The SoapBoxers

This story originally ran on December 10, 2010.  It was a very quick story to write – probably 45 minutes from when the idea struck me to when I finished.  I’ve always liked it, so I’m re-running it today.

He lay prone on the ridge above the canyon. He watched as the object of his attention came into view. Muriel was as beautiful as the day he had first seen her. That first day, too, he had watched her from afar. She had laughed melodiously as she chatted with friends. And then the inevitable had happened – the boyfriend had shown up.

The boy’s name was Chet, he had later found out. Chet and Muriel were high school sweethearts, and had remained close through college. They moved away from home, taking new jobs out of state. And this was how Philip had come to see them in the apartment building. After he caught his first glimpse of Muriel, he was in love. He would have to convince Muriel that he, Philip, was her true love – or else.

And, so, on this warm day in June, Philip found himself lying in dew kissed grass, waiting for Muriel to enter the clearing and give him a clear shot.

Philip had needed to go to a friend to get what he had needed for this outing. “This should definitely have the range you need,” his friend had assured him. “You could probably get a squirrel from a mile away with this.”

Philip hefted it as he waited for Muriel. As she closed the distance to the clearing, he picked her up in the scope. He trained the crosshairs on her as she moved between rock formations. The formations gave her ample cover, making a clean shot from this angle impossible.

His mind wandered as he waited for Muriel. In his mind’s eye, he could see himself waking up in the morning and gazing at her sleeping form next to him in a comfortable king size bed. He imagined exploring every curve of her body in the dim light of the rising sun.

Philip realized that he was daydreaming and returned his attention to the figure down in the canyon. Muriel had not only entered the clearing, but was nearly to the other side. If he was going to get off a good shot, he needed to take it now.

Philip focused on the figure of Muriel below. He waited for her to cease movement, and then took his shot.

He cursed as Muriel stooped to pick a wildflower, ducking below the spot where he had aimed. It was a momentary setback. When Muriel stood upright again, Philip took another shot. His aim was true, but Philip took three more shots in rapid succession, just in case the first shot had failed to do the job.

Philip stood upright and shook the dirt from his clothes. He removed the expensive lens from the camera and extracted the memory card. By the time Muriel had returned to the ridge, her husband had already uploaded the stunning morning photos to their web site.

The following is a work of fiction.  This story is not based on any events, it is purely the imagination of the author inspired by the weather conditions expected at his home at the time of writing.

William awoke at 3:59 in the morning.  He stared at the clock until it changed to 4:00 and the radio turned on.  He left the radio playing as he took a quick shower and went to the bathroom.  He listened as he brushed his teeth.  Every morning for the past five years had been the same.  He worked six day a week, but had the same routine on his one day off a week, either Wednesday or Thursday.  He heard all of the national, local and political news, but paid little heed.  The sports report was also just background noise.  He did not participate in any of those things.

William’s life was simple.  He worked hard to make enough money so that he could live independently.  His teachers had thought that he would never amount to much.  He put forth a good effort for every task they had given him, but it was all very hard for him.  He never took drugs or drank.  When he lived with his mother, he had gone to church all day every Sunday.  A really nice lady from the state, Alicia McMichaels, had gotten him the job.  He had to check in with her every month.  He always remembered to send her a Christmas card every year.

So in the morning, William did not care about who was running for what office or who had won the big game, no, all he was interested in was the weather.  He had to walk the ten blocks to the donut shop.  He had one very important job, open the front door and turn on all the lights.  He had to be there at exactly 5:00 each morning.  He didn’t have keys, he had to go in through the back where Donald was making the donuts.  Donald today and tomorrow, then Samuel the next day.  William liked Samuel, he was always nice to William.  Both Donald and Samuel were very large men, but other than size, they were not the same.  Samuel would greet William on his way to the front, but Donald would stare at him like he had a lizard’s tail or something like that.

The weather was all that concerned William.  He needed to know if he should wear a coat, or take an umbrella.  He had a uniform, so he did not have to think about anything else.  The weatherman said that it had gotten colder over night and the rain had changed to freezing rain.  He said that travel was not advised.  “I am glad I am not travelling anywhere”, William said aloud.  When the weatherman told his daily joke to the news reporter is when William usually turned off the radio, but today there was no joke.  Instead, both men started talking about how bad it was out and how many accidents had occurred on the roads overnight.  In fact, they were saying that even pedestrians should stay indoors.

William knew that he would be considered a pedestrian.  After all he walked to work every day.  He was worried.  He had never called in sick or missed a day he was schedule to work.  On several occasions he had gone in to work by accident on his day off.  He had even filled in for a nice young lady named Victoria until she was “let go”.  William liked Victoria, too.  She would always smile at him when they worked together, and she would kiss him on the cheek when he agreed to fill in for her on his day off.

