People collecting for a charity are being attacked, but it seems to be more than what it appears. Bells will fly along with fists and feet.
Here I am standing on a corner ringing a bell wearing a Santa Clause suit. The job sounded easy. Find the people beating up the Salvation Army workers. In the past couple of days, seven bell ringers have been assaulted with one of them losing an eye in the attack. The temp service that supplies the local Salvation Army here wanted to protect their workers. After the cookie incident, I had said never again, but here we are working for an icon of Americana in red and white suits. As it turned out the initial part was easy. About a day into our stake out a rival charity showed up to go after my second-in-command a woman we all call TC. That was a very big mistake. TC is a tall, strong, beautiful black woman who likes to kick ass.
The three men followed her into an alley. The first dressed as an elf swung a tire iron at her head. She easily dodged the swing and brought up her knee connecting with his junk. The force of the kick doubled him over. As he fell the other elf and Santa struck. The elf pulled a knife and came at her with a downward slashing motion. Like he was a movie psycho. TC shifted to her side and used his downward force to propel the knife toward him. He stabbed himself in the thigh. Santa struck with a led pipe. He used a sideways motion trying to prevent what just happened to his elf. The result was a weak hit to the forearm. She easily disarmed Saint Nick and used the pipe on his, well let’s just say he won’t be walking right for a while.
On his way back to where he was from, Jack looks back at his relationship with his father, grandfather and the day his life changed way back when he was twelve.
I was on a beach in Southern California when I got the call I’ve been waiting for. My father has been battling throat cancer for a while now. Today he lost the battle. I was on the beach watching the surf when the call came in. He was diagnosed about three years ago. About a year ago they had to have his larynx removed due to cancer. His last words to me where “I don’t know why you came.” This was nothing new. He and I have never had that all-American father-son relationship from the movies or television. I had a better relationship with my grandfather. I had to tell my sister I couldn’t come right away, but I would be there as soon as I could. I had another surgery in the morning on my hand scheduled. I was shot while on a job in Canada and required four surgeries to fix my right hand. It also required spending days on the beach and plenty of drinks. She said she understood and she wouldn’t touch the house until I got there. I was the oldest, but Ruth lived nearby. She lived in Uniontown Ohio about 5 minutes from dad’s house. It would be a week before I could go back to Ohio.
Actors say never work with children or animals while other ask, “isn’t that the same thing?” when you work as a mercenary it’s best not to work with other mercenaries. Jack finds himself in a trap with a wounded hand and a clock counting down to the death of his friends.
I can flex my hand. So, there might not be any tendon damage, but it hurts like a mother. With it wrapped I can try and keep from bleeding to death. I lost my gun back there in the fight. What the hell happened? I have my knife and backup gun, but the gun will be hard to use with one hand. TC said I should carry a revolver instead of that sub-compact Barretta Storm. First, I must get out of here. Back at the warehouse, I can hear more gunfire. It’s clear now this was all a trap.
Jack Pressler goes back into his memory and thinks about when he first met TC in a war zone
An explosion ripped through the wall tossing shrapnel into the room as smoke filled the air. Everyone scrambles to get to their feet and prepare to fight. Outside we can hear voices. Something in Somali I think. I really should learn the language. One of the others yelled, “RPG.” I ducked as a rocket-propelled grenade came through the window and traveled out of the newly made hole onto the opposing forces on the other side. Friendly fire can be a good thing. Using the newly created chaos, we escaped the building and separated. But not by any plan or with any goal. I found myself in an unfriendly city, in a time of war, in a place where I don’t speak the language.
This story is the Jennifer stories told from the perspective of the character Tina. It covers her early life and how he came to know Jennifer and who she got to where she was. It doesn’t go into detail on the stories that where covered in Pool Party, After Prom, Graduation Day and Duct Taped.
As far back as I can remember we have always been outsiders of some kind and always on the run. My mother used to say that the masses just couldn’t understand how we were right and how their lifestyles were destroying humanity. Daddy never liked how they called us a cult. He would say how to most; a cult was just a religion that they didn’t follow. Some people call Catholics or the Mormons a cult. My uncle Joseph told me that we must accept what the majority calls us on the surface but never in our hearts. He would say how the government would use such tactics to control the people much like how they used their public education and social politics. It’s funny to look back at what he and my parents would say considering where I am now. They would say how society was a prison and that the only true freedom is in your hearts and minds. I may be locked up here for the rest of my life, but I am as free as my mind can go and as free as my heart can feel.
