STILL AVAILABLE
Another Trilogy
Three Short Stories of Excitement, Intrigue,
Love, Crime and Justice
Nellie's Chronicle
A new life, then tragedy... a struggle to survive
a backdrop to caper only a man of justice can conquer... and find his match!!!
Storm in Kpelle-Bassa Land
A mission of challenge, a battle against a despot, his training tested, does he overcome the odds??
The Odelliah Davis Case
The snow changes plans, the wrong place at the wrong time, will the sinister plot to survive, menace to his career, can she help him???
****Plus****
a Bonus Tale
Teddy
Help comes too late; will their love endure???
Nellie's Chronicle
Chapter One
Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring!!! It has been like that for the last ten minutes!
Nellie shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She was tall, maybe 5’7”, well developed, hourglass shaped. She was light complexioned with distinguished Latin features. She wore a tailored black pant suit, a white blouse set off with a big, white bow tied in front…... .
A close-up revealed that she was crying, a rivulet of tears found its way down her cheekbones as her eyes narrowed. Her eyes were big and brown surrounded by long black lashes……
She was dressed elegantly. The black, tight-fitting business suit was stunning, to say the least.
Ring, ring, ring, ring!!
“Shucks!”, she said under her breath.
Why doesn’t he answer?…….
Jose still wanted more and everybody said that a wonderful life lay ahead if they could get to the U.S. mainland. Plus, how well could they do in Puerto Rico compared to what they were told about New York? ...... The South Bronx. East 138th Street. Streets of teeming walk- ups……….She could hear the downstairs door open. Quick as a flash, she thought, “He’s here, oh, he’s here!!”……..She put down the phone and took a step toward the door. With a thump in her chest, she stopped as quickly as she had started.
There was a heavy clump, clump, clump! It wasn’t Jose. It was too early to be Sandi.......
A Storm in Kpelle-Bassa Land
The C-140 droned in the darkness. The cabin was dark, except for the aux lamps and exit lights. There are 15 military on board, the pilots, and the navigator in the cockpit and a man in plain clothes, holding onto a briefcase as if it were gold. One Captain, one Looey, a Warrant Officer, a couple of sergeants, some in dress, others in fatigues. All clean. He had counted the passengers as he boarded the plane in Frankfurt. And he counted them again as he sized up each one. Medals always tell a story.
Bill Barlow reflected on the past few years. Three years ago he was at home wondering what his next step in life would be.
He’d been out of the military for six months and wanted to get as far away from soldiering as possible. He’d done it all and seen enough bloodshed and misery for a thousand wars.
After leaving Surrey County, and seeing guys going nowhere after high school, college was what he wanted. He wanted to see more than green trees, green grass, corn and cows. He wanted to travel and see the world. Army ROTC was the way to get him pointed in that direction. Officer training at Fort Bragg, paratrooper training, Ranger school, then, there were assignments in Somalia, Pakistan and Bosnia. He’d seen his men, his buddies, die, or worse, be maimed beyond repair. He knew he was a good leader and a warrior. After a couple of tours he wanted to do more, but came back to the homestead. He took two vacations alone…..
The Odelliah Davis Case
It’s Friday afternoon about 4:45 pm; almost quitting time. Odelliah sits at her desk dreading the drive home, for it is the dead of winter, 21 degrees outside, wind blowing at 23 miles an hour, seven inches of snow already on the ground and still falling.
She is a visiting nurse for the Veterans Association health clinic, a job she dearly loves. She is usually in the field visiting her patients, but not today. It has been a trying day. She is a
fairskinned woman, tall, nice figure, with brown eyes and black hair worn in a bun.
With the new reports of the snowstorm gaining strength, she had to use her lunch hour to run errands as the treasurer for her sorority’s annual winter ball on Sunday. She ran to the Central Astoria bank branch to get money from the sorority’s account for flowers, the cake and rent for the catering hall. This afternoon, as she went about her assignments, her mind was on the funds she had securely placed in her purse, in her locker; for it would be a disaster if some went wrong. As the day wound down, she relaxed awaiting the clock’s acknowledgement that it was time to leave at 5 o’clock. The phone on her desk rings and she answers. “Veteran’s Association, may we help you?”
“Miss Davis, this is Jeffery Hawthorne.”
“How you doin’, Mr. Hawthorne?”
Hawthorne is one of her patients that she visits every two weeks; he has a bad heart and is too frail for an operation.
“I need my medication and my chest is starting starting to pain.”……..
Teddy
The other day I decided to clean up my living room; you know, my version of spring cleaning, As I moved the old tapes and cassettes, one fell on the floor. I picked it up, at first not glancing at it, as it had no title and was non-descript. But it jogged my memory….1982…… Teddy Jones……..
Teddy sat on the floor, in the mist of the haze that hovered over the zombies that, that he by choice, had become his brethren. The fog was so thick that he could not see more than a foot or two in front of himself but that was not what was on his now addled brain.
He gave the dealer twenty-five hard-earned dollars for the bag of hashish and the opportunity to sit in the midst of these caricatures of lost souls; and it was not satisfying the craving in his brain or his body. He drew deep drags from the instrument of death but still the high would not come back. There was now, panic in his effort. He staggered to his feet toward the only light that penetrated the darkness. He tripped and almost fell, catching himself by reaching out to the dank floor. He instinctively wiped his hand on the side of his coat and continued his journey. Reaching the broken door, he yanked it open only to be faced with the glaring sunlight from the transom above the entrance.
134rd Street, east of Lenox, a dilapidated block of garbage-strewn, brick laden morass coming from nowhere, leading to nowhere. The street was lined with what was once row upon row of magnificent brownstones, that to the keenest eye, could draw one back to the golden era of Harlem Renaissance. Now the street is used for the benefit of those who would do harm to his fellow man by introducing them to the horrible affliction of addiction. Drug dens abound, and this was Teddy’s favorite. Right off the corner, a short sprint from the subway. On his lunch hour he could hop the AA local at Columbus Circle and be there in fifteen minutes..express to 125th; the local would be waiting, hop on that, next stop, 135th Street, then walk into his personal oblivion..........
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