William turned off the radio and walked over to the table with the telephone.  There was a laminated card with several phone numbers.  Next to one was the label “work” with a note “Call this number when you are sick or will miss work”.  It took him a while to make up his mind.  If it was a Samuel day, he would not have hesitated, but with Donald answering the phone, William was scared.  He thought about calling Alicia, but it was too early in the morning.  He thought about calling his mother, but Alicia had told him that he had to be independent.  Finally, he picked up the phone and called the number.

“A.M. Donuts” boomed Donald’s voice.  “Donald, this is William.”  “Who?”  “William, the clean up man.”  “Oh, yeah, what do you want?”  “The radio said that I should not go out.”  “What?  Are you saying you aren’t coming to work?”  “Yes, sir.  The radio said so.”  “Look Billy, it is your choice, but if you don’t show up, I will have to tell Mr. Jensen.”  Mr. Jensen was the owner of the shop.  William had never met him, but he had heard Donald say the Mr. Jensen had taken a big gamble giving William a job.  “If you are missing work just because the radio said something, I don’t think Mr. Jensen will like it.”  “Oh.”  “I’m just saying.  It’s your choice.”  “Please don’t call Mr. Jensen.  I’m coming in.  I will be on time.”

William hung up the phone, threw on his coat and shoes and headed out the door.  He slipped on the ice at the entrance to the apartment building, but did not fall.  He moved gingerly from tree to tree, then a mail box, then a lamp post.  He had forgotten his gloves.  His hands were getting very cold.  It was still raining, sort of.  There was snow in the air too.  He kept moving at a slow pace, following the same path he always followed.  He only had to cross 7^th avenue once.  All of the other streets that he crossed were not travelled very much, but getting across them was hard with nothing to grab hold of.  When he finally got to 33^rd street, he had to cross 7^th avenue.  This was the main road.  Five lanes plus parked cars on both sides.  He held onto the lamp post as he waited for the pedestrian signal to change.

When the walk symbol came on, he started across.  It was like skating.  He found a couple of dry patches to regain his balance, but he was only half way across when the light started flashing.  His heart rate went up and he tried not to panic.  When he tried to move faster, his feet slipped and he almost went down.  He was concentrating so hard on just walking that he never saw the city bus sliding on the ice.  The bus was sliding sideways, the driver too scared to even honk the horn much less notice William in the crosswalk.  The sound of the impact was sickening.  William felt the side of the bus hit him.  He flailed his arms wildly as he slid on the ice then ran into a parked car.  That same car save him as it stopped the bus.

The bus driver may not have seen William, but the driver of the city plow saw the entire event.  It all happened in slow motion.  The bus sliding, the young man bouncing off then sliding like a puck until he hit the car.  He was on the radio calling for help before William rolled off of the car and onto the ground.  The city plow driver circled the area several time dropping sand and salt so that the emergency vehicles could get there.

William woke up in the hospital.  Alicia was holding his hand and smiling.  “Good morning.  What on earth were you doing out on the streets on a morning like this?  Didn’t you listen to the weather report?  They said stay home.”  “I did listen.  I was going to work.”  “Why?”  “I have never missed a day.  I did not want Mr. Jensen to be disappointed.”  Alicia laughed.  “Don’t you worry about Mr. Jensen.  He has always reported that you are a good worker.  Now you just rest here.  I will come and visit, and when you are ready to go home, I will come and get you.”  “Am I going to miss work?”  Alicia laughed again.  “Yes you are.  Think of this as a vacation.  You will have your job when you can get around again.”  “Thank you Miss McMichaels.”  “I have told you William, call me Alicia.”  She patted his hand again, then brushing his forehead with her hand she told him, “I am very proud of you William.  Now rest.”

 This is a re-run from last year.  This is the third in a series of dark holiday tales.  You might also want to read What’s in the Chili (Halloween) and Friends for Thanksgiving.  This story has adult themes and is not suitable for young readers.

Chris leaned against the side of Santa’s workshop and exhaled a deep breath.  This was Christmas eve – a day when mall Santas around the world were finally taking a break from listening to kids rattle off the long list of items they wanted for Christmas.  Chris wasn’t actually a real mall Santa, but he was pretending to be one.

Chris noticed the women as they approached.  They were in their early 20s, and both were tall and slender.  One of them had shoulder-length blonde hair, while the other kept her dark hair short.

“Hey, Santa.  You come here often?” asked the blonde, winking and flashing a seductive smile.

“If you don’t have plans for tonight, you can come home with us for a Christmas eve dinner,” continued the brunette.  “We’ve been good girls this year!”

“I’m actually waiting for a friend to pick me up …”

“Oh, nonsense.  You’ll have much more fun with us, Santa.  We’ll be sure to get you home in time to deliver your toys.”

Chris smiled as he accepted the offer.  It never failed – hanging around a mall in a red suit on Christmas eve always got him an invitation to dinner.  Sometimes it was just turkey and mashed potatoes, but most of the time, there was dessert afterwards.  It was a bit of an odd fetish, but one that he was willing to satisfy.  He grabbed his cell phone and faked a call to the “friend” who was supposed to pick him up, cancelling the request for a ride.

