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CHAPTER FIVE This time he went for drinks. It was after noon which meant five o’clock somewhere by his reckoning and besides, it was his house and he could do as much day drinking as he liked. Gretchen trailed down the stairs, belting on her skirt under her untucked silk blouse. She had one of his old robes tossed over a shoulder and handed it to him as he passed her a tumbler with a stingy splash of bourbon in the bottom. He was out of rum. “Ice?” she asked. He pointed toward the kitchen and proceeded to sip his neat, like a gentleman is supposed to do. She came back with her ruined drink and sat in an arm chair opposite him on the couch. The picture window looked out over his front yard and the real estate housing development going in across the pasture. The light coming in gave her red hair a slight glow as she touched the glass to her lips and didn’t drink. Jake didn’t mind. He would just add what she left to his glass later. Waste not, wan...

“Will you sign this for me?” My shields went up. “Are you a cop?” I joked. Mostly joked. I added a smile to make sure she knew it was a joke. She took a step back. Sometimes I forget my smile and snarl look almost alike. “I saw you on tv,” she said and held out a book. One of mine. “I got it on Amazon,” she explained. “I wanted your autograph.” My autograph?!? I barely kept from looking around to see if she was talking to someone more famous behind me. I saw this happen before. Not to me, of course. A lifetime ago, when I worked in LA, I hung out with Mark Wahlberg’s crew for a bit, which meant lunch with the artist formerly known as Markie Mark a couple of times. Women would ask for his autograph all the time. That made sense. He was famous. Not as much as he is now, but back then, he had a couple of movies under his belt and a hit or two. Plus they saw his Calvin’s. I didn’t even have Calvin’s.  ...

SHADOWBOXER - THE FALL The Fall He sat on the edge of the creaky wooden porch, rocking back and forth in the scratched rockers that old lady Walden kept out there for her guests.   He wanted a cigarette, could almost taste it, but he gave up that habit ten years ago.   He wasn't about to start again. "They're late," he said to no one in particular. He was alone out here, except for the crickets, and lightening bugs winking in the thick, humid air.   He had been on the porch for over an hour, forty-five minutes longer than he was scheduled to wait.   He didn't mind. When he was a young man, what felt like a thousand years ago, he had crouched in a hollowed out tree stump barely three feet tall, and half that deep for nine hours.   He was on a mission to shoot a North Vietnamese Army General that intelligence said would pass by with a convoy.   He did, Bog sniped him, and had to be folded out of the stump by a Green Beret patrol.   They c...

THE MARSHAL OF MAGIC – MYTH UNDERSTOOD “I need your help,” the voice on the other end of the phone said and I froze. The simple truth was, I never expected to hear from her again. At least not in this life. Plus, I was still feeling from the sight of a black fox darting from the undergrowth in the woods and dropping a flip phone cell on the path at my feet. It felt surreal and disconnected, like the fragment of a dream where the afterimage lingers long after the sun has come up to burn away the memories. I remembered her. Kiko. From Vegas. The fox made sense.  She was kitsune. Half human, half diety spirit from the island of Japan. I tried to think of a great comeback, one that would impress her and stoke the fires. “I bet you do.” Nailed it. “Because of Vegas?” she purred. I could imagine the curl of her pouty lip, lifted in one corner in a semblance of a smile. “Exactly,” I said into the phone and tried not to yell as I ...

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