Danny Davies – Conclusion

10 Monday Apr 2023

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     Back at the station he jumped on the next train to Davis and finally relaxed into a seat. He realized his heart was pounding. His instincts about this guy were right and he still didn’t want to have a mano-a-mano conflict with the dude. God knows what he would pull out of one of those boots. A little shiver went down Danny’s spine. He wasn’t sure if it was excitement or fear. Ah, well, let’s get us home.

     Next morning, he was in the watch commander’s office getting chewed out.

     “You did what! When, while on duty! Tell me you are kidding me.”

     Roosevelt, the watch commander, an overweight middle-aged man of about fifty was getting progressively redder and redder in the face.

     “What would make you even contemplate doing such a stupid thing?” he demanded.

     Danny put his hands up in an imploring manner. “He has been riding this same train for months and never seems to have the usual stuff with him that most people carry, and he always gets off at the same stop.”

     “He doesn’t carry the usual stuff, the usual stuff!” Commander Roosevelt was speechless. “Well, maybe we can match him up with my wife someday. She carries enough stuff for three people!”

     Daniel Davies sat quietly; his hands folded in his lap. He had given his report of what he had found and the suspicions he had been having for some time. It was up to the commander now. The train company had been transporting this guy back and forth to his drug drop now for several months.

     “You know what you are like, Davis?” the commander asked belligerently.

     “No sir.”

     “You are like that ball of lint under my bed that keeps rolling around and collects other pieces of lint and keeps getting bigger and bigger.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “That and a royal pain in my ass, is what you are.” The commander clutched his coffee cup so hard Danny was afraid he was going to break it. The man sat there in a brown study for several minutes.

     “Ok, this is what we will do,” he finally spoke. “You will call the LAPD and get hold of the drug division and get hold of a detective, someone with some authority. Got me?” he said with hostility. “You will make your report to them and then ask them what it is they want us to do. Thereafter, I want you to fill out your incident report. Then report to me with their recommendations, and I want it back on my desk by morning, am I clear?” “Absolutely, sir,” Danny replied.

     “And don’t go off doing anything else dumb on company time because I am the one who will have to fill out the report and I hate filling out reports. !”
     “Right sir.” Danny grabbed his cap and practically backed out of the room into the door which the secretary had opened.
     “And what’s wrong with you?” she wanted to know. Danny didn’t answer and kept going.                                                                                                                                                                                                                          #
     Danny made his report to LAPD and was assigned to Detective Sergeant Terrence Dillon.
     “So, did you actually see this guy, you made eye contact with him yourself?” Dillon wanted to know.
     “Yep, several times. He would end up in my train cars somehow over and over again and then always get off at the Sacramento station.”
     “So, you called me, why?” was Dillon’s question.

     “The seat designation indicates he got onboard at the Los Angeles train depot and that is your area.”

     “True,” Dillon replied. Danny didn’t mention the news conference he had seen on the TV the week before.

     “You know his name?”

     “No, I don’t but I know how we can get it.”

     “I’m listening,” the detective said.

     Danny told him the plan.

     “You think you can do this without making him suspicious? I don’t want any dead conductors on my case.”

     “I think so,” Danny told him of the surveillance projects he had done in the Navy. The detective seemed impressed.

     The next day, Danny had his report done and typed up and on the commander’s desk. Roosevelt came in with his first cup of coffee and scowled but said nothing and said down heavily in his swivel chair. He picked up the report and read and Danny sat and waited.

     “Ok, so this is what he wants you to do right?”

     “That is it, get the guy’s name.”

     “Damn it, Davies,” the commander huffed. “Can you do this without getting into any fights with this guy?”

     “Absolutely sir, no problem,” Danny’s arms were folded over his chest. He nodded to his boss.

     “I don’t like it but take Franklin to be your backup man and no cowboy stuff, right?”

     “Right sir, no cowboys, just a little info and that’s it.”

     The commander huffed, and wiped the coffee from his walrus style mustache.

     “Call me as soon as you get it.”

     “Will do, sir.”

      Danny got hold of the Frump and gave him the skinny on operation Teardrop.

     “No kid,” Franklin looked amazed. “Cocaine?”

    Danny confirmed it.

    “Wow, drugs on the train. I never.”

    “Anyway, Franklin, you understand what we are going to do right?”

     Frumpy gulped, “Got it. We will be on the lookout for Tear Drop and if he is not in your car, I or another conductor will call you on the walkie-talkie and you will come and punch the tickets for the car where he is sitting.”