When they arrived at their destination, Dawn – the blonde – took him on a tour of the house while Carmen escaped to slip into something more comfortable.

The owner of the house was a dot com millionaire who had hired the girls to look after the place while he was away on business.

“It’s a pretty good gig,” commented Dawn.  “We get to drive his Mercedes, charge take-out food to his bill, lay out by the pool … and we get paid for it.  And he’s hardly ever home, so we basically have the run of the place.”

When they arrived in the kitchen, Carmen was setting the table.  Chris was mesmerized at the image.  Carmen was wearing an impossibly short red dress, laced up the back.  Red stockings and heels further emphasized the fact that this was Christmas.  A Santa hat finished the outfit.

“Do you like it?” she asked, spinning around to give him a full view.

“Ah, yes.  It’s very, um,  nice.”

“Maybe Santa can unwrap Mrs. Claus if he’s a good boy,” Carmen said with a laugh as she ducked close and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

Yowza.  Chris wasn’t going to have to use much of his charm with Carmen – she was obviously quite willing to slip under the sheets with him.

The food arrived just as Chris and Carmen were finishing setting the table.  Turkey and all the trimmings from one of the nicest restaurants in town.  Surely he had died and gone to heaven.

Just then, the night got even better as Dawn glided down the stairs.  She, too, was dressed in red – just a red teddy that left very little to the imagination.  Chris pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

“Carmen gets to be Mrs. Claus, but I’m the Christmas Mistress. I’m going to get some alone time with Santa, too.”

“Not if I can help it,” countered Carmen, in a mock stern voice.  She brandished a wooden spoon at Dawn.  Dawn giggled and jumped out of range of the weapon.

The food was excellent, but Chris had difficulty focusing on the meal.  His mind was completely focused on the seductively clothed Carmen and the even more seductively attired Dawn.  It took a great deal of effort to avoid having his eyes stare in their direction.

When they finished the pumpkin pie, Carmen suggested plans for later in the evening.

“It’s a nice night for a swim … but we should really stay out of the water for an hour after dinner.  Can you think of any way to kill the time, Dawn?”

“I can think of a way to kill the time and burn off the calories from dinner at the same time.”

“That’s a great idea, Dawn.  Let’s give our guest a better tour of the bedroom.”

The guest bedroom that the girl occupied was massive – featuring walk-in closets on two sides and a pink canopied king size bed in the middle.

“We’ve already decided,” explained Carmen.  “The mistress gets you first, then you come back to the wife.”

Chris nodded slightly and allowed the girls to continue to take control of the situation.  A moment later, he had been stripped to his boxers.

“Wait,” commanded Dawn, as Carmen reached for his waist.  “That’s my package to unwrap.”

Carmen reluctantly agreed, and Dawn slid in front of Chris and pulled his boxers to the floor.

“Now, do me,” she said, wrapping her arms around him and locking his lips in a passionate kiss.

Chris didn’t have to be told twice.  He quickly extricated her from her lingerie and followed her to the bed.

Dawn proved to be a very nimble and willing lover, and Chris was exhausted by the time they finally climaxed.  They lay side by side on the bed for a minute, recovering from the exertion.

“Oh, Santa,” gasped Dawn.  “You can ride my sleigh tonight – and any other night.”

“When you’re done with your sleazy mistress, your wife is waiting, Santa.”

In the passion of the moment, Chris had forgotten about Carmen.  She had been standing by the bed watching.  There was a broad smile on her face as she anticipated her own experience with Santa.

Chris took more time unveiling her body – in small part to give his body time to recover, but mostly to build the anticipation of the moment.  He kissed her neck as he fumbled with the laces on the back of her red dress.  When he had finally freed her from it, he held her in his arms for a moment. 

When they finally arrived at the bed, Chris was pleasantly surprised to find out that Carmen every bit as exciting as Dawn.  He wondered if the girls were gymnasts.  A minute after he finished, Chris fell asleep from exhaustion.

When he awoke, he was still holding Carmen in his arms – but noticed that Dawn had also climbed into the bed and was spooning him.  The girls were both sleeping quietly, so Chris didn’t move – it was a pretty pleasant position.

Forty five minutes later, Carmen yawned and her eyes fluttered open.  It took her a moment to figure out what was going on.  When the pieces clicked into place, she caressed his cheek and gave him a kiss.

“I thought I told her to stay away from you,” she said, pointing at Dawn.  At that moment, a blonde head popped up.

“You know I can give him something you can’t,” countered the mistress.

“Ho, ho, ho.  There’s plenty of Santa to go around.”

“Howe about a dip in the pool,” suggested Dawn.  “That should wake us up a bit.  Then we can take a nice, long shower and return to the bedroom for round 2.”

