Clint Stoker's Blog, page 8

#8 The Freegan War

Gerald Goldman was an idealist. Commercialism and capitalism were his sworn enemies and waste was their weapon. Goldman had been living, almost entirely, outside the 'system' for three years. He didn't buy any of the latest and greatest gadgets to grace the market. Gerald refused to buy hygiene products, choosing, instead, to only wash himself in the frequent Seattle rains. But Goldman's lifestyle didn't stop there.
Gerald was a Freegan.
A freegan avoids buying food at grocery stores. Since America's capitalist system wastes so much extra food, Goldman lives off the discarded. To his friends, he describes himself as an 'urban hunter-gatherer'.
Tolling the alleys behind grocery stores to look through dumpsters had been his most effective method of obtaining sustenance. He knew the locations of several fruit trees growing on public land and he would even harvest fresh dandelions for additional vitamins. Though his methods worked well, he still found himself stepping into a grocery store when food became scarce due to weather or competition.
Dirty Eddy wasn't an idealist by any stretch of the imagination. He was a freeloader. Dumpster diving was a means to remain jobless. The freedom felt good but he also enjoyed power among the ranks of the homeless. His territory was well-known and rumor had it that Dirty Eddy had killed a man crossing the line.
When Dirty Eddy noticed Gerald snooping around one of his most prized bins, he decided he needed to protect his manna. After all, his reputation was all he had.
"You shouldn't be here." Dirty Eddy snarled like a sewer rat from the darkness.
Gerald jumped back – surprised anybody was watching.  "I'm just looking for something to eat." He spoke back into the darkness.
"This is my dumpster! I don't want to see you around here ever again." Dirty Eddy stepped closer and gave a long scowl.
"I'm sorry?" Gerald stood firmly, remembering his morals. "There is food in this dumpster and it belongs just as much to me as it does to you. There is plenty for both of us." Though he said it, he didn't really believe it. Even after a long day of searching, he'd found nothing to eat. This was his last attempt to avoid succumbing to paying for food.
An uncontrollable insanity glazed over Dirty Eddy's eyes. "This is my turf!" Spittle flung from his lips.
"Easy…" Gerald wasn't about to start a fight over garbage. "It's all yours." With that concession, he left any spoils to Eddy.---It was getting dark and Gerald still had no booty to show for his efforts. Hungry and reluctant, he went through the automatic doors to the grocery store. He wandered down the rows of shelves to find something cheap. He went for the baked goods that had been marked down for their age. They would be thrown away in the morning where Dirty Eddy would claim them too.
Gerald picked up a loaf of bread when a terrible idea struck him. If Eddy was out of the picture, he could again have freedom to feed from the coveted dumpster.
He set the loaf back on its shelf and headed across the store to the non-food items. There in a yellow box sat his vindication. Rat poison.
Gerald carefully opened the box and removed several pellets. It was late enough for the store to be almost completely empty, so Gerald had no problem sneaking the stolen poison back to the bakery. After several glances across the store, he gained enough courage to complete his mission. With a quick jab, he inserted the poisonous pellets deep into the day-old bread. After a sigh of relief, he tied the wire around the bag and scooted it back onto the shelf. That should take care of Eddy.
The bakery must have severely misjudged the demand for wheat bread. The day-old rack was full of loafs. What if the pay-load never reached its intended target? Just to be safe, Gerald went back for more poison. He then filled each loaf with enough poison to down a moose.
Gerald left the store without buying a single item. He smiled to himself as he walked home.
---Morning came. Gerald made his usual rounds, but by noon he was still empty handed. A local coffee shop looked a little more promising. As he approached a combination ash tray / garbage can, a man threw away a box with several donuts.
Gerald rushed to collect the continental breakfast. Glazed was his favorite.
He sat on a little bench to eat where he had a good view of a large television across the street. As he took his first bite, a news banner ran across the screen.
A DOZEN ORPHANS DIE OF POISONING.
Gerald froze. He watched the news story unfold before him. The grocery store donated backed goods once a week to the orphanage. The children died. The autopsies confirm the deaths were due to rat poison.
Gerald dropped his donuts and ran as fast as he could to the grocery store. The building was closed. He ran around to the back where the dumpster resided. Policemen in uniforms and white gloves inspected the trash for evidence. Gerald could hardly believe it. What had he done?
Just then, Dirty Eddy made an appearance. The look on his face told the whole story. He was defeated. The dumpster had been apprehended, and his favorite spot was being exploited by the 'man'.
"Hey!" Dirty Eddy screamed as he ran toward the policemen with a knife in hand. A craze took control of him.
In one quick reaction, a policeman drew his gun and shot Eddy twice in the chest.
As Eddy fell to the ground, a smiled made a surprise appearance on Gerald's face. Eddy was dead. The investigation would be over in a few weeks and the dumpster would be a dining option again.
The rat poison turned out to be a good idea after all.