     “Right,” said Danny. “Don’t bother talking to him or trying to engage with him or he will get suspicious and jump the train.”

     Frumpy nodded nervously, “No engagements, got it.”

    Danny laughed and hit his friend on the shoulder, “I’ll be doing all the tough stuff, relax.”

     The Frump didn’t look a bit relaxed. # It was two days later that Danny got the call from Franklin. “He’s up here, dude.”

     “On my way,” was the curt response.

     Danny started at the front of the cabin as he always did and slowly made his way back to Tear Drop, not rushing, not in a hurry. He talked to the passengers as usual. He got to Tear Drop and paused and reached up to the card above the seat and frowned.

     “Hmm,” he said thoughtfully. “Sorry, sir, looks like I may have to check your ticket one more time. You don’t mind?” and he smiled the big smile.

     “No esta problema, man,” the Hispanic guy replied. “Whatever you want, you got it, heh?” He pulled the ticket out of the back pocket of his jeans and smiled so his gold tooth showed.

     Danny scanned the ticket with the meter machine, and it clicked that the memory had taken.

     “Gracias, senor,” he nodded cordially and handed back the ticket.

     The man smiled again and put his ticket away. “De nada.”

     Danny moved on and collected the rest of the tickets from the remaining passengers. As soon as he was done with the car he made his way without haste to the downstairs mini office and pulled up the meter memory.

     “Jose Gonzalez Gonzalez. Original at least,” he said to Frumpy.

    “You got it, right?” whispered a nervous Frumpy.

   “Yes, I got it.” Danny smacked his partner on the shoulder. “Relax.”

     He got on the phone and called the commander and gave all the details on when, where and how the ticket was purchased and the man’s name.

     “Ok,” Roosevelt replied. “We’ll get on it to get his id info. And remember, smart college boy, no funny stuff with this guy. He sounds dangerous.” Danny promised to be good, or at least careful, and hung up the phone.

It was then up to the two of them to go back to their jobs like nothing had ever happened. #

     It was two weeks later that the Commander called Davies back into his office.
He appeared and his boss waved him to a chair without ceremony. He sat down, crossed his legs and foldedhis hands in his lap.

    “Okay,” the Commander said as though they had just been speaking.

    “Here’s this.” He handed over a letter from the Sacramento Police Department and it was a Witness Request form addressed to David Daniel Davies c/o of Pacific Railroad Company requesting his attendance at a suspect lineup.

     “So,” Roosevelt huffed, “they want you to go.”

     “Okay,” Danny replied.

     “I think you should take Franklin too since he also saw the guy.”

     “Okay,” said Danny slowly, waiting for what else was coming.

    “Davies,” the Commander started. “Davies…I’m not happy about this.”

   “We were just doing our duty sir,” Danny said sincerely.

     “I don’t care,” replied Roosevelt, “this guy is a Mexican National, a professional criminal. Damn it, the passport he gave our people was fake!”
     Danny nodded.

     “Someone could have gotten hurt with all this nonsense,” the Commander seemed to be running out of steam. He looked down and fiddled with the pencil on his desk.

     “People were getting hurt sir,” Danny’s said quietly. “They were selling top grade cocaine out of that warehouse. Lots of people get hurt with that stuff.”

     Roosevelt stroked his mustache and avoided eye contact. “Well…” He seemed to be hunting for something to add. “In the future, can you try to keep your nose out of other people’s business? Try?” At this point, he straightened the pencil and looked up sharply at Danny.

      “Yes, sir,” Danny got up to go and almost gave a military style salute but stopped himself in time. Instead, he gave a short quasi-salute and left. #

     Later that evening, Danny and Frumpy were lingering at the entrance of Lupe’s Cantina. They were trying to figure out how to tie up the Frumps cocker spaniel so they could go in the restaurant. The temperature was getting warmer; summer seemed to be in the air. “I told you not to bring the dog,” Danny was irritable. “She misses me,” the Frump countered with a pout. Suddenly, the front door swung open. The restaurant cook came out and walked straight over to Danny.

     “Is okay man, I talk to her.”

     “Her?” Danny was confused.

     “My cousin, Randi. The one you got you eye on all the time.”

     “I, I, never….” Danny stumbled, grasping for a response.

     “Is okay, Man. I tell her you too old for her and plus,” he leaned really close, “you gay.”

     “What, what…..where did you get that from?” Danny was starting to get annoyed now.

     The cook pointed his finger down at Frumpy, Frumpy’s cocker spaniel and then shrugged his shoulders like to say, “The facts speak for themselves.”