Chris wasn’t sure that he could handle a second round, but heartily agreed to Dawn’s plan.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any trunks.”

Carmen pretended to take some measurements.  “And I don’t think you’d fit into any of our suits.  I guess you’ll just have to go without a suit.”

“Hey, if he doesn’t have to wear a suit, I don’t want to wear one either,” pouted Dawn.

“That’s fine with me,” Carmen replied with a grin.  “We’ll just keep the lights off and go skinny dipping.”

As they crossed through the kitchen on the way to the outdoor pool, Dawn grabbed a bottle of champagne.

“Santa, would you be a dear and grab a few glasses from that cupboard?”

Chris opened the door and grabbed three crystal wine glasses from a shelf.  When they arrived poolside, Dawn poured three glasses of champagne and suggested that they do a toast.

“To Christmas,” she said.

“To hunky Santas,” added Carmen.

“To the sexy Mrs. Claus and the breathtaking Christmas Mistress.”

They clinked glasses and drank down the bubbly before jumping into the pool.

Chris made sure to lead the girls to the deep end of the pool.  When the drug began to take effect, Carmen and Dawn had no chance to get back to safety.  When Carmen suddenly slid to the bottom of the pool, a trickle of realization entered Dawn’s already clouded mind.  She made an effort to reach the edge of the pool, but was still far from the edge when she, too, slid beneath the surface.

After waiting to make sure they were dead, Chris took a few minutes to wipe his prints from any surface he may have touched.  He grabbed the keys to the Mercedes, popped the trunk, and began loading it with valuables.  He had experienced some good years in the past, but this haul was going to be beyond his wildest dreams.  A merry Christmas indeed.

Editor’s note: Today’s story is a rerun. This story originally ran on May 21, 2010.

Father Joseph Dugan finally gave in to frustration and set the church’s financial statements off to the side. The once thriving parish was shrinking each year, as the young people went off to college and followed job opportunities out of state. For the last five years, donations had not kept pace with expenses. The parish was having to dip into savings. The account that was intended for capital improvements was quickly being drained.

Father Dugan had more pressing issues to tend to this evening. Agnes Sherrill was being buried in the morning. Agnes had been a parishioner for her entire life – ninety three years. Tonight’s wake had been very small affair. Agnes and her late husband had no children, and Agnes had simply outlived her relatives. There were a handful of friends, as well as people from the parish who turned out to show their appreciation for Agnes’ devotion to the church.

Dugan was always saddened by these types of funerals. It seemed that there had been an awful lot of them lately. Maybe the rotten winter weather was just putting the priest in a pessimistic mood. He shook off the feeling and set his mind to composing a fitting eulogy for such a fine human being.

The next day, as he walked back to the church after the funeral, Father Dugan cheered himself up by thinking of Agnes being with the Lord in heaven. This put him in a better mood, although he knew that Wednesday nights wouldn’t be the same without her boisterous shouts of “Bingo!”.

To Dugan’s great surprise, the mail held good news for the parish. It contained two checks from the estates of deceased parishioners. The money definitely came at an opportune time. The parish would be able to rebuild their capital improvement fund. Perhaps the ancient furnace could finally be replaced, allowing the temperature inside the church to rise back above sixty degrees.

As Dugan thought about the two women who had been so generous, he realized that they had also been honored with very small funerals. Like Agnes Sherrill, they had left behind no living relatives. Once again, Dugan had the distinct feeling that there had been a lot of these types of funerals lately. He decided to prove to himself that he was wrong. He grabbed his calendar and began to leaf through it.

Dugan soon realized that his gut feeling was correct. There had already been six such deaths this year in which the parishioner left behind no living relatives – and it was only March. Most of the previous years had only seen five or six such deaths. Dugan was puzzled. Why was there such a spike this year?

Dugan had no time to ponder such mysteries, and soon put it behind him and immersed himself in church business again.

Father was distributing communion during mass the next Sunday when he noticed that the deacon next to him push aside a couple of hosts, seemingly looking for a specific wafer among the identical hosts. When Dugan saw Deacon Taylor pick up a host whose color was a different shade than the others, the pieces all clicked. Dugan pretended to lose his balance and stumbled into the deacon. Deacon Taylor lost his balance, and dozens of hosts fell to the ground. Dugan handed a host to Mary Davis as Taylor picked up the hosts from the carpet.

After mass, Dugan noticed that the discolored host was no longer present. Dugan was certain that he had seen it, and had a good idea why Taylor had taken it.

Two hours later, Dugan was struggling with a difficult decision when the phone rang. It was a detective from the police department, informing him that Deacon Taylor had walked into the precinct and confessed to poisoning several members of the parish so that the church would inherit money from the estates.

