteworthy.

            “Well?” I was eager to find out what he said.

            “I asked her advice on what kind of omelet to get.  It was the first thing that popped in my head.  Her name is Christian,” Otto said.

            “That wasn’t the smoothest line, but that’s cool enough for small talk.  Did you find out if she’s single?”

            “Not yet.”

            “Well, that’s fine.  Baby steps are fine for now:  initiating conversation is half the battle.  This will  be a long semester.  Not only will you become a big party animal, but you’ll be the second biggest player on campus next to me before it’s all over.”

            “That’s what I’m talking about, homes.”

            Otto and I disposed of our trays in the dishwashing window before we headed out to our respective 8 AM classes.  My geography class was in the Gooding Building.  The professor’s name was Dr. Bartram, a well travelled man who was knowledgeable and passionate about his field.  If I was called on or raised my hand in class, I knew the answer because FLIP fed them to me through my blue tooth headset.  I looked like the star pupil. I was just pleased to know I wouldn’t have to study or apply much effort to do homework.

            It was more of the same during my 9 AM Macroeconomics class with Professor Wendy Lane.  Thanks to FLIP, I was a wiz in class, but he teased me about being the brains of the operation.  I didn’t care.  I knew I’d need all the free time I could get from scholarly obligations to focus on the mission.  After my 9 AM class, I had time to go back to my dorm and chill before Beginner’s Golf at 1 PM.  I took some bong rips and played a quick game of Madden.  I beat the New York Jets with my Miami Dolphins 23-17 in overtime.

            I got to the golf coarse a little early for class.  The instructor had yet to arrive, but Otto along with a couple of other students were there waiting already.  He told me about his morning Biology, Recording Techniques, and Acting 101 classes.  I told him how my classes went.  We were both surprised to see Christian join us when the rest of or classmates arrived. 

            “Hey, Automobile!  I hope your first day of classes is going well.  Who is this?  I know you from somewhere,” she turned to me.

            “Hmmm…,” I shrugged.

            I didn’t know how to react to her extra giddy and hyper and outgoing demeanor.  I’ve heard of high on life, but Christian was close to overdosing, and it was somewhat overwhelming.

            “This is my roommate Travis.  Travis, this is Christian,” Otto formally introduced us.

            “Oh, now I remember you.  You were at that party last night,” Christian recalled.

            “Yup,” my recollection was more clear now.

            “You probably saw me there with my boyfriend, Eddie,” Christian stated.

            Otto gave me a gloomy glance.  I could tell hew was trying to hide his disappointment during class after Coach Banks arrived.  First, Coach Banks taught us the basics of the game of golf.  Then, he split us into groups of three or four to practice fundamental techniques.  Otto and Christian were in my group.  When class concluded, Otto and I said goodbye to Christian and walked together through the valley back to our dorm.  Otto slumped down into bed.

            “Don’t look so bummed out, O,” I tried to sound concerned.

            “But she has a boyfriend,” Otto sulked.

            “Listen, I watch Girlfriends and have a secret subscription to Cosmopolitan magazine, so I’m an expert on women and relationships, and 85 % of unhappy women confide in their plutonic male friends when they can’t get a hold of their girlfriends.  Do the math.”

            “So?”

            “So, you’re well on your way to befriending her and setting a solid foundation for a plutonic relationship that could prove to be most beneficial to you.”

            “I’m still confused.”

            “This is a great situation.”

            “How do you figure?”

            “On one hand, you can be a genuine friend that won’t have to obsess about getting in her pants when you know you have little or no chance of getting laid.  She’ll respect you for that of course.  If she ever has a rough patch with her man, you’ll be waiting in the wings.  If not, you’re still a good guy and she knows plenty of other eligible bachelorettes because she’s in a sorority.  Fact: girls talk to each other about guys they know, so you want them to have good shit to say about you.  There are other fish in the sea, and Christian can end up baiting your hook for you, son.”

            “Wow, you’re like a genius.”

            “I keep it real like a ghetto Dr. Phil.”

            My advice calmed Otto’s nerves.  We played Madden on the plasma TV well into the night.  I started the franchise over so Otto could join in with the Arizona Cardinals.  After three games a piece, my Dolphins were 2-1.  Otto’s Cardinals were 0-3.  We each downed a few brews before we decided to call in a night.  I woke in the middle of the night to roll a blunt.  I went for a stroll around the dark campus to smoke and talk to FLIP.

            “You were right about Christian,” FLIP said.

            “Of course I was,” I was cocky sometimes.