#7 The Cause: Chapter One

Chapter 1



     The rumbling elevator seemed to discourage Air from telling Napal what had been bothering him over the previous three weeks. That he didn't want to kill anyone. The rusted steel box screeched and moaned as it lowered them both deeper into the basement of the cleaning center.  The elevator box was made from grated steel. The diamond shaped holes showed layers of stone and steel braces lining the shaft.Air looked official, dressed in a blue uniform and short-brimmed cap that matched his dark hair nicely. The 9mm revolver holstered on his hip was the finishing touch. It was unloaded, of course, but it symbolized what set them apart from the rest of the city.     "I've never been this deep," Air started. It felt weird to be hesitant around Napal. That day, everything felt weird.      "What?" Napal grinned and cupped a hand around his ear. "You are going to have to speak up. This rickety piece of garbage gets really loud when we get down this deep." Napal patted the elevator door endearingly with his palm. Jokes were never off-limits. Air sighed and tried to ignore the anxiety. Whatever he said in the elevator would only be heard by Napal. And that's what Air kept reminding himself. The others were in the basement already and it was impossible to hear anything over the elevator motor. It still felt weird to say anything."Is something wrong, Air?" Napal pressed."I'm fine," Air lied."Something's up. You have that look on your face again.""What look?""You look like you're thinking too hard." Napal tapped his temple. "You're eyes get all big and you stare. If I didn't already know you, I'd be a little freaked out. You always get that stupid look on your face when you're trying to fix something that doesn't need to be fixed.""I'm not trying to fix anything.""Come on, Air. What's up? Something's eating at you." Refusing to let it go, Napal folded his arms.       "Okay, I think…" Air stopped to adjust the volume of his voice to avoid any more bantering. "I think I have been remembering something," Air strained. Blood rushed into his cheeks, making it harder to hide his embarrassment. Suddenly, he appreciated the darkness.      "Like what?"     "I'm not sure exactly, but ever since I started rifle training, I've been having these flashes.  It's like déjà vu, except more…" Air glanced down through the metal grate below to be sure they were still far from the bottom.      "You mean you can see the future?" Napal lifted his pale red eyebrows jovially.     "Don't be an idiot." Air shook his head, immediately regretting his attempt at a serious conversation with Napal. The light from the top of the shaft faded and they were slowly consumed by darkness. Chills crawled down Air's neck and he stood quiet for a moment. He considered staying quiet, but the urgency of having Napal's support nagged at him.      "What I'm trying to say is, I think I've shot a rifle before," Air pursued delicately. "There is something about it that I remember."     "You are a good shot, I agree," Napal confessed, "however, there are a few problems with your theory." Napal raised his voice to compete with the swelling crescendo of un-oiled pulley's and thudding motors.     "What problems?"     "First problem, the administration would not transfer you from being a purger, who uses a rifle, to an office clerk, who sits at a desk all day, and then back to a purger again. It's against the rules. Second, there is absolutely no way you can remember more than a couple hundred years at a time." A single flame flickered to reveal Napal puffing the end of a cigarette.     "You think I'm making this up?"     "I hope you are. One thing you'll learn from purging is that nostalgia doesn't do anybody any good. Lying on the other hand…" "I know it sounds crazy," Air admitted, "but I really think this memory is old, really old. I think I'm remembering something from before the city."     Napal spit out a laugh like it jumped from his lips on surprise. "Now I know you're full of it."Air sighed with frustration. Napal didn't understand. Air genuinely believed Napal would understand. "Just forget it," Air surrendered.     "No, come on, Air. I'm being serious. I can prove you aren't remembering things from that long ago."     A yellow light from beneath the grated floor illuminated Napal's face demonically. His red beard glowed around his face. His blue eyes twinkled in a stupid expression. He seemed eager to make sure Air felt like a fool, only as a friend could. The conversation would have to end soon. Air wanted to keep this revelation away from the others, especially Dex.     "We'll do an experiment," Napal continued, "Tell me what happens next."     "Never mind, Napal. Just forget it," said Air.       "I'm serious, Air. If you remember shooting a rifle, you must know what the rifle is for," Napal pinched the cigarette between his lips and sucked the smoldering tobacco to a shorter length.     "The rifle is for purging." Air didn't know why he was still playing along. Napal couldn't help.     "No, tell me something that we haven't gone over in training," Napal dropped the butt of his cigarette between the steel grates as if it were a game.      "I don't remember…"     "See? The experiment worked.  You don't remember. It's just nerves. Everyone is anxious when they transfer careers," Napal smiled and quickly adjusted his posture.     "Very helpful, Napal, thanks," Air nodded sarcastically.      Air took a step back from Napal when he realized that he had unknowingly moved closer to Napal during the conversation. He glanced sideways and Napal pointed a single finger to his pursed lips to assure Air he'd stay quiet about his confession. He quickly dropped his hand just before the elevator screeched to a halt. Air took comfort in Napal's gesture. At least he could be confident that Napal wouldn't tell the others. They had a silent agreement to look out for each other since before either of them could remember. Air welcomed the transfer at first so he could work with Napal.      "Did you drop something?" An incriminating voice echoed from below the grate. Pale fingers parted the steel elevator doors. The doors squeaked as they revealed the head and shoulders of Dex. He had dark hair and deep-set features that seemed as stiff as though they had been carved from wood. He had a way of changing the atmosphere in an instant. Even Napal seemed awkward around Dex. He tossed a cigarette at Napal's feet and gave him one of his fabled disapproving glairs.     "Sorry, Dex," said Napal, "Just having a smoke. It's a long ride down."     Dex immediately ignored the excuse and pushed the doors the rest of the way open. He stood on a dusty concrete floor a few feet lower than the elevator floor.      "The elevator stopped short again." With all the charm of a mortician, he walked out of view.       Air squatted at the edge of the elevator and dropped to the ground. Napal swung his short legs out and landed next to him. The purging floor seemed like the space under a rock where a reptile might hide. It was dim and strangely warm from geothermal heat. A single light bulb hung from a wire in what seemed like the center of a vacant warehouse. Blue suited men huddled beneath the light around a steel cart. Their shadows swayed in the light.     "Air, I need a word." Dex flicked two fingers.     After half a second of preparation, Air followed Dex to an even darker corner of the chamber. "Yes?"     "You're about to be part of the most important process in the city. Do you understand?"      "Yes."     "I don't think you do."     "Sir?"     Dex let out a little groan. "You aren't really capable of handling this job. I think you should understand that this is all far beyond you. If it were up to me, you would be back behind a desk, somewhere across town, where your biggest fear is a paper cut." He leaned in closer to make his point. "Down here, if you fail, the entire city fails. I want you to understand that if it were up to me, I'd reject your transfer and send you back to pushing paper. But it's not up to me, so in a few minutes, you're going to do your job. Now here's where things get interesting. If you can't do your job, there is no going back. There are no more transfers. At this point, you know too much. Do you understand what I'm talking about?"     Air wanted to say something to defend himself. It was hard to think of a good come-back when he was being ambushed. He would have settled for a solid punch but that was out of the question. So he took the high road. It was the only option he really had. "I understand."     "I'll be watching closely. If I see any sign of guilt or regret…" Dex shook his head. He was deadly serious.     "Yes, sir" The phrase seemed to become more painful each time he said it.     Dex waved Air off like an insect. "Go."     Air walked back through the darkness, giving Napal a look on his way. What a psycho.      Napal nodded. He agreed. "Just follow me, I'll show you how things work," Napal whispered.     They made their way to the rest of the purging team, Zeke, Alan, Helix, Terrance, Indigo and Talon. They stood with a reluctant reverence around the steel cart. It was good to see that everyone felt just as uncomfortable around Dex as Air did. Only one visible wall stood in the purging chamber. The weak light cascaded over its texture. It was made with red brick and sloppy mortar. The wall glistened with chips and pits too deep to be a product of normal wear. Large steel rings protruded from the center of the wall where most of the damaged tended to center. Brown stains spotted the floor below the wall.     "Okay, there are eight purgers and eight rifles," said Napal, "Here's the catch, only one is loaded."     "Why only one?"     "We purge guilt, right? But we need to take precautions to make sure none of us feel guilty. It would defeat the purpose," Napal stepped up to the cart and motioned for Air to join him.     "I don't understand." Air looked at the faces of the other purgers, hoping for some clarity. "Won't whoever makes the shot feel guilty? We'll all know who makes the shot."     "If you make the shot, it isn't your fault. You didn't load the gun Dex did. For all you know, you're just going to dry-fire.""Won't Dex feel guilty?""Why should he? He doesn't pull the trigger." Napal smiled. "Come on. We make a game out of it." Napal cranked his neck to make sure there was plenty of space between them and Dex who seemed busy opening a metal crate as loud as possible.     "Okay, gentlemen," Napal spoke in a hushed voice, "you know the rules, but since this is Air's first time we'll have a little review."      Air's throat dried out in an instant. He fought hard to appear willing. He swallowed to moisten his throat. It didn't work. "Whoever makes the shot goes to celebration early tonight." Napal glanced back toward Dex.     Helix, a large-framed man, insisted he pick a rifle first. The purgers smothered their laughs. Helix had a reputation for never getting the shot. He justified his failures with the belief that the odds were in the favor of the first to pick.     Air felt a nauseous gloom settle inside his stomach. He didn't like being led into the unknown. He tried to recall the haunting memory that seemed to be warning him. The transfer seemed like a mistake. He was already missing his old desk. Silently, Air wished the whole thing was another one of Napal's jokes. Helix selected a rifle and the group deferred to Air to make the second choice.     "I'll pick last," he said, "The odds aren't any different." Air willed a smile.     One at a time the purgers selected their rifles and stood in a line facing the marred brick wall, until Air and Napal were the only purgers remaining unarmed.     "Is there any way I can sit this first one out just to see how it's done?" Immediately Air recoiled inside himself, surprised his excuse was the best he could come up with.     "No chance," Napal cringed, "Unless, of course, you want to see Dex ignite into flames." Napal lifted a rifle and stepped backward into his position, shoulder to shoulder next to Helix.     "Sure, I just thought Helix deserved better odds," Air spoke under his breath to no one in particular.     He gripped the remaining rifle by the cold black barrel. Immediately, he recognized it as an M14 bolt action rifle. He smoothed his fingers over the carbon-black stock. A significant upgrade from the .22 caliber he used in target practice. His organs reeled and he began to feel sick. The uniform, the rifle, and the darkness all seemed vaguely familiar. He took comfort only in the fact that he trusted Napal. This thought repressed the sickness until he heard sobs resonating from the void behind him.      Two of Dex's assistants scuffled around the firing line dragging a shackled and broken man between them. They hissed under their breath as they fought to pull him. Tears coated the man's face as they dragged him closer to the brick wall. He twisted and drove his knees into the cement floor like a defiant animal. His cries grew louder and shot out in spurts separated by shallow breaths. He violently pulled back when they attached the chains to the metal loops in the wall. He pushed off the wall with his feet and leaned testing the stability of the chains.     An image flashed in Air's mind. Men cowering in fright. Explosions in the distance. Strong men, reduced to tears. Dead bodies heaped into mass graves. The stench of death. The memories tumbled over him all at once and only in a moment. Then he remembered shooting a man in the woods. Everything seemed to stop. He knew what came next, death. Air stood frozen. As the man in shackles pleaded for his life, Air realized the gravity of the situation. The man's life was about to end. One rifle had a bullet and one purger would end life for the man. Life was not eternal as he believed it was for so long. He had forgotten about death entirely. Suddenly it seemed ridiculous to forget such an ominous future.      "Ready," Dex shouted.     An impulse to run shook Air. He wanted to escape but he knew there was no way out. Not without looking guilty himself. He hoped his rifle didn't contain the bullet. He tried to absorb any comfort coming from that hope. Chances were he'd dry fire.     "Take Aim."     Air lifted his gun in unison with the purgers. He pressed himself to control his emotions. He couldn't let the others know what he felt. Screams and sobs escalated until Dex shouted the command.     "Fire!"     A dissonant crack burst through the dimly-lit basement. The rifle butt drove against his shoulder, a blast shook through his bones like thunder and the man convulsed. The bullet penetrated though his right lung, ricocheted off his scapula and traced a rib around his chest. The man sucked one last gurgling gasp then he slunk foreword and drooled a stream of blood. His body hung from the brick wall as if he were a hunting trophy being displayed. Silent and dead.