[Editor’s note: this story originally ran in 2009 as a two part story.  This year, it’s a rerun, but I’m giving it to you all at once.  A few very minor changes were made.  This story is part of a trio of holiday stories  – you may also like What’s In The Chili (Halloween) and Mrs. Claus and the Christmas Mistress.]

“Oh, Kate, you didn’t have to bring anything,” said Erin, as she gave her friend a kiss on the cheek.

“Oh, it’s just a pumpkin pie. You and Kevin prepared the rest of the food – this is just a token of our appreciation.”

“Well, we definitely appreciate it,” chimed in Kevin. “Pumpkin pie is my favorite. Let me grab your coats. Dinner is ready to be served.”

Kevin hung up the coats while Kate and Tom followed Erin to the kitchen. The smell of turkey, stuffing, corn, and potatoes wafted through the air.

“Everything smells so good. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday of the year. What’s not to like about a national eating holiday?” laughed Tom.

Their hostess grabbed the carving knife. “What part of the turkey do you like, Tom?” she asked.

“I’m a leg man.” Tom held his plate out, and Erin slid a juicy drumstick onto it.

The four friends took their places around the table and began passing around bowls of food. Kevin took a large portion of mashed potatoes, topped the mound with stuffing and corn, and poured a river of gravy over the top. Tom grabbed two slices of Erin’s famous corn bread, and Kate served herself an extra large portion of the delicious cranberries. Erin herself appeared to play no favorite – she took equal portions of each dish.

The foursome began their feast, and a pleasant silence enveloped the room, punctuated only by the sounds of chewing and an occasional burp. During the second helping, the eating began to slow a bit, and conversation resumed.

“Stetson’s going to light up the Sharks,” proclaimed Tom, in between bites of turkey.

Kevin smiled politely. This was not the time to stoke an argument about the relative strengths of the Sharks and Cougars. Tom was a complete moron for believing that the Cougars were on the same level with the Sharks. In the grand scheme of things, it really didn’t matter very much, though.

“He definitely had a good week against Cleveland. We’ll see if he can maintain that sort of momentum. Rookie quarterbacks can hit some bumps in the road.”

“This isn’t just any rookie,” exclaimed his friend. “This is Frankie effing Stetson, number one draft pick in the whole world.”

Erin interrupted Tom’s idol worship. “Does anyone have room for a slice of Kate’s pie?”

In spite of the large meal, everyone seemed to have just enough room for one slice of pumpkin pie. Tom loosened his belt a notch while Erin popped up from her chair. She returned to the table with the pumpkin pie, as well as a container of Cool Whip.

“Awesome,” said Tom. “There’s nothing better than pumpkin pie with Cool Whip.”

After everyone had finished their pie, Erin began to collect the dishes. Kate stood up the help her while the guys headed to the living room to watch football.

“It’s under control, Kate. I’ll handle the dishes. You can go watch the game.”

Kate put up a feeble protest before joined the men in front of the big screen TV. By the time that Kate had finished the dishes, all three were sound asleep, thanks to the turkey and wine.

Erin gently shook Kevin to wake him.

“Kevin! It’s time to get started.”

Kevin hopped up from his easy chair and walked to the closet. He returned with ropes. He bound Tom’s hands and feet together while Erin secured Kate in a similar fashion.

Erin returned to the kitchen and pushed aside a fake wall, exposing two large hidden compartments. She pushed open the two large doors before joining Kevin back in the living room. Kevin had sliced off Tom’s clothing, leaving the man as naked as when he entered the world. As Kevin hefted Tom’s body and took the first few halting steps toward the kitchen, Erin grabbed the knife and cut Kate’s clothing so that it could also be easily removed. A minute later, Kevin returned, grabbed Kate’s still-slumbering form, and made another trip to the kitchen.

Kevin slid Kate onto the grate and closed the door, locking it into place. He hit the button to activate the wash cycle. Tom and Kate were bathed with pulses of water, cleansing their skin perfectly. Kevin hit the button to activate the next cycle.

Tom began to regain his consciousness a bit. He was certain that he was smelling a very strong scent of butter. Butter? Where was that smell coming from? Three seconds later, Tom felt his body be assaulted with streams of hot, liquid butter. What the hell? The wine was having a very strong effect on Tom, but he was slowly coming to the realization that something was very wrong. He realized that he was flat on his back, with his hands and feet tied together. He was trussed up like a pig! There was something in his mouth. He couldn’t place the flavor at first, but soon realized that it was an apple. He felt the room slowly start to heat up and came to the realization that he was being cooked alive!

Tom tried to scream, but was unable to dislodge the apple. He struggled against his bonds, but could make no progress. He was wedged tightly into the oven and had limited mobility. Before long, Tom had been overcome by the heat.

“Go watch the game,” said Erin, giving Kevin a kiss. “Things are under control in here. It will be several hours before supper is ready.”

