Hero Jenkins's Blog, page 6
April 8, 2013
Chapter Two: Number Five
Hero Jenkins --- 4/8/13
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Complete the form at the end of this blog post to subscribe to this blog and receive future chapters automatically.Chapter Two
Brandiss’ muscular six-foot frame filled the doorway, his eyes rapidly scanned the room… it was a mess.Clothing was everywhere as if flung about by a tornado. The TV was face down on the floor and shattered. The mirror had been smashed… furniture overturned. There were at least fifty fist-sized holes punched into the walls. Even the normally unmovable paintings had been ripped down and hurled across the room.Only one of the bedside lamps was intact and it had been torn from the wall and was now dangling by its cord just above the nightstand. The light was partially covered by a woman’s blouse. It swung back and forth slowly as it lit the room with an eerie soft red glow. Its movement shifting the shadows, giving the illusion of motion where there was none. At first the light was not enough for Brandiss to make out everything in that tiny motel room. But as his eyes began to adjust, he began to pick out more and more detail and what he saw sickened him. There had been a desperate battle here… and the rage that had caused all of this damage had to have been loud… yet no one had called the police.Yeah, he thought as despair began to rise in him. It was that kind of motel… why in the hell would Kade check into a place like this?Then he noticed something else; there was a foul stench in the air. A faint odor of decay, as if death itself had visited that room and though gone its stench still lingered. That was when he saw it…There was a body on the bed and it was covered in blood.His heart sank.It was Kade.Brandiss stepped forward… tentatively, just as his hand moved smoothly for the gun in his holster. His eyes continually swept the room. There was still a danger here. He was not expecting this so he had come alone and though someone had fled, there could be someone else in the room.God, he hoped so.His hand found the grip of his pistol and he felt his gun come out of its holster... all things considered, it was a comfortable feeling. He became aware that his back was exposed as long as he stood in that doorway. He stepped into the room and to his right, keeping to the shadows while he listened to the room.He heard a moan… then he saw the body move… she was still alive.Kade lay on her side facing him, her eyes were wide with terror. Her feet and hands were bound and her mouth had been gagged. Her face was covered with blood. There were at least two, deep, slashes that ran the length of her left cheek. Her flesh hung down exposing the bone. There were several other less severe cuts visible on her legs and arms.A strong urge to pursue the bastard who had bolted from the room seized him… he fought back that reflex. Whoever that was he was long gone, besides… Brandiss couldn’t bear to leave Kade alone… not like this.He took another step, this time forward, away from the wall and into the light. Her eyes focused on his face, they showed recognition and she started to cry. Though the sounds were muffled by the gag in her mouth he could see her entire body as it began convulsing with each sob.Brandiss heard a noise like a bang or a bump that could have come from the bathroom. He looked in that direction, the door was closed. Instinctively Brandiss moved across the small motel room, his attention and his gun focused on that bathroom door. It was quiet now perhaps it was only his imagination, but he had to be sure.He stepped to one side and glanced over at Kade. She was straining against her bindings, desperate to see what was going on behind her. He reached for the knob and slowly twisted it. There was no easy way to do this so he just shoved the door open and brought his weapon up and prepared to shoot.There was no one in there. The sounds he had heard must have come from the drunks next door.Brandiss returned to where Kade lay with a small towel from the bathroom. He untied her feet and then her hands. She tried to reach for him but he stopped her.“Lay still,” he said gently as he carefully folded the hanging flesh from her face back into place and pressed the towel to the wound to stop the bleeding.“Hold this here,” he said.He sat down on the bed. She seemed to relax as he gathered her up into his arms. She buried her head into his chest and wrapped her free arm around his waist as she held on tight. Brandiss pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. Then he kissed her on the top of her head as tears were streaming down his cheeks into her beautiful black hair.***Kade Simmons was involved in something dangerous and she was refusing to let him help. Apparently deciding that whatever the problem was, she needed to handle it alone. This “problem” was going to get her killed; yet she refused to back off, she refused to be careful.She had disappeared and had begun using an alias that he wasn’t supposed to know about. But Brandiss had figured it out and now he had tracked her alias to his motel by following a trail of credit card receipts and ATM withdrawals. Although he had utilized official Task Force resources to find her, what had him lurking about this seedy motel was far from official business. He was still in love with her and he had to be sure that she was safe.Holding her Brandiss realized that it had been months since he had Kade in his arms. They had met and fallen in love in the hospital where Brandiss was being treated for a work related broken leg and ruptured spleen. Kade was recovering from undisclosed injuries resulting from a case that was still classified, which meant that she was not in a position to talk about either.That should have been a clue.Brandiss had no doubts that she worked for the government because only government law enforcement were ever admitted into the wing of the hospital they found themselves in. He suspected that she was a CIA spook or something by the way she carried herself and avoided even the most innocent inquiries as to what she did for Uncle Sam. As it turned out, it didn’t matter what she did. They were just two lonely people and at the time the anonymity was not a stumbling block for the affair.Suddenly it was over and everything changed. She stopped taking his calls. Refusing to even talk to him, sending her father to deliver the message of dismissal. Brandiss wondered at first why she even bothered but her father quickly answered that question.“Your ability to hunt people down is legendary in the Law Enforcement community, Officer Brandiss,” her father had said nervously. “She wants your assurances that you will not try to track her down.”Months had passed, Brandiss kept his word and he had not tried to find her. He assumed that she had moved on even though he had not been able to, Lord knows he had tried.It surprised him, though it shouldn’t have, that the first contact had been made by her father. He needed Brandiss’ help… his daughter had disappeared. When he lost contact with Kade, he had first turned to the police. When they were ineffective, he turned to Brandiss.Brandiss didn’t trust her father. But then he knew little about him… perhaps that was part of the problem. He was a scientist Brandiss had guessed, involved in some sort of research that neither would talk about. But he kept secrets even more so than Kade. His name was Randy or Randall or something like that, which should have been a clue. Every Randy Brandiss had ever known had been sneaky and a compulsive liar. There was no mother in the picture; at least Kade never spoke of her.But now, all of a sudden, Randy needed Brandiss’ help… funny how things work out sometimes. He had begged Brandiss to find her but Brandiss was reluctant. Brandiss had loved Kade and the pain of the separation was still there. At first Brandiss had refused to get involved. However, there was something, perhaps it was the desperation in Randy’s voice that had convinced him to try.Then there was that other thing, call it instincts if you want. Whatever it was, he knew he had to find her quickly. His instincts were telling him that Kade was in far greater danger than either of them realized.But now he had found her and for now she was safe. Perhaps now she would let him in, let him help her.