Advance Reader Cover

I finally submitted my book for an advance reader printing. I had to make some changes to the cover mostly because I wasn't quite in love with the original cover and I needed to design the back cover.

Here it is.





All I need now is the bar code.

On a separate note - since I've been so busy recently, I haven't written many short stories. I will be back with more. I also have plans for a second novel. I'm really excited about it. I'm so excited that it's going to be a secret.

Usually, I don't worry about people stealing my ideas, but this is perhaps the best idea I've ever had. We'll see.

Back-Of-Book Blurb

I've been working on writing a blurb for the back of my novel 'The Cause'. It's a lot harder than I thought it would be. I had to strip the story down to it's basic elements and give a description of it without sounding boring.

Here it is.

The only way to fix the system is to break it.
Long after the government falls, one city is founded in it's place. Residents of the city are granted bodies that never age or grow tired. During the day, residents work to reach new potentials and, since sleep isn't needed, celebrate all night. But living in Utopia does have a catch.

Guilt is a crime punishable by death.
Air Dressler's new job description lands him on the city's firing squad. He finds it impossible to enforce the law without breaking it himself. Through long-forgotten memories and a group of reluctant rebels, Air learns how to break the city. But if he is really going to carry it out, he will have to choose between friend and ideals all the while fighting his own guilt.

 Well... What do you think? Let me know if this novel sounds interesting, boring, something you might read, something you'd hate, etc...

Book Trailer

I haven't been so good with updating my blog as of late but I don't want you all to think I'm getting lazy. I have been putting in some serious hours on my book, The Cause. It is almost ready for an advance readers copy print.

Writing isn't all I've been up to. I have been working with Jay Jensen of DryFire Productions to shoot a book trailer. And now, I am pleased to present The Cause.


Pretty sweet huh? Let me know what you think, and If you are an author interested in making your own professional book trailer, check out Jay's Website. www.dryfireproductions.com He's the best!

#6 What Goes Up...

New Year's Eve was special to a lot of people. Brandon and his young family were no exception, but they didn't celebrate by staying up late and shooting guns into the night sky. Brandon had a four-month-old baby and his wife wasn't big on staying up late, so they had their own little party and went to bed at ten.
Brandon was just beginning to float off to sleep when he heard a frightening noise. Breaking Glass. He sat up in bed and listened to make sure it wasn't just in his head. A grunt came from the living room. Someone was in the house.
Brandon shot out of his bed and peeked down the hall. He immediately regretted not owning a gun or even a baseball bat. He tip-toed down the dark hall, then stopped as he saw the intruder.  The man was wild in appearance. Grizzly hair frizzed over his shoulders and a thick beard hung over his chest. It was too dark to see how filthy he was, but Brandon could smell it.
"What are you doing here?" Brandon was surprised at how polite he could be in such a situation. He didn't know what else to do.
The intruder pointed a silver gun at Brandon. "I'm hungry." He slurred.
Brandon stopped and lifted his hands. "I'll get you something to eat." Maybe the man was desperate and once his belly was filled he would apologize for the break in and leave.  
"I'll kill you if you call the police." The man staggered in the living room and waved the gun haphazardly.
"I won't." Brandon directed him to the kitchen like a gracious host. The police must be on their way. His best chance at survival was to stall the man.
The stranger kept the gun pointed at Brandon's mid-section as he shuffled into the kitchen. He took the rack of knives off the counter before Brandon could even consider an attempt at using them to fight back. 
"Hurry up!" The stranger groaned.
What kind of midnight snack do you give a lunatic? He could be a serial killer. Brandon searched through the fridge and found some cold cuts and bread. He frantically made the sandwich and wondered how it was all going to end. He thought about his family, still sleeping soundly. What would happen if they woke up to find Brandon dead in the kitchen? He tried not to think about it. The police were probably looking for the creep. They could be minutes away.
"Any women in the house?" halitosis wafted from the strangers lips as he leaned in over Brandon's shoulder.
Brandon didn't answer at first, as if he had a choice. He gritted his teeth. Maybe he could wrestle the weirdo to the ground and hold him until the police came.
"Did you hear me?"
"Just my wife and my baby girl," Brandon replied. He should have lied, said he was living alone.   
The intruder mumbled a few fragmented phrases and a tic shook his body like a mild aftershock from a life of drug use.
Brandon slapped the layers of food together haphazardly and presented the dish to his unwanted guest who devoured whatever portions made it past his beard.
Brandon cleared his throat. "Will you be leaving soon?" Thinking it couldn't hurt to ask.
The stranger looked up from his food like a wild beast interrupted from devouring his prey. He pushed the gun against Brandon's ribs, just as a reminder. "Where does your wife sleep?" He didn't bother wiping the crumbs from his face or swallowing the soggy mess still rolling on his tongue.
Brandon swallowed hard. It was like all his saliva had abandoned him. "I think you should leave now." It was probably the bravest thing he had ever said.
The tic shook the stranger again then he stepped in closer. He mumbled another string of drug-induced gibberish then cocked his gun and pushed the barrel against his victim. Brandon stepped back against the sliding glass door and offered a brief prayer in his mind. He didn't want to die but that wasn't the worst thought that ran through his mind. He couldn't handle thinking about what the creep might do to his family.
A mile away, a half-drunken, self-proclaimed party animal shot his rifle into the air to welcome the New Year. That bullet traveled thousands of feet into the sky until it slowed and arched. The bullet then gained a wicked momentum and crashed through Brandon's sliding glass door just above his shoulder. The bullet penetrated the criminal's chest between his ribs and, after pushing through his heart, it lodged it's self into his spinal cord.
The stranger grumbled something and fell to the ground in a hairy, stinky mess.
Brandon sighed and fell to his knees, grateful for gravity.        