            “I intercepted a phone call from Christian’s campus apartment room earlier this evening.  She spoke with Tenisha, one of her sorority sisters.  Christian told her about a cute Hispanic guy in her golf class.”

            “That’s fine and dandy, but we’re not here to make a love connection for Otto.  How are we going to get him to drop out?”

            “I honestly think we’re on the right track with the party animal angle.  If he parties too much, he’ll loose focus and burn himself out.”

            “You never cease to amaze me, FLIP.  Maybe you are the brains of this outfit.”

             

                       

            

More from my spy novel The Smartest Phone

January 13, 2006-V.A.

            Kara and I finally drifted to sleep.  She fell asleep in my arms, but I heard a buzzing sound.  It was my cell phone.  The phone was set to vibrate, and it was in my pants on the floor beside the bed.  I slid out of bed without disturbing Kara.  I dressed quickly and tip-toed outside to take the call.

            “I hope this is important, Chuck.  It’s five o’clock in the morning,” I said.

            “You were supposed to call me after you talked to Kara anyway.  What happened?  As a matter of fact, don’t answer that.  I know what happened, you sex fiend.  That’s not an issue….I know how you operate,” Charles said.

            “Yeah,” I replied.

            “You’re not gonna believe this shit,” Charles predicted.

            “Where are you?  I can barely hear you with all the commotion in the background.”

            “I just left the bar not too long ago.  Some locals invited me to some kind of underground cage fight.”

            “I’ve seen cage fights before, Chuck.”

            “No, that’s not it, Victor.  The first two fights were actually kinda lame, but then the ladies came out to get it on.  Guess who’s a fighting machine, and the reigning women’s champion three years running?”

            “Who?”

            “Linda Arango?”

            “Leo’s mute daughter?”

            “Yes!  Yes!  She’s ferocious.  She uses some sort of modified caporerei fighting style.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  It appears she’s been trained in Mui Tae as well.”

            “Are you fucking serious, Chuck?”

            “I’m fucking serious, Vick.  I took a few pictures with my phone.  I’ll send them to you.  She has a championship belt and everything.  I’m sure she didn’t notice me in the crowd.”

            “Holy shit, Chuck.”

            “There’s more.  When we were at the dinner table earlier, I got a good look at Linda’s face.  I sensed a hint of familiarity about her, but I dismissed those thoughts.  Now, I now where I remember her from.”

            “Spit it out.”

            “Linda entered the FBI training academy a few years back.  She aced every aspect of the training, but the oral exam was her demise.  They gave her a zero.  I lobbied for an exemption, but you know how the Bureau can be.”

            “It looks like we’ve found our first recruit.”

            “Hell yeah.  I’m on the way back to the mansion now.  Is Linda there yet?”

            “I don’t know, Chuck.  I’ll check.  Call me back in about fifteen minutes.”

            “Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

            “All right.”

            I pressed the red button on my phone to end the call.  I heard something near the stairs.  I knew it had to be Linda.  I got lost trying to find the staircase until I gained my bearings.  I followed the loop-around spiral staircase that led me to the first floor.  I took a brief moment to scroll through the pictures Charles sent to my phone.  The images were absolutely astounding.  The photos depicted Linda executing a wide variety of dazzling acrobatics, intricate grapple moves, bone crushing haymakers, and precise kick combinations.  From the detailed snapshots, I could tell Linda won her bout handily and flawlessly.

            A quick swooshing sound drew my attention.  I probed the vast, dark halls of the mansion, bit I could not find Linda lurking in the shadows.  Suddenly, a shadowy figure emerged from around a corner.  It startled me.

            “Geez, Chuck.  You scared the piss out of me,” I said.

            “I’m sorry.  I just got back.  Have you spoken with Linda yet?” Charles asked.

            “I can’t find her.”

            We heard a light switch click in the kitchen.  That’s where Charles and I found Linda.  We saw her perusing the contents of the large refrigerator.  She spun around to face us when she heard our footsteps.

            “Did we startle you?” Charles asked.

            “Are you surprised to see us up this late?” I asked.

            “Not really,” signed Linda.  “I’m more surprised that you revealed my big secret.”

            “Wait, how do you know that we now your secret?” Charles questioned.

            “I overheard Victor’s conversation with you on the phone,” Linda told us.  “I hid in the library when I heard Victor come out of Kara’s room.  I was still wearing my fighting gear.”

            Linda opened her robe.  Underneath, she was wearing boxing trunks, a sports bra, and a lustrous gold championship belt around her waist.  The light glimmered off the embedded rubies.  Linda closed her robe.