***“Whoo-ee, looks like some party,” the drunk from next door hooted as he deposited himself in the doorway.Brandiss glared up at him and if angry looks were lasers, the drunk would have caught fire and exploded. The drunk got the message and disappeared.The first sign that something was wrong was the pinprick of the needle at the base of his skull. Then his vision started to blur and he felt his grip on reality began slip. The last thing he saw was his darling Kade standing over him holding the syringe and he knew that she had shot him full of tranquilizers or something… but why… it made no sense?***#af-form-1876964738 .af-body .af-textWrap{width:70%;display:block;float:right;} #af-form-1876964738 .af-body .privacyPolicy{color:#000000;font-size:12px;font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;} #af-form-1876964738 .af-body a{color:#094C80;text-decoration:underline;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;} #af-form-1876964738 .af-body input.text, #af-form-1876964738 .af-body textarea{background-color:#FFFFFF;border-color:#919191;border-width:1px;border-style:solid;color:#000000;text-decoration:none;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;font-size:12px;font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;} #af-form-1876964738 .af-body input.text:focus, #af-form-1876964738 .af-body textarea:focus{background-color:#FFFAD6;border-color:#030303;border-width:1px;border-style:solid;} #af-form-1876964738 .af-body 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Brandiss’ muscular six-foot frame filled the doorway, his eyes rapidly scanned the room… it was a mess.Clothing was everywhere as if flung about by a tornado. The TV was face down on the floor and shattered. The mirror had been smashed… furniture overturned. There were at least fifty fist-sized holes punched into the walls. Even the normally unmovable paintings had been ripped down and hurled across the room.Only one of the bedside lamps was intact and it had been torn from the wall and was now dangling by its cord just above the nightstand. The light was partially covered by a woman’s blouse. It swung back and forth slowly as it lit the room with an eerie soft red glow. Its movement shifting the shadows, giving the illusion of motion where there was none. At first the light was not enough for Brandiss to make out everything in that tiny motel room. But as his eyes began to adjust, he began to pick out more and more detail and what he saw sickened him. There had been a desperate battle here… and the rage that had caused all of this damage had to have been loud… yet no one had called the police.Yeah, he thought as despair began to rise in him. It was that kind of motel… why in the hell would Kade check into a place like this?Then he noticed something else; there was a foul stench in the air. A faint odor of decay, as if death itself had visited that room and though gone its stench still lingered. That was when he saw it…There was a body on the bed and it was covered in blood.His heart sank.It was Kade.Brandiss stepped forward… tentatively, just as his hand moved smoothly for the gun in his holster. His eyes continually swept the room. There was still a danger here. He was not expecting this so he had come alone and though someone had fled, there could be someone else in the room.God, he hoped so.His hand found the grip of his pistol and he felt his gun come out of its holster... all things considered, it was a comfortable feeling. He became aware that his back was exposed as long as he stood in that doorway. He stepped into the room and to his right, keeping to the shadows while he listened to the room.He heard a moan… then he saw the body move… she was still alive.Kade lay on her side facing him, her eyes were wide with terror. Her feet and hands were bound and her mouth had been gagged. Her face was covered with blood. There were at least two, deep, slashes that ran the length of her left cheek. Her flesh hung down exposing the bone. There were several other less severe cuts visible on her legs and arms.A strong urge to pursue the bastard who had bolted from the room seized him… he fought back that reflex. Whoever that was he was long gone, besides… Brandiss couldn’t bear to leave Kade alone… not like this.He took another step, this time forward, away from the wall and into the light. Her eyes focused on his face, they showed recognition and she started to cry. Though the sounds were muffled by the gag in her mouth he could see her entire body as it began convulsing with each sob.Brandiss heard a noise like a bang or a bump that could have come from the bathroom. He looked in that direction, the door was closed. Instinctively Brandiss moved across the small motel room, his attention and his gun focused on that bathroom door. It was quiet now perhaps it was only his imagination, but he had to be sure.He stepped to one side and glanced over at Kade. She was straining against her bindings, desperate to see what was going on behind her. He reached for the knob and slowly twisted it. There was no easy way to do this so he just shoved the door open and brought his weapon up and prepared to shoot.There was no one in there. The sounds he had heard must have come from the drunks next door.Brandiss returned to where Kade lay with a small towel from the bathroom. He untied her feet and then her hands. She tried to reach for him but he stopped her.“Lay still,” he said gently as he carefully folded the hanging flesh from her face back into place and pressed the towel to the wound to stop the bleeding.“Hold this here,” he said.He sat down on the bed. She seemed to relax as he gathered her up into his arms. She buried her head into his chest and wrapped her free arm around his waist as she held on tight. Brandiss pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. Then he kissed her on the top of her head as tears were streaming down his cheeks into her beautiful black hair.***Kade Simmons was involved in something dangerous and she was refusing to let him help. Apparently deciding that whatever the problem was, she needed to handle it alone. This “problem” was going to get her killed; yet she refused to back off, she refused to be careful.She had disappeared and had begun using an alias that he wasn’t supposed to know about. But Brandiss had figured it out and now he had tracked her alias to his motel by following a trail of credit card receipts and ATM withdrawals. Although he had utilized official Task Force resources to find her, what had him lurking about this seedy motel was far from official business. He was still in love with her and he had to be sure that she was safe.Holding her Brandiss realized that it had been months since he had Kade in his arms. They had met and fallen in love in the hospital where Brandiss was being treated for a work related broken leg and ruptured spleen. Kade was recovering from undisclosed injuries resulting from a case that was still classified, which meant that she was not in a position to talk about either.That should have been a clue.Brandiss had no doubts that she worked for the government because only government law enforcement were ever admitted into the wing of the hospital they found themselves in. He suspected that she was a CIA spook or something by the way she carried herself and avoided even the most innocent inquiries as to what she did for Uncle Sam. As it turned out, it didn’t matter what she did. They were just two lonely people and at the time the anonymity was not a stumbling block for the affair.Suddenly it was over and everything changed. She stopped taking his calls. Refusing to even talk to him, sending her father to deliver the message of dismissal. Brandiss wondered at first why she even bothered but her father quickly answered that question.“Your ability to hunt people down is legendary in the Law Enforcement community, Officer Brandiss,” her father had said nervously. “She wants your assurances that you will not try to track her down.”Months had passed, Brandiss kept his word and he had not tried to find her. He assumed that she had moved on even though he had not been able to, Lord knows he had tried.It surprised him, though it shouldn’t have, that the first contact had been made by her father. He needed Brandiss’ help… his daughter had disappeared. When he lost contact with Kade, he had first turned to the police. When they were ineffective, he turned to Brandiss.Brandiss didn’t trust her father. But then he knew little about him… perhaps that was part of the problem. He was a scientist Brandiss had guessed, involved in some sort of research that neither would talk about. But he kept secrets even more so than Kade. His name was Randy or Randall or something like that, which should have been a clue. Every Randy Brandiss had ever known had been sneaky and a compulsive liar. There was no mother in the picture; at least Kade never spoke of her.But now, all of a sudden, Randy needed Brandiss’ help… funny how things work out sometimes. He had begged Brandiss to find her but Brandiss was reluctant. Brandiss had loved Kade and the pain of the separation was still there. At first Brandiss had refused to get involved. However, there was something, perhaps it was the desperation in Randy’s voice that had convinced him to try.Then there was that other thing, call it instincts if you want. Whatever it was, he knew he had to find her quickly. His instincts were telling him that Kade was in far greater danger than either of them realized.But now he had found her and for now she was safe. Perhaps now she would let him in, let him help her.