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Sangre De Lobo by Ethel M. Halstead ISBN 1-891429-33-7 Fiction, 193-pages $12.95 |
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Beyond the Ruins by Jackie Ree Carlson ISBN: 1-891429-36-1 Fiction/Travel, 113-pages $14.95 |
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Harri had lost track of time and was surprised when she noticed it was close to midnight. The wind had finally died down, and most of the rain had ceased. The only noise she could hear now was the steady dripping of water from the eaves of the house. She might as well go to bed. There was nothing she could do at this late hour except watch a spook movie on an all-night channel—and this was definitely no night for a spook movie. She was reaching for the light switch when something smashed through the window of her father’s study. “What in hell...?” Harri gasped, startled by the sudden crashing sound when the window behind her exploded. She quickly stepped into a place of safety and waited to see if there would be further action. Deciding it was over, she discovered a stone that had been hurled through the glass. It had a note wrapped around it, secured with a heavy rubber band. Harri removed the note and noticed the message was addressed to her father. Written in a large scrawl, the message read: Mr. Holland— Your friend, Keil West, needs your help. He’s being held in a stockade near Sangre De Lobo. I’m told that you know of this place. Your friend’s life is in danger. He’s to be executed—soon!!! Harri felt sick. This had to be the worst situation she had ever encountered. There was no way she would let her father go into that terrorist camp for any reason—but someone must go. If there was even a small chance that someone could get into the villa and find Keil, there was an equal chance they could get him out. Who could she ask to do such a thing? She was certain there was nobody in her immediate circle of friends who could, or would go into that vile place—except her father. She was not going to let that happen, even if she had to go in herself. Harri froze in her tracks at that thought, then asked herself, why not? Why shouldn’t I go? After all, during our jungle survival training, wasn’t I better at locating and capturing the enemy than most of the men? I was also better at evading capture. I should be the one to go! I’m better qualified than anyone I know! As Harri climbed the stairs to her room she kept the idea running in her mind, afraid to even look at the other side of such an impractical picture. She had to convince herself she was right, no matter how her decision might appear to somebody even pretending to be rational and/or sane. There’s no reason why Dad should even know about this, she told herself. I’ll leave him a note, explaining that something came up—that I must be away for a few days. What about the broken window? Snapping her fingers as if that action would yield an immediate answer, she said aloud, “I’ll leave Dad a note. Tell him the storm blew something through the window.” Besides, she reasoned, Mario would most likely have it repaired before her father returned from Houston, but she would leave the note anyway, just in case.... Harri laid out fatigues, combat boots, her 9mm Glock and several spare clips of ammo. She added a fairly new, AK-47 to the pile. Harri had never looked at the AK-47 closely, and still couldn’t imagine why she had decided she wanted the thing in the first place. Her father didn’t even know she had it. However, in spite of her original thoughts on the purchase of the evil looking weapon, at the moment she was glad she had it. She added another hundred rounds of ammo to the pile. She quickly sorted through other survival gear—things she had brought with her from the jungle—then quickly added selected gear to her collection. Harri never knew why she had kept all that stuff. Maybe some sixth-sense or premonition... |
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Sangre De Lobo by Ethel M. Halstead ISBN 1-891429-33-7 Fiction, 193-pages $12.95 |
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CHAPTER ONE Paris, France, Here We Come!