            “How did you get back so fast, another secret?” I asked.  Linda nodded.

            “So, your father doesn’t know you’re a championship cage fighter?” Charles inquired.

            “He has no clue, but I guess he’ll find out soon enough when you tell him I’m your newest recruit.  In fact, Papa should be up soon for his morning coffee.”

            Almost on cue, Leo walked into the kitchen with a mug in his hand.  There was a large, deluxe espresso machine in the corner.  Leo used it to dispense a piping hot, and suicidal caffeinated brew into his mug.  Charles and I fell silent.  Neither of us knew if Leo would be violently offended by our proposition to turn his eldest and most beautiful daughter into an uberlethal secret agent.  I nudged Charles with my elbow to insinuate that he should initiate the conversation with Leo.  Charles retaliated with a sharp elbow of his own.

            “There’s no need to be so tense, gentlemen,” Leo stated.  “I think recruiting my Linda is a delightful idea.”

            “How did you know?” I asked.

            Leo chuckled and said, “I recently had intercoms installed.  I saw it on the MTV Cribs.”

            “That’s relief,” Charles sighed.

            “As a businessman, I can respect your entrepreneurship,” Leo continued.  “A heist-for-hire service seems like it should be a profitable venture.  I remember when Arango Beans Company was in its infancy before major expansion.  Times were difficult at first, but now ABC is a thriving empire.  I would like to double your compensation if you can successfully capture and transport a giraffe for my wife.  Do not think of it as a favor.  Since Linda will be joining your coalition, think of it as a friends and family rate.”

            I wanted to clarify the American custom of the friends and family discount, but instead I said, “That’s most agreeable.  As a sign of gratitude, I’d like to evaluate and execute this operation as soon as possible.  When can we examine the aircraft and transport cage?”

            “We can leave this morrow after breakfast,” Leo answered.  “I will tell Bernice that we are taking a tour of Rio.”

            “A tour sounds like a good idea, too.  We need to scope out the zoo, stadium, and surrounding terrain,” Charles said.

            Soon, a team of servants came in the kitchen to start preparing breakfast.  We left to give them space to work.  When we returned, the whole family was sitting around the large dining room table while the servants set out the last dishes.  Bernice was still under the impression that Charles and I were soda executives from the United States.  Most of the small talk at breakfast consisted of questions Bernice asked about our company, Daisy Cola.  We kept the hoax going until we finished breakfast.  Then, Leo informed everyone that he’d be taking Charles and me on a tour of Rio De Janeiro to check out some of Arango Beans Company’s facilities.

            A long and sleek, black stretch Scion limousine was outside waiting for us.  The chauffer drove us to a large hangar south of the Arango estate.  Much to my surprise, Linda and Kara were already at the hangar sitting on the hood of the solid silver Audi sedan.  I wondered how they got there so fast since we left the mansion before them.

            “What are you doing here,” I asked them.

            “I spoke with Linda after breakfast, and I told her about the giraffe pheromones,” Kara explained.  “She’s got an idea.”

            “Go ahead and tell us your idea, Linda,” Charles said.

            Linda showed us a magazine that had a man hang gliding over Rio on the cover.  She used sign language to respond, “What do you think?”

            “Uh, it’s a little far fetched, but it can work if we had a sky sail big enough for a giraffe,” Charles said.

            “No, no,” signed Linda.  “I know how to hang glide.  If you can get a giraffe beyond the gates of the zoo, I can fly by at a relatively low altitude with a canister of pheromones attached to the control bar.  If I leave a trail of pheromones, the giraffe will gallop behind me following my flight path.”

            “That will be an easy way to lure the beast from the zoo to the stadium,” Leo noted.

            “I agree,” I said.  “Let’s step inside the hangar and look at the chopper and cage, so we can review our method of trapping and transporting the beast by air.”

\           A large tandem-rotor CH-47D Chinook helicopter, capable of airlifting 35,000 pounds, sat in the middle of the hangar.  Charles and I swiftly examined the aircraft’s twin 3,750 horse power engines and all the controls on the interior.  Then, we moved on to the tall giraffe cage, a fairly simple reinforced steel enclosure with a swinging gate that locked in place.  An extra-duty and durable chain hung down on the side from the top of the cage.  We’d use that to hook it to the Chinook’s undercarriage.  We rolled he helicopter and cage onto the runway to conduct a practice take-off and landing.  I drove the silver Audi into the cage and secured it.  Then, Charles confirmed the Chinook’s power and grace.  He lifted the cage, with me and the Audi inside, off the ground and into the sky.  I felt like I was on an elevator.  The landing was precise and gentle.  After the cage, the car, and I were safe on the ground, Charles landed the helicopter.  We exchanged thumbs-up across the runway.  This was going to be easier than I thought.