***“Whoo-ee, looks like some party,” the drunk from next door hooted as he deposited himself in the doorway.Brandiss glared up at him and if angry looks were lasers, the drunk would have caught fire and exploded. The drunk got the message and disappeared.The first sign that something was wrong was the pinprick of the needle at the base of his skull. Then his vision started to blur and he felt his grip on reality began slip. The last thing he saw was his darling Kade standing over him holding the syringe and he knew that she had shot him full of tranquilizers or something… but why… it made no sense?***#af-form-1876964738 .af-body .af-textWrap{width:70%;display:block;float:right;} #af-form-1876964738 .af-body .privacyPolicy{color:#000000;font-size:12px;font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;} #af-form-1876964738 .af-body a{color:#094C80;text-decoration:underline;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;} #af-form-1876964738 .af-body input.text, #af-form-1876964738 .af-body textarea{background-color:#FFFFFF;border-color:#919191;border-width:1px;border-style:solid;color:#000000;text-decoration:none;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;font-size:12px;font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;} #af-form-1876964738 .af-body input.text:focus, #af-form-1876964738 .af-body textarea:focus{background-color:#FFFAD6;border-color:#030303;border-width:1px;border-style:solid;} #af-form-1876964738 .af-body 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April 6, 2013
Starbuck's Personalities: The Author's corner
Hero Jenkins 4/6/13
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I don’t know if you can make out the picture but this guy is wearing what looks like a military gas mask. On his head is a black cloth cap with large red and black floppy dog ears hanging down.My wife wanted to go to a craft fair with her sister this morning so I dropped her off. I decided to get coffee so and I found a Starbucks nearby. I had never been to this one before, but they are all pretty much the same… Right? The first thing I noticed was this guy in the photo wearing the gas mask. I thought it unusual so I took his picture. Normally I like to observe people in Starbucks so that I can use them as characters in my books... but I didn't think anybody would believe it so I took a picture. Several questions popped into my head.... How did he drink his coffee or eat whatever that is in the Starbucks bag with a gas mask on? And if he really thought the mask was necessary wouldn't his food and drink be contaminated by now? Wouldn't drinking contaminated coffee at Starbucks kinda defeat the purpose of wearing a mask in the first place?I looked around to see if anybody else was reacting to this guy. Nobody seemed to care. That was when I noticed an older Middle Eastern looking woman at one of the tables. She just sat there staring straight ahead at the wall. There was thick white cream or something spread over much, but not all, of her face. At another table there was younger woman sucking on a straw that was in an empty Frappuccino cup. She had bright red hair in pigtails like she was the girl from the “Wendy’s” logo or perhaps a Raggedy Ann impersonator. I slipped into the bathroom and things really got weird. Most Starbucks’s bathrooms are basically a small square room with a toilet and a sink. It is meant to be used by one person at a time, that’s why they put a lock on the door. So if you turn the handle and it opens you can be reasonably assured that the bathroom is empty. Not today, there was a guy sitting on the toilet doing his business. He looked up, we made eye contact… he didn’t seem concerned… I was. I got out of there. I hurried out of the Starbucks and jumped into my car. It was like I had walked into the middle of a scene of “Men in Black” or something. Now I’m not saying they were aliens, but there was something going on and I hadn’t got the memo. #af-form-165120748 .af-body .af-textWrap{width:70%;display:block;float:right;} #af-form-165120748 .af-body .privacyPolicy{color:#000000;font-size:12px;font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;} #af-form-165120748 .af-body a{color:#094C80;text-decoration:underline;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;} #af-form-165120748 .af-body input.text, #af-form-165120748 .af-body textarea{background-color:#FFFFFF;border-color:#919191;border-width:1px;border-style:solid;color:#000000;text-decoration:none;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;font-size:12px;font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;} #af-form-165120748 .af-body input.text:focus, #af-form-165120748 .af-body textarea:focus{background-color:#FFFAD6;border-color:#030303;border-width:1px;border-style:solid;} #af-form-165120748 .af-body label.previewLabel{display:block;float:left;width:25%;text-align:left;color:#000000;text-decoration:none;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;font-size:12px;font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;} #af-form-165120748 .af-body{padding-bottom:13px;padding-top:13px;background-repeat:repeat-y;background-position:center left;background-image:url("http://forms.aweber.com/images/forms/..., sans-serif;} #af-form-165120748 .af-footer{padding-bottom:5px;padding-top:5px;background-color:transparent;background-repeat:no-repeat;background-position:bottom left;background-image:url("http://forms.aweber.com/images/forms/..., sans-serif;} #af-form-165120748 .af-header{padding-bottom:10px;padding-top:55px;padding-right:10px;padding-left:10px;background-color:transparent;background-repeat:no-repeat;background-position:top left;background-image:url("http://forms.aweber.com/images/forms/..., sans-serif;} #af-form-165120748 .af-quirksMode .bodyText{padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:2px;} #af-form-165120748 .af-quirksMode{padding-right:15px;padding-left:15px;} #af-form-165120748 .af-standards .af-element{padding-right:15px;padding-left:15px;} #af-form-165120748 .bodyText p{margin:1em 0;} #af-form-165120748 .buttonContainer input.submit{background-image:url("http://forms.aweber.com/images/auto/g... left;background-repeat:repeat-x;background-color:#0057ac;border:1px solid #0057ac;color:#FFFFFF;text-decoration:none;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;font-size:14px;font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;} #af-form-165120748 .buttonContainer input.submit{width:auto;} #af-form-165120748 .buttonContainer{text-align:right;} #af-form-165120748 body,#af-form-165120748 dl,#af-form-165120748 dt,#af-form-165120748 dd,#af-form-165120748 h1,#af-form-165120748 h2,#af-form-165120748 h3,#af-form-165120748 h4,#af-form-165120748 h5,#af-form-165120748 h6,#af-form-165120748 pre,#af-form-165120748 code,#af-form-165120748 fieldset,#af-form-165120748 legend,#af-form-165120748 blockquote,#af-form-165120748 th,#af-form-165120748 td{float:none;color:inherit;position:static;margin:0;padding:0;} #af-form-165120748 button,#af-form-165120748 input,#af-form-165120748 submit,#af-form-165120748 textarea,#af-form-165120748 select,#af-form-165120748 label,#af-form-165120748 optgroup,#af-form-165120748 option{float:none;position:static;margin:0;} #af-form-165120748 div{margin:0;} #af-form-165120748 fieldset{border:0;} #af-form-165120748 form,#af-form-165120748 textarea,.af-form-wrapper,.af-form-close-button,#af-form-165120748 img{float:none;color:inherit;position:static;background-color:none;border:none;margin:0;padding:0;} #af-form-165120748 input,#af-form-165120748 button,#af-form-165120748 textarea,#af-form-165120748 select{font-size:100%;} #af-form-165120748 p{color:inherit;} #af-form-165120748 select,#af-form-165120748 label,#af-form-165120748 optgroup,#af-form-165120748 option{padding:0;} #af-form-165120748 table{border-collapse:collapse;border-spacing:0;} #af-form-165120748 ul,#af-form-165120748 ol{list-style-image:none;list-style-position:outside;list-style-type:disc;padding-left:40px;} #af-form-165120748,#af-form-165120748 .quirksMode{width:453px;} #af-form-165120748.af-quirksMode{overflow-x:hidden;} #af-form-165120748{background-color:transparent;border-color:#CFCFCF;border-width:1px;border-style:none;} #af-form-165120748{display:block;} #af-form-165120748{overflow:hidden;} .af-body .af-textWrap{text-align:left;} .af-body input.image{border:none!important;} .af-body input.submit,.af-body input.image,.af-form .af-element input.button{float:none!important;} .af-body input.text{width:100%;float:none;padding:2px!important;} .af-body.af-standards input.submit{padding:4px 12px;} .af-clear{clear:both;} .af-element label{text-align:left;display:block;float:left;} .af-element{padding:5px 0;} .af-form-wrapper{text-indent:0;} .af-form{text-align:left;margin:auto;} .af-header,.af-footer{margin-bottom:0;margin-top:0;padding:10px;} .af-quirksMode .af-element{padding-left:0!important;padding-right:0!important;} .lbl-right .af-element label{text-align:right;} body { }