     Danny’s mouth was still open when the cook turned to go back in the kitchen. “Is okay, man, you know. Is a new day.” He winked at Danny and disappeared back inside.

     Danny was mumbling to himself as they went in and sat down. Randi appeared and carefully laid down a menu in front of him.
     “And what will you two be having tonight, sir?” she asked quite formally, hands behind her back.
     Danny sighed, shook his head, and opened the menu. The End

Danny Davies – Part II

09 Sunday Apr 2023

Posted by webbywriter1 in Uncategorized

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            Back home that evening, Danny fired up the computer.

    Ha! As he suspected, he read ‘the tear drops are gang tattoos. The drops indicated a person you had killed. The big drop, the first kill and the smaller ones, later kills.’ Danny pushed himself away from the computer. He felt a rush of revulsion. “I knew there was something about that guy I didn’t like,” he told the room. With a full-body shake, he went to get himself a beer. Flopping backdown in the big chair, he hit the on button for the TV to watch some baseball and clear his head.

          It was probably a week later, again on the N/B route through SacTown; he first noticed a dim light coming from the abandoned warehouse close to the train tracks. They were slowing for the station when he noticed it. He began to wonder. Was that where that same kid went every time?

     The next day, after seeing the kid again with another bag of Mexican food, Danny was on the Sacto-south loop coming back through the capital at dusk. They stopped in front of the station and Danny peered out. Once again, he could see what looked like the same dim light coming from a far window in the red-brick warehouse close to the tracks.

     He got a bee in his bonnet. He went to find the Frump.

     “Look,” he said to him confidentially, “it’s one stop away from Davis and I want to get off in Sacramento to go do some shopping.”

      Franklin looked pained. “You know they don’t like it when we do stuff like that, Dan. You’ll get me in trouble.”

    “Come on Franklin, I’m good for it.” Danny pleaded his case. “I’ll make it up with some yard duty tomorrow, promise.”

     The Frump heaved his large belly around some and sighed. “Promise?”

     “Promise, I swear,” Danny replied, holding up his scout’s honor fingers.

     “Ah, well,” the man sighed, “I’ll cover for you, don’t make a habit of this.”

     Danny shook his head, no. Grabbing his backpack, he jumped off the train, quickly stuffing his cap and other paraphernalia into the bag.

     He shouldered the bag and sauntered through the train station stopping for a hot coffee and a bag of chips. He waved a salute to a couple of girls at the station who knew him. They both giggled and waved back at him. He walked out of the front of the station and stood awhile to get his bearings. It was a cool evening, but not cold and he didn’t need more than his regular train jacket.

     The location looked a little different from this angle. He decided the warehouse was across from the tracks to his right a block or two. He started walking and veered right. The streets here were not in the best of shape, a lot of cracks in the sidewalks and places where the old trees had pulled the sidewalk up. Obviously, no one had bothered to get them repaired. There weren’t too many bums in this area of the street for which Danny was glad, he didn’t want to be seen by anyone, in case someone asked questions.

     It took him about five minutes to get to the front parking lot of the old warehouse. The asphalt was faded with cracks and potholes everywhere. Weeds were trying hard to reclaim the land but half of them were dried out and brown. There was an ancient metal fence around the property with the gate sagging open. Danny stretched his long legs and planted a boot on the other side of the gate and frog-jumped over.

     He had by this time finished his coffee and chips and stuck the remains quietly into his bag. Loose gravel covered the broken asphalt and he tried to make as little noise as possible as he approached the building. He couldn’t see any signs of life. An owl hooted in the distance and the moon was starting to rise.

     Quietly he moved around to the side of the building. The place had a gloomy, empty feeling. Early twilight was descending and a light breeze played with the dark, curly hair on his neck. He could hear absolutely nothing from the building. He narrowed his chocolate brown eyes to focus better.

     Danny skirted the building and occasionally peeked in the windows, searching for the source of the light. The dirt and grime were so bad he couldn’t see much. Finally, he came upon a small side door with little windowpanes above the door handle. The handle was locked.

     Pulling a handkerchief from his backpack, he wound it around his fist. With one quick ‘pop’, he knocked out the bottom pane. Carefully he stuck his hand through the pane and slowly unlocked the door, pushing it open. Working hard to avoid the broken glass inside, he found himself in what appeared to have been an old mini-kitchen, maybe for workers to have coffee or eat lunch.

     The light dimmed the further he went into the building. He entered a large, gloomy space that looked like a packing area of sorts. At the far end of the building where the metal roll-up doors were, he could see stacks of boxes. These looked new.