            Our next stop was the Maracana Football Stadium.  Arango Beans was one of the stadium’s top sponsors, so we did not have to pay admission for the friendly match between the Flamengo and Fluminese soccer clubs.  A large billboard bearing the ABC logo towered over the tunnel at the north end of the stadium.  We did not stay long, only long enough to confirm that the field was large enough to accommodate the bulk of the Chinook and giraffe cage.

            Next, we took a trip to Rio’s Jardim Zoological.  The giraffe exhibit was our main focus.  Isolating on of the animals to extract without freeing all the giraffes would be tricky, but not impossible.  The far end of the enclosure was lined by a lightly wooded area with a small service road that ran through it.  We decided that that would be our best extraction point.  Part of the gate that lined the woods was rigged to swing open in order to grant access to animal trainers and maintenance men.  All we’d need was a large basket of carrots attached to a twenty foot pole in order to lure one giraffe out the gate.  Getting the giraffe to the service road would be vital.  Once the giraffe was in position, it would catch the scent of the misted pheromones that Linda would spray as she glided by on her sky sail on her way to the stadium.

            Finally, we ventured further north to map out Linda’s flight plan after we rented a sky sail.  The looming daylight was bright enough to help us estimate a prospective trajectory while allotting a margin of error due to wind gusts.  We waited until night fall to make a practice run without the pheromones.  Charles, Leo, Kara, and I waited near the stadium.  We watched Linda elegantly soar towards us away from the horizon.  After she flew over the zoo, she made her landing in a meadow south of the stadium.  It was a successful trial run, and it gave us the confidence we needed to pull off this caper.  All we needed was the giraffe pheromones, and thanks to overnight delivery, we would not have to wait long.  Linda, Charles, and I checked into Cama e Café as our pre-mission lodging.  Kara and Leo returned to the mansion.  Kara promised to come back tomorrow afternoon with our canister of giraffe pheromones.  We were poised and ready for our first mission.

The Red Reaper: Volume 2 (Chapter 2)

            The Red Reaper barely survived his second encounter with the newly arrived phantom he had dubbed the Blue Knight.  The sharp pain in his ribs signified that he had compounded his rib injuries.  Danny flew directly home to recuperate.  His sister left the party, so she was waiting for him in the driveway when he gingerly his landing and morphed back into his party ensemble.

            “Geez, Danny,” Christine said.  “What the heck was that all about?”

            “I only intended to stand up to that bully Seth,” Danny said, “but that Blue Knight character did most of the bullying.  He was the guy who ambushed me at Mt. Bethel the other day.  I wanted to text his moxy and see what he was all about.”

            “Well, he surely moxied you all over the place.  Where did he come from?”

            “I don’t know, but his powers are similar to mine, only exponentially more powerful.”

            “Where did those wicked glowing, red hand-scythes come from?  I’ve never seen you wield those before.”

            “I don’t even know.  Your guess is as good as mine.  They just suddenly appeared in my hands, but the Blue Knight had a glowing blue sword, too.  Did you see it?”

            “Yeah, he certainly knows how to use it.  He totally schooled you.”

            “I know, Chrissy, but I wonder if he’s a true threat.”

            “He kicked your butt twice already, little brother.  I’d consider that to be fairly threatening.”

            “I survived.  Maybe he has a vendetta against me.  I can defend myself, but what if he unleashes his fury on the innocent defenseless folks of Stentine Valley?”

            “I told you before that you can be a hero to the people of our city when they need it most.  You’re the protector of righteousness.  Everything happens for a reason.  Maybe meant to stop this menacing Blue Knight.”

            “I don’t know if I can, Chrissy.  He’s too strong.”

            “I’ve know you all your life, Danny, even before you became the Red Reaper.  You’ve had a strong soul and will to survive since you dropped out of mom’s womb with the umbilical cord wrapped around your neck.  I was in the delivery room, and I witness your miracle birth.  I remember watching your little infant hand reach up to unravel the cord from around your neck before the doctor got a chant to cut it.  You’re strong, Danny.  You’re strong enough to do anything you put your mind to.”

            Danny grabbed the remote control off the coffee table to click on the television.  There was a special report on the Nightly Action News on Channel 4.