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I don’t know if you can make out the picture but this guy is wearing what looks like a military gas mask. On his head is a black cloth cap with large red and black floppy dog ears hanging down.My wife wanted to go to a craft fair with her sister this morning so I dropped her off. I decided to get coffee so and I found a Starbucks nearby. I had never been to this one before, but they are all pretty much the same… Right? The first thing I noticed was this guy in the photo wearing the gas mask. I thought it unusual so I took his picture. Normally I like to observe people in Starbucks so that I can use them as characters in my books... but I didn't think anybody would believe it so I took a picture. Several questions popped into my head.... How did he drink his coffee or eat whatever that is in the Starbucks bag with a gas mask on? And if he really thought the mask was necessary wouldn't his food and drink be contaminated by now? Wouldn't drinking contaminated coffee at Starbucks kinda defeat the purpose of wearing a mask in the first place?I looked around to see if anybody else was reacting to this guy. Nobody seemed to care. That was when I noticed an older Middle Eastern looking woman at one of the tables. She just sat there staring straight ahead at the wall. There was thick white cream or something spread over much, but not all, of her face. At another table there was younger woman sucking on a straw that was in an empty Frappuccino cup. She had bright red hair in pigtails like she was the girl from the “Wendy’s” logo or perhaps a Raggedy Ann impersonator. I slipped into the bathroom and things really got weird. Most Starbucks’s bathrooms are basically a small square room with a toilet and a sink. It is meant to be used by one person at a time, that’s why they put a lock on the door. So if you turn the handle and it opens you can be reasonably assured that the bathroom is empty. Not today, there was a guy sitting on the toilet doing his business. He looked up, we made eye contact… he didn’t seem concerned… I was. I got out of there. I hurried out of the Starbucks and jumped into my car. It was like I had walked into the middle of a scene of “Men in Black” or something. Now I’m not saying they were aliens, but there was something going on and I hadn’t got the memo. #af-form-165120748 .af-body .af-textWrap{width:70%;display:block;float:right;} #af-form-165120748 .af-body .privacyPolicy{color:#000000;font-size:12px;font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;} #af-form-165120748 .af-body a{color:#094C80;text-decoration:underline;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;} #af-form-165120748 .af-body input.text, #af-form-165120748 .af-body textarea{background-color:#FFFFFF;border-color:#919191;border-width:1px;border-style:solid;color:#000000;text-decoration:none;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;font-size:12px;font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;} #af-form-165120748 .af-body input.text:focus, #af-form-165120748 .af-body textarea:focus{background-color:#FFFAD6;border-color:#030303;border-width:1px;border-style:solid;} #af-form-165120748 .af-body label.previewLabel{display:block;float:left;width:25%;text-align:left;color:#000000;text-decoration:none;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;font-size:12px;font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;} #af-form-165120748 .af-body{padding-bottom:13px;padding-top:13px;background-repeat:repeat-y;background-position:center left;background-image:url("http://forms.aweber.com/images/forms/..., sans-serif;} #af-form-165120748 .af-footer{padding-bottom:5px;padding-top:5px;background-color:transparent;background-repeat:no-repeat;background-position:bottom left;background-image:url("http://forms.aweber.com/images/forms/..., sans-serif;} #af-form-165120748 .af-header{padding-bottom:10px;padding-top:55px;padding-right:10px;padding-left:10px;background-color:transparent;background-repeat:no-repeat;background-position:top left;background-image:url("http://forms.aweber.com/images/forms/..., sans-serif;} #af-form-165120748 .af-quirksMode .bodyText{padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:2px;} #af-form-165120748 .af-quirksMode{padding-right:15px;padding-left:15px;} #af-form-165120748 .af-standards .af-element{padding-right:15px;padding-left:15px;} #af-form-165120748 .bodyText p{margin:1em 0;} #af-form-165120748 .buttonContainer input.submit{background-image:url("http://forms.aweber.com/images/auto/g... left;background-repeat:repeat-x;background-color:#0057ac;border:1px solid #0057ac;color:#FFFFFF;text-decoration:none;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;font-size:14px;font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;} #af-form-165120748 .buttonContainer input.submit{width:auto;} #af-form-165120748 .buttonContainer{text-align:right;} #af-form-165120748 body,#af-form-165120748 dl,#af-form-165120748 dt,#af-form-165120748 dd,#af-form-165120748 h1,#af-form-165120748 h2,#af-form-165120748 h3,#af-form-165120748 h4,#af-form-165120748 h5,#af-form-165120748 h6,#af-form-165120748 pre,#af-form-165120748 code,#af-form-165120748 fieldset,#af-form-165120748 legend,#af-form-165120748 blockquote,#af-form-165120748 th,#af-form-165120748 td{float:none;color:inherit;position:static;margin:0;padding:0;} #af-form-165120748 button,#af-form-165120748 input,#af-form-165120748 submit,#af-form-165120748 textarea,#af-form-165120748 select,#af-form-165120748 label,#af-form-165120748 optgroup,#af-form-165120748 option{float:none;position:static;margin:0;} #af-form-165120748 div{margin:0;} #af-form-165120748 fieldset{border:0;} #af-form-165120748 form,#af-form-165120748 textarea,.af-form-wrapper,.af-form-close-button,#af-form-165120748 img{float:none;color:inherit;position:static;background-color:none;border:none;margin:0;padding:0;} #af-form-165120748 input,#af-form-165120748 button,#af-form-165120748 textarea,#af-form-165120748 select{font-size:100%;} #af-form-165120748 p{color:inherit;} #af-form-165120748 select,#af-form-165120748 label,#af-form-165120748 optgroup,#af-form-165120748 option{padding:0;} #af-form-165120748 table{border-collapse:collapse;border-spacing:0;} #af-form-165120748 ul,#af-form-165120748 ol{list-style-image:none;list-style-position:outside;list-style-type:disc;padding-left:40px;} #af-form-165120748,#af-form-165120748 .quirksMode{width:453px;} #af-form-165120748.af-quirksMode{overflow-x:hidden;} #af-form-165120748{background-color:transparent;border-color:#CFCFCF;border-width:1px;border-style:none;} #af-form-165120748{display:block;} #af-form-165120748{overflow:hidden;} .af-body .af-textWrap{text-align:left;} .af-body input.image{border:none!important;} .af-body input.submit,.af-body input.image,.af-form .af-element input.button{float:none!important;} .af-body input.text{width:100%;float:none;padding:2px!important;} .af-body.af-standards input.submit{padding:4px 12px;} .af-clear{clear:both;} .af-element label{text-align:left;display:block;float:left;} .af-element{padding:5px 0;} .af-form-wrapper{text-indent:0;} .af-form{text-align:left;margin:auto;} .af-header,.af-footer{margin-bottom:0;margin-top:0;padding:10px;} .af-quirksMode .af-element{padding-left:0!important;padding-right:0!important;} .lbl-right .af-element label{text-align:right;} body { } *Read sories that will touch your heart.
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April 4, 2013
A Dead Guy in the Road: Random Thoughts
Hero Jenkins --- 4/4/13
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A dead guy in the middle of the road.
