Wordzzle # 22

This Week's Ten Word Challenge is: cardboard box, liquor cabinet, ostrich feathers, longitudinal, hamburger helper, partnership, laundry detergent, magnificent, San Francisco, prognosis

The Mini Challenge: worst case scenario, marginalia, water fountain, specialized, fortitude

To read the rest of the stories go to the Raven's Nest.

Ch .. CH.. Changes

McCool put down the phone, finished off his drink and headed inside to the liquor cabinet. "I need another one of these Paul, how about you?" "Sure, this cigar is only half done; I'll have one more" he answered.

Thomas opened the magnificent antique cabinet, grabbed the whiskey bottle like a jug of laundry detergent and poured equal capfuls (shots in this case) into the glasses. In honor of their longtime partnership the duo would get blitzed together at least once a year and let it all hang out. Tonight seemed like the appropriate time.

Sgt Johnson looked up from his reverie as McCool came back with the drinks. He'd been admiring the sleek longitudinal lines of Zan's legs and thinking about what Tom had said. "I guess you're right about not waiting" he offered as he accepted his drink from McCool. "It's just with this job I never know where I'll be or how long I'll be there."

McCool didn't bother to tell his friend that it just sounded like an excuse and not a reason; Paul was smart enough to figure that out for himself, with a little nudge from his friends. "OK, I know Zan and I have to seriously talk about it, are you happy now?" the Sgt finished. "Yea, I'm happy and sick of talking about you anyway" McCool joked to lighten the mood.

"Let's focus on something less serious, like serial killers" he added. Just then his Sat phone rang and he answered. It was his old buddy Jack Preston returning his call. Johnson sat back and enjoyed watching Zan and Jean on the pool deck below as he sipped his whiskey and pondered his and Zan's future. He picked up bits of the phone conversation, but waited for McCool to finish and fill him in on the information.

Claude returned to the window. He had noticed a bum sleeping in a cardboard box across the street. His instinct told him it was nothing, but his years on the run from the law told him to check it out anyway. He removed his binoculars from their specialized case and pointed them toward the sleeping form. This was truly a homeless person when seen up close. From the looks of the man he hadn't bathed in some time and dental hygiene was not on his list of priorities. Claude noticed the writing on the box now, Rice-A-Roni, the San Francisco treat. What a load of BS he thought to himself, this from Americans who thought hamburger helper was fine dining.

This made him think of his current situation. Someone in this town was trying to frame him for the "Alley Cat" murders. His source inside Miami PD had informed him that the FBI and their dogged profiler Sgt Johnson were on the case as well. What really puzzled him and pissed him off was how someone got hold of his old sword and planted it at Eminem's murder scene. That took some doing. He had not been back to his old apartment for years and really didn't know what had become of his belongings, but he knew now that somebody had stolen his sword and planted it here in Miami.

Claude would find that person or persons and make them pay. He had been retired and out of mind of the police for several years. The party responsible for bringing him back to their attention would be very sorry indeed. Already his sources in the city were looking for the culprit or culprits and Claude didn't doubt that the money offered for information was enough motivation to bring results.

This situation just required patience and planning. Claude excelled in both of these. The prognosis for the cure of this frame-up was good. Since he knew the police were looking for him he had changed his appearance, lost his accent and changed his methods. No one who had known him before would think this blond, biker looking dude was the Frenchman Claude Debaucherrie. No one that is until he found his tormentors; they would learn who they had messed with and what the consequences were.

Worst case scenario, he found them and killed them slowly and painfully; best case, he did that after making sure the police knew who the "Alley Cat" murderer really was. Either way, Claude knew he would prevail. He possessed the fortitude to wait them out, the expertise to sift through all the marginalia to locate the person or persons and learn their identities.

He observed the homeless box dweller walk from his abode to the park down the block. Once there the man took a drink from the water fountain and even washed his face and hands.

Claude returned the binoculars to their case and turned back to the bed. His hooker was starting to wake up. He moved to the bed, removed the headdress made of Ostrich feathers she'd worn at the hooker's ball last night and gently touched her cheek. His cover as a new pimp on the block had some benefits and he felt like enjoying some of them now. She smiled as he joined her on the bed and asked him if she was going to work today.