            “We have breaking news,” Cliff Stones, the lead anchor, read off the teleprompter with a stern and grim expression on his face.  “Action 4 news has just acquired this exclusive footage from the dash cam of one of Stentine Valley’s finest.  Be forewarned.  What you are about to see is graphic in nature.  View discretion is advised.”

            The clip showed the battle between the Red Reaper and the Blue Knight.  The replay reminded Danny how soundly his new rival dominated the short battle.  The short fight sequence was culminated by the vista of the Red Reaper’s body flying through the windshield destroying the dash cam.  Danny was frustrated, so he turned off the TV.

            “I don’t need to see that again,” he said.

            “Wait, Danny.  Turn that back on,” Christine said.

            Danny pressed the power button again, and Cliff continued.  “The Red Reaper seems to have met his match, but will this new Blue Knight be a menace to Stentine Valley as well?  We’re about to go live to the mayor’s mansion.  Mayor Garretson has scheduled an impromptu emergency press conference.  Skeeter Barnes is live on the scene.  Skeet, can you hear me?”

            “I hear you loud and clear, Cliff.  Mayor Garretson is stepping to the podium now.”

            “Citizens of Stentine Valley,” Mayor Garretson’s tone of voice personified the dismal stakes.  “our city is under siege by what we believe may be extraterrestrial life forms.  There’s no need to be alarmed.  Since the emergence of the Red Reaper, we have done everything possible to avoid a crisis.  With the arrival of the Blue Knight, we must now declare a state of emergency.  The city is on lockdown, and an 8:00 PM curfew will be enforced until further notice.  All schools will be closed indefinitely, and we are urging citizens to stay in their homes unless it is absolutely necessary to leave.  My advisors and I will access the situation, but as of now, an evacuation is not mandatory.  We must band together if we wish to prevail in these trying times.  As of now, the Snow Games will not be cancelled.  I repeat, the Snow Games must go on.  I do not have time this evening to address questions or concerns from the press, but I will close this conference with a quote from the ‘Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy’: DON’T PANIC.”

            “I’ve seen enough,” Danny turned the television off one last time.  “This is friggin’ ridiculous.”

            “That extraterrestrial spiel is the most outrageous thing I’ve ever hear a government official say, and George W. Bush used to be president.  Geez with peas,” Christine said.

            “At least the Snow Games have not been cancelled.”

            “Danny, you’ve never had a problem focusing on the positives.  That’s for sure.”

            “You heard Mayor Garretson.  Don’t panic.  If I can’t stop the Blue Phantom, Sage, Blitz, Goon, Knight or whatever we’re going to call him, I think there will be a contingency plan.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “You remember what happened what happened to me at city hall.  I don’t know squat about my powers, but the cops already have a prototypical weapon to neutralize them.”

            “Oh, yeah.  We need to catch up with Timmy tomorrow.  Hopefully he’s learned something that will shed light on everything.”

            “We’ll see.”

            “How are your ribs, Danny?  I see you holding yourself.”

            “They hurt like hell honestly.  I’ll manage though.  Nothing will keep me out of the Snow Games.”

            “Geez….nevermind.  It’s getting late, and we both need rest.”

            “Yup, my pillow is calling me.”

            Danny and Christine went to their rooms.  Danny poked his head through the door of his fathers study on the way.  Charles was toiling over legal books and documents as usual.  He acknowledged his son’s presence by looking up briefly.

            “Me and Chrissy just got back,” Danny said.

            “Come in, son.  I want to have a quick word with you.”

            “What is it, Dad?  I’m really beat.  Can it wait until morning?”

            “This won’t take long, Danny.”

            “Okay.”

            Charles pointed at the small 15-inch TV in the corner of his study and said, “I just saw the news.  Our city may be under attack.  It looked like that Reaper vs. Sage battle happened in the Wellingtons’ neighborhood.  Is that where you and Chrissy came from?”

            “Yes.”

            “I wanted to make sure you and your sister didn’t get caught up in the middle of that mess.  The ferocity of that fight concerned me.  I’ve never been the worrying type, but I want you and Chrissy to be extra careful while the city is on lockdown.  I don’t know what I’d do if harm befell either one of you.  Maybe getting out of town with Jim Bronson and Quail Tek after the Snow Games is a better idea than I thought.”

            “Thanks for the concern, Dad.  We’re always careful when we’re out and about.  I seriously need to rest now.  We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

            “Okay.  Goodnight, Danny.”