One night, years ago, I looked out my window and noticed that there was a dead guy in the middle of the road. It was just the other day that I found myself thinking of that night… that night I saw him just lying there, belly up, right in the middle of the street. I have no idea why I thought about him, but I did. The incident had happened a long time ago… I’m talking late seventies or so. Nevertheless I thought of him that day, which brings me to my point. I have learned that when random memories like this pop into my mind that I should write it down. A lot of times, as an author, I incorporate versions of actual events to give my writing realism. Some are incidents that I have witnessed personally; others are stories that have been told to me. When I started writing my novel “Number Five” I came to a point in the story where it fit, so I put it in. You will see a version of this story in a later chapter of “Number Five” as I post it on line a chapter at a time. However, today I thought I would give you an inside look as to where the story in the book came from. Although the circumstances of this story will remain the same, I am going to change a couple of things to protect the innocent and the guilty. For the sake of argument, let’s say I was in a second story hotel room that overlooked a downtown street. As with many large cities there is an area were there are a lot of restaurants and bars in close proximity to one another. As a result two o’clock found a lot of drunken people on the streets at the same time, all trying to figure out how they would get home. The drunks were loud as drunks tend to be and I couldn’t sleep anyway as what happens sometimes when I travel. By three o’clock I was still awake, but at least I couldn’t hear the drunks anymore, most likely because they were all gone by now. I walked over to the window and looked out and that was when I saw him. I saw a man lying on his back in the middle of the street. He was a burly man as evidenced by his beer belly protruding up. His shirt was open, exposing way too much chest hair (because that’s how we rolled in those days). He wasn’t moving; in fact... he appeared to be dead. I suppose it was possible that he had had a heart attack and happened to drop dead where he lay, but it was more likely that he had gotten run down. It occurred to me to call the police, but before I could, the police arrived. I was off to one side in a darkened room so I was sure they couldn’t see me. So, I just sat there and listened and watched them work.I learned a couple of things. The dividing line between the city and county jurisdictions had been painted in the street. It was a thick yellow, dotted line and the dead man was just this side of it, making him the jurisdiction and responsibility of the City police. Now you wouldn’t think so because they never show this part on TV, but the paperwork involved in dealing with a dead body is substantial, especially when the death is obviously not the result of natural causes. Then there are other considerations too, as I soon found out. According to the police officer’s conversation they were speculating that the dead guy had been drunk and had staggered from one of the bars. All of the bars were closed, so he was probably headed home. He had probably wandered into the street and gotten run over, most likely by another drunk. The truth was, they didn’t know what really happened. That meant that this death had to be treated as a homicide until it could be determined whether his being run over was accidental or intentional. That meant waking up homicide detectives. It also meant that they would be stuck standing in the middle of the street for hours guarding a dead guy until the homicide detectives arrived. No street cop wanted to do that.I studied the police officers that had arrived. One was a kid, a rookie by the looks of him, fresh out of the academy and clueless. His partner was a grizzled old veteran and he was not happy. After a moment of listening to the veteran cursing, I knew the reason why. Apparently someone, probably a deputy from the County Sheriff’s Department had come upon the body earlier. It was apparent that someone, probably the Deputy, had dragged the dead guy from the county side of the dividing line to the city side. That act had instantly changed the responsibility of investigating this death from a “County” problem to a “City” problem. So what do you imagine the city cops did. The grizzled old veteran grabbed the dead man by his legs and dragged him back across to the county side of the line. I could hear the veteran explaining the rules to the rookie as they walked over to the pay phone just below my window. The gist of what he said was that they couldn’t let those bastards get away with it.These days they would just dial 911 and leave the receiver dangling and the police would arrive. They didn’t have 911 yet or even push button phones for that matter, so the grizzled old veteran had to deposit coins and then dial all seven digits on a rotary phone. The officer made an anonymous call to the county dispatcher reporting a dead guy in the middle of the street. The veteran gave the location and then hung up and smiled, thoroughly pleased with himself. Then the two city police officers climbed back into their car, made a hasty U-turn and sped away. The county deputies arrived in less than two minutes, another rookie/veteran team and they were not happy. I don’t know if they were the ones who had dragged the dead guy the first time, but that’s what they did this time. They could tell that the dead guy had been moved so they returned the favor. They walked over to the same phone booth and made a call to the City Police dispatcher. Their call was remarkably similar to the one the city police officer had just made.The original city police team responded and discovered the dead guy back on their side of the line and after a few moments of cursing and arm waving they grabbed the dead guy and drug him back. This time they didn’t go off to the pay phone. They called it in with their radios and waited there in the street for the deputies. It didn’t take long for the deputies to arrive; it had only been a few minutes so they hadn’t had a chance to get very far away.Before long the cops and deputies were in the middle of the street yelling at one another, each staying on their side of the line like it was a border between two unfriendly countries. They were arguing as to who would take responsibility for the investigation of the dead guy. Eventually more cops arrived and then inevitably supervisors. The dead guy was lying splayed on the ground between the cops, uncovered, undignified, undisturbed because no one wanted to touch him if it would be witnessed by the other side… I guess that would constitute ownership or something.I didn’t stick around to see who ultimately had to take the investigation. The sun was coming up, shift change had occurred. An entirely new group of officers had arrived and were in the process of sorting it out by the time I got dressed and went down to the coffee shop for breakfast. No way was I getting any sleep with all of that yelling going on.While I ate breakfast it occurred to me that it doesn’t matter how “exciting” or “meaningful” your job is. From Astronaut to Zookeeper, at some point, if you do it long enough, it becomes boring and routine. I have watched enough TV reality shows… watched enough news coverage to know that a police officer’s job can be exciting and meaningful. But with every job, at some point, you can become callous enough to drag a dead guy a few feet across a line painted in the street. You temporarily forget your oath to "protect and serve", rather you think about how close it is to the end of watch... you are tired, you want to go home. The last thing you want is to get stuck with a bunch of paper work.
You do this without even stopping for a second to consider that somewhere there was a family waiting for this guy to come home. Wondering where he was, wondering what was taking him so long. The family had no idea that he was lying on his back on a nearly deserted street. That he was as dead as a door knob, and had been for hours while the police dragged him back and forth across a line that decided who would get stuck with the paperwork.***Feel free to check out some of the other posts of this blog. There should be a directory on the left side.Click the tab on the right to plug in your e-mail address to be notified each time this blog is updated. There is also a tab on the left that ranks the most popular posts.find me on Facebook and "Like" my page.
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A dead guy in the middle of the road.