"Today is a training day baby, I think it's time you learned some new moves."

RT

Wordzzle # 21

The Ten Word Challenge will be: gouged, symmetrical, Spanish moss, ATV, parallel parking, Luscious, origami, amphibian, turkey, gravy train

The Mini Challenge: pouring rain, mastiff, church bells, wedding dress, stock car races

Go By the Raven's Nest to read the other stories.

You all know the drill by now. I'm too lazy to do more than one story; in fact I just continue the same story. I revel in my literary slovenliness.

McCool and the Gang part whatever

Claude loved Marseilles, what a great town to live in as a child. He had enjoyed the boisterous seaport, the wild weather and citizens while growing up. Right up till the time of the chemical plant explosion that first maimed and disfigured, and then after years of pain and suffering, killed his mother. His father had been luckier he supposed; he had died outright. His old man had worked at the DuPont facility for pesticides for many years. Neither parent had thought much about using the company assisted housing outside the plant's doors. All that changed when the terrible accident had gouged out a city block with the resulting explosion. It had not been a symmetrical event. The factory workers housing and the plant itself had borne the brunt of the force.

The executives, who lived in the hills overlooking the site from their Spanish moss covered estates felt the ground shake, heard the sirens and then the church bells that rang for days to commemorate the 346 dead and injured, but they lost only those at work that Saturday. The majority of the dead were the families living outside the gates and the maintenance workers on duty. Had young Claude not gone with his friends to ride their ancient ATV in the hills that Saturday morning he would have suffered the same fate as his mother: excruciating chemical burns and then death. He had watched his once luscious and vibrant mother waste away in perpetual agony.

All this seemed as if a bad dream till he awoke in a sweat in the seedy Cuban district of Miami and realized it was just the same recurring nightmare he'd had since he was twelve.

Claude rose from the bed and padded silently to the window. He checked his car (recently stolen and replated) that he'd put in the parallel parking slot beneath his second floor window. With what he had stored in the trunk it could never be too far from his sight. He turned from the view of street, the car, and the pouring rain back to the bed and looked with an amphibian smile upon the sleeping form.

Perhaps he should slap the hooker awake and teach her once again that working for him was no ride on a gravy train with biscuit wheels. (Where had he heard that before he wondered? Biscuit wheels?)

Claude washed his face in the basin, opened the door to let the large brown mastiff named "Cherie" that he kept constantly at his side out to do her business. No one would attempt to steal the dog and Cherie would bring her sweet self back to his door when finished. In spite of her fearful appearance she was a loving and faithful companion; the only one that Claude had ever known.

The first call that McCool made was to his friend and mentor in Big Sur, Jack Preston. Jack was an imminent environmental historian and general trivia hound of all things ecological. McCool knew he would get all the scoop on the "Butcher" from him. What he hadn't expected was a message on Jack's machine stating that he and long time lady love Arlene were away in Sacramento having her fitted for a wedding dress. The thought of Jack getting married seemed as likely to Thomas as Jack becoming a NASCAR fan and going to stock car races.
McCool left a message and congratulated Jack on making an honest woman out of Arlene, or was it the other way around? He looked toward Sgt Johnson and laughing said, "Old Jack is getting married man, are you going to be next?"

Paul looked deep into his whiskey glass and took a puff of the great cigar McCool had provided before answering. "Zan and I have talked about it Tom, it just never seems to be the right time." McCool lifted one of the quaint origami birds that the owners placed about their home each day. He let it loose over the railing and watched it glide toward the girls and the pool.

"Don't wait too long for the perfect time Paul, people drift away from you sometimes, just like that little paper pelican." They both looked down as the delicate paper creature landed at Zandilla's feet. “OK turkey, you’re getting a little too cute now, don’t you think?” Johnson remarked. McCool just grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows man, looks like an omen if you ask me” he answered.

RT

Wordzzle, Wordzzle wherefore art thou, Wordzzle

This Week's Ten Word Challenge will be: handy, operation, gratitude, parallel bars, the color purple, manic depressive, Puget Sound, fragmentary, perpetual motion, secretive

Mini Challenge: sympathetic, filet of sole, mysterious stranger, elephantine, music

For the rest of the stories go to the Raven's Nest.