Kevin plopped down in front of the TV just as the second half was beginning. The Sharks had fallen behind 21-0 in the first half, but this was not to be a good day for Tom’s golden boy, Frank Stetson. Stetson threw four interceptions in the second half, lost a fumble, and was sacked four times. Kevin laughed at the meltdown of the rookie quarterback. Tom really didn’t know shit about football.

After the Sharks had won the first game of the day and the Miners had steamrolled to a win in the second game of the day, it was time for supper.

When Kevin got to the kitchen, Erin had his plate ready for him. A big helping of potatoes, corn, stuffing, and gravy, along with a big chunk of drumstick a la Tom. On her own plate, Erin had a smaller bit of Tom’s leg, as well as a bit of white meat from Kate.

“I always did think turkey was a bit overrated.”

The hotel’s restaurant was nearly deserted on a Tuesday night – just a handful of loners stuck in this God-forsaken place on business trips.  Ah, the places people go for money, thought Charlie, as he pulled open the door and entered the establishment.

He loosened his tie and took a seat.  A few seconds later, the sole waitress came over and handed him a menu.  As she leaned over to fill his water glass, her low-cut blouse afforded Charlie a pleasant view.  After a moment, he re-directed his eyes to the menu.

“What’s good here?” he asked.

You are, he thought to himself.  He noticed the name on her name tag.  Cheri.  Perhaps you could be mon chéri, oui?  Charlie absent-mindedly fingered the gold band on his finger as he entertained fantasies of the lovely waitress.

” – and the ribeye is very popular, of course.”

Charlie realized this his daydreams has distracted him from Cheri’s description of the specials.  He pulled himself back to reality and enjoyed the real-world vision of his dream girl.

“Yes, I’ll go with the ribeye,” he said, recovering his composure.  His eyes followed her across the room as she gave his order to the chef.  When she glanced back toward him, he turned his eyes to the television, appearing to be engrossed in the news.

Did she just give him a wink – or was it just his imagination?

The ribeye wasn’t bad, considering the locale.  As Charlie finished the last of his bourbon, the waitress brought out his check.  He gave her a generous 30% tip, and charged the bill to his room.  He hated to part company, but perhaps he would bump into Cheri again.

At first glance, it appeared to be a credit card – but Cheri noticed that it was a room card.  It would be easy to just take the card out to the front desk … but Cheri could also provide some personal service and return the card personally.  The gentleman had charged the meal to his room – room 319.

She had caught him giving her long glances – or had she?  Had fifteen years of marriage given her an active imagination for such things?  Cheri tossed the card into her apron – she could make a decision at the end of her shift.

Cheri spent more time than usual counting her tips.  She held the stranger’s card in her hand.  Should she go up to the room?  Her husband wouldn’t be home tonight.

The elevator chimed as the doors opened.  Cheri turned left and walked a few steps.  She stood nervously in front of room 319.  Then she made her decision.  The card slid into the door and the small light flashed green.  Cheri quietly opened the door and entered the dark room. 

The room’s occupant was asleep in the bed.  He hadn’t waited up for her.  Was this all a misunderstanding?

In for a penny, in for a pound, Cheri thought.  She kicked off her shoes and began to unbutton her blouse.

A moment later, Cheri slid her nude body into bed next to the stranger.  She reached down to awaken him.

Charlie awoke with a start.  When a momentary fog cleared, he was looking into the eyes of the beautiful waitress.  Sometimes dreams do come true, he thought, and moved to embrace her.

Cheri left the room as the sun was beginning to peek above the horizon.  If she hurried, she would still be home before her husband.

Charlie checked out of the hotel around nine.

“Hey Charlie,” said the woman behind the counter.  “Did you and your wife enjoy your date night?”

Cheryl sighed, and pulled herself out of the soothing bubble bath.  If she stayed in the bath much longer, the wrinkles in her skin would become permanent.  She dried herself off and changed into a pair of comfortable sweat pants.

This was the life, she thought.  She didn’t have to wait tables, didn’t have to waste time putting on makeup, and could sleep in as late as she wanted.  All she really needed to do was kill time while the rich boys tried to figure out where Nate has stashed her.

Where had he stashed her?  That was a good question – and one that Cheryl didn’t have an answer to.  Toward the end of the long plane ride, she had been blindfolded before being shuttled to a secret location.  While she had been getting comfortable in her new home, Nate made his escape … but she had no idea how.  She hadn’t been able to find a door, nor were there any windows.  She was essentially trapped within the building.

It made sense, she admitted grudgingly.  If she could just pop out and waltz around town, it would destroy the integrity of the game.  She would be forced to spend the duration of the game inside.’

The freezer was stocked with food.  Not just TV Dinners and frozen pizzas – although Nate had included some her favorite junk food items.  The bulk of the freezer contained meals that could be popped into the oven with no prep work.  Defrost for a day in the fridge, pop in the oven for 45 minutes, and she had a nice “home cooked” meal.