     Still hearing nothing, he worked his way back to the rear of the big room. The boxes were all about 2’ x 3′ wide and stacked on top of each other. They were new with a bunch of writing on the side. He examined the writing – Spanish. He could easily see where the dust had been disturbed all around the boxes and leading to the roller-doors. It looked like they might been moved here by truck. On the side were heavy wooden shelves and he could see several used containers of food from a fast-food take-out place. Mama Rosas’s face smiled back at him from an empty bag.

Maybe that was why that kid was here, he thought to himself, delivering dinner.

     He went over to the boxes and found they were sealed with packing tape. It looked like from the picture on the side they were packages of kitchen baking soda. He saw one box that had been opened and he went over and poked his nose in. Boxes and boxes of light orange boxes were stacked inside advertising the benefits of Salvo’s Home Baking Soda. Danny was mystified.

     Why ship out boxes of Mexican baking soda here, was the duty or tax on this stuff that high? He shook his head. It made no sense. He picked up a box and shook it and could feel the heavy powder moving back and forth inside.

     I wonder, he thought. He pulled out his old Navy multi-purpose knife and pulled out the smallest, thinnest blade. He slipped it carefully into the top edge of the box, hoping that it would look like an accidental cut from packing. Making a thin slice, he shook some powder in his hand. He licked one finger and tasted a tiny bit of the powder. Phew! He spit it out, cocaine! No doubt about it. He was putting the box back into the cardboard box when he heard a noise in front of the metal roll-up door. Someone is coming!

     He shoved the soda back into the box and ripped his shoes off so he wouldn’t make any noise running through the warehouse. He beat it back to the little door, slipped his shoes back on and crept out of the door. He ducked down and worked his way back to the front of the building keeping below the level of the windows.

     It was dark by now but there was no other way off the property other than the front gate. The back of the lot faced the train tracks and there was no easy way through the fence. He got to the corner of the building and with his heart in his mouth, peeked around the corner.

Surprise, surprise. Mr. Teardrop was standing behind a black pickup truck and unloading more boxes into the warehouse. He was working with another guy and they were talking to each other in Spanish. His fancy clothes were gone and he was working in a black t-shirt, black pants and the cowboy boots. There was a large gun-rack on the back of the truck’s cab. Danny could see what looked like a couple of shotguns resting there.

     Danny sucked in his breath and waited until both of them were busy in the warehouse with boxes. He moved quickly to the fence and kept to the shadows while he beat a path out of the lot and back to the station. He felt sure they had not seen him.

     Back at the station he jumped on the next train to Davis and finally relaxed into a seat. He realized his heart was pounding. His instincts about this guy were right and he still didn’t want to have a mano-a-mano conflict with the dude. God knows what he would pull out of one of those boots. A little shiver went down Danny’s spine. He wasn’t sure if it was excitement or fear. Ah, well, let’s get us home.

     Continued in Part III

Danny Davies, Train Conductor

07 Friday Apr 2023

Posted by webbywriter1 in detective stories, Fiction, mystery

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                                                Danny Davies stood in front of the plaque at the Amtrak station. He read ‘This Mission Revival Station was built by South Pacific Railroad in 1908 to replace the original Davisville Depot which had served customers since 1868.’

He gazed at the plaque fondly. He had already read it before, several times. Still, he loved the plaque, and he loved the station. It was so very, well, very…Californian. What with the stucco walls, embedded with colorful tiles and the arched walkways. He smiled. He loved this little town. Danny had bought here before the prices of real estate had gone completely out the roof. The small, 50’s bungalow was not in the ritzy part of town of course, but it was still, a perfectly acceptable middle-class neighborhood. He tried to avoid reviewing the real estate listings that tempted him to sell up. He had traveled around enough while in the Navy and wanted to be settled somewhere. Somewhere he wanted to stay. This was that somewhere.

Smiling again, he tugged on his conductor cap. He checked that his nametag was fastened to his shirt pocket and did a last glance at a reflecting window. Giving a final yank to his thin, black tie, he was ready to start his shift. Danny was a conductor for the Amtrak line, and they didn’t appreciate sloppy employees or late ones either. He clocked in and was ready to go in a few minutes. This loop was the Davis to Sacramento and onto Reno. They would be back late that evening.

After his six years in the Navy, Danny had acquired a number of things. Friends for one, some great souvenirs and the little bungalow. Most of his friends had gone into high-tech IT companies or well-paid security jobs. They either made fun of him for his railway job or shook their heads in disbelief.