Looking across the steel gray desk heaped high with stacks of paper mountains, I was startled by the man who suddenly knelt down in front of my desk. His flashing blue-green eyes and winsome smile portrayed a free spirited man. This ruggedly handsome prince knelt at my office throne to write out a check because every flat surface including the chair next to my desk was cluttered with piles of unfinished projects. Working in advertising and marketing for Blackmon and Schuster Financial Services, I always had unfinished projects littering my office, car and home. “Would be nice if you had a little space here for a guy to write a check,” he said disgustedly while moving some papers aside. “HEY! You’re messing up my filing system!” I yelled while grabbing the papers from his hands. “Filing system! This place looks like a re-cycling center. Now whom do I make this check out to? You?” the kneeling prince asked emphasizing the word whom. “Make the check out to Blackmon & Schuster Financial Services, please,” I instructed while handing him a gold metallic business card and pointing to the agency name embossed in bold black letters on the card. Without even looking up, he shot back with “Are you Blackmon or Schuster?” “Neither, I’m the trip coordinator, Jolene Andrews.” “Coordinator of what? Desk clutter and paper mountain ranges?” he grinned while handing me the check, “Please don’t put this down on your desk. You’ll never find it again and I really want to take this trip to Italy.” Taking the check from his hand, I waved the manila folder marked “ITALY TRIP DEPOSITS” in front of his face while ceremoniously depositing the check into it. “That done, gotta run, see ya at the trip preview meeting, Miss Trip Coordinator Jolene Andrews. Hope you’re better at trip coordinating than you are at filing!” he chided while heading for the door and disappearing into the hallway. The first thought through my over-worked, stressed out brain was, “Wow, if only I were 15 years younger and single, I would keep that prince charming on his knees till he totally surrendered to me.” Even though his visit was very short, I remembered that flash of white teeth, incredible dimples resembling a pair of quotation marks surrounding his quirky smile, dancing blue-green eyes that seemed to stare right into your soul, a stately Roman nose, muscular physique and short blonde wavy hair. I could not recall how tall he was because he was kneeling most of the time and as instantly as the prince appeared, he was gone.
“That’s how overly creative people are,” I whined defensively. “Oh, you’re just a messy slob,” my younger sister, Serena, said with a little laugh so I wouldn’t get too angry, “creativity has nothing to do with it.” “That’s why I pay you to clean this house for me,” I replied glaring in her direction. “Yeah and I spend half my time moving stacks of stuff around. Why do you keep all this paper mess anyway? she lamented while moving papers off the coffee table and putting them on the couch so she could dust and polish the table. “Because I’m a writer. Writers need books, magazines, newspapers, notes and papers,” I retorted while trying to find a four inch space on the kitchen table for my coffee mug that proclaimed the message, “Messiness Is Creativity in Action.” “Bet you’ll leave messes all over Europe,” she sighed while looking for a mop and pail in the kitchen storage closet. “Well, I’ll definitely take notes so maybe I could make some money on my trip experiences. Maybe I’ll write a hot romance book about the trip.” “Oh, sure, a 46-year-old married woman with four kids and a husband finding romance in Europe while traveling with a tour group of senior citizens. Fat chance. Besides, Miss Perfect, you’re always so responsible and always doing the right thing, so dream on. Your book would be totally fiction. Did I emphasize the word totally?” she said half choking with laughter. While staring into space, I thought about what Serena had just said. Is that my image, being perfect, responsible, and always doing the right thing? How boring is that? But she was right. As the first-born child of very conservative parents, I was the caretaker, responsible, dedicated, grown-up child that considered fun as something for irresponsible people not for me. To me, having fun was wasting time that could be better spent doing responsible things. “I know, I know. Mrs. Responsible, Conservative, Born-again Christian, always doing what’s right, would never consider having fun even thousands of miles away in Europe,” I sarcastically added. While pouring another cup of hot steamy coffee, I remembered one of my favorite Bible verses that reeked of the good and responsible syndrome. It was Galatians 6:9 (TLB) – “And let us not get tired of doing what is right, for after a while we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don’t get discouraged and give up.” My life was all wrapped up in doing what was right and pleasing others. Seemed my harvest of blessing had not arrived yet as my life was usually in constant physical, financial, emotional and spiritual chaos. ... |
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Beyond the Ruins by Jackie Ree Carlson ISBN: 1-891429-36-1 Fiction/Travel, 113-pages $14.95 |