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One night, years ago, I looked out my window and noticed that there was a dead guy in the middle of the road. It was just the other day that I found myself thinking of that night… that night I saw him just lying there, belly up, right in the middle of the street. I have no idea why I thought about him, but I did. The incident had happened a long time ago… I’m talking late seventies or so. Nevertheless I thought of him that day, which brings me to my point. I have learned that when random memories like this pop into my mind that I should write it down. A lot of times, as an author, I incorporate versions of actual events to give my writing realism. Some are incidents that I have witnessed personally; others are stories that have been told to me. When I started writing my novel “Number Five” I came to a point in the story where it fit, so I put it in. You will see a version of this story in a later chapter of “Number Five” as I post it on line a chapter at a time. However, today I thought I would give you an inside look as to where the story in the book came from. Although the circumstances of this story will remain the same, I am going to change a couple of things to protect the innocent and the guilty. For the sake of argument, let’s say I was in a second story hotel room that overlooked a downtown street. As with many large cities there is an area were there are a lot of restaurants and bars in close proximity to one another. As a result two o’clock found a lot of drunken people on the streets at the same time, all trying to figure out how they would get home. The drunks were loud as drunks tend to be and I couldn’t sleep anyway as what happens sometimes when I travel. By three o’clock I was still awake, but at least I couldn’t hear the drunks anymore, most likely because they were all gone by now. I walked over to the window and looked out and that was when I saw him. I saw a man lying on his back in the middle of the street. He was a burly man as evidenced by his beer belly protruding up. His shirt was open, exposing way too much chest hair (because that’s how we rolled in those days). He wasn’t moving; in fact... he appeared to be dead. I suppose it was possible that he had had a heart attack and happened to drop dead where he lay, but it was more likely that he had gotten run down. It occurred to me to call the police, but before I could, the police arrived. I was off to one side in a darkened room so I was sure they couldn’t see me. So, I just sat there and listened and watched them work.I learned a couple of things. The dividing line between the city and county jurisdictions had been painted in the street. It was a thick yellow, dotted line and the dead man was just this side of it, making him the jurisdiction and responsibility of the City police. Now you wouldn’t think so because they never show this part on TV, but the paperwork involved in dealing with a dead body is substantial, especially when the death is obviously not the result of natural causes. Then there are other considerations too, as I soon found out. According to the police officer’s conversation they were speculating that the dead guy had been drunk and had staggered from one of the bars. All of the bars were closed, so he was probably headed home. He had probably wandered into the street and gotten run over, most likely by another drunk. The truth was, they didn’t know what really happened. That meant that this death had to be treated as a homicide until it could be determined whether his being run over was accidental or intentional. That meant waking up homicide detectives. It also meant that they would be stuck standing in the middle of the street for hours guarding a dead guy until the homicide detectives arrived. No street cop wanted to do that.I studied the police officers that had arrived. One was a kid, a rookie by the looks of him, fresh out of the academy and clueless. His partner was a grizzled old veteran and he was not happy. After a moment of listening to the veteran cursing, I knew the reason why. Apparently someone, probably a deputy from the County Sheriff’s Department had come upon the body earlier. It was apparent that someone, probably the Deputy, had dragged the dead guy from the county side of the dividing line to the city side. That act had instantly changed the responsibility of investigating this death from a “County” problem to a “City” problem. So what do you imagine the city cops did. The grizzled old veteran grabbed the dead man by his legs and dragged him back across to the county side of the line. I could hear the veteran explaining the rules to the rookie as they walked over to the pay phone just below my window. The gist of what he said was that they couldn’t let those bastards get away with it.These days they would just dial 911 and leave the receiver dangling and the police would arrive. They didn’t have 911 yet or even push button phones for that matter, so the grizzled old veteran had to deposit coins and then dial all seven digits on a rotary phone. The officer made an anonymous call to the county dispatcher reporting a dead guy in the middle of the street. The veteran gave the location and then hung up and smiled, thoroughly pleased with himself. Then the two city police officers climbed back into their car, made a hasty U-turn and sped away. The county deputies arrived in less than two minutes, another rookie/veteran team and they were not happy. I don’t know if they were the ones who had dragged the dead guy the first time, but that’s what they did this time. They could tell that the dead guy had been moved so they returned the favor. They walked over to the same phone booth and made a call to the City Police dispatcher. Their call was remarkably similar to the one the city police officer had just made.The original city police team responded and discovered the dead guy back on their side of the line and after a few moments of cursing and arm waving they grabbed the dead guy and drug him back. This time they didn’t go off to the pay phone. They called it in with their radios and waited there in the street for the deputies. It didn’t take long for the deputies to arrive; it had only been a few minutes so they hadn’t had a chance to get very far away.Before long the cops and deputies were in the middle of the street yelling at one another, each staying on their side of the line like it was a border between two unfriendly countries. They were arguing as to who would take responsibility for the investigation of the dead guy. Eventually more cops arrived and then inevitably supervisors. The dead guy was lying splayed on the ground between the cops, uncovered, undignified, undisturbed because no one wanted to touch him if it would be witnessed by the other side… I guess that would constitute ownership or something.I didn’t stick around to see who ultimately had to take the investigation. The sun was coming up, shift change had occurred. An entirely new group of officers had arrived and were in the process of sorting it out by the time I got dressed and went down to the coffee shop for breakfast. No way was I getting any sleep with all of that yelling going on.While I ate breakfast it occurred to me that it doesn’t matter how “exciting” or “meaningful” your job is. From Astronaut to Zookeeper, at some point, if you do it long enough, it becomes boring and routine. I have watched enough TV reality shows… watched enough news coverage to know that a police officer’s job can be exciting and meaningful. But with every job, at some point, you can become callous enough to drag a dead guy a few feet across a line painted in the street. You temporarily forget your oath to "protect and serve", rather you think about how close it is to the end of watch... you are tired, you want to go home. The last thing you want is to get stuck with a bunch of paper work. You do this without even stopping for a second to consider that somewhere there was a family waiting for this guy to come home. Wondering where he was, wondering what was taking him so long. The family had no idea that he was lying on his back on a nearly deserted street. That he was as dead as a door knob, and had been for hours while the police dragged him back and forth across a line that decided who would get stuck with the paperwork.***Feel free to check out some of the other posts of this blog. There should be a directory on the left side.Click the tab on the right to plug in your e-mail address to be notified each time this blog is updated. There is also a tab on the left that ranks the most popular posts.find me on Facebook and "Like" my page.
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April 3, 2013
What is this Blog all about?
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My passion is writing, my blog addresses that passion as I delve into my process. Most posts will fall into these three main categories.Random Thoughts: Are just that, random thoughts that are documented and then set aside. Many are stories that will eventually find their way into my novels. Be they heartwarming or provocative they will leave an impact.
The Authors Corner:Are the more technical aspects of novel writing, like character and plot development.
and something I am really excited about, "Number Five": I am posting one of my novels a chapter a week. The novel is called "Number Five". The exciting part is that this novel is only about halfway done, so the direction it takes, the ending it arrives at, is going to come from you, my subscribers.
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My passion is writing, my blog addresses that passion as I delve into my process. Most posts will fall into these three main categories.Random Thoughts: Are just that, random thoughts that are documented and then set aside. Many are stories that will eventually find their way into my novels. Be they heartwarming or provocative they will leave an impact.The Authors Corner:Are the more technical aspects of novel writing, like character and plot development.
and something I am really excited about, "Number Five": I am posting one of my novels a chapter a week. The novel is called "Number Five". The exciting part is that this novel is only about halfway done, so the direction it takes, the ending it arrives at, is going to come from you, my subscribers.
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April 2, 2013
Chapter One: Number Five
Hero Jenkins --- 4/2/13 Click here to "Like" us on Facebook
Visit the Hero Jenkins blog at: http://herojenkins.blogspot.com/
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I tend to work on several Novels at the same time. Besides "The Millionaire Project" I am also working on this one tentatively titled "Number Five"I am going to release this one a chapter at a time on my blog.
Here is the first Chapter.
The best lies have a kernel of truth and even myths and legends are based in exaggerated facts. I thought zombies were just myths… until I met one.Chapter One
A woman laughed out loud the way the intoxicated did after a night of too much of a good time. A car’s horn blared, brakes squealed, a man shouted. “Slow down you idiot!” The man screamed at the car that had come within a whisper of running him down.“Yeah idiot!” The woman screamed with thick slurred speech. “This is a parking lot, this ain’t NASCAR!" The car sped away burning rubber as it went and a middle finger was extended out the window.The woman resumed her high-pitched laughter as she weaved a zigzagged path across the nearly pitch black motel parking lot. She was being propped up by the man, who was as intoxicated as she, if not more so.The moon had refused to show itself, but the black clouds still lingered. They just hung there, lifelessly in the sky, even they had lost interest in this the armpit part of town. It was a part of town where the smell of urine was inescapable because it was acceptable to urinate whenever and wherever the urge hit you. Garbage went uncollected and spilled out of overstuffed cans. Animals who were unlucky at crossing the busy highway lay flattened for weeks until they disintegrated from being run over repeatedly.He was almost invisible as he crouched in the shadows watching the drunks stagger by. It was cold in that parking lot. He cinched his jacket and tried to think warm thoughts. It wasn't working.