There was no internet in the house, since this would be an easy way for Cheryl to cheat by contacting one of the players.  Cheryl admitted that she could probably do without Twitter for a little while – especially with the amount of money she was being paid.  There was a TV, but no cable connection.  She was limited to watching DVDs.  This wasn’t as much of a hardship as it seemed, as there was a massive collection of movies.

Finally, Cheryl had brough about a hundred books with her.  She’d been trying to catch up on her reading for years.  This seemed like an optimal opportunity.  She lay down on the couch with the book she had been reading.  With any luck, she could stay in the same position until she was hungry for another meal.  Whether the next meal would be breakfast, lunch, or dinner was up for debate.  After a couple of days, she had tossed her watch into a drawer.  Time was of no consequence here.

The light in the corner of the room flickered before turning a bright red.  This was an indicator that the video cameras would turn on in a minute, unless she reset the timer.  Cheryl got up from the couch and set the timer to 180 minutes – the maximum allowable time.  If she failed to reset the time, the video cameras would be activated and Nate would be able to see her every move.  The exception, naturally, was the bedroom, where the time could be set to ten hours. 

Cheryl knew that this was a safety mechanism, alterting Nate to possible trouble she may be having.  Cheryl wasn’t sure how much good it would do to alert him three hours after a heart attack, but sometimes life had risks. 

TO BE CONTINUED

“The problem with money,” Lawrence Peters opined, “is that the ability to buy anything you want takes away the thrill of the chase.”

The others at the table nodded their agreement. None of them had yet reached forty-five years of age, and all of them had wealth measured in the hundreds of millions of dollars and growing steadily with each passing year.

Nate Bolton took a long sip of his Irish coffee before responding. “You know what I enjoyed as a kid? A treasure hunt. It’s too bad they don’t have treasure hunts for adults.”

Barry Julian snorted. “And what would the prize be? A car? A house? Some cash? That doesn’t seem like much incentive.”

“I could be the prize,” came a voice from behind them. Cheryl set down fresh cups of coffee and cleared away the empty ones. The four men gazed at her as they tried to absorb what she had said.

Marc Billups was the first to recover his composure. “What, exactly, are you proposing?”

Within an hour, the idea had been fleshed out. The young waitress would become a pawn in their game. The goal would be to hide her somewhere within the continental United States. One of the four men would pick a location, stash Cheryl there, and develop a treasure hunt that would lead the other three to the location. If everyone was stumped by a particular clue, the answer would be revealed one week after the clue had been given. The first to arrive at the destination would get three weeks alone in Honolulu with Cheryl.

For her part, Cheryl would be well compensated. There was a $250,000 signing bonus just for agreeing to the deal, and a salary of $1 million per year, deposited into her account in monthly installments. Her hideouts would be designed to be very comfortable – a luxurious bed, fully stocked kitchen, and cable TV among the amenities. The only limitation was her contact with the outside world. Cheryl would be forced to remain within her hiding spot, and she would only be able to communicate with the organizer of that particular game – to avoid her tipping off any of the players.

Cheryl would get six weeks in Hawaii at the conclusion of each game. The winner would leave after three weeks, setting up the next game.

Cheryl made it very clear – she was no prostitute. She was being paid for her companionship and for her time in isolation as the game’s prize. The four men readily agreed with her.

A month later, the game was ready to begin. Cheryl had been sequestered in a hidden location, and Nate Bolton was ready to kick off the great treasure hunt.

“OK, guys. The first clue is –“

And he promptly dropped dead.

 This is the first story in a new series.  New chapters will be added periodically (and I’ll include a table of contents once there is more than one chapter).  Where is Cheryl – and how long will it take the guys to find her, now that Nate isn’t around?

“To our health,” exclaimed Charles.

“He’s here,” announced Tiffany Belkin, as she clinked champagne glasses with her dinner companion, took a sip of the sparkling wine, and leaned toward Charles for a quick kiss. Sitting in a dark corner of the restaurant on a busy Saturday night, they were indistinguishable from a number of other young couples, enjoying a romantic dinner on a pleasant spring evening.

A block away, Tiffany’s words caused the personnel in the van to go on high alert.

A short distance from Tiffany and Charles, their quarry was perusing the menu.

“What would you recommend?” he asked the man sitting across from him.

“What a silly question, dear Marcel. The prime rib, but of course.”

Marcel smiled at Boris’s characteristic response. Each time they met to do business, Boris selected prime rib.

“Don’t you ever tire of the prime rib, Boris? Perhaps a rib eye, veal parmigiana, or even a nice Caesar salad?”

“Salad? Salad? We are carnivores. Carnivores. Man rose not to the top of the food chain with the eating of lettuce.”

“You keep talking that way and people are going to mistake you for an American.”

“Good, good,” said Boris with a smile. “That would suit my needs very well.”

Charles winked at Tiffany as Boris uttered these words. Confirmation that Boris was a foreign national on U.S. soil for the sole purpose of espionage. Tiffany returned his wink and placed a hand on his thigh. Undercover work had its advantages, he mused.