     “Danny, with your skills set, you should be making six figures, easy,” his buddy Ralph would say. Then, “The railroad? Why?”

   It was hard to explain. He loved riding the rails. How do you put that into words? Probably can’t and have it make any sense, he thought to himself with a chuckle. They all think I am crazy or stupid, or both. Oh, well. Can’t please everyone.

    “All aboard!” He shouted and blew his whistle, swinging up the metal steps; long, tan arms enjoying the stretch. He waved hello to Franklin, his teammate, known to his friends as Frumpy. They were both busy checking passengers were seated and luggage stowed. They would be making their rounds, punching tickets in a few minutes.

As Danny was working the aisle, he saw the same skinny young kid he had seen several times. The kid was maybe seventeen, all angles and bones, bad skin, a thatch of poorly cut black hair and cheap knock off jeans but, surprisingly expensive sneakers. Once again, he was clutching a large plastic bag from Mama Rosa’s Mexican Food. Mama’s face smiled out from the bag and her name was proudly announced in big, red letters. It looked to be full of to-go dinners.

    Could be wrong, Danny thought to himself, but I could almost swear those are Michael Jordan sneaks. Air-Jordon. Aren’t those about $150 each? Where does a kid dressed like that get money for shoes like those?

   He said nothing, just clipped the kid’s ticket. “Looks like someone’s getting dinner!” He smiled affably.

The kid looked confused at first, then a little panicked, finally blurted out, “Si, dinner, si!”

Danny nodded again. Also, noticing the metal work around the kid’s front teeth he said to himself, Mexican national. He smiled and moved away.

    When they stopped at the station a little past Sacramento, the kid got off. Danny watched him. Instead of following the passengers and going toward the rail station, he crossed behind the train, went across the tracks and into an empty field that led to nothing other than a large, abandoned warehouse. There were plenty of these along the rail line. Relics of the days when manufacturing was still done State side. The kid went behind a bunch of tall bushes and Danny lost sight of him.

     Where in hell is he going? There’s nothing out here. Danny had worked military police in the Navy, and done a bit of intelligence work. Friends still kidded him that he was nosy like an old lady. It was true. He even could be caught reading scandal rags from time to time. He shrugged his shoulders. He gets back on the train every week, he thought to himself. He doesn’t appear to be harmed or hurt in any way. Maybe I’m making something out of nothing. He shrugged. Let it go. He went to get a coffee and bother Frumpy.

Frumpy and Danny were able to enjoy the brilliant California sunset – the sun going down in a big pink-orange ball, as the southbound train chugged slowly back home. Danny was picking his teeth with a toothpick and feeling good about life. He relaxed in the conductor’s seat and stared out the window. The low, green countryside rolled past. Little mom and pop gas stations/convenience stores still hung on in outlying areas. Bigger stores and gas stations dominated the larger towns.

     Later, home again, he plopped down on the over-sized, stuffed sofa and put his Diet Coke down, sticking his feet up on the coffee table. He rubbed the toes of both feet together, enjoying the feeling of soft, warm woolen socks. The sofa, chairs and various other items in the house were care of his mom who loved to play decorator with his money. He couldn’t complain, she had been right. The oatmeal color was soothing after a long day at work and blended well with the mushroom color walls. The wide screen TV, his purchase sans any help from mom, occupied a position of authority in the middle of a large dark oak set of shelves. The rest of the spaces were covered with his knick-knacks from years of travel.

     Danny turned on the TV and flipped through the channels with the remote. There wasn’t a lot on. Damn it, I might be forced to go start on homework. He frowned, why do today what you can put off until tomorrow? Danny was about to complete a bachelors in Political Science at Cal State, Sacramento.

      He paused briefly on a news channel to see a short conference down in LA. Some very satisfied detectives were discussing their latest sting operation.

     “We would like to say however, although this operation has been successfully completed, the war on drugs is definitely not over and unfortunately, it appears that any number of these operations are moving to other parts of the state.” The beefy cop moved aside to let some politician continue on with more happy remarks.

Hmm, Danny thought to himself and switched to the baseball game. In the back of his mind, he was still considering that kid on the train. Danny would probably not have been so bothered if it had not been for the Mexican cowboy. This individual rode the same train and got off at the same stop as the kid; but different days and different times. However, the two looked quite a bit different.