As always I'm too lazy to do more than the Mega.

The Puget Sound B & B, so inappropriately named, was turning out to be a great weekend retreat for the McCools and Sgt Johnson and Van. The owners had moved from the shore of Washington state and named the famous old southern mansion after their previous local as a joke and also a statement; the couples state of mind being somewhat maniac depressive after the move and remodel.

While the B & B had many handy references to the local history and attractions, it also was filled with nautical art reflecting the owner's origins. After a relaxing day by the pool, some great southern cooking at a local eatery where Thomas showed his companions the beauty of a "plate lunch", and an extraordinary dinner in Atlanta of fillet of sole and a delicious wine, the couples came back for some time to just sit and catch up.

Van and Jean took fuzzy navels down to poolside and settled in while the boys occupied the veranda sipping whiskey and smoking cigars. Paul and Tom talked about how well the B & B's owners' handled their operation as they caught fragmentary bits of conversation from the ladies beside the pool. Paul expressed his and Van's gratitude for the McCools handling the accommodations, especially since it had been done (out of necessity) in such secretive fashion. Because the paparazzi were in perpetual motion looking for new angles on the "Alley Cat" murders it had been necessary for McCool to let his friend be the mysterious stranger in all arrangements made.

Just then the owners stopped by to tell the men that they would be showing the movie "The Color Purple" in the ballroom that evening if they wished to see it. The gentlemen demurred and called down to the ladies to see if they were interested. "I guess we're sitting this one out" McCool replied. "But thanks for asking" he finished. "No problem" Harvey (the husband and co-owner) replied. As he walked away, Johnson commented on the still huge forearms of Harvey from his days as an Olympic hopeful on the parallel bars. "He's got to be close to sixty and still in good shape" the Sgt observed. "Yea, he stays that way from lifting the elephantine furniture when he and Ruth clean the public rooms" McCool said in his most sympathetic voice. "I know I wouldn't want to lug that heavy old furniture around" he concluded.

Music drifted up from the pool as Tom and Paul got down to business. "OK Paul, I've read what the newspapers have to say, but you said something about eco-terrorists; how do they fit in?" "I'm not sure they do, but here is what the evidence tells me and why I need your help on this one" the Sgt replied.

The Sgt went on to tell McCool that the fingerprints on the murder weapon in Miami had been those of a supposedly dead or at least out of circulation eco-terrorist, Claude Debaucherie. The Frenchman was rumored to have perished in 2005 during a failed attempt at bombing an offshore oil rig in the North Sea. Now his prints were on the murder weapon of the "Alley Cat" murders case.

McCool recalled the career of the Claude and his tenuous ties to the green earth and ecology movements. What few had known of Claude was that he had trained with the French secret service in the 90s and was adept with weapons, especially bladed weapons. He could have filleted a trout or a person with ease. In Thomas's opinion it was not a stretch that Claude was the murderer, but a motive was pretty hard to come by.

What the infamous Claude "the butcher" Debaucherie and the now horribly deceased "Eminem" had in common was hard to figure.

"Claude was cruel and vicious, but his attacks were usually on property with people just being secondary" McCool stated. "And they were always about environmental issues" he added. "What do you suppose is the environmental connection here?" Thomas wondered. It was still early on the west coast. McCool had some connections our there with the environmental activist crowd. He picked up his Sat-phone and dialed the first number.

RT

Wordzzle #19

The words for this week's ten word challenge were: fabulous, aristocrat, tricycle, soft summer breeze, cat litter, silver-tongued devil, curtain rod, lilacs, Abraham Lincoln, garbage can

Mini Challenge: strangle-hold, revelation, dormancy, tripod, space cadet

Go by the Raven's Nest for the rest of this weeks stories.

Sgt Johnson and Zan exited the Atlanta airport and immediately spotted the outrageously painted van of Thomas McCool. Inside the van, McCool and his wife Jean waited for the Sgt and his fabulous looking girlfriend in air conditioned comfort. "She looks like some exotic aristocrat" Jean commented to Thomas. "Yes she does" he agreed as he lowered the window to catch the soft summer breeze and wave to his friends.