Marcel opted for shrimp, while Boris remanded dedicated to his prime rib. As they waited for their meals to arrive, the conversation shifted toward business.

“I have a package for you,” announced Boris.

“And I for you,” responded Marcel.

“You have the real deal, yes? I’ve encountered some problems with some of your comrades. In a few cases, outright forgeries.”

“Oh no,” replied Marcel with a soothing smile. “I’ve got the bona fide stuff – intellectual property of the U.S. government.”

“Yes, I believe you do. My people have a great deal of trust in you.”

Tiffany leaned over and whispered into Charles’s ear. “BUSTED. We got ’em! This is so exciting.”

Charles kissed her gently on the lips while speaking softly to her. “We still need to wait for the transfer.”

Tiffany nodded in response and gulped the rest of her champagne with a giggle. Charles could see the impact the adrenaline was having on her – transforming her from merely pretty into an extremely seductive woman. He could feel himself being drawn into her web … but the time for such thoughts was later. They needed to focus on the task at hand.

An hour later, as Marcel crossed the street carrying the package from Boris, he was apprehended by federal agents. Inside the restaurant, Boris smiled as the attractive women from a nearby table sat down across from him. He had noticed her earlier. He smiled with anticipation. American women were so bold.

Then her male companion slide in beside her, and Boris frowned. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Federal agents,” explained Tiffany, flashing her badge.

“We’re busted your little spy ring, commie,” explained Charles.

“Spy?”

“Give us the package.”

Boris slowly handed the packaged to Charles, who ripped it open. He stared at the contents for a long moment, trying to make sense of it.

“Stamps?”

“Stamps,” replied Boris. “I am a collector, as is Marcel. We trade.”

“We heard you discussing forgeries, and documents that were the intellectual property of the U.S. government,” pressed Tiffany.

“Of course they are the intellectual property of your government. They are the ones who commission the artwork for the stamps. And forgeries … ah, this is the scourge of the hobby. You can never be sure until you place them under a magnifier, but Marcel comes to me well recommended.”

In the van, a similar scene was unfolding. A half hour later, the agents were drowning their sorrows in a nearby bar. Marcel Ackerman of the State Department was not a spy after all. Once again, bad information had led them astray, and they had harassed innocent people. Sometimes this job sucked.

In a hotel across town, Boris Korovin was using an Xacto knife to split the cover of a stamp album into two pieces. He pulled out the document encased between the halves, placed the album to the side, and began work on the next one in the pile.

Note: this fiction story is based very loosely on an interaction between alleged U.S. spy Felix Bloch (a State Department employee) and a Soviet agent whom Bloch knew as Pierre Bart.  You can read more about Bloch on Wikipedia. 

Editor’s note: this was the second Fiction Friday story I published (the baseball-themed Release Point being the first). A co-worker told me that this story gave him nightmares, which I took as a compliment.  Originally published on April 3, 2009, and pulled out of the vault today … Tale of the Wolf!

The wolf was at the top of the food chain. He had stalked his prey for three weeks. He knew her habits better than she knew them. He could have moved in for the kill sooner, but sometimes it was fun to watch.

At the precise time as she had in the past, she broke away from her flock and entered the lush green field of the killing ground. The wolf moved slowly from his lair and followed her into the death zone.

The wolf was wrong. He was not at the top of the food chain. As the wolf closed in on his prey, he was becoming the hunted. The lion surveyed the killing ground. As the wolf pursued his prey, the lion slowly moved into position to capture the wolf.

The girl always took the shortcut through the woods to get back to the dorms. Her friends told her that it was dangerous, especially at night. The girl was not afraid. She had been taking this shortcut for nearly three years, and she knew the woods better than anyone else.

The girl should have listened to her friends. On this particular night, she was not alone in the woods. As she broke into the small clearing in the middle of the woods, she sensed that she was not alone. The wolf pounced on her and forced her to the ground. The girl screamed, but the forest drowned out her screams.

The wolf’s excitement had been building toward this moment, and he was immediately ready. He forced himself upon her, enjoying immense pleasure at the same time that her screams embodied the incredible physical and emotional pain. He finished quickly, and the girl lay on the ground, unable to move. The wolf pulled out his knife. With one strong, swift motion, he plunged it into her torso, finding her heart immediately. As the girl’s life quickly ebbed away, the wolf felt immense power.

The lion watched the full encounter. He waited until he was certain that the wolf had experienced an ultimate high. Then the lion moved quickly into the clearing. The wolf sensed danger and turned, but it was too late. The lion forced his own knife deep into the chest of the wolf, and the wolf was dead before he realized the extent of the danger.

The lion dipped the tip of his finger into the wolf’s blood, and then mixed it with the girl’s blood. As he licked his finger, he could feel the life force of both of them entering his body.