     Several months before, Danny had been working the aisles, punching tickets. The first thing he noticed was not the person, rather the hat. A ten-gallon Stetson cowboy hat could be seen above the level of the seats. At first, Danny was mildly curious. Then he got to the customer and had to work to keep the surprise off his face. The man was small, Hispanic, wearing a hand tooled, turquoise Western shirt with all the piping and pearl buttons usually seen on shop models in Western clothing stores. The shirt was a wonder of hand stitching with embroidery on the collar and cuffs.

Danny was impressed. “Ticket, sir.” He smiled.

   The man smiled back; silver fillings lined the outside of his front teeth. “Jes,” he replied to Danny and pulled the ticket from a front pocket with flourish.

Danny bent to punch the ticket. It was then he noticed the tooled, hand-crafted alligator cowboy boots the man was wearing. He had to pause a moment. “Nice boots,” he said. He handed the ticket back.

     “Jes, I know,” the man grinned broadly. Danny nodded and moved away.

    Jesus, he thought, the guy is dressed up like he’s going to the rodeo. How much did those boots cost him? He moved down the aisle but kept glancing back. Something about that guy made him uncomfortable. Like he’s holding onto some dirty little secret.

The same guy showed up kind of randomly, about every two or three weeks on Danny’s route. The western shirt varied but the boots stayed the same. If I could afford a pair of boots like that, I’d probably wear them all the time too, Danny thought grumpily to himself. Ah, small touch of envy. He had to laugh at himself.

It was maybe the second or third time Danny punched the guy’s ticket that he noticed the tear drop. The tear drop was a tattoo under the man’s left eye. At second glance, Danny realized there was one large drop and then two smaller ones under that. Instinctively he knew these were somehow gang related but he had to wait until he got home to Google it.

Continued Part II

Brittle Bones

30 Thursday Mar 2023

Posted by webbywriter1 in poetry

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She smiles at me,

her face a mosaic like shiny glass.

I turn away and the glass shatters into thousands of little pieces,

lying on the floor.

“We’re so happy you’re here,” she says.

My eyes slide sideways to her face.

How often has she said this?

“You are the bomb,” she tells me smiling.

The smile doesn’t penetrate those bulging blue eyes and green metallic eyeliner.

“We’re here to help,” she says admiring the polish on her nails.

“It’s all about helping them be the best they can be.”

The eyes glitter over the cat-like smile as she adjusts her designer jacket.

“You know you can always ask me for help,” he adjusts his green and brown bow tie,

over the matching green dress shirt.

He musters a smile, faintly.

The brittle bones are so fragile and easily broken,

Not easily mended.

The milk of human kindness doesn’t flow here much.

Ah, me. To think on how things used to be, and

might never be, again.

3/23

cew

The Writing

28 Tuesday Mar 2023

Posted by webbywriter1 in poetry

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The words won’t come.

Sulky as an obstinate child,

standing in the corner with a frown.

I cajole with candy and sweets.

The muse shakes her head, an angry no.

I want to shake her.

No good.

I am back at my typewriter,

Staring at the piece.

“You know, it has potential,” the editor told me and

smiled. “But needs work.”

I smiled back and worked on it a week.

I’ll swear it’s worse than before.

Damn it. I pull out the paper so

I can rip it to shreds.

The little girl in the corner laughs and

shakes a finger at me. “No, no, no.”

“You might use it somewhere else.”

Somewhere else is exactly where I’d rather be,

then staring at this stupid machine while the ghosts

of words whisper at me in voices that refuse to cooperate.

Cew 2/23

Tlāloc

19 Sunday Mar 2023

Posted by webbywriter1 in Book Sales: Amazon.com/Kindle Books, detective stories, Fiction, mystery, romance

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When Junie Klein, a high school senior from Tucson, disappears without a trace, Detective Yaya Vinciflora is determined to bring her home alive. Video footage linking the missing girl and a mysterious man leads Yaya deep into a world she never knew existed. As she races to find the truth, Yaya realizes the answer may be as unworldly as the creatures of the ocean’s depths.

Amazon.com : Tlaloc – Courtney Webb

Mille Gets Kidnapped – Chap 5

18 Saturday Mar 2023

Posted by webbywriter1 in Book Sales: Amazon.com/Kindle Books, Fiction, FRIENDSHIP

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Millie reached in her bag and pulled out an old battered copy of The Hidden Staircase. “See, I write books. This is my book.” She pointed at the title.

The shorter man, without the gun, reached over and took the book from her.

“No, is not you,” he pointed at the cover. “Is Carolyn Keene, writer. Is not you. You is Wirt. Not the same.”

Millie was surprised the man spoke any English. But, she thought, that’s a good thing.