Jean and Zan had become fast friends and were accustomed to these impromptu meetings held in towns throughout the southeast. McCool wouldn't fly except to get on a cruise ship or go to a foreign country and Johnson often flew several times a week. So over the years the two had worked out a way to get together, spend some time with their mates and consult on interesting cases and catch up.

The two couples would be staying at a B & B in the country outside Atlanta for the weekend. "Hi Tom you silver-tongued devil" Zan laughed as they walked up to the van. McCool stepped from the vehicle, opened the back door to stow their luggage; first moving an antique tricycle he and Jean had purchased at a yard sale on the drive to Atlanta. Simultaneously he grabbed a canister of cat litter he carried and sprinkled it on a spot of diesel fuel spillage he noticed next to the van.

"Man you never quit do you?" Johnson joked as they shook hands and embraced. "Hey, every chance I get, I take it" McCool answered. "How were the freaky skies?" McCool continued. "Did they beat any passengers with curtain rods this trip?" he quipped. "No, but they did march up and down the aisles banging on garbage can lids" Zan shot back. "Flying is not as bad as you make it out Tom" Sgt Johnson said. "You're probably right Paul, but the few remaining airlines seem to have a strangle-hold on the market and I don't think it makes for very good customer service," McCool answered seriously. "Well, I'll give you that" Johnson agreed.

"Where are we heading this weekend?" he asked to change the subject. McCool and Jean took turns describing the B & B where they would be spending the next two days as McCool guided the van out of the airport and towards the beltway. Jean told them how Abraham Lincoln was rumored to have stayed in the old house and how the antebellum mansion was famous for its lilacs.

The real revelation was how the owners had done a "green renovation" and managed to make the old place look original but energy efficient as well. McCool stated that though the energy conservation movement was currently in its dormancy, that businesses large and small were starting to catch on. He went on to tell Johnson and Zan that though the husband in the couple that ran the B & B was something of a space cadet, the establishment checked out as well above average.

"I even brought a camera and tripod for taking some nature stills if we have time" McCool added. "I wonder if you will, between cigars and whiskey and the alley cat murders." Zan commented.

An old tradition between the two men was long talks into the wee hours over Johnson's cases and McCool's ideas on saving the planet. Neither man commented after this statement. They both knew that their weekend would be filled with Johnson's current case and the odd tie-in to the environmental movement. Though Johnson and McCool had these get-togethers often, this one was scheduled on an urgent basis and would for the two men be a primarily working weekend. McCool had consulted with Johnson before, but never when the evidence pointed so close to home.

"Well, I know Zan and I are going to have a fabulous weekend by the pool" Jean broke in to break the mood. The two couples left it at that and enjoyed the ride in the country in silence, each person with their own thoughts.

RT

Wordzzle #18

The words for this week's ten word challenge were: solitaire, pathological, grackles, alternative life style, manifest destiny, polarization, ugly duckling, folding chairs, flibberty-gibbet, and hand grenade

And for the Mini Challenge: marathon, the butler did it, curtain, hand cream, flatulence

I have to work some today, but found time to introduce you to Thomas McCool, Ace Comfort Advisor. See you all in the funny papers.

Go by the Raven's Nest to read the other stories.

Adventures of Thomas McCool, Ace Comfort Advisor - Part 1

Thomas McCool stepped out of his retro minivan into the 100 degree heat of Hickory, NC. He knew his manifest destiny was to bring coolness to those in need and he was pathological in his determination to help his hot and uncomfortable fellow citizens.

The ugly duckling minivan was his symbol of defiance against the forces of heat and humidity in the summer and cold and damp in the winter. Even though the exhaust note resembled mechanical flatulence, he loved his CoolVan as he called it, and wouldn't use any other vehicle on his marathon rounds as Comfort Advisor and alternative life style guru.

The polarization of Hickory and the surrounding area's population during the Bush years had been severe. There were those who actually thought for themselves and those who blindly followed BushCo's propaganda. No one was sure if global warming was here to stay, but all knew it was hotter this year than last. Like a hand grenade at a debutante ball he made his prospective clients aware of the need for conservation, life style change and of course coolness.