An insurance company hired the team to find a missing employee and just maybe the millions of dollars in cars that just vanished near the border.
When most people think about the border, they think illegals, terrorists, and drugs. They don’t think stolen cars. About a week ago an auto insurance company dealing in exotic cars called us. They ensure hard to find exotic cars. Really, they ensure the other insurance companies on their policies on exotic cars. They don’t just cover any Ferrari or Bentley they focus on handmade speed machines that cost millions of dollars or more. In the past two months, they have had nine cars stolen. Using their trackers, they all ended up in a small town on the border with Mexico. The American government investigated and found nothing. The Mexican government never bothered to send anyone to the border. The insurance company sent two investigators to the small town. One was found out in the desert. Well, most of him was found. The other was just gone. While it would be nice to find the cars they really wanted to know what happened to their investigator. That is where we step in.
After moving from the colds of Ohio Jack finds himself in the wilds of northern Canada helping a man with a problem thirty-years in the making.
About a week ago I received a call from a Canadian citizen having trouble with poachers. Now I can already tell you are thinking, “what the heck do they need mercenaries for something already illegal?” You are right and a little rude. This man’s trouble is that the government was unwilling to come out and deal with his problem. He is what could easily be called a conspiracy nut. He called once for the cattle defiling aliens probing his cattle. Then on the Canada geese wearing all those cameras implanted in them by the US Government to spy on him. Cry wolf enough, and people stop listening.
Edward Franko is living the good life as the mayor of a small town stripping cars, selling drugs and pimping girls. He even doesn’t need to worry about being reelected because he wasn’t elected in the first place. They say politics is cutthroat, but Franko has taken it to a whole new level.
Edward Franko was the de facto mayor of the town. He operated his little kingdom free from police intervention. After all, he was the police. Well sort of. About six years ago he took over the town by kidnapping the police chief’s wife and children. The chief’s wife was also the real mayor’s daughter. Franko knows that as long as the mayor is in office, he can do as he sees fit. In the last election, the mayor ran unopposed. A city councilman once proposed a term limit for the mayor. He and his whole family died in a tragic fire set by Franko’s de facto police. In his desperation, the mayor called for help from an unlikely source.
This is the first story in a storyline I named Special Security Service. It follows an owner in that service named Jack Pressler and their unusual jobs. The company is like mercenaries except they won’t work for just anyone. I started this storyline on another site only moving it to my site when I had planned on leaving said site (after a little bit I went back and started a new story on that site). As I rework the stories, I am well, reworking them to help with continuity as well as readability (I hope) so the stories I republish will seem slightly different from the originals. I just hope the reworked stories are better.
Stinky was walking the fence. Ok, I call him stinky because he needs a name and I don’t care what his name really is. He’s filthy, in dirty camo and hair that looks like he hasn’t washed it in weeks. He has an AK 74 with a flashlight duct taped to the forward grip. There are maybe twenty magazines attached to him. He couldn’t move quickly much less fight effectively. If he worked for me, he wouldn’t work for long. As stinky walked away, another guard came up. I’ll call this one Bubba. A good old boy in jeans and a flannel shirt over a wife beater. A double barrel shotgun over his shoulder and a 357-colt python with an 8-inch barrel. The handgun is so long he had to cut a hole in the holster to make it fit. Making the look complete he has a trucker hat overtop of what looks like a mullet. Every time I see him I think of the intro to the old television show Hee-Haw. Two men walk a five-mile perimeter surrounding what was billed as an army of racists. This could be easy.
Here I am standing at an altar holding a silver and turquoise ring waiting for my non-traditional girlfriend to do the most traditional thing we could ever do. The ring was her great-great grandmothers. Back in the small town where she lived, she had been the one to ask for his hand when he had some sort of problem asking. He was the sheriff, and she was a reporter or something. It has become a tradition for their family to wear a silver ring with topaz or turquoise. Now the wedding was as nontraditional as she could pull off. For starters, none of the groom’s side was wearing pants. Despite none of us being Scottish we all wore kilts. I was in a black and red plaid while the rest wore a solid black. The red was echoed in her dress. A white dress with a crimson piping and a crimson veil. The dress also had silver beads that shimmered in the light. The bridesmaids all wore red tuxedos. Something that would feel at home in the 1970’s all ruffles and bell bottoms. Funky.
These are short stories I wrote. Some are connected to the larger books I am working on others are just for the fun of story telling.
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