Most of the lights in this dirty motel parking lot were either burnt out or broken. Yet the limited lighting was good enough, good enough for him to recognize her car.With the drunks out of earshot the distant urban noises re-surrounded him as the night re-possessed him. He willed himself to remain motionless, feeling his environment; until he was comfortable that he was alone. He approached the car quietly and put his hand on the hood. It was warm; obviously she had only been here for a couple of hours. He returned to his dark place, he needed to think. Kelvin Brandiss looked up out of the darkness at the ugly two story “Cozy Motel” building. He was tracking a woman, her name was Kade Simmons and he had no idea which room she was in. He had tried to get the room number from the night clerk but all he got was attitude from the crotchety old woman hiding behind an inch of bulletproof glass. Obviously the glass made her feel protected from her customers; as a result she felt secure enough to be rude even though she was visibly afraid. But then, what level of service could he realistically expect from an establishment that rented rooms by the hour. Yeah, it was that kind of motel… what the hell was Kade thinking checking into a place like this?Kade was not a small woman; she was over 5’8” and extremely fit. Nor was she was a shy woman, far from it. She was always armed with a 9mm Glock and a bad attitude. Brandiss couldn’t decide which one was deadliest. She could handle herself he had no doubt… so why was she hiding out, on the run... and of all places, why would she be here?It had occurred to Brandiss to simply watch her car and wait Kade out, but she could be holed up in her room for days. He had no intention of dodging drunks in the parking lot for that long. Besides, that small still voice was telling him that she was in trouble… he could feel it.He looked at the building again. The lights were off in all, the TV on in some. He noticed that at least three prostitutes were sharing one of the bottom floor rooms. The ones not lucky enough to have a “John” had to wait outside until business was concluded. He had witnessed a “John” leave an hour ago… they were all inside the room now. Business must be slow.He refocused on Kade. Knowing her, she would have parked her car on the opposite side of the motel where her room was. That meant that he was in the wrong place. He worked his way in the shadows to the opposite side of the motel. There were ten rooms facing the parking lot on this side, five on the first floor, five on the second.Brandiss pulled out his cell phone and called the “Cozy Time Motel” office. The phone was picked up on the third ring. Brandiss asked the cranky female desk clerk to call Kade Simmons and then he listened for the telephone to ring. He prowled the walkway in front of the rooms, listening… there was no ringing telephone to be overheard from the walkway, there was no answer. Brandiss moved up to the second floor and repeated the process. This time he thought he heard a faint ringing coming from the last room, next to the stairs. He started moving towards the ringing when it stopped and the robotic voice mail prompt clicked in, he hung up.Brandiss called for a third time.“If she ain’t in, she ain’t in honey. It don’t matter how many times I call!” The testy clerk explained as if speaking to a lovesick teenager. Brandiss choked off a growl instead he cajoled finishing up just short of ‘pretty please’.”This will be the last time, I promise,” he said.When the ringing started on his cell phone and then seconds later in room #205, he was sure he was in the right place. He hung up and crept closer and he listened. The television was on in the room and he could hear movement… Obviously she was awake. He backed up to the shadows of the stairway momentarily to think. She was not answering the phone, she must be terrified,he thought. He began to worry that the ringing telephone had made things worse. Brandiss returned to the door and reached for the knob and then thought better of it. Instead he knocked softly on the door and called to her.“Kade… its Brandiss, I want to talk to you… your father sent me to find you. He wanted to make sure you were OK.” He saw the light change in that space between the door and the floor, the peephole darkened. Someone, he assumed that it was Kade, was looking out.“Hey!” a voice boomed from behind him. “Whatcha doin sneakin around out here boy!”Brandiss initially froze and then he slowly turned to face the voice. It was coming from the drunk Brandiss had spotted earlier and had apparently come out of the room next door. He was shirtless, wearing only boxers and dirty white socks. His dirty stringy brown hair partially obscured his pockmarked face. He held a can of beer that sloshed over the sides but he didn’t even notice because he was busy using that beer hand to point an accusing finger at Brandiss.“I’m talkin to you boy, that ain’t your room… you git yer ass away from there or I’m gonna call the cops!”Brandiss pulled his badge and held it up for the drunk to see. Then he signaled the drunk to be quiet by putting his fingers to his lips… It didn’t work!“PO-lice,” the drunk screamed. “What the Fu… Angie! We got the Police out here!” The other person in the room, the female half of the drunks, whom Brandiss had to assume was Angie, slid off the bed and jumped to her feet. She was wearing only a bra and panties and began running around the room frantically. She eventually grabbed a baggie with white powder inside, probably methamphetamine. Next she raced into the bathroom and seconds later he heard the toilet flush.The creak of the door, Kade’s door, alerted him. He started to turn his head… he didn’t get a chance. Someone, rather something, bolted from the room and bowled into Brandiss, almost knocking him over the balcony rail. The fleeing form disappeared around the corner and down the stairs by the time Brandiss regained his balance.Then Brandiss caught a glimpse of what remained in the motel room and he thought his heart would stop. ***
Visit the Hero Jenkins blog at: http://herojenkins.blogspot.com/
or “Like” him on facebook:http://www.facebook.com/pages/Hero-Je...
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Visit the Hero Jenkins blog at: http://herojenkins.blogspot.com/
or “Like” him on facebook:http://www.facebook.com/pages/Hero-Je...
I tend to work on several Novels at the same time. Besides "The Millionaire Project" I am also working on this one tentatively titled "Number Five"I am going to release this one a chapter at a time on my blog.
Here is the first Chapter.
The best lies have a kernel of truth and even myths and legends are based in exaggerated facts. I thought zombies were just myths… until I met one.Chapter One
A woman laughed out loud the way the intoxicated did after a night of too much of a good time. A car’s horn blared, brakes squealed, a man shouted. “Slow down you idiot!” The man screamed at the car that had come within a whisper of running him down.“Yeah idiot!” The woman screamed with thick slurred speech. “This is a parking lot, this ain’t NASCAR!" The car sped away burning rubber as it went and a middle finger was extended out the window.The woman resumed her high-pitched laughter as she weaved a zigzagged path across the nearly pitch black motel parking lot. She was being propped up by the man, who was as intoxicated as she, if not more so.The moon had refused to show itself, but the black clouds still lingered. They just hung there, lifelessly in the sky, even they had lost interest in this the armpit part of town. It was a part of town where the smell of urine was inescapable because it was acceptable to urinate whenever and wherever the urge hit you. Garbage went uncollected and spilled out of overstuffed cans. Animals who were unlucky at crossing the busy highway lay flattened for weeks until they disintegrated from being run over repeatedly.He was almost invisible as he crouched in the shadows watching the drunks stagger by. It was cold in that parking lot. He cinched his jacket and tried to think warm thoughts. It wasn't working.Most of the lights in this dirty motel parking lot were either burnt out or broken. Yet the limited lighting was good enough, good enough for him to recognize her car.With the drunks out of earshot the distant urban noises re-surrounded him as the night re-possessed him. He willed himself to remain motionless, feeling his environment; until he was comfortable that he was alone. He approached the car quietly and put his hand on the hood. It was warm; obviously she had only been here for a couple of hours. He returned to his dark place, he needed to think. Kelvin Brandiss looked up out of the darkness at the ugly two story “Cozy Motel” building. He was tracking a woman, her name was Kade Simmons and he had no idea which room she was in. He had tried to get the room number from the night clerk but all he got was attitude from the crotchety old woman hiding behind an inch of bulletproof glass. Obviously the glass made her feel protected from her customers; as a result she felt secure enough to be rude even though she was visibly afraid. But then, what level of service could he realistically expect from an establishment that rented rooms by the hour. Yeah, it was that kind of motel… what the hell was Kade thinking checking into a place like this?Kade was not a small woman; she was over 5’8” and extremely fit. Nor was she was a shy woman, far from it. She was always armed with a 9mm Glock and a bad attitude. Brandiss couldn’t decide which one was deadliest. She could handle