She slowed down her speech. “No, it is me. That is my book. That name,” she pointed at the book, “that is like,” she paused, “a stage name. Like an actress’s stage name.”

Juan translated. Millie could hear actriza spoken over and over.

“So, dis is your book, you are worth much money!” The short man said and he and his friend laughed.

“Oh, no,” Millie replied. “Not much money. That book, only $125 to write.” Juan translated the dollars into dineros. The two kidnappers shook their heads. “Plus, I’m only a woman, and kind of old. People probably wouldn’t pay much for me.” Is fifty-five that old? Millie thought to herself.

The two kidnappers shook their heads and again and went to the corner and whispered to each other. They came back. The short one did the talking.

“How we know you really write the book?” The short man asked.

“Oh,” Millie answered pleasantly, “I could read it to you. I have it practically memorized anyway. But you really must untie me. Where would I run to? I have no idea where I am.”

The two men whispered to each other and seemed to come to an agreement. They untied Millie and handed her back the book. Then they pulled her around to a small kitchen table. The taller man got more cups of water. They gestured for Juan to come over. He hobbled over on his chair.

The four of them sat at the table; Juan still loosely tied, while Millie read them The Hidden Staircase.

The reading took a long time because they had to stop to have Juan translate different words and phrases. Hours later, Millie put the book down as the two men got busy making some simple tacos for them to eat.

“Okay, lady,” the man she now knew as Carlos said. “We make it $500 American and you give us the book.”

“Oh, I can’t,” Millie gasped. “That’s an original copy. I just carry it around to show people what I have done.”

“No, no,” Carlos waved his hands in the air “La nina,” he looked at Juan and said some words.

Juan said “Daughter.”

“She loves los libros and is working hard to speak the English. She would love this book.” He nodded and his companion nodded with him.

Millie looked at him. “How about $100 and the book?”

The two men looked at each other. The tall one shook his head.

“You see, senora,” the one called Carlos said, “we would be, ah…” He looked at Juan, more Spanish. “Ah, yes. Embarrassed to let you go for that amount.”

“Who would know?” asked Millie.

“People would know. Not good for our reputation.”

Millie sighed. “Okay, five hundred dollars and the book. Not a dollar more. I can give you a check but I won’t sign it unless you take us both back.”

Juan did some more translating. The two men looked at each other again and then nodded.

“Is getting late and no good to be on the river late. We stay here and go manana.”

“Esta bien,” Millie said to the two of them. The men looked at her with surprise then laughed. They all ate their tacos.

“Now,” the short man said, “you finish the book for us.”

Millie nodded, they moved over to a small fireplace and settled on the floor. The men built a small fire in the grate and even took Juan’s ropes off him. They settled down, now with cups of strong coffee and Millie continued to read.

The next day, the men led them back to the canoes and they returned the way they had come. They kept Juan as hostage as Millie went back to her hotel, got her checkbook out of her suitcase and wrote a check.

She returned to the small boat dock and handed the check over and Carlos let Juan out of the boat. She was about to turn to go when Carlos spoke again.

“Un momento, Senora. Una mas, por favor.” She paused. Carlos held out the book she had given him. “Could you sign, for my daughter? Mucho gracias, Senora.”

Millie laughed and shook her head. She pulled a pen from her bag and opening the front flap of the book and wrote ‘Millie Wirt Benson, aka, Carolyn Keene.’

She handed the book back to Carlos who read the inscription. “Gracias, Senora. You are very kind.”

Millie nodded and she and Juan made their way back to the village.

“But your trip, Senora Benson, the ruins!” Juan exclaimed as they approached the hotel.

“It’s okay, Juan. Enough adventures for one day. I need a bath. I’ll see you later!”

Juan nodded to the senora and went to unload the canoe.

Taken from – Kindle Vella
Carolyn Keene, Telephone for Miss Keene

Courtney E. Webb

DETAILS

ASIN:

B0BHR23XWL

Chap Five – Millie gets Kidnapped

17 Friday Mar 2023

Posted by webbywriter1 in aging, exercise, Book Sales: Amazon.com/Kindle Books, Fiction

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from: Telephone Call for Carolyn Keene

Good times were not to last and George Benson also suffered a stroke and died the night before the couple was to leave on a trip to Central America. Heart broken, Millie did not marry again.

Times changed and the demands for the girl sleuth changed. Stratemeyer had died and his

daughter Harriet had taken over the Syndicate. Other ghostwriters were hired to work on the series.