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Ira sat properly at his desk speaking into a tape recorder. He held it close to his chin and it looked like a black plastic goatee. He was speaking in a low monotone voice. His mumbling was completely inaudible from even the visitor side of his desk. He was very good at knowing the range on his voice. I wondered how often he had practiced doing that in precincts and prisons. The sun streamed in from behind him and through the glasses propped up on his face. The sunlight made them shade, which hid his eyes. He motioned me to sit down with his free hand. I took the opportunity to look around his office. His office was cluttered. He had knick-knacks and pictures scattered across his credenza. Most of the knick-knacks were figurines announcing one catch phrase or another. ‘I love you this much’ one wide armed fat man announced. ‘Daddies catch the best fish’ another father-son fishing figure said. He had a collection of law books that were crammed into a hardwood bookshelf that lined an entire wall. The books were placed in the bookshelf in no specific order. Some were sideways and others upside down. Book sets were separated across shelves and still others lay open on the floor beside it. This gave me some confidence. It looked like he used these books. He couldn’t be completely incompetent. Ira finished his dictation and stood to shake my hand. I stayed seated. “Glad to see you John.” He said. “Would you like some coffee or something?” “No thank you.” I replied, though coffee did sound good. “Well I do, so excuse me while I get some for myself.” He looked at me from below his glasses like a schoolmaster. He smiled and moved toward the door. I followed him out and got myself a cup as well. “It looks good right now.” He said as we reentered the office. “I talked with Taylor, the Assistant DA yesterday. He’s still tight lipped but you can tell he believes you. I don’t think you’ll have to worry about it again.” “That’s not why I’m here Ira. Not exactly.” He looked at me concerned. He wasn’t going to assume anything this time. I continued, “I want to help. I want to find the site again. Can you help me?” “Hummm,” He tapped the front of his lips with his pen. He wasn’t considering it I could tell. He was trying to find a good way to say ‘No.’ He did. “No. Whether they believe you or not, you’re a suspect. That would be like letting the fox stand guard over the hens. No, the police won’t like that at all. I would stay clear and let it pass by. You’re out of it.” “I can’t do that Ira.” I said. “I won’t do that. I can find them again. I want to see them caught. Besides, I’m less concerned with the police helping and more concerned with you helping me stay clean.” Ira looked puzzled. “Clean?” “Yeah clean. You ever watch that movie where the hero rushes off the save the world and then ends up looking dirty. They pick him up instead of the evil villain?” “Yes.” “I don’t want to be that hero. In fact, I don’t want to be a hero. I want you to set up something that will establish my location and movements. I want you to document me. I need some adult supervision I guess. If we find something, you can give the tip to the police and I will back out of the door. I just don’t want to get hit in the cross fire.” Ira considered it for a while. Finally he spoke, “I can have you followed. We can monitor your computer. I can bug your room. Will that work?” “I think so.” “It’s not cheap. The man I use was a cop at one time.” “How much?” “Two hundred a day, if it’s longer than a week.” “Get him for a week,” I said. “When do you think I could meet him?” “You can’t.” He said. The answer surprised me. “What?” “You can’t. It won’t be very effective to be trailed by a person you know, someone you see. Let him do his job. To protect you, I don’t think you should meet him.” I didn’t trust the answer at all. The look on Officer Shiler’s face came back to me. What had he done? What kind of a person was he? I might give him the money and he could just follow me himself, or worse, just pocket the money and say he had me followed. I didn’t like the idea. “I don’t think I like that.” I said. “Well, you want to be protected. That is the only way to do it.” He wasn’t moving. I studied him for a long time without speaking. He didn’t speak either. He was letting me size him up. I could have walked out and found another lawyer, but how could I trust them? I could hire my own PI, but how would I know one from another. I couldn’t stand the questions, so I asked him outright. “I might give you the money and you could just follow me yourself, or worse, just pocket the money and say you had me followed. How would I know?” He rocked back in his chair. He looked relieved I had finally asked the question. “You’ll be photographed and recorded. Anytime you want, stop by my office and ask to see the evidence. I’ll be one day behind on the reports.” He was smiling, “Deal?” I tried to find a hole in the logic, and was unable to find one. “Deal.” I finally said. “When will it start?” “He’ll be on you tomorrow for sure, maybe today if I’m lucky, but I don’t know if I can dig him up that fast.” I was further un-eased by the time frame. How good could this guy be to have been immediately available? I left the office feeling no more reassured than when I entered. ... |
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Traveler by Mike Haines ISBN 1-891429-30-2 A computer age mystery-thriller. Fiction, 112-pages $8.95 |
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Traveler by Mike Haines ISBN 1-891429-30-2 A computer age mystery-thriller. Fiction, 112-pages $8.95 |