herself he had no doubt… so why was she hiding out, on the run... and of all places, why would she be here?It had occurred to Brandiss to simply watch her car and wait Kade out, but she could be holed up in her room for days. He had no intention of dodging drunks in the parking lot for that long. Besides, that small still voice was telling him that she was in trouble… he could feel it.He looked at the building again. The lights were off in all, the TV on in some. He noticed that at least three prostitutes were sharing one of the bottom floor rooms. The ones not lucky enough to have a “John” had to wait outside until business was concluded. He had witnessed a “John” leave an hour ago… they were all inside the room now. Business must be slow.He refocused on Kade. Knowing her, she would have parked her car on the opposite side of the motel where her room was. That meant that he was in the wrong place. He worked his way in the shadows to the opposite side of the motel. There were ten rooms facing the parking lot on this side, five on the first floor, five on the second.Brandiss pulled out his cell phone and called the “Cozy Time Motel” office. The phone was picked up on the third ring. Brandiss asked the cranky female desk clerk to call Kade Simmons and then he listened for the telephone to ring. He prowled the walkway in front of the rooms, listening… there was no ringing telephone to be overheard from the walkway, there was no answer. Brandiss moved up to the second floor and repeated the process. This time he thought he heard a faint ringing coming from the last room, next to the stairs. He started moving towards the ringing when it stopped and the robotic voice mail prompt clicked in, he hung up.Brandiss called for a third time.“If she ain’t in, she ain’t in honey. It don’t matter how many times I call!” The testy clerk explained as if speaking to a lovesick teenager. Brandiss choked off a growl instead he cajoled finishing up just short of ‘pretty please’.”This will be the last time, I promise,” he said.When the ringing started on his cell phone and then seconds later in room #205, he was sure he was in the right place. He hung up and crept closer and he listened. The television was on in the room and he could hear movement… Obviously she was awake. He backed up to the shadows of the stairway momentarily to think. She was not answering the phone, she must be terrified,he thought. He began to worry that the ringing telephone had made things worse. Brandiss returned to the door and reached for the knob and then thought better of it. Instead he knocked softly on the door and called to her.“Kade… its Brandiss, I want to talk to you… your father sent me to find you. He wanted to make sure you were OK.” He saw the light change in that space between the door and the floor, the peephole darkened. Someone, he assumed that it was Kade, was looking out.“Hey!” a voice boomed from behind him. “Whatcha doin sneakin around out here boy!”Brandiss initially froze and then he slowly turned to face the voice. It was coming from the drunk Brandiss had spotted earlier and had apparently come out of the room next door. He was shirtless, wearing only boxers and dirty white socks. His dirty stringy brown hair partially obscured his pockmarked face. He held a can of beer that sloshed over the sides but he didn’t even notice because he was busy using that beer hand to point an accusing finger at Brandiss.“I’m talkin to you boy, that ain’t your room… you git yer ass away from there or I’m gonna call the cops!”Brandiss pulled his badge and held it up for the drunk to see. Then he signaled the drunk to be quiet by putting his fingers to his lips… It didn’t work!“PO-lice,” the drunk screamed. “What the Fu… Angie! We got the Police out here!” The other person in the room, the female half of the drunks, whom Brandiss had to assume was Angie, slid off the bed and jumped to her feet. She was wearing only a bra and panties and began running around the room frantically. She eventually grabbed a baggie with white powder inside, probably methamphetamine. Next she raced into the bathroom and seconds later he heard the toilet flush.The creak of the door, Kade’s door, alerted him. He started to turn his head… he didn’t get a chance. Someone, rather something, bolted from the room and bowled into Brandiss, almost knocking him over the balcony rail. The fleeing form disappeared around the corner and down the stairs by the time Brandiss regained his balance.Then Brandiss caught a glimpse of what remained in the motel room and he thought his heart would stop. ***
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April 1, 2013
Coming SOON!
available mid April on AmazonClick here to Read or Download a sample
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March 27, 2013
Storm in Memphis announcement
The Author's Corner: A Storm in Memphis --- RELEASE Date mid April --- 3/29/13 Hero Jenkins ---
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Will Compton is a government agent from the 25thcentury and it is his job to pursue illegal time travellers. When a group of criminals time jumped back to Memphis Tennessee, the day before the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. it was up to Will to go after them.Will Compton lived in a world that was nearly destroyed by nuclear war. Humankind had been on the brink of extinction but it made a comeback and has since endeavored to follow the path of non-violence championed by Dr. King. However, time travel changed everything because it could allow one person to adversely change the lives of everyone on the planet. So how did a non-violent society respond to a fringe element of ideological killers who possessed technology that could destroy them? Well... they identified their own killers... then they trained them and looked the other way as they sent them out to wage war on societies behalf. Will Compton was one of the first.But his job was taking a toll, his sanity was on life support and he was not even sure he cared. It didn’t help that this mission was the most challenging of his career and proved to be dangerous territory for him in many respects. Will Compton is a man of necessary violence who’s hero, Dr. King, was a man of unrivaled peace. In addition to the dangers he faced in dealing with illegal time travelers, Will had to contend with the real possibility that he could find himself face to face with Dr. King’s killer. How would he respond? Who hasn’t dreamed of going back in time to right a wrong or fix a past mistake? However, the past is delicate and only a fool would try to change history… right?Now the fate of the world rests upon his shoulders. It is up to Will to solve the mystery around this secretive group’s intentions and stop them from destroying the future.A Storm in Memphis is a 90,000 word, "historical fiction" Novel that imagines the world 500 years from now and then reimagines that world where the assassination never occured. It combines facts from the police and FBI investigations, investigative reporting conducted at the time and several published conspiracy theories into an entertaining and thought provoking exploration of the history you thought you knew.Sincerely;Hero JenkinsHero Jenkins Fan Page
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Will Compton is a government agent from the 25thcentury and it is his job to pursue illegal time travellers. When a group of criminals time jumped back to Memphis Tennessee, the day before the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. it was up to Will to go after them.Will Compton lived in a world that was nearly destroyed by nuclear war. Humankind had been on the brink of extinction but it made a comeback and has since endeavored to follow the path of non-violence championed by Dr. King. However, time travel changed everything because it could allow one person to adversely change the lives of everyone on the planet. So how did a non-violent society respond to a fringe element of ideological killers who possessed technology that could destroy them? Well... they identified their own killers... then they trained them and looked the other way as they sent them out to wage war on societies behalf. Will Compton was one of the first.But his job was taking a toll, his sanity was on life support and he was not even sure he cared. It didn’t help that this mission was the most challenging of his career and proved to be dangerous territory for him in many respects. Will Compton is a man of necessary violence who’s hero, Dr. King, was a man of unrivaled peace. In addition to the dangers he faced in dealing with illegal time travelers, Will had to contend with the real possibility that he could find himself face to face with Dr. King’s killer. How would he respond? Who hasn’t dreamed of going back in time to right a wrong or fix a past mistake? However, the past is delicate and only a fool would try to change history… right?Now the fate of the world rests upon his shoulders. It is up to Will to solve the mystery around this secretive group’s intentions and stop them from destroying the future.A Storm in Memphis is a 90,000 word, "historical fiction" Novel that imagines the world 500 years from now and then reimagines that world where the assassination never occured. It combines facts from the police and FBI investigations, investigative reporting conducted at the time and several published conspiracy theories into an entertaining and thought provoking exploration of the history you thought you knew.Sincerely;Hero JenkinsHero Jenkins Fan Page
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