Eventually, Millie herself got tired of Nancy and wanted to move onto something else. She eventually worked on a number of series for kids, some under different pen names and some using her own. Her favorite, Penny Parker, was about a girl reporter full of pluck and independence. She still worked as a reporter for the Toledo Blade and was busy taking trips to Central America to explore her favorite ruins. It was there it happened. Mildred Wirt Benson was kidnapped in Guatemala!

After the death of her husband, George Benson, Millie continued to take trips to her beloved Central America to look at the Mayan ruins. It was on one of these trips that it happened. Mildred Wirt Benson was kidnapped in Guatemala!

Millie was with her local guide and was eager to start their exploration of the Rio de la Pasion River. Their canoe was ready, provisions were packed, she had her leather messenger bag complete with camera and notebook. Millie loved to record her journeys and show pictures when she got back to her friends in Ohio. The guide spoke passable English, the weather was good; they were set!

It was mid-morning, the sky was bright blue and the sun was gaining on the sky but it still wasn’t completely hot. Early November and the real heat had not yet set in. The jungle around them was a deep green. Birds could be heard calling to each other overhead. When Millie looked up from her paddling, she could glimpse their bright colors fliting from tree to tree. Her guide promised to take her to some Mayan ruins off the beaten track that not too many people had seen. Millie was giddy with excitement. She loved this!

They paddled down the seemingly tranquil river and had been gone from their dock about a half hour. Millie could see a canoe approaching them from the opposite direction. She assumed it was a farmer come to sell his goods at the little market in the village they had come from.

“Buenos Diaz!” Her guide shouted and waved at the oncoming canoe.

“Buenos Diaz, amigo!” was the reply as the two men seemed about to row past them. Suddenly, as the canoe glided past them one man pulled his paddle out of the water and stuck it into the back of their boat and pulled. Her canoe started to swing around, the other man pulled out a gun and pointed it at the guide who dropped his paddle in the canoe and held up his hands. Rapid fire Spanish flew between the two men. The other canoe came along side of theirs. The man with the gun gestured at the guide who then stepped over to the second canoe. The man with the gun got into hers.

“Vamonos!” Millie heard the man from the second canoe shout and the two canoes made a detour toward the shore. There, the two strange men quickly jumped out and secured the canoes on a short shelf of sand.

“Out, out,” one of the men shouted at her. Getting up while the canoe was still rocking, Millie slung her messenger bag over one shoulder and steadied herself to get out. Her guide rushed to her side to help her and she put a dainty foot over the side of the boat. The two men were still shouting and the one with the gun gestured for them to walk.

They entered the jungle and Millie realized they were on a small dirt path through the trees. They walked in silence for another half hour. Later, Millie remembered hearing the howler monkeys calling to each other from above. Sometimes from a branch of safety, she thought she could see bright eyes in dark faces peering at them through a canopy of glossy green leaves.

Finally, they reached a small house or more like a hut in the middle of a small clearing. One man went forward, opened the door and gestured for them to go in. The hut was small and dark and smelled like goats. The two men had Millie and the guide sit down on two rough chairs. One went and fetched rope from a corner and then tied both travelers to the chairs.

The men started talking to the guide and he translated.

“Ms. Millie, these men know you are American and they want money for your release.”

“How much money?” Millie asked. More conversation.

“One thousand dollars, American.”

“But I don’t have that kind of money on me. I only have a few dollars.”

More back and forth in Spanish.

“They say you will have to get it or they will have to hurt you.”

“Well, tell them not to do that. We can work something out. If they would only release this rope and give us some water, maybe we can talk about it.”

More Spanish.

“They say okay, but if you try to run, the man, he will have to shoot you.”

“Tell the man I won’t run. However,” Millie replied, “I am very thirsty and would like some water. All our supplies are in our canoe.”

The man without the gun, a short, squat man with dark brown skin and black hair came over and loosened her rope. Then he went and ladled some water from a bucket into a rough cup and handed it to her. Millie drank it down and said “Now him,” she gestured at her guide with the cup.

The man stared at her a moment then grabbed the cup and went to refill it with more water. He walked over to Juan, loosened the ropes and handed him the cup. The guide finished it with a gulp.

“Tell the nice man, Juan, that I am a writer and don’t make very much money. $1,000 is really a lot to pay.” Millie said. Juan translated.

“But you are American, they say, you all have a lot of money.”

“Not really. Ah, ask if I could have my bag. I could show him something.” Juan translated and the man with the gun, stuck the gun in his belt, grabbed her bag. He looked through it first and then handed it over. He loosened her ropes so she could use her hands.