He felt at times that he was just playing Solitaire in life's big card game. So many just didn't get it. When he explained that R-22 was being phased out in 2010 to help save the planet's ozone layer (and our increase our atmosphere's ability to deflect harmful skin cancer causing radiation) some of his clients looked at him like he had the grackles. (A skin disease and partial dementia from medieval times.) And when he stated that his systems only used Puron, a non-toxic coolant, they at times went all flibberty-gibbet and complained that could only be more expensive for them.

Yes, McCool would say; if you want to build your home's comfort system on a foundation with the stability of folding chairs, buy a soon to be obsolete system. If you like the idea of something more lasting and more earth friendly, then look to the future. (The very near future)

Thomas reached into his bag and applied the bacterial hand cream he used before shaking hands. He would never risk his customer's health by exposing them to the things his hands came into contact with when inspecting ductwork and air handlers.

If one of his clients should succumb to one of the various diseases lurking there would he shrug it off and proclaim (like an old Hollywood murder mystery), the butler did it? Not hardly, McCool would never risk the health, safety and comfort of those he was charged to bring out of the dark ages of household discomfort and indoor air pollution. No, McCool would fight on to bring down the curtain on all things hot and sticky, dusty and dingy and of course all those sad and unsuspecting homes filled with VOCs and bacteria.

Fight on McCool, fight on!

RT

Hope the hood is good

I've been too busy and too tired to do much writing. I'll try to get around the hood this weekend and get caught up.

I know the good writers are still writing well and the great writers are writing stuff I should be reading.

RT

Wordzzle #16

The words for this week's ten word challenge were: spaghetti, larkspur, Prilosec, roaring lion, adamant, green green grass of home, paradox, filibuster, face cream, trout fishing

Mini Challenge: jury of ones peers, barking dog, a wing and a prayer, liver, sprained ankle

Go to the Raven's Nest for the rest of the stories and guidelines.

Sgt Johnson smiled across the dinner table at Zan and took another bite of spaghetti. He once again noticed the larkspur glint in her eyes. The blue tending to almost purple was fascinating to him. He remembered he needed to take his Prilosec and reached into his pocket to retrieve the pill he'd placed there. He swallowed it unobtrusively with a sip of the house wine, knowing that he was escaping the fierce heartburn that would have come on after this dinner like a roaring lion.

His doctor had been adamant that he continue the pills and treatment. He had expressed his concern for Johnson by reminding him that his taking a dirt nap beneath the green, green grass of home became more of a reality with each time he failed to take the pill. The paradox was that Johnson rarely had acid reflux unless his case was going badly, then whatever he ate, be it spicy Tai food or oatmeal gave him excruciating heartburn.

He listened for a minute as a wife at the next table went on a filibuster about her husband's drinking and he countered he needed it to sleep with a harridan covered in face cream. Of their upcoming weekend plans the husband voted for trout fishing and the wife wanted to go antiquing. "A match made in heaven" Johnson thought to himself as he turned his attention back to Zan.

"So they finally tracked down the neo-fascists that murdered Carla" she stated. 'Yes they did" he replied. "Though it will be hard seat a jury." When you're a whacked out fascist it's hard to be judged by a jury of one's peers if there aren't any." "At least I hope there are not any more barking dog crazy neo-nut jobs out there."

"How do you do it Paul, how do you deal with all the violence and weirdness? She asked. "Sometimes only on a wing and a prayer baby; I get depressed and disappointed just like everyone else" he replied. "But I know I've got you to come home to and that's a pretty good thing for me."

Zan picked at her liver manicotti and reached down to rub her sprained ankle. She was glad she'd taken the redeye to Miami. Something was bothering Paul about this latest case and he needed some TLC. Well, that at least was no mystery. When it came to loving and caring for each other it came very naturally indeed. She reached across the table and gently wiped a bit of spaghetti sauce from his chin, then leaned in closer and licked the spot sensually with her tongue. As she looked at him he caught the glint of larkspur in her eyes and a gleam of something else as well.

"Let's get out of here" he said as he smiled.

RT