Readers Like You

Hello readers,

I have really been enjoying writing these short stories and I promise to keep them coming.

So I have a challenge for you. If you enjoyed a story from this blog, feel free to scroll down and click the 'share' button. Chances are, if you enjoyed it, your Facebook and/or Twitter pals will too. Everyone can use a little more fiction in their lives!

Thanks so much for reading,

#5 The Spider Effect

If Molly Keeber hadn't killed that spider her life would be very different. She first saw the spider crawling up the wall in her kitchen. She hated spiders. Her first reaction was to ignore the arachnid. Allow it to crawl away and she could pretend it was never there at all. It was a shame she didn't follow her instincts. Instead she forced herself to go to the bathroom, grab a length of toilet paper and wad it into a weapon any spider would fear.
[image error]
"Buck-up and kill it." She told herself.
With a quick dab of the bathroom tissue, she crushed the spider's tiny body into a mangled mess. She pinched the spider and the toilet paper between two fingers.
"Sick!"
After tossing all the evidence into the toilet, she flushed the spider to a watery grave.
She went on through the day in a very ordinary way.  The killing never bothered her simply because she didn't know what she was missing.
The spider she killed was a poisonous black widow.  If she had let the spider go on living, it would have returned that night. It would have followed her to her bed and bit her on the heel just before she fell asleep. She would have immediately gone to the hospital where she would meet Dr. David Carlson who would have, luckily, diagnosed her with a cancerous tumor in her leg. The cancer would have been caught early enough that it was easily treated.  During a follow-up visit, Dr. Carlson would have asked her out to dinner. They would have talked for hours and really hit-it-off. Six months later they would get married and start a family. She would have lived a happy and wealthy life, but she killed the spider.
Instead, Keeber went to bed that night and no spider came. She might have died from the cancer if the furnace hadn't been spewing out carbon monoxide that night.

#4 Maggie's Co.

Michael was the newest addition to Maggie's Co., a family owned scrapbook supply company. Michael was hired fresh out of high school to do menial clerical work. He had always been considered a good kid and a sweet kid by his parents and teachers. Nobody would have guessed that three months after his high school graduation, he would be serving a life sentence for murder.
On Michael's first day of work it was apparent who ran the show - Jeff, the office manager and Sid, Jeff's personal henchman. Jeff was the nephew of the company owner and he made it clear he wasn't happy being head of the smallest branch in the company. He constantly complained and did a good job of getting the rest of the staff to complain as well. Still, Jeff seemed nice enough and if Michael wanted to go anywhere, he needed to be on Jeff's good side. Jeff often made life really difficult for the office staff that didn't play ball.
What went on over the next few weeks was hazing in every sense of the word, though Jeff never would have admitted it. Jeff and Sid would take Michael out for lunch, on the company's dime, for some bonding time. Then later, Jeff would ask Michael to pull a prank or pester someone in the office. "Just some fun," he would say. Michael was a good kid but he was no leader. He felt much more comfortable doing what he was asked.
Most of these pranks were juvenile and harmless. Fake phone calls to accounting, throwing out lunches from the fridge, locking other employees into the bathroom. The list grew every day. Michael even started to enjoy it. Though Michael was getting little work done, Jeff poured on the praise and the complimentary lunches continued.
A little over a month passed and Michael was starting to really feel like one of the boys. On their way back from lunch one day, they passed a gangly homeless man on the side of the street.
"Sid, do you think Michael can handle the challenge?" Jeff talked a little louder to make sure Michael could hear. 
"I don't know. He is still a newbie." Sid smiled from the passenger seat.

Michael was ready for his next challenge. "What's the challenge?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" Jeff grinned. "I don't think you can handle it."

"I can handle anything you can give me." Michael declared.

After a few more minutes of listening to two full-grown men giggle, Michael insisted to know what the challenge was.

"Throw an ink-filled water balloon at that homeless man." Jeff looked into the rear-view mirror to see Michael's reaction. Michael laughed at first and then he realized they weren't kidding. "Are you serious? That's not really a nice thing to do."

Jeff's face went from friendly to deadly-serious. "Oh, come one, Mike! That bum is standing on the corner every day. I'll bet he has enough money to buy a house in cash. He's trying to look pathetic. You'd be doing everyone a favor."
Michael felt his face flushing with embarrassment. He had a little taste of what it felt like to be Jeff's enemy and it was enough. "Okay, I'll do it."

"I don't believe you," Jeff said, the scowl still firmly settled on his face.

"No, really. Let's go get the balloon."

Sid nearly jumped over the seat to hand Michael a balloon he had already filled with black ink. "Here you go."


Jeff turned the car around and they headed back to the homeless man. He was obviously suffering from some kind of mental affliction. His clothes were dirty and worn from years of constant punishment. Michael leaned out the window and threw his payload. A direct hit. The homeless man yelped as the balloon slapped wickedly against the side of his face. Black liquid sprayed over his body. He covered his face, expecting a second blow.

Jeff and Sid laughed hysterically for the next mile or so. They caught their breath long enough to congratulate Michael for passing the test. "Now you're ready," Jeff said. The seriousness returned and Jeff pulled the car over to the side of the road.

"Maggie's Co. is a joke," Jeff started, "My uncle is a power-hungry capitalist who would enjoy nothing more than to see all of us lose our jobs."

"Uh, what?" Michael didn't know much about the company and its politics.

"We need to put a stop to it." Sid agreed.

"Mike, you might be the youngest employee of Maggie's Co. but you're one of the smartest in my opinion." Jeff smiled endearingly. "How would you like to make some real money?"

"That would be nice." Michael nodded.

Jeff and Sid took a long look at each other. It was like they were synchronizing their thoughts. When they felt they were on the same page, Sid turned back to Michael. "You need to put some pressure on the owner."

"What exactly does that mean?" Michael asked.

"Go to his big house on the hill and shake him up a little. We have a plan already. You'll take a gun, just for effect.""Uh.. I don't know…" Michael started.

"Don't tell me you can't do it." Jeff leaned in. "You just assaulted a man for the fun of it. Now we have a real job that needs to be done and you are the perfect guy for it. Don't worry about getting caught because it's not going to happen. My uncle is an old man. You just need to set his heart off and then you can get out of there."


"You want me to kill him?"

"No his heart will kill him. You're just helping him along." Jeff smiled. "It's just another prank."

Michael didn't know what to say. He consented to the plan and for the next several weeks Jeff and Sid prepared Michael for the ultimate 'prank'. All the while, Jeff explained the flaws with the company and his uncle.

Weeks later, after much preparation, everything changed. The owner promoted Jeff and Jeff happily accepted. The little branch even held a party for Jeff before he left for bigger things in the scrapbook industry. Jeff gave a short speech at that party. He talked about Maggie's Co. with gratitude. As if by magic, he had become converted as an advocate to the Maggie's. After the party, Jeff took Michael aside. "Forget our little prank," he said. "It's was all just a big joke."
Michael had abandoned his own better judgment in order to stay on Jeff's good side. He was willing to do anything. Michael felt deeply, deeply ashamed. Later that evening, anger took place of shame and hatred took place of anger.  Michael became so upset that he took a trip to Jeff's house that night. He dressed in black, brought a gun, and broke in. It was then that Michael pulled his last 'prank'.
 

#3 Two Robbers, One Bank, Zero Cash.

 The bank teller sat in the police station with two other witnesses. Seven suspects stood in a line-up safely behind the glass. The teller imagined the men wearing sun glasses, waving guns and shooting out the servalance cameras.[image error]
"It was number two and number seven," she said. It wasn't hard. "It was definitely them."
The others quickly agreed. "Yes. Number two and number seven."
"How certain are you, on a scale from one-to-ten?" The policeman asked, though he was already convinced by the mounting evidence.
"Ten, absolutely ten," the teller confirmed.
Twenty minutes later the police had both men in separate interrogations. They each volunteered confessions.
"I wouldn't normally do something like rob a bank." His name was Jake, but the police were still calling him number two. "I've been out of work for months. We already lost the house and I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to hurt anyone. That's why I used a toy gun. It was painted to look like the real thing but I was never going to shoot anyone." He looked down, shamefully.
"You're partner had no problems using a real gun." The officer quipped.
"He's not my partner. I showed up alone. I pointed the toy gun at the teller and told her I wanted the money from the safe. She gave me this weird look like I was crazy for asking. I told her again but she didn't move. I looked over the counter. That's when I saw the other guy. He was dismantling the silent alarm."
 "You're telling me, two strangers decide to rob the same bank at the same time?" The officer stood-up to add some drama.
"I know it's crazy but that's what happened!" Jake said, on the cusp of tears.
"So you shot the surveillance cameras?" The officer tried to strike a nerve.
"No, the other guy did. I told you my gun was a toy." The toy was his best and only defense.
"Forget the gun. You still robbed that bank. All that matters is that everyone thought it was a real gun. We have enough evidence to put you away for twenty years, but there is one thing you can do to shorten that sentence. Tell me where the money is." There wasn't anything illegal about exaggerations.
"I never got any money." Jake frowned.
"I have three eye witnesses that say you left with a bag full of money."
"There were two bags. The other guy and I decided we should just split the cash and leave. We figured there was no sense in fighting over it. Not with the police coming."
"Where is your half?"
"There was no money in the bag. I drove out of town before I opened the bag. It was full of paper."
"That's not true." Now, the officer was just pouring salt in an open wound.
"It is. The other guy was more prepared than me. He was prepared, and I wasn't!"
"Didn't he make the teller fill up the bag?"
"I don't know. The safe was already emptied into those bags when I got there."
"Two million dollars is still missing!" The officer leaned in hard.
"I don't have it."
"We'll see."
Down the hall, the other interrogation was heating up.
"I don't have the money!" Frank , or number seven, slammed his fists on the table.
"Don't tell me that other nut has it." The officer knew just what buttons to push. He could was good at working the ones with short tempers. "He wouldn't have lasted three minutes if it wasn't for your planning. He brought a toy gun for heaven sakes!"
"I wish I had the money!" Frank ground his teeth. "I planned this job for months. I took out the silent alarm and the cameras. Besides the teller, there were only two people there. I tied them up. I made the bank teller open the safe and fill the bags. I saw her put the cash in those bags."
"Then where did all that money go?" The officer smiled briefly just to annoy Frank.
"I don't know how he did it but that nut with the toy gun knows more than either of us. He's playing dumb. He has the money and he's making fools of us both!"
"You left the bank with one of those bags. Did you not?"
"Sure I did. He took one and I hauled the other around the corner where my driver was parked. As soon as I got in the van, I checked the bag. It was just paper." Frank's face turned redder as he relived his anguish.
"You really think 'number two' pulled one over on you? I hope you don't expect me to believe that."
"I don't know how he did it but yes." It actually hurt for Frank to admit it.In the reception area all three witnesses, including the teller, were getting an explanation from an officer.
"Thank you for all your help." An officer smiled warmly. No need to put the victims through any more. 
"We have partial confessions from each of the suspects."
"Only a partial confession?" said the teller.
"They're both pointing fingers at each other but none of it will stand up in court. They're both guilty of armed robbery. We just need to find the money."
"What do you think happened to the money?" The teller seemed shaken at the thought.
"They're hiding it. Two million is a lot of money. Anyone would be willing to spend a few years in prison if they knew they had a two million waiting for them."
The witnesses filled out all the necessary paperwork then left the station.
The teller walked back to her car, opened the door and sat down. She sighed, and glanced at the passenger seat where a ticket to Peru sat on two large bank bags